"You answer me--at once!" she commanded.

"Oh---- But what can I say? I don't know anything. I don't believe Tom Cameron would be tricky--not a bit. And as for selling out to the Boches----"

"What _do_ you mean?" almost shrieked the girl. "Are you crazy, Charlie Bragg?"

"There you go," he grumbled. "I told you I didn't know anything--for sure. But I heard some gossip."

"About Tom?"

"I didn't know it was about Tom. And I don't know now. But what you say about how funny those chaps acted----"

"_Do_ explain!" begged Ruth. "Come right out with it, Charlie."

"Why, I heard a chap had been accused of giving information to the enemy. Yes. One of our own chaps--an American. It's said he met a Boche spy on listening post--right out there between the lines. He was seen twice."

"Not Tom?"

"No name told when I heard it. First a fellow saw him talking to a figure that stole away toward the German line. This fellow told his top sergeant, and toppy told his captain. They waited and watched.

Three men saw the same thing happen. They were going to have the blamed traitor up before the bra.s.s hats when all of a sudden he disappeared."

"Who disappeared?" gasped Ruth Fielding.

"This chap they suspect gave information to the Boches. He's gone--like that!"

"Captured?" questioned Ruth breathlessly.

"Or gone over to them," returned Charlie, with evident unwillingness.

Ruth sighed. "But that never could be Tom Cameron!"

"You wouldn't think so," was the reply. "But that's all I can guess that those fellows had in mind when they would not answer you--good gracious, look at that!"

He braked madly. The ambulance rocked and came to an abrupt standstill. Across the track, scarcely two yards before the nose of the car, had dashed a white object, which, soundlessly, was gone in half a minute--swallowed up in the shadowy field beside the road.

"We see it again, Ruth," said Charlie Bragg, with a strange solemnity.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, but her voice, too, shook.

"The werwolf. That dog--whatever it is. Ghost or despatch-bearer, whatever you call it. I got a good sight of it again, Miss Ruth.

Didn't _you_?"

CHAPTER VII

WHERE IS TOM CAMERON?

That the peasants of the surrounding territory should believe in that old and wicked legend of the werwolf was not to be considered strange.

There is not a country in Europe where the tale of the human being who can change his form at will to that of a wolf, is not repeated.

Ruth Fielding had come across the superst.i.tion--and for the first time in the company of Charlie Bragg--as she had approached the town of Clair to begin her work in that hospital some months before.

This same white figure which they had both now glimpsed had crossed the road, flying as it was now toward the trenches. The werwolf, as the superst.i.tious French peasants declared it to be, crossed both to and from the battle line; for it was frequently seen.

It was of this mystery Henriette Dupay had spoken in the library of the chateau that very afternoon. The Dupays believed absolutely in the reality of the werwolf.

Only, they were not of those who connected the "Thing" with the lady of the chateau. Although Ruth Fielding had reason to believe that the police authorities trusted the Countess Marchand and were sure of her loyalty, many of the peasants about the chateau believed that the werwolf was the unfortunate countess herself in diabolical form.

And even Ruth could not help feeling a qualm, as she saw the fast-disappearing creature--ghost or what-not--that fled into the darkness.

"Gosh!" murmured the slangy Charlie Bragg. "Enough to give a fellow heart-disease. I thought I was going to run it down."

"I wonder," said Ruth slowly, as he again started the car, "if it would not have been a good thing if you had run it down."

"Can't bust up a ghost that way, Miss Ruth," he returned, beginning to chuckle again.

"Talk sense, Charlie," she urged, forgetting for the moment the subject of the suspicion resting upon Tom Cameron and giving her mind to this other mystery. "You know, I've an idea this foolishness about a white wolf can be easily explained."

"Go ahead and explain," he returned. "I'm free to confess it's got me guessing."

"I believe it is the big greyhound, Bubu, that belongs to the Chateau Marchand. It is sent on errands to and from the frontier."

"Canine spy?" chuckled Charlie.

"I don't know just what he does. But I did think that the old serving woman, Bessie, that the countess brought with her from Mexico so many years ago, knew all about Bubu's escapades. But Bessie is not at the chateau now."

"Oh," said Charlie, "she was the woman who went off with those two crooks who helped your friend, Mrs. Rose Mantel, rob the Red Cross supply department."

"Not _my_ friend, I should hope!" Ruth said sharply, for the matter Charlie touched upon was still a tender subject with the girl.

Her mind dwelt for a moment upon the presence of Major Henri Marchand at the chateau. He was there, and the greyhound, Bubu, was running at large again at night. Was there not something significant in the two facts? But she said nothing regarding this suspicion to the ambulance driver.

Instead, she came back to the subject which had occupied their minds previous to the appearance of the white object that had crossed the road.

"Of course, it is quite ridiculous," she said, "to think of Tommy Cameron doing anything at all treacherous. I can imagine his doing almost anything reckless, but always on the right side."

"Some little hero, is he?" chuckled Charlie Bragg.

"I think he is the stuff of which heroes are made--just like yourself, Charlie Bragg."

"Oh! I say!" he objected. "Now you are getting personal."

"Then don't try to be funny with me," declared Ruth earnestly. "I have too good an opinion of all our well-brought-up American boys--to which cla.s.s both Tom and you belong--to believe that any of them could be made under any conditions to betray their fellows."

"Oh, as to that!" he admitted. "Nor any of our roughnecks, either.

We've got a mighty fine army over here, rank and file. Deliberately, I doubt if any of them would give information to the Heinies. But they do say that when the Huns capture a man, if they want information, they don't care what they do to him to get it. The old police third degree isn't a patch on what these Boches do."