After two hours of hard work the supplies were collected and loaded on the truck. Grace thanked the men who had worked so well for her, and climbing to the seat of the truck, rode with it to its destination. The Number Two Canteen was located some distance from the scene of the explosion, but it had suffered the loss of most of its windows just the same, as had many of the buildings in Coblenz.
Number Two Canteen being open, Grace informed the worker in charge that the supplies were to be left there until Mrs. Smythe gave orders for their distribution. Grace then started for home.
Reaching her billet Grace tapped on the door of Mrs. Smythe’s room, wishing to report what had been done. The supervisor bade her enter.
“Oh, I beg pardon,” exclaimed Grace, observing that Mrs. Smythe was not alone.
A well-groomed man, wearing a vandyke beard, slightly gray, rose and extended a hand to the Overton girl.
“Yes, sir,” she answered. “And you?”
“I am Dr. Karl Klein. Being the guest of my home it is well that we should know each other. I trust you are quite comfortable.”
“Thank you. I am sure that I shall be after I have had opportunity to compose myself.” A sudden aversion to this suave German fairly overwhelmed Grace Harlowe. He jarred on her, aroused a feeling of antagonism that would not down. He was altogether too smooth, too polite and courteous for a Hun, was the reason that Grace felt that way.
“Mrs. Smythe—you will pardon me, sir—acting upon the orders of an officer, I had the supplies, such of them as we were able to salvage, removed to Number Two Canteen, where they are to be held awaiting your orders.”