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Pinky put her cool, sweet fingers into the other woman's spongy clasp. "Why, hello, Mrs. Merz! Of course when there's house cleaning I'd forgotten all about house cleaning that there was such a thing, I mean." "It's got to be done," replied Miz' Merz, severely. "Nothing of the kind," she said, crisply. She looked about the hot, dusty, littered room.
Ruth saw a code message written to the count, who was hiding on what had been the Marchand estate before the war, and then saw Bubu called into the library and the twist of oiled paper secreted in the dog's mouth. When the greyhound was released for his return journey to Merz, Ruth, likewise, left the chateau. A short time later, as has been said, she arrived safely at the hospital in the village.
The major found somebody in authority. An auto-car for hire? Surely! A price asked for it and a driver to Merz, which staggered Ruth. But her companion agreed with a nod. To be a Prussian lieutenant of the Crown Prince's suite one must throw money around! In ten minutes they were under way as easily as that was it accomplished.
Neither, of course, knew the particulars of Tom Cameron's arrest at Merz, beyond the German lines. However, they sympathized with her and applauded her desire to help Tom. For there was a chance for Ruth to aid the young American lieutenant. The major admitted it, and the countess admired Ruth's courage in suggesting it.
But in the morning she will be furnished an outfit I have secured, and she shall enter Merz as a very different person." "Oh, dear!" murmured Ruth. "Another disguise?" "You could scarcely continue in your present dress and escape discovery by daylight," the count said dryly. This fact was, of course, patent. Ruth was only too glad that the voluminous cloak covered her completely.
They descended the winding attic stairs happily, talking very fast and interrupting each other. Mrs. Brewster's skirt was still pinned up. Her hair was bound in the protecting towel. "You must telephone father. No, let's surprise him. You'll hate the dinner built around Miz' Merz; you know boiled. Well, you know what a despot she is." It was hot for September, in Wisconsin.
Had Count Allaire Marchand, or any of his French operatives in and near Merz, attempted to assist in Tom Cameron's escape out of Germany, they would merely lay themselves open to suspicion, and possibly to arrest.
The car rolled out of the garage, the door of which closed as silently behind them as it had opened. Ruth made up her mind that Merz was quite as infested with French spies as the towns behind the French lines were infested with those of the Germans. The car left the town quickly. She remembered the road over which she had traveled that morning.
Merz has shown by example as well as by precept, on the theme of the mutual influence of the great national centres of thought, and in particular of France, England, and Germany. These nations might seem as though designed, whether by nature or by the unconscious hand of political history, to be half-willing, half-reluctant complements to each other.
Ruth asked, deeply interested in what the countess had said. "He, too, is in the secret work," responded the countess, smiling faintly. "My older son claimed the right of undertaking the more perilous task. Likewise he was the more familiar with the vicinity of our summer estate at Merz, having been there often with his father."
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