“Ammunition dump blown up,” Grace informed Elfreda in answer to the latter’s glance of inquiry. “Here we are, Marie. I will put you to bed, then I must hurry back. Elfreda, you had better go out with me. We may be needed, if they should wish to transfer the canteen to-night.”
Mrs. Smythe was in her room. Grace observed that her face was pale and lined.
“Wha—wha—what has happened?” she gasped.
“Nothing very much except that an ammunition dump has blown up. I have seen many of them go up, but never one quite so near. The canteen is wrecked, Mrs. Smythe. Have you orders for us?”
“N—n—n—no!” stammered the supervisor. “Y—ye—yes. Go out and find out all you can, then come back and report to me.”
“About what?” demanded Grace politely.
“About what is to be done.”
“Very good. I will leave Marie in your hands. She is badly shaken up and should be put to bed at once.”
