“IT is the Frau,” thought Grace, with an effort repressing a long breath of relief.
The German woman, after satisfying herself that her prisoner was asleep, began a careful search of the room, first going to the window and finding it shut, then searching Grace’s clothing, after which she felt cautiously under the girl’s pillow. It was at that moment that Grace’s plans took form and definite shape.
Uttering a piercing shriek, the American girl leaped from the bed and hurled herself against the German woman, who had sprung back and in her fright started toward the door. Ere she had opportunity to collect herself, Grace’s hands were against the Frau’s back and the German woman was being “bounced” in the most approved manner. She ran because she couldn’t help it. To have stopped would have meant measuring her length on the floor.
They reached the door, Grace Harlowe still uttering those piercing screams, and there the Frau met disaster. She tripped on the doorsilland fell headlong into the corridor. Grace too went down, but was up like a flash and, darting into the room, slammed the door shut, securing it by bracing a tipped chair against it under the knob, whereupon the Overton girl sat down heavily on the floor and gave way to laughter that was almost hysterical, though so well repressed that the woman out there could not hear it.
“Oh, what a fright I gave her. I’ll warrant that frau doesn’t do any more prowling about in my room at unseemly hours. I should have thought of the chair before I went to bed.” Grace paused abruptly. Some one was pounding on the door.
“Who is it?” she called.
“It is I, Frau Woelber.”
“Oh!” Grace boldly threw open the door and as she did so the woman pressed a button and flooded the room with light. Her face wore an angry flush, but it moderated as she saw that Grace was breathing heavily and that her face wore a frightened expression.
“Oh, why did you frighten me so, Frau?” gasped the girl, still playing her part.
“You shall suffer for this,” threatened the woman. “You did it on purpose.”
“How—how can you say such a thing. Why did you creep into my room and startle me bytugging at my pillow? It was terrible! What do you wish?”
“It is like the American schweinhunde to be thus grateful. I came to see that you were well and you repay by assaulting me. Bah!” The woman turned on her heel and strode from the room, slamming the door after her, and locking it from the outside. Grace replaced the chair and returned to her bed.
“I think I will use the flash again,” she muttered. Once more the Overton girl sent out her message for help. “I hope some one does see it, for to-morrow I feel I shall be in still more trouble.”
Morning did bring trouble. She was awakened at an early hour by the German woman and ordered to dress. There was not even time to regain possession of her electric flash lamp nor to dress her hair.
After getting on her clothes the woman took her by the arm and led her from the room, down several staircases, the first of which was a spiral. The Overton girl was conducted into a room which she judged was on the side away from the river. There were no windows, and the room was dark, save for the faint light shed by a candle.
“You are a spy!” raged the woman, pointing an accusing finger at the American girl.
“It is not true,” answered Grace evenly. “Remember, I am not here on my own choice, and I shall be pleased to leave now. You see I am perfectly able to go. If you detain me longer you will be punished. The war is at an end, or is supposed to be, and you have no right to keep me a prisoner. Are you going to permit me to go back to my own lines?”
The German woman laughed harshly.
“The Herr Officer will see you. We shall see,” was the non-committal reply. The Herr Officer came in a few moments later, the woman occupying the interval by a repetition of her questions of the previous day. The officer-doctor examined Grace or pretended to, then turned to the Frau.
“Tell her she will die as the result of her getting up. She must not be permitted to go until we have the message. You have not heard?” he asked in German.
The woman shook her head.
“I will find out if anything has come since we spoke, and let you know. You will wait in the library.”
He nodded, gave the Overton girl a frowning appraising glance, and turning on his heel strode out, followed by the woman, who locked the door behind her. Both were back in a few moments, rather to the girl’s surprise.
“So?” said the woman nodding slowly. “It is Frau Gray?”
Grace regarded her inquiringly.
“What do you mean?”
“That it is not Frau Schmidt, but Frau Gray.”
“I did not tell you my name was Schmidt, for it is not. I am an American, not a Hun, nor do I admit that my name is Gray. The carrier pigeon was late in arriving this morning, eh?” Grace grinned broadly as she saw that the shot had gone home, for both showed their amazement. “Ah! I observe that the Herr Colonel understands English after all. A precious pair of enemy agents. What do you think will be done to you when my people find out about this—and about the pigeons?”
“Nothing! They will never know,” retorted the woman savagely.
“Do not be deceived. I have arranged that they shall, no matter whether I go back or do not go back.” She reasoned that no more pigeons would be used, now that the American army was nearing the river. Grace did not know that the army already had arrived. “It will not help your cause to detain me. It will have the opposite effect. Am I to go or stay?” continued Grace.
“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 toher. 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 onethrew 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 goodnessI 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.”