Ruth paid more attention to the dog at first than she did to the lady who held the loop of his leash. He wore a dark blanket, which covered most of his body, even to his ears. His legs were long, of course, and Ruth discovered another thing in a moment, while the car rolled nearer.
The thin legs of the slate-colored beast were covered with mud. That mud was not yet dry. The dog had been running at large within the last few minutes, the girl was sure.
CHAPTER XXIII—RUTH DOES HER DUTY
The query that came sharply to Ruth Fielding’s mind was: Without his blanket and off his leash, what would Bubu, the greyhound, look like in the gloaming? The next moment the tall old lady walking by the observant dog’s side, raised her hand and nodded to Henriette.
“Oh, Madame!” gasped the French girl, and brought the car to an instant stop.
“I thought it was my little Hetty,” the countess said in French, and smiling. “Hast been to Lyse for the good father?”
“Yes, Madame,” replied the girl.
“And what news do you bring?”
The voice of the old lady was very kind. Ruth, watching her closely, thought that if the Countess Marchand was a spy for Germany, and was wicked at heart, she was a wonderfully good actress.
She had a most graceful carriage. Her hair, which was snow white, was dressed most becomingly. Her cheeks were naturally pink; yet her throat and under her chin the skin was like old ivory and much wrinkled. She was dressed plainly, although the cape about her shoulders was trimmed with expensive fur.