CHAPTER XXVIII
This was a moment when the self-control of Belinda Melnotte came very near to being utterly broken.
She had suffered so much anxiety, had carried such a burden of fear, for so many days that overwrought nature was near to collapse.
And, oddly enough, it was Doctor Franz Herschall who saved her from a mental breakdown at this time.
She turned from seeing Erard marched away guarded by the file of soldiers, to face the Prussian surgeon. She realized that at last Doctor Herschall had discovered all that she had sought to hide from him. Frank Sanderson was at his mercy, and she herself was caught in a web in the center of which the Herr Doktor crouched like a venomous spider.
Next would be Sanderson's trial before the military court, the discovery of his masquerade, and then the sentence due a spy.
Herself, she must likewise be entangled in the hateful coil and dragged before the court. Her fate might be no less awful than that confronting Erard and the aviator.
All hinged upon the word of the black-browed surgeon and the testimony of his little spy, Ernest Spiegel. Belinda's eyes, staring into the surgeon's glittering orbs, must have expressed some of the bitter, bitter hatred she felt for him.
Doctor Herschall seemed to hesitate. For once, at least, he was not quick of decision. He studied the pallid face of the young nurse gloomily.
Jacob, at a gesture from the surgeon, had drawn a screen before Sanderson's cot and was helping the aviator dress. The two soldiers remaining of Carl's squad stood stolidly at the head of the ward. A strained silence had fallen over all the wounded.
The girl's hatred of this domineering and egotistical Prussian was almost overpowering.
For he was, she quite believed, the single element that would bring about the destruction of the man she loved, and of herself. It would be his evidence that convicted Sanderson of being a spy and would prove her to be an aider and abettor of an enemy of the German Empire.
For who would believe the unsupported word of the weakling Ernest? Belinda felt sure that in the pinch she might depend upon both her cousins to keep their own counsel, even to help her if they could.
Belinda and Sanderson could not hope to aid themselves by putting forth the claim of their American citizenship. In the eyes of the Germans they had forfeited that by aiding France. Indeed, Germany and the United States, if all reports were true, were on the verge of hostilities.
Belinda and Sanderson were helpless.
Then, as the girl continued to stare into the glittering eyes of Doctor Herschall, she realized that there was a new and inexplicable expression dawning in them, and upon the countenance of the Prussian.
"Nurse Genau," he said suddenly, and with all the harshness of which his voice was capable, "you are excused from duty in this ward for the present. Report to me at my office after the meeting of the court, at which the Herr Major Baron von Brandenburg will preside.
"Understand," he added, "you are in no wise to be held accountable for any phase of this affair—as yet. Nor can we ask the Herr Lieutenant Gessler"—he raised his voice that all might hear—"to attend the court save out of necessity—that we may come at the truth of all this trouble.
"As for you,du kleine Erbärmlicher, remain here and open not your mouth! If you dare disobey you will find there is something worse than the trenches."
He glared about the ward once more, ignoring Belinda, and taking his departure before Sanderson was ready to go.
There was, nevertheless, no opportunity for the nurse and the aviator to say much together in private. Besides, grasping a drifting straw of hope, both saw that the Herr Doktor had not openly treated them as enemies.
It was plain by their looks that the wounded men did not know what to make of the affair. For all that the Prussian surgeon had said, Erard's story of the night's tragic happening might be the exact truth.
If the Herr Doktor had been stern with the wounded aviator—even with the nurse—it might be only his bullying way. They all knew what that was.
Jacob wrung Sanderson's good hand as the American started up the aisle. "Gemüth, mein Herr!A brave man with your record of flying for the Fatherland need have no fear of a drumhead court.Viel Glück!"
Belinda went with the aviator to the door. The two soldiers stepped out first, one of them politely holding the door open for Sanderson. They evidently did not consider him a prisoner.
"Don't lose your grip, Belinda," the young man whispered. "All is not lost. And I believe that black-browed devil has it in his mind to save you, at least."
"Oh, but I do not want to be saved without you, Frank!" she breathed.
"Don't fear. We'll pull through. And that plucky Erard——"
"He is a hero," murmured Belinda. "His lie may save you."
"And win him a martyr's crown," said Frank not irreverently.
They looked into each other's eyes. His were filled with the light of courage; but Belinda's were misty with tears.
There was a whispering behind her in the ward as the girl stood alone. Some of the weaker patients might be harmed by all this excitement. Their temperature charts would tell the tale.
It suddenly smote Belinda Melnotte that in all probability temperature charts or other matters connected with this ward in which she had served so long, would mean very little to her in the future. Her activities here were finished in any case.
Jacob touched her arm gently.
"Fräulein," he said.
"Ah, Jacob. What is it?"
"The boys—all your patients, Fräulein—wish to tell you that their hearts are yours. You are in trouble. It may be that the Herr Doktor merely bullies you—he is that kind. But fear not. There are others higher than he who will see justice done."
"There is One Higher—I know," she said. "Thank you, Jacob."
She turned to face the ward. Every man who could was sitting or standing erect. Even those on their backs who possessed a whole hand saluted her.
"Gesegnete Zukunft!" they cried in unison.
Belinda's eyes overflowed. She could only kiss her hand to them and run out. The relieving nurse was in sight.
The wet and windy night had rightly foretold a dreary day. How could the sun have shone when all Belinda's hopes had fallen into such chaos? Self-centered as her thoughts were—centered upon Frank Sanderson and her own troubles—the Red Cross nurse felt as though the very world itself were coming to its end.
There was a third person, however, whom Belinda considered with pity and alarm—Erard. The little man with the harelip and twisted foot had indeed "done his bit" for France.
He could do nothing, this lame Erard, as a soldier of the Republic! Not for him theMédaille Militaire, or theCroix de Guerre, or other honors of the bravepoilus. But to save the American flying-man who served under the tri-color, Erard was willing to stand before the firing squad, and would stand there, it was to be presumed, with that same twisted smile on his lips.
That, too, was "for France."
Belinda heard that the court martial would not sit till afternoon. It was to her cousin, Carl, hurrying across the hospital enclosure, that she put a question:
"Oh, Carl, where have they put Erard?"
"A fine little rat he is! What did I tell you?" growled the corporal. "And he's come near getting your—I mean, the Herr Lieutenant Gessler—into trouble by his lies. They have locked the wretched little scoundrel into a room in that old château yonder."
"Is that the prison? Until the French left this neighborhood, the family of the owner lived there. But they stripped it of much of its best furniture when they went away. So it is a prison!"
"A detention house, yes. Even the flying-man is there until the court convenes. But he is only a witness, of course," Carl said cheerfully.
"Carl," whispered the girl, "do you suppose I could speak to poor Erard?"
"That rat?"
"Don't speak so of him. He has aided me for months—ever since I came to the war zone to work. He has been my only help and comfort at times."
"I declare I believe him a gutter-rat from the sewers of Paris."
"I do not care. To me he has always shown his better nature."
"And he says he was trying to steal from—from the flying-man last night before the orderly was killed."
"But I pity him so! And he will surely be shot! Do, Carl!"
"It might be done," said the good-natured fellow. "I can get you a pass and take you to the château myself. It is true that there probably will be no chance for you to see him after Herr Major Baron von Brandenburg passes sentence.Ach!he is a martinet, that old boy. Yes, it might be done, by a shrewd fellow like me," and Carl winked at her.
It was done. The old château in question was less than half an hour's walk from the hospital gate. The walls about it and the grounds had been ruined by gunfire. However, all but one wing of the great building remained in remarkably good condition.
In the main portion Major von Brandenburg had established his headquarters with his staff housed in the rooms about him. But there was room in the remaining wing of the château for prisoners. A cell—originally a scullery—in the basement served Erard till such time as the court might sit. Probably, as Carl Baum intimated, shortly after the sentence was pronounced the Frenchman would not need a cell.
The corporal sent away the sentinel in the corridor on some errand and allowed his cousin to go to the door of the cell. Heavy screening took the place of glass in the upper half of the door.
Erard sat upon a bench, his chin in his palm. But when he looked up to see who darkened the window opening, his twisted smile greeted the nurse.
"Ma foi!you are welcome, Mademoiselle, though I may not offer you a chair in these, my poor quarters."
"Oh, my dear friend!" gasped the nurse. "This is a dreadful place, and a dreadful pass you have come to, my poor Erard!"
"Weep not for me, dear Mademoiselle Belinda. Poof! what is a jail more or less? I have often slept in worse cells. For sure! Half my boyhood I was a guest of the so-good police," and his roguish look appeared again. "Ask Monsieur Renaud. He knows me."
"Oh, Erard! I did not think it of you!" the girl sighed.
"No? I have made myself another reputation in the hospital—have I not? It was a fancy of mine. All my life I have been quite bad. Oh, yes, Mademoiselle; quite bad. And as they could not send me to theBataillon d'Afrique—I am not a marching man—I should kiss the sharp knife in the end if it were not forthis. I shall die a noble death, Mademoiselle,pour la patrie."
"And to save Monsieur Sanderson," the girl whispered.
"So I may hope. A fine man," said Erard quite cheerfully.
"But you are dying without cause—without reason," Belinda declared. "You did not kill the orderly. You were not in the ward last night."
"Sst! That was that sly Monsieur Renaud. You saw him dive under the porch as you came out of the ward last evening, Mademoiselle."
"But they must know at the guardhouse that you were not out of doors."
"Ah! they are sleepyheads,les Boches. Only one knows I was in all night—and him I have bribed."
"That Renaud deliberately imitated your step," she said with warmth.
Erard laughed.
"Ah! he is a knowing one. To think he should mock me so well—me, who have so often mocked him for the laughter of my comrades.
"For know you, Mademoiselle, Rabbit-mouth is not so lightly considered in Paris—among certain people, including the police.Ma foi, no!
"I have gained power by cunning—by shrewdness. Indeed, it was the only way. Otherwise I would have been crushed—trampled upon long ago. You see," he continued quite simply, "I was born to the dregs of life. The first I can remember was of being driven out upon the streets to beg by an old woman who had found me somewhere—devil knows where!
"My infirmity of the lip she thought would arouse the sympathy of those from whom I begged. But it aroused their laughter. Ah,ma foi, yes! I was meant to be a great comedian," and he shrugged his shoulders. "I can always make people laugh.
"But their laughter did not bring the centimes to the itching palm of the old woman. I was not pitiful enough with my rabbit-mouth. She had a son, that old woman, and he was wise. He told her what to do. So—my foot," and Erard thrust the crooked extremity forth.
"Oh, you told me it was run over by a farmer's wagon!" gasped Belinda.
"Oui, oui!I am that wicked one," and he grinned. "I even lied to you, Mademoiselle. But do I look like asale cultivateur?Non! Non!
"I was a child. My bones were soft like gristle. They twisted my foot and put it in plaster, then chained me to the old beldame's bedpost. We lived deep in a cellar. Nobody could hear my cries.
"So," finished Erard, shrugging his shoulders, "after that, when I went out begging, dragging this poor foot, the sympathetic gave me more centimes for my old woman, until I could run away from her and steal and beg for myself."
The story was a dreadful one—the cheap and pitiful tale of a Paris gamin, drifting naturally into the underworld of the apaches—the shrewd, sly cripple seeking his proper level in the sewers of the metropolis. And yet Belinda could not dwell in her thoughts on that. Not of what the little harelipped man had been. It was what he was now.
A hero!
She was in tears when Carl led her back to the hospital. She had not dared to ask to speak with Sanderson. She dared not even show her fear that he, too, would be made a prisoner instead of held as a witness.
Sanderson could do nothing for Erard when he told his story before the major and the other officers, of whom Doctor Herschall would be one, because of the very nature of the crime.
If the American denied the truth of Erard's tale of attempted robbery he would merely put his own life in jeopardy without saving the Frenchman; and perhaps endanger Belinda's safety as well. The testimony of Ernest, whom Doctor Herschall had so well used, might convict the young aviator and the nurse of a greater military crime than that to which Erard confessed.
There seemed no way of helping the brave little harelipped man. He had little chance to be a real man in his miserable, sin-warped life. But he would go to a noble death—for France.
It was from Paul Genau that Belinda gained the first news of the proceedings of the military court. The sergeant-major had attended, and when he came into the hospital premises the Red Cross nurse saw that he was very grave indeed.
"Paul, what did they do to him?" she begged in alarm. "What has happened?"
"It is all over," declared her cousin. "Like that!" and he snapped his fingers. "Ah! I tell you Herr Major Baron von Brandenburg never makes two bites of a cherry."
"Oh, Paul!" wailed the girl, almost falling, "not both of them?"
"'Both of them?' What do you mean?" responded Paul. "There was but one prisoner. He was tried, found guilty, sentenced, and taken out and shot all in half an hour—like that! And by heaven! he was a cool one—that harelipped man. He borrowed a cigarette of me!
"'I may not repay you till hereafter, Monsieur,' he said.
"Then he smoked it—and they shot him."
Belinda covered her face with her hands. From between her fingers she sobbed another question.
"And the flying-man—Herr Gessler?"
"Ah, the Herr Lieutenant? Well," Paul replied slowly, "he does not return to the hospital. He is a guest of the Herr Major."
"A prisoner!"
"That I would not say," her cousin replied. "He was scarcely a witness at the trial. Indeed, witnesses were not needed—even that rat, Ernest Spiegel, was not called. What need of any evidence when the Frenchman confessed the crime? Besides, the Herr Lieutenant begged to be excused from testifying against the accused."
"Then why—oh, why!—was he not released?" cried Belinda.
"That I do not know," Paul said. "It was because of something the Herr Doktor said in confidence to the Herr Major, I believe, regarding the flying-man. The Herr Major had dismissed the aviator; but after a brief conference with Doctor Herschall, he called to the flying-man:
"'Remain, if you please, Herr Lieutenant. I find there is a point I wish to speak with you upon. I hope you are comfortable here?'
"Ah, that Baron von Brandenburg!" finished Paul, with a sigh. "He is a nobleman. He would be courteous if he were sentencing a man to purgatory."