“They were not joking.” Norma was in dead earnest.
“But I’m a WAC! How can a WAC be a spy? My record, it was checked. My fingerprints—”
“Yes, I know all that. But even in a WAC uniform you might be a spy. My father told me once that during the World War many spies in France wore Y. M. C. A. uniforms. They were very hard to catch. Believe me, the Mata Haris of this war will be wearing WAC uniforms, too. We have to be careful, very, very careful.” Norma settled back in her place to study the Italian girl’s face. It was indeed an interesting moving picture of lights and shadows. But from it Norma learned little.
Twice Rosa seemed on the point of replying, but in the end no words were spoken.
By this time their group, though still together, had moved to newer and more comfortable quarters in Boom Town. That night Norma lay staring at the darkness for a long time before she fell asleep.
She was thinking of Rosa and Lena. Rosa’s actions on that day had started her thinking things all over again and her thoughts were long, long thoughts.
Once again she caught the gleam of light from Rosa’s cot and saw Lena sit up in her place at night as she whispered three mysterious words.
The picture of Lena and the Spanish hairdresser standing in the moonlight again fascinated her, and once more she felt that terrifying grip on her arm as a man’s voice said, “Oh! You are one of them!”
A chapter or two had been added to Lena’s story. Betty was responsible for this. One night she had come in rather late, but had remained up long enough to whisper to Norma:
“Who do you think I saw tonight down by the big gate? Lena and the Spanish hairdresser!”