The result of Lucy’s talk with her brother was that Bob repeated the whole to his father when he visited General Gordon’s house in Coblenz the day after Adelheid’s illness. General Gordon was so busy with the establishment of order in the Rhineland and the disposition of troops and staff that Bob felt he listened with but one ear to his revelations. And in spite of Bob’s certainty that something was decidedly wrong in Franz’ behavior he realized that, as he told it, the facts sounded meagre and unconvincing.

“What is it you suspect the man of—stirring up rebellion? There are rumors of disaffection about here—some clash between the Rhineland and the German government,” said General Gordon, looking over the papers on his desk as he spoke.

“I don’t exactly suspect him of that, or of anything,” said Bob uncertainly. “But it’s evident that he’s conspiring, and oughtn’t we to know what about?”

“Yes, if he really is. But, after all, what have you proved? That he meets friends clandestinely in the forest——”

“Not friends, Father. Herr Johann is his master and he obeys him.”

“They can’t be hatching very much mischief in that little spot.”

“Perhaps not, but the paper I showed you? Doesn’t that suggest that it’s a wide-spread movement and that Franz is but one agent?”

Bob pushed before his father’s eyes the scribbled page Lucy had picked up. General Gordon reread it, studying it thoughtfully. “It’s certainly a plan of some sort,” he said. “I wonder if this precious Herr Johann isn’t cornering the food-market to make a fortune.”

“I thought of that,” admitted Bob. “But would he need quite so much secrecy?”

“If I were you,” General Gordon suggested, still looking at the slip of paper, “I would go directly to Franz or to the other fellow. Tell them plainly that you are on to them and that they would best give up their little scheme, as it can only end in failure. That if they own up now you won’t proceed against them. We have so obviously the upper hand they can’t hold out.”

“I’ll do it,” said Bob, getting up. “Franz isn’t clever enough for much deception. Alan insists he could have found out his secret the other day if Lucy hadn’t dissuaded him.”

“How did Alan get off? Was he in pretty fair shape?”

“Yes, and being homeward bound he won’t know when he’s tired. I never saw anyone so delighted. He limps a little, but otherwise he’s as well as ever.”

“How about yourself, Bob? You still look thin. Remember you’re here to convalesce, and don’t let Franz disturb you too much. Why not let Eaton take over the job? He’s quite willing.”

“I’ll have a try at it myself, anyway. Larry’s got a lot to do and I have nothing. I feel perfectly well, Dad. My leg’s a bit stiff at times, nothing worse.”

“Tell Lucy to stay in bed nights and not scour the countryside, will you?” General Gordon called after his son as Bob neared the door. “I wish I’d sent her to England, too.”

Bob lost no time in putting into practice his father’s suggestion, for direct action exactly suited his impatient nature. He started out that afternoon for the woodcutter’s cottage, without saying anything more to Lucy than that he was going for a stroll in the forest. He thought of asking Armand de la Tour to go with him, but on considering decided that Franz might feel more inclined to frankness if an American officer were his only inquisitor.

At first he walked as fast as his mended leg would allow, but in a few minutes the beauty of the afternoon sunlight sifting through the forest trees and the pleasant cold air blowing against his face made him slacken speed and dawdle a little, rejoicing in his recovered health and energy. The bitter Arctic winter, and all he had suffered in the frozen North, seemed far away. He thought to himself, with a burst of joyful optimism, that the war was gloriously won, and that Franz’ little plottings were, after all, hardly worth bothering about.

But, although he loitered, the clearing appeared before long in sight and, looking at Franz’ cottage, he remembered his doubts and his present mission. He crossed the clearing and knocked at the cottage door.

Men’s voices sounded inside, speaking in quick, low tones. There was a short pause, then shuffled steps approached the door and Trudchen opened it a few inches, looking apprehensively into Bob’s face. She did not even smile or curtsey, but her painful agitation held no surprise. It was evident that Bob had been seen crossing the clearing.

“Good-day, Frau,” said he. “Where is your husband?”

Trudchen hesitated, glancing back into the room, but Bob waited for no refusal. He pushed open the door and faced Franz and Herr Johann, who stood before the fire staring at him, Franz in open-mouthed dismay, Herr Johann with a scowl on his proud, handsome face.

“Franz, I have something to say to you,” said Bob to the woodcutter. “And I think it may also interest this Herr,” he added, nodding toward the other, who was listening in silent intentness.

Franz looked doubtfully at Herr Johann, who answered with calm surprise, “And what may it be, Herr Captain? We are at your service. Franz, thou donkey, canst thou not offer the Herr Captain a seat by the fire?”

Thus reminded of his duty Franz hastily pulled forward a stool and made Bob his awkward bow. The two Germans remained standing, waiting for Bob to sit down. Trudchen had retreated into the farther room, but, through the open door, Bob fancied her eagerly listening.

He did not take the proffered stool, but plunged at once into speech, looking at Herr Johann, who was so evidently master, rather than at Franz, who stole sly glances at his chief, as though undecided how he should behave.

“You must know, mein Herr, and Franz, too, that your conduct in the past weeks has laid you open to grave suspicion. I came here to tell you frankly that secret meetings in the forest at midnight and other peculiar acts cannot pass unobserved. Such conspiracy, if for the purpose of inciting revolt, is doomed to failure. I have already reported my observations to our commander at Coblenz.”

Bob put this into his best German, which was none too good. It was good enough, though, to cause Herr Johann’s proud face to flush and his eyes to glow with suppressed anger. He pressed his thin lips sharply together and looked no less than hate at the young American who coolly took him to task. But he said not a word until he could command himself, and when he did speak his voice was steady and held nothing but astonishment, and the faint scorn with which an innocent man replies to base accusations.

“It is hard for me to answer you, Herr Captain, not knowing precisely of what I am accused. Is it of fostering rebellion in the Rhineland? If you knew me”—he said this as if Bob’s ignorance was unlimited—“you would know that I am a Prussian and can have no sympathy with this revolting province. As for Franz, he is an Alsatian. Why should he make common cause with Rhinelanders?”

Bob glanced at the woodcutter, who stood sour-faced and stolid as ever, something of the dumb unhappiness that possessed Trudchen clinging to his dull presence. Bob said to Herr Johann:

“I have not accused you of conspiracy. I only ask an explanation of actions that are certainly suspicious. What reason can you give for spending hours in a woodcutter’s cabin? Why should you give midnight rendezvous in a hunter’s lodge in the forest? Why are you here as a hunter in the dead of winter?”

As Bob’s knowledge of his movements were thus revealed to him, Herr Johann’s eyes gleamed oddly for an instant with a surprise but imperfectly concealed, but he remained untroubled, and answered readily and even with awakening good-humor:

“But, Herr Captain, you have disturbed yourself to no purpose. The explanation is so simple.”

“Then why could not Franz or his wife give it?” Bob interposed.

“Franz?” Herr Johann glanced at the woodcutter, as though puzzling over Bob’s words. Then he said tolerantly, speaking of Franz as though he were deaf and blind, “Why, Herr Captain, the woodcutter is a poor, simple fellow, who has learned caution in the war’s hard school when we Germans were surrounded by enemies. He hesitated to talk without my consent, of my business. Do not bear him a grudge for his faithfulness.”

Impatiently Bob sought to brush away this curtain of useless words and get at the facts that lay behind. But Herr Johann’s calm courtesy was more impenetrable than anger.

“I don’t see why Franz could not have mentioned his business with you,” he objected. “Why such secrecy? Unless it is indeed a doubtful business which you steal through the forest at night to transact.”

He spoke warmly, hoping to stir Herr Johann from his watchful politeness, but the German answered coolly as ever:

“You mean at my little hunting-lodge? You suspect that of harboring guilty secrets? Herr Captain, come with me now and inspect it at your leisure. Or I will give you the key and you can go when you please.”

“How about this?” asked Bob, pulling from his pocket the memoranda Lucy had picked up and holding it before Herr Johann’s eyes.

The German took it from him and examined it with such slow intentness that Bob could only imagine he was planning a plausible reply. Franz had flashed a startled look into his employer’s face, but seeing Herr Johann calm as before, he let fall his gaze again, turned to throw wood on the fire and stood slowly rubbing the bark from his big hands.

In a minute Herr Johann spoke, in his quiet, well-bred voice. “I could not make this out at first,” he explained. “You picked it up somewhere? I fancy it must have been dropped by a farmer passing through the forest. It seems to be a list of places he visited with his supplies. For instance, to woodcutter Zimmermann at Feldheim—that’s ten miles north of here—he left such and such produce. Franz, thy name is here. Dost thou buy thy cabbages from a Badheim farmer?”

Franz, after a quick glance into Herr Johann’s face, nodded. Herr Johann turned to Bob and, as though with a sudden recollection of the American’s suspicions, asked:

“You did not see conspiracy in this?”

Bob felt baffled, hot and angry. He began to feel that his proofs were insufficient, and, though he was no less than before convinced of Herr Johann’s duplicity, it was hard, in his labored German, to win any battle of words against his wily antagonist.

“Have you any objection to telling me plainly what your business is with Franz?” he asked, taking back the slip of paper. “Are you in the habit of wandering about the forest in winter?”

Herr Johann gave a faint, mocking laugh, more at himself than at Bob. “Why, no, Herr Captain, nor am I in the habit of living as I live now. The war has changed the world for such as I. My name is von Eckhardt. I am of Berlin, but since the armistice I have lived in and near Coblenz, trying to help our stricken Fatherland rebuild itself. I have some influence with our people—ex-soldiers such as this Franz—and I urge them to courage and unity. Do our conquerors object to patriotism in Germany?”

There was something of a hidden sneer in Herr Johann’s last words and Bob felt himself flushing as he answered, with more roughness than he had heretofore allowed himself, “I do not understand how Germany is served by meeting farmers and woodcutters at midnight.”

“And do you know, Herr Captain, that reunions are forbidden in Coblenz?” demanded the German.

Bob opened his lips to ask what took place at the reunions that were to serve the new Germany so well, but something checked him to silence. He felt that Herr Johann had an answer to everything and that questions were entirely useless. The German could advance the best of motives for his secret meetings and Bob was not yet in a position to contradict him. At that moment Bob, too simple and direct by nature to unravel a tangle of falsehood, longed for Alan’s careless, defiant tongue to fling challenges at Herr Johann which would make the cautious Prussian lose his temper and forget to play his part.

Herr Johann read something of Bob’s angry disbelief in his face, for with a deprecating sort of gesture he said regretfully, “I am sorry that the Herr Captain is not convinced. What can I do to satisfy him?”

“Nothing at all. Good-day,” said Bob, turning on his heel, disgusted at himself, at Herr Johann, at the doubts which must continue to trouble him when all should have been peaceful serenity.

He walked to the door, let himself out and re-crossed the clearing. In his keen annoyance his one consolation was the certainty that he had left both Germans still more uncomfortable. The Prussian’s calm glibness had deceived him not at all. His answers were good enough to stifle questioning, but not to put suspicion to sleep.

“I’m not quite the fool he thinks me,” he remarked to himself, as he picked up a pine-cone and tossed it at a squirrel frisking and chattering above his head. “Scat, you German beast,” he said moodily. “I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”

Bob told Lucy nothing of his visit to Franz’ cottage, so dissatisfied was he with its result. Instead, he went again the following day to Coblenz to look up Larry, who was off at work somewhere and could not be found. Bob went on to his father’s house in search of Elizabeth. He had determined to tell her a part of the forest mystery and ask her opinion of its importance, so highly did both he and Lucy value the little German woman’s sense and judgment.

“She understands Germans better than we do,” Bob thought, as he reached the door-step, “and she may know what they are thinking and feeling better than our General Staff, with daily reports from every city in the occupied territory.”

But here again he was disappointed, for the door was opened by an orderly who told him that Elizabeth had gone out half an hour before. Bob was surprised, for it was about three in the afternoon, an hour when he had never known Elizabeth to be absent. He went into the house and in his father’s office at the rear found Sergeant Cameron.

At sight of his old friend for a moment he forgot his anxieties and, dropping down into a chair, plunged into talk of days gone by. He had not yet tired of reviewing his prison days—to Bob hardest of all the war’s ordeals—with the old non-com, and the latter could never stop marvelling over how Bob had freed him in the nick of time from German captivity. There was such a bond between the two as neither time nor absence could break.

“And now, sir, it’s over and all’s well again,” remarked the sergeant, a smile of satisfaction on his lean, tanned face as he glanced from the window into the street of the German city.

“I hope so,” said Bob soberly, reminded of his errand. “I wish peace were signed and we were out of here.”

“They talk about revolts in Germany,” admitted Sergeant Cameron. “It was bad, you said, sir, in Berlin? And things look a bit uncertain here. But what’s the odds, after all? Let them fight if they choose. We’ll soon be quit of them.”

Bob saw that his old friend’s composure was too assured to be easily upset. For him the war was over and that ended it. Bob fancied he knew now why Lucy, in her troubled moments, loved to come and talk with Sergeant Cameron.

“Well, good-bye, Cameron, I must be off,” he said, getting up. “I wonder where Elizabeth went. I want to see her.”

“Don’t know, sir. She told me she had an errand and would be gone about an hour. It isn’t often she asks leave, so I thought the General wouldn’t have no objections.”

“Oh, no,” agreed Bob.

He went out thoughtfully and recrossed the dozen blocks to the house where Larry was billeted. This time he found him just entering.

“Good luck, Bob!” exclaimed Larry, catching his friend’s arm. “Are you coming to see me? How’s your leg? Will you walk a few more blocks so that I can leave this report at Colonel Wigmore’s? I’ll finish up now so as to have all the time you want.”

“I feel a lazy dog when I see you working,” said Bob as they walked off together. “I’m perfectly well. I don’t see why I haven’t been dismissed from the hospital.”

“Don’t hurry them, for they’ll be sure to send you far off somewhere. You’re not really well yet, anyhow. The fellow out at the hospital told me you couldn’t stand exposure. Besides, aren’t you at work at Badheim? How’s the puzzler coming on?”

“Badly,” said Bob. “I had a talk to-day with Franz and Herr Johann. They have an answer for everything.”

“What, for the meeting in the lodge and the slip of paper?”

“All of it. Never saw such smoothness. Do you know, I think I’ll tell Elizabeth about it. When she helped us in ChÂteau-Plessis I saw how well she understands her own people. What do you think of asking her what she makes of it? I can’t get Father much interested; he’s too busy.”

“Well, if you want Elizabeth, there she is,” said Larry, nodding down the street. “She seems in a hurry. I never saw her out in the city before.”

“That’s funny,” said Bob, staring at the little figure which he now caught sight of hurrying ahead of them, threading as rapid a way as possible through the crowded street. “She can’t be going to the Markt Platz this way, or at this hour.”

“Going to see a friend, perhaps,” Larry suggested. “They’re her countrymen after all.”

“Here we are at Colonel Wigmore’s,” said Bob, as they neared a dwelling-house set somewhat back in a snow-covered garden. “I’ll wait outside for you.”

Larry hesitated a second then said decidedly, “I thought you wanted to see Elizabeth, Bob. Let’s follow her. Where’s she going, anyhow?”

“Why, I don’t know. But I’m not going to spy on Elizabeth.”

“It’s not spying. If she’s trustworthy she has nothing to hide. You came to Coblenz to see her, and you may not come again for several days. Why miss the chance?”

As Larry finished speaking he ran to the door of the colonel’s house, left his report with the orderly and was back in a minute at Bob’s side and had caught his arm. “We’ll lose sight of her—come on. She can’t be going far.”

Elizabeth had, in fact, already disappeared, but as the two young men walked quickly on they soon caught sight of her again, just as she turned a corner and started down another street, this time in the direction of the city’s outskirts and the river.

Bob was really anxious to see her and Larry’s argument sounded reasonable enough, but he had a feeling that Larry had begun to suspect Elizabeth of something treacherous or underhanded and, incensed at this idea, he protested, as they followed the German woman’s trail:

“Elizabeth has only one desire now, to get back to America. She was pro-Ally before we were in sight of victory. Let’s catch up with her, Larry. She won’t mind, and we can talk with her as we go along.”

But, either Larry was afraid of Bob’s tiring his leg or he did not want to overtake Elizabeth, for he so slightly pressed the pace that they remained a dozen yards behind her when, in ten minutes more, she came out into a tree-bordered lane near the town’s edge, ending in a park-like walk along the Rhine Embankment. Now, in the dead of winter, the open place with its snow-covered ground and bare-branched trees was quite deserted. A cold wind blew from across the Rhine, and the sky looked cloudy and threatening as twilight began to fall.

Elizabeth glanced sharply about her as though in search of someone. Bob and Larry, by silent agreement, paused in the shadow of a house and watched her, Bob with unlimited amazement. She made no attempt to conceal herself as she walked near the river, looking down the sloping banks at the broad-flowing current. Then, shivering, she drew her shawl closer, turning impatiently at every few seconds.

Bob suddenly explained her behavior to himself and said to Larry, with scorn at his own bewilderment, “Why, she’s only come here to meet a friend, and take a little walk. What else could it be? I’m going to speak to her.”

As he stepped from the sidewalk to cross the snow, a man appeared, hurrying out from a near-by street, his hands thrust in his jacket pockets, something awkward and sullen about his gait and bearing.

Bob stopped short in his tracks and held his breath. “Franz!” he said aloud.

“Come back into this doorway. Don’t let them see you,” begged Larry, tugging at his sleeve.

Elizabeth and Franz were not noticing them. They were standing engaged in earnest conversation. Elizabeth’s face was raised in a kind of pleading, while Franz spoke volubly, with gestures which seemed to mark at one moment the river before them, at others the necessity for compliance with whatever he urged or commanded.

Bob stood motionless in the shadow of the doorway, his mind whirling as he searched for some reason for Elizabeth’s conduct. An explanation there must be. He would not and could not accuse her of treachery, and he felt indignant with Larry for his evident suspicions.

“I wouldn’t go out at all now, Bob. Let’s follow them back. You take one and I the other,” Larry murmured.

“She’s doing nothing wrong,” Bob protested hotly. “I tell you I know her. We don’t understand, that’s all.”

“No, I certainly don’t,” agreed Larry. “What part of Germany is she from, do you know?”

“Bavaria.”

“She’d have no interest in the Rhineland revolt, I suppose. By the way, Bob, we have bad reports of the spread of Bolshevism. The Bolshies are doing their best to scrap Germany, and some Germans would rather have it scrapped if they could scrap the Allies with it. Hello, the conference is over. What now, Bob?”

Franz turned on his heel and, making off across the snow, disappeared down the first street he came to. The twilight had deepened and, along the river, lights had sprung up and shone against the pearl-grey dusk. Elizabeth wrapped her shawl closer, stood a moment staring at the river, then faced about quickly, as though remembering her neglected duty, and came directly toward the spot where Bob and Larry were concealed.

She passed right in front of them, head bent and eyes on the ground. The street was empty and almost dark. Bob sprang from the sheltering doorway and in a dozen steps caught up with her, Larry at his heels.

“Elizabeth,” he said, touching her arm.

She turned and faced him, panting from her hurried walk, her thin cheeks pale in spite of the keen wind, and her dark eyes strangely troubled. At sight of Bob her glance softened, and, though there was something of uneasy hesitation in her voice, she smiled as she exclaimed, looking up at him in the light of a street-lamp:

“You, Mr. Bob! From where do you come here? Will you at the General’s stay? I must hurry back and the dinner get. Good-day to you, Captain Eaton.” This as Larry came beside Bob and nodded to her in silence.

Bob burst into speech. “Look here, Elizabeth, we’re too old friends for me to pretend anything with you. You’ve saved my life and you’ve watched over Lucy in German captivity. I can never forget that. Tell me the truth. What were you saying to Franz Kraft, and why did you come here to meet him?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened and she shrank back a little, with what Bob took to be either fear or suffering, though in the dim light he could not read her features. For a moment she did not answer and Bob, with a pang at his heart, as the doubt he would not harbor struggled for admittance, saw the bare hands clenched about her shawl shake a little. At last she spoke, her low voice eager and imploring:

“Dear Mr. Bob, you say you trust me. Then let me my secret keep! I cannot tell you all the truth now, because—because I cannot. But, Mr. Bob, believe me, it is a secret that can harm no one. Least of all could it harm you or any Americans. Soon you shall know all. Will not that content you?”

She spoke with trembling earnestness, stopping in the street and walking on again with uncertain steps, as though she hardly knew where her feet led her. Her eyes were raised to Bob’s with such eloquent entreaty that he felt himself powerless to refuse her. He wished Larry, who owed Elizabeth nothing, would speak and urge on her the necessity for frankness. But Larry strode along in what seemed like silent disapproval. After a pause Bob said, his voice betraying his dissatisfaction:

“Elizabeth, of course I trust you. But I don’t see why you can’t trust me. I trust you so much that I’ll tell you right now that Franz Kraft is under suspicion, and is the last person to take into your confidence. He’s a regular bad hat——”

“Oh, no, Mr. Bob—surely you are wrong!” cried Elizabeth, in what seemed real dismay. “He is a rough countryman, without speech or manners, but kind and generous. He has not the wits for plotting. Surely you mistake him.”

She spoke as though combating sudden anxious thoughts. Bob wondered if she were not trying to convince herself of Franz’ sincerity as much as to convince him.

“Elizabeth,” he said, “when are you going to meet him again?”

She answered frankly, “One week from to-day, at the same hour. You will not of it speak, dear Mr. Bob?” She eyed Larry uncertainly and, as though guessing his suspicions, she added quickly, “It with politics nothing has to do. It is a private secret only.”

“Then why not tell me?” asked Bob.

“After next time I will tell you all,” Elizabeth promised. “Until then,” she begged, “will you nothing to anyone say?”

“I’ll say nothing, but I don’t promise not to watch Franz. I tell you, Elizabeth, I don’t believe in him, and if you make friends with such as he, you will have to share the suspicions that fall upon him.”

Elizabeth sighed deeply, but she made no more protests, and with no further satisfaction Bob parted with her at Larry’s door.