“There’s no mistake, sir,” persisted Tom. “I’d know his face among a thousand. But there’s one thing that will prove I’m right and that even he himself can’t deny. The man who was talking to Rabig had the end of the third finger missing from his left hand.” Every eye went to the stranger’s left hand. It was encased in a riding glove and there was nothing to indicate that it was maimed. “Will you kindly remove your glove?” asked the major with ominous politeness. “I refuse,” objected the strange officer hotly. “This is an indignity. I shall report these proceedings at headquarters.” “Remove your glove,” demanded the major sternly, and at the same time the sergeant and his detachment crowded about the accused, ready for instant action. There was no help for it and the officer obeyed. _The first joint of the third finger of the hand was missing._ A shout went up, increasing to a roar, as the detected spy made a sudden dash through the guard surrounding him, reached his horse, and with surprising agility vaulted upon his back and dug his spurs into his sides. The horse reared high in the air with sudden fright and pain, and started to run, dragging Frank with him. The latter had been startled by the unexpected action of the spy, but he held on to the reins with desperation and refused to be shaken off. The spy drew a pistol from his belt and fired pointblank at Frank, the bullet grazing his ear. But he still hung on, and a moment later a score of his comrades had caught up to them and dragged the German from the horse’s back. He fought desperately, for he knew that he was fighting for his life, and considerable force was necessary to subdue him. He was a sadly battered object when at last he was half dragged, half carried into the presence of the major and other officers. The major looked at him, and his eyes had the glint of steel. “So this is the way you play the game of war,” he said, in tones of biting irony. “Is there anything to which your country will not stoop?” The prisoner looked at him sullenly but made no reply. “Take him away,” the major directed. “A court-martial will attend to his case before sundown.” The man was marched off, accompanied by his orderly who had also been secured, and as he passed Tom he favored him with a glance that was full of venom and malignity. The major turned to Tom. “You have done well, Bradford,” he said, “and you deserve the thanks of the regiment. Had that man’s trick succeeded it might have led to a serious situation. I will see that your name is mentioned in the order of the day. You can return to your place.” Tom saluted and retired, and a murmur of approbation went up from the men as he passed them. Quick orders passed down the line, for now that the trick had failed an enemy attack could be expected at any moment. “Good stuff, Tom!” exclaimed Frank approvingly as he clapped his comrade on the shoulder. “You were Johnny-on-the-spot that time for fair.”