“I saw that fellow Lippheim in New London myself,” he muttered. “He was at that dance where I—I never thought of it at the time, but I believe he was up to some mischief. Gertrude, take that girl back where she belongs, and lock her in. Her snivelling makes me nervous.”
“But Rudolph,” ventured Mrs. Becker, timidly, “the air in there is so bad. Let the child stay here for a little while. There can be no harm.”
“Do as I tell you,” shouted her husband. “All my nerves are on edge. I cannot stand anything more.”
Mrs. Becker laid a trembling hand on Gretel’s arm.
“Come,” she whispered. “Don’t you see you are making him angry?”
With an effort, Gretel dragged herself to her feet, and allowed Mrs. Becker to lead her back to her prison. Twice she stumbled and almost fell, but the woman’s strong arm supported her until she reached the little dark room, where she dropped on her hard mattress on the floor. In another moment the door was again shut and locked, and she heard Mrs. Becker’s retreating footsteps. She wondered vaguely why the woman was crying. It was not possible Mrs. Becker really cared, and was sorry for her. Nobody cared any more—not even her own family.
With a sharp cry, Gretel started up. They must not think dreadful things about her. They must learn the truth. It was only a wicked newspaper story, of course, but how had people learned of her meeting with Fritz? Some one she knew must have seen them talking together, but she could not remember meeting any one that afternoon until she rejoined Mrs. Chester, and then there was Jimmy Fairfax. Could Jimmy have seen her talking with Fritz? Fritz certainly did look like a German, but if Jimmy had seen them together, why had he not questioned her about it? Oh, she could not die there in that dreadful place, and let people go on thinking she had run away. They would always believe it; not Percy and Barbara, perhaps, or even the Barlows, her oldest friends, but other people—Miss Minton, and the girls at school, and Mrs. Cranston and Stephen. It was Stephen who had vouched for her loyalty the day they went to visit the submarine base. She must get away somehow, and let them know she had not done that dreadful thing. She sprang to her feet, and beat against the door, with a wild, desperate hope of making some one hear. But the only sound she heard was Mr. Becker’s heavy tread coming down the hall. Outside her door the footsteps paused.
“Stop that noise this instant,” the stern voice commanded.
“Let me out,” shrieked Gretel, almost beside herself with terror and despair. “Let me out. I must—I must——” Suddenly her strength failed her, and with a choking cry, she sank back in a little heap on the dusty floor.
Mrs. Becker was sitting in the rocking-chair, crying softly, when her husband returned to the sitting-room. He did not speak at once, but stood looking down at her, his face very dark and stern. Mrs. Becker herself was the first to break silence.