Betty thought of the telephone, then, and took down the receiver before it occurred to her that the wires would be cut. They would not risk her waking and trying to communicate with Greycliff. There was, of course, no response. “Very well,” thought Betty, “if no one comes, I could walk it and swim the river, or walk around to the bridge. Or, of course, there are other farm-houses between here and Greycliff. I believe I’d better get something to eat.” But the chances were that some one would come, for if these people had been obliged to leave so hurriedly, they must have been quite sure that they were or would be under suspicion. Something had happened.
On the pantry shelf stood a bread box containing the best of home-made bread. There was a refrigerator, also, in which she found butter, milk and cream, with other things which she did not want. Jam, jelly, pickles and canned fruit on the shelves might have looked good to her under other circumstances. But she cut herself one slice of bread, and found a clean glass into which she poured some milk. Spreading the bread thinly with butter, she ate it slowly, sipping the milk, preparing herself to get back to Greycliff if she had to walk! Then she thought of the horses which she might saddle and ride. And what about the stock, anyhow? Had they used the horses to carry them away? Very likely. Who had fed the other stock? She had heard the cows lowing. All that was to be discovered. She had forgotten about the note. What had she done with it. Oh, yes, she had put it in her pocket.
Having finished her breakfast, Betty pulled the note from her pocket and read:
Little Bettina:
A word of goodbye. Our cause is discovered. I wish that I could take you with me, but my strange duties forbid. Do not marry that stupid American boy,—but no danger. Our armies will see to that. After the war we shall see. I can make you a countess.
In haste—
Rudolph Von Holle.
Betty dropped the note into her lap in perfect surprise. “He came up and left that note, and has gone, run away from Grant and everything! ‘Stupid American boy,’ indeed! I wonder if he really did care about me. It’s funny way of caring, and still he has kept anything from hurting me. Oh, dear! I wish somebody’d come! If it were Juliet or Pauline, the stock would get fed and the milking would be done, but I don’t feel like poking about the barns. There might be somebody left around.” Betty stood a moment, thinking what she ought to do, then decided that her father and mother would want her to be cautious. Slowly she walked again to the front door and looked out. She saw nothing, but heard a motor and quickly withdrew, locking the door. The other outside doors were locked she knew, for she had carefully tried them before settling down to her little breakfast. What she feared was the return of the “night hawk” or the hydroplane, in spite of the note in her hand. Perhaps not all were suspected and after helping the others off were coming back. There was the White Wings motor boat, too. These things flashed through her mind while she stood looking out of the front window in one of the rooms.
It was not the “night hawk.” The sound was different. It was a boat. She could not see through the trees what sort of a boat it was that was landing, and waited, all ready to whisk upstairs to the attic and lock herself in, or to slip out the back way and hide in the woods, if she could reach them without being seen. The sheltering vines of the little vineyard on the hillside were not so far away. Like a little Indian maid she might perhaps slip from covert to covert.
But all this planning was unnecessary. To Betty’s great relief, she saw marines running rapidly across the way from the picnic grounds and up the ascent toward the house. But their guns were ready for action, and Betty drew back from the window, undecided just how to let them know she was there. In a moment the house was surrounded and a loud voice called, “Open the door and surrender!” Another voice which she recognized immediately called, “Betty! Betty! Are you there?”
“Oh, Donald,” she answered. “Yes, I’m here all alone. Tell them not to shoot!”
Betty hastened to unbolt and unlock the front door and greeted with smiles of joy the tall captain, who stood there, and Donald, close behind.
“This is Captain Stone, Betty,” said Donald as the captain stood aside waving Donald toward the pale little lady who leaned against the doorway, for Betty was not altogether steady on her feet as yet.