CHAPTER XXVI
When Belinda finally found time to speak at length to Sanderson he had already received from Erard a full account of the lame man's meeting with the French spy, Renaud.
"We shall hear from Monsieur Renaud again," the aviator said confidently. "He is a really wonderful man, Belinda—a man of countless disguises and subterfuges. When I set him down in that field four days ago he drew on a peasant's smock, put his feet in sabots, and before I got my plane in the air again he was hobbling toward the village, the true picture of one of these old peasants, so decrepit and lame that even the Prussians fail to set them to work.
"I must get out of this bed and get my shoulder out of its plaster-cast as soon as possible. For in some way, by some means, I believe Renaud will give me a chance to escape. And with me, you, of course, Belinda. You must not remain longer in this perilous situation."
The nurse did not share in his sanguine feelings. But she hid her fears as best she could and, leaving the bedside of the wounded aviator, busied herself as usual about the ward.
She had spoken to the visiting physician previously about Ernest and that very morning the order came for the boy's removal to the convalescent camp. Jacob told him, and the unfortunate Ernest gave way to a violent fit of temper just as the Herr Doktor unexpectedly appeared on a round of visits.
Fortunately everything in Belinda's ward was in order. The Herr Doktor, in helmet, boots and cloak, and with his shining ebony cane, strode down the ward in his usual masterful manner. He asked a question here and there, but at the empty cot numbered seventeen he did not halt. That case had gone back to the operating table and was recorded in the annals of the hospital as one of the most successful operations of the Herr Doktor Herschall. But the patient had died.
Forewarned, Frank Sanderson was his usual calm self when the surgeon approached. But the aviator had his part to play. He sat up in bed and punctiliously saluted with his left hand when the inspecting surgeon drew near.
"Good day to you, Herr Lieutenant Gessler," said the surgeon sonorously. "I have a good report of you."
"Thank you for your interest, Herr Doktor," Sanderson responded. "Yet I shall not partake long of your hospitality here, I hope."
"No? That is a good word. Hum! I shall hope to see you——Was zum Teufel?" He turned swiftly, roaring his annoyance. Ernest had tugged at his cloak. "What do you mean, you young dog? Can you not wait your turn?"
"They send me to the convalescent camp, Herr Doktor," the boy cried. "Then it will be back to the trenches soon—Iknow. I cannot stand it. I will not——"
"Be still!" commanded Doctor Herschall with a sudden calmness that should have warned even Ernest of his danger. "Can you not see I am speaking with the Herr Lieutenant Gessler?"
"He? He?" repeated Ernest in his shrill voice. "He is no more the flying-man than I am."
Belinda turned toward Sanderson, a look of terror in her eyes.
The Herr Doktor's heavy cane delivered two cruel strokes across the boy's shoulders. Ernest shrieked, rolling on the floor. Belinda's intake of angry breath at this brutality was unnoticed by the enraged Herr Doktor as he wheeled and marched back up the ward.
The nurse, fearing the American would express in words the contempt and anger his features showed for the man who had committed the cruel act, sprang forward and placed her hand upon the aviator's lips, standing there while Doctor Herschall strode out of the hut.
"Get up on your bed, you little fool!" growled Jacob to Ernest. "Will you never learn to keep your mouth shut?"
But Belinda could not bear to see the boy suffer. She brought warm water and a lotion and succeeded in bathing the cruel-looking welts while Ernest continued to sob into his pillow.
"He does not deserve it, Fräulein," grumbled Jacob; but Sanderson beamed upon her from across the aisle.
An orderly appeared and read at the head of the ward: "Case Thirty-three to report in half an hour at the desk, for transportation to the rear." Jacob got the weeping Ernest up and helped him to dress.
Glancing from the window Belinda saw Carl Baum coming across the enclosure from the direction of the Herr Doktor's lodge—once the office of the kindlymédecin chef. Wrung by sudden anxiety the nurse ran out to intercept the corporal.
"Good-morning, Cousin Belinda," was Baum's greeting, his round face asmile. "Does all go well with you?"
"I fear all will soon go ill with me, Carl," she said, unable to disguise her anxiety. "Where have you been?"
"The sly fox Paul sent me on a detail for the Herr Doktor, but told me to report first tohim. He wished as usual to take all the credit," and Carl chuckled. "But I am a step ahead of him for once."
"Oh! what did you do?" cried Belinda under her breath.
"I was ordered to search for any personal property of either of the aviators abandoned there in the wood where they fell. It is a deserted place; nobody had disturbed the ruins of the aeroplanes."
"What did you find, Carl?" she asked hurriedly.
"Why, nothing much, Cousin. Just some odds and ends. A belt buckle with the Herr Lieutenant Gessler's identification badge upon it. A shoe that must have been the Frenchman's, for it is American made. Oh, yes! and his metal water bottle."
"Whose bottle?"
"The Frenchman's. It must be his. Here!" said Paul, showing her a paper. "I copied this that was painted on it—a part of his name."
Belinda was for the moment speechless. Before Carl could comment upon her troubled countenance Jacob called to her from the doorway of the ward. Ernest was departing.
The orderly signed her book. Indeed, the boy went as a prisoner. Men were too precious at this stage of the war for the Prussian military system to mislay a single individual.
Carl waited, troubled by his cousin's evident distress. He strolled to the door where she stood watching Ernest and the orderly depart.
"Is not all right, 'Linda? Are you worrying over that boy—where he goes?"
"No, Carl, I am not worrying over Ernest. It is something of much greater import."
"Your sweetheart!" murmured Carl. "Where is he? Is he in trouble? Does he know you were left behind when the crazy French retreated?"
"He must know that," she said absently.
"Where is he, Cousin 'Linda?" asked the boy. "Is he a very fine young man? One of those millionaires we have all read about as being so plentiful in America?"
"I never thought to ask whether he was rich or not," Belinda confessed.
"No?Ach!then you must love him indeed," Carl declared quickly. "I wish I might know him, Cousin 'Linda," he added wistfully.
She turned to him suddenly. "Do you mean that, Carl?"
"Why not?" he repeated wonderingly. "If you love him——"
"Suppose he were here—in peril of capture? Suppose he might be apprehended as a spy?"
"Ach!Do not talk so crazily, 'Linda!"
"But if he were? Would you help me to save him, Cousin Carl?" Belinda demanded recklessly.
"Herr Gott!A spy?" repeated the corporal. "But that would be a bad business. But for you, Belinda——Ach!if you love him——Well, perhaps I might be tempted for your sake to be so far untrue to the Fatherland.Gott!Who knows?"
Around the corner of the hut stormed suddenly Sergeant-major Genau.
"What are you lingering here for, Corporal Baum?" he demanded. "Were you not to report to me immediately on your return?"
"It was a command of the Herr Doktor. I have reported to him already," growled Carl, but not forgetting to salute his superior.
"Tausend Teufel!Did I not tell you to report first to me—to show me all that you found?Dummkopf!See, Belinda," he turned to address the nurse, "what it means to trust this Baum with even a simple detail. And it was for your sake I chose him to go, and told him what to do."
"Oh, Carl!" murmured Belinda reproachfully. "You might have saved——"
The corporal lost his temper completely. "What do you mean? What is this secret? Something between you, Paul, and our cousin? And you blame me if it has gone wrong, eh?"
"What if it were our secret? There are many matters past your comprehension, Carl," retorted Paul bitterly. "It was for Belinda's sake—at her request—I told you to report your success or failure to me. Did you find anything belonging to the Herr Lieutenant or to the other aviator?"
"Yes, yes! He found something!" broke in Belinda, unwisely. "He has told me. A canteen, with a name painted on it."
"Here!" growled Carl, glowering at them both and thrusting the paper under Paul's eyes. "Do you make anything ofthat? And what is it all about?"
"Be still—fool!" commanded Paul, studying the paper.
"Oh, but Doctor Herschall will make something of it," the nurse broke in once more, wringing her hands, quite beside herself with fear and excitement.
"See, blockhead, what you have done," snarled Paul.
"Call me no more names, scoundrel!" roared Carl. "I have fought you at school and beat you. And—Herr Gott!—I can do it again!"
He whipped out the saber he wore on duty and sprang at his cousin. Paul drew his pistol from its sheath—a deadly weapon.
"For that you are a dead man, Carl Baum!" he vowed, and would have shot his cousin through the heart on the instant.
Belinda, uttering a horrified cry, threw herself between the enraged young men.
She was aroused as she had never been aroused before. These men bent upon each other's murder were but boys in her eyes. She remembered them as joyous playfellows in pinafores; later as promising youths who vied for her favor.
Now she had been thrown in contact with them again and found them grown men—full of the faults—perhaps of the virtues, too—of soldiers.
What this awful war had done to them, to change them so utterly, smote upon Belinda Melnotte's mind with withering force.
"Boys! Boys!" she cried. "What would your mothers say? And you, who have been companions and friends for so long—like brothers! What would you do?
"Kill each other?Is there not enough blood being shed? Are you not at war with all the world? Is it not enough that torn and bleeding bodies are brought into this hospital every day that you, Carl Baum, and you, Paul Genau, must add to the awful sum of human misery?
"Stop! I will not have it. You rave of being fond of me—you two—and then act like this? Oh, you wicked ones! How dare you call me your cousin? Would I own you as cousins of mine, do you think, if you were guilty of the crime you each contemplate?
"And this it is to be German. The thirst for blood has seized upon you, as it has upon everybody entangled in this awful war.
"Thank God! I am an American!"
There was a sonorous shout from across the enclosure. The Herr Doktor had appeared suddenly at the door of his lodge.
"Hi! Ho! Hold that convalescent, Ernest Spiegel, Thirty-three of Ward Three. I want him. Do you hear, Sergeant Genau?" he added, catching sight of Paul. "Bring that boy back. Bring him to my office here at once."
Paul's left hand had been out-stretched to draw the girl aside. Carl had given no sign in his face of a better intention. Belinda thought with sinking heart that her pleading seemed to have made no impression upon the young hot-heads.
But the voice of authority spoke in the Herr Doktor's command. The young men came to attention. Carl's saber went back into its scabbard; Paul's weapon into its sheath.
The sergeant-major wheeled and started instantly for the gateway. Belinda staggered to the door of her ward, weeping in abandonment.
"Oh, Cousin! Cousin 'Linda!" begged the corporal, at length moved by her tears. "I am sorry. To offend you so——"
She heeded him not at all, but went within and the door swung shut. She crouched in her own little booth at the end of the ward, seeking to recover her self-control before Sanderson should see her.
Belinda still sat there when a soldier brought Ernest Spiegel to the hut from the Herr Doktor's office. The boy was very pale and subdued. He had nothing to say for himself.
"It is an order, most gracious Fräulein," said the soldier, passing her a paper.
The order read, in the Herr Doktor's chirography:
"Put him back in Cot Thirty-three."
"Put him back in Cot Thirty-three."