“They say he had been in America until it got too hot for him there, and he crossed on the same boat with us—you remember, Ruth?”
“Oh, I remember,” groaned the girl of the Red Mill. “The Italian, too?”
“I don’t know for sure about him. They say he isn’t an Italian, but a Mexican, anyway. And he has a police record in both hemispheres.
“Consider! Madame Mantel and I were seen hobnobbing with them! I know she feels just as I do. I hate to show myself on the street!”
“I wouldn’t feel that way,” Ruth replied soothingly. “You could not help it.”
“But the police—ordering me before that nasty old prefect!” exclaimed the angry girl. “And he said such things to me! Think! He had cabled the chief of police in my town to ask who I was and if I had a police record. What do you suppose my father will say?”
“I guarantee that he will laugh at you,” Ruth declared. “Don’t take it so much to heart. Remember we are in a strange country, and that that country is at war.”
“I never shall like the French system of government, just the same!” declared Clare, with emphasis.
“And—and what about Mrs. Mantel?” Ruth asked doubtfully.
“I am going over to see her now,” Clare said, wiping her eyes. “I am so sorry for her. I believe that horrid prefect thinks she is mixed up in the plot that has cost the Red Cross so much. They say nearly ten thousand dollars worth of goods was stolen, and those two horrid men—Professor Perry and the other—have got away and the French police cannot find them.”