Ruth Fielding In the Red Cross Part 20

Ruth knew she could not offer the Dupays any remuneration for the trouble they took for her, but she was so thankful to them that she was almost in tears when she and Henriette started for Lyse half an hour later.

"The main road is so cut up and rutted by the big lorries and ambulances that we would better go another way," Henriette said, as she steered out of the farm lane into the wider road.

They turned away from Lyse, it seemed to Ruth; but, after circling around the hill on which the chateau stood, they entered a more traveled way, but one not so deeply rutted.

A mile beyond this point, and just as the motor-car came down a gentle slope to a small stream, crossed by a rustic bridge, the two girls spied another automobile, likewise headed toward Lyse. It was stalled, both wheels on the one side being deep in a muddy rut.

There were two men with the car-a small man and a much taller individual, who was dressed in the uniform of a French officer-a captain, as Ruth saw when they came nearer.

The little man stepped into the woods, perhaps for a sapling, with which to pry up the car, before the girls reached the bottom of the hill. At least, they only saw his back. But when Ruth gained a clear view of the officer's face she was quite shocked.

"What is the matter?" Henriette asked her, driving carefully past the stalled car.

Ruth remained silent until they were across the bridge and the French girl had asked her question a second time, saying:

"What is it, Mademoiselle Ruth?"

"Do you know that man?" Ruth returned, proving herself a true Yankee by answering one question with another.

"The captain? No. I do not know him. There are many captains," and Henriette laughed.

"He-he looks like somebody I know," Ruth said hesitatingly. She did not wish to explain her sudden shocked feeling on seeing the man's face. He looked like the shaven Legrand who, on the s.h.i.+p coming over and in Lyse, had called himself "Professor Perry."

If this was the crook, who, Ruth believed, had set fire to the business office of the Robinsburg Red Cross headquarters, he had evidently not been arrested in connection with the supply department scandal, of which the matron of the hospital had told her. At least, he was now free. And the little fellow with him! Had not Ruth, less than two hours before, seen Jose talking with the woman from the chateau at the wayside shrine near Clair?

The mysteries of these two men and their disguises troubled Ruth Fielding vastly. It seemed that the prefect of police at Lyse had not apprehended them. Nor was Mrs. Mantel yet in the toils.

This was a longer way to Lyse by a number of miles than the main road; nevertheless, it was probable that the girls gained time by following the more roundabout route.

It was not yet noon when Henriette stopped at a side entrance to the hospital where Ruth had served her first few weeks for the Red Cross in France. The girl of the Red Mill sprang out, and, asking her friend to wait for her, ran into the building.

The guard remembered her, and n.o.body stopped her on the way to the reception office, where a record was kept of all the patients in the great building. The girl at the desk was a stranger to Ruth, but she answered the visitor's questions as best she could.

She looked over the records of the wounded accepted from the battle front or from evacuation hospitals during the past forty-eight hours.

There was no such name as Cameron on the list; and, as far as the clerk knew, no American at all among the number.

"Oh, there _must_ be!" gasped Ruth, wringing her hands. "Surely there is a mistake. There is no other hospital here for him to be brought to, and I am sure this person was brought to Lyse. They say his arm is torn off at the elbow."

A nurse pa.s.sing through the office stopped and inquired in French of whom Ruth was speaking. The girl of the Red Mill explained.

"I believe we have the _blesse_ in my ward," this nurse said kindly.

"Will you come and see, Mademoiselle? He has been quite out of his head, and perhaps he is an American, for he has not spoken French. We thought him English."

"Oh, let me see him!" cried Ruth, and hastened with her into one of the wards where she knew the most serious cases were cared for.

Her fears almost overcame the girl. Her interest in Tom Cameron was deep and abiding. For years they had been friends, and now, of late, a stronger feeling than friends.h.i.+p had developed in her heart for Tom.

His courage, his cheerfulness, the real, solid worth of the young fellow, could not fail to endear him to one who knew him as well as did Ruth Fielding. If he had been shot down, mangled, injured, perhaps, to the very death!

How would Helen and their father feel if Tom was seriously wounded? If Ruth found him here in the hospital, should she immediately communicate with his twin sister in Paris, and with his father, who had doubtless reached the States by this time?

Her mind thus in a turmoil, she followed the nurse into the ward and down the aisle between the rows of cots. She had helped comfort the wounded in this very ward when she worked in this hospital; but she looked now for no familiar face, save one. She looked ahead for the white, strained countenance of Tom Cameron against the coa.r.s.e pillow-slip.

The nurse stopped beside a cot. Oh, the relief! There was no screen around it! The occupant was turned with his face away from the aisle.

The stump of the uplifted arm on his left side, bandaged and padded, was uppermost.

"Tom!" breathed the girl of the Red Mill, holding back just a little and with a hand upon her breast.

It was a head of black hair upon the pillow. It might easily have been Tom Cameron. And in a moment Ruth was sure that he was an American from the very contour of his visage-but it was _not_ Tom!

"Oh! It's not! It's not!" she kept saying over and over to herself. And then she suddenly found herself sitting in a chair at the end of the ward and the nurse was saying to her:

"Are you about to faint, Mademoiselle? It is the friend you look for?"

"Oh, no! I sha'n't faint," Ruth declared, getting a grip upon her nerves again. "It is not my friend. Oh! I cannot tell you how relieved I am."

"Ah, yes! I know," sighed the Frenchwoman. "I have a father and a brother in our army and after every battle I fear until I hear from them. I am glad for your sake it is another than your friend. And yet-_he_ will have friends who suffer, too-is it not?"

CHAPTER XXI-AGAIN THE WERWOLF

Ruth Fielding felt as though she needed a cup of tea more than she ever had before in her life. And Clare Biggars had her own tea service in her room at the pension. Ruth had inquired for Clare and learned that this was a free hour for the Kansas girl. So Ruth and Henriette Dupay drove to the boarding-house; for to get a good cup of tea in one of the restaurants or cafes was impossible.

Her relief at learning the wounded American in the hospital was not Tom Cameron was quite overwhelming at first. Ruth had come out to the car so white of face that the French girl was frightened.

"Oh! Mam'zelle Fielding! It is that you haf los' your friend?" cried the girl in the stammering English she tried so hard to make perfect.

"I don't know that," sighed Ruth. "But, at least, if he is wounded, he was not brought here to this hospital."

She could not understand how that letter had been found in the pocket of the young man she had seen in the hospital ward. Tom Cameron certainly had written that letter. Ruth would not be free from worry until she had heard again from Tom, or of him.

The pension was not far away, and Ruth made her friend lock the car and come in with her, for Clare was a hospitable soul and it was lunch time.

To her surprise Ruth found Clare in tears.

"What is the matter, my dear girl?" cried Ruth, as Clare fled sobbing to her arms the moment she saw the girl of the Red Mill. "What can have happened to you?"

"Everything!" exploded the Kansas girl. "You can't imagine! I've all but been arrested, and the Head called me down dreadfully, and Madame--"

"Madame Mantel?" Ruth asked sharply. "Is she the cause of your troubles?

I should have warned you--"

"Oh, the poor dear!" groaned Clare. "She feels as bad about it as I do.

Why, they took her to the police station, too!"

"You seem to have all been having a fine time," Ruth said, rather tartly. "Tell me all about it. But ask us to sit down, and _do_ give us a cup of tea. This is Henriette Dupay, Clare, and a very nice girl she is. Try to be cordial-hold up the reputation of America, my dear."