THE LITTLE OLD FRENCHWOMAN
ALTHOUGH Sir Hugh had on frequent occasions been the guest of his
son-in-law at the pretty Château de Lérouville, he had never expressed a
wish, until the previous evening, to enter the Fortress of Haudiomont.
As a military man he knew well how zealously the secrets of all
fortresses are guarded.
When, on the previous evening, Le Pontois had declared that it would be
an easy matter for him to be granted a view of that great stronghold
hidden away among the hill-tops, he had remarked: "Of course, my dear
Paul, I would not for a moment dream of putting you into any awkward
position. Remember, I am an alien here, and a soldier also! I haven't any
desire to see the place."
"Oh, there is no question of that so far as you are concerned, Sir Hugh,"
Paul had declared with a light laugh. "The Commandant, who, of course,
knows you, asked me a month ago to bring you up next time you visited us.
He wished to make your acquaintance. In view of the recent war our
people are nowadays no longer afraid of England, you know!"
So the visit had been arranged, and Sir Hugh was to take his _déjeuner_
up at the fort.
That day Blanche, with Enid, who had accompanied her stepfather, drove
the runabout car up the valley to the little station at Dieue-sur-Meuse,
and took train thence to Commercy, where Blanche wished to do some
shopping.
So, when the two men had left to ascend the steep hillside, where the
great fortress lay concealed, Blanche, who had by long residence in
France become almost a Frenchwoman, kissed little Ninette _au revoir_,
mounted into the car, and, taking the wheel, drove Enid and Jean, the
servant, who, as a soldier, had served Paul during the war, away along
the winding valley.
As they went along they passed a battalion of the 113th Regiment of the
Line, heavy with their knapsacks, their red trousers dusty, returning
from the long morning march, and singing as they went that very old
regimental ditty which every soldier of France knows so well:
"_La Noire est fille du cannon
Qui se fout du qu'en dira-t-on.
Nous nous foutons de ses vertus,
Puisqu'elle a les tétons pointus.
Voilà pourquoi nous la chantons:
Vive la Noire et ses tétons!_"
And as they passed the ladies the officer saluted. They were, Blanche
explained, on their way back to the great camp at Jarny.
Bugles were sounding among the hills, while ever and anon came the low
boom of distant artillery at practice away in the direction of
Vigneulles-les-Hattonchatel, the headquarters of the sub-division of that
military region.
It was Enid's first visit, and the activity about her surprised her.
Besides, the officers were extremely good-looking.
Presently they approached a battery of artillery on the march, with their
rumbling guns and grey ammunition wagons, raising a cloud of dust as they
advanced.
Blanche pulled the car up at the side of the road to allow them to pass,
and as she did so a tall, smartly-groomed major rode up to her, and,
saluting, exclaimed in French, "Bon jour, Madame! I intended to call upon
you this morning. My wife has heard that you have the general, your
father, visiting you, and we wanted to know if you would all come and
take dinner with us to-morrow night?"
"I'm sure we'd be most delighted," replied Paul's wife, at the same time
introducing Enid to Major Delagrange.
"My father has gone up to the fort with my husband," Blanche added,
bending over from the car.
"Ah, then I shall meet them at noon," replied the smart officer, backing
his bay horse. "And you ladies are going out for a run, eh? Beautiful
morning! We've been out manoeuvring since six!"
Blanche explained that they were on a shopping expedition to Commercy,
and then, saluting, Delagrange set spurs into his horse and galloped away
after the retreating battery.
"That man's wife is one of my best friends. She speaks English very well,
and is quite a good sort. Delagrange and Paul were in Tonquin together
and are great friends."
"I suppose you are never very dull here, with so much always going on?"
Enid remarked. "Why anyone would believe that a war was actually in
progress!"
"This post of Eastern France never sleeps, my dear," was Madame's reply.
"While you in England remain secure in your island, we here never know
when trouble may again arise. Therefore, we are always preparing--and at
the same time always prepared."
"It must be most exciting," declared the girl, "to live in such
uncertainty. Is the danger so very real, then?" she asked. "Father
generally pooh-poohs the notion of there being any further trouble with
Germany."
"I know," was Blanche's answer. "He has been sceptical hitherto. He is
always suspicious of the Boche!"
They had driven up to the little wayside station, and, giving the car
over to Jean with instructions to meet the five-forty train, they entered
a first-class compartment.
Between Dieue and Commercy the railway follows the course of the Meuse
the whole way, winding up a narrow, fertile valley, the hills of which on
the right, which once were swept by the enemy's shells and completely
devastated, were all strongly fortified with great guns commanding the
plain that lies between the Meuse and the Moselle.
They were passing through one of the most interesting districts in all
France--that quiet, fertile valley where stood peaceful, prosperous
homesteads, and where the sheep were once more calmly grazing--the valley
which for four years was so strongly contested, and where every village
had been more or less destroyed.
At the headquarters of the Sixth Army Corps of France much was known,
much that was still alarming. It was that knowledge which urged on those
ever active military preparations, for placing that district of France
that had been ravaged by the Hun in the Great War in a state of complete
fortification as a second line of defence should trouble again arise.
Thoughts such as these arose in Enid's mind as she sat in silence looking
forth upon the panorama of green hills and winding stream as they slowly
approached the quaint town of Commercy.
Arrived there, the pair lunched at the old-fashioned Hôtel de Paris,
under the shadow of the great château, once the residence of the Dukes de
Lorraine, and much damaged in the war, but nowadays a hive of activity as
an infantry barracks. And afterwards they went forth to do their shopping
in the busy little Rue de la République, not forgetting to buy a box of
"madeleines." As shortbread is the specialty of Edinburgh, as
butterscotch is that of Doncaster, "maids-of-honour" that of Richmond,
and strawberry jam that of Bar-le-Duc, so are "madeleines" the special
cakes of Commercy.
The town was full of officers and soldiers. In every café officers were
smoking cigarettes and gossiping after their _déjeuner_; while ever and
anon bugles sounded, and there was the clang and clatter of military
movement.
As the two ladies approached the big bronze statue of Dom Calmet, the
historian, they passed a small café. Suddenly a man idling within over a
newspaper sprang to his feet in surprise, and next second drew back as if
in fear of observation.
It was Walter Fetherston. He had come up from Nancy that morning, and had
since occupied the time in strolling about seeing the sights of the
little place.
His surprise at seeing Enid was very great. He knew that she was staying
in the vicinity, but had never expected to see her so quickly.
The lady who accompanied her he guessed to be her stepsister; indeed, he
had seen a photograph of her at Hill Street. Had Enid been alone, he
would have rushed forth to greet her; but he had no desire at the moment
that his presence should be known to Madame Le Pontois. He was there to
watch, and to meet Enid--but alone.
So after a few moments he cautiously went forth from the café, and
followed the two ladies at a respectful distance, until he saw them
complete their purchases and afterwards enter the station to return home.
On his return to the hotel he made many inquiries of monsieur the
proprietor concerning the distance to Haudiomont, and learned a good deal
about the military works there which was of the greatest interest. The
hotel-keeper, a stout Alsatian, was a talkative person, and told Walter
nearly all he wished to know.
Since leaving Charing Cross five days before he had been ever active. On
his arrival in Paris he had gone to the apartment of Colonel Maynard, the
British military attaché, and spent the evening with him. Then, at one
o'clock next morning, he had hurriedly taken his bag and left for Dijon,
where at noon he had been met in the Café de la Rotonde by a little
wizen-faced old Frenchwoman in seedy black, who had travelled for two
days and nights in order to meet him.
Together they had walked out on that unfrequented road beyond the Place
Darcy, chatting confidentially as they went, the old lady speaking
emphatically and with many gesticulations as they walked.
Truth to tell, this insignificant-looking person was a woman of many
secrets. She was a "friend" of the Sûreté Générale in Paris. She lived,
and lived well, in a pretty apartment in Paris upon the handsome salary
which she received regularly each quarter. But she was seldom at home.
Like Walter, her days were spent travelling hither and thither across
Europe.
It would surprise the public if it were aware of the truth--the truth of
how, in every country in Europe, there are secret female agents of
police who (for a monetary consideration, of course) keep watch in great
centres where the presence of a man would be suspected.
This secret police service is distinctly apart from the detective
service. The female police agent in all countries works independently, at
the orders of the Director of Criminal Investigation, and is known to him
and his immediate staff.
Whatever information that wrinkled-faced old Frenchwoman in shabby black
had imparted to Fetherston it was of an entirely confidential character.
It, however, caused him to leave her about three o'clock, hurry to the
Gare Porte-Neuve, and, after hastily swallowing a liqueur of brandy in
the buffet, depart for Langres.
Thence he had travelled to Nancy, where he had taken up quarters at the
Grand Hotel in the Place Stanislas, and had there remained for two days
in order to rest.
He would not have idled those autumn days away so lazily, even though he
so urgently required rest after that rapid travelling, had he but known
that the person who occupied the next room to his--that middle-aged
commercial traveller--an entirely inoffensive person who possessed a red
beard, and who had given the name of Jules Dequanter, and his nationality
as Belgian, native of Liège--was none other than Gustav Heureux, the man
who had been recalled from New York by the evasive doctor of Pimlico.
And further, Fetherston, notwithstanding his acuteness in observation,
was in blissful ignorance, as he strolled back from the station at
Commercy, up the old-world street, that a short distance behind him,
carefully watching all his movements, was the man Joseph Blot
himself--the man known in dingy Pimlico as Dr. Weirmarsh.