The steep, narrow street was walled by great houses of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, while at the top a little archway buttressed a mansion of obvious importance.
"We now enter," said Berry, with the time-honoured flourish of the hired conductor, "the famous Bishops' Row. At one time or another, in every one of these dwellings prelates of all sizes and shapes have snored, swallowed, and generally fortified the flesh. Upon that door were posted the bulletins announcing the progress towards recovery of Rudolph the Rash, who in the fifteenth year of his office decided to take a bath. His eventual restoration to health was celebrated with great rejoicing. From that window Sandwich, surnamed the Slop-pail, was wont to dispense charity in the shape of such sack as he found himself reluctantly unable to consume. Such self-denial surprised even his most devoted adherents, until it was discovered that the bishop had no idea that he was pouring libations into the street, but, with some hazy intention of conserving the remains of his liquor, invariably mistook the window for the door of a cupboard. The house on the left is of peculiar interest. Behind those walls——"
"I wouldn't interrupt you for worlds," said Daphne, "and I'm sure the cathedral won't be half so interesting, but, perhaps, if we saw that first…."
"That's right," said her husband. "Twist the sage's tail. Now I've lost my place. I shall have to begin all over again." He paused to pass his hand across his eyes. Then he flung out an arm. "We now enter the famous Bishops' Row. At one time or another, in every one of these dwellings prelates of all…."
We fairly fled up the street.
We had visited the shrine: we had wondered at the silver eloquence of architects: we had examined one by one sixty-six of the most exquisite stalls that ever graced a choir: we had stared at thrones, pulpit, organ-case and a great frieze—all of them carved with a cunning which money could never buy, and to-day great love and piety are too poor to purchase—we had walked in the cloisters: we had been shown the relics: and whilst the others were picking over some picture postcards, I was looking at an old fountain in the cathedral square.
"I say," said a pleasant voice.
Upon the other side of the basin was a slim figure in a grey tweed suit—a nice-looking boy of about twenty summers. His thick, dark hair was uncovered, and there was a grave look in the big brown eyes.
"Hullo," said I. "You're the runaway."
"That's right," he said quickly. "I only want to apologise. I'm afraid I was awfully rude to laugh like that, but I couldn't help it. I wasn't listening."
He turned away hurriedly.
"Here, I say!" I cried, stepping after him. With his chin on his shoulder the boy hesitated, like some wild thing. "Don't go," I added. "It's quite all right. If my brother-in-law likes to make a fool of himself, why shouldn't you laugh?"
"I know, but——"
"My dear fellow," said I, "the more the merrier. Besides, we use the same hatter. So let's be friends. You're all alone, aren't you?"
"Er—yes. I'm really staying at Pau, and, as I'd got nothing——"
"I knew I'd seen your car before. Didn't you go to Lourdes on Tuesday?"
The boy started.
"Yes, sir. I—I think I did."
He was really extraordinarily nervous.
"That's right," I continued. "We were on the way back from Cauterets.
By the way, I see you've got one of the new models. How does she go?"
We walked down to the gate, talking easily enough….
By the time the others arrived, the two-seater's bonnet was open, and I had promised to teach him to change speed without taking out the clutch.
"Isn't that sweet?" said Jill's voice.
My companion started upright.
"You like it?" he said, flushing.
"I think it's wonderful," said my cousin.
So it was.
I have seen many mascots. But, seated upon the cap of the radiator, a little silver reproduction of the Ares Ludovisi knocked memories of nymphs, hounds, and urchins into a cocked hat.
"I'd like you to have it," said the boy suddenly. "Which is your car?"
"Oh, but I can't take it," cried Jill breathlessly. "It's awfully generous of you, but I couldn't think of——"
"Well, let's just see how it looks. You were in the first car, weren't you?"
It was about a thousand to one against the two caps being interchangeable, but the miracle came off. Once Ares was in his new seat, nothing would induce his owner to disestablish him.
"Keep him to-day, at least," he insisted. "Please do. I think it—it'll bring me luck."
"You're awfully kind," said Jill. "Why did you run away?"
Daphne took my arm and called Berry. Together we strolled up the terrace. Jonah was showing Adèle the points of the two-seater.
"Who," said my sister, "is this attractive youth?"
"I've not the faintest idea," said I. "But he's staying at Pau."
"Well, Jill's got off," was the reply. "They're like a couple of children."
"Ah!" said Berry unexpectedly.
"What on earth's the matter?" said Daphne.
"Listen," rejoined her husband. "I've laid an egg—metaphorically. We're all terrified of Jill getting pinched—again metaphorically—aren't we? Very good. Let's encourage this friendship. Let it swell into an attachment. They're far too young to think about marriage. Of course, we shan't see so much of her, but, as the sainted Martin said, half a cloak's better than no bags."
"Dear lad," said Daphne, slipping her arm through his, "you're not laying at all. You're getting broody." With that, she turned to me. "And what do you think about it?"
"He's a gentleman," said I. "And he's a child. Children, I suppose, attract children. Let him be asked to tea, and they can play in the nursery."
"Thank you," said my sister. "Now I'll break it to you. Subject to the usual formalities, Jill will marry that boy within the year."
"B-but it's absurd," bubbled Berry. "It's out of the question. They'd be like the Babes in the Wood. What that he-child's doing on his own, I can't imagine. I should think he's a ward in Chancery who's given his guardians the slip. And the two together'd make a combination about as well fitted to cope with Life as a mute with a megaphone."
"On the contrary," said Daphne, "they'll get on splendidly. They'll turn the world into a playground. Wherever they go, everybody'll drop their tools and go down on their knees and play with them." She laughed delightedly. "I tell you, it'll be like a fairy tale."
"Of course," I said, "I see what it is. You're at your old games."
"I'm not," was the fierce retort. "D'you think I want to lose Jill? But she'll have to go some day. It's inevitable. And the only thing she could ever really love is a playmate. The finest lover in the world would never find the trick of Jill's heart. Only a child can do that. She might marry him easily—the lover, I mean. And she'd be happy, of course. But she'd miss the biggest thing in life. Well, eligible playmates are pretty scarce. I've been watching for one for years. Mind you, I don't say this boy's going to do. There may be a score of reasons that put his suit out of court. But, on the face of it, he's nearer the mark than anything I've seen."
Thoughtfully we turned back the way we had come…
After a long silence—
"Any way," said Berry gloomily, "the first thing to do 's to find out who he is. Perhaps Jill's done it."
"That," said my sister, "is the very last thing she'd think of."
We returned to where Ping and Pong were standing, to find that Jonah and Adèle had disappeared, while Jill was being taught to drive the two-seater. The environs of Saint-Bertrand-de-Comminges do not make a good school, but master and pupil cared not for that. Indeed, they were so engrossed in their exercise that our approach was unobserved.
The two were at the top of their bent.
Flushed with excitement, laughing, chattering like old friends, lady and squire were having the time of their lives. They were, certainly, wonderfully matched. If Jill was a picture, so was the boy. His gravity was gone. The fine, frank face was fairly alight with happiness, the brown eyes dancing, the strong white teeth flashing merriment. From being good-looking, he had become most handsome. If he was to find the trick of Jill's heart, she had laid a pink finger upon the catch of his charm.
For a moment we stood marvelling….
Then Jill saw us with the tail of her eye.
"I say," she cried, twittering, "he's going to teach me to drive. He's coming to lunch to-morrow, and then we're going along the Morlaas road, because that'll be quiet."
As Adèle and Jonah emerged from the gateway—
"You can't have the Morlaas road to-morrow," said Berry, "because I've got it. I'm going to practise reversing through goats. It's all arranged. Five million of the best new-laid goats are to be in line of troop columns two kilometres south of the 'L' of a 'ill by three o'clock."
Jill addressed her companion.
"We'll go another way," she said. "I don't suppose he's really going there, but, if he did…. Well, when he says he's going backwards on purpose, we always get out of the car."
The naïveté with which this unconsciously scathing criticism was phrased and uttered trebled its poignancy.
Berry collapsed amid a roar of laughter.
Then Jonah pulled out his watch, and we began to arrange ourselves. That Jill might return with her brother and have her mascot too, we had to swap cars; for, as the only two mechanics, Jonah and I never travelled together. I was sorry about it, for Pong was the apple of my eye. Seldom, if ever, had we been parted before. Jonah, I fancy, felt the same about Ping.
Our new friend was going straight back. We, however, were proposing to return by Bagnères-de-Bigorre, and suggested that he should accompany us. He shook his head gravely.
"No. I—I have to get back," he said heavily. "I must." Then he bowed to Daphne and to us all. "You've been very kind to me. Good-bye."
As he turned—
"Till to-morrow," I cried heartily. "You know where we live?"
"Oh, yes. You're Captain Pleydell."
"That's right. Oh, and—er—by the way, I don't think we know your name."
For a moment the boy hesitated. Then he turned scarlet.
"N-neither do I," he said.
* * * * *
It was four o'clock by the time we reached Lannemezan, so, after a little discussion, my wife and Berry and I determined to cut Bagnères-de-Bigorre out of our itinerary and return to Pau by the way by which we had come. Whether the others, who were ahead of us, had come to the same decision, we could not tell.
Berry was driving like a professional. The fact, however, that between Lannemezan and Tarbes the pleasant road was littered with more dog-carts and bullock-waggons than one would have expected any three departments of France to be able to furnish, tended to cramp his style. The uses, moreover, to which the occupants of these vehicles subjected the way argued a belief not so much in progress as in esprit de corps. As often as not the carts moved three abreast, their human complements comparing excited notes, gossiping and making merry with as much disregard of their whereabouts as if they were gathered in a familiar tavern. As for the waggons, these were frequently unattended, their custodians trudging disinterestedly in rear, absorbed in good-natured argument and leaving their bullocks to place their own interpretation upon the rule of the road. Such confidence was seldom misplaced: still, for the driver of an approaching car to share it, demanded, I suppose, an experience of oxen which we did not possess.
After a few miles my brother-in-law's patience began to show signs of wear and tear, and by the time we had reached Tournay it was positively threadbare. For this Adèle and I paid almost as heavily as he. But for the horn by his side, many an infuriated chauffeur would have lost his reason. It is a kind of safety-valve. Berry's employment of this convenient accessory was characterised by a savagery which, if deplorable, is not uncommon. The frequency, however, with which passage simply had to be asked was truly terrible. Disapproval at once so bitterly and constantly expressed was most distressing. Our heads began to ache violently….
To crown our annoyance, we picked up a cast shoe—with the inevitable result. When, fortified by the knowledge that it was my turn to change the wheel, Berry ventured to point out that such an acquisition was extremely fortunate, the power of speech deserted me.
Dusk was falling as we ran into Tarbes….
"D'you think," said Adèle, "that we could find a chemist? My head feels as if it was going to burst."
We sought diligently without success. After a little we stopped and asked a postman. An apothecary of sorts, it appeared, was plying his trade two side-streets away. Adèle and I descended to go and visit him.
I was rather sceptical about the virtue of the drug which was eventually produced to us, but, after a little discussion, we purchased the tablets and asked for some water with which to swallow them.
I must confess that when we returned to find no sign of the car, I was extremely annoyed. It was rapidly growing dark and it had become cold. Adèle was tired and had had no tea. The market was up, with the result that the streets were swarming. I cursed my brother-in-law with pardonable acerbity.
"It's all right, old chap," said Adèle, taking my arm. "He's probably just around somewhere. Let's go and look for him."
He was not around anywhere.
We struggled to the right, we fought our way to the left, we pushed and were pushed back to the pharmacie, and we returned laboriously to our starting-point. All the time we were devilled by the lingering idea that Berry was searching for us, and that we were just avoiding him at every turn. After another two minutes, I took my protesting wife back to the chemist's shop, requested his hospitality on her behalf, and, after seeing her received by a glowing Frenchwoman into an inner room, turned up my collar and advanced blasphemously into the street.
Almost immediately Berry stumbled into my arms.
"The car!" he gasped. "A plant! Quick! Or they'll do us down!"
I stared at him stupidly.
His coat was torn and he was streaming with sweat. Also his hat was missing, and there was a cut on his cheek.
"You're hurt," I cried.
"Right as rain," he panted. "Tell you 's we go." He started to pelt up the street. I ran by his side. "'Bout two minutes after you'd gone—fellow ran up t' the car in hell of a state—firs' couldn' make out what matter was—talked too fast—then gathered, you'd sent him—Adèle had been taken ill—lie, of course—see now—never occurred to me at time—told him get on step and guide me—burst off up street—lef' ri' lef stunt—'fore knew where I was, cul de sac—pulled up—nex' second, both doors open and toughest cove 've ever seen told me t' hop it—in bad American—round to t' left here—course I tumbled at once—dirty work—tried t' hit him—nothing doing—tried to lock car—couldn't—hauled out anyhow—no good yelling—ran find you—one ray hope—out of petrol—I never stopped engine—petered out on its own—can on step, I know—but they'll have to locate trouble—and then decant—left again here … no … wait." He looked from side to side anxiously. Then he swung round and glanced back. "Gad, I think we're wrong." He started back frantically. "No, that's right. I 'member that café." We swung round again. Arrived once more at the corner, again he hesitated, twitching his lips nervously and sobbing for want of breath. "These blasted streets," he jerked out. "I tried to memorise 'em, but—— There they are, Boy! There they are!"
It was true.
Turning away from us into a street on our left, about forty paces away, was our own blue coupé….
But for the fact that a cart was presenting a momentary obstruction, our quarry would have been gone. As it was, I flung myself on to the running-board as she was gathering speed….
Without a word, I thrust my arm in at the window and switched off the engine. As she slowed up I leapt for the bonnet, whipped it open and felt for the high-tension wire. At that moment the engine re-started…. For a second whoever was driving fumbled with the gears…. As the wheels meshed with a chunk, my fingers found what they sought. The next instant the car lunged forward—and the wire broke.
I fell on my back, certainly, and my hand was bleeding, but I could afford to smile. The gun was spiked.
As I rose to my feet, the car came gently to rest twenty-five paces away.
"All right?" panted Berry by my side.
"Every time," said I. "And now for it." I turned to a gaping youth. "Allez cherche la police," I flung at him. "Vite!"
As we came up to the car—
"And may I ask," drawled a voice, "the meaning of this hold-up? I guess you'll get tired of answering before you're through, but, as the owner of this vehicle, I'm just curious."
"Cut it out," said I shortly. "And just come out of that car. Both of you."
So far as the speaker's companion was concerned, my injunction was supererogatory. Even as I spoke, with a scream of agony the latter emerged from the car. Holding him fast by the wrist, Berry had almost broken his arm across the jamb of the door.
"And why?" said the voice imperturbably.
"Because the game's up." I opened the door. "Besides, to tell you the truth, we're rather particular about our cushions. Till now, no one with more than three previous convictions has ever sat on them."
With narrowed eyes, a very square-faced gentleman regarded me grimly.
"If you hadn't damaged my car," he said slowly. "I'd get out and refashion your physiognomy. But I guess I'll wait for the police." And, with that, he drew a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, spat, and then lighted the brand with great deliberation.
I began to think rapidly.
Violence was out of the question. The fellow was far heavier than I, and obviously as hard as nails. Moreover, I felt instinctively that the Queensberry Rules did not mean much to him. As for cunning—well, we were not in the same class. Here was an audacity such as I had not dreamed of. Having lost one throw, the fellow was doubling his stake. Hook having broken in his hand, he had dropped it and picked up Crook. His game was to bluff the French police. That was why he was staying in the car—to give the impression of ownership. If he could maintain this impression, make it easy for the police to wash their hands of a dispute between foreigners, so find favour in their eyes, just turn the scale sufficiently to be allowed to proceed "pending the fullest inquiries"—it might go hard with us….
I fancy he read my thoughts, for he took the cigar from his mouth and laughed softly.
"Up against it, aren't you?" he said.
At last a gendarme arrived, and five minutes later we were all on the way to the police-station.
This was not to my gentleman's taste, but he was too shrewd a knave to press his point. Honesty was his best policy. He did demand hotly that I should be taken in charge, but I had the better of him in French, and after a moment he let that iron go. He fought very hard for the services of a mechanic, but I was determined that the engine should remain out of action, and, calling for volunteers upon the crowd of unlookers, soon satisfied the gendarme that to push the car to the station was easy enough.
Holding fast to the accomplice, who, for reasons best known to himself, was adopting an injured air in sulky silence, Berry walked by my side.
"What's his game?" he muttered. "In the face of our papers, he's done."
"He'll swear they're his, for a monkey. They're in the car. Probably read them through, while you were looking for me. And all the details are on the Travelling Pass. But he's got to get over the photograph."
"Well, it's up to you," said Berry. "I used to think I could bluff, but this—this is beyond me."
When we arrived at the police-station the chief of the police was summoned, and we told our respective tales.
Our enemy spoke first—shortly, but much to the point.
He was returning, he said, to Pau, where he was staying with friends. Finding that he had run out of petrol, while he was passing through Tarbes, he had turned into a side-street to refill without obstructing a main thoroughfare. As he was starting again, an assault had been made—an unprovoked assault—seriously damaging the car. Thereupon he had sent for the police. Now, foiled in their enterprise, the thieves, he understood, were actually daring to say that he had assaulted them. One of them—he nodded at Berry—had certainly been roughly handled, but, Mon Dieu, what did they expect? (Here he took out his watch and frowned at the dial.) And now would the police get to work? His friends at Pau would be wondering what had become of him.
I admit that you could have pushed me over.
Upon the question of ownership the rogue said not a word. The whole onus of raising that issue he had thrust on to me. I was to broach the barrel of improbability, and by so doing to taint my whole case…
The police were manifestly impressed.
There was no doubt at all that we were up against it.
The asperity with which the official asked me what we had to say sent my heart into my boots.
I started to tell my story.
The moment I said that the car belonged to us, police and robber stared at me as if bewitched. Then the latter exploded.
It was certainly very well done.
Such fulminations of outraged dignity, such out-pourings of righteous indignation, never were witnessed. It took the united sympathy and assurance of the whole personnel of the station, to smooth the ruffian down. After a while, however, he condescended to see the humorous side. The police laughed with him….
Throughout my recital I had to endure the like.
As for the chief of police, he was plainly extremely bored. He listened, patently because it was his duty to let me speak. His cold, indifferent air, the way in which his eyes went straying about the room, were simply maddening.
Desperately endeavouring to keep my temper, I ploughed my way on.
At last—
"Listen," I said dramatically. "You do not believe me. I do not blame you. My friend has told a good tale. At present it is my word against his. Supposing I bring some evidence?"
"What evidence can you bring?"
"The papers belonging to the car." I pointed to the usurper. "On his own showing I cannot have seen them. Yet I will tell you their contents. I pray you, send for them. They're in the left——"
"Wrong, sonny," said my antagonist, tapping his coat. "I always carry 'em here." And, with that, he drew out our wallet and flung it upon the desk.
With our Pass in his hands, the chief of the police blinked at me.
"The chassis number?" he said.
"P 1709."
Up went his eyebrows.
"And on the number-plates?"
"XD 2322."
The official folded the Pass and shook his head.
"Wrong," he said shortly.
As I stared at him, frowning—
"Yes, sonny," said the jeering voice. "An' don't go putting it up that you're J. Mansel, 'cause the picture's against you."
With the words the truth came to me.
It was Ping—Jonah's car—that was standing without in the street. And I had given Pong's numbers….
With a grin of triumph the impostor rose to his feet.
"So that's that," he drawled. "Well, I guess I'll be moving. As for these climbers——"
"Pardon me, sir," said Berry, in pretty fair French, "but you will do nothing of the sort." He turned to the chief of the police and inclined his head. "I am a nobleman, and—I should like a chair."
For a moment the other stared at him; then he sent for a seat. Had I stood in his shoes, I should have done the same. My brother-in-law's air was irresistible.
Berry sat down carefully.
"I shall not," he said, "keep you long. This is not my car. It belongs to my cousin, Captain Jonathan Mansel. Look at the Pass, please, and check me. Captain Mansel was born at Guildford, Surrey, is it not so? Good. Now I have given the birthplace." He shot out an accusing hand. "Ask that gentleman the date."
For the second time the tough exploded, but with a difference. This time the wrath was genuine, the passion real. There was something beastly about it. Beside this paroxysm the other outburst had been almost refined.
The official who had been about to speak looked at the fellow curiously, and when, a moment later, the latter stretched out his hand for the Pass, he held up a prohibitive palm.
As the storm died down—
"Good," said Berry. "The gentleman doesn't want to. The date is December the fifteenth, 1891." He sighed profoundly. Then: "You have a gendarme here," he said musingly, "called Jean Laffargue."
The chief of the police stared.
"Yes, Monsieur. He is there, by the door."
Berry nodded.
"He has a twin brother, hasn't he?"
"Perfectly, Monsieur. He is called 'François.'"
"Very likely," said Berry. "Very likely. I call him Herbert!"
"Monsieur le Comte," said Herbert, stepping into the room.
"Ah, Herbert," said Berry airily, "we meet again." He nodded at the official. "Just tell this gentleman about this morning, will you? He would, I think, be interested."
To say that Herbert came up to the scratch is to do scant justice to the testimony which he gave and to the manner in which he gave it. He swore to Berry: he swore to me: and in all honesty he swore to the car. For this, since Ping and Pong were duplicates, he may be forgiven. He described the morning's incident with a wealth of picturesque detail and an abundance of vivid imagery, while an astute cross-examination only served to adorn the sincerity of his tale.
Finally, in response to his entreaties, police and all, we followed him into the street, where, displaying a histrionic ability which was truly French, he proceeded to reconstruct and rehearse his great adventure with the enthusiasm of a zealot.
Watch in hand, Berry touched the chief of the police upon the shoulder.
"By now," he said, "I think my cousin may have reached Pau. If you would like to telephone…."
He stopped suddenly to peer right and left into the darkness.
The gentry had disappeared.
* * * * *
Ten minutes later, with a gendarme on either step, we picked up an anxious Adèle. Then we filled up with petrol, had my makeshift connection replaced by a new wire, and started for home.
As we passed the scene of our meeting with Herbert—
"Which goes to prove," said my brother-in-law, "the wisdom of catching at straws. I noticed his likeness to Herbert the moment we entered the room, and, for what it was worth, I kept my eye on him. Then a gendarme came in and whispered. I caught the words 'votre frère.' Laffargue shrugged his shoulders and glanced at the clock. It looked as if his brother was waiting for him to come off duty. I began to wonder whether the two were going to blow my ten francs. During one of the arguments I shot my bolt. I asked him to tell his twin-brother that the Count Blowfly was here and would be glad if he'd wait. He stared rather, but, after a little hesitation, he slipped out of the room. I think my heart stopped beating until he returned. When he looked at me and nodded, I could have screamed with delight…."
For a kilometre or so we sat in silence.
Then—
"It reminds me of poker on board ship," said I. "Our friend of the square jaw cuts in and, with the luck of an outsider, picks up four kings."
"That's it," said Berry. "And we hold three aces."
"Exactly," said I.
"But four kings beat three aces," said Adèle.
"You're forgetting Herbert," said I.
"No, I'm not," said my wife. "Herbert's the Ace of Spades."
"No, sweetheart," said Berry. "He's the joker."
* * * * *
It was early upon the following morning that a letter was brought by hand to our door.
DEAR MRS. PLEYDELL,
I'm afraid you must have thought all sorts of things about me after I'd gone yesterday, but I've just this moment had a telegram, and I'm so excited I can hardly write. I know my name now. You see, I used to be the Marquis Lecco. Then, when Father died, they said he'd never been the Duke at all, and so I had no name. But now it's all settled, and they've lost their case. And I can sign myself always,
Yours very sincerely, PADUA.
CHAPTER VI
HOW BERRY RAN CONTRABAND GOODS, AND THE DUKE OF PADUA PLIGHTED JILL HIS TROTH
That Jill was in love with the Duke of Padua was only less manifest than that the Duke of Padua was in love with Jill. Something, however, was wrong. So much our instinct reported. Our reason refused to believe it, and, with one consent, we pretended that all was well. For all that, there lay a shadow athwart the babies' path. Yet the sky was cloudless…. The thing was too hard for us.
With a sigh, I opened my case and took out a cigarette. Then I handed the case to Berry. The latter waved it aside and wrinkled his nose.
"I'm through," he said shortly. "Offal's all very well in an incinerator, if the wind's the right way, but, as a substitute for tobacco—well, it soon palls."
I closed the case and slid it into my pocket.
"I must confess," I said, "that I'm nearing the breaking-point."
"Well, I wish you'd be quick and reach it," said Adèle. "How you can go on at all, after finding that fly, I can't imagine."
She shuddered at the memory.
Less than a week ago a suspicious protuberance in the line of a local cigarette had attracted my attention. Investigation had revealed the presence of a perfect, if somewhat withered, specimen of the musca domestica imbedded in the vegetation which I had been proposing to smoke. This was too much for the girls, none of whom had since touched a cigarette, and when my brother-in-law suggested that the fly had probably desired cremation, and urged that, however obnoxious, the wishes of the dead should be respected, Daphne had reviled her husband and requested Jonah to open the door, so that she could sit in a draught.
We were in a bad way.
Now that we were in France, the difficulty of obtaining cigars, cigarettes, or tobacco, such as we were used to enjoy, seemed to be insuperable. The prohibitive duty, the uncertainty and by no means infrequent failure of the French mails, brought the cost of procuring supplies from England to a figure we could not stomach: attempts at postal smuggling had ended in humiliating failure: the wares which France herself was offering were not at all to our taste. We were getting desperate. Jonah, who had smoked the same mixture for thirteen years, was miserable. Berry's affection for a certain brand of cigars became daily more importunate. My liver was suffering….
"We'd better try getting a licence to import," I said heavily. "It may do something."
"Ah," said my brother-in-law, drawing a letter from his pocket, "I knew I had some news for you. I heard from George this morning. I admit I don't often take advice, but this little missive sounds an unusually compelling call.
"Above all, do not be inveigled into obtaining or, worse still, acting upon, a so-called 'licence to import.' It is a copper-bottomed have. I got one, when I was in Paris, gleefully ordered five thousand cigarettes from Bond Street, and started to count the days. I soon got tired of that. Three months later I got a dirty form from the Customs, advising me that there was a case of cigarettes, addressed to me, lying on the wharf at Toulon—yes, Toulon. They added that the charges to be paid before collection amounted to nine hundred francs by way of duty, eleven hundred and sixty-five by way of freight, and another three francs forty for every day they remained in the Custom House. In this connection, they begged to point out that they had already lain there for six weeks. Friend, can you beat it? But what, then, did I do? Why, I took appropriate action. I wrote at once, saying that, as I was shortly leaving for New York, I should be obliged if they would forward them via Liverpool to the Piraeus: I inquired whether they had any objection to being paid in roubles: and I advised them that I was shortly expecting a pantechnicon, purporting to contain furniture, but, in reality, full of mines. These I begged them to handle with great care and to keep in a temperature never higher than thirty-seven degrees Fahrenheit, as they were notoriously sensitive, and I particularly wished to receive them intact. I added that the pantechnicon would be consigned to me under another name. A fair knowledge of the French temperament suggests to me that the next two or three furniture vans which arrive at Toulon will be very stickily welcomed."
I threw away my cigarette and stared at the mountains.
"'Though every prospect pleases,'" I murmured, "'and only fags are vile.'"
"The only thing to do," said Adèle, "is to have a little sent out from
England from time to time, and ration yourselves accordingly."
Berry shook his head.
"Easier to stop altogether," he said. "Tobacco's not like food. (I'm not speaking of the stuff you get here. Some of that is extremely like food—of a sort. I should think it would, as they say, 'eat lovely.') Neither is it like liquor. You don't carry a flask or a bottle of beer in your hip-pocket—more's the pity. But nobody's equipment is complete without a case or a pouch. Why? So that the moment this particular appetite asserts itself, it can be gratified. No. Smoking's a vice; and as soon as you clap a vice in a strait-jacket, it loses its charm. A cigar three times a day after meals doesn't cut any ice with me." He tilted his hat over his eyes and sank his chin upon his chest. "And now don't talk for a bit. I want to concentrate."
Adèle laid a hand upon his arm.
"One moment," she said. "If the car arrives before you've finished, are we to interrupt you?"
"Certainly not, darling. Signal to the driver to stop in the middle distance. Oh, and ask approaching pedestrians to keep on the grass. Should any children draw near, advise their nurse that I have the mumps."
We were sitting upon a seat in the Parc Beaumont, revelling in the temper of the sunshine and the perfection of the air. A furlong away, Daphne, Jill, and Jonah were playing tennis, with Piers, Duke of Padua, to make a fourth. Nobby and a fox-terrier were gambolling upon an adjacent lawn.
Pau has many virtues, all but one of which may, I suppose, be severally encountered elsewhere upon the earth. The one, however, is her peculiar. The place is airy, yet windless. High though she stands, and clear by thirty miles of such shelter as the mountains can give, by some queer trick of Nature's, upon the map of Æolus Pau and her pleasant precincts are shown as forbidden ground. There is no stiff breeze to rake the boulevard: there are no gusts to buffet you at corners: there are no draughts in the streets. The flow of sweet fresh air is rich and steady, but it is never stirred. A mile away you may see dust flying; storm and tempest savage the Pyrenees: upon the gentlest day fidgety puffs fret Biarritz, as puppies plague an old hound. But Pau is sanctuary. Once in a long, long while some errant blast blunders into the town. Then, for a second of time, the place is Bedlam. The uncaught shutters are slammed, the unpegged laundry is sent whirling, and, if the time is evening, the naked flames of lamps are blown out. But before a match can be lighted, the air is still again. And nobody cares. It was an accident, and Pau knows it. Probably the gust had lost its way and was frightened to death. Such a thing will not happen again for two or three months….
"I like Piers," said Adèle suddenly. "But I think he might kiss my hand."
"How dare you?" said I.
"I do really," said Adèle. "He kisses Daphne's and he actually kisses
Jill's."
"That's all wrong," said I. "You don't kiss a maiden's hand."
"Of course you do," grunted Berry. "A well-bred son of Italy——"
"But he isn't a son of Italy. He's English on both sides."
"I'm not talking of his sides," said Berry. "It's a matter of bosom. You may have English forbears, but if they've been Italian dukes for two centuries, it's just possible that they've imbibed something besides Chianti. Personally, I think it's a very charming custom. It saves wiping your mouth, and——"
"Well, why doesn't he kiss my hand?" said Adèle.
"Because, sweetheart, you are—were American. And—he's very punctilious—he probably thinks that a quondam citizen might have no use for such circumstance."
"I should," said Adèle. "I should just love it. I like Piers."
I looked across at my brother-in-law.
"D'you hear that?" I inquired. "She likes him."
Berry shrugged his shoulders.
"I told her not to marry you," he said.
"No, you didn't," said Adèle. "You egged me on."
"Oh, you wicked story," said Berry. "Why, I fairly spread myself on the brutality of his mouth."
"You said he was honest, sober, and hard-working."
"Nonsense," said Berry. "I was talking of somebody else. I have seen him sober, of course, but—— Besides, you were so precipitate. You had an answer for everything. When I spoke of his ears, you said you'd get used to them: and when I asked you if you'd noticed——"
"I shan't," said Adèle. "I mean, I didn't. However, it's done now. And, after all, he's very convenient. If we hadn't got married, I shouldn't have wintered at Pau. And if I hadn't wintered at Pau, I shouldn't have met Piers."
"True," said Berry, "true. There's something in that." He nodded in my direction. "D'you find he snores much?"
"Nothing to speak of," said Adèle. "Used he to?"
"Like the devil," said Berry. "The vibration was fearful. We had to have his room underpinned."
"Oh, he's quite all right now," said my wife. "Indeed, as husbands go, he's—he's very charming."
"You don't mean to say you still love him?"
"I—I believe I do."
"Oh, the girl's ill," said Berry. "Put your head between your knees, dear, and think of a bullock trying to pass through a turnstile. And why 'as husbands go'? As a distinguished consort, I must protest against that irreverent expression."
"Listen," said Adèle, laughing. "All women adore ceremonious attention—even Americans. The ceremonious attentions of the man they love are the sweetest of all. It's the tragedy of every happy marriage that, when comradeship comes in at the door, ceremony flies out of the window. Now, my husband's my king. Once he was my courtier. I wouldn't go back for twenty million worlds, but—I've got a smile for the old days."
"I know," said Berry softly. "I know. Years ago Daphne told me the same. And I tried and tried…. But it wouldn't work somehow. She was very sweet about it, and very wise. 'Ceremony,' she said, 'gets as far as the finger-tips.' I vowed I'd carry it further, but she only smiled…. We retired there and then, ceremoniously enough, to dress for dinner. I'd bathed and changed and got as far as my collar, when the stud fell down my back. I pinched it between my shoulder-blades. At that moment she came to the door to see if I was ready…." He spread out expressive hands. "They talk about the step from the sublime to the ridiculous. We didn't use any stairs; we went down in the lift. After that I gave up trying. A sense of humour, however, has pulled us through, and now we revile one another."
"And so, you see," said Adèle, slipping an arm through mine, "Piers has wares to offer me which you haven't. The shame of it is, he won't offer them. Still, he's very nice. The way in which he solemnly takes us all for granted is most attractive. He's as natural as a baby a year old. He just bows very courteously and then joins in the game. The moment it's over, he makes his bow and retires. We call him Piers: he calls us by our Christian names—and we haven't known him a week. It's not self-confidence; it's just pure innocence."
"I confess it's remarkable," said I. "And I don't wonder you like him.
All the same, I'm sorry——"
"There!" cried Adèle suddenly, pointing across the lawn. "Boy, he's gone in again."
I reached the edge of the ornamental water in time to observe the
Sealyham emerge upon the opposite bank.
"You naughty dog," said I. "You naughty, wicked dog." Nobby shook himself gleefully. "No, don't come across. Go round the other way. Go back!"
The dog hesitated, and, by way of turning the scale, I threw my stick for him to retrieve. As this left my hand, the hook caught in my cuff, and the cane fell into mid-stream….
As Nobby climbed out with the stick, the park-keeper arrived—a crabbed gentleman, in a long blue cloak and the deuce of a stew.
The swans, he said, would be frightened. (There was one swan, three hundred yards away.) Always they were being pursued by bold dogs. Mon Dieu, but it was shameful. That hounds should march unled in the Parc Beaumont was forbidden—absolutely. Not for them to uproot were the trees and flowers planted. Where, then, was my attachment? And I had encouraged my dog. Actually I had made sport for him. He had seen the deed with his eyes….
One paw raised, ears pricked, his little head on one side, his small frame quivering with excitement, his bright brown eyes alight with expectation, a dripping Nobby regarded us….
I took a note from my pocket.
"He is a wicked dog," I said. "There. He pays his fine. As for me, I shall be punished enough. My home is distant, and I was to have driven. Now he is wet and must grow dry, so I must walk. I will think out his punishment as I go." And, with that, I hooked my cane to the delinquent's collar and turned away.
"Pardon, Monsieur." The old fellow came shambling after us. "Pardon, but do not punish him, I pray you." Nobby screwed round his head and looked at him. "Oh, but how handsome he is! Perhaps he did not understand. And I should be sorry to think …" Nobby started towards him and moved his tail. "See how he understands. He has the eyes of a dove." He stooped to caress his protégé. "Ah, but you are cold, my beauty. Unleash him, Monsieur, I pray you, that he may warm himself. I shall not notice him." As I did his bidding, and Nobby capered away, "Bon," he said pleasedly. "Bon. Au revoir, mon beau." He straightened his bowed shoulders and touched his hat. "A votre service, Monsieur."
I returned thoughtfully to where Adèle and Berry were sitting, watching us closely and pretending that we did not belong to them. So far as personal magnetism was concerned, between Nobby and the Duke of Padua there seemed to be little to choose. To judge by results, the two were equally irresistible. In the race for the Popularity Stakes the rest of the males of our party were simply nowhere.
With a sigh, a blue coupé slid past me and then slowed down. The grey two-seater behind it did the same. When I say that Daphne, who loathes mechanics, was seated in the latter conveyance, submitting zealously to an oral examination by Piers regarding the particular functions of the various controls, it will be seen that my recent conclusions were well founded.
"Letters," said Jill, getting out of the coupé. "One for Berry and two for Adèle." She distributed them accordingly. "Fitch brought them up on his bicycle. And Piers' aunt is coming—the one whose villa he's at. I forgot her name, but he says she's awfully nice."
"Splendid," said I. "And now congratulate me. Having tramped the town all the morning, I've got to walk home."
"Why?"
I pointed to Nobby.
"That he may warm himself," I said.
My cousin gave a horrified cry.
"Oh, Boy! And we only washed him last night."
"I'll take him," cried Piers. "I'd like to. And you can drive Daphne back."
I shook my head, laughing.
"It's his master's privilege," I said. "Besides, he's had his scolding, and if I deserted him he'd be hurt. And he's really a good little chap."
"But——"
"My dear Piers," said Daphne, laying a hand on his arm, "rather than risk hurting that white scrap's feelings, my brother would walk to Lyons."
"You will all," said Berry, "be diverted to learn that I am faced with the positively filthy prospect of repairing to London forthwith. After spending a quarter of an hour in an overheated office in New Square, Lincoln's Inn, in the course of which I shall make two affidavits which nobody will ever read, I shall be at liberty to return. Give me the Laws of England."
"Never mind, old chap," said Daphne. "We'll soon be back again. I shall go with you, of course. Ought we to start to-night?"
Considering that there was snow in London, that the visit would entail almost continuous travelling for nearly thirty hours each way, and that my sister cannot sleep in a train, it seemed as if Berry, at any rate, was pulling out of the ruck.
"My sweet," replied my brother-in-law, "I won't hear of it. However, we'll argue it out in private. Yes, I must start to-night."
"You must go?" said Jonah softly.
"Can't get out of it."
"Right." My cousin leaned out of the car. "I'll give you my tobacconist's address. The best way will be to have the stuff decanted and sewn in your coat."
There was a pregnant silence.
Then—
"Saved!" I cried exultantly. "Saved!"
"What d'you mean—'Saved'?" said Berry.
"Hush," said I, looking round. "Not an 'h' mute! This summons of yours is a godsend. With a little ingenuity, you can bring enough contraband in to last us till May."
* * * * *
If our efforts to induce my brother-in-law to see reason were eventually successful, this was no more than we deserved. We made light of the risk of detection, we explained how the stuff could be concealed, we told him the demeanour to assume, we said we wished we were going, we declared it was done every day, we indemnified him against fines, we entreated, we flattered, we cajoled, we appealed to him "as a sportsman," we said it was "only right," we looked unutterable things, and at last, half an hour before it was time for him to start for the station, he promised, with many misgivings and expressions of self-reproach, to see what he could do. Instantly, from being his suppliants, we became his governors; and the next twenty minutes were employed in pouring into his ears the most explicit directions regarding his purchase and disposal of our particular fancies. Finally we made out a list….
He had absolutely refused to allow my sister to accompany him, but we all went down to the station to see him off.
As we were pacing the platform—
"Have you got the list?" said Jonah.
The same question had been asked before—several times.
"Yes," said Berry, "I have. And if anybody asks me again, I shall produce it and tear it into shreds before their eyes."
"Well, for Heaven's sake, don't lose it," said I, "because——"
"To hear you," said Berry, "anybody would think that I was mentally deficient. Anybody would think that I was going to enclose it in a note to the Customs, telling them to expect me on Saturday, disguised in a flat 'at and a bag of gooseberries, and advising them to pull up their socks, as I should resist like a madman. I don't know what's the matter with you."
We endeavoured to smooth him down.
"And if," purred Daphne, "if there should be any—that is—what I mean is, should any question arise——"
Berry laughed hysterically.
"Yes," he said, "go on. 'Any question.' Such as whether they can give me more than five years' hard labour. I understand."
"—get on the telephone to Berwick. He knows the President personally and can do anything."
"Sweetheart," replied her husband, "you may bet your most precious life…. If Berwick wasn't in Paris, I wouldn't touch the business with the end of a forty-foot pole."
"I wish I was going with you," said Daphne wistfully.
Berry took off his hat.
"You are," he said gently, "you are." He laid his hand upon his heart. "I wish I could put the tobacco in the same poor place. But that's impossible. For one thing, lady, you've all the room there is."
Which was pretty good for a king who hadn't been a courtier for nearly nine years.
* * * * *
It was upon the following afternoon that Adèle, who was brushing Nobby, sat back on her heels.
"When Jill," she said, "becomes the Duchess of Padua, what bloods we shall be."
"She isn't there yet," said I.
"Where?"
"My sweet," said I, "I apologise. I was using a figure of speech, which is at once slipshod and American."
"That," said my wife, "is the worst of being English. You're like the Indian tailor who was given a coat to copy and reproduced a tear in the sleeve. Imitation can be too faithful. Never mind. I forgive you."
"D'you hear that, Nobby?" The terrier started to his feet. "Did you hear what the woman said? That we, who have founded precedents from time immemorial—that you and I, who taught America to walk——"
"He's Welsh," said Adèle.
"I don't care. It's scandalous. Who defiled the Well of English? And now we're blamed for drinking the water."
Adèle looked out of the window and smiled at a cloud.
"Once," she said slowly, "once I asked you if you would have known I was an American…. And when you said 'Yes,' I asked you why…. Do you remember your answer? … Of course," she added swiftly, "that was before we were married."
"You beautiful witch," said I. "You unkind, beautiful witch. You've only to touch the water with the tip of your little red tongue to make it pure. You've only to put your lips to it to make it the sweetest music that ever a poor fool heard. You've only to smile like that to make me proud to kiss your shining foot."
"Nobby!" cried Adèle. "Oh, Nobby! Did you hear that? Did you hear what the man said? A real courtier's speech! But how can he kiss my feet when I'm sitting on them?"
I stepped to her side, picked her up, and swung her on to a table.
Then I kissed her sweet insteps.
From her perch my wife addressed the Sealyham.
"It's all right, Nobby," she said relievedly. "He is a king, after all. Only a king would have done that."
As I sat down by her side—
"I'd love to be a queen," cried a voice. "Love to. Wouldn't you like to be a king?"
It was Jill speaking.
The fresh tones came floating up and in at the open window. She could not have heard our words. It was pure coincidence.
Adèle and I sat very still.
"I don't know," said Piers slowly.
"I'll tell you what I'd do," said Jill. "I'd—Piers, what is the matter?"
"Nothing," said Piers.
"There is," said Jill accusingly. "You know there is. I can see it in your eyes. What are you thinking about?"
"I—I don't know," stammered her swain.
"I think you might tell me," said Jill aggrievedly. "I always tell you everything. Once or twice lately you've got all quiet suddenly—I can't think why. Is it because your aunt's coming?"
Piers laughed bitterly.
"Good Heavens, no," he said.
"Well, why is it, then?"
For a moment there was no answer.
Then all of a sudden the sluice-gate of speech was pulled up.
"Oh, Jill, Jill, Jill… I could go on saying your name for the rest of my life! I say it all the way home. I say it as I'm going to sleep. I say it when I wake in the morning… I saw you first at Biarritz. You never knew. I was staying with some Italian people. They've got a place there. And I was alone in the grounds. And then I saw you—with Boy. You looked so wonderful…. All in green you were, standing with your feet close together, and your head on one side. Your hair was coming down, and the sun was shining on it…. I found out who you were, and came to Pau. I wanted to get to know you. I felt I must. And, whenever you all went out, I followed in the two-seater. And then—I got to know you—at St. Bertrand—that wonderful, wonderful day…. I—was—so—awfully—happy…. And now"—his voice sank to a wail—"I wish I hadn't. If only I'd stopped to think…. But I didn't. I just knew I wanted to be with you, and that was all. Oh," he burst out suddenly, "why did I ever do it? Why did I ever follow you—that wonderful day? If I'd dreamed how miserable it'd make me, how miserably wretched I'd be… It's the dreadful hopelessness, Jill, the dreadful hopelessness…. But I can't help it. It's something stronger than me. It's not enough to be with you. I want to touch you: I want to put my arms round your neck: I want to play with your hair…. Of course I'm terribly lucky to be able to kiss your hand, but—— Ah, don't be frightened. I was—only playing, Jill, only pretending. And now I'm going to be all serious again—not quiet, but serious. Good-bye, Madonna. Have you ever seen Pagliacci? Where the fellow bursts into tears? I think I could do that part this afternoon…."
A light padding upon the gravel came to our ears.
Then a car's door slammed.
A moment later Piers' two-seater purred its way down the drive….
Adèle and I continued to sit very still.
Presently I turned to her and raised my eyebrows.
"Hopelessness?" I whispered. "Hopelessness? What on earth does he mean?"
My wife shrugged her shoulders helplessly.
Then she laid a finger upon her lips.
I nodded obediently.
* * * * *
"Yes," said Berry, "you see in me a nervous wreck. My heart's misfiring, I'm over at the knees, and with the slightest encouragement I can break into a cold sweat."
He sank into a chair and covered his eyes….
I had meant to meet him at the station, but the early train had beaten me, so Fitch had gone with the car. Indeed, it was not yet eight o'clock, and Daphne was still abed. That had not prevented us from following Berry into her room, any more than had the fact that no one of us was ready for breakfast. I had no coat or waistcoat: so far as could be seen, Jonah was attired in a Burberry and a pair of trousers: a glance at Adèle suggested that she was wearing a fur coat, silk stockings, and a tortoise-shell comb, while Jill was wrapped in a kimono, with her fresh fair hair tumbled about her shoulders.
Jonah voiced our anxiety.
"You—you've got the goods?"
"They're downstairs," said Berry. "But don't question me. I can't bear it. I'll tell you all in a minute, but you must let me alone. Above all, don't thwart me. I warn you, my condition is critical."
He sighed heavily.
Apparently impressed by his demeanour, Nobby approached, set his paws upon his knee, and licked his face.
"There you are," said Berry, lifting the dog to his lap. "The very fowls of the air pity me. No, it's not a sore, old chap. It's where I cut myself yesterday. But I'm just as grateful. And now lie still, my beauty, and poor old Sit-tight the Smuggler will tell you such a tale as will thicken your blood.
"Upon Friday morning last I purchased a uniform-case. Not a new one—the oldest and most weather-beaten relic I could procure. On Friday evening I packed it. One thousand cigars, five thousand cigarettes, and six pounds of tobacco looked very well in it. My sword, a pair of field boots, breeches, coat—carefully folded to display the staff badges—and my red hat looked even better. I filled up with socks, shirts, puttees, slacks, spurs and all the old emblems of Mars that I could lay my hands on. Finally I leavened the lot with a pound of the best white pepper—to discourage the moths, my fellow, to discourage the moths."
His tone suggesting the discomfiture of the wicked, the Sealyham barked his applause.
"Quite so. Well, I locked the case up and corded it, and precisely at ten o'clock I retired to bed.
"I never remember feeling so full of beans as I did the next morning. I could have bluffed my way across Europe with a barrel of whiskey on a lead. I felt ready for anything. Sharp at a quarter to eleven I was at the station, and one minute later a porter, with the physique of a blacksmith, had the box on his shoulder and my dressing-case in his hand.
"It was as he was preparing to lay his spoils at the feet of the registration-monger that my bearer trod upon a banana-skin…. To say that he took a toss, conveys nothing at all. It was the sort of fall you dream of—almost too good to be true. And my uniform-case, of which he never let go, described a very beautiful parabola, and then came down upon the weigh-bridge, as the swiple of an uplifted flail comes down upon grain….
"Both hinges went, of course. It says much for the box that the whole thing didn't melt then and there. If I hadn't corded it, most of the stuff would have been all over the Vauxhall Bridge Road.
"Well, I was so rattled that I could hardly think. I joined mechanically in the laughter, I assured complete strangers that it didn't matter at all, I carried through the registration like a man in a dream, and I tipped everybody I could see. It was as I was thrusting blindly towards the gates that I first realised that half the people in the place were sneezing to glory. I was still digesting this phenomenon when I sneezed myself….
"Still it never occurred to me. There are times when you have to be told right out. I didn't have to wait long.
"As I presented my ticket, a truck full of luggage was pushed through the gate next to mine. The porters about it were sneezing bitterly. 'Snuff?' said one of them contemptuously. 'Snuff be blarsted! It's pepper!'
"Whether at that moment my stomach in fact slipped or not I am unable to say, but the impression that my contents had dropped several inches was overwhelming.
"I staggered into the Pullman, more dead than alive…. After a large barley and a small water, I felt somewhat revived, but it was not until the train was half-way to Dover that I had myself in hand. I was just beginning under the auspices of a second milk and soda, to consider my hideous plight, when a genial fool upon the opposite side of the table asked me if I had 'witnessed the comedy at Victoria.' Icily I inquired: 'What comedy?' He explained offensively that 'some cuckoo had tried the old wheeze of stuffing pepper in his trunk to put off the Customs,' and that the intended deterrent had untimely emerged. My brothers, conceive my exhilaration. 'The old wheeze.' I could have broken the brute's neck. When he offered me a filthy-looking cigar with a kink in it, and said with a leer that I shouldn't 'get many like that on the other side of the Chops,' I could have witnessed his mutilation unmoved….
"Still, it's an ill wind…. The swine's words were like a spur. I became determined to get the stuff through.
"Grimly I watched the case go on to the boat, to the accompaniment of such nasal convulsions as I had never believed to be consistent with life itself. By way of diverting suspicion, I asked one of the crew what was the matter. His blasphemous answer was charged with such malignity that I found it necessary to stay myself with yet another still lemonade.
"Arrived at Calais, I hurried on board the train.
"The journey to Paris was frightful. The nearer we got, the more dishevelled became my wits. The power of concentration deserted me. Finally, as we were running in, I found that I had forgotten the French for 'moths.' I'd looked it out the night before: I'd been murmuring it all day long: and now, at the critical moment, it had deserted me. I clasped my head in my hands and thought like a madman. Nothing doing. I thought all round it, of course. I thought of candles and camphor and dusk. My vocabulary became gigantic, but it did not include the French equivalent for 'moths.' In desperation I approached my vis-à-vis and, in broken accents, implored him to tell me 'the French for the little creatures which you find in your clothes.'…
"I like the French. If I'd asked an Englishman, he'd have pulled the communication-cord, but this fellow never so much as stared. He just released a little spurt of good-will and then started in, as if his future happiness depended on putting me straight. 'But I was meaning the fleas. Oh, indubitably. Animals most gross. Only last November he himself….' It took quite a lot of persuasion to get him off fleas. Then he offered me lice. I managed to make him understand that the attack was delivered when the clothes were unoccupied. Instantly he suggested rats. With an effort I explained that the things I meant were winged. As the train came to a standstill, he handed me 'chauvesouris.' Bats! I ask you….