“Now, Miss Gordon, please tell us again about that British officer who gave you this plan,” the General commanded.
“He is Captain Archibald Beattie, Royal Infantry, captured at Argenton on May 17th,” Lucy repeated.
“Beattie—Archibald Beattie!” exclaimed the British liaison officer. “I know him, General; he is a prisoner now.”
“Yes, in Château-Plessis,” Lucy nodded. “He is young—about twenty-one—with light brown hair and blue eyes, and a little scar on his forehead.”
“Just so! He got that scar from a grazing bullet at Ypres. If this plan is from him, sir, it’s trustworthy. Why, that’s his writing at the bottom, ‘Changing the guard’!” The Britisher’s calm face had grown flushed with excitement. “Then the group of men must represent batteries?”
“Yes, so he told this young lady. What part of the ridge would that be, Harding?”
“The west front, sir, where the concealed batteries are. The main front!” Captain Harding exclaimed, overcome with joy. “Oh, sir, we should be able to silence those guns now!”
His hand, behind the General’s back, came down on Lucy’s shoulder with a pressure that would have been painful if its friendly and delightful meaning had not increased her happiness. “Oh, but you’ve done a good piece of work, Captain Lucy! I always knew you had it in you,” he whispered.
“Next week—the attack we had planned——” the General was saying.
Forgetting herself, Lucy interrupted him. “Oh, not next week, General! Right away! My father will be sent into Germany day after to-morrow.”