CHAPTER XIII

A WOLF IN WAC’S CLOTHING

The Sea Tower was all that could be desired. To Norma’s romantic young mind it offered both comfort and romance.

“It used to be a lighthouse,” the young sergeant, who led them up the stairs next morning, explained. “There are dangerous shoals off shore around Black Knob Island. Fishing boats have often been wrecked there in storms. Now there are modern lights to the north and south of us.”

“I saw one flashing from the north,” Millie put in.

“That’s Fisherman’s Home light. The light in this tower was taken out long ago. It’s been empty for a long time.”

“And now it’s been all fixed up for us, like Mrs. Hobby’s stables.” Norma laughed.

“You going to work here?” the sergeant asked in surprise.

“Sure enough!”

“Well, blow me down!” He stared for a moment—then without further comment, led them to a large circular room where three officers and six enlisted men were working with maps, charts, and typewriters.

“You won’t be working here,” the Major in command explained. “We just want you to see it. I’m Major Henry Stark. Sort of in charge here, you might say.”

He was a big man, not at all pompous, nor soft, either. His was a friendly smile.

“Want you to take the thing quite seriously from the start,” he said. “Look at that map. We’re way up here. Not close to any cities. Rather unimportant post, you might say.

“But look at this globe.” He whirled a large globe around, then put his finger on a spot. “That’s Norway. Here’s Greenland. Planes coming from Norway to bomb Boston, New York, or Pittsburg would pass right over this post.”

“We’d be the first to spot them,” said Betty.

“That’s the truth, Miss. And no mistake. So—” he let out a big breath—“we are important. Mighty important.” He let that sink in.

“Lieutenant Warren tells me you’re all serious-minded gals. Gals.”—he laughed—“That’s what she called you. That’s fine. I take it she spoke the truth, and if so, we can use you.”

“I—I hope so,” Norma spoke for the group.

“We can, all right! Just wait and see!” he exclaimed.

There was little of adventure or romance in the days that followed for, as in Fort Des Moines, they were hard at work learning the tasks that lay ahead. Up at five forty-five each morning, they were glad enough to creep into their fine, warm beds at nine-thirty each night.

During the first week they worked only during the day. They were being instructed, that was all. Eventually they would be divided into three eight-hour shifts, and the task of watching would go on and on round the clock. When the work really started in earnest, Norma, Millie, and Rosa were to work in one shift. Norma would be in charge of marking maps and charts; Millie would manage the switchboard and receive calls; Rosa’s job was to carry messages and be on the alert for any task.

In the second shift Betty took Norma’s place. A girl named Mary ran the switchboard, and Lena took Rosa’s place.

The third shift was made up of the remaining girls of the squad.

Saturday, with its half-holiday, arrived. Norma and Betty rented bicycles and went for a joyous ride into the country. Norma, who had stocked up on films, took many interesting pictures, but on Major Stark’s suggestion, avoided all military subjects.

It was because they were, as yet, working only in the daytime that an exciting event occurred that threatened disaster. One morning as the WACs were enjoying their wheatcakes, Vermont maple syrup, and coffee, Major Stark came walking into the room.

“Good morning, Major Stark,” Lieutenant Warren exclaimed. “You’re just in time. I’ll have a plate set on for you.”

“Thanks, very much.” The Major’s smile was slow. “I’ve had my breakfast. It’s your young ladies I wished to talk about. Now, zeal is a commendable virtue. But I really can’t have them coming to the Sea Tower demanding further education near midnight. It’s a bit demoralizing and, besides, that is the most important hour of all.”

“But I don’t understand,” Miss Warren looked puzzled. Turning to the girls she said:

“Which of you went to the Sea Tower after hours?”

Not a girl spoke.

“Do you see, Major?” She smiled. “Not one was there.”

“But are they all here now?”

“Yes, all here.”

“Then it was the ghost of a WAC, for Tom, my most trustworthy sergeant, told me a woman in a WAC uniform and with her identification card all correct, was at the Tower for an hour learning about charts and other matters last night. She looked dark and sort of Spanish,” he said.

They all looked at Rosa, but Rosa shook her head.

“She was in bed,” Lena stated simply. “We’re roommates.”

“And besides, she doesn’t look Spanish,” said the Major. “Well, there’s a mystery for you. I’ll send for Tom at once.”

Norma leaned over to whisper in Betty’s ear:

“The Spanish hairdresser!”

Betty nearly fell off her chair.

They were all in the big living room when the Major returned with a good-looking young sergeant.

“Now then, Sergeant,” he challenged. “Which one was it?”

Sergeant Tom looked them over carefully, then replied:

“None of these, sir.”

“Well now, Tom, make up your mind!” The Major’s temper was rising. “You’ve been saying one was up there, and now you say—”

“There was a WAC uniform with a lady in it at the Tower last night!” Tom insisted.

“But don’t you know all these ladies, Tom?”

“No, Major. I don’t. I work at night, you know.”

“So all the soldiers don’t know all the WACs?” the Major exclaimed. “We’ll fix that. We’ll hold a dance.”

Then suddenly his face purpled. “By thunder!” he exclaimed. “It’s happened! A lady spy in a WAC uniform! It was bound to be that way. But why must we be her first victims! Tom, how much did you tell her?”

“To tell the truth. Major,” Tom smiled sheepishly, “I didn’t tell her much—at least nothing of importance. The truth is, sir, some of us boys sort of feel that having the girls around—well, sir—that’s fine. But when they start doing our work—”

“Then you didn’t tell her about secret devices and all that?” the Major broke in.

“Not a thing that she couldn’t have gotten out of a book.”

“That’s fine!” the Major exclaimed. “Glad to see you so cautious.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” said Tom. “But this is my time for sleeping. I’ll see you all at the dance.” He grinned broadly as he went out.

“This thing must be looked into at once,” said the Major. “I’ll have a man in for that purpose. I shall need your help.”

“We’ll give you every assistance possible,” said Lieutenant Warren.

At that the Major bowed himself out. Fresh coffee was poured, and the meal resumed.

“How terrible!” Millie exclaimed.

“The Spanish hairdresser,” Norma whispered to Betty once more.

Late that afternoon the Major returned, bringing with him a bright-eyed little man who called himself Mr. Sperry.

“Mr. Sperry wishes to know,” he explained, “if any of you can give him a clue regarding the young lady who undoubtedly is masquerading in a WAC uniform.”

“That’s it,” the little man cackled. “Just that. The sergeant in charge tells me she had an identification card—forged, no doubt. Have any of you, by chance, lost your card?”

There followed a hasty delving into purses and pockets. Each girl held up her card.

“Ah, yes! I see! All quite in order. I suggest that fresh photographs of these ladies be taken—each young lady in uniform—and that they be placed on identification cards. These should bear your signature. Your men are acquainted with that signature?”

“Every man,” the Major agreed. “The pictures shall be taken. There’s a good photographer—excellent man, but eccentric—at Granite Head. Lieutenant Warren, have your young ladies ready at nine tomorrow. I shall send cars for them.”

“Now,” exclaimed the little man, dancing about. “Any of you know a young lady who wears her black hair high, and has rather slanting Spanish eyes?”

“Here?” Norma asked.

“Anywhere.”

“There was one at Fort Des Moines,” Norma hesitated. “But that—that’s a long way off.”

“Was she in training?”

“No. One of our hairdressers.”

“Ah!” The little man whistled between his teeth. “Just the type! You haven’t seen her here?”

“No.”

Mr. Sperry asked the other girls about the hairdresser. Some recalled her and some did not. Watching out of the corner of her eye, Norma thought she saw Lena start as her name was called.

“Oh, yes. I remember her,” she said in a low drawl. “She did my hair many times. She was really good. But I don’t see—”

“No, of course not.” the little man snapped. “That’s not to be expected.”

At that he closed his notebook and indicated by a nod that he had finished.

“The jeeps will be here at nine.” said the Major.

“The girls will be ready,” replied Lieutenant Warren.

“Oh, I just remembered something!” Norma exclaimed in a whisper a short time later.

“What was that?” Betty asked.

“I took a few pictures at Des Moines, but never had the film finished.”

“Well?” Betty drawled.

“One was a picture of that Spanish hairdresser, just as she passed through the gate. Just a snap, but in bright sunlight. It should be good.”

“That might be something.”

“Sure, Mr. Sperry could show it to Sergeant Tom for identification. I have three films now. I’ll take them to that photographer tomorrow.”