"Yes. A little."
"Oh, Charlie! They--they haven"t found him?"
"No. Maybe they"d better _not_," breathed the boy, shaking his head.
"I don"t think there"s any hope, Miss Ruth."
"Oh, Charlie! He"s not _dead_?"
"Better be," muttered the boy. "I wouldn"t ask if I were you. It looks bad for him--everybody says so."
"You know him, Charlie Bragg!" she burst out angrily. "Can _you_ believe Tom Cameron would do such a wicked thing as this they accuse him of?"
"We-ell. I don"t want to believe it," he agreed. "But, look here!"
and in desperation he pulled something from his pocket. "You know that, don"t you?"
"Why! Tom"s matchbox!" cried the girl, taking the silver box and seeing the initials of the lost soldier on the case. She had had it engraved herself--and Helen had paid for the box. They had given it to Tom when he went to Harvard for his Freshman course.
"Of course. I"ve seen him use it, too," Charlie Bragg hurried to say.
"I knew it and begged it of the fellow who found it."
"Where did he find it?"
"You know, some of our boys went across and visited the Heinies last night," Charlie said gently. "They got right into the German trenches and drove out the Heinies. And in a German dugout--before they blew it up with bombs--this chap I talked with picked up that box."
"Oh, Charlie!" gasped the girl.
"Yes. He didn"t see the significance of the monogram. He didn"t know Mr. Cameron personally, I think. He was slightly wounded and I helped him with first aid. He gave the box to me as a German souvenir," and the driver of the ambulance looked grim.
"Then they surely have got poor Tom!" whispered Ruth.
"At least, it looks as though he went over that way," agreed the boy sadly.
"Don"t speak so, Charlie!" she cried. "I tell you he has been taken prisoner."
"We-ell," drawled her friend again, "we can"t know about that."
"But we _will_ know!" she said, with added vehemence. "It will all come out in time. Only--it will be too late to help poor Tom, then."
"Gosh!" groaned Charlie Bragg. "It"s too late to help him now--if you should ask me!"
Ruth had n.o.body to talk to about Tom Cameron save the young ambulance driver. And him she could see but seldom.
For fear of having to explain to her chum, she could not write to Helen Cameron, who was in Paris. Just now, too, she was too busy for letter writing.
Mrs. Strang found a girl to help Ruth in the supply hut, one who was willing and able to learn all about the merchandise under Ruth"s care.
The latter was not asked to remain at this hospital outpost for long.
Her place was at Clair, and, until the Red Cross directors deliberately changed her, Ruth must give her first thought to the Clair Supply Headquarters.
She saw, however, that she would be several days at this field hospital. She had been glad to come in hope of learning something about Tom. Now she saw that she was doomed to disappointment.
This locality was the last place in which to search for news of the lost lieutenant. Everybody here (everybody who spoke of the matter at all) believed that Tom Cameron had played the traitor and, for money or some other unexplained reason, had gone over to the enemy.
"As though poor Tom could even dream of such a thing!" she thought.
She must keep her opinion to herself. She was too wise to start any argument on the affair. It might be, if she kept still, that she would learn something of significance that would lead to an explanation of the terrible event.
What she personally could do to save Tom"s reputation she did not even imagine at the time. Nevertheless, there might be some chance of doing him a good turn.
As for his personal safety, she had lost all hope of that. She believed he had been captured by the Germans, and she had heard too many stories of their treatment of prisoners to hope that he would escape injury and actual torture.
It was said that the enemy would treat the first Americans captured with particular harshness, in hope of "frightening the Yankees." She knew that the advancing Canadians had found their captured brothers crucified on barn doors in the early months of the war. Why should the Yankees expect better treatment from the Huns?
With this load of anxiety and fear upon her heart, Ruth still found time for interest in what went on about her. She was an observant girl. And, as ever, her sympathies were touched in behalf of the wounded.
Although the American Red Cross had taken over this field hospital, most of the wounded were Frenchmen.
She was glad to see so many visitors daily bringing comforts for the men; but of all those who came she noted particularly the peculiar-looking Nicko, the chocolate vender. Daily he came, and Ruth always observed both his comings and goings.
Never did he fail to go into a particular ward--one of those in which the more seriously wounded patients lay--Hut H. She sometimes saw him going through the aisles at his funny, wabbling gait, offering his wares to the soldiers. The latter jeered at him, or joked with him, as their mood was. He wore an old battered hat, the brim of which flopped over his face and half masked his features.
One afternoon Ruth met the strange fellow at the door of Hut H. She was going out as he was coming in. The man backed away from her, mumbling. She threw a coin into his basket and took a small package of chocolate.
"_Bien oblige, Mademoiselle_!" he was startled into saying, and bowed to her. It was not the stiff, martial bow she had before noted, but the sweeping, ingratiating bow of the Frenchman. Ruth walked on, but she was startled.
Finally she turned swiftly and went back to the door of Hut H. The nurse on duty had just come from the end of the ward. Over her shoulder Ruth saw Nicko halt beside one of the cots far down the line.
"Who is that Nicko converses with?" Ruth asked idly.
"Oh, his friend, the Boche. Didn"t you know we had a German officer with us? Cot 24. Not a bad fellow at all. Yes, Nicko never fails to sell our Boche friend chocolate. He is a regular customer."
"Cot 24--Hut H," Ruth repeated in her own mind. She would not forget that. And yet--did it mean anything? Was there something wrong with Nicko, the chocolate peddler?
CHAPTER X
DEVOURING SUSPICION
She had been at the field hospital for a week. It seemed to Ruth Fielding at last as though she could not remain "holed up" like a rabbit any longer.
At Clair she had been used to going out of the hospital when she liked and going anywhere she pleased. Here she found it was necessary to have a pa.s.s even to step out of the hospital compound.
"And be careful where you walk, Miss Fielding," said Dr. Monteith, as he signed her pa.s.s. "Do not go toward the battle front. If you do you may be halted."
"Halted!" repeated Ruth, not quite understanding.
"And perhaps suspected," he said, nodding gravely. "Even your Red Cross will not save you."