Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  The colonel looked them all over. He uttered little guttural exclamations and tapped the desk with his finger-tips as he read, and all the time his face wore that perplexing expression of surprise. Finally he asked:

  “Which is Mr. Merrick?”

  Hearing his name, Uncle John bowed.

  “Huh! But the description does not fit you.”

  Captain Carg translated this.

  “Why not?” demanded Uncle John.

  “It says you are short, stout, blue-eyed, bald, forty-five years of age.”

  “Of course.”

  “You are not short; I think you are as tall as I am. Your eyes are not blue; they are olive green. You are not bald, for there is still hair over your ears. Huh! How do you explain that?”

  “It’s nonsense,” said Uncle John scornfully.

  Carg was more cautious in interpreting the remark. He assured the colonel, in German, that the description of Mr. Merrick was considered close enough for all practical purposes. But Grau was not satisfied. He went over the papers again and then turned to face the other officer.

  “What do you think, General?” he asked, hesitatingly.

  “Suspicious!” was the reply.

  “I think so, myself,” said the colonel. “Mark you: Here’s a man who claims to come from Sangoa, a place no one has ever heard of; and the other has endorsements purporting to come from the highest officials in America. Huh! what does it mean?”

  “Papers may be forged, or stolen from their proper owners,” suggested the squinting general. “This excuse of coming here to get the wife of a hurt Belgian seems absurd. If they are really Red Cross workers, they are not attending to their proper business.”

  When the captain interpreted this speech Patsy said angrily:

  “The general is an old fool.”

  “An idiot, I’ll call him,” added Uncle John. “I wish I could tell him so.”

  “You have told him,” said the general in good English, squinting now more rapidly than ever, “and your manner of speech proves you to be impostors. I have never known a respectable Red Cross nurse, of any country, who called a distinguished officer a fool — and to his face.”

  “I didn’t know you understood English,” she said.

  “That is no excuse!”

  “But I did know,” she added, “that I had judged you correctly. No one with a spark of intelligence could doubt the evidence of these papers.”

  “The papers are all right. Where did you get them?”

  “From the proper authorities.”

  He turned to speak rapidly in German to Colonel Grau, who had been uneasy during the conversation in English, because he failed to understand it. His expression of piquant surprise was intensified as he now turned to the Americans.

  “You may as well confess your imposture,” said he. “It will make your punishment lighter. However, if on further examination you prove to be spies, your fate is beyond my power to mitigate.”

  “See here,” said Uncle John, when this was translated to him, “if you dare to interfere with us, or cause us annoyance, I shall insist on your being courtmartialed. You are responsible to your superiors, I suppose, and they dare not tolerate an insult to the Red Cross, nor to an American citizen. You may have the sense to consider that if these papers and letters are genuine, as I declare they are, I have friends powerful enough to bring this matter before the Kaiser himself, in which case someone will suffer a penalty, even if he is a general or a colonel.”

  As he spoke he glared defiantly at the older officer, who calmly proceeded to translate the speech to the colonel. Carg reported that it was translated verbatim. Then the general sat back and squinted at his companion, who seemed fairly bewildered by the threat. Patsy caught the young officer smothering a smile, but neither of them interrupted the silence that followed.

  Once again the colonel picked up the papers and gave them a rigid examination, especially that of the German ambassador, which was written in his own language. “I cannot understand,” he muttered, “how one insignificant American citizen could secure such powerful endorsements. It has never happened before in my experience.”

  “It is extraordinary,” said the general.

  “Mr. Merrick,” said Patsy to him, “is a very important man in America. He is so important that any indignity to him will be promptly resented.”

  “I will investigate your case further,” decided Colonel Grau, after another sotto voce conference with the general. “Spies are getting to be very clever, these days, and we cannot take chances. However, I assure you there is no disposition to worry you and until your standing is determined you will be treated with every consideration.”

  “Do you mean that we are prisoners?” asked Uncle John, trying to control his indignation.

  “No, indeed. You will be detained, of course, but you are not prisoners — as yet. I will keep your papers and submit them to the general staff. It will be for that august body to decide.”

  Uncle John protested vigorously; Patsy faced the old general and told him this action was an outrage that would be condemned by the entire civilized world; Captain Carg gravely assured both officers that they were making a serious mistake. But nothing could move the stolid Germans. The general, indeed, smiled grimly and told them in English that he was in no way responsible, whatever happened. This was Colonel Grau’s affair, but he believed, nevertheless, that the colonel was acting wisely.

  The young officer, who had stood like a statue during the entire interview, was ordered to accompany the Americans to a hotel, where they must be kept under surveillance but might follow, to an extent, their own devices. They were not to mail letters nor send telegrams.

  The officer asked who should guard the suspects.

  “Why not yourself, Lieutenant? You are on detached duty, I believe?”

  “At the port, Colonel.”

  “There are too many officers at the port; it is a sinecure. I will appoint you to guard the Americans. You speak their language, I believe?”

  The young man bowed.

  “Very well; I shall hold you responsible for their safety.”

  They were then dismissed and compelled to follow their guard from the room.

  Patsy was now wild with rage and Uncle John speechless. Even Carg was evidently uneasy.

  “Do not mind,” said the young lieutenant consolingly. “It is merely a temporary inconvenience, you know, for your release will come very soon. And since you are placed in my care I beg you to accept this delay with good grace and be happy as possible. Ostend is full of life and I am conducting you to an excellent hotel.”

  CHAPTER XIII

  TARDY JUSTICE

  The courtesy of Lieutenant von Holtz was beyond criticism. He obtained for his charges a comfortable suite of rooms in an overcrowded hotel, obliging the landlord to turn away other guests that Mr. Merrick’s party might be accommodated. The dinner that was served in their cosy sitting room proved excellent, having been ordered by von Holtz after he had requested that privilege. When the young officer appeared to see that it was properly served, Patsy invited him to join them at the table and he laughingly consented.

  “You are one of our party, by force of circumstances,” said the girl, “and since we’ve found you good-natured and polite, and believe you are not to blame for our troubles, we may as well be friendly while we are together.”

  The young man was evidently well pleased.

  “However evil your fortune may be,” said he, “I cannot fail to be impressed by my own good luck. Perhaps you may guess what a relief this pleasant commission is to one who for days has been compelled to patrol those vile smelling docks, watching for spies and enduring all sorts of weather.”

  “To think,” said Uncle John gloomily, “that we are accused of being spies!”

  “It is not for me,” returned von Holtz, “to criticize the acts of my superiors. I may say, however, that were it my province to decide the question, you would now be free. Colonel
Grau has an excellent record for efficiency and seldom makes a mistake, but I suspect his judgment was influenced by the general, whose son was once jilted by an American girl.”

  “We’re going to get even with them both, before this affair is ended,” declared Patsy, vindictively; “but although you are our actual jailer I promise that you will escape our vengeance.”

  “My instructions are quite elastic, as you heard,” said the lieutenant. “I am merely ordered to keep you in Ostend, under my eye, until your case has been passed upon by the commandant or the general staff. Since you have money, you may enjoy every luxury save that of travel, and I ask you to command my services in all ways consistent with my duty.”

  “What worries me,” said Patsy to Uncle John, “is the delay. If we are kept here for long, poor Denton will die before we can find his wife and take her to him.”

  “How long are we liable to be detained?” Uncle John asked the officer.

  “I cannot say. Perhaps the council of the general staff will meet to-morrow morning; perhaps not for several days,” was the indefinite reply.

  Patsy wiped away the tears that began to well into her eyes. She had so fondly set her heart on reuniting the Dentons that her disappointment was very great.

  Von Holtz noticed the girl’s mood and became thoughtful. Captain Carg had remained glum and solemn ever since they had left the colonel’s office. Uncle John sat in silent indignation, wondering what could be done to influence these stupid Germans. Presently the lieutenant remarked:

  “That sailor whom you left with the launch seemed an intelligent fellow.”

  Patsy gave a start; Uncle John looked at the young man expectantly; the captain nodded his head as he slowly replied:

  “Henderson is one of the picked men I brought from Sangoa. He is both intelligent and loyal.”

  “Curiously enough,” said von Holtz, “I neglected to place the man under arrest. I even forgot to report him. He is free.”

  “Ah!” exclaimed Patsy, her eyes lighting.

  “I know a civilian here — a bright young Belgian — who is my friend and will do anything I ask of him,” resumed von Holtz, still musingly. “I had the good fortune to protect his mother when our troops entered the city, and he is grateful.”

  Patsy was thinking very fast now.

  “Could Henderson get to Charleroi, do you imagine?” she asked. “He has a passport.”

  “We do not consider passports of much value,” said the officer; “but a Red Cross appointment — ”

  “Oh, he has that, too; all our men carry them.”

  “In that case, with my friend Rondel to guide him, I believe Henderson could accomplish your errand.”

  “Let us send for him at once!” exclaimed Uncle John.

  Carg scribbled on a card.

  “He wouldn’t leave the launch without orders, unless forced by the Germans,” asserted the captain, and handed the card to von Holtz.

  The young lieutenant took his cap, bowed profoundly and left the room. In ten minutes he returned, saying: “I am not so fortunate as I had thought. All our troops are on the move, headed for the Yser. There will be fighting, presently, and — I must remain here,” he added despondently.

  “It won’t be your last chance, I’m sure,” said Patsy. “Will that dreadful Colonel Grau go, too?”

  “No; he is to remain. But all regiments quartered here are now marching out and to-morrow a fresh brigade will enter Ostend.”

  They were silent a time, until someone rapped upon the door. Von Holtz admitted a slim, good-looking young Belgian who grasped his hand and said eagerly in French:

  “You sent for me?”

  “Yes. You may speak English here, Monsieur Rondel.” Then he presented his friend to the Americans, who approved him on sight.

  Henderson came a few minutes later and listened respectfully to the plan Miss Doyle unfolded. He was to go with Monsieur Rondel to Charleroi, find Mrs. Denton, explain that her husband was very ill, and bring her back with him to Ostend. He would report promptly on his return and they would tell him what to do next.

  The man accepted the mission without a word of protest. Charleroi was in central Belgium, but that did not mean many miles away and Rondel assured him they would meet with no difficulties. The trains were reserved for soldiers, but the Belgian had an automobile and a German permit to drive it. The roads were excellent.

  “Now, remember,” said Patsy, “the lady you are going for is Mrs. Albert Denton. She lives with her mother, or did, the last we heard of her.”

  “And her mother’s name and address?” inquired Henderson.

  “We are ignorant of either,” she confessed; “but it’s not a very big town and I’m sure you’ll easily find her.”

  “I know the place well,” said Rondel, “and I have friends residing there who will give me information.”

  Uncle John supplied them liberally with money, impressed upon them the necessity of haste, and sent them away. Rondel declared the night time was best for the trip and promised to be on the way within the hour, and in Charleroi by next morning.

  Notwithstanding the fact that they had succeeded in promoting by proxy the mission which had brought them to Belgium, the Americans found the next day an exceedingly irksome one. In the company of Lieutenant von Holtz they were permitted to walk about the city, but they found little pleasure in that, owing to the bustle of outgoing troops and the arrival of others to replace them. Nor did they care to stray far from their quarters, for fear the council would meet and they might be sent for.

  However, no sign from Colonel Grau was received that day. Patsy went to bed with a nervous headache and left Uncle John and the captain to smoke more than was good for them. Both the men had now come to regard their situation as serious and as the American consul was at this time absent in Brussels they could think of no way to secure their freedom. No one knew when the consul would return; Mr. Merrick had been refused the privilege of using the telegraph or mails. During one of their strolls they had met the correspondent of an American newspaper, but when the man learned they were suspects he got away from them as soon as possible. He did not know Mr. Merrick and his own liberty was too precarious for him to argue with Colonel Grau.

  “I’m beginning to think,” said Uncle John, “that we’re up against a hard proposition. Letters and endorsements from prominent Americans seem to have no weight with these Germans. I’d no idea our identity could ever be disputed.”

  “We must admit, sir,” returned the captain, reflectively, “that the spy system in this war is something remarkable. Spies are everywhere; clever ones, too, who adopt every sort of subterfuge to escape detection. I do not blame Grau so much for caution as for lack of judgment.”

  “He’s a blockhead!” cried Mr. Merrick testily.

  “He is. I’m astonished they should place so much power in the hands of one so slow witted.”

  “He has insulted us,” continued Uncle John. “He has dared to arrest three free-born Americans.”

  “Who came into a troubled country, occupied by a conquering army, without being invited.”

  “Well — that’s true,” sighed the little millionaire, “but what are we going to do about it?”

  “Wait,” counseled the captain.

  The next day dawned dark and rainy and the weather had a depressing effect upon the prisoners. It was too damp to stir out of doors and the confinement of the hotel rooms became especially irksome. Not only were they anxious about their own fate but it was far past the time when they should have heard from Henderson and Rondel. Patsy’s nerves were getting beyond her control; Uncle John stumped around with his hands thrust deep in his pockets and a frown wrinkling his forehead; the captain smoked innumerable pipes of tobacco and said not a word. Von Holtz, noting the uneasiness of his charges, discreetly forbore conversation and retired to a far corner where he hid behind a book.

  It was nearing evening when a commotion was heard on the stairs, followed by the heavy
tramp of feet in the corridor. A sharp rap sounded on the door of their sitting room. Uncle John stepped forward to open it, when in stalked a group of German officers, their swords and spurs clanking and their cloaks glistening with rain-drops. At sight of the young girl off came cap and helmet and with one accord they bowed low.

  The leader was a tall, thin man with a leathern face, hooked nose and piercing gray eyes. His breast glittered with orders. It was von Kargenbrut, the military governor.

  “Pardon our intrusion,” he said in English, his harsh voice having a guttural accent. “Which gentleman is Mr. John Merrick?”

  “I am John Merrick.”

  The eagle eyes swept over him with a swift glance.

  “We owe you our apology,” continued the governor, speaking as fiercely as if he were ordering Uncle John beheaded. “I have been too busy to take up your case before to-day, when I discover that we have treated you discourteously. You will consider our fault due to these troubled times, when mistakes occur in spite of our watchfulness. Is it not so?”

  “Your error has caused us great inconvenience,” responded Mr. Merrick stiffly.

  The governor whirled around. “Colonel Grau!” he called, and from the rear of the group the colonel stepped forward. His face still wore the expression of comical surprise. “Return to Mr. Merrick his papers and credentials.”

  The colonel drew the packet of papers from his breast pocket and handed it to Uncle John. Then he glanced hesitatingly at his superior, who glared at him.

  “He cannot speak the English,” said the governor to Mr. Merrick, “but he owes you reparation.”

  “Grau’s stupidity has been very annoying, to say the least,” was the ungracious reply. “We came here on important business, and presented our papers — all in proper order — on demand. We had the right to expect decent treatment, as respectable American citizens engaged in humanitarian work; yet this — this — man,” pointing an accusing finger at the colonel, “ordered us detained — arrested! — and kept our papers.”