THE HOLLOW TOOTH
Bubu had been running at large--and in the daytime. He had come from
the north. Ruth believed the dog had crossed the lines and just now
had arrived at the chateau after his long and perilous journey.
Yet for a greyhound the fifteen or twenty kilometers between the
chateau and the battle front was a mere nothing. At the rate the girl
had seen the "werwolf" flying over the fields, he must have covered
that distance faster than an automobile. And, too, he would take a
route much more direct.
The countess seemed to have forgotten Ruth's presence; but the girl
could not well draw her arm away and remain behind. Besides, she was
desperately eager to know what would be done to Bubu, or with him, now
that he had returned to the chateau. It was not unwillingly that the
girl accompanied the countess.
It was some distance around the great building to the rear. They came
upon the excited Dolge and the big dog, the latter lapping water out of
a pan near the well house.
"_Non_! _non_!" cried the countess warningly. "Not that, Dolge. He
must not be allowed too much cold water after his so-exciting run. It
is not good for him."
The gardener stooped to take the pan away, and the greyhound growled.
"Oh, la, la!" mumbled Dolge. "Name of a mouse! Would you butcher me,
you of bloody mind?"
Ruth noticed that the barrel of the greyhound was almost white, which
assisted in giving him that ghostly appearance at night.
The countess left Ruth and hurried forward. She did not stoop, but
with her foot she straightway overturned the pan, sending the water out
on the stones.
The dog looked up at her, wide-mouthed and with tongue hanging. But he
did not offer to molest her. He only dropped his head again, and with
his pink tongue sought to lap up the moisture from the stones.
"The collar, Dolge," commanded Madame la Countess.
The old man hobbled forward with the wide leather strap attached to the
chain. The strap was decorated with big brass rivet heads. She
buckled it around the neck of the panting dog. He lapped her hands.
"Ah, naughty one," she murmured, "would you run the fields like a wild
dog? The blanket, Dolge. He may take cold."
Already the gardener was bringing the covering. They fastened it about
Bubu, who finally shook himself and would have lain down had not the
countess said sharply:
"Nay, nay! All is not yet finished, Bubu. Open thy mouth--so!"
She forced open the big dog's jaws. Rather, at a touch he allowed her
to hold his dripping jaws apart.
"Dolge!" she demanded decisively, "can you see?"
"_Oui, oui, Madame_!" the old man chattered, shaking his head
vigorously. "But not for me will he keep his jaws apart. I am not to
be made into sausage-meat, I hope?"
The countess laughed at him. "Hold his mouth open, then. He would not
desire to bite; but----"
Ruth, amazed, saw her white fingers fumble inside the dog's open maw.
She pulled what seemed to be a white rubber cap from one of his
grinders. Quickly and skilfully, with a fine knitting needle, the
countess ripped from this rubber casing what the girl thought looked
like a twist of oiled paper.
"All right, my good Dolge. You may let him go," she said, hiding the
twist of paper in her palm. "Let him rest--poor fellow!"
She patted the greyhound with the sole of her slipper and the big dog
yawned; then laid his head upon his paws. He was still panting, his
sides heaving heavily. His legs and feet were bedaubed with mud.
"He has come a long way," the countess said coolly to Ruth. "Let us go
in, Mademoiselle. It must be that our tea is ready."
She seemed to consider Ruth quite worthy of her confidence. The
American girl knew that she was on the verge of an important discovery.
It could not be that Bubu carried messages to Germany to give aid and
comfort to the enemy! That suspicion was put to rest.
Bubu was being used to bring news from French spies across the battle
lines. Otherwise the countess would never have allowed Ruth to
discover this mystery of the "werwolf."
And how shrewd was the method followed in the use of the obedient dog!
A hollow tooth, which would be overlooked even if the enemy shot and
examined the animal.
Ruth wanted to ask a hundred questions; but she did not open her lips
It might be that the countess supposed she was already aware of the use
made of Bubu, and how he was used. The American girl had been brought
to the chateau by Monsieur Lafrane, the agent of the French secret
service bureau. And the countess knew, of course, his business.
As soon as they were in the library, where the tea things were laid,
the countess proceeded to smooth out the bit of paper and examine it
under a strong reading glass.
"Ah!" she cried, in a moment, her smooth cheeks flushing and her eyes
brightening. "He is well! My dear boy!"
Her joy urged Ruth to question her, yet the girl hesitated. Her eyes,
however, revealed to the countess her consuming curiosity.
"Mademoiselle!" exclaimed the old lady, "do you not _know_?"
"I--I don't know what you mean, Madame," stammered Ruth.
"It is from the count--my Allaire!"
"The message is from Count Marchand?" cried the girl, in utter
amazement.
"But yes. He does not forget his old mother. When able, he always
sends me word of cheer. Of course," she added, looking at the American
girl curiously now, "there is something else upon the paper. His
message to his mother is not a line. You understand, do you not?
Monsieur Lafrane, of course----"
"Monsieur Lafrane has never told me a word," Ruth hastened to say. "I
only suspected before to-day that Bubu carried messages back and forth
across the lines."
"Ah, but you are to be trusted," the countess said cheerfully. "We do
what the Anglais call--how is it?--'our little bit'? Bubu and I. He,
too, is French!" and she said it proudly.
"And for years, Mademoiselle, we have established this couriership of
Bubu's." She laughed. "Do you know what the farmers say of our
so-good dog?"
Ruth nodded. "I have heard the story of the werwolf. And, really,
Madame, the look of him as he runs at night would frighten anybody. He
is ghostly."
The countess nodded. "In that's his safety--and has been since before
the war. For, know you, Mademoiselle, _all_ France was not asleep
during those pre-war years when the hateful Hun was preparing and
preparing.
"My husband, Mademoiselle Fielding, was a loyal and a far-sighted man.
He did not play politics, and seek to foment trouble for the Republic
as so many of our old and noble families did. Now, thank heaven, they
are among our most faithful workers for la patrie.
"But, see you, Count Marchand owned a small estate near Merz, which is
just over the border in Germany. Sometimes he would go
there--sometimes to drink the waters, for there are springs of note,
perhaps for the hunting, for there is a great forest near. He would
always take Bubu with him.
"And so we taught Bubu to run back and forth between here and there.
He carried messages around his neck in those times. Quite simple and
plain messages, had he been caught at the frontier and examined.
"It was our Henri who resorted to the hollow tooth, and that since the
war began. Bubu had one big tooth with a spot on it. Henri knew an
American dentist in Paris. Ah, what cannot these Americans do!" and
the countess laughed.
"We took Bubu to Paris and had the decayed spot drilled out. The tooth
is sound at the root. The dentist made the hole as large as possible
and then we moulded the rubber caps to close it. You see how the
messages are sent?"
"Remarkable, Madame!" murmured Ruth. "But?"
"Ah? Who sends the messages from beyond the German lines? Now it is
Count Allaire himself," she hastened to explain. "In disguise he went
through the lines some weeks ago. The agent who was there came under
suspicion of the Germans."
"And he lives at the castle over there in Germany--openly?" gasped Ruth.
"Nay, nay! It is no castle at best," and the countess laughed. "It is
by no means as great a place as this. It was a modest little house and
is now the comfortable quarters of a fat old Prussian general.
"But upon the estate is the cottage of a loyal Frenchman. He was
gardener there in my husband's time. But as he bears a German name and
his wife is German, they have never suspected him.
"It is with this old gardener, Brodart, my son communicates; and it is
to him our good Bubu goes."
"But how can the dog get across No Man's Land?" cried Ruth. "I do not
understand that at all!"
"There are bare and bleak places between the lines which we know
nothing about," the countess said, shaking her head. "Not in all
places are the two armies facing each other at a distance of a few
hundred yards. There is the lake and swampland of Savoie, for
instance. A great space divides the trenches there--all of two miles.
Patrols are continually passing to and fro by night there, and from
both sides. A man can easily get through, let alone a dog.
"Hush!" she added, lowering her voice. "Of course, I fear nobody here
now. Poor Bessie--who was faithful to me for so many years--was
contaminated by German gold. But she was half German at best. It was
well the poor soul escaped as she did.
"However, my remaining servants I can trust. Yet there are things one
does not speak of, Mademoiselle. You understand? There are many good
men and true who take their lives in their hands and go back and forth
between the enemy's lines and our own. They offer their lives upon the
altar of their country's need."