He had no sooner spoken than by common consent he and Larry plunged forward through the trees to the road. They ran to the wagon and, while the donkey turned his head to watch them, from the neatly piled layers of fagot-bundles chose one at the top, more easily pulled from beneath the tarpaulin covering. In another minute they were back, ducking under the trees and out of sight at the moment when Franz reappeared, plodding along in the snow, head bent, and hands thrust in his pockets.
Michelle and Lucy waited breathless for Larry and Bob to rejoin them. Franz climbed up on his seat, picked up his reins and went on slowly down the road, the snow squeaking once more under the heavily loaded wheels.
Bob and Larry laid down the fagot-bundle and Bob with his pocket-knife cut the cords that bound the sticks together, while all eyes followed his movements with eager intentness. The sticks fell apart and scattered on the snow. There was nothing else in the bundle.
“One on us, Bob,” said Larry, gazing at the fagots rather sheepishly. “Now, why in thunder is he in such a rush to carry wood to Badheim—or Coblenz—to-day?”
“I give it up,” said Bob disgustedly. “Let’s go home.”
In silence the four crossed the road and continued their way through the forest, which was now bathed in twilight shadows. Lucy was too lost in unhappy pondering over the letter hidden in her dress to give much thought to Franz’ afternoon wanderings. She longed to confide in Michelle, but still hesitated, hating to hear someone else accuse Elizabeth of what she herself refused to believe. She was roused from her reverie by hearing Larry say:
“That’s it. That’s what we’re afraid of. The Germans who have lost everything with the fall of the monarchy and who despise the new government, are combining—so we think—with the Bolsheviki. Anything to harass the Allies and delay the peace, do you see? They don’t look further ahead than that, with German obtuseness. I thought of you, Bob, when I heard the rumor, because of your theories about the Bolshies that Alan would never listen to, and I believe that you have been right all the time.”
“Alan’s an idiot,” said Bob crossly. His leg was hurting him but he tried not to limp. “I wish he were here to settle with Franz now. He needn’t bother with any theories—just face him down until he tells the truth.”
“Well, we might do that much ourselves.”
“Yes, but I’m always held back by a lingering feeling that we’d find out only half the truth that way. To learn it all we must wait and watch. But Alan would never think that out. He’d go for Franz and Herr Johann as if he were hunting rabbits. It’s lots easier on the temper.”