THREE GENTLEMEN FROM PARIS
GASTON DARBOUR'S comedy, _Le Pyrée_, had been played to a large audience
assembled in one of the bigger rooms of the long whitewashed artillery
barracks outside Ronvaux, where General Molon had his official residence.
The humorous piece had been applauded to the echo--the audience
consisting for the most part of military officers in uniform and their
wives and daughters, with a sprinkling of the better-class civilians from
the various châteaux in the neighbourhood, together with two or three
aristocratic parties from Longuyon, Spincourt, and other places.
The honours of the evening had fallen to the young English girl who had
played the amusing part of the demure governess, Miss Smith--pronounced
by the others "Mees Smeeth." Enid was passionately fond of dramatic art,
and belonged to an amateur club in London. Among those present were the
author of the piece himself, a dark young man with smooth hair parted in
the centre and wearing an exaggerated black cravat.
When the curtain fell the audience rose to chatter and comment, and were
a long time before they dispersed. Paul Le Pontois waited for Enid, Sir
Hugh accompanying Blanche and little Ninette home in the hired brougham.
As the party had a long distance to go, some twelve kilomètres, General
Molon had lent Le Pontois his motor-car, which now stood awaiting him
with glaring headlights in the barrack-square.
As the hall emptied Paul glanced around him while awaiting Enid. On the
walls the French tricolour was everywhere displayed, the revered
_drapeau_ under which he had so gallantly and nobly served against the
Huns.
He presented a spruce appearance in his smart, well-cut evening coat,
with the red button of the Legion d'Honneur in his lapel, and to the
ladies who wished him "bon soir" as they filed out he drew his heels
together and bowed gallantly.
Outside, the night was cloudy and overcast. In the long rows of the
barrack windows lights shone, and somewhere sounded a bugle, while in the
shadows could be heard the measured tramp of sentries, the clank of
spurs, or the click of rifles as they saluted their officers passing
out.
The whole atmosphere was a military one, for, indeed, the little town of
Ronvaux is, even in these peace days, scarcely more than a huge camp.
For a few minutes Le Pontois stood chatting to a group of men at the
door. They had invited him to come across to their quarters, but he had
explained that he was awaiting mademoiselle. So they raised their
eyebrows, smiled mischievously, and bade him "bon soir."
Soldiers were already stacking up the chairs ready for the clearance of
the gymnasium for the morrow. Others were coming to water and sweep out
the place. Therefore Le Pontois remained outside in the square, waiting
in patience.
He was reflecting. That evening, as he had sat with his wife watching the
play, he had been seized by a curious feeling for which he entirely
failed to account. Behind him there had sat a man and a woman, French
without a doubt, but entire strangers. They must, of course, have known
one or other of the officers in order to obtain an admission ticket.
Nevertheless, they had spoken to no one, and on the fall of the curtain
had entered a brougham in waiting and driven off.
Paul had made no comment. By a sudden chance he had, during the
entr'acte, risen and gazed around, when the face of the stranger had
caught his eyes--a face which he felt was curiously familiar, yet he
could not place it. The middle-aged man was dressed with quiet elegance,
clean-shaven and keen-faced, apparently a prosperous civilian, while the
lady with him was of about the same age and apparently his wife. She was
dressed in a high-necked dress of black lace, and wore in her corsage a
large circular ornament of diamonds and emeralds.
Twice had Le Pontois taken furtive glances at the stranger whose lined
brow was so extraordinarily familiar. It was the face of a deep thinker,
a man who had, perhaps, passed through much trouble. Was it possible, he
wondered, that he had seen that striking face in some photograph, or
perhaps in some illustrated paper? He had racked his brain through the
whole performance, but could not decide in what circumstances they had
previously met.
From time to time the stranger had joined with the audience in their
hearty laughter, or applauded as vociferously as the others, his
companion being equally amused at the quaint sayings of the demure "Mees
Smeeth."
And even as he stood in the shadows near the general's car awaiting Enid
he was still wondering who the pair might be.
At the fall of the curtain he had made several inquiries of the
officers, but nobody could give him any information. They were complete
strangers--that was all. Even a search among the cards of invitation had
revealed nothing.
So Paul Le Pontois remained mystified.
Enid came at last, flushed with success and apologetic because she had
kept him waiting. But he only congratulated her, and assisted her into
the car. It was a big open one, therefore she wore a thick motor coat and
veil as protection against the chill autumn night.
A moment later the soldier-chauffeur mounted to his seat, and slowly they
moved across the great square and out by the gates, where the sentries
saluted. Then, turning to the right, they were quickly tearing along the
highway in the darkness.
Soon they overtook several closed carriages of the home-going visitors,
and, ascending the hill, turned from the main road down into a by-road
leading through a wooded valley, which was a short cut to the château.
Part of their way led through the great Forêt d'Amblonville, and though
Enid's gay chatter was mostly of the play, the defects in the acting and
the several amusing _contretemps_ which had occurred behind the scenes,
her companion's thoughts were constantly of that stranger whose brow was
so deeply lined with care.
They expected to overtake Sir Hugh in the brougham, but so long had Enid
been changing her gown that they saw nothing of the others.
Just, however, as they were within a hundred yards or so of the gates
which gave entrance to the château, and were slowing down in order to
swing into the drive, a man emerged from the darkness, calling upon the
driver to stop, and, placing himself before the car, held up his hands.
Next instant the figure of a second individual appeared. Enid uttered a
cry of alarm, but the second man, who wore a hard felt hat and dark
overcoat, reassured her by saying in French:
"Pray do not distress yourself, mademoiselle. There is no cause for
alarm. My friend and I merely wish to speak for a moment with Monsieur Le
Pontois before he enters his house. For that reason we have presumed to
stop your car."
"But who are you?" demanded Le Pontois angrily. "Who are you that you
should hold us up like this?"
"Perhaps, m'sieur, it would be better if you descended and escorted
mademoiselle as far as your gates. We wish to speak to you for a moment
upon a little matter which is both urgent and private."
"Well, cannot you speak here, now, and let us proceed?"
"Not before mademoiselle," replied the man. "It is a confidential
matter."
Paul, much puzzled at the curious demeanour of the strangers, reluctantly
handed Enid out, and walked with her as far as his own gate, telling her
to assure Blanche that he would return in a few moments, when he had
heard what the men wanted.
"Very well," she laughed. "I'll say nothing. You can tell her all when
you come in."
The girl passed through the gates and up the gravelled drive to the
house, when Le Pontois, turning upon his heel to return to the car, was
met by the two men, who, he found, had walked closely behind him.
"You are Paul Le Pontois?" inquired the elder of the pair brusquely.
"Of course! Why do you ask that?"
"Because it is necessary," was his businesslike reply. Then he added: "I
regret, m'sieur, that you must consider yourself under arrest by order of
his Excellency the Minister of Justice."
"Arrest!" gasped the unhappy man. "Are you mad, messieurs?"
"No," replied the man who had spoken.
"We have merely our duty to perform, and have travelled from Paris to
execute it."
"With what offence am I charged?" Le Pontois demanded.
"Of that we have no knowledge. As agents of secret police, we are sent
here to convey you for interrogation."
The man under arrest stood dumbfounded.
"But at least you will allow me to say farewell to my wife and child--to
make excuse to them for my absence?" he urged.
"I regret that is quite impossible, m'sieur. Our orders are to make the
arrest and to afford you no opportunity to communicate with anyone."
"But this is cruel, inhuman! His Excellency never meant that, I am quite
sure--especially when I am innocent of any crime, as far as I am aware."
"We can only obey our orders, m'sieur," replied the man in the dark
overcoat.
"Then may I not write a line to my wife, just one word of excuse?" he
pleaded.
The two police agents consulted.
"Well," replied the elder of the pair, who was the one in authority, "if
you wish to scribble a note, here are paper and pencil." And he tore a
leaf from his notebook and handed it to the prisoner.
By the light of the head-lamps of the car Paul scribbled a few hurried
words to Blanche: "I am detained on important business," he wrote. "I
will return to-morrow. My love to you both.--PAUL."
The detective read it, folded it carefully, and handed it to his
assistant, telling him to go up to the château and deliver it at the
servants' entrance.
When he had gone the detective, turning to the chauffeur, said: "I shall
require you to take us to Verdun."
"This is not my car, m'sieur," replied Paul. "It belongs to General
Molon."
"That does not matter. I will telephone to him an explanation as soon as
we arrive in Verdun. We may as well enter the car as stand here."
Paul Le Pontois was about to protest, but what could he say? The Minister
in Paris had apparently committed some grave error in thus ordering his
arrest. No doubt there would be confusion, apologies and laughter. So,
with a light heart at the knowledge that he had committed no offence, he
got into the car, and allowed the polite police agent to seat himself
beside him.
The only chagrin he felt was that the chauffeur had overheard all the
conversation. And to him he said: "Remember, Gallet, of this affair you
know nothing."
"I understand perfectly, m'sieur," was the wondering soldier's reply.
Then they sat in silence in the darkness until the hurrying police agent
returned, after which the car sped straight past the château on the high
road which led through the deep valley on to the fortress town of Verdun.
As they passed the château Paul Le Pontois caught a glimpse of its
lighted windows and sat wondering what Blanche would imagine. He pictured
the pleasant supper party and the surprise that would be expressed at his
absence.
How amusing! What incongruity! He was under arrest!
The car rushed on beneath the precipitous hill crowned by the great
fortress of Haudiomont, through the narrow gorge--the road to Paris.
All three men, seated abreast, were silent until, at last, the elder of
the two police agents bent and glanced at the clock on the dashboard,
visible by the tiny glow-lamp.
"Half past twelve," he remarked. "The express leaves Verdun at two
twenty-eight."
"For where?" asked Paul.
"For Paris."
"Paris!" he cried. "Are you taking me to Paris?"
"Those are our orders," was the detective's quiet response.