Grace Harlowe with the American Army on the Rhine

“You are to – ”

An orderly rapped on the door and saluted as the colonel wheeled on him.

“What is it?” demanded the officer.

“Orders, Herr Colonel. The enemy has heard that a woman is being detained here. Unless she is released and given safe conduct to the bridge before twelve o’clock to-day they threaten to come and get her.”

Grace understood every word of the conversation, but not so much as the flicker of an eyelash indicated that she did. She was not yet out of her difficulties and a slip, even in the face of that order, might prove her undoing.

“What shall you do, Herr Colonel?” demanded the German woman.

The colonel shrugged his shoulders.

“They would not dare to do it,” added the Frau.

“You do not know. They eagerly await the chance, the schweinhunde! See that she has safe conduct, but it must not be known that we have detained her here,” he said, turning to the orderly. “We shall have to give up our quarters and go elsewhere. Tell them, when the woman is turned over, that she was taken in seriously hurt, and that she was held only until she could safely go away. Tell them that she would have died had she been left uncared for. No names are to be mentioned. Understand?”

“Yes, Herr Colonel. I will go with her. Is she to go now?”

“Yes.” He turned savagely to Grace. “Frau Gray,” he announced in English that was quite broken, “had I known yesterday who you were you would not now be here. There are those who would not treat you as we have treated you, were they to know who you are. Do not presume to come to Germany again, intentionally or unintentionally. If you do you may not go back. That is all.” The Herr Colonel strode from the room, and the woman hurried after him. Then the orderly beckoned to Grace to follow him, after discovering that she “could not understand German.” Grace smiled and nodded and dutifully followed the soldier down the stairs.

It was quite a distance down, but not once during their journey to the outer air did Grace see a person. The old castle might have been deserted, and probably was. There was a difference when they got into the village. The streets were filled with chattering, gesticulating men, women and children. Some appeared to know who she was so far as her arrival in a parachute was concerned; others saw or had heard that she was an American.

That was not a pleasant walk for Grace Harlowe Gray, though it was an interesting one to her. The sidewalks were lined with spectators, some stolid and sullen, others quite the opposite. The latter were in the majority and the American girl frequently was jeered at and poked at with fingers. A woman slapped her, but, though Grace’s face burned, she did no more than look at the woman calmly, unemotionally. Several times she heard the word “spy” hurled at her in German and smiled to herself. It was an interesting study in psychology to Grace Harlowe, even if she were the object of the demonstration.

“Isn’t she pretty?” demanded a male voice in German.

Grace flashed a look in that direction to see who had uttered the words. She saw a German officer and an attractive-looking young woman backed up against a store front.

“Pretty? How can you say that of an American?” demanded the young woman. “She is as hideous and as ugly as no doubt her soul is black.”

“You are a true German, Fraulein,” exclaimed the German officer enthusiastically.

Grace grinned, though the characterization hurt her more than she cared to admit to herself. With every step after that she expected to encounter violence, but it was not until she neared the bridge that she did. Some one threw a stone. It was a small stone, but the thrower, as Grace concluded later when thinking over the occurrence, must have been a member of a Hun bomb squad. It hit and knocked the Overton girl down.

Grace got up dizzily. Blood was trickling down her cheek. Her escort appeared to be wholly indifferent to her plight, and did not even rebuke the one who threw the stone. Fortunately for Grace it was a small stone, else she would not have gotten up quite so readily.

“This is a sample of Hun ‘kultur,’ I presume?” she said in German, addressing her conductor.

The orderly glanced at her inquiringly.

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” he demanded.

“No, I wouldn’t speak the language if it were the only language in the world,” she retorted, again in German, but refused to utter another word in the language.

“The woman is to pass,” directed the orderly, presenting a pass to the sentry on duty at the bridge; then he turned abruptly and left Grace to get along as best she might.

“Courtesy appears to have been neglected in the education of these people,” muttered Grace. “However, I should not be amazed at that, knowing the Boches as I do after my many months on the western front. Thank goodness I am free, I hope, for good and all. Now I suppose I shall have a hard time getting into our lines.”

Grace did have a hard time. She was promptly halted by an American sentry, who, calling the corporal of the guard, turned her over to him. Grace demanded to be taken before Captain Boucher of the Intelligence Department, which was done because orders had been given to that effect.

Captain Boucher gazed at the ragged figure for a few seconds, his gaze traveling up to the face, from which the blood had not all been wiped away. He was on his feet in an instant.

“Mrs. Gray!” he exclaimed. “You are wounded!”

“Nothing to speak of, sir. Merely a little memento of Boche ‘kultur.’ In other words I was stoned out of Germany.” Grace smiled that winning smile that always won people to her. “I am quite all right, but my clothing and my hair are simply impossible. I wish it were dark, for I do dread to go through the streets here in my present disgraceful condition.”

“This is an outrage. Were I the general in command of this army I’d have those hounds down on their knees!” raged the captain.

“That is what they need, sir. Those people need to have the arrogance beaten out of them. I am not saying this in any spirit of revenge, nor for what they did to me.”

“I understand – I understand. I will call a car to take you to your billet. Your signal from the castle was seen by one of our agents before the army got here. Then later Major Colt escaped and swam the Rhine, and he too reported it. He saw your Morse message just as he reached the bank on this side. When you are able I shall wish you to tell me what occurred over there.”

“I will tell you now, if I may.” Grace took up the narrative from the time of her landing in the vineyard, giving him only such information as she knew to be of military interest. The Intelligence officer listened with close attention.

“You should be in the secret service,” he declared after she had finished. “By what means do you think the Germans got information about you?”

“Pigeon or spy, sir. Pigeon most likely. You have not found the guilty one, have you, sir?”

“We have not.” The captain pinched his lips together. “I think we shall have to ask you to run this spy matter down, Mrs. Gray.”

CHAPTER XVI

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.

CHAPTER XVII

THE TREACHERY OF THE HUN

FORTUNATELY for those in the canteen the heavy framework of the building stood up under the blast, so though they were buried in the wreckage it was comparatively light wreckage.

Major Colt and one soldier suffered the most, the major being hit on the head with a piece of galvanized iron roofing and knocked unconscious. It was Grace Harlowe who raised the piece from his body and dug him out of the mess, though she herself was dazed almost to the point of losing herself. In the midst of the confusion she found herself thinking of Elfreda, who had not yet come on for the evening, though darkness had fallen, and Grace was thankful.

After getting the officer out, Grace plunged into the wreckage again, for the canteen had caught fire and there were still others to be rescued. By this time doughboys had rushed to the scene, two grabbing her and fairly throwing her out. They ordered her to stay out, but not before she had dragged out Marie and made her as comfortable as possible.

Major Colt had recovered consciousness by the time she got to him.

“Wha – at was it?” he asked weakly.

“Ammunition dump, I think.”

“Hun work!” he growled.

“Looks like it. I hope our people will get busy now. Is there anything I can do for you? If not I must look after Marie. She got a hard rap on the head, same as you did.”

“If you will have some one help me to my quarters I think I shall be all right. Did you get me out?”

“Yes. Here, Buddy, will you please give Major Colt a lift?” she called to a passing soldier, and a moment later, after pressing Grace’s hand, the balloonist was being guided to his billet. Grace, in the meantime, had assisted Marie to her feet and was leading her toward the house in which the welfare workers were living.

Only a short distance away from the canteen shells were going up with loud bangs, and this racket kept up for half an hour, until the last of the ammunition dump had been destroyed, wounding many persons, but fortunately having killed only two men. Doughboys soon put out the fire in the canteen, but all gave the ammunition dump a wide berth.

Reaching the house the Overton girl was met by Elfreda, who had been considerably shaken up by the explosion, which had crashed every window in the house.

“Ammunition dump blown up,” Grace informed Elfreda in answer to the latter’s glance of inquiry. “Here we are, Marie. I will put you to bed, then I must hurry back. Elfreda, you had better go out with me. We may be needed, if they should wish to transfer the canteen to-night.”

Mrs. Smythe was in her room. Grace observed that her face was pale and lined.

“Wha – wha – what has happened?” she gasped.

“Nothing very much except that an ammunition dump has blown up. I have seen many of them go up, but never one quite so near. The canteen is wrecked, Mrs. Smythe. Have you orders for us?”

“N – n – n – no!” stammered the supervisor. “Y – ye – yes. Go out and find out all you can, then come back and report to me.”