“I cannot say that. My natural impression, of course, is that they did. I was asking the major about Miss Marshall about the time the blow-up occurred, and he suggested that I ask Captain Boucher, intimating that if the captain would talk he would give me information that would amaze me.” “H--m--m--m! That sounds interesting. He will talk to you, all right. Every one does. Oh, look at the canteen!” she cried when they came within sight of the wrecked building. A squad of men, with an officer in charge, were at work, clearing away and salvaging such of the supplies as had not been destroyed. “Here, Mrs. Gray, I am glad you have come over. What are we to do with this stuff?” demanded the officer. “I am not in charge, Lieutenant. Mrs. Smythe is the supervisor.” “Then why isn’t she here attending to her duties?” Grace said she could not answer for that. “I would suggest, sir, if you will, that you have the supplies taken on a truck to the Number Two Canteen. To-morrow the supervisor can make such disposition of them as she sees fit.” “Very good. I commission you to take charge of removing and caring for the goods. You are under orders.” Grace saluted and asked the officer to order a truck to the scene, which he promptly did. Grace then got to work. Her salvaging was thorough. There were many boxes of chocolate bars that had been crushed, in some instances to powder. These she had carefully removed, saving every possible grain of the sweets for melting over. Observing that she was handling the situation properly, the officer went away. 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. “Mrs. Gray, I believe.” “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.”