THE HERO
This was a moment when the self-control of Belinda Melnotte came very
near to being utterly broken.
She had suffered so much anxiety, had carried such a burden of fear,
for so many days that overwrought nature was near to collapse.
And, oddly enough, it was Doctor Franz Herschall who saved her from a
mental breakdown at this time.
She turned from seeing Erard marched away guarded by the file of
soldiers, to face the Prussian surgeon. She realized that at last
Doctor Herschall had discovered all that she had sought to hide from
him. Frank Sanderson was at his mercy, and she herself was caught in
a web in the center of which the Herr Doktor crouched like a venomous
spider.
Next would be Sanderson's trial before the military court, the
discovery of his masquerade, and then the sentence due a spy.
Herself, she must likewise be entangled in the hateful coil and
dragged before the court. Her fate might be no less awful than that
confronting Erard and the aviator.
All hinged upon the word of the black-browed surgeon and the testimony
of his little spy, Ernest Spiegel. Belinda's eyes, staring into the
surgeon's glittering orbs, must have expressed some of the bitter,
bitter hatred she felt for him.
Doctor Herschall seemed to hesitate. For once, at least, he was not
quick of decision. He studied the pallid face of the young nurse
gloomily.
Jacob, at a gesture from the surgeon, had drawn a screen before
Sanderson's cot and was helping the aviator dress. The two soldiers
remaining of Carl's squad stood stolidly at the head of the ward. A
strained silence had fallen over all the wounded.
The girl's hatred of this domineering and egotistical Prussian was
almost overpowering.
For he was, she quite believed, the single element that would bring
about the destruction of the man she loved, and of herself. It would be
his evidence that convicted Sanderson of being a spy and would prove
her to be an aider and abettor of an enemy of the German Empire.
For who would believe the unsupported word of the weakling Ernest?
Belinda felt sure that in the pinch she might depend upon both her
cousins to keep their own counsel, even to help her if they could.
Belinda and Sanderson could not hope to aid themselves by putting
forth the claim of their American citizenship. In the eyes of the
Germans they had forfeited that by aiding France. Indeed, Germany and
the United States, if all reports were true, were on the verge of
hostilities.
Belinda and Sanderson were helpless.
Then, as the girl continued to stare into the glittering eyes of
Doctor Herschall, she realized that there was a new and inexplicable
expression dawning in them, and upon the countenance of the Prussian.
"Nurse Genau," he said suddenly, and with all the harshness of which
his voice was capable, "you are excused from duty in this ward for the
present. Report to me at my office after the meeting of the court, at
which the Herr Major Baron von Brandenburg will preside.
"Understand," he added, "you are in no wise to be held accountable for
any phase of this affair--as yet. Nor can we ask the Herr Lieutenant
Gessler"--he raised his voice that all might hear--"to attend the
court save out of necessity--that we may come at the truth of all this
trouble.
"As for you, _du kleine Erbärmlicher_, remain here and open not your
mouth! If you dare disobey you will find there is something worse than
the trenches."
He glared about the ward once more, ignoring Belinda, and taking his
departure before Sanderson was ready to go.
There was, nevertheless, no opportunity for the nurse and the aviator
to say much together in private. Besides, grasping a drifting straw
of hope, both saw that the Herr Doktor had not openly treated them as
enemies.
It was plain by their looks that the wounded men did not know what to
make of the affair. For all that the Prussian surgeon had said, Erard's
story of the night's tragic happening might be the exact truth.
If the Herr Doktor had been stern with the wounded aviator--even with
the nurse--it might be only his bullying way. They all knew what that
was.
Jacob wrung Sanderson's good hand as the American started up the aisle.
"_Gemüth, mein Herr!_ A brave man with your record of flying for the
Fatherland need have no fear of a drumhead court. _Viel Glück!_"
Belinda went with the aviator to the door. The two soldiers stepped out
first, one of them politely holding the door open for Sanderson. They
evidently did not consider him a prisoner.
"Don't lose your grip, Belinda," the young man whispered. "All is not
lost. And I believe that black-browed devil has it in his mind to save
you, at least."
"Oh, but I do not want to be saved without you, Frank!" she breathed.
"Don't fear. We'll pull through. And that plucky Erard----"
"He is a hero," murmured Belinda. "His lie may save you."
"And win him a martyr's crown," said Frank not irreverently.
They looked into each other's eyes. His were filled with the light of
courage; but Belinda's were misty with tears.
There was a whispering behind her in the ward as the girl stood alone.
Some of the weaker patients might be harmed by all this excitement.
Their temperature charts would tell the tale.
It suddenly smote Belinda Melnotte that in all probability temperature
charts or other matters connected with this ward in which she had
served so long, would mean very little to her in the future. Her
activities here were finished in any case.
Jacob touched her arm gently.
"Fräulein," he said.
"Ah, Jacob. What is it?"
"The boys--all your patients, Fräulein--wish to tell you that their
hearts are yours. You are in trouble. It may be that the Herr Doktor
merely bullies you--he is that kind. But fear not. There are others
higher than he who will see justice done."
"There is One Higher--I know," she said. "Thank you, Jacob."
She turned to face the ward. Every man who could was sitting or
standing erect. Even those on their backs who possessed a whole hand
saluted her.
"_Gesegnete Zukunft!_" they cried in unison.
Belinda's eyes overflowed. She could only kiss her hand to them and run
out. The relieving nurse was in sight.
The wet and windy night had rightly foretold a dreary day. How could
the sun have shone when all Belinda's hopes had fallen into such chaos?
Self-centered as her thoughts were--centered upon Frank Sanderson and
her own troubles--the Red Cross nurse felt as though the very world
itself were coming to its end.
There was a third person, however, whom Belinda considered with pity
and alarm--Erard. The little man with the harelip and twisted foot had
indeed "done his bit" for France.
He could do nothing, this lame Erard, as a soldier of the Republic!
Not for him the _Médaille Militaire_, or the _Croix de Guerre_, or
other honors of the brave _poilus_. But to save the American flying-man
who served under the tri-color, Erard was willing to stand before the
firing squad, and would stand there, it was to be presumed, with that
same twisted smile on his lips.
That, too, was "for France."
Belinda heard that the court martial would not sit till afternoon. It
was to her cousin, Carl, hurrying across the hospital enclosure, that
she put a question:
"Oh, Carl, where have they put Erard?"
"A fine little rat he is! What did I tell you?" growled the corporal.
"And he's come near getting your--I mean, the Herr Lieutenant
Gessler--into trouble by his lies. They have locked the wretched little
scoundrel into a room in that old château yonder."
"Is that the prison? Until the French left this neighborhood, the
family of the owner lived there. But they stripped it of much of its
best furniture when they went away. So it is a prison!"
"A detention house, yes. Even the flying-man is there until the court
convenes. But he is only a witness, of course," Carl said cheerfully.
"Carl," whispered the girl, "do you suppose I could speak to poor
Erard?"
"That rat?"
"Don't speak so of him. He has aided me for months--ever since I came
to the war zone to work. He has been my only help and comfort at times."
"I declare I believe him a gutter-rat from the sewers of Paris."
"I do not care. To me he has always shown his better nature."
"And he says he was trying to steal from--from the flying-man last
night before the orderly was killed."
"But I pity him so! And he will surely be shot! Do, Carl!"
"It might be done," said the good-natured fellow. "I can get you a pass
and take you to the château myself. It is true that there probably will
be no chance for you to see him after Herr Major Baron von Brandenburg
passes sentence. _Ach!_ he is a martinet, that old boy. Yes, it might
be done, by a shrewd fellow like me," and Carl winked at her.
It was done. The old château in question was less than half an hour's
walk from the hospital gate. The walls about it and the grounds had
been ruined by gunfire. However, all but one wing of the great building
remained in remarkably good condition.
In the main portion Major von Brandenburg had established his
headquarters with his staff housed in the rooms about him. But there
was room in the remaining wing of the château for prisoners. A
cell--originally a scullery--in the basement served Erard till such
time as the court might sit. Probably, as Carl Baum intimated, shortly
after the sentence was pronounced the Frenchman would not need a cell.
The corporal sent away the sentinel in the corridor on some errand and
allowed his cousin to go to the door of the cell. Heavy screening took
the place of glass in the upper half of the door.
Erard sat upon a bench, his chin in his palm. But when he looked up to
see who darkened the window opening, his twisted smile greeted the
nurse.
"_Ma foi!_ you are welcome, Mademoiselle, though I may not offer you a
chair in these, my poor quarters."
"Oh, my dear friend!" gasped the nurse. "This is a dreadful place, and
a dreadful pass you have come to, my poor Erard!"
"Weep not for me, dear Mademoiselle Belinda. Poof! what is a jail more
or less? I have often slept in worse cells. For sure! Half my boyhood
I was a guest of the so-good police," and his roguish look appeared
again. "Ask Monsieur Renaud. He knows me."
"Oh, Erard! I did not think it of you!" the girl sighed.
"No? I have made myself another reputation in the hospital--have I
not? It was a fancy of mine. All my life I have been quite bad. Oh,
yes, Mademoiselle; quite bad. And as they could not send me to the
_Bataillon d'Afrique_--I am not a marching man--I should kiss the sharp
knife in the end if it were not for _this_. I shall die a noble death,
Mademoiselle, _pour la patrie_."
"And to save Monsieur Sanderson," the girl whispered.
"So I may hope. A fine man," said Erard quite cheerfully.
"But you are dying without cause--without reason," Belinda declared.
"You did not kill the orderly. You were not in the ward last night."
"Sst! That was that sly Monsieur Renaud. You saw him dive under the
porch as you came out of the ward last evening, Mademoiselle."
"But they must know at the guardhouse that you were not out of doors."
"Ah! they are sleepyheads, _les Boches_. Only one knows I was in all
night--and him I have bribed."
"That Renaud deliberately imitated your step," she said with warmth.
Erard laughed.
"Ah! he is a knowing one. To think he should mock me so well--me, who
have so often mocked him for the laughter of my comrades.
"For know you, Mademoiselle, Rabbit-mouth is not so lightly considered
in Paris--among certain people, including the police. _Ma foi_, no!
"I have gained power by cunning--by shrewdness. Indeed, it was the only
way. Otherwise I would have been crushed--trampled upon long ago. You
see," he continued quite simply, "I was born to the dregs of life. The
first I can remember was of being driven out upon the streets to beg by
an old woman who had found me somewhere--devil knows where!
"My infirmity of the lip she thought would arouse the sympathy of those
from whom I begged. But it aroused their laughter. Ah, _ma foi_, yes! I
was meant to be a great comedian," and he shrugged his shoulders. "I
can always make people laugh.
"But their laughter did not bring the centimes to the itching palm of
the old woman. I was not pitiful enough with my rabbit-mouth. She had
a son, that old woman, and he was wise. He told her what to do. So--my
foot," and Erard thrust the crooked extremity forth.
"Oh, you told me it was run over by a farmer's wagon!" gasped Belinda.
"_Oui, oui!_ I am that wicked one," and he grinned. "I even lied to
you, Mademoiselle. But do I look like a _sale cultivateur_? _Non! Non!_
"I was a child. My bones were soft like gristle. They twisted my foot
and put it in plaster, then chained me to the old beldame's bedpost. We
lived deep in a cellar. Nobody could hear my cries.
"So," finished Erard, shrugging his shoulders, "after that, when I went
out begging, dragging this poor foot, the sympathetic gave me more
centimes for my old woman, until I could run away from her and steal
and beg for myself."
The story was a dreadful one--the cheap and pitiful tale of a Paris
gamin, drifting naturally into the underworld of the apaches--the
shrewd, sly cripple seeking his proper level in the sewers of the
metropolis. And yet Belinda could not dwell in her thoughts on that.
Not of what the little harelipped man had been. It was what he was now.
A hero!
She was in tears when Carl led her back to the hospital. She had not
dared to ask to speak with Sanderson. She dared not even show her fear
that he, too, would be made a prisoner instead of held as a witness.
Sanderson could do nothing for Erard when he told his story before the
major and the other officers, of whom Doctor Herschall would be one,
because of the very nature of the crime.
If the American denied the truth of Erard's tale of attempted robbery
he would merely put his own life in jeopardy without saving the
Frenchman; and perhaps endanger Belinda's safety as well. The testimony
of Ernest, whom Doctor Herschall had so well used, might convict the
young aviator and the nurse of a greater military crime than that to
which Erard confessed.
There seemed no way of helping the brave little harelipped man. He had
little chance to be a real man in his miserable, sin-warped life. But
he would go to a noble death--for France.
It was from Paul Genau that Belinda gained the first news of the
proceedings of the military court. The sergeant-major had attended, and
when he came into the hospital premises the Red Cross nurse saw that he
was very grave indeed.
"Paul, what did they do to him?" she begged in alarm. "What has
happened?"
"It is all over," declared her cousin. "Like that!" and he snapped his
fingers. "Ah! I tell you Herr Major Baron von Brandenburg never makes
two bites of a cherry."
"Oh, Paul!" wailed the girl, almost falling, "_not both of them_?"
"'Both of them?' What do you mean?" responded Paul. "There was but one
prisoner. He was tried, found guilty, sentenced, and taken out and shot
all in half an hour--like that! And by heaven! he was a cool one--that
harelipped man. He borrowed a cigarette of me!
"'I may not repay you till hereafter, Monsieur,' he said.
"Then he smoked it--and they shot him."
Belinda covered her face with her hands. From between her fingers she
sobbed another question.
"And the flying-man--Herr Gessler?"
"Ah, the Herr Lieutenant? Well," Paul replied slowly, "he does not
return to the hospital. He is a guest of the Herr Major."
"A prisoner!"
"That I would not say," her cousin replied. "He was scarcely a witness
at the trial. Indeed, witnesses were not needed--even that rat, Ernest
Spiegel, was not called. What need of any evidence when the Frenchman
confessed the crime? Besides, the Herr Lieutenant begged to be excused
from testifying against the accused."
"Then why--oh, why!--was he not released?" cried Belinda.
"That I do not know," Paul said. "It was because of something the Herr
Doktor said in confidence to the Herr Major, I believe, regarding the
flying-man. The Herr Major had dismissed the aviator; but after a brief
conference with Doctor Herschall, he called to the flying-man:
"'Remain, if you please, Herr Lieutenant. I find there is a point I
wish to speak with you upon. I hope you are comfortable here?'
"Ah, that Baron von Brandenburg!" finished Paul, with a sigh. "He
is a nobleman. He would be courteous if he were sentencing a man to
purgatory."