Being in my robe de nuit I closed the door and said through it: 

“Please go away, William.  Because I want to come in, unless all the puding is gone.”

I could hear him moving around, as though concealing somthing.

“There is no puding, miss,” he said.  “And no fruit except for breakfast.  Your mother is very particuler that no one take the breakfast fruit.”

“William,” I said sternly, “go out by the kitchen door.  Because I am hungry, and I am coming in for somthing.”

He was opening and closing the pantrey drawers, and although young, and not a housekeeper, I knew that he was not looking in them for edables.

“If you’ll go up to your room, Miss Bab,” he said, “I’ll mix you an Eggnogg, without alkohol, of course, and bring it up.  An Eggnogg is a good thing to stay the stomache with at night.  I frequently resort to one myself.”

I saw that he would not let me in, so I agreed to the Eggnogg, but without nutmeg, and went away.  My knees tremble to think that into our peacefull home had come “Grim-vizaged War,” but I felt keen and capable of dealing with anything, even a Spy.

William brought up the Eggnogg, with a dash of sherry in it, and I could hear him going up the stairs to his chamber.  I drank the Eggnogg, feeling that I would need all my strength for what was to come, and then went down to the pantrey.  It was in perfect order, except that one of the tea towles had had a pen wiped on it.

I then went through the drawers one by one, although not hopeful, because he probably had the incrimanating document in the heal of his shoe, which Spies usually have made hollow for the purpose, or sowed in the lining of his coat.

At least, so I feared.  But it was not so.  Under one of the best table cloths I found it.

Yes.  I found it.

I copy it here in my journal, although knowing nothing of what it means.  Is it a scheme to blow up my father’s mill, where he is making shells for the defence of his Native Land?  I do not know.  With shaking hands I put it down as follows: 

48 D. K. 48 D. F. 36 S. F. 34 F. F. 36 T. S. 36 S. S. 36 C. S. 24 I. H. K. 36 F. K.

But in one way its meaning is clear.  Treachery is abroad and Treason has but just stocked up the stairs to its Chamber.

April 13th.  It is now noon and snowing, although supposed to be spring.  I am writing this Log in the tent, where we have built a fire.  Mademoiselle is sitting in the Adams’s limousine, wrapped in rugs.  She is very sulky.

There are but nine of us, as I telephoned the Quartermaster early this morning and summoned her to come over and discuss important business.

Her Unaform had come and so had mine.  What a thrill I felt as she entered Headquarters (my chamber) in kakhi and saluted.  She was about to sit down, but I reminded her that war knows no intimacies, and that I was her Captain.  She therfore stood, and I handed her William’s code.  She read it and said: