the morning after the walk in the snow-storm lucy was alarmed to find bob pale, tired and strangely preoccupied. he would hardly answer her questions, and his weariness and obvious anxiety were both greater than the events of the day before could explain. lucy asked him, troubled enough herself without this added vexation:
“is there anything new, bob? won’t you tell me? or do you really feel worse?”
“my leg hurts a bit, but not enough to worry about. don’t bother, lucy, i’m all right.”
nothing more could she get out of him, and she had too much to decide for herself to spend any longer time coaxing his confidence.
it was wednesday, and not a holiday for her, but immediately after luncheon she went to miss pearse and begged the afternoon off duty. this was the harder as she did not want to explain her plan to anyone in the hospital, and least of all did she want any hint of it to reach bob’s ears. today was the day of elizabeth’s rendezvous, according to the letter which lucy had reread half a dozen times over the night before by her bedroom candle. if she was to discover her old nurse’s secret she must act to-day, and without bob’s help, for she was convinced that he was suffering again, and not for anything in the world would she have tempted him to fresh activity.
miss pearse was surprised at lucy’s request, but did not refuse consent. “where are you going?“ she asked. ”to coblenz? you’ll want the whole afternoon, then. i’ll have to take away your thursday half-holiday.“
“of course, i meant you to. oh, miss pearse, thanks ever so much. i’ll work twice as hard.”
miss pearse laughed, for this was one of lucy’s old habits, to run away from her duty on some adventure and make up for lost time later by a tremendous burst of energy. “be back by supper time,” she said, nodding good-bye.
lucy had found out earlier in the day that a motor-truck was leaving the hospital soon after luncheon for badheim with some of the convalescents. the driver promised to take her on to coblenz. her plans were vague enough. after turning over elizabeth’s strange conduct in her mind until she was weary she had come to no conclusion. her one purpose now was to see elizabeth, if possible, and, that failing, to find larry and ask his help in place of bob’s.
by three o’clock the truck left her at the door of her father’s house. it was a fine, sunny winter afternoon. the snow sparkled on the ground and the air was clear and bracing. the streets were crowded with people, many of whom stopped, with german inquisitiveness, to stare at lucy as she waited on the door-step.
the door was opened by an orderly who greeted her with, “oh, miss, i’m sorry. the general went out an hour ago. he didn’t say when he’d be home.”
“where’s elizabeth?” asked lucy, her pulse quickening with the words.
“elizabeth’s out, too, miss. she asked leave of the general this morning. gone to see a friend, i think.”
lucy entered the house and, going into her father’s study, sank down in his chair and caught hold of the telephone, thinking hard a minute. elizabeth’s absence made things real. there was no more time for hesitation. she called up larry and, to her tremendous relief, heard his voice answer.
“larry, it’s lucy,” she said hurriedly. “i’m at father’s. can you come here a minute? i wouldn’t ask you if it were not——”
“of course i’ll come,” larry interrupted. “why the excuses? i’ll be there in a jiffy.”
he rang off and lucy sat waiting, trying to piece her plan together as she fingered the letter once more withdrawn from her pocket.
“at nightfall,” she repeated to herself. “that means four or half-past. we haven’t much time to lose.”
in a quarter of an hour the bell rang, and lucy, going to the house door, found larry on the steps.
“hello, larry. thank you lots for coming. let’s walk, shall we? i’ll explain as we go,” she said, all in a breath.
the next moment they were threading their way along the street, larry’s blue eyes turned on lucy with a curiosity that refused to be suppressed. “i’m all ready to hear about it,” he said. “which way shall we go?”
“larry, can you get a launch? you told me the other day you took colonel wigmore’s when you needed one.”
“why, yes, i can get one. what for?”
“where is it? let’s walk in that direction.”
at lucy’s earnestness larry glanced keenly at her and answered, “all right. come straight across town to the embankment. there ought to be a launch along there that i can pick up. where do we go in it?”
lucy handed him elizabeth’s letter saying, “read that. i found it in the pocket of herr johann’s coat yesterday. bob is tired out and his leg hurts him. i wouldn’t let him know for anything. that’s why i’m begging you to help me. i want to follow elizabeth and see where she goes. you and i have often gone out on the river for an hour. no one need know the truth. we’ll find out why elizabeth meets franz. if she’s all right, i want to know it, and if she isn’t——”
lucy’s voice shook a little. she was too fond of elizabeth to face the discovery of her treachery without real sorrow. even now she could not believe in it, and her thoughts wavered wretchedly between doubt and confidence.
“larry, i don’t think she would deceive us! i can’t believe it!” she cried, as larry finished reading elizabeth’s note and handed it back to her.
“hum—looks queer,” was his comment. then, after a moment’s silence, “all right, lucy, we’ll go. and i’m going to take someone else along. you won’t mind when you see who it is.”
he turned to beckon to a passing soldier as he spoke and lucy did not hear his last words. they were nearing one of the tree-bordered walks of the rhine embankment.
“look, there’s an airplane,” said lucy, pointing across the river.
larry said a word to the soldier which sent the man, with a quick salute, down a near-by street. then he showed lucy a motor-boat moored to a little wharf at the river’s edge. “i suppose i’m wasting my breath, lucy, when i ask you to stay here and let us go on the wild-goose chase?”
“us? who’s us?” said lucy, ignoring the proposal. “i don’t want anyone else to know.”
“you won’t object to harding, will you?”
“major dick harding? is he here? is he coming?” cried lucy, forgetting for a moment her anxiety.
“yes. got here this morning. you remember bob wrote him asking about von eckhardt? he’s come with quite a bit of news, including some that will prove bob a good guesser. here he is now.”
major harding came swinging along at a quick walk, and his face lighted up at sight of larry’s companion.
“how are you, captain lucy?” he exclaimed, holding out his hand. “i thought you were in badheim. i was going out there to see you. what are you doing here?”
“we’re waiting for you, major harding,” said lucy, her excitement returning with the recollection of her strange errand. “we need your help.”
major harding glanced quickly from her to larry for confirmation. larry nodded, then said, “will you come out on the river with us, harding? there’s the boat. we’ll explain as we go. lucy’s got something up, as usual.”
major harding agreed and asked not another question until the motor-boat’s crew had pushed off from the dock and the swift little craft was moving up-stream with its three passengers. then larry handed him elizabeth’s letter, and repeated all he himself knew of elizabeth’s relations with franz and herr johann.
“we’re off on their trail now,” he finished. “we’d no time to explain to you on shore. what do you think, harding? lucy can’t believe elizabeth is up to mischief.”
lucy was watching the stars and stripes floating over the giant fortress of ehrenbreitstein, just across the river. now she lowered her eyes to major harding’s face.
he answered thoughtfully, “i can hardly believe it either, that elizabeth has turned traitor. yet how to explain this——” he glanced at the note in his hand. “as for von eckhardt, i told you, eaton, what i know of him. he’s one of the most bitter malcontents in germany. he has lost everything with the kaiser’s fall and he hates the republican government. he would league himself with no matter which enemy of ours now—anything to break up the allies and delay the peace.”
“but how? what can he do?” asked lucy, feeling once more as though it were only a dream that the war was over.
“lots of ways,” said major harding. “fortunately we’re on to the way he adopted, and i don’t think, as i told larry, that he’s got very far. what he’s doing here is only a small part of his plottings throughout germany. he’s a clever rascal.” he spoke low, glancing at the steersman.
“well, what is he doing?” asked lucy, her heart thumping as she put the question.
major harding saw her flushed face and laid a friendly hand on her arm, saying, “you’ll hear it all soon enough. let’s decide what we have to do now. to begin with, how is your precious elizabeth going to get across the rhine? and how are we to know her landing-place?”
“i’ve thought of that,” said larry. “she probably crossed on one of the barges that take over franz’ wood. as for the landing-place, we’ll have to look for it. five miles up, she said.”
as he spoke the boat sped past the village of cappellen, the castle of stolzenfels towering on the hill three hundred feet above. twilight began to darken the river and from the banks stray lights shone out. a torpedo boat cast its gleaming search-light over the water. the broad stream was almost deserted, a few scows were being towed along, and a river steamer passed, going toward mayence.
“we’d better go inshore, before it gets dark,” larry suggested. “we’ll have to trace them by the wood-barge. when i think of franz and his honest labors!” larry gave a sudden snort of indignation. then to the steersman he ordered, “go inshore and turn the search-light along the bank. are we five miles south of coblenz?”
“yes, sir, within a half-mile,” the man answered.
“this is guesswork, eaton,” major harding protested. “we can’t scour a mile of river shore in the dark. before we stumble on them they’ll have had their talk and gone home.”
“it’s not so hard as you’d think,” declared larry. “i know the banks pretty well along here. don’t throw the search-light over the shore, ed,” he directed the man by the steersman’s side.
the boat was drifting now, in the shadow of the bank. night had fallen and the moon was rising over the steep hillside that loomed above them.
“see there, harding?” larry continued, pointing inshore. “all along here are rocky or wooded slopes. do you see the bushes growing low along the bank? there are no vineyards for half a mile further. it’s fairly deserted. we have only to find the barge they came in.”
“there’s a light, larry,” lucy whispered, her heart hammering with nervous excitement. “what can it be?”
“it’s a house near the little hamlet below here, altheim, i think it’s called. shut off your search-light, ed.”
“there’s a barge, sir,” said the steersman, pointing ahead.
the boat’s passengers stared into the darkness, faintly lighted now by the moon touching the water with phosphorescent gleams. along the dark line of the shore a darker blot showed, and, as the boat floated nearer, a big, heavily-loaded barge came into sight, fastened to one of the small trees growing near the bank, and somewhat hidden by the bushes’ low-growing bare branches.
“push in here, rogers,” larry ordered. “can you make a landing?”
“i think so, sir. throw a light on, ed. why, yes, sir, here’s a bit of a dock.”
he cautiously floated the boat inshore and moored her alongside a little plank landing-stage.
“we must be near the hamlet,” said larry. “yes, there are the lights,” he added, parting the bushes and peering up the slope.
he sprang out, followed by major harding, who gave lucy a hand, saying doubtfully: “i don’t like your going with us, lucy. i don’t know where we are going, for that matter.”
“up to the hamlet,” said larry. “or not really to it, but to that lonely little cottage this side of it. we’ve only a hundred yards to climb.”
“i’m not afraid, major harding,” said lucy, still whispering. “i can’t feel frightened at meeting elizabeth.”
“come on,” said larry, leading the way over the rough, rising ground. “ed, you come, too. rogers, stay with the boat.”
“how do you know they are in that cottage?” asked major harding. “while we’re climbing the hill they may give us the slip.”
“i don’t know why i’m sure, but i am,” declared larry, refusing to be deterred. “don’t you see what an ideal place it is for a secret meeting? and though it’s so lonely, they’ve taken the added precaution of lighting only one candle. compare that faint glimmer with the lighted windows of the hamlet. and it’s the nearest house to the landing-stage. how are you, lucy? need a helping hand?”
“no, i’m all right.”
they had begun climbing the steep hillside, which was rocky underfoot, for the snow had barely clung there, with thickets at intervals, and groves of small trees rising black and bare in the moonlight. in ten minutes they neared the little house perched on the slope, with beside it a tiny orchard growing on a bit of fairly levelled ground. all was silent around it, and all dark, but for the moon, the lighted window hidden now by a turn in the rocky path.
lucy stopped, panting, in front of the cottage, and looked back down the slope at the broad, shining river, and inshore at the dozen twinkling lights of the hamlet. the wind was blowing over the heights with wintry bleakness. a shiver of cold and apprehension caught her, but she fastened her coat closer and plucked up her resolution. major harding and larry were beside her and curiosity was stronger in her than any other feeling—the longing to know the truth and be free from miserable doubts and misgivings.
“the windows have no curtains,” said larry softly. “let’s steal up and take a look.”
major harding complied in silence, his calm willingness suggesting to lucy that he did not expect to find anything surprising in the lonely little hillside shanty. she herself began to doubt larry’s premonitions, and was half prepared to see a harmless old german peasant couple sitting in the light of their solitary candle. so that when she had crept around the angle of the wall and, over larry’s shoulder, peeped into the little room where the candle burned she almost cried out in her amazement.
elizabeth was seated on a wooden chair not far from the window, her shawl thrown back from her head and her thin hands clasped nervously together. beside her sat franz kraft, looking thoroughly frightened and twisting his woolen cap constantly between his strong, lean fingers. both of them had their eyes raised toward a third person who had risen from his seat to stand before them, talking volubly, a burly, middle-aged german in rough countrymen’s clothes, with bristly hair and red, excited face. he spoke with authority, punctuating his words by gestures with the boatman’s visored cap he held in his hand.
“karl!” said lucy, catching her breath.
major harding echoed the word, his hand touching her arm.
at the other end of the little closed room a feeble fire burned, and before it sat an elderly man smoking a pipe and toasting his toes near the embers. he seemed quite indifferent to the talk that was going on around him.
larry leaned forward as near as he could without discovery and tried to catch karl’s eager words. but the night wind blew strongly through the frosty boughs of the orchard trees, and karl’s rapid german came to the listeners’ ears an unintelligible flood of speech.
“we shan’t learn anything this way,” major harding whispered.
lucy’s eyes were fastened on elizabeth’s face, reading in the features she knew so well the only possible reason for this seeming faithlessness. the little german woman’s eyes were soft, earnest and pleading as ever. their troubled glance spoke indecision, unhappiness, entreaty—anything but conspiracy.
“she came here to see karl,” lucy told herself, and, defending elizabeth, she sought hard to prove elizabeth’s companions innocent—to find the harmless explanation for which she longed. “franz brought her out of kindness. she dared not have karl come to coblenz.”
“i’m going in,” said major harding suddenly.
larry caught his arm. “what for? what reason will you give—the truth?”
“i have all the reasons i need—those i told you. franz’ conduct is enough, and i’d like to face karl müller——”
“elizabeth’s husband?” asked larry quickly. “ah-h—then she came here to see him.”
“yes, i rather think poor elizabeth has been a cat’s-paw in these rascals’ hands. the boatman had better come, too, eaton, though i don’t think they’ll show any violence.”
“there are two doors,” said larry. “ed, you guard the back one. here’s my revolver. let no one out.”
as larry spoke he stepped up to the front door of the cottage, lost in shadow beneath its spreading gable, and knocked loudly on the shaky casement, which rattled with his blows. immediately a deep silence succeeded karl’s rumbling voice. no answer, and larry rapped again, this time with determination.
“they’ve put out the candle,” said major harding, glancing around at the window. “don’t do any peeking, lucy. stay behind me. they may put up a fight.”
“all right. they can’t get out. i’ll watch the windows on this side,” said larry.
in another minute slow footsteps sounded within the cottage, hesitating inside the door. then the bolt was drawn, the door pulled open a few inches, and larry flashed his pocket-light into the frightened face of the old german householder who had sat crouched over the fire.
“what would you have, gentlemen?” he stammered.
major harding, hearing a shout from the back door, ran around to ed’s aid. larry, not answering the old man’s question, pushed open the door and entered with lucy behind him.
“light the candle,” he shouted in german. “no use hiding. we know who are here. franz kraft! karl and elizabeth müller! show yourselves—you’re caught.”
there was a murmur of speech in the next room, which lucy recognized as elizabeth’s voice, pleading tremblingly with someone. a match was scratched and the candle lighted just as major harding and ed appeared from the back door, holding karl firmly between them.
“karl tried to escape,” major harding explained. “he gave ed a vicious punch in the ribs, but no worse damage. the others all right?”
“yes,” larry nodded, looking about the little room, still dim in spite of candle and fire-light.
elizabeth had covered her face with her shaking hands. now in her astonishment she lowered them to falter out, “miss lucy—here!” she sank down to avoid scrutiny in a shadowy corner, for karl had turned on her with a savage frown darkening his hard face.
franz stood shuffling his feet together, and casting odd glances from the cottage window down the steep hillside.
“what’s he looking for?” larry asked himself. lucy could not help doing what she now did, though the explanation of the whole strange affair was still remote from her. she crept around to her old nurse’s side, and in the shadow, dropped down by elizabeth’s crouching figure and caught hold of her thin, trembling hands.
“never mind, elizabeth, it’s all right—i believe in you,” she whispered, hardly thinking what she said. “no one is going to hurt you. only tell the truth—whatever it is.”
elizabeth’s hand pressed lucy’s in a quick grateful clasp, but, apart from a little gasping sigh, she made no answer. her eyes were turned to karl, whom larry had begun to question.
“what are you doing here?” he asked in english.
karl protested with an eagerness almost like violence, “no harm, captain. i my wife came to see.” he waved his big arm toward elizabeth in confirmation.
“that’s not quite good enough. why make such a secret of it? why must franz arrange the meeting? and why were you so anxious to get away that you attacked the soldier i put on guard at the back door?”
karl hesitated for an instant, then plunged on, trying to speak confidently, “i dared not in the day cross the rhine, captain, because i thought the americans do not friendly to me feel. i thought better keep quiet—for my wife’s sake.”
“thoughtful of elizabeth, as usual,” remarked major harding, stepping into the candle-light.
here was another surprise for karl, and not a pleasant one. “you? it is you, lieutenant—i mean major?” he stammered, staring.
“yes, another of your old friends. you say you came here to see elizabeth. how did it happen that franz arranged the meeting? how came he to interest himself?”
at this elizabeth rose to her feet and started hastily forward. “major harding!” she begged, “one moment listen! franz knew karl because they had a little business of selling wood together. franz somehow learned that i was in coblenz. he offered to take me to see karl, for one year i had not seen him. but, because karl was afraid to cross the river—for he feared to meet general gordon or mr. bob—franz fixed it that i might cross and meet karl here. there is no wrong in that, major—except a little secrecy. i the truth tell you!”
major harding looked at elizabeth’s honest, pleading eyes, at the hands clasped on her breast, and slowly nodded.
“i believe you, elizabeth,” he said. “but i believe you have been fooled. you were meant to do just what you are doing—by your known honesty to whitewash von eckhardt and his crew. it wasn’t a bad idea, for it almost succeeded. don’t you know anything at all about their schemes? what was karl saying to you before we came in?”
he spoke low, knowing that karl was listening like a fox, but elizabeth answered frankly:
“he talked a little of the fatherland—how poor it was and how bitter was defeat. he said we must work for germany. i, too, was willing—many poor there are around us here.”
“but that wasn’t the kind of work he meant,” said major harding. “i suppose he’d have got to it presently.” suddenly changing into german he asked franz, “why did you bring frau müller here?”
“to see her husband, herr captain,” franz answered, breathing hard. “we germans befriend each other. why are you angry?“
“come, harding, don’t you see there’s only one way?” said larry, losing patience.
“yes,” major harding nodded. “step over here, karl.”
“ed, keep an eye on franz,” said larry, as karl slowly advanced to the table on which the candle burned. “karl, hands up,” he ordered.
the german obeyed in silence, his red face flushing deeper with apprehension, his shrewd eyes turning with frightened haste from larry to major harding in hope of some chance of conciliation.
“i the little savings from the wood-sellings have with me——” he faltered, obviously racking his brain for a plausible story.
in silence larry took from his pockets a revolver, a half dozen cartridges, about two hundred marks in money, a promissory note for eighty marks signed by von eckhardt, and, lastly, a square of pasteboard on which was stamped a pilot’s license to navigate a steam tug or launch between cologne and mayence.
all during larry’s search karl cast beseeching glances toward his captors, thrusting his tongue out between his teeth in his agonized attempt to find some satisfactory explanation.
“nothing wrong, just my business. the herr officers don’t accuse me of anything—is it not so?” he jerked out with a feeble assumption of frankness. “surely the war is over.”
“now, franz,” said larry, turning his attention to the woodcutter, who stood by, silent and morose as ever.
this search revealed nothing of interest but a key, which larry guessed to be that of herr johann’s lodge. reminded of franz’ arrogant master, he inquired:
“franz, where is herr johann? why didn’t he come with you?”
instead of answering, as larry expected he would, that herr johann had nothing to do with karl’s and elizabeth’s meeting, franz started, looked again toward the window, then back at larry, with terror in his eyes. his sour lips opened in desperate haste, though all he managed to say was to mutter, “i do not know where he is, herr officer.”
lucy, now satisfied of elizabeth’s innocence, watched her old nurse’s unhappy face with a warm throb of pity, and could hardly forgive herself for her suspicions.
“tell me, major harding,” she begged, while larry was questioning karl, “why did they want to bring her here? i don’t yet quite see what they got out of it.”
“don’t you? if they were caught they could claim her as an ally. she would protest innocence and would probably be believed. they needed karl to work with them near coblenz, and elizabeth was a fine excuse for his presence. i suppose as soon as karl knew she was in coblenz he agreed to make up with her.”
“but what is it they are doing? you didn’t tell me?” lucy asked with breathless eagerness.
“come, harding,” said larry, before the elder officer could reply. “don’t you think we’d better start? we can take them all in the boat. it must be after six o’clock.”
lucy thought confusedly, “elizabeth ought to be cooking father’s dinner.” suddenly she exclaimed, “what’s that?”
two shots had sounded from below the hill along the river bank. they were followed by a shout which echoed among the rocky slopes. lucy and the two officers ran to the window, but below the hillside all was dark where the moonlight did not penetrate.
“what on earth,” larry muttered. “let’s go, harding. that didn’t come from the hamlet. it sounded right by the landing-stage. rogers has a pistol, but why should he fire? come on!”
“don’t be too hasty. we’ve got these men to guard. easy enough for them to bolt.”
“ed, you guard franz,” larry ordered. “i’ll take karl, harding, and you might give a hand to lucy. elizabeth isn’t going to run away.”
lucy was still standing by the window, peering out into the moonlight and shadow. as larry stopped speaking she heard the sound of footsteps running up the hillside and across the level. a figure appeared in the moonlight around one angle of the cottage and a panting voice shouted:
“dick! larry! where are you?”
“it’s bob,” said lucy with a gasp.
larry ran to the front door and threw it open. bob, dressed for flying, came in breathless, staring around him in amazement. then, “lucy! you here?” he said.
“oh, bob, i didn’t tell you on purpose,” lucy cried, glancing at bob’s leg, his safety more to her now than the track of the conspirators. “i hoped you wouldn’t know!”
larry grinned in spite of himself. “better not try to fool each other again,” he said. “but the shots, bob, what were they?”
“i fired them, to scare von eckhardt back to shore. i’ve got him safe enough. your steersman is guarding him. he came in a motor-boat.”
“here’s the pilot,” said larry, pointing to karl.
“what, karl!” bob made no effort to conceal his disgust and annoyance. “so you had to turn up again!” turning from the german, who was regarding him with a funny mixture of terror and would-be friendly humility, bob said to larry, “von eckhardt must have had other errands along the river while karl was busy here. he has another fellow running his boat—an idiot who couldn’t reverse his engines fast enough to get away from me.”
“ludwig, that is,” explained karl ingratiatingly. “he is a real donkey, mr. bob.”
