"This chap they suspect gave information to the Boches. He's gone—like that!"
"Captured?" questioned Ruth breathlessly.
"Or gone over to them," returned Charlie, with evident unwillingness.
Ruth sighed. "But that never could be Tom Cameron!"
"You wouldn't think so," was the reply. "But that's all I can guess that those fellows had in mind when they would not answer you—good gracious, look at that!"
He braked madly. The ambulance rocked and came to an abrupt standstill. Across the track, scarcely two yards before the nose of the car, had dashed a white object, which, soundlessly, was gone in half a minute—swallowed up in the shadowy field beside the road.
"We see it again, Ruth," said Charlie Bragg, with a strange solemnity.
"What do you mean?" she demanded, but her voice, too, shook.
"The werwolf. That dog—whatever it is. Ghost or despatch-bearer, whatever you call it. I got a good sight of it again, Miss Ruth. Didn't you?"