That day again the First Orderly's dinner conversation was of
Trevelyan. Their conversation of that morning had gotten away from
armies and surgeons and embraced art people, which were the First
Orderly's forte. People were his hobby but he knew a lot about art.
This knowledge had developed in the form of landscape gardening at the
country places of his millionaire friends. It appeared that he and
Trevelyan had known the same families in different parts of the world.
"He knows the G's," he proclaimed, naming a prominent New York family.
"He's been to their villa at Lennox. He spoke of the way the grounds
are laid out, before he knew I had been there. Talked about the box
perspective for the Venus fountain, that I suggested myself."
The corps "joshed" the First Orderly on that: asked him whether
Trevelyan had yet confided the reason for his position in the ranks.
The First Orderly was indifferent. He waved a knife loaded with
potatoes--a knife is the chief army eating utensil. "He may be anything
from an Honorable to a Duke," he said, "but I don't like to ask, for
you know how Englishmen are about those things. I have found, though,
that he did the Vatican and Medici collections only a year ago with
some friends of mine, and I'm going to sound them about him some time."
There were sharp engagements that afternoon and the corps was kept
busy. At nightfall, the booming of the artillery was louder--nearer,
especially on the left, where the French heavy artillery had come up
the day before to support the British line. The ambulance corps was
ordered to prepare for night work. They snatched plates of soup and
beans, and sat on the busses, waiting.
At eight o'clock a shell screamed over the line of cars, then another,
and two more. "They've got the range on us," the fat Major said.
"We'll have to clear out." Eighteen shells passed overhead before the
equipment and the few remaining wounded got away and struck the road to
the main base at B----.
The American squad was billeted that night in the freight
station--dropping asleep as they sank into the straw on the floor. At
midnight an English colonel's orderly entered and called the squad
commander. They went out together; then the squad commander returned
for the Orderly of the first bus. The chauffeur of the second bus waked
when they returned after several hours, and heard them through the
gloom groping their way to nests in the straw. They said nothing.
It was explained in the morning at coffee. "Trevelyan" had been shot at
sunrise. He was a German spy.