Castles in the Air

  1.

  You are right, Sir, I very seldom speak of my halcyon days--those dayswhen the greatest monarch the world has ever known honoured me withhis intimacy and confidence. I had my office in the Rue St. Roch then,at the top of a house just by the church, and not a stone's throw fromthe palace, and I can tell you, Sir, that in those days ministers ofstate, foreign ambassadors, aye! and members of His Majesty'shousehold, were up and down my staircase at all hours of the day. Ihad not yet met Theodore then, and fate was wont to smile on me.

  As for M. le Duc d'Otrante, Minister of Police, he would send to me orfor me whenever an intricate case required special acumen,resourcefulness and secrecy. Thus in the matter of the Englishfiles--have I told you of it before? No? Well, then, you shall hear.

  Those were the days, Sir, when the Emperor's Berlin Decrees were goingto sweep the world clear of English commerce and of Englishenterprise. It was not a case of paying heavy duty on English goods,or a still heavier fine if you smuggled; it was total prohibition, andhanging if you were caught bringing so much as a metre of Bradfordcloth or half a dozen Sheffield files into the country. But you knowhow it is, Sir: the more strict the law the more ready are certainlawless human creatures to break it. Never was smuggling so rife as itwas in those days--I am speaking now of 1810 or 11--never was it sodaring or smugglers so reckless.

  M. le Duc d'Otrante had his hands full, I can tell you. It had becomea matter for the secret police; the coastguard or customs officialswere no longer able to deal with it.

  Then one day Hypolite Leroux came to see me. I knew the man well--akeen sleuthhound if ever there was one--and well did he deserve hisname, for he was as red as a fox.

  "Ratichon," he said to me, without preamble, as soon as he had seatedhimself opposite to me, and I had placed half a bottle of goodBordeaux and a couple of glasses on the table. "I want your help inthe matter of these English files. We have done all that we can in ourdepartment. M. le Duc has doubled the customs personnel on the Swissfrontier, the coastguard is both keen and efficient, and yet we knowthat at the present moment there are thousands of English files usedin this country, even inside His Majesty's own armament works. M. leDuc d'Otrante is determined to put an end to the scandal. He hasoffered a big reward for information which will lead to the convictionof one or more of the chief culprits, and I am determined to get thatreward--with your help, if you will give it."

  "What is the reward?" I asked simply.

  "Five thousand francs," he replied. "Your knowledge of English andItalian is what caused me to offer you a share in this splendidenterprise--"

  "It's no good lying to me, Leroux," I broke in quietly, "if we aregoing to work amicably together."

  He swore.

  "The reward is ten thousand francs." I made the shot at a venture,knowing my man well.

  "I swear that it is not," he asserted hotly.

  "Swear again," I retorted, "for I'll not deal with you for less thanfive thousand."

  He did swear again and protested loudly. But I was firm.

  "Have another glass of wine," I said.

  After which he gave in.

  The affair was bound to be risky. Smugglers of English goods weredetermined and desperate men who were playing for high stakes andrisking their necks on the board. In all matters of smuggling aknowledge of foreign languages was an invaluable asset. I spokeItalian well and knew some English. I knew my worth. We both drank aglass of cognac and sealed our bond then and there.

  After which Leroux drew his chair closer to my desk.

  "Listen, then," he said. "You know the firm of Fournier Freres, inthe Rue Colbert?"

  "By name, of course. Cutlers and surgical instrument makers byappointment to His Majesty. What about them?"

  "M. le Duc has had his eyes on them for some time."

  "Fournier Freres!" I ejaculated. "Impossible! A more reputable firmdoes not exist in France."

  "I know, I know," he rejoined impatiently. "And yet it is a curiousfact that M. Aristide Fournier, the junior partner, has lately boughtfor himself a house at St. Claude."

  "At St. Claude?" I ejaculated.

  "Yes," he responded dryly. "Very near to Gex, what?"

  I shrugged my shoulders, for indeed the circumstances did appearsomewhat strange.

  Do you know Gex, my dear Sir? Ah, it is a curious and romantic spot.It has possibilities, both natural and political, which appear to havebeen expressly devised for the benefit of the smuggling fraternity.Nestling in the midst of the Jura mountains, it is outside the customszone of the Empire. So you see the possibilities, do you not? Gex soonbecame the picturesque warehouse of every conceivable kind ofcontraband goods. On one side of it there was the Swiss frontier, andthe Swiss Government was always willing to close one eye in the matterof customs provided its palm was sufficiently greased by thelight-fingered gentry. No difficulty, therefore, as you see, ingetting contraband goods--even English ones--as far as Gex.

  Here they could be kept hidden until a fitting opportunity occurredfor smuggling them into France, opportunities for which the Jura, withtheir narrow defiles and difficult mountain paths, affordedmagnificent scope. St. Claude, of which Leroux had just spoken as theplace where M. Aristide Fournier had recently bought himself a house,is in France, only a few kilometres from the neutral zone of Gex. Itseemed a strange spot to choose for a wealthy and fashionable memberof Parisian bourgeois society, I was bound to admit.

  "But," I mused, "one cannot go to Gex without a permit from thepolice."

  "Not by road," Leroux assented. "But you will own that there are meansavailable to men who are young and vigorous like M. Fournier, whomoreover, I understand, is an accomplished mountaineer. You know Gex,of course?"

  I had crossed the Jura once, in my youth, but was not very intimatelyfamiliar with the district. Leroux had a carefully drawn-out map of itin his pocket; this he laid out before me.

  "These two roads," he began, tracing the windings of a couple of thinred lines on the map with the point of his finger, "are the only twomade ones that lead in and out of the district. Here is theValserine," he went on, pointing to a blue line, "which flows fromnorth to south, and both the roads wind over bridges that span theriver close to our frontier. The French customs stations are on ourside of those bridges. But, besides those two roads, the frontier can,of course, be crossed by one or other of the innumerable mountaintracks which are only accessible to pedestrians or mules. That iswhere our customs officials are powerless, for the tracks areprecipitous and offer unlimited cover to those who know every inch ofthe ground. Several of them lead directly into St. Claude, at someconsiderable distance from the customs stations, and it is thesetracks which are being used by M. Aristide Fournier for the feloniouspurpose of trading with the enemy--on this I would stake my life. ButI mean to be even with him, and if I get the help which I require fromyou, I am convinced that I can lay him by the heels."

  "I am your man," I concluded simply.

  "Very well," he resumed. "Are you prepared to journey with me to Gex?"

  "When do you start?"

  "To-day."

  "I shall be ready."

  He gave a deep sigh of satisfaction.

  "Then listen to my plan," he said. "We'll journey together as far asSt. Claude; from there you will push on to Gex, and take up your abodein the city, styling yourself an interpreter. This will give you theopportunity of mixing with some of the smuggling fraternity, and itwill be your duty to keep both your eyes and ears open. I, on theother hand, will take up my quarters at Mijoux, the French customsstation, which is on the frontier, about half a dozen kilometres fromGex. Every day I'll arrange to meet you, either at the latter place orsomewhere half-way, and hear what news you may have to tell me. Andmind, Ratichon," he added sternly, "it means running straight, or thereward will slip through our fingers."

  I chose to ignore the coarse insinuation, and only riposted quietly:

  "I must have money on account. I am a poor man, and will be out ofpocket by the tr
ansaction from the hour I start for Gex to that whenyou pay me my fair share of the reward."

  By way of a reply he took out a case from his pocket. I saw that itwas bulging over with banknotes, which confirmed me in my convictionboth that he was actually an emissary of the Minister of Police andthat I could have demanded an additional thousand francs without fearof losing the business.

  "I'll give you five hundred on account," he said as he licked his uglythumb preparatory to counting out the money before me.

  "Make it a thousand," I retorted; "and call it 'additional,' not 'onaccount.'"

  He tried to argue.

  "I am not keen on the business," I said with calm dignity, "so if youthink that I am asking too much--there are others, no doubt, who woulddo the work for less."

  It was a bold move. But it succeeded. Leroux laughed and shrugged hisshoulders. Then he counted out ten hundred-franc notes and laid themout upon the desk. But before I could touch them he laid his largebony hands over the lot and, looking me straight between the eyes, hesaid with earnest significance:

  "English files are worth as much as twenty francs apiece in themarket."

  "I know."

  "Fournier Freres would not take the risks which they are doing for aconsignment of less than ten thousand."

  "I doubt if they would," I rejoined blandly.

  "It will be your business to find out how and when the smugglerspropose to get their next consignment over the frontier."

  "Exactly."

  "And to communicate any information you may have obtained to me."

  "And to keep an eye on the valuable cargo, of course?" I concluded.

  "Yes," he said roughly, "an eye. But hands off, understand, my goodRatichon, or there'll be trouble."

  He did not wait to hear my indignant protest. He had risen to hisfeet, and had already turned to go. Now he stretched his great coarsehand out to me.

  "All in good part, eh?"

  I took his hand. He meant no harm, did old Leroux. He was just acommon, vulgar fellow who did not know a gentleman when he saw one.

  And we parted the best of friends.