Ruth Fielding In the Red Cross; Doing Her Best For Uncle Sam

CHAPTER XIII – THE NEW CHIEF

Ruth Fielding was troubled by her most recent discovery. Yet she was in no mind to take Clare into her confidence – or anybody else.

She was cautious. With nothing but suspicions to report to the Red Cross authorities, what could she really say? What, after all, do suspicions amount to?

If the man calling himself Professor Perry was really Legrand, and the Italian chef, Signor Aristo the lame man, was he who had been known as Mr. José at the Robinsburg Red Cross headquarters, her identification of them must be corroborated. How could she prove such assertions?

It was a serious situation; but one in which Ruth felt that her hands were tied. She must wait for something to turn up that would give her a sure hold on these people whom she believed to be out and out crooks.

Ruth accompanied the remainder of the “left behind” party of workers into the building, and they found the proper office in which to report their arrival in Paris. The other members of the supply unit met the delayed party with much hilarity; the joke of their having been left behind was not soon to be forgotten.

The hospital units, better organized, and with their heads, or chiefs, already trained and on the spot, went on toward the front that very day. But Ruth’s battalion still lacked a leader. They were scattered among different hotels and pensions in the vicinity of the Red Cross offices, and spent several days in comparative idleness.

It gave the girls an opportunity of going about and seeing the French capital, which, even in wartime, had a certain amount of gayety. Ruth searched out Madame Picolet, and Madame was transported with joy on seeing her one-time pupil.

The Frenchwoman held the girl of the Red Mill in grateful remembrance, and for more than Ruth’s contribution to Madame Picolet’s work among the widows and orphans of her dear poilus. In “Ruth Fielding at Briarwood Hall,” Madame Picolet’s personal history is narrated, and how Ruth had been the means of aiding the lady in a very serious predicament is shown.

“Ah, my dear child!” exclaimed the Frenchwoman, “it is a blessing of le bon Dieu that we should meet again. And in this, my own country! I love all Americans for what they are doing for our poor poilus. Your sweet and volatile friend, Helen, is here. She has gone with her father just now to a southern city. And even that mischievous Mam’zelle Stone is working in a good cause. She will be delight’ to see you, too.”

This was quite true. Jennie Stone welcomed Ruth in the headquarters of the American Women’s League with a scream of joy, and flew into the arms of the girl of the Red Mill.

The latter staggered under the shock. Jennie looked at her woefully.

“Don’t tell me that work agrees with me!” she wailed. “Don’t say that I am getting fat again! It’s the cooking.”

“What cooking? French cooking will never make you fat in a hundred years,” declared Ruth, who had had her own experiences in the French hotels in war times. “Don’t tell me that, Jennie.

“I don’t. It’s the diet kitchen. I’m in that, you know, and I’m tasting food all the time. It – it’s dreadful the amount I manage to absorb without thinking every day. I know, before this war is over, I shall be as big as one of those British tanks they talk about.”

“My goodness, girl!” cried Ruth. “You don’t have to make a tank of yourself, do you? Exercise – ”

“Now stop right there, Ruth Fielding!” cried Jennie Stone, with flashing eyes. “You have as little sense as the rest of these people. They tell me to exercise, and don’t you know that every time I go horseback riding, or do anything else of a violent nature, that I have to come right back and eat enough victuals to put on twice the number of pounds the exercise is supposed to take off? Don’t – tell – me! It’s impossible to reduce and keep one’s health.”

Jennie was doing something besides putting on flesh, however. Her practical work in the diet kitchen Ruth saw was worthy, indeed.

The girl of the Red Mill could not see Helen at this time, but she believed her chum and Mr. Cameron would look her up, wherever the supply unit to which Ruth belonged was ultimately assigned.

She received a letter from Tom Cameron about this time, too, and found that he was hard at work in a camp right behind the French lines and had already made one step in the line of progress, being now a first lieutenant. He expected, with his force of Pershing’s boys, to go into the trenches for the first time within a fortnight.

She wished she might see Tom again before his battalion went into action; but she was under command of the Red Cross; and, in any case, she could not have got her passport viséed for the front. Mr. Cameron, as a representative of the United States Government, with Helen, had been able to visit Tom in the training camp over here.

Ruth wrote, however – wrote a letter that Tom slipped into the little leather pouch he wore inside his shirt, and which he would surely have with him when he endured his first round of duty in the trenches. With the verities of life and death so near to them, these young people were very serious, indeed.

Yet the note of cheerfulness was never lost among the workers of the Red Cross with whom Ruth Fielding daily associated. While she waited for her unit to be assigned to its place the girl of the Red Mill did not waste her time. There was always something to see and something to learn.

When congregated at the headquarters of the Supply Department one day, the unit was suddenly notified that their new chief had arrived. They gathered quickly in the reception room and soon a number of Red Cross officials entered, headed by one in a major’s uniform and with several medals on the breast of his coat. He was a medical army officer in addition to being a Red Cross commissioner.

“The ladies of our new base supply unit,” said the commissioner, introducing the workers, “already assigned to Lyse. That was decided last evening.

“And it is my pleasure,” he added, “to introduce to you ladies your new chief. She has come over especially to take charge of your unit. Madame Mantel, ladies. Her experience, her executive ability, and her knowledge of French makes her quite the right person for the place. I know you will welcome her warmly.”

Even before he spoke Ruth Fielding had recognized the woman in black. Nor did she feel any overwhelming surprise at Rose Mantel’s appearance. It was as though the girl had expected, back in her mind, something like this to happen.

The man who spoke like Legrand and the one who looked like José, appearing at the Paris Red Cross offices, had prepared Ruth for this very thing. “Madame” Mantel had crossed the path of the girl of the Red Mill again. Ruth crowded behind her companions and hid herself from the sharp and “snaky” eyes of the woman in black.

The question of how Mrs. Mantel had obtained this place under the Red Cross did not trouble Ruth at all. She had gained it. The thing that made Ruth feel anxious was the object the woman in black had in obtaining her prominent position in the organization.

The girl could not help feeling that there was something crooked about Rose Mantel, about Legrand, and about José. These three had, she believed, robbed the organization in Robinsburg. Their “pickings” there had perhaps been small beside the loot they could obtain with the woman in black as chief of a base supply unit.

Her first experience with Mrs. Mantel in Cheslow had convinced Ruth Fielding that the woman was dishonest. The incident of the fire at Robinsburg seemed to prove this belief correct. Yet how could she convince the higher authorities of the Red Cross that the new chief of this supply unit was a dangerous person?

At least, Ruth was not minded to face Mrs. Mantel at this time. She managed to keep out of the woman’s way while they remained in Paris. In two days the unit got their transportation for Lyse, and it was not until they were well settled in their work at the base hospital in that city that Ruth Fielding came in personal contact with the woman in black, her immediate superior.

Ruth had charge of the linen department and had taken over the supplies before speaking with Mrs. Mantel. They met in one of the hospital corridors – and quite suddenly.

The woman in black, who still dressed so that this nickname was borne out by her appearance, halted in amazement, and Ruth saw her hand go swiftly to her bosom – was it to still her heart’s increased beat, or did she hide some weapon there? The malevolent flash of Rose Mantel’s eyes easily suggested the latter supposition.

“Miss Fielding!” she gasped.

“How do you do, Mrs. Mantel?” the girl of the Red Mill returned quietly.

“How – I had no idea you had come across. And in my unit?”

“I was equally surprised when I discovered you, Mrs. Mantel,” said the girl.

“You – How odd!” murmured the woman in black. “Quite a coincidence. I had not seen you since the fire – ”

“And I hope there will be no fire here – don’t you, Madame Mantel?” interrupted Ruth. “That would be too dreadful.”

“You are right. Quite too dreadful,” agreed Mrs. Mantel, and swept past the girl haughtily.

CHAPTER XIV – A CHANGE OF BASE

Ruth’s daily tasks did not often bring her into contact with the chief of her unit. This was a very large hospital – one of the most extensive base hospitals in France. There were thousands of dollars’ worth of supplies in Ruth’s single department.

At present the American Red Cross at this point was caring for French and Canadian wounded. As the American forces came over, were developed into fighting men, and were brought back from the battlefield hospitals as grands blessés, as the French call the more seriously wounded, this base would finally handle American wounded only.

Ruth went through some of the wards in her spare hours, for she had become acquainted with several of the nurses coming over. The appeal of the helpless men (some of them blinded) wrenched the tender heart of the girl of the Red Mill as nothing she had ever before experienced.

She found that in her off hours she could be of use in the hospital wards. So many of the patients wished to write home, but could do so only through the aid of the Red Cross workers. This task Ruth could perform, for she could write and speak French.

Nobody interfered with her when she undertook these extra tasks. She saw that many of the girls in her own unit kept away from the wards because the sight of the wounded and crippled men was hard to bear. Even Clare Biggars had other uses for her spare moments than writing letters for helpless blessés.

Ruth was not forced into contact with the chief of her unit, and was glad thereof. Her weekly reports went up to Madame Mantel, and that was quite all Ruth had to do with the woman in black.

But the girl heard her mates talking a good deal about the woman. The latter seemed to be a favorite with most of the unit. Clare Biggars quite “raved” about Madame Mantel.

“And she knows so many nice people!” Clare exclaimed. “I wish my French was better. I went to dinner last night with Madame Mantel at that little café of the Chou-rouge. Half the people there seemed to know her. And Professor Perry – ”

“Not the man who came over on the steamer with us?” Ruth asked with sudden anxiety.

“The very same,” said Clare. “He ate at our table.”

“I don’t suppose that little Italian chef, Signor Aristo, was among those present, too?” Ruth asked suspiciously.

“No. The only Italian I saw was not lame like Signor Aristo. Madame said he was an Italian commissioner. He was in uniform.”

“Who was in uniform? Aristo?”

“Why, no! How you talk! The Italian gentleman at the restaurant. Aristo had a short leg, don’t you remember? This man was dressed in an Italian uniform – all red and green, and medals upon his coat.”

“I think I will go to the Chou-rouge myself,” Ruth said dryly. “It must be quite a popular place. But I hope they serve something to eat besides the red cabbage the name signifies.”

Again her suspicions were aroused to fever heat. If Professor Perry was Legrand disguised, he and Mrs. Mantel had got together again. And Clare’s mention of the Italian added to Ruth’s trouble of mind, too.

José could easily have assumed the heavy shoe and called himself “Aristo.” Perhaps he was an Italian, and not a Mexican, after all. The trio of crooks, if such they were, had not joined each other here in Lyse by accident. There was something of a criminal nature afoot, Ruth felt sure. And yet with what evidence could she go to the Red Cross authorities?

Besides, something occurred to balk her intention of going to the café of the Chou-rouge to get a glimpse of the professor and the Italian commissioner. That day, much to her surprise, the medical major at the head of the great hospital sent for the girl of the Red Mill.

“Miss Fielding,” he said, upon shaking hands with her, “you have been recommended to me very highly as a young woman to fill a certain special position now open at Clair. Do you mind leaving your present employment?”

“Why, no,” the girl said slowly.

“I think the work at Clair will appeal to you,” the major continued. “I understand that you have been working at off hours in the convalescent wards. That is very commendable.”

“Oh, several of the other girls have been helping there as well as I.”

“I do not doubt it,” he said with a smile. “But it is reported to me that your work is especially commendable. You speak very good French. It is to a French hospital at Clair I can send you. A representative of the Red Cross is needed there to furnish emergency supplies when called upon, and particularly to communicate with the families of the blessés, and to furnish special services to the patients. You have a way with you, I understand, that pleases the poor fellows and that fits you for this position of which I speak.”

“Oh, I believe I should like it!” the girl cried, her eyes glistening. It seemed to be just the work she had hoped for from the beginning – coming in personal touch with the wounded. A place where her sympathies would serve the poor fellows.

“The position is yours. You will start to-night,” declared the major. “Clair is within sound of the guns. It has been bombarded twice; but we shall hope the Boches do not get so near again.”

Ruth was delighted with the chance to go. But suddenly a new thought came to her mind. She asked:

“Who recommended me, sir?”

“You have the very best recommendation you could have, Miss Fielding,” he said pleasantly. “Your chief seems to think very highly of your capabilities. Madame Mantel suggested your appointment.”

Fortunately, the major was not looking at Ruth as he spoke, but was filling out her commission papers for the new place she had accepted. The girl’s emotion at that moment was too great to be wholly hidden.

Rose Mantel to recommend her for any position! It seemed unbelievable! Unless —

The thought came to Ruth that the woman in black wished her out of the way. She feared the girl might say something regarding the Robinsburg fire that would start an official inquiry here in France regarding Mrs. Mantel and her particular friends. Was that the basis for the woman in black’s desire to get Ruth out of the way? Should the latter tell this medical officer, here and now, just what she thought of Mrs. Mantel?

How crass it would sound in his ears if she did so! Rose Mantel had warmly recommended Ruth for a position that the girl felt was just what she wanted.

She could not decide before the major handed her the papers and an order for transportation in an ambulance going to Clair. He again shook hands with her. His abrupt manner showed that he was a busy man and that he had no more time to give to her affairs.

“Get your passport viséed before you start. Never neglect your passport over here in these times,” advised the major.

Should she speak? She hesitated, and the major sat down to his desk and took up his pen again.

“Good-day, Miss Fielding,” he said. “And the best of luck!”

The girl left the office, still in a hesitating frame of mind. There were yet several hours before she left the town. Her bags were quickly packed. All the workers of the Red Cross “traveled light,” as Clare Biggars laughingly said.

Ruth decided that she could not confide in Clare. Already the Western girl was quite enamored of the smiling, snaky Rose Mantel. It would be useless to ask Clare to watch the woman. Nor could Ruth feel that it would be wise to go to the French police and tell them of her suspicions concerning the woman in black.

The French have a very high regard for the American Red Cross – as they have for their own Croix Rouge. They can, and do, accept assistance for their needy poilus and for others from the American Red Cross, because, in the end, the organization is international and is not affiliated with any particular religious sect.

To accuse one of the Red Cross workers in this great hospital at Lyse would be very serious – no matter to what Ruth’s suspicions pointed. The girl could not bring herself to do that.

When she went to the prefect of police to have her passport viséed she found a white-mustached, fatherly man, who took a great interest in her as an Americaine mademoiselle who had come across the ocean to aid France.

“I kiss your hand, Mademoiselle!” he said. “Your bravery and your regard for my country touches me deeply. Good fortune attend your efforts at Clair. You may be under bombardment there, my child. It is possible. We shall hope for your safety.”

Ruth thanked him for his good wishes, and, finally, was tempted to give some hint of her fears regarding the supposed Professor Perry and the Italian Clare had spoken of.

“They may be perfectly straightforward people,” Ruth said; “but where I was engaged in Red Cross work in America these two men – I am almost sure they are the same – worked under the names of Legrand and José, one supposedly a Frenchman and the other a Mexican. There was a fire and property was destroyed. Legrand and José were suspected in the matter, but I believe they got away without being arrested.”

“Mademoiselle, you put me under further obligations,” declared the police officer. “I shall make it my business to look up these two men – and their associates.”

“But, Monsieur, I may be wrong.”

“If it is proved that they are in disguise, that is sufficient. We are giving spies short shrift nowadays.”

His stern words rather troubled Ruth. Yet she believed she had done her duty in announcing her suspicions of the two men. Of Rose Mantel she said nothing. If the French prefect made a thorough investigation, as he should, he could not fail to discover the connection between the men and the chief of the Red Cross supply unit at the hospital.

Ruth’s arrangements were made in good season, and Clare and the other girls bade her a warm good-bye at the door of their pension. The ambulance that was going to Clair proved to be an American car of famous make with an ambulance body, and driven by a tall, thin youth who wore shell-bowed glasses. He was young and gawky and one could see hundreds of his like leaving the city high schools in America at half-past three o’clock, or pacing the walks about college campuses.

He looked just as much out of place in the strenuous occupation of ambulance driver as anyone could look. He seemingly was a “bookish” young man who would probably enjoy hunting a Greek verb to its lair. Tom Cameron would have called him “a plug” – a term meaning an over-faithful student.

Ruth climbed into the seat beside this driver. She then had no more than time to wave her hand to the girls before the ambulance shot away from the curb, turned a corner on two wheels, and, with the staccato blast of a horn that sounded bigger than the car itself, sent dogs and pedestrians flying for their lives.

“Goodness!” gasped Ruth when she caught her breath. Then she favored the bespectacled driver with a surprised stare. He looked straight ahead, and, as they reached the edge of the town, he put on still more speed, and the girl began to learn why people who can afford it buy automobiles that have good springs and shock absorbers.

“Do – do you have to drive this way?” she finally shrilled above the clatter of the car.

“Yes. This is the best road – and that isn’t saying much,” the bespectacled driver declared.

“No! I mean so fa-a-ast!”

“Oh! Does it jar you? I’ll pull her down. Got so used to getting over all the ground I can before I break something – or a shell comes – ”

He reduced speed until they could talk to each other. Ruth learned all in one gush, it seemed, that his name was Charlie Bragg, that he had been on furlough, and that they had given him a “new second-hand flivver” to take up to Clair and beyond, as his old machine had been quite worn out.

He claimed unsmilingly to be more than twenty-one, that he had left a Western college in the middle of his freshman year to come over to drive a Red Cross car, and that he was writing a book to be called “On the Battlefront with a Flivver,” in which his brother in New York already had a publisher interested.

“Gee!” said this boy-man, who simply amazed Ruth Fielding, “Bob’s ten years older than I am, and he’s married, and his wife makes him put on rubbers and take an umbrella if it rains when he starts for his office. And they used to call me ‘Bubby’ before I came over here.”

Ruth could appreciate that! She laughed and they became better friends.