CHAPTER XXIV
Most of the communications between Belinda and Frank Sanderson during this forenoon had been of the most casual kind—a glance, a whispered word, a sly pressure of the hand. But now she must give the strangely worded note, presumably from Monsieur Renaud, to the wounded aviator.
There were cases being removed from the ward each day and fresh ones being brought in; so the work of temperature taking, wound dressing, chart writing, and all the other routine duties, went on much as they had when Belinda's ward was part of a French field station.
She was fully as busy now as she ever had been, save that she did not have so many serious cases at one time as she had had when the great battle began in the winter. The Germans had brought another hospital unit into this field; and although the guns poured their iron hail into the lines of living men, day and night, this particular hospital unit to which Belinda was now attached was not over-worked.
The girl was being worn out, however, physically and mentally. After six months of work under the rules of the FrenchCroix Rougeshe had been entitled to a furlough, andMadame la Directricehad urged her to take it.
"One can never tell when one's chance may come again. Besides, it is a good rule to take all one is entitled to in this world—and a little bit more!"
Belinda now saw the wisdom in this very practical and particularly French observation. Two weeks in Paris with Aunt Roberta would have been heavenly! So the exhausted Red Cross nurse thought as she went about her duties on this day. And if she could only have Frank there, to nurse him properly!
She slipped the paper Erard had given her, with a whispered word, into Frank's hand. Then, at another time, there was opportunity to discuss it.
"Do you suppose itisfrom that Monsieur Renaud?" Belinda asked.
"Undoubtedly. It would be like him to use just such means of communication—to warn me against the very man who bore the note," Frank returned, chuckling. "Ah, Renaud is a sharp one."
"But to suggest poor Erard is not to be trusted!"
"Perhaps I understand better than you do. Do you know much about Erard? About what he was before the war?"
"Why—no. He has never been communicative. I do not know, even, that he has a family. I am sure he never receives mail. But I believe him to be utterly and abandonedly French. And how he does hate the Kaiser!" Belinda whispered.
"It may be. Even thejoyeuxof theBataillon d'Afriqueare good patriots—and, as the whole world knows, they are convicts," Sanderson told her.
"Renaud was attached in the days before the war to that section of the Paris police that has intimately to do with the apaches—the dwellers in that underworld of Paris that everybody writes about and so few really know anything about.
"Renaud became somewhat communicative with me. This was the third time I had taken him across the lines."
"But to accuse poor Erard!" protested Belinda, who felt personally hurt by the fling at herinfirmier.
"The hero's coat is not always white," Sanderson reminded her. "At the last gasp it was the denizens of the Paris underworld that held back the Germans until the British could get over. Ordinary thieves, beggars, blackguards of every type, filled those thousands of taxis that were the last resort of the brave defenders of the city, when the government had already left. And they fought like rats in a pit, because theywererats—the gutter-rats of Paris—the apaches.
"It might be that our Erard may have had a much worse reputation before the war than he has gained here in this hospital."
"Oh, I cannot think of him so! He is so unselfish, so kind to me, so thoughtful."
"And who wouldn't be to you, sweet Belinda?" murmured Frank in English. "Who indeed could be unkind to you?"
There was no time to explain to Sanderson who might be—who was, indeed!—very unkind to her. Nor did she wish to worry him if she could help it about Doctor Herschall, save to warn him that if the surgeon came through the ward, to do nothing or say nothing to arouse suspicion in the Prussian's mind.
"Oh, I am German," the aviator told her, laughing lightly. "I learned that poor fellow's name by the light of the burning aeroplanes. So I am August Gessler—some Swiss blood in me supposedly, from the name I bear. Ah, we are both sailing under false colors, it seems, Nurse Genau."
But Belinda could not take the matter lightly.
Doctor Herschall showed the cloven hoof again that day. He sent for Belinda to come to the operating ward and kept her there for several hours to aid him in certain delicate operations. She really had very little to do but to hand him instruments and the like, as she was wont to do in the New York hospital.
Doctor Herschall gave her a shock—as he intended, of course—just before she went back to her hut.
"Hum! I was told you crossed on theBelle o' Perth, Miss Belinda," he said in English. "And Sanderson, who was attempting to fly and came to the hospital to be patched up, was in your party. Your little friend, Miss Blaine, told me," he added maliciously.
"Mr. Sanderson was aboard, yes," answered Belinda, secretly shrinking from him. "He was not of my party. Only Aunt Roberta traveled with me."
"Hum! What became of him? Did he attempt to join the French Flying Corps?"
"He told me in Paris," said the girl honestly, and in full command of herself now, "that he expected to go to an aviation school."
"Hum! Playing—playing. Always playing, these rich young Americans," said Doctor Herschall scornfully. "I do not presume even the inefficient French would trust a fellow like Sanderson with any real work over the lines. Hum!
"Now, there is that brave chap you have in your ward, Miss Belinda," he pursued. "Gessler is his name? Yes. August Gessler. I have looked up his record. One of our bravest airmen, with many adventures to his credit.
"How does he mend, Fräulein?" he asked her suddenly.
"Very well indeed, Doctor," replied Belinda composedly. The more anger she felt beneath the surface because of his slighting way of speaking about Frank Sanderson, the cooler she grew outwardly.
"Bring him along, Nurse—bring him along," urged the Herr Doktor. "He is needed. Those in high places have already inquired kindly for Herr Lieutenant Gessler. By the way, was he in uniform when he was brought to your ward?"
"No, sir," Belinda said distinctly. "I—I suppose his uniform must have been destroyed in the accident."
"Soh? Hum! I will make inquiries. There might be something of value belonging to the brave aviator at the spot where he fell with the Frenchman. Hum! Remind me, Nurse. I will have the matter looked into."
She fled from him then and reached her ward just as darkness was falling. With an effort she recovered her calm and walked down the aisle, speaking to each of her charges kindly—even to Ernest. The latter sulkily turned his back upon her and would not reply.
Kneeling swiftly beside Sanderson, she put her lips close to his ear.
"Frank! Frank! could there be anything left at the place where you fell with the German that could identify you?"
He asked no question, alert on the instant.
"I burned all my outer clothing; even my brass badge went into the fire. And, of course, I carried nothing in my pockets of an incriminating nature."
"All were burned?"
"I believe so. With the body of the poor German. Poor fellow. Hold on! Just one thing that might not be destroyed—melted down. My canteen."
"Oh!"
"My name is painted on it: 'Frank Sanderson—Pilote Aviateur.' If the fire was hot enough it would burn off the enamel."
He asked her why she was so suddenly anxious about this matter and she was obliged to tell him.
"Then this Herr Doktor is not your friend, but your enemy?" Sanderson asked.
"And your enemy," she was forced to say. "A deadly enemy if he learns who you are. Oh, Frank, this is a dreadful situation! A word from him and we are utterly lost."
Sanderson smiled grimly.
"And a word from your Cousin Carl, or your Cousin Paul, or from Erard, it seems, and we are lost. Pshaw! Let us not lose our courage. We are Americans, Belinda."
"Oh!" cried the Red Cross nurse under her breath, "I wish we were back in dear America again! I—I am frightened, Frank."
She had to leave him then. She feared some of the others had noted her special attentions to the wounded aviator. Jacob said:
"Ach, Fräulein, it warms my old heart to see your kindness to that brave man. He flies and fights for the Fatherland. He is worthy of any good woman's love."
"I am afraid you are an impudent old man, Jacob," she told him, yet smiling. "You are as bad as my cousins, Carl and Paul. They think of nothing but love making."
"Ach, diese Kinder!But, Love and War—they always go hand in hand."
Belinda must learn what had been done to Erard in way of punishment for his escapade before she sought her bed that night. Carl Baum was disgusted regarding the affair.
"What do you suppose the Herr Lieutenant did?" demanded the corporal of his cousin. "Der schlaue Fuchsrecited the Marseillaise for the Herr Lieutenant and—Herr Gott!—with that harelip of his, it was the funniest thing I ever listened to," admitted Carl.
"He presented that ancient hen to the Herr Lieutenant, too. Then he danced—as he swore they do in the sewers and cesspools of Paris.Ach!that Erard of yours is a fine fellow. He knows all the thieves and blackguards in Paris, I have no doubt. You should see him act when he is drunk. The Herr Lieutenant laughed."
This report made Belinda very serious for more than one reason. What Sanderson had told her of Renaud's knowledge of the underworld characters of the French capital and this talk of Carl, seemed to dovetail to make theinfirmiera very different person from what she had supposed Erard to be.
However, she felt it her duty to do what she could for him. She went to the Herr Lieutenant Count von Harden to beg the favor of Erard's release.
"And by my life, Fräulein!" declared the count, "I know not what to do with him unless it is to let you have him. He is no good as an ordinary prisoner to us, that is certain. He can neither dig nor fight.
"But he must not be allowed to escape again at night. I tell you! He shall be made to sleep in the guardhouse. He is not to be trusted to watch your ward. You may have him to assist you during the day. At night he must be a prisoner. But let him sleep off his potations now."
"Many thanks,gnädiger Herr," Belinda said.
"The pleasure is mine," the young nobleman replied, his mean little eyes devouring the figure of the nurse in her neat uniform.
She had come to his quarters outside the hospital enclosure with a permit from the Herr Doktor. The lieutenant had established himself royally in what had been the village inn, and because of his wealth and station had half a dozen orderlies and servants at his call.
"Is there nothing more I can do for you, my pretty Fräulein?" urged the lieutenant, rising to approach her. "Life is none too gay in this forlorn spot, but a bottle of good wine helps one to forget these horrors of war," and he laughed. "Have you supped, Mademoiselle?"
"Thank you sir," she said quietly. "We nurses are forbidden any gaiety while on duty."
"Soh? Even the French nurses?" he inquired slyly.
She laughed as lightly as she could under the circumstances. Yet she well understood that he hinted of secret information regarding her true identity. "I am scarcely French, Herr Lieutenant. I am of American birth and partly German ancestry. I could not sup with you in any case. The Herr Doktor would forbid it, I am sure."
"Poof! for the Herr Doktor," cried the lieutenant.
"Not so," and she laughed again, evading his out-stretched hand, while she approached the open door swiftly. "He knows where I am, for I had to state my desire to obtain permission to leave the hospital."
"Pshaw! these regulations are accursed," he cried. Then, glancing through the window: "It is quite dark, Mademoiselle. Let me escort you, at least." He seized his helmet and tossed his cloak over his shoulder.
"Oh, do not bother, pray, Herr Lieutenant!" she exclaimed.
"It is a pleasure, I assure you," he said, and tramped out of the room and down the echoing stairway after her.
Belinda felt like fleeing. But the way truly was dark, and if she ran she might anger the Herr Lieutenant. Also, how undignified to run through the deserted village with this tall Prussian officer in hot pursuit!
"Really, sir," she begged, turning toward him at the street door, "I wish you would let me go alone."
A dark figure stood at attention on the porch.
"Who have we here?" demanded Count von Harden coolly.
"Sergeant-major Genau, Excellency," announced the hoarse voice of Paul. "To attend the nurse to her quarters."
"Ah! The good Paul!" said the lieutenant, chuckling. "And dost thou so carefully watch over thy pretty cousin?Ach!perhaps it is as well. My service, Fräulein. Good-night."