RUTH FIELDING had almost instantly identified the swiftly moving object
in the road as the same that she had seen weeks before while riding with
Charlie Bragg toward Clair. And yet she could not admit as true the
assertion made both by the ambulance driver and the excited French girl.
To recognize the quickly disappearing creature as a werwolf--the
beast-form of a human being, sold irrevocably to the Powers of
Darkness--was quite too much for a sane American girl like Ruth Fielding!
"Why, Henriette!" she cried, "that is nothing but a dog."
"A wolf, Mademoiselle. A werwolf, as I have told you. A very wicked
thing."
"There isn't such a thing," declared Ruth bluntly. "That was a dog--a
white or a gray one. And of large size. I have seen it once
before--perhaps twice," Ruth added, remembering the glimpse she had
caught of such a creature with Bessie at the chateau gate.
"Oh, it is such bad fortune to see it!" sighed Henriette.
"Don't be so childish," Ruth adjured, brusquely. "Nothing about that dog
can hurt you. But I have an idea the poor creature may be doing the
French cause harm."
"Oh, Mademoiselle! You have heard the vile talk about the dear
countess!" cried Henriette. "It is not so. She is a brave and lovely
lady. She gives her all for France. She would be filled with horror if
she knew anybody connected her with the spies of _les Boches_."
"I thought it was generally believed that she was an Alsatian _of the
wrong kind_."
"It is a wicked calumny," Henriette declared earnestly. "But I have
heard the tale of the werwolf ever since I was a child--long before this
dreadful war began."
"Yes?"
"It was often seen racing through the country by night," the girl
declared earnestly. "They say it comes from the chateau, and goes back
to it. But that the lovely countess is a wicked one, and changes herself
into a devouring wolf--ah, no, no, Mademoiselle! It is impossible!
"The werwolf comes and goes across the battle front, it is said. Indeed,
it used to cross the old frontier into Germany in pre-war times. Why may
not some wicked German woman change herself into a wolf and course the
woods and fields at night? Why lay such a thing to the good Countess
Marchand?"
Ruth saw that the girl was very much in earnest, and she cast no further
doubt upon the occupant of the chateau, the towers of which had been in
sight in the twilight for some few minutes. Henriette was now driving
slowly and had not recovered from her fright. They came to a road which
turned up the hill.
"Where does that track lead?" Ruth asked quickly.
"Past the gates of the chateau, Mademoiselle."
"You say you will take me to the hospital at Clair before going home,"
Ruth urged. "Can we not take this turn?"
"But surely," agreed Henriette, and steered the car into the narrow and
well-kept lane.
Ruth made no explanation for her request. But she felt sure that the
object which had startled them both, dog or whatever it was, had dived
into this lane to disappear so quickly. The "werwolf" was going toward
the chateau on this evening instead of away from it.
There was close connection between the two criminals, who had come from
America on the Red Cross steamship, Legrand and José, with whatever was
going on between the Chateau Marchand and the Germans. Werwolf, or
despatch dog, Ruth was confident that the creature that ran by night
across the shell-racked fields was trained to spy work.
Who was guilty at the chateau? That seemed to be an open question.
Henriette's declaration that it was not the Countess Marchand,
strengthened the suspicion already rife in Ruth's mind that the old
servant, Bessie, was the German-lover.
The latter was known to José, one of the crooks from America. She might
easily be of the same nationality as José--Mexican. And the Mexicans
largely are pro-German.
José and Legrand were already under suspicion of a huge swindle in Red
Cross stores. It would seem that if these men would steal, it was fair
to presume they would betray the French Government for money.
It was a mixed-up and doubtful situation at best. Ruth Fielding
intuitively felt that she had hold of the ends of certain threads of
evidence that must, in time, lead to the unraveling of the whole scheme
of deceit and intrigue.
It was still light enough on the upland for the girls to see some
distance along the road ahead. Henriette drove the car slowly as they
approached the wide gateway of the chateau.
Ruth distinguished the flutter of something white by the gate and
wondered if it was the "werwolf" or the old serving woman. But when she
called Henriette's attention to the moving object the French girl cried,
under her breath:
"Oh! It is the countess! Look you, Mademoiselle Ruth, perhaps she will
speak to us."
"But there's something with her. It _is_ a dog," the American girl
declared.
"Why that is only Bubu, the old hound. He is always with the countess
when she walks out. He is a greyhound--see you? It is foolish,
Mademoiselle, to connect Bubu with the werwolf," and she shrugged her
plump shoulders.
Ruth paid more attention to the dog at first than she did to the lady
who held the loop of his leash. He wore a dark blanket, which covered
most of his body, even to his ears. His legs were long, of course, and
Ruth discovered another thing in a moment, while the car rolled nearer.
The thin legs of the slate-colored beast were covered with mud. That mud
was not yet dry. The dog had been running at large within the last few
minutes, the girl was sure.