“Yes,” Norma drew in a deep breath. “Yes, but I wasn’t.”
“What happened?”
“Some man gripped my arm. He seemed very angry. Then, suddenly, he changed and was very polite.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew I was a WAC.”
“But you said it was dark!”
“It was—I guess he knew me by the fine wool in my coat. That’s one time when it really paid to wear my uniform.”
“It may have saved your life,” was the Lieutenant’s slow comment. “He wouldn’t have dared harm a WAC. Not in Des Moines. That would have brought the town down on his head.
“But, wait!” Rita Warren’s voice rose as she continued. “How does Lena fit into the picture? Why did this Carl Langer hold out your picture of this Spanish hairdresser? Or did he? Perhaps the shot was no good. That often happens—”
“It didn’t happen this time.” Norma’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He gave the film to me by mistake this very day. I got a look at it, that’s all.”