HER FEARS ARE SHARPENED
Most of the communications between Belinda and Frank Sanderson during
this forenoon had been of the most casual kind--a glance, a whispered
word, a sly pressure of the hand. But now she must give the strangely
worded note, presumably from Monsieur Renaud, to the wounded aviator.
There were cases being removed from the ward each day and fresh ones
being brought in; so the work of temperature taking, wound dressing,
chart writing, and all the other routine duties, went on much as they
had when Belinda's ward was part of a French field station.
She was fully as busy now as she ever had been, save that she did not
have so many serious cases at one time as she had had when the great
battle began in the winter. The Germans had brought another hospital
unit into this field; and although the guns poured their iron hail into
the lines of living men, day and night, this particular hospital unit
to which Belinda was now attached was not over-worked.
The girl was being worn out, however, physically and mentally. After
six months of work under the rules of the French _Croix Rouge_ she had
been entitled to a furlough, and _Madame la Directrice_ had urged her
to take it.
"One can never tell when one's chance may come again. Besides, it is a
good rule to take all one is entitled to in this world--and a little
bit more!"
Belinda now saw the wisdom in this very practical and particularly
French observation. Two weeks in Paris with Aunt Roberta would have
been heavenly! So the exhausted Red Cross nurse thought as she went
about her duties on this day. And if she could only have Frank there,
to nurse him properly!
She slipped the paper Erard had given her, with a whispered word, into
Frank's hand. Then, at another time, there was opportunity to discuss
it.
"Do you suppose it _is_ from that Monsieur Renaud?" Belinda asked.
"Undoubtedly. It would be like him to use just such means of
communication--to warn me against the very man who bore the note,"
Frank returned, chuckling. "Ah, Renaud is a sharp one."
"But to suggest poor Erard is not to be trusted!"
"Perhaps I understand better than you do. Do you know much about Erard?
About what he was before the war?"
"Why--no. He has never been communicative. I do not know, even, that
he has a family. I am sure he never receives mail. But I believe him to
be utterly and abandonedly French. And how he does hate the Kaiser!"
Belinda whispered.
"It may be. Even the _joyeux_ of the _Bataillon d'Afrique_ are good
patriots--and, as the whole world knows, they are convicts," Sanderson
told her.
"Renaud was attached in the days before the war to that section of the
Paris police that has intimately to do with the apaches--the dwellers
in that underworld of Paris that everybody writes about and so few
really know anything about.
"Renaud became somewhat communicative with me. This was the third time
I had taken him across the lines."
"But to accuse poor Erard!" protested Belinda, who felt personally hurt
by the fling at her _infirmier_.
"The hero's coat is not always white," Sanderson reminded her. "At
the last gasp it was the denizens of the Paris underworld that held
back the Germans until the British could get over. Ordinary thieves,
beggars, blackguards of every type, filled those thousands of taxis
that were the last resort of the brave defenders of the city, when
the government had already left. And they fought like rats in a pit,
because they _were_ rats--the gutter-rats of Paris--the apaches.
"It might be that our Erard may have had a much worse reputation
before the war than he has gained here in this hospital."
"Oh, I cannot think of him so! He is so unselfish, so kind to me, so
thoughtful."
"And who wouldn't be to you, sweet Belinda?" murmured Frank in English.
"Who indeed could be unkind to you?"
There was no time to explain to Sanderson who might be--who was,
indeed!--very unkind to her. Nor did she wish to worry him if she could
help it about Doctor Herschall, save to warn him that if the surgeon
came through the ward, to do nothing or say nothing to arouse suspicion
in the Prussian's mind.
"Oh, I am German," the aviator told her, laughing lightly. "I learned
that poor fellow's name by the light of the burning aeroplanes. So I
am August Gessler--some Swiss blood in me supposedly, from the name
I bear. Ah, we are both sailing under false colors, it seems, Nurse
Genau."
But Belinda could not take the matter lightly.
Doctor Herschall showed the cloven hoof again that day. He sent for
Belinda to come to the operating ward and kept her there for several
hours to aid him in certain delicate operations. She really had very
little to do but to hand him instruments and the like, as she was wont
to do in the New York hospital.
Doctor Herschall gave her a shock--as he intended, of course--just
before she went back to her hut.
"Hum! I was told you crossed on the _Belle o' Perth_, Miss Belinda," he
said in English. "And Sanderson, who was attempting to fly and came to
the hospital to be patched up, was in your party. Your little friend,
Miss Blaine, told me," he added maliciously.
"Mr. Sanderson was aboard, yes," answered Belinda, secretly shrinking
from him. "He was not of my party. Only Aunt Roberta traveled with me."
"Hum! What became of him? Did he attempt to join the French Flying
Corps?"
"He told me in Paris," said the girl honestly, and in full command of
herself now, "that he expected to go to an aviation school."
"Hum! Playing--playing. Always playing, these rich young Americans,"
said Doctor Herschall scornfully. "I do not presume even the
inefficient French would trust a fellow like Sanderson with any real
work over the lines. Hum!
"Now, there is that brave chap you have in your ward, Miss Belinda,"
he pursued. "Gessler is his name? Yes. August Gessler. I have looked
up his record. One of our bravest airmen, with many adventures to his
credit.
"How does he mend, Fräulein?" he asked her suddenly.
"Very well indeed, Doctor," replied Belinda composedly. The more anger
she felt beneath the surface because of his slighting way of speaking
about Frank Sanderson, the cooler she grew outwardly.
"Bring him along, Nurse--bring him along," urged the Herr Doktor. "He
is needed. Those in high places have already inquired kindly for Herr
Lieutenant Gessler. By the way, was he in uniform when he was brought
to your ward?"
"No, sir," Belinda said distinctly. "I--I suppose his uniform must have
been destroyed in the accident."
"Soh? Hum! I will make inquiries. There might be something of value
belonging to the brave aviator at the spot where he fell with the
Frenchman. Hum! Remind me, Nurse. I will have the matter looked into."
She fled from him then and reached her ward just as darkness was
falling. With an effort she recovered her calm and walked down the
aisle, speaking to each of her charges kindly--even to Ernest. The
latter sulkily turned his back upon her and would not reply.
Kneeling swiftly beside Sanderson, she put her lips close to his ear.
"Frank! Frank! could there be anything left at the place where you fell
with the German that could identify you?"
He asked no question, alert on the instant.
"I burned all my outer clothing; even my brass badge went into
the fire. And, of course, I carried nothing in my pockets of an
incriminating nature."
"All were burned?"
"I believe so. With the body of the poor German. Poor fellow. Hold on!
Just one thing that might not be destroyed--melted down. My canteen."
"Oh!"
"My name is painted on it: 'Frank Sanderson--Pilote Aviateur.' If the
fire was hot enough it would burn off the enamel."
He asked her why she was so suddenly anxious about this matter and she
was obliged to tell him.
"Then this Herr Doktor is not your friend, but your enemy?" Sanderson
asked.
"And your enemy," she was forced to say. "A deadly enemy if he learns
who you are. Oh, Frank, this is a dreadful situation! A word from him
and we are utterly lost."
Sanderson smiled grimly.
"And a word from your Cousin Carl, or your Cousin Paul, or from Erard,
it seems, and we are lost. Pshaw! Let us not lose our courage. We are
Americans, Belinda."
"Oh!" cried the Red Cross nurse under her breath, "I wish we were back
in dear America again! I--I am frightened, Frank."
She had to leave him then. She feared some of the others had noted her
special attentions to the wounded aviator. Jacob said:
"_Ach_, Fräulein, it warms my old heart to see your kindness to that
brave man. He flies and fights for the Fatherland. He is worthy of any
good woman's love."
"I am afraid you are an impudent old man, Jacob," she told him, yet
smiling. "You are as bad as my cousins, Carl and Paul. They think of
nothing but love making."
"_Ach, diese Kinder!_ But, Love and War--they always go hand in hand."
Belinda must learn what had been done to Erard in way of punishment
for his escapade before she sought her bed that night. Carl Baum was
disgusted regarding the affair.
"What do you suppose the Herr Lieutenant did?" demanded the corporal
of his cousin. "_Der schlaue Fuchs_ recited the Marseillaise for the
Herr Lieutenant and--_Herr Gott!_--with that harelip of his, it was the
funniest thing I ever listened to," admitted Carl.
"He presented that ancient hen to the Herr Lieutenant, too. Then he
danced--as he swore they do in the sewers and cesspools of Paris.
_Ach!_ that Erard of yours is a fine fellow. He knows all the thieves
and blackguards in Paris, I have no doubt. You should see him act when
he is drunk. The Herr Lieutenant laughed."
This report made Belinda very serious for more than one reason.
What Sanderson had told her of Renaud's knowledge of the underworld
characters of the French capital and this talk of Carl, seemed to
dovetail to make the _infirmier_ a very different person from what she
had supposed Erard to be.
However, she felt it her duty to do what she could for him. She went
to the Herr Lieutenant Count von Harden to beg the favor of Erard's
release.
"And by my life, Fräulein!" declared the count, "I know not what to do
with him unless it is to let you have him. He is no good as an ordinary
prisoner to us, that is certain. He can neither dig nor fight.
"But he must not be allowed to escape again at night. I tell you! He
shall be made to sleep in the guardhouse. He is not to be trusted to
watch your ward. You may have him to assist you during the day. At
night he must be a prisoner. But let him sleep off his potations now."
"Many thanks, _gnädiger Herr_," Belinda said.
"The pleasure is mine," the young nobleman replied, his mean little
eyes devouring the figure of the nurse in her neat uniform.
She had come to his quarters outside the hospital enclosure with a
permit from the Herr Doktor. The lieutenant had established himself
royally in what had been the village inn, and because of his wealth
and station had half a dozen orderlies and servants at his call.
"Is there nothing more I can do for you, my pretty Fräulein?" urged
the lieutenant, rising to approach her. "Life is none too gay in this
forlorn spot, but a bottle of good wine helps one to forget these
horrors of war," and he laughed. "Have you supped, Mademoiselle?"
"Thank you sir," she said quietly. "We nurses are forbidden any gaiety
while on duty."
"Soh? Even the French nurses?" he inquired slyly.
She laughed as lightly as she could under the circumstances. Yet she
well understood that he hinted of secret information regarding her true
identity. "I am scarcely French, Herr Lieutenant. I am of American
birth and partly German ancestry. I could not sup with you in any case.
The Herr Doktor would forbid it, I am sure."
"Poof! for the Herr Doktor," cried the lieutenant.
"Not so," and she laughed again, evading his out-stretched hand, while
she approached the open door swiftly. "He knows where I am, for I had
to state my desire to obtain permission to leave the hospital."
"Pshaw! these regulations are accursed," he cried. Then, glancing
through the window: "It is quite dark, Mademoiselle. Let me escort you,
at least." He seized his helmet and tossed his cloak over his shoulder.
"Oh, do not bother, pray, Herr Lieutenant!" she exclaimed.
"It is a pleasure, I assure you," he said, and tramped out of the room
and down the echoing stairway after her.
Belinda felt like fleeing. But the way truly was dark, and if she ran
she might anger the Herr Lieutenant. Also, how undignified to run
through the deserted village with this tall Prussian officer in hot
pursuit!
"Really, sir," she begged, turning toward him at the street door, "I
wish you would let me go alone."
A dark figure stood at attention on the porch.
"Who have we here?" demanded Count von Harden coolly.
"Sergeant-major Genau, Excellency," announced the hoarse voice of Paul.
"To attend the nurse to her quarters."
"Ah! The good Paul!" said the lieutenant, chuckling. "And dost thou so
carefully watch over thy pretty cousin? _Ach!_ perhaps it is as well.
My service, Fräulein. Good-night."