The evidence against Waterman was so clear, so overwhelming, that there was not the slightest doubt about the verdict which would be passed upon him. He had been caught practically red-handed in his deed of treachery; but this was not all. Tom Pollard's action had led to a number of other facts coming to light. He had by many cunning devices been in communication with the enemy; he had constantly made known the plans which he had learnt at the Divisional Headquarters, and had thus prepared the Germans for many of the attacks which we had made.

Tom could not help being impressed by the fact that even although Waterman's guilt was as clear as daylight, it was the evident desire of those who tried him to act fairly, and even generously, towards him. Everything that could be said in his favour was carefully listened to, and noted; and on the faces of more than one present was a look of concern almost amounting to pain. This, however, did not hide the truth that every man regarded him with horror, almost amounting to loathing. They respected an enemy who fought openly and fairly, but for a man who was a staff officer in the British Army and who consequently learnt many of the plans of that Army; for a man who had taken the oath to be faithful to his King and Country, and yet to act as he had acted, was ignominy too vile for expression.

But Waterman seemed to have no shame, no sense of guilt; he uttered no word of regret, but stood erect and almost motionless. His face was hard and set, in his eyes was a steely glitter; it seemed as though he defied his judges to do their worst, and to mock at their evident disgust.

Tom gave his evidence clearly, and without any waste of words.

"You knew him before you went into the Army, then?"

"Yes, sir," replied Tom.

"Tell us where."

Whereupon Tom told of Waterman's association with him in Brunford, and of the conversations he had had with the prisoner.

"I didn't quite understand at the time," said Tom, "why he seemed so sure of the Germans getting the best of it. He seemed to be glad when he told me of the tremendous strength of the German army, and the preparations they had made. He said he had been to Germany to school, and had lived there a long time; that was how he came to know so much about it. I could never quite make it out how an Englishman who loved his country could be so sure that the Germans would win. Besides, he didn't talk about it as though it would be a calamity, but something he would be proud of; but I don't know that I thought much of it at the time, especially when he told me he was going to receive a commission in our Army; but later on, when I found out the Germans knew what we were going to do, I wondered how they'd found out, and that led me to put one thing to another."

This was not strict evidence, and the officers knew it, but they allowed Tom to tell his story his own way.

"That was why I determined to watch him," went on Tom, "and—well, sir, that was how things turned out as they did."

When Tom's evidence came to an end he was told to retire. The lad was sorely grieved at this, because he would have liked to remain to the end; but after all, he was only a private, and he was there simply to give his evidence.

"Shooting's too good for him," thought Tom as he left the room. "What a look he did give me! If a look could murder a man I should not be alive now!"

"Now then," said the President to Waterman, when Tom had gone, "what have you got to say for yourself?"

"Nothing," replied Waterman. He was no longer respectful or polite.
His every word suggested insolence.

"You admit, then, that you are guilty of the charges that have been brought against you?"

Waterman shrugged his shoulders scornfully.

"You admit that you, an officer in the British Army, have given away your country's secrets and become an ally to the enemy?"

Waterman laughed. "I have simply tried to serve my own country," was his reply, "the country which will soon conquer yours."

Every eye was fixed upon him; the man's brazen confession almost staggered them.

"Then you are a German!"

"Yes," replied Waterman proudly.

The President looked at him keenly, and then turned towards some papers.

"I see that you claim English birth, that you were educated at an English public school, and that you went into an English house of business."

"That doesn't make me cease to be a German," replied Waterman.

"I find, too, that you boasted of being an Englishman."

"That helped me to do my work," was the jeering answer.

For some seconds there was a deathly silence save for the rustle of the papers which the President read. Each man who sat in the room listened almost breathlessly; each was so intensely interested that no one broke the silence.

"My father and my mother are German," went on Waterman; "when they lived in Germany they spelt their name German fashion, and there were two n's, not one, at the end of my name; but when they were in England they thought it would serve them best to spell it English fashion. But they never ceased being Germans. When I was a boy I was taught to love my country above all things; that was my religion, and I was always faithful to it. When I went to your British school I was always a German at heart; the other boys used to say that I was not a sportsman, and that I could not play the game."

"Evidently they spoke the truth."

Waterman shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

"Then you mean to say that you, born in England, educated in England, and receiving all the benefits of our country, were all the time a German at heart, and sought to act in Germany's interests."

"Certainly."

"And you didn't feel that you were acting meanly, ungratefully?"

"I thought only of my own country," was the reply. "I knew that this war was coming, knew too that I could best serve my country by professing to be an Englishman, and by entering the British Army. I proved myself in the right too," he added significantly.

"But didn't you realise that such conduct as yours must inevitably end in disgrace and death?"

"Disgrace?" cried the other. "No, it is glory. As for death, what does that matter? My death is of no importance; the victory of my country is everything."

"Then you have no sense of shame for what you have done?"

"Shame?" laughed Waterman—"shame in feeling that I have served the
Fatherland!"

"What do you think about your action, then?"

"I think what fools you all were and are," and Waterman laughed insolently. "I and others have laughed when you have played into our hands. Why," and here there was a touch of passion in his voice, "your country is simply riddled with friends of Germany. Do you think that because a German becomes naturalised he ceases to be a German? Do you think that, although he protests his loyalty to England, and his desire to help England, that he is the less a German at heart? Do you think that a German, whether naturalised or not, stops at anything in order to serve his country? You have hundreds of Germans in your army to-day, while your public offices are full of men, and women too for that matter, of German parentage and with German sympathies. Yes, you may kill me," and he threw back his shoulders proudly, "but that will not stop us from conquering your country and being your masters."

For a moment he almost seemed to dominate the room. He stood erect, haughty, scornful; it might seem as though he were the accuser and not the accused.

"Of course you know the consequence of your deed?" said the President presently.

Waterman shrugged his shoulders. "I have counted the cost, and am willing to pay the price," was his reply.

When he was led away there was a silence in the room for some seconds. Whatever else he had done he had given his judges to see that he was a brave man; that to him the victory of his country was more than life; that for what he had called the Fatherland he had trampled under his feet all ordinary conventions, all accepted rules of honour and truth. Germany was first, everything else came afterwards.

The Englishman always admires courage, no matter in what form it may appear, and there could be no doubt that Waterman was courageous.

"It is no wonder," said the General, as if speaking to himself, "that they are such terrible enemies." No man spoke, but each knew what was in the other's mind.

Of course, there was no doubt about the verdict; Waterman had been guilty of the worst possible crime, and but for the quick wit and prompt action of the Lancashire lad he would doubtless have continued to help the enemy. The paper which Waterman had thrown towards the German lines contained the details of the next plan of attack; details which, known to the Germans, would have nullified the British action, and possibly have led to disaster.

"That young Pollard is a plucky young beggar," remarked the President presently, "he is a lad of brains, too, and has behaved splendidly. Of course what he has done must not be lost sight of."

There was a general assent to this.

He ought to be recommended for his D.C.M. was the general verdict.

Early next morning Waterman was led out to a wall not far from the room where he had been judged. He walked steadily and proudly towards the place of his execution, and then stood erect like a soldier at attention. He faced his dread ordeal with a look of pride on his face.

"Fire!"

Several shots rang out, and he fell heavily to the ground.

"Yon' chap'll never do any more spying," said one soldier to another a little later.

"If I had my way," said the other, "he should not have had such a death as that. When I think of the dirty meanness of these German swine; when I think of spies like that; when I think of poisonous gas, and of all their treachery, I feel as though nothing's too bad for them Germans. At first, when the war commenced I had nowt but kindly feelings towards the soldiers, as soldiers; but now——"