The Camp Fire Girls Do Their Bit Part 23

"It was just like a book!" Hinpoha went on impressively. "Sahwah pa.s.sed by the door of his room over there last night after the doctors had gone, and it was open, and n.o.body was in the room with him because your grandmother had gone downstairs for something, and she saw that the curtain was blowing out of the window. She went in to pull it back and while she was in the room he opened his eyes and said, 'Is it really you?' He thought he was _dreaming_ and she wasn't real at all. Then he told her all about his dream girl, and about seeing her in the train that day, and finding the locket, and everything. He said the locket had brought him good luck wherever he went, for half a dozen times he had escaped as by a miracle from being killed in accidents to his plane. And to think that the last time it was she herself who saved his life!" The utter romance of the thing struck Hinpoha momentarily speechless.

Then she thought of something else, and broke out afresh.

"Don't you remember, when I was telling her fortune there in the train, I told her that the light-haired man had already come into her life, and she made fun of me and said it must have been the Swede brakeman? Well, what I told her was true, because Lieutenant Allison had already seen her then! _Now_, will you say there isn't any truth in fortunes?"

The Winnebagos could only gasp at the workings of fate!

"But what about the other man you said you saw in her fortune, the light-haired man who was going to turn dark after a while?" asked Migwan.

"I don't know," replied Hinpoha. Then she added, "Give him time! He hasn't shown up yet, but he will, you see if he doesn't."

And in view of the success of her former prophecy the Winnebagos could not very well have any doubts.

"Wasn't it a miracle that Sahwah happened to be in the woods when the plane came down?" said Agony in a hushed voice.

"Yes, but she wouldn't have been there if we hadn't lost the contest,"

said Migwan musingly. "Isn't it queer the way things work out sometimes?

Here, we wanted to win that contest so badly, and were disappointed when we didn't, and yet if we _had_ won it Lieutenant Allison would have been killed!"

The rest looked at each other in silent awe at _this_ marvelous working of fate! In a dim, groping way they all felt the touch of an unseen, mighty hand in their affairs, guiding them this way or that as it chose, regardless of their own plans or intentions.

"It was really Oh-Pshaw that saved his life," said Gladys, "because she made the mistake that made us lose."

"And I was so hateful about it, and said such mean things!" said Agony contritely. "I take it all back, Oh-Pshaw. It was the luckiest thing you ever did to get rattled then."

Oh-Pshaw smiled forgivingly and all was serene between the twins once more.

While the Winnebago tongues were wagging busily in Oh-Pshaw's room and Lieutenant Allison was lying quite comfortable in bed in the big square bedroom of the Wing home, where he had been carried when brought in from the woods the night before with a ragged cut in his left temple and a fractured arm, Sahwah, breathless with wonder at the strange new thing that had come into her life, fled from the chattering girls and went wandering by herself in the silence of the woods, where she could think and dream undisturbed.

So preoccupied was she that she had pa.s.sed out of the gate of Carver House without even noticing Kaiser Bill, who had broken out of his confines and was pulling the honeysuckle vine off the fence. The Kaiser stopped pulling for a moment as she came out and eyed her warily, on guard for a well-aimed stone, but she pa.s.sed by unheeding. It betokened deep abstraction indeed when Sahwah ignored the depredations of Kaiser Bill. The Kaiser executed a defiant caper under her very nose and then returned blandly to his vine pulling, sending a suspicious look after her from time to time as she pa.s.sed down the hill.

Through the troubles that had overtaken Carver House, Kaiser Bill had gained a temporary reprieve. In the excitement over Nyoda's going away he had been forgotten entirely for a whole week, and of course nothing would be done about his execution until she returned. Kaiser Bill was making the most of his reprieve by breaking bounds every day and damaging property to his heart's content.

But not even Kaiser Bill in mischief could hold Sahwah's attention now.

She walked on in the golden afternoon suns.h.i.+ne, her heart attuned to the song of the wild thrush that came pouring out of the stillness of the woods. She sought her own favorite haunt, a mossy seat beside the little singing stream, where she loved to sit and watch the water tumble and foam over the rocks, but when she got there she found the place already occupied. Eugene Prince, the artist, sat there, his head tilted back against the trunk of a tree, sound asleep, with his sketching portfolio beside him on the ground and his hat on the other side. Sahwah scowled at the sleeping man and pa.s.sed swiftly on. She had no desire to sit near him, even if he _was_ asleep. She found another place, far downstream, where there was a rocky seat close to the water, and, curling herself down in it, she watched the water tumble and foam, and gave herself over to pondering on the delightful mystery of life and fate.

Upstream, in Sahwah's own private nook, the invader reclined at ease, steeped in the sound slumber of a drowsy midsummer afternoon. Upon this peaceful scene there appeared a sinister and menacing apparition, a s.h.a.ggy body mounted on slender, adventurous legs, and terminating in a mischievous-shaped head with evilly glittering eyes and wicked-looking horns. It was none other than Kaiser Bill, on whom the taste of honeysuckle had palled, wandering far afield in search of something to tickle his discriminating palate. He stood still and surveyed the scene, eyeing the various articles spread out before him with an appraising eye, like a man in a Thompson's restaurant looking over the articles on the counter and trying to make up his mind what he will have. He looked at the pencil, he looked at the sketch pad; he sniffed experimentally at the hat and then at the portfolio. The portfolio went to the spot; it was made of leather with bra.s.s corners. He had not had such a treat in many a day. He licked his chops; the water of antic.i.p.ation began to gather in his mouth. With a greedy movement he sank his teeth into the portfolio and began his feast In his sportive delight he played with his prize, tossing it to the ground and attacking it from all sides, while his eyes glittered maliciously at the sleeping artist. Then he; moved on down the wood path, dragging the portfolio with him until he found a place which struck him as a suitable banquet Chamber, and there he stood still and began chewing.

Sahwah, sitting on the rock beside the water, gazing off into s.p.a.ce with her chin in her hand, suddenly became aware of a champing sound directly in her ear, accompanied by the noise of tearing. She raised her head, and there was Kaiser Bill right beside her tearing something to pieces.

She put out her hand and s.n.a.t.c.hed the thing away so quickly that it was gone before Kaiser Bill knew what had happened; then, realizing that to stay in the neighborhood after such a daring act was decidedly perilous, Sahwah sprang up into the branches of a great old willow tree that leaned invitingly near, drew herself up out of his reach and from her safe vantage point made triumphant grimaces down at him. Kaiser Bill, baffled, dashed his head against the tree several times in fury, then rushed into the woods.

Left to herself, Sahwah examined the thing she had rescued, and then it was that she recognized the artist's sketching portfolio. Her first feeling was regret that she hadn't let Kaiser Bill go on eating it Then she felt ashamed of such vicious thoughts and began looking over the portfolio to see how badly it was damaged. It was a sorry wreck, she decided, after a moment's inspection. Most of the seams were burst open and the soft leather which lined the stiffer outside was torn away in a dozen places. It was empty of sketches, these having been scattered along the path in the progress of Kaiser Bill's capers. Sahwah fingered the torn lining and wondered if the artist would make them pay for the damage. While she was wondering her fingers found something under the lining, and she drew out several sheets of paper, written over in a close hand. Under these were dozens of other sheets, thin as tissue, but very tough and strong, covered with lines and angles and circles and letters in complicated designs. She rummaged still further under the lining and drew out a black ribbon about an inch wide. On it in gold letters was stamped _S.M.S. Eitel Friederich_. After that out came a narrow envelope of exceedingly heavy correspondence paper addressed in a beautifully shaded handwriting to "Lieutenant Waldemar von Oldenbach, _S.M.S. Eitel Friederich_." Sahwah turned it over in her hands. It was sealed on the other side with a wafer of gold wax, the seal being a coronet The envelope was open at the top, disclosing a letter inside.

Sahwah looked at it curiously, but did not open it. It was the superscription on the envelope and the gold letters on the black ribbon that were holding her attention. Sahwah knew from reading the papers that the _S.M.S. Eitel Friederich_ was one of the German wars.h.i.+ps caught in American ports at the outbreak of the war and interned. The ribbon had evidently come from the s.h.i.+p, but what was it doing here under the lining of Eugene Prince's portfolio? Why was he carrying around a s.h.i.+p's ribbon from an interned German vessel? Who was Waldemar von Oldenbach?

Evidently a lieutenant on the _Eitel Friederich_, from the address on the letter. But what was a letter addressed to such a person doing in the possession of the artist? A letter from a woman, it undoubtedly was.

Something heavy was in the envelope beside the letter; it fell out into Sahwah's lap as she handled the letter. It was a little Maltese cross made of gray metal, with letters stamped in the ends of the crosspieces.

Sahwah held it in her hand and spelled out the letters, and then all at once she knew what it was. She had seen a picture of such a thing in a magazine only a few days before. It was an Iron Cross of the First Cla.s.s. She stared at it, fascinated, for a moment, then shuddered and dropped it back into the envelope.

She looked over the thin sheets of paper, but could make nothing of them; she then turned back to the first letter that had come to light.

The sheets were open and she felt no hesitancy about reading them.

What Sahwah read sent her heart wildly pounding against her throat.

"Atterbury?" "Strikes?"--and signed by Prince Karl Augustus of Hohenburg? This must be the very letter that was stolen from Mr. Wing's desk--the letter they accused Veronica of taking! Eugene Prince, the artist, had taken it and hidden it under the lining of his sketch book.

But no one had ever thought of suspecting him! He had been so sure that Veronica was an enemy agent, and here he was one himself! She had been right after all, Veronica was innocent, and her faith in her had not been betrayed. For a moment that one great dazzling fact blotted out all other facts. It was not too late yet to save Veronica from internment.

She must get to Mr. Wing as fast as she could with her great discovery.

She must----Here Sahwah looked down, and directly into the face of Eugene Prince, standing on the ground beside the tree, his eye on the portfolio and the articles spread out in her lap. For a moment "they looked at each other, tense, speechless, then the artist sprang into the tree, s.n.a.t.c.hed the portfolio and the letter away from her and darted away into the woods. Stunned by surprise Sahwah slid limply to the ground, vainly looking around to see where the artist had gone. The woods had swallowed him. At Sahwah's feet lay the gilt-lettered s.h.i.+p's ribbon, the letter addressed to Waldemar von Oldenbach and the thin sheets of paper, and in her hand she still clutched the bottom half of one of the pages of the stolen letter, the half that bore the prince's signature and the name of Atterbury in one of the lines."

CHAPTER XX

ANOTHER'S SECRET

"Tell me something about this artist who called himself Eugene Prince,"

said Lieutenant Allison, who, propped up in bed with Mr. Wing and the Winnebagos around him, had been looking over the contents of the sketching portfolio which Sahwah had just brought in.

Mr. Wing, still dazed from the shock of learning that the man he had looked upon as such a good friend had played him false, described the artist as well as he could. The lieutenant listened with a puzzled frown until he heard about the funny little drawings that the artist used to make, and then he interrupted with a triumphant exclamation.

"That's he!" he exclaimed. "The very same! Eugene Prince is Waldemar von Oldenbach himself!"

Then he told about him.

"Waldemar von Oldenbach! His father is a German count, his mother was an American. He was educated in England and afterward came to America and entered Cornell. That's where I met him. He was the cleverest scapegrace that ever lived. He could sing like an angel, draw like St. Peter, and knew more languages than an Ellis Island interpreter. He made friends wherever he went. To look at him and hear him talk you would never think he was a German; he's the picture of his American mother, and being in England so much he had learned English perfectly. At the same time he could make himself up like a Frenchman and you'd swear that he and all his ancestors were born in the shadow of Notre Dame. He was a great old actor, all right. After he'd been in America a year or so he went back to Germany and entered the navy and became a first lieutenant on the _Eitel Friederich_. That's where he was when the war broke out and the _Eitel Friederich_ was interned. But Von Oldenbach wasn't interned with her, not much. He got away before they had a chance to photograph him and label him, and so no official search was ever made for him as it was in the cases of the other sailors from the _Eitel Friederich_ who escaped. I have often wondered what became of him, because I knew he was on the _Eitel Friederich_ when she first came into port, but his name didn't show up among the s.h.i.+p's officers when they were interned.

Someone on board said he had died the day before the s.h.i.+p was seized and that was all anybody knew about him. He must have been quietly cruising around the country ever since, disguised and posing as an artist, working himself into one locality after another where he could get information that was of service to his fatherland. These drawings here are mostly of airplane parts which he's picked up in various places and his sketches are mostly all rivers and bridges.

"Eugene Prince, indeed! '_Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter,'_ that's what they used to call him in college, after an old student song. He had such winning ways he could take up with anybody. n.o.body on earth was proof against his charm. You see how it has worked with yourself, Mr. Wing. He made himself such a delightful companion, and became of such real service to you in your work of trailing enemy agents that you never suspected he wasn't the most patriotic American alive. You would have staked your soul on it. When he found out you had this letter which tied up old Prince Karl Augustus with your strike case, he managed to get it away from you and so scored one for the Prince, who is a good friend of his. At the same time he was clever enough to throw suspicion over onto this little Hungarian girl friend of yours, and if this goat hadn't b.u.t.ted in just at the right time he probably never would have been found out. As it is, he'll probably never be caught now. He's too clever.

He'll fool the officers yet, as he's done before." Sleep came slowly to the girls that night, there had been so much excitement during the day, but one by one they dropped off at last, even Sahwah, who was so wide awake she thought she would never sleep again. Sometime after midnight the doorbell rang, a loud, ferocious peal that clanged through the silent house like a fire alarm and fetched Sahwah sitting upright in bed with a beating heart. "What's that?" came in a startled tone from Hinpoha's room.

"The doorbell," answered Sahwah, jumping out of bed and putting on her slippers. The other girls were awake by this time, calling to each other. The bell pealed again.

"Don't you go to the door!" cried Hinpoha hoa.r.s.ely, as she saw Sahwah preparing to go down. "It may be the artist coming back to kill us. I've heard of such things. They come to the door at night and ring the doorbell and then they shoot you through the door when you open it.

Don't you dare go down!"

"Oh-h-h-h-wow-w!" shrieked Gladys, with a smothered squeal, her nerves giving away beneath the shock of being wakened so suddenly from sound sleep, together with the picture of horror conjured up by Hinpoha's awful suggestion.

Fright overtook the rest of them then and they stood in a s.h.i.+vering group in the upper hall. Another peal clanged through the house, louder and more insistent than before.

"I'm going to see who's there," said Sahwah hardily. "Come on, all of you, come down with me."

"Wait until we get armed," said Hinpoha, casting about for something that would serve as a weapon of defense. There was nothing in sight but a two-quart bottle of spring water, which she picked up. Gladys went into the kitchen and picked up a frying pan, Sahwah climbed up on the mantel and pulled down the Revolutionary musket that hung there and brought down a three-foot sword for Migwan. It dropped with a clatter upon the hearthstone when Migwan tried to take it from her hand, and the four stood petrified with alarm. Another furious peal at the bell.

"Come on," whispered Sahwah. "I'll open the door a crack and you stand right behind me. I'm not going to turn on the light, because it's easier to rush out and make an attack in the dark." Holding their breath they approached the door with shaking knees. Sahwah turned the key in the lock as quietly as she could and opened the door a tiny crack. "Who's there?" she called in a bold voice, at the same time bringing her gun down on the floor with a warning bang.

"It's I, Nyoda," answered the dearest voice in the world. "Oh, I thought I'd _never_ make you hear!"

The next minute she was inside the room and the light was switched on.

One look at the four girls, armed to the teeth, and Nyoda doubled up on the stairs and laughed until she cried, while the Winnebagos looked sheepish and laid their weapons down in a hurry.

"Didn't you get my wire saying I was coming?" asked Nyoda in surprise.