German thoroughness of preparation, German patience, German sheep-like concert of action—these must be granted. But subsequent events of the war showed that whenever Joffre, French, Pétain, Haig, Byng, the Grand Duke Nicholas ever faced the greatest of the Boche generals with anything like an arm of equal military strength, the Boche was beaten. Serbia, Roumania, Belgium, the child-sized nations of the world—these have been the conquests of the would-be international bully. Noble laurels surely and properly fit to adorn the low, brutal, thick-fleshed brow above the pig-eyes of a criminal empire!
But to get back to spies.
The Oxfords and Bucks were enjoying a rest, encamped near the little, shell-wrecked village of St. Elois in Belgium. Our most welcome visitor for several days was a young peasant girl, decidedly attractive because of raven hair and very blue eyes. She brought us the Continental mail, she served us with home newspapers, she sometimes brought us roast fowl and other home-like edibles to enhance our soldier food. She was frequently as well entrusted with our letters for mailing. She had a smattering of English which was the first unusual thing I noticed about her. Peasant girls of the locality can always make a stagger at French, frequently enough know a little German. But I had never met one before who could turn a word in English.
About this time became remarkable the accuracy with which the Germans were planting shells along the roads of our Very rest camp, also how neatly they seemed to be able to time their shots and how accurately along the roads which the supply wagons traveled toward the front lines. If it had been guess-work it would have been uncanny and none of us for a minute believed it to be guess-work.
One evening a private of my platoon came to me with the information that he had happened upon the girl seated in a small dug-out in one of our trenches most studiously studying a paper spread upon the top of the basket in which she usually brought edibles she sold us in camp. This private had the good sense to saunter along as though he had observed nothing. I warned him to continue to say nothing and went looking for the girl.
She had still an armful of newspapers to dispose of and I observed her in her free passage in our lines, joking with our soldiers, smiling, affable, and, you would say, the most simple-minded and innocent of maidens.
She never asked questions, but she would frequently stand over men at play with cards and watch the game apparently intently. But, at other times, if you watched her you would find her standing near a group of our men who might be discussing our own immediate affairs—our position, what they had learned or guessed of their commanders’ plans. Every one had a pat on the cheek and a smile for Marie.
It did not seem possible there could be any harm in her! I began to think that the private had seen her poring only over some scrap of newspaper or periodical she had found, most probably one that had on it a photograph or drawing that engaged her attention. He admitted he didn’t get a good look at it, but also insisted he was quite sure it was a piece of writing or pencil drawing.
However, as Americans says, it is “bad business” to dismiss such matters in war with a wave of the hand. I decided to follow the girl. She strolled easily down the road to St. Elois in the twilight. I held off the road behind her as much as I could—wherever the brush would give me footing. The road was nearly if not quite deserted at the time. A few peasants’ carts passed. And I noticed that only one of these peasants apparently knew Marie. They all nodded to her, but they nod to any stranger on the road in that country. But one spoke to her, stopped his horse and they conversed for a minute or more. The talk began with smiles and banter, but presently it seemed to take on a more serious turn. Finally he nodded his head in very decided confirmation of whatever he had told her, started his horse and she resumed her journey to St. Elois. But she no longer strolled. She moved with a smartness of step that kept me going briskly in the concealment of the bushes and trees beside the road to keep up with her.
Marie halted before a half-smashed house. The roof was gone and the upper walls, revealing in stark desolation the empty chambers of the upper story. But the ground floor of the house remained intact. Marie loitered for several minutes before this house before she entered it. In fact, she waited until darkness had completely enveloped the place. I stole up to the house and groped around the walls. In the rear, a light popped out of a window.