"Got you at last, Frau von Dussel!" he exclaimed, seizing her arm; and with a low cry she dropped a bunch of letters on to the ground, thrust her hand into the breast of her apron, and drew out a Browning pistol. But he was too quick for her, and his fingers closed like a vice on her wrist. "Brute, you are hurting me!" she wailed. "Not half so much as you have hurt some people I could mention!" he retorted hotly. "You are my prisoner, you vixen!" For a moment the big dark eyes blazed unutterable hatred, and then she laughed aloud. The unrestrained laugh of a German woman is the index to the German character. It is one of the most horribly unmusical sounds on earth. "You shall never take me alive!" she hissed. "And there I beg to differ; I _have_ taken you, though how long you will remain alive will rest with the higher powers." He kicked the Browning which she had dropped aside with his foot, and for an instant she struggled with a violence that surprised him, giving vent to a piercing shriek which brought several soldiers running to the spot. Among them was one of the Military Police. "Your handcuffs, my man!" said Dennis, "this is one of the most dangerous German spies at large. I accept all responsibility for my action, but I am going to take her to our Brigade Headquarters for further identification." A Red Cross nurse is a very sacred personality to the British soldier, but Dennis's voice carried conviction with it, although the artful jade made a bold bid for liberty. She ceased her struggles and said in a plaintive tone without a trace of foreign accent, "It is a wicked mistake. I am a Welsh woman, and my name is Margaret Jones. The Sister on the train will bear witness for me." "I have yet to learn," said Dennis, fully aware of the renewed look of doubt in the faces of the men, "that a Red Cross nurse has any right to pilfer a field letter-box, or that she usually carries a Browning pistol for that purpose. Besides----" And at a venture he suddenly transferred his grip from her left wrist to the nurse's headgear she wore. "There you are!" he said, sternly triumphant, as the splendidly made red wig came away and revealed the black hair beneath it. "Those handcuffs!" And they closed with a snap on the wrists of the German spy. Martique was sounding his horn as a signal that he was ready, but he was not prepared for the sight that greeted his eyes as Dennis and the M.P. came up to the car with their prisoner. "You might give me a bit of a chit, sir, to show it's all right," said the policeman, when they had lifted her into the front seat, pale and rigid now. "And if you take my advice," he whispered, "you'll keep an eye on her; she can wriggle like an eel, and if she grabs the steering-wheel when you're moving, she'll break all your bloomin' necks for you." "I'll watch it," said Dennis with a smile. * * * * *