He gritted his teeth at the thought of it. Perhaps all was fair in love and war, as the old proverb said. But this seemed like sneaky, unfair fighting to him. There was nothing about it of the glory of warfare. He was learning for himself that modern warfare is an ugly thing. He was to learn, later, that it still held its possibilities of glory, and of heroism. Indeed, for that matter, he was willing to grant the heroism of the men who dared these things that seemed to him so horrible. They took their lives in their hands, knowing that if they were caught they would be hung as spies. The truck was well into London now, and the dawn was full. A faint drizzle was beginning to fall and the streets were covered with a fine film of mud. People were about, and London was arousing itself to meet the new day. Harry knew that he was near his journey’s end. Tired as he was, he was determined to make his report before he thought of sleep. And then, suddenly, around a bend, came a sight that brought Harry to his feet, scarcely able to believe his eyes. It was Graves, on a bicycle. At the sight of Harry on the truck he stopped. Then he turned. "Here he is!" he cried. "That’s the one!" A squad of men on cycles, headed by a young officer, came after Graves. "Stop!" called the officer to the driver. Harry stared down, wondering. "You there–you Boy Scout–come down!" said the officer. Harry obeyed, wondering still more. He saw the gleam of malignant triumph on the face of Graves. But not even the presence of the officer restrained him. "Where are those papers you stole from me, you sneak?" he cried. "You keep away from me!" said Graves. "You–Yankee!" "Here, no quarreling!" said the officer. "Take him, men!" Two of the soldiers closed in on Harry. He stared at them and then at the officer, stupefied. "What–what’s this?" he stammered. "You’re under arrest, my lad, on a charge of espionage!" said the officer. "Espionage, and conspiracy to give aid and comfort to the public enemy. Anything you say may be used against you." For a moment such a rush of words came to Harry that he was silent by the sheer inability to decide which to utter first. But then he got control of himself. "Who makes this charge against me!" he asked, thickly, his face flushing scarlet in anger. "You will find that out in due time, my lad. Forward–march!" "But I’ve got important information! I must be allowed to see Colonel Throckmorton at once! Oh, you’ve no idea of how important it may be!" "My orders are to place you under arrest. You can make application to see anyone later. But now I have no discretion. Come! If you really want to see Colonel Throckmorton, you had better move on." Harry knew as well as anyone the uselessness of appealing from such an order, but he was frantic. Realizing the importance of the news he carried, and beginning to glimpse vaguely the meaning of Graves and his activity, he was almost beside himself.