During the early days of the war when there were many important matters to be decided and the Commander was needed everywhere, she came straight from a conference in Washington to a large hotel in one of the great western cities where she had an appointment to speak that night. At the revolving door of the hotel stood a portly servitor in house uniform who was most kind and noticeably attentive to her whenever she entered or went out, and was constantly giving her some pointed little attention to draw her notice. Finally, she stopped for a moment to thank him, and he immediately became most flattering, telling her he knew all about the Salvation Army, that he had a brother in its ranks, was deeply interested in their work in France, and most proud of what they were doing. He told her he had lived in Washington and said he supposed she often went there. She replied pleasantly that she had but just come from there, but some keen intuition began to warn this wise-hearted woman and when the next question, though spoken most casually, was: “Where are the Salvation Army workers now in France?” she replied evasively: “Oh, wherever they are most needed,” and passed on with a friend. “I believe that man is a spy!” she said to her friend with conviction in her voice. “Nonsense!” the friend replied; “you are growing nervous. That man has been in this hotel for several years.” But that very night the man, with five others, was arrested, and proved to be a spy hunting information about the location of the American troops in France. Now these incidents do not belong in just this spot in the book, but they are placed here of intention that the reader may have a certain viewpoint from which to take the story. For well does the world of evil realize what a strong force of opponents to their dark deeds is found in this great Christian organization. Sometimes one is able the better to judge a man, his character and strength, when one knows who are his enemies. It was the beginning of the dark days of 1917. The Commander sat in her quiet office, that office through which, except on occasions like this when she locked the doors for a few minutes’ special work, there marched an unbroken procession of men and affairs, affecting both souls and nations. Before her on the broad desk lay the notes of a new address which she was preparing to deliver that evening, but her eyes were looking out of the wide window, across the clustering roofs of the great city to the white horizon line, and afar over the great water to the terrible scene of the Strife of Nations.