ELFREDA HAS A SUSPICION
The billet to which Grace had been assigned was the home of a German
doctor, where she had a comfortable, large room extending all the way
across the rear of the house. The owner, as she later learned, occupied
a large front room with a small communicating room on the left-hand
side of the house, a similar apartment on the other side of the house
being occupied by some one else.
Elfreda Briggs was busy getting her hand in at canteen work when Grace
arrived at the billet with her credentials, without which no one could
obtain lodgings in Coblenz, now that the Americans had taken possession
of the place and were at work setting it in order. The Overton girl
found her belongings already there, including her mail. There was mail
from home, but a letter from Emma Dean got first reading and put Grace
in a happy frame of mind.
“My Darling Grace (This goes for all of the Overton Unit),” wrote Emma:
“We haven’t had a letter from you in so long I don’t believe we should
recognize your handwriting. There isn’t a thing new in Paris except
military news that I hear over the wire, which of course I can’t tell
you. By the way, I did hear that William the First had been called
before a court-martial for insubordination and ungentlemanly language
to a superior officer. My! what a narrow escape I did have. Think what
a terrible mistake I should have made had I married him. Thank heaven
my present William is not that sort of a fighter. By the way, I learned
over the wire only yesterday that he too is on his way to Coblenz. I
am glad of that, for, you being a married woman, I can trust you to
chaperon him and see that he doesn’t fall in love with one of those
rosy-cheeked Gretchens on the Rhine. I am told that they are inclined
to favor the American doughboys. They’d better not favor my William.
“By the way, that daughter of yours surely has made a place for
herself at Madame Duchamp’s school. They will spoil that child. We had
Yvonne over to stay all night with us and spend Sunday last week. The
yellow cat was with her. If I am well informed the yellow cat is a
lady-mouser, so you can imagine how shocked we were when Yvonne told
us that she had named the cat Tom Gray after her adopted father, but
that she called her Tom for short. I know your Tom will be delighted
with the great honor that has come to him. It’s up to your Tom to give
his namesake a handsome present. Might send on a shell-case of mice. I
understand they have plenty of them out near the front. What a lovely
present to send to a young ladies’ boarding school. What?
“Arline Thayer, Mabel Ashe, Ruth Denton and the rest of this Overton
unit are simply expiring to see you. Ruth thinks she is in love with
a Y secretary. For myself I prefer a fighting man--I don’t mean
one that will fight me--leave that to the Huns--but who will fight
another man when he crowds me off the walk. I heard a story over the
wire the other day about Hippy Wingate. It seems that one of those
secretary fellows--I don’t know what organization he belonged to--got
quite friendly with Nora Wingate, all in the nicest possible way.
But you know Hippy. Hippy heard of it, so one day he dropped in on
the Salvation hut and found Nora singing for the secretary. She said
he wanted to try her voice. Well, Hippy he--as I was saying, Hippy
invited the fellow to take a flight with him--a hop, I believe they
call it--the secretary wasn’t permitted to refuse and up they went. It
seems they have some sort of telephone arrangement between the pilot
and the observer, and after a little the secretary discovered that he
had no safety belt on and he called Hippy’s attention to it rather
anxiously. Hippy, according to the reports I got over the wire, said
he was sorry, for he was going to do some loops, to see how many he
could do. One of his squadron had done thirty-seven, but Hippy was of
the opinion that he could do at least thirty-seven and a half. ‘But
I’ll fall out,’ protested the secretary. ‘Sure you will,’ agreed Hippy,
‘but I’ll turn the loops right over the Salvation hut. When you fall
out, if my wife thinks you’re worth saving she’ll catch you.’ Well, the
secretary begged, and finally Hippy relented and said he would let his
passenger out before he looped. They landed. The secretary took the
hint and ‘beat it,’ as the doughboys would say. I understand he hasn’t
been seen around the Salvation canteen since. Isn’t that just like
Hippy?
“Now that the war is over I suppose we all will soon be on our way to
the good old United States. I know I shall die if I have to go back
before my William does. I have been afraid that he might be appointed
on the Peace Commission, for I know he must stand very high with the
President, even if he is only a lieutenant. Well, good-bye. Remember
me to Tom, and tell him I hope that when he gets home he will make it
his business to see that his most attractive wife stays home and washes
the dishes rather than go scouting all over America and half of Europe
driving ambulances and things.
“Yours lovingly, EMMA.”
Grace sat back and laughed until the tears came, laughed until she was
interrupted by a cry from the doorway. It was Elfreda, but instead of
throwing herself into Grace’s arms, J. Elfreda stood off and surveyed
her with disapproving eyes.
“Grace Harlowe Gray, you surely are a sight. I am not at all surprised.
What does make me marvel is that you have come back at all. Tell me
about it. Have you been crying? Your eyes are red.”
“I have been laughing. I have a letter from Emma.”
“Enough said. Tell me the story. You were a prisoner, I understand.”
“A sort of prisoner. No, I was not hit with a bullet, but with a stone.
The Huns are such gentle creatures. The state of my clothing is due to
the fact that I got mixed up with a vineyard when I came down in the
parachute. I suppose you had your information from Major Colt?”
“Yes. I have a lot of other information too; but that will keep until I
hear your story.”
Grace, to save time, told the story from the time they left the ground
in the sausage balloon right down to the moment when she got back into
the American lines.
“What do you propose to do next for thrills?” demanded Elfreda finally.
“I am not looking for thrills. I am in hope that I shall be permitted
to go back home before very long--that is, if Tom goes.”
“He won’t. They are planted here for months to come, provided we do not
go on into the enemy country.”
“How is Mrs. Smythe?” Grace smiled.
“No change. I understand from her that you are to be placed on canteen
work, drawing hot chocolate and the like. She will have you mopping
out the place next. Chad is in a rage most of the time, except when
her latest friend is with her. Oh, I didn’t tell you about that. The
day before you went over by the air route, a most charming young lady
appeared on the scene. Mrs. Smythe said it was a very old friend of
hers of the name of Molly Marshall. I don’t know who she is or how she
got into the lines, but I have been told by those who ought to know,
that she is an American woman who has been a prisoner of the Germans;
that she got by the German sentries and reached our lines after
suffering all sorts of hardships. She doesn’t look the part, I am free
to say.”
Grace was interested at once.
“You are suspicious of her, Elfreda?” she demanded.
“Of course I am. I am suspicious of any one who takes up with Chad.
I don’t know where Molly is to-day. I haven’t seen her since last
evening. She is billeted with Chad.”
“Where does Mrs. Smythe live?”
Elfreda regarded her frowningly.
“I forgot that you had been in the air so long. Chad occupies the front
room on this floor. We are all in the house together, but if trouble
doesn’t make us wish we weren’t, I shall be much mistaken. Won Lue
comes over to ask about you. He appears to have something on his mind.
Have you any idea what it is?”
“Plidgins,” answered Grace laughingly. “What is it you suspect about
this woman Marshall?”
“I do not suspect her any more than I do some other persons. I am
beginning to believe that our supervisor isn’t as loyal to the cause as
she might be. That feeling has been strengthened since Miss Marshall
appeared so mysteriously.”
“Elfreda, you know how I feel toward Mrs. Smythe, but for all that
I must stand up for her. With all her faults she is an American. Her
presence at the front is sufficient evidence of that to satisfy me as
to her loyalty. As I have said before, she is a vain and jealous woman,
a fair type of the newly rich. As for the other woman, I hope to see
her and form my own opinion of her. I think the Intelligence Department
is considerably disturbed over spy activities. There is something else
going on here too, though I haven’t yet learned what it is. I have some
queer fancies in the back of my head, Elfreda, and--”
“You always did have.”
“They are not yet sufficiently clarified to make it prudent for me to
speak of them, but remember what I have said. Some day I shall tell you
the story that I now warn you of. Whose house is this?”
“It is occupied by a Doctor Klein, a scientific, studious-appearing
fellow, and apparently very friendly to Americans. He says the Germans
have been in the wrong in this war and--”
“I should be suspicious of that man, Elfreda. Either he is not a German
or else he isn’t telling the truth. What is the attitude of the people
of Coblenz?”
“Some appear to be afraid of the Americans, while others--these are
in the majority--are sullen. The situation appears to me to be very
tense, likely to result in an explosion at any moment. There are very
few German men of military age here. I think our people are treating
the inhabitants very leniently.”
“That is a mistake,” declared Grace with emphasis. “Mark me, the Huns
can’t understand and appreciate humane treatment. They will take
advantage of that attitude, believing that the Americans are afraid of
them. Then we shall have to put pressure on them, and that will cause
more trouble than were we to be severe with them now at the outset. I
must get about and see what the lay of the land is.”
“You keep out of it, Loyalheart; that is my advice to you. Haven’t you
had enough yet?”
“No, I never shall until my country has no further use for my services,
my dear. When that time comes, I shall be ready to settle down to the
simple life in beautiful Haven Home and enjoy a real home-life with Tom
and my beautiful adopted daughter. Elfreda, that child is entwining
herself about my heartstrings more and more as time goes on.”
“She is doing the same thing to me,” declared Elfreda. “You will have
to divide her with me--I mean share her with me, Grace. I am as much
her mother as you are, am I not?”
“You are, of course, though my claim is a prior claim, which you as a
lawyer must recognize.” They had a hearty laugh over this.
It was late in the afternoon when Grace went out, first having knocked
on Mrs. Smythe’s door but receiving no response. Grace inquired her way
to the canteen, looking in the shop windows as she passed, enjoying the
sight of stores once more. There were few of these left in rural France
where she had been, and those that were left ordinarily bore the marks
of shell fire.
The supervisor was not at the canteen where Grace understood she was to
be stationed, but Marie Debussy, the supervisor’s maid, was there and
at work. Grace greeted her cordially and the girl appeared equally glad
to see Grace.
“How is Madame behaving?” she questioned.
“There is no change, but I am here most of the time and do not see so
much of her.”
“You are satisfied here then, Marie?”
“Oh, yes, it will do. The war will soon be over and I shall go back to
my beloved France. Bah! These Germans! I like them not.”
“None of us do, Marie. Is Miss Marshall with Madame?” asked Grace
carelessly. Marie gave her a quick glance, a keener glance than Grace
had ever seen from those eyes, after which the eyes lapsed into their
former dullness.
“I have not seen her since yesterday. I do not know. Do you know her?”
Grace said she did not, and giving Marie a smile, stepped behind the
counter and began her work as a canteen server. It was not the free
life of the ambulance driver, but it was service, and Grace Harlowe
was satisfied. But there was plenty of excitement ahead of her, even
though life moved on in Coblenz much the same as before and during the
war. Shopkeepers were overcharging the American soldiers, others were
robbing them, and the situation was lax to an extent that disturbed
Grace Harlowe.
She said as much to Major Colt, who called at the canteen that evening
to see her, and he agreed with the Overton girl, but said that the
American officers were awakening to the possibilities and that
something would be done. The major told Grace of his experience with
the Germans after they dragged him from the Rhine, she in turn relating
her own. He told of having seen her signal and of reading the message,
and he was filled with admiration for Grace’s resourcefulness and
cleverness.
“I told Captain Boucher about that. He declared that you ought to be
in the Secret Service and that he was going to have you there if his
advice prevailed with those higher up. How would you like that?”
“Not at all,” answered Grace smilingly. “Is the captain still disturbed
over the activities of spies with the Army of Occupation?”
Major Colt flashed a quick glance at her.
“So, you do know about it, eh?”
“Perhaps I may have surmised some things, sir--and I know the Hun and
his ways rather well,” she added. “May I ask you, sir, if you know a
Miss Marshall who entered camp the day before we went up?”
“No. I have heard of her. Why?”
“Just a woman’s curiosity.”
“I would suggest that you ask Captain Boucher about that. You will be
somewhat amazed at what he will tell you--if he tells you anything,”
laughed the officer. “There’s a real mystery for you, eh?”
Grace shrugged her shoulders.
“There are many others more worth while, sir,” she made reply, turning
to hand a doughboy a bar of chocolate. “I--”
Grace did not finish the sentence. An explosion that seemed to be
splitting the earth wide open crushed in one end of the canteen and
blew off part of the roof, bringing a good part of the structure down
on the heads of the occupants of the building.