Castles in the Air

  4.

  The night--just as I anticipated--promised to be very dark. A thindrizzle, which wetted the unfortunate pedestrian to the marrow, hadreplaced the torrential rain of the previous day.

  Twilight was closing in very fast. In the late autumn afternoon Idrove to St. Cergues, after which I left the chaise in the village andboldly started to walk up the mountain pass. I had studied the map socarefully that I was quite sure of my way, but though my appointmentwith the rascals was for eight o'clock, I wished to reach theappointed spot before the last flicker of grey light had disappearedfrom the sky.

  Soon I had left the last house well behind me. Boldly I plunged intothe narrow path. The loneliness of the place was indescribable. Everystep which I took on the stony track seemed to rouse the echoes of thegrim heights which rose precipitously on either side of me, and in mymind I felt aghast at the extraordinary courage of those men who--likeAristide Fournier and his gang--chose to affront such obvious andmanifold dangers as these frowning mountain regions held for them forthe sake of paltry lucre.

  I had walked, according to my reckoning, just upon five hundred metresthrough the gorge, when on ahead I perceived the flicker of lightswhich appeared to be moving to and fro. The silence and loneliness nolonger seemed to be absolute. A few metres from where I was men wereliving and breathing, plotting and planning, unconscious of the netwhich the unerring hand of a skilful fowler had drawn round them andtheir misdeeds.

  The next moment I was challenged by a peremptory "Halt!" Recognitionfollowed. M. Ernest Berty, or Aristide Fournier, whichever he was,acknowledged with a few words my punctuality, whilst through the gloomI took rapid stock of his little party. I saw the vague outline ofthree men and a couple of mules which appeared to be heavily laden.They were assembled on a flat piece of ground which appeared like aroofless cavern carved out of the mountain side. The walls of rockaround them afforded them both cover and refuge. They seemed in nohurry to start. They had the long night before them, so one of themremarked in English.

  However, presently M. Fournier-Berty gave the signal for the start tobe made, he himself preparing to take leave of his men. Just at thatmoment my ears caught the welcome sound of the tramping of feet, andbefore any of the rascals there could realise what was happening,their way was barred by Leroux and his gendarmes, who loudly gave theorder, "Hands up, in the name of the Emperor!"

  I was only conscious of a confused murmur of voices, of the click offirearms, of words of command passing to and fro, and of severalviolent oaths uttered in the not unfamiliar voice of M. AristideFournier. But already I had spied Leroux. I only exchanged a few wordswith him, for indeed my share of the evening's work was done as far ashe was concerned, and I made haste to retrace my steps through thedarkness and the rain along the lonely mountain path toward the goalwhere chivalry and manly ardour beckoned to me from afar.

  I found my vehicle waiting for me at St. Cergues, and by the promiseof an additional pourboire, I succeeded in making the driver whip uphis horses to some purpose. Less than an hour later we drew up at Gexoutside the little inn, pretentiously called Le Roi de Rome. Onalighting I was met by the proprietress who, in answer to my inquiryafter two ladies who had arrived that afternoon, at once conducted meupstairs.

  Already my mind was busy conjuring up visions of the fair lady ofyester-eve. The landlady threw open a door and ushered me into a smallroom which reeked of stale food and damp clothes. I stepped in andfound myself face to face with a large and exceedingly ugly old womanwho rose with difficulty from the sofa as I entered.

  "M. Aristide Barrot," she said as soon as the landlady had closed thedoor behind me.

  "At your service, Madame," I stammered. "But--"

  I was indeed almost aghast. Never in my life had I seen anything sogrotesque as this woman. To begin with she was more than ordinarilystout and unwieldy--indeed, she appeared like a veritable mountain offlesh; but what was so disturbing to my mind was that she was nothingbut a hideous caricature of her lovely daughter, whose dainty featuresshe grotesquely recalled. Her face was seamed and wrinkled, her whitehair was plastered down above her yellow forehead. She wore anold-fashioned bonnet tied under her chin, and her huge bulk was drapedin a large-patterned cashmere shawl.

  "You expected to see my dear daughter beside me, my good M. Barrot,"she said after a while speaking with remarkable gentleness anddignity.

  "I confess, Madame--" I murmured.

  "Ah! the darling has sacrificed herself for my sake. We found to-daythat though my son was out of the way, he had set his abominableservants to watch over us. Soon we realized that we could not both getaway. It meant one of us staying behind to act the part of unconcernand to throw dust in the eyes of our jailers. My daughter--ah! she isan angel, Monsieur--feared that the disappointment and my son'scruelty, when he returned on the morrow and found that he had beentricked, would seriously endanger my life. She decided that I must goand that she would remain."

  "But, Madame--" I protested.

  "I know, Monsieur," she rejoined with the same calm dignity whichalready had commanded my respect, "I know that you think me a selfishold woman; but my Angele--she is an angel, of a truth!--made all thearrangements, and I could not help but obey her. But have no fears forher safety, Monsieur. My son would not dare lay hands on her as oftenas he has done on me. Angele will be brave, and our relations at St.Claude will, directly we arrive, make arrangements to go and fetch herand bring her back to me. My brother is an influential man; he wouldnever have allowed my son to martyrize me and Angele had he known whatwe have had to endure."

  Of course I could not then tell her that all her fears for herself andthe lovely Angele could now be laid to rest. Her ruffianly son waseven now being conveyed by Leroux and his gendarmes to the frontier,where the law would take its course. I was indeed not sorry for him. Iwas not sorry to think that he would end his evil life upon theguillotine or the gallows. I was only grieved for Angele who wouldspend a night and a day, perhaps more, in agonized suspense, knowingnothing of the events which at one great swoop would free her and herbeloved mother from the tyranny of a hated brother and send him toexpiate his crimes. Not only did I grieve, Sir, for the tender victimof that man's brutality, but I trembled for her safety. I did not knowwhat minions or confederates Fournier-Berty had left in the lonelyhouse yonder, or under what orders they were in case he did not returnfrom his nocturnal expedition.

  Indeed for the moment I felt so agitated at thought of that beautifulangel's peril that I looked down with anger and scorn at the fat oldwoman who ought to have remained beside her daughter to comfort and toshield her.

  I was on the point of telling her everything, and dragging her back toher post of duty which she should never have relinquished. Fortunatelymy sense of what I owed to my own professional dignity prevented mytaking such a step. It was clearly not for me to argue. My first dutywas to stand by this helpless woman in distress, who had beencommitted to my charge, and to convey her safely to St. Claude. Afterwhich I could see to it that Mademoiselle Angele was brought along tooas quickly as influential relatives could contrive.

  In the meanwhile I derived some consolation from the thought that atany rate for the next four and twenty hours the lovely creature wouldbe safe. No news of the arrest of Aristide Fournier could possiblyreach the lonely house until I myself could return thither and takeher under my protection.

  So I said nothing; but with perfect gallantry, just as if fat Mme.Fournier had been a young and beautiful woman, I begged her to giveherself the trouble of mounting into the carriage which was waitingfor her.

  It took time and trouble, Sir, to hoist that mass of solid flesh intothe vehicle, and the driver grumbled not a little at the unexpectedweight. However, his horses were powerful, wiry, mountain ponies, andwe made headway through the darkness and along the smooth,departmental road at moderate speed. I may say that it was a miserablyuncomfortable journey for me, sitting, as I was forced to do, on thenarrow front seat of the carriage, without support
for my head or roomfor my legs. But Madame's bulk filled the whole of the back seat, andit never seemed to enter her head that I too might like the use of acushion. However, even the worst moments and the weariest journeysmust come to an end, and we reached the frontier in the small hours ofthe morning. Here we found the customs officials ready to render usany service we might require. Leroux had not failed to order the freshrelay of horses, and whilst these were being put to, the politeofficers of the station gave Madame and myself some excellent coffee.Beyond the formal: "Madame has nothing to declare for His Majesty'scustoms?" and my companion's equally formal: "Nothing, Monsieur,except my personal belongings," they did not ply us with questions,and after half an hour's halt we again proceeded on our way.

  We reached St. Claude at daybreak, and following Madame's directions,the driver pulled up in front of a large house in the Avenue du Jura.Again there was the same difficulty in hoisting the unwieldy lady outof the vehicle, but this time, in response to my vigorous pull at theoutside bell, the concierge and another man came out of the house, andvery respectfully they approached Madame and conveyed her into thehouse.

  While they did so she apparently gave them some directions aboutmyself, for anon the concierge returned, and with extreme politenesstold me that Madame Fournier greatly hoped that I would stay in St.Claude a day or two as she had the desire to see me again very soon.She also honoured me with an invitation to dine with her that sameevening at seven of the clock. This was the first time, I noticed,that the name Fournier was actually used in connexion with any of thepeople with whom I had become so dramatically involved. Not that I hadever doubted the identity of the ruffianly Ernest Berty; still it wasvery satisfactory to have my surmises confirmed. I concluded that thefine house in the Avenue du Jura belonged to Mme. Fournier's brother,and I vaguely wondered who he was. The invitation to dinner hadcertainly been given in her name, and the servants had received herwith a show of respect which suggested that she was more than a guestin her brother's house.

  Be that as it may, I betook myself for the nonce to the Hotel desMoines in the centre of the town and killed time for the rest of theday as best I could. For one thing I needed rest after the emotionsand the fatigue of the past forty-eight hours. Remember, Sir, I hadnot slept for two nights and had spent the last eight hours on thenarrow front seat of a jolting chaise. So I had a good rest in theafternoon, and at seven o'clock I presented myself once more at thehouse in the Avenue du Jura.

  My intention was to retire early to bed after spending an agreeableevening with the family, who would no doubt overwhelm me with theirgratitude, and at daybreak I would drive back to Gex after I had heardall the latest news from Leroux.

  I confess that it was with a pardonable feeling of agitation that Itugged at the wrought-iron bell-pull on the perron of the magnificentmansion in the Avenue du Jura. To begin with I felt somewhat rueful athaving to appear before ladies at this hour in my travelling clothes,and then, you will admit, Sir, that it was a somewhat awkwardpredicament for a man of highly sensitive temperament to meet on termsof equality a refined if stout lady whose son he had just helped tosend to the gallows. Fortunately there was no likelihood of Mme.Fournier being as yet aware of this unpleasant fact: even if she didknow at this hour that her son's illicit adventure had come to grief,she could not possibly in her mind connect me with his ill-fortune. SoI allowed the sumptuous valet to take my hat and coat and I followedhim with as calm a demeanour as I could assume up the richly carpetedstairs. Obviously the relatives of Mme. Fournier were more than wellto do. Everything in the house showed evidences of luxury, not to saywealth. I was ushered into an elegant salon wherein every cornershowed traces of dainty feminine hands. There were embroidered silkcushions upon the sofa, lace covers upon the tables, whilst a workbasket, filled with a riot of many coloured silks, stood invitinglyopen. And through the apartment, Sir, a scent of violets lingered andcaressed my nostrils, reminding me of a beauteous creature in distresswhom it had been my good fortune to succour.

  I had waited less than five minutes when I heard a swift, elastic stepapproaching through the next room, and a second or so later, before Ihad time to take up an appropriate posture, the door was thrown openand the exquisite vision of my waking dreams--the beautiful Angele--stood smiling before me.

  "Mademoiselle," I stammered somewhat clumsily, for of a truth I washardly able to recover my breath, and surprise had well nigh robbed meof speech, "how comes it that you are here?"

  She only smiled in reply, the most adorable smile I had ever seen onany human face, so full of joy, of mischief--aye, of triumph, was it.I asked after Madame. Again she smiled, and said Madame was in herroom, resting from the fatigues of her journey. I had scarce recoveredfrom my initial surprise when another--more complete still--confrontedme. This was the appearance of Monsieur Aristide Fournier, whom I hadfondly imagined already expiating his crimes in a frontier prison, butwho now entered, also smiling, also extremely pleasant, who greeted meas if we were lifelong friends, and who then--I scarce could believemy eyes--placed his arm affectionately round his sister's waist, whileshe turned her sweet face up to his and gave him a fond--nay, a lovinglook. A loving look to him who was a brute and a bully and a miscreantamenable to the gallows! True his appearance was completely changed:his eyes were bright and kindly, his mouth continued to smile, hismanner was urbane in the extreme when he finally introduced himself tome as: "Aristide Fournier, my dear Monsieur Ratichon, at yourservice."

  He knew my name, he knew who I was! whilst I . . . I had to pass my handonce or twice over my forehead and to close and reopen my eyes severaltimes, for, of a truth, it all seemed like a dream. I tried to stammerout a question or two, but I could only gasp, and the lovely Angeleappeared highly amused at my distress.

  "Let us dine," she said gaily, "after which you may ask as manyquestions as you like."

  In very truth I was in no mood for dinner. Puzzlement and anxietyappeared to grip me by the throat and to choke me. It was all verywell for the beautiful creature to laugh and to make merry. She hadcruelly deceived me, played upon the chords of my sensitive heart forpurposes which no doubt would presently be made clear, but in themeanwhile since the smuggling of the English files had beensuccessful--as it apparently was--what had become of Leroux and hisgendarmes?

  What tragedy had been enacted in the narrow gorge of St. Cergues, andwhat, oh! what had become of my hopes of that five thousand francs forthe apprehension of the smugglers, promised me by Leroux? Can youwonder that for the moment the very thought of dinner was abhorrent tome? But only for the moment. The next a sumptuous valet had thrownopen the folding-doors, and down the vista of the stately apartment Iperceived a table richly laden with china and glass and silver, whilsta distinctly savoury odour was wafted to my nostrils.

  "We will not answer a single question," the fair Angele reiteratedwith adorable determination, "until after we have dined."

  What, Sir, would you have done in my place? I believe that never untilthis hour had Hector Ratichon reached to such a sublimity of manner. Ibowed with perfect dignity in token of obedience to the fair creature,Sir; then without a word I offered her my arm. She placed her handupon it, and I conducted her to the dining-room, whilst AristideFournier, who at this hour should have been on a fair way to beinghanged, followed in our wake.

  Ah! it seemed indeed a lovely dream: one that lasted through anexcellent and copious dinner, and which turned to delightful realitywhen, over a final glass of succulent Madeira, Monsieur AristideFournier slowly counted out one hundred notes, worth one hundredfrancs each, and presented these to me with a gracious nod.

  "Your fee, Monsieur," he said, "and allow me to say that never have Ipaid out so large a sum with such a willing hand."

  "But I have done nothing," I murmured from out the depths of mybewilderment.

  Mademoiselle Angele and Monsieur Fournier looked at one another, and,no doubt, I presented a very comical spectacle; for both of them burstinto an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
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  "Indeed, Monsieur," quoth Monsieur Fournier as soon as he could speakcoherently, "you have done everything that you set out to do and doneit with perfect chivalry. You conveyed 'the toys' safely over thefrontier as far as St. Claude."

  "But how?" I stammered, "how?"

  Again Mademoiselle Angele laughed, and through the ripples of herlaughter came her merry words:

  "Maman was very fat, was she not, my good Monsieur Ratichon? Did younot think she was extraordinarily like me?"

  I caught the glance in her eyes, and they were literally glowing withmischief. Then all of a sudden I understood. She had impersonated afat mother, covered her lovely face with lines, worn a disfiguring wigand an antiquated bonnet, and round her slender figure she had tuckedaway thousands of packages of English files. I could only gasp.Astonishment, not to say admiration, at her pluck literally took mybreath away.

  "But, Monsieur Berty?" I murmured, my mind in a turmoil, my thoughtsrunning riot through my brain. "The Englishmen, the mules, the packs?"

  "Monsieur Berty, as you see, stands before you now in the person ofMonsieur Fournier," she replied. "The Englishmen were three faithfulservants who threw dust not only in your eyes, my dear M. Ratichon,but in those of the customs officials, while the packs containedharmless personal luggage which was taken by your friend and hisgendarmes to the customs station at Mijoux, and there, after muchswearing, equally solemnly released with many apologies to M.Fournier, who was allowed to proceed unmolested on his way, and whoarrived here safely this afternoon, whilst Maman divested herself ofher fat and once more became the slender Mme. Aristide Fournier, atyour service."

  She bobbed me a dainty curtsy, and I could only try and hide the painwhich this last cruel stab had inflicted on my heart. So she was not"Mademoiselle" after all, and henceforth it would even be wrong toindulge in dreams of her.

  But the ten thousand francs crackled pleasantly in my breast pocket,and when I finally took leave of Monsieur Aristide Fournier and hischarming wife, I was an exceedingly happy man.

  But Leroux never forgave me. Of what he suspected me I do not know, orif he suspected me at all. He certainly must have known about fatMaman from the customs officials who had given us coffee at Mijoux.

  But he never mentioned the subject to me at all, nor has he spoken tome since that memorable night. To one of his colleagues he once saidthat no words in his vocabulary could possibly be adequate to expresshis feelings.

  CHAPTER VI

  HONOUR AMONG ------