WHERE IS TOM CAMERON?
That the peasants of the surrounding territory should believe in that
old and wicked legend of the werwolf was not to be considered strange.
There is not a country in Europe where the tale of the human being who
can change his form at will to that of a wolf, is not repeated.
Ruth Fielding had come across the superstition--and for the first time
in the company of Charlie Bragg--as she had approached the town of
Clair to begin her work in that hospital some months before.
This same white figure which they had both now glimpsed had crossed the
road, flying as it was now toward the trenches. The werwolf, as the
superstitious French peasants declared it to be, crossed both to and
from the battle line; for it was frequently seen.
It was of this mystery Henriette Dupay had spoken in the library of the
chateau that very afternoon. The Dupays believed absolutely in the
reality of the werwolf.
Only, they were not of those who connected the "Thing" with the lady of
the chateau. Although Ruth Fielding had reason to believe that the
police authorities trusted the Countess Marchand and were sure of her
loyalty, many of the peasants about the chateau believed that the
werwolf was the unfortunate countess herself in diabolical form.
And even Ruth could not help feeling a qualm, as she saw the
fast-disappearing creature--ghost or what-not--that fled into the
darkness.
"Gosh!" murmured the slangy Charlie Bragg. "Enough to give a fellow
heart-disease. I thought I was going to run it down."
"I wonder," said Ruth slowly, as he again started the car, "if it would
not have been a good thing if you had run it down."
"Can't bust up a ghost that way, Miss Ruth," he returned, beginning to
chuckle again.
"Talk sense, Charlie," she urged, forgetting for the moment the subject
of the suspicion resting upon Tom Cameron and giving her mind to this
other mystery. "You know, I've an idea this foolishness about a white
wolf can be easily explained."
"Go ahead and explain," he returned. "I'm free to confess it's got me
guessing."
"I believe it is the big greyhound, Bubu, that belongs to the Chateau
Marchand. It is sent on errands to and from the frontier."
"Canine spy?" chuckled Charlie.
"I don't know just what he does. But I did think that the old serving
woman, Bessie, that the countess brought with her from Mexico so many
years ago, knew all about Bubu's escapades. But Bessie is not at the
chateau now."
"Oh," said Charlie, "she was the woman who went off with those two
crooks who helped your friend, Mrs. Rose Mantel, rob the Red Cross
supply department."
"Not _my_ friend, I should hope!" Ruth said sharply, for the matter
Charlie touched upon was still a tender subject with the girl.
Her mind dwelt for a moment upon the presence of Major Henri Marchand
at the chateau. He was there, and the greyhound, Bubu, was running at
large again at night. Was there not something significant in the two
facts? But she said nothing regarding this suspicion to the ambulance
driver.
Instead, she came back to the subject which had occupied their minds
previous to the appearance of the white object that had crossed the
road.
"Of course, it is quite ridiculous," she said, "to think of Tommy
Cameron doing anything at all treacherous. I can imagine his doing
almost anything reckless, but always on the right side."
"Some little hero, is he?" chuckled Charlie Bragg.
"I think he is the stuff of which heroes are made--just like yourself,
Charlie Bragg."
"Oh! I say!" he objected. "Now you are getting personal."
"Then don't try to be funny with me," declared Ruth earnestly. "I have
too good an opinion of all our well-brought-up American boys--to which
class both Tom and you belong--to believe that any of them could be
made under any conditions to betray their fellows."
"Oh, as to that!" he admitted. "Nor any of our roughnecks, either.
We've got a mighty fine army over here, rank and file. Deliberately, I
doubt if any of them would give information to the Heinies. But they
do say that when the Huns capture a man, if they want information, they
don't care what they do to him to get it. The old police third degree
isn't a patch on what these Boches do."
"I am not afraid that even torture would make Tom do anything mean,"
she said, with a little sob. "But these officers back there at that
cottage must actually believe that he has gone over to the enemy."
"If Cameron is the fellow I heard about this morning," Charlie said
gloomily enough, "it is generally believed that he has been two days
beyond the lines--and he didn't _have_ to go."
"Oh! Impossible!"
"I'm repeating what I heard. This flurry during the afternoon is an
outcome of his disappearance. The German guns caught a train of
ammunition camions and smashed things up pretty badly. Many tricks
like that pulled off will make us mighty short of ammunition in this
sector. Then Heinie can come over the top and do with us just as he
pleases. Naturally, if the boys believe Cameron is at fault, they are
going to be as sore on him as a boil."
"It would be utterly impossible for Tom to do such a thing!" the girl
declared with finality.
Her assurance made the matter no less terrible. Ruth had no belief at
all in Tom's willingly giving himself up to the enemy. Had there been
a hundred witnesses to see him go, she would have denied the
possibility of his being a traitor.
But she was very silent during the rest of that wild ride. Now and
then they were stopped by sentinels and had to show their papers. At
least, the Red Cross girl had to show hers. Charlie was pretty well
known by everybody in this part of the war zone.
They would come to a dugout in the hillside, or a half-hidden hut, and
be challenged by a sentinel, or by one of the military police. A
pocket lamp would play upon Ruth's face, then upon her passport, and
the sentinel would grunt, salute, and the car would plunge on again.
It seemed to Ruth as though this went on for hours.
All the time her brain was active with the possibilities surrounding
Tom Cameron's disappearance. What could really have happened to him?
Should she write to Helen in Paris, or to his father in America, of the
mystery? Indeed, would the censor let such news pass?
Once she had believed Tom seriously wounded, and for several days had
hunted for him, expecting to find him mutilated. Fortunately her
expectations at that time had been unfounded.
It seemed now, however, as though there could be no doubt but something
very dreadful had happened to her friend. Added to his peril, too, was
this awful suspicion that others seemed to hold regarding Tom's
faithfulness.
It was going to be very hard, indeed, for Ruth Fielding to keep her
mind on her work in the Red Cross while this uncertainty regarding
Lieutenant Cameron remained.