Overheard,fifteen tales
Aumonier, Stacy, 1877-1928
•• • • *>**^ r. «- If# 5 rr **f* r J ;jl v ■ m fc ( ;i B I m % < ' •' " 1 ■ - v,: • ■ «,4 / OVERHEARD OVERHEARD FIFTEEN TALES BY STACY AUMONIER GARDEN CITY DOUBLEDAY, NEW YORK PAGE & COMPANY 1924 f \ 0^<s / PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN N *y \ *1 > * > *> > j. - •» - CONTENTS PAGE I N i *A OVERHEARD. THE FALL 9 ONE SUNDAY MORNING ..•••• 33 THE DARK CORRIDOR . 45 THE KIDNAPPED “ GENERAL ” . . • 71 THE FRIENDS . . ^9 THE PERSISTENT MOTHER . • • • . 119 WHEN THE EARTH STOPPED . I4^ william’s NARROW SQUEAK . . • •  . • 215 DARK RED ROSES . 24x THE LITTLE WINDOW OF THE NIGHT . . • 257 FREDDIE FINDS HIMSELF . . . • * 27 5 V - '• 1. NOTE The publishers have included in this volume The Friends. Although this story has appeared in book form before, it is one of Mr. Aumonier’s earlier stories which obtained a great succes d’estime at the time, and was even proclaimed by The Spectator as one of the best stories they ever remembered to have read in English, and yet being an early story, it was not widely read. All the other stories appear here for the first time in volume form. OVERHEARD It was nearly two o’clock. The tea-shop was at its busiest. Clerks, salesmen, typists, shoppers . from the suburbs jostled against each other in the scramble for buns, tea, sausages, fried fish, ham or coffee. Everyone seemed hungry and hurried. The atmosphere reeked with the varied odours of cooked food. Some were eating greedily, others calling impatiently for their bills or grumbling at the slackness of the service, or about a draught which came from undisco verable places. The slim girl who served some thirty odd customers in the annexe moved hither and thither with an overladen tray, which she had to carry twenty yards backwards and forwards to the serving hatch. Her movements were languid and listless, but her memory seemed surprising. She would take seven or eight orders of such varied nature as “ large coffee, Cambridge sausages, roll and butter, and plum jam,” to “ poached eggs on toast and a small tea,” and she remembered them all correctly and brought the refreshment to the right persons. She was of indeterminate age, somewhere round about the thirties, with fair pretty hair, and a face that at one time might have been almost beautiful. “ Hurry up with my scrambled eggs on toast, miss, I’m going to a matinee.” “ Yes, madam.” She was studiously polite to everyone, polite but inert. She seemed to be performing her duties as though mesmer¬ ized. Gradually the crowd began to thin. The clerks and typists had to be back at their offices, the lady had gone to her matinee, the salesmen to their clients. As they I OVERHEARD poured out, queuing up at the pay-desk, a few late comers straggled in. Among the latter came a young man of somewhat florid appearance. He was wearing a weU-cut blue serge suit, with a yellow woollen waistcoat, and a felt hat He had a red, rather coarse face, a httle clipped moustache, and splendid teeth which flashed as he grinned And he grinned a good deal, as a man well-satisfied with himself and life in general. He found a seat in the corner of the annexe and sat down. The slim waitress came along with her heavily laden tray. She glanced round and her eye alighted on the young man. Her face betrayed no recognition, but she put the tray down on the marble slab of an adjoining table with an abrupt bump. She said “ Sorry l ” and as she handed plates and cups round she “ Fried plaice, sir ? Thank you, sir. Coffee, madam. Thank you, madam. Two hard-boiled eggs, sir ? Thank you, sir,” and so on till the table was served. Then she passed on to the table where the young man sat. She still carried her tray, for there were two people there waiting to be served. She put down her tray again and said : “ Tea, roll and butter, madam ? Thank you, madam. Cold roast beef, sir ? Thank you, sir.” The young man looked at her and grinned, but she did not look at him. Her lips were tight and drawn, and pale. A woman at the table exclaimed ’. “ Are my kidneys never coming ? ” The young man said : “ Well, Florrie ? Without looking at him she said : “ What do you want to eat ? ” To the lady she said : “ Your kidneys will be ready in two minutes, madam. The young man, a little sheepish at his reception, said quietly : _ „ „ Oh, well. I’ll have some cold tongue and coltee. “ Large or small ? ” “ Large.” OVERHEARD 8 She moved away with her tray, collecting orders as she went, whilst the young man picked his splendid teeth with a tram ticket. After an interval she returned. The weary lines of her face seemed to be concealing the fires of tremu¬ lous emotion. She placed the kidneys in front of the lady, and the coffee and tongue in front of the young man. Quite mechanically she repeated : “ Large coffee and tongue, sir ? Thank you, sir.” She took three more orders, and again vanished. The young man devoured his tongue and coffee in silence. The grin on his face became sardonic. It was as though he were saying to himself: “Oh, well, I don’t care.” More people went out and fewer came in. The time was rapidly approaching that sparse half hour or so that is too late for lunch and too early for tea. The lady finished her kidneys, powdered her nose, and departed. The slim waitress was less occupied. She drifted up and down, her tense pale face expressing nothing. There was only one other person at the young man’s table, a man at the further end reading an evening paper. At last she came to him. Bending over a cruet which she pretended to be adjusting she whispered hoarsely : “ Oh, why didn’t you come last night ? ” The uneasy grin flittered across the young man’s face. He answered in the same key : “ I couldn’t. I couldn’t get away.” “ What were you doing ? Spending the evening with Lily ? ” “No. I swear I wasn’t.” “ What then ? ” “ I had to go and see my uncle - ” “Miss Harrison, there’s a customer over there asking for stewed prunes and rice.” It was a tall angular manageress, in a black frock, speaking. “ Coming, madam.” The mission in search of stewed prunes and rice occupied OVERHEARD some time. And further time was wasted by a customer who said that his bill was wrong. It was quite true, bhe had charged eightpence-halfpenny instead of sevenpence- halfpenny for sardines on toast. The man with the news¬ paper disappeared. There was no one else at the young man’s table. Once again she leant over ^the cruet. “ You don’t love her, do you, Harry ? ” The young man laughed self-consciously. “ Lord, no. I wanted to tell you, Florne. J ve had a bit of luck. My uncle’s coming to the rescue.” “ How do you mean ? ” “ He’s paying off that debt. And he’s going to pay my fare to Canada.” “ Canada 1 ” , . , r++. She caught her breath, and scraped crumbs into a little pile with the end of a knife. “ Canada 1 but you “ I’m going to start all over again.” “ But don’t you want me to go to Canada with yer. “ You ? How could you ? ” “ I could work my way out — stewardess or something. I’d go with You’re not going to marry Lily, are you, Harry ? ” “ Not likely.” r , , T “ She’s not good enough for you, Harry. Oh, God ! I believe it’s her what got you going wrong, mixing with all them racing chaps and that “You’re too good for me, Florrie.” , “ Hi, miss, order me a boiled egg. And look here, tell ’em it’s to be soft— not more than three minutes.” “ Yes sir.” While she was away the young man fidgetted with his moustache. He looked like a man eager to escape from an awkward situation. He gave a jaunty thrust to his hat, which he had never removed. He drew things on the marble table top with a spoon. At last she came back. “ You say I’m too good for you, Harry. P’raps m some OVERHEARD 5 ways I am. I go straight, in any case, which is more than yon ever do. But I don’t put much stock by that. I love yer, and that’s enough for me. I’m willing to go with “ Perhaps one day when I get on - ” “ Oh, go on ! Once you get out there, and you’ll forget all about me. You never did reely love me — and now that Lily — ■" “ I tell you there’s nothing in it about Lily.” “ Oh, don’t let her lead you astray, Harry.” “ What do you mean — lead me astray ? ” The tall manageress swept down the room. “ Now then. Miss Harrison, get themTcruets together. We shall have the teas coming in soon.” “ Yes, madam.” The room seemed to get dimmer. A queer^party of country people strolled in, the kind of people who demand eggs and bacon at a quarter past three in the afternoon. What meal is this ? breakfast, lunch or high tea ? What did it matter ? Outside was the roar of tr Jfic ; inside the low hum of desultory talk. A big man was leaning across the table, shaking a fat finger in the face of a doleful individual with a sandy beard, and declaiming : “ I ses to ’im that’s not the right and proper way to lay a floor joist.” Someone wanted to know the right time, and someone else the best way to get to the Horticultural Show. She thought suddenly of flowers . . . great masses of prize blossoms, purple, blue, and white, and the perfume of them and the memories. . .. “ What fish have you got to-day, miss ? ” “ Only filletted plaice left, sir.” The young man was getting up, and stretching himself indolently. She left an order and went across to him. With a little catch in her voice she said : “ You’re going then ? ” OVERHEARD “ Yes. What’s the good ? ” “ When will I see you ? ” “ I’m sailing Saturday.” “ Saturday ! That’s only four days. You’ll see me before you go ? ” “ Oh, yes,” the young man whispered unconvincingly. “ I’ll either drop you a line or call in.” “ Promise ? ” The promise was give in the same key. “ You’ll want your bill. It comes to tenpence-half- penny.” “ Thanks, so long, old girl.” There was a break in the wall half-way down the room. When he reached it they were comparatively alone for a brief moment. She said fiercely : 11 Harry, I’ve loved yer all these years. Don t be cruel. When I was— when I was younger you did care for me a tiny bit. I’ve worked my fingers out for you. I’ve given you my savings. I wasn’t bad-looking once before I came into this business. It hasn’t done me any good. I get tired. The days seem long. You won’t — you won’t — — ” The man holding forth indignantly about the right way to lay floor joists, called out : “ Hi, miss, bring me another cup of corfee.” “ Yes, sir. Coming sir. . . . You won’t - ” The young man’s grin struggled desperately to assert itself. He mumbled something like : “ There, there. It’ll be all right. You’ll see. He walked self-consciously to the pay-desk. She went to collect her tray. Down below in the smoke-room could be heard the sound of youths noisily playing dominoes and laughing. “ There’s nothing to laugh about,” she thought at random. The tray was filled with soiled plates, and cups and saucers, egg shells and sausage skins. When she emerged once more into the main room, the young man had gone. She vanished with her tray and in a few minutes OVERHEARD 7 returned with it re-laden. She went to the table where the country people were. " Eggs and bacon, madam ? Thank you, madam. Eggs and bacon, sir ? Thank you, sir. Eggs and bacon miss ? Thank you, miss/' The man of the floor joists bawled out : “ Hi, have you got my corfee, miss ? ” She looked at him a little startled, the vexatious expres¬ sion of one who takes'a pride in work and is found wanting. She said : “ I'm sorry, sir. I forgot. I'll go and fetch it." “ Damn these waitresses ! " growled the man of the floor joists. ' - * V •s. - THE FALL The city of Bordeaux is a city of broad avenues, open spaces, big blocks of commercial buildings, narrow alleys leading down to congested docks, great wealth, great poverty, great industry. It has a character widely differing from any other French city. Broadly speaking, it is a hard-working, thriving, sober place. People do not go there for pleasure ; they go there to trade. Nevertheless as in the case of all large cities, especially when they happen to be ports, it is watered by a continuous social flux that is anything but hard-working, thriving or sober. It holds out endless temptation to the adventurer, the thief and the garrotter. The wine industry and the bourse attract the gambler and the speculator. The constant inflow of ingenuous sailors, blue-eyed and bewildered, who draw their pay and get lost in the mazes of the west side, attract the attentions of the more malignant characters. The caf6s and cabarets abound with mysterious individuals, willing and anxious to introduce the new-comer to the most delectable and special attractions. On the whole, Bordeaux is neither better nor worse than her sister cities of the South. Less sophisticated than Marseilles, she seems somehow more independent. Further removed from the nerve centres of France, she contrives to lead a life of her own. The depressing Landes country does not get on her nerves. She re-acts to it. And there is always Biarritz, and St. Jean de Luz and the gay little luxury towns within easy train journey. And there is the Spanish border and untracked regions of the Pyrenees — easily accessible places for the lady or gentleman who b 9 THE FALL 10 suddenly finds that the only people desirous of his or her company are the very efficient gendarmerie de Bordeaux. Max Renault, alias Anton Sachs, alias Jules Destourney, was one individual who more than once found getting over the border at Irun, disguised as an old priest, a useful means of evading the just retribution of the law. On the second occasion he was away two years, wandering about the north coast of Spain. During that time his experiences must have been unenviable. He knew little Spanish and no Basque. The people he moved amongst were mo: stiy beggars themselves, or poor fishing-folk, living from hand to mouth. He begged what he could, stole what he could but the conditions of fife were very hard. He made himself a weird instrument, a kind of piccolo, put of a cane stem. This he played somewhat unconvincingly outside cafes and eating-houses ; but the Spaniards and Basques are musicians themselves, and his awards were negligible. Once he stole a donkey, drove it into the hills, and sold it to some gypsies for a trifling sum. He travelled far afield after that, put up at an inn and drank much brandy. 4nd that night he dreamt about falling. We ah have our pet nightmares, and Jules’ pet nightmare concerned falling. It was horrible. He never actually fell, but he was always just on the point of falling from some great height. Sometimes he would be on the roof of a very high building, looking down into the street below just losing his balance. On other occasions he would be seated on the front row of a gallery, very, very high up in a theatre. There was no rail in front of him. His knees were giving way. The floor below was attracting him. Sometimes he would be peering over the edge of an enormous precipice, lying on his face and looking down at the rocks beneath. He would try and edge away, but an overwhelming power drew him forward. At such moments he would try to scream, and be unable to. After an endless struggle he would awaken with a start, and find himsef clutching the THE FALL 11 bedclothes, making horrible noises in his chest, and his brow would be clammy with perspiration. During those two years he did many reprehensible and desperate actions, but he always managed to escape detect¬ ion. At the end of that time he found himself one day at the little fishing village of Fuenterrabia, looking wistfully across the bay at his beloved France. Surely the time was ripe for return. He had changed much in those two years. The police must have been very busy with other fugitive gentlemen. He though longingly of Bordeaux, with its rich merchants and stupid sailors, its familiar cafes and well-cooked food. Yes, he was a desperate man. Some¬ how or other he would return there. Whilst gazing across the sea, he became suddenly aware of someone approaching him. Instantly alert, and prepared for flight, Jules turned. One glance satisfied him that the man was an English tourist. One of those absurd, comic Englishmen, as drawn in the French journals. Elderly, with drooping moustaches, rather fat, in a check suit with baggy knickerbockers and stockings, and thick brown boots. Round his shoulder was slung a leather strap with field glasses, and in his hand he carried a camera. The Englishman spoke to him in broken Spanish, but he seemed to know less Spanish than Jules. Jules replied in French, which the Englishman spoke tolerably well. He wanted to know how far it was to Pasaques across the hills, how long it would take to get there and what sort of place it was. But yes, of course, Jules smiled ingratiatingly, was he not himself a professional guide ? It would take perhaps two hours, two hours and a half to Pasaques. There was no road. It could only be found by one accustomed to the mountain path. An enchanting place — Pasaques, where the famous Victor Hugo lived for some time, and there was a cafe there built over the bay with passion flowers in profusion growing over the pergola. And the patron would draw you up oysters straight from 12 THE FALL the river bed in a basket— an enchanting place ! Why, yes, he would guide the distinguished visitor that very afternoon and they would return in time for the Englishman s dinner at the Hotel Miramar. Excellent ! # As they picked their way up the mountain path that afternoon, Jules was constantly thinking of Bordeaux. It was a steep climb. He was quite surprised that the fat, elderly Englishman stood it so well. Surprised— and ^Bordeaux ? He wondered whether old Madame Lachaise still kept that little comestible establishment in the Place Duquesne. There were friends who would never give him away. There was no one to fear except the police. Inspector Tolozan ? Curse fate ! Spit on all these comfort¬ able people to whom everything seemed to go right. This fat, prosperous Englishman ! Once on a broken plateau they passed an ox-cart laden with ferns and a peasant in a blue blouse. They passed no one else in a two hours’ walk. They were cut right off from the world, amidst boulders of rocks, shrubs, thick masses of fern, distant peaks, some snow-clad. “ Bella vista, monsieur 1 ” said Jules, pointing across an opening in the hills. The Englishman leant forward and looked in the direction Jules’ stick was pointing. Bella vista, indeed ! There was a sadden quick movement, and a knife was driven clean and truly between the Englishman s shoulder blades. ~ , ,, When the convulsions had ceased, Jules dragged the heavy body into a thick, high clump of ferns, and calmly went through the pockets. There were a lot of papers that annoyed him intensely, passports, letters of credit, bills, cheque book, things denoting wealth but quite un- negotiable. N evertheless, J ules had little cause to complain. There were Spanish, French and English notes. There was a gold watch and chain, a gold cigarette case, loose silver and various light trifles. He flung the camera away THE FALL 13 and also the case of field-glasses, toof compromising articles to be seen with— but stuffed the field-glasses into his breast pocket. Then he walked on hurriedly for half a mile, crawled under a dwarf oak-tree and counted the spoil. He rapidly added up the notes, calculated the total in francs, allowing for the rate of exchange, and the probable selling value of the watch and chain, etc., in his own market. He was the sudden possessor of approximately nine thousand francs ! He cleaned up his hands on some damp moss, buried the knife deep in the earth and covered that with moss and stones, and set out for San Sebastian. Fortune at last had smiled upon him. He gave no further thought to the ridiculous Englishman, except as an inert piece of matter that might be compromising under certain circumstances. He arrived in San Sebastian after dark, weary and footsore. He knew the town well, and he made for a humble quarter, where food and lodging would be procur¬ able. He ate heartily, drank good red wine and much brandy until he fell into a heavy torpid sleep. He had, however, taken the precaution beforehand to see that he secured a room in the lodging with a door that locked. Fortune and security at last ! Bordeaux at last ! He swung out into a glorious, rose-hued dreamland of happiness, only to find himself, after an interval of time, clinging to the flat surface of an enormous stone column above a square. The column seemed to be swaying in the wind. Down below tiny figures were just perceptible on the pavement. The old horror again possessed him. He was bound to fall — hundreds of feet — into that terrifying void below. It did not occur to him to wonder how he had got there. The fact that he was there was sufficient. If only the dread thing would keep still ! If only there were any means of descending ! But — no, he was on a kind of large projecting capital. The column beneath was narrower. 14 THE FALL He’peered lover the edge, and saw the narrowing flutes of the column vanishing into perspective, lost amongst the stone base hundreds of feet below. There was nothing at all to cling to. He was falling 1 He screamed, but the screams were stifled in his throat. This way ! That way ! Now he was off ! . . . Oh, God ! He was hanging over— the edge of the bed, those choked, ugly noises coming from his chest. „ , TT Ah, thank God ! All a dream, all a dream ! He would not sleep again that night. He sat up, drank some water, lighted the candle, counted his weath all over again, lay there, inert and watchful, till the light of dawn crept between the crevices of the shabby curtain. Then he slept quite placidly for several hours. The sun was shining on San Sebastian when he went out. Everything was normal and gay. Along the front tamarisk trees with their soft, feathery outlines, blended into the warm haze above the bay. Women in black mantillas passed by him, and he did not resent the fact that their glances were not for him. He wandered about the town, and bought a ready-made suit, a shirt, a scarf, a new Basque cap and some canvas shoes. Then . he returned to his lodgings, changed his clothes, paid his bill, took the old clothes away with him tied up in a paper parcel, and walked to the station. _ 1 . . . ri In two days’ time he arrived in Bordeaux, looking like a respectable Spanish workman. His hair had turned grey during those two years, and he had grown a moustache and a little stubbly beard. He made his way to the Place Duquesne, crept stealthily up the stairs of number seventeen and gave three slow taps on the door, the last tap being louder than the first. The door was opened a few inches, and there was a short interval of inspection, and then a voice exclaimed : “ Name of God ! It’s the Jackal ! ” He was admitted. The room was occupied by two men. THE FALL 15 One was a thick-set, malevolent-looking, middle-aged man, * with very dark eyes and a long scar running from just below the ear to the middle of the throat. The other was a frowsy old man, with swivel eyes, impossible to focus. It was the younger one who had admitted him. He turned to the elder, and said : “ Do you hear, Uncle Sem ? It’s the Jackal ! ” The old man appeared to be searching the ceiling. He muttered : “ The Jackal — eh ! Where have you been, my brave Jackal, all these years ? ” “ Over the border, Uncle Sem.” “ What have you come back for, fool ? To compromise us ? Don’t you know it’s the Widow for you if they catch you ? ” “ I was bored. Uncle Sem. I had to come back. I was lonely — ” “ Imbecile ! ” “ He’s all right,” interjected the younger man, known as La Tonnerre. “ Look at him, uncle ! His mother wouldn’t know her darling boy. The Jackal was always a good workman, Uncle Sem. How have the dice fallen, old boy ? ” “ Badly,” answered Jules. “ Pigs and stones. There’s not a sou to be scratched from the vile, evil-smelling swine. Nothing came my way, until last week, when a fool of an Englishman fell into my mouth. See here ! ” And he produced the field-glasses, the gold watch and chain, the cigarette-case and the other trifles. The older man’s eyes regarded the objects obliquely. “ Any money ? ” “ Only a few francs.” “ Urn ! ” grunted Uncle Sem, suspiciously. “ Travelling Englishmen usually carry more than a few francs upon them, especially when they boast such finery as this.” 16 THE FALL “ Letters of credit, cheque books, if they're any good to you, Uncle ! ” “ Um. Let’s have a glance. Where's the case to the field-glasses ? ” “ I threw it away.” “ Imbecile l A Zeiss too.” Whilst the old man was examining the watch and cigarette-case, Jules inquired of La Tonnerre concerning their mutual acquaintances. “ Where is Barouche ? ” “ Barouche ! He is spending a long vacation out in Cochin China. There was an unfortunate affair with the cashier of a bank at Bayonne. Clumsy work ! ” “ And Anton ? ” “ Dead. He died quietly one morning at dawn. The blade was too quick for him ! ” “ Lisette ? ” “ No one has seen her since you left. She was last seen walking on the quays looking into the water.” “ Toni Hecht ? ” <( They have sent him back to Silesia. They did not like his face.” “ Gabriel Foret ? ” “ Yes, he is still working. But he becomes foolish. Women" and absinthe do not agree with him. Labori died in the infirmary. There is no one left of our old company except Uncle Sem and myself. You are welcome, Jules. We want men of intellect and go.” It was not an inspiriting record. Jules felt a craving to escape from it all. He had been drawn back to Bordeaux by the nostalgia of old associations. He liked the place, the kind of food to be procured there, familiar places and people. But the life of crime terrified him. It was not conscience which troubled him. It was just the physical dread of— falling. It was in his blood that somewhere, at some time, in the prosecution of his nefarious craft, he THE FALL 17 would fall. The nightmare would materialize. And yet what was he to do ? About his person he had concealed eight thousand francs. From the sale of the field-glasses, the watch and cigarette-case, he would be lucky if he got another two hundred. This was wealth, comfort and security for a few months. And then what ? He could not afford to go back on his only two pals. The old man was saying : . “ Here, I will see what I can do with the watch and cigarette-case. You take these glasses, Jackal, and try your luck on the East side. You were an idiot to have taken these out of their case/' “ The case isn’t of much value, Uncle Sem. And it was clumsy, with a long leather strap attachment, difficult to conceal.” Uncle Sem said nothing, but he blinked vacantly at the ceiling, stood up, and shuffled towards the door. “ He’s a marvel ! ” exclaimed La Tonnerre, when the old man had gone. “ He must be seventy-two, and he has never made a slip. The police watch him like cats, and they’ve never sprung within a metre of him. I believe he could cast his shadow into the face of the sun.” Jules sighed. “ Let’s go and eat,” he said. “ I have a few francs, and that vile Spanish food wants forgetting.” They repaired to a quiet restaurant, of which the patron was a good fellow, not too inquisitive or squeamish about his guests. And they did themselves well. Soup, a bouillabaise, tripe stewed in oil with braised Spanish onions, Rockfort and radishes, and two bottles of good Burgundy. Oh, it was glorious to be back in Bordeaux ! And Jules kept on saying to himself : “ I mustn’t talk too much. I mustn’t let on to La Tonnerre that I have eight thousand.” There is a fascination about spending freely almost as intoxicating as any alcoholic material which may be the product of this action. Once he thought at random : 18 THE FALL “ Why, I've only got to sell those field-glasses to make enough to pay for this luncheon. La Tonnere indeed was not unduly aroused. They both belonged to the school which taught that the great thing in life was to eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow Ah i lots of nasty, unpleasant episodes might happen to-morrow. One might fall for instance. Clambering about on dangerous peaks there was always that sickening attraction— the law of gravitation. Bah ! Another glass, old boy ! Glorious to be back in Bordeaux. The docks were alive with dear familiar sights— stately liners, the black hulls of old sailing ships, weather-battered smoke-stacks of tramps. There was the delicious odour of tar, oil, hemp, brine and the chestnut braziers on the quays. There were the familiar figures, wharfingers in blue blouses, foreign sailors, fat old fishwives with their booths, women selling flowers, stockings and gingerbread, port officials fussily conscious of their gold trimmings. This was the place to live in, to lose oneself m No one took any particular stock of this respectable-looking man. What was he ? a mechanic of some sort ? a small shop- keeper ? a ship’s cook ? Who cared ? . , Having parted from La Tonnere, who stated that he had to go and claim some “ commission ” that was due to him, Jules wandered luxuriously eastward. It was early afternoon and the sun was pleasantly hot. He walked up the Rue Fondaudege and then took two turnings, sharp to the left, then to the left again. He came to a narrow middle-class street of shops. Near the end of the street he stopped in front of an establishment, which bore the name of Francis Mossel. He entered and produced the field-glasses. A rather bored young clerk said. res, what is it ? ” , ^ ,, “ Do you want to buy some field-glasses, monsieur. “ Field-glasses \ ” exclaimed the young man in a tone that implied that field-glasses were the very last thing that THE FALL 19 his employer would ever dream of buying. Nevertheless he took them in his hand and examined them. “ Where is the case ? ” he asked. “ The case is lost l The young man’s face expressed bored indignation. However, he disappeared behind a wooden partition with the glasses. In two or three minutes an elderly Jew came in with the young man. He was wearing thick spectacles and a black skull cap. He looked hard at Jules and said : “ Where did you get these glasses from ? ” “ They belonged to my brother, monsieur, who died.” The Jew looked closely at Jules’ face, his clothes, his shoes and his cap. He made no attempt to conceal his suspicion. “ Where is the case ? ” “ There wasn’t a case. My brother must have lost it, monsieur.” “ When did your brother die ? ” “ Last year, monsieur.” “ This is a pair of new Zeiss field-glasses.” Jules flushed. What the devil business was it of the Jew when or where his brother died ? Why didn’t he hurry up and give him the money ! Monsieur Mossel seemed to be meditating. He muttered to himself : “ Curious ... a new pair of Zeiss field-glasses without a case.” Looking at Jules once more, he said in a melancholy voice : “ How much do you want for them ? ” “ Four hundred francs, monsieur.” The old Jew turned to his assistant with an expression clearly conveying the fact that he had long since given up being surprised at the insolent and extortionate demands made to him in his profession. He turned the glasses over and over and examined them more thoroughly. At last he said : 20 THE FALL “ HI tell you what I'll do. I’ll give you twenty-seven francs for them.” It was Jules’ turn to express clearly that he had given up being surprised at the preposterous offers one was to expect from these money-lenders. He answered without hesita¬ tion : “ One hundred.” “Twenty-eight.” What was the use ? He felt a wild desire to be rid of the whole transaction. The atmosphere of this poky, furtive office frightened him. He mumbled : “ Oh ! . . . well - ” “ Leave the glasses here and come in later at half-past five, and you shall have the money. You must sign a written declaration.” Why? He didn’t like this aspect of it at all. But something told him to clear out of that place at the earliest possible moment. A few minutes later he was thankful for this subconscious warning. He had just crossed the street when he saw an elderly distinguished-looking man turn the corner and saunter casually into Mons. Mossel s shop. It was the last person in Bordeaux he was desirous of meeting— Inspector Tolozan, chief of the gendarmerie de Bordeaux. He never went back for his twenty-eight francs. On the other hand, he could not bring himself to tell the true story to Uncle Sem and LaTonnerre. He said he had sold the glasses for ninety francs, and he shared the spoil with them loyally. Uncle Sem declared that he was only able to raise two hundred and forty francs on the watch and cigarette-case. This was also divided. Jules slept in an attic in the same house in the Place Duquesne where his two companions resided. He con¬ tinued to lead a life of indolence and luxury. At the end of a few weeks, however, he began to realize that there was something queer happening to him. His THE FALL 21 health was not all that could be desired. The fact was, that the sudden spasm of luxurious living, after the two years of semi-starvation, was seriously affecting his diges¬ tion. He suffered from attacks of vertigo. Lying in his attic at night, he would have an abrupt vision of the court¬ yard below. Some power seemed to compel him to get out of bed and go to the window and look down. He would stand there, clutching the window frame, his face bathed in cold sweat. The terror was unendurable. After two or three of these experiences he gave up the attic. He managed to secure a dingy room in the basement of the house next door. So far as the prosecution of his criminal practices was concerned, he was entirely inactive. He had lost his nerve. He made up elaborate stories to Uncle Sem and La Ton- nerre of exploits about purse-snatching and confidence tricks. He even handed them the money as a share of the spoils, anything to buy peace. His small fortune would not last long at this rate. Once he dreamt he was on top of a lighthouse, out at sea. A high wind was blowing, and he was clutching his few remaining notes and trying to hang on to the smooth stone surface. A sudden, fiercer gust came and carried the notes away. He looked over the edge, and saw the notes fluttering on the surface of an angry sea, a hundred feet below him. Again he tried to scream. . .. It was Uncle Sem’s discovery — the fat Dutch ship-master, who went nightly to a little cafe in the Rue Muyens and got drunk. He appeared to have money. It was believed that he had on his person the cash to pay off a ship’s company that was expected from Rio. “ Here is a neat little game we might play together,” said Uncle Sem. Jules shivered, but he knew there was no escape. They couldn’t understand, these two ; they couldn’t understand this fear of falling. On a certain night he found himself 22 THE FALL entering the Cafe des Etoiles. Uncle Sem was whisper¬ ing : “ This is the table” . TT 1 _ They sat down, and ordered two anisettes. Uncle bem was very garrulous. After a little while the fat Dutch¬ man entered. He glowered at them, but took his usual corner seat, and ordered Schnappes. Uncle Sem bowed to him very politely, and continued to talk to Jules. After a few more glasses of Schnappes it was not difficult to engage the Dutchman in conversation, in spite of his villainous French. They discussed all kinds of subjects, and Uncle Sem was most entertaining and hospitable, ordering innumerable rounds of drinks. It was getting late, when La Tonnerre entered the cafe. He was very smartly dressed. He looked round the room, then, approaching Uncle Sem, he said diffidently : “ May I occupy this seat, monsieur ? ’ “ But certainly/’ replied Uncle Sem. In a few minutes La Tonnerre was drawn into the con¬ versation, and somehow or other it got round to the Dutch East Indies. La Tonnerre said that he had often touched at Sumatra, when a seafaring man. Curiously enough, Uncle Sem, according to his own account, had once been manager of a tea plantation at Tebing Tinggi. Helped by a nudge, Jules said he knew all the islands intimately. This might have been all very well, except for the fact that Uncle Sem referred to Tebing Tinggi as being on the north¬ east coast of Sumatra. “ Tebing Tinggi ! ” exclaimed the Dutchman. Why, it is in the interior, one hundred and thirty miles west of Pelembeng ! ” It is invariably about insignificant trifles that men lose their tempers. The argument became heated. “ Considering I lived there for two years ! ” cried the Dutchman, banging his fist down on the table. Uncle Sem was equally emphatic and so was La Ton- THE FALL 23 nerre, who insisted that Tebing Tinggi was in the north. The argument became more and more acrimonious. At last Uncle Sem said : “ I tell you what, gentlemen. I’m willing to bet. I suggest we put up a hundred francs each. We all put the notes right down here on the table. Then we each in turn draw a plan of the island, indicating the position of Tebing Tinggi. That being done, we borrow our patron’s atlas. I know he has one. And we compare. The one who has drawn the most accurate plan gets the lot.” “ Done ! ” roared the Dutchman. “ On one condition.” " What’s that ? ” “ That we make it two hundred francs.” “ I agree,” said Uncle Sem. “ Agreed,” said La Tonnerre. “ Yes, I agree also,” said Jules faintly. The Dutchman produced a fat pocket-book. He took out two hundred francs and put the notes down on the table. The others followed suit. They drew lots for the order of performance. La Tonnerre drew the first plan. He picked up a menu card and carefully drew a plan of the island on the back, indicating the position of the disputed town. The Dutchman, who had drawn second place, snorted with contempt and was in a fever to get to work. Directly La Tonnerre had finished, he snatched up the pencil and pored over the back of another menu card. Very laboriously, with the tip of his fat tongue pouting between his lips, he made a careful and exact plan of the island. When he was half way through, La Tonnerre rose and said : “ I’ll get the atlas in the meantime.” He got up and walked out. The Dutchman had nearly finished his drawing, when Uncle Sem exclaimed : “ My God ! ” “ What’s the matter ? ” growled the Dutchman. “ The notes ! the notes ! That fellow has taken the the notes I ” 24 THE FALL The Dutchman’s eyes bulged. He glared round the table gasped, put his hand in his breast pocket. “God in Heaven 1” he wailed. "My pocket-book! my pocket-book ! Which way did he go ? ” ^ “ Good God 1 he’s taken my pocket-book too ! ” said Uncle Sem. " Curse him ! the thief ! the dirty thief ! I believe he went out this way.” And he jumped up and dashed to the door. The Dutch¬ man dashed after him. Jules was left alone. The thing had happened so quickly that the other occupants of the cafe had not time to take it all in. Besides, in that part of the world they are accustomed to quarrelling and gambling among seafaring men. It is advisable some¬ times not to be too curious. A waiter came up to Jules and said : “ What’s the matter ? ” “ That stranger who came in went off with my pal’s notes,” he replied. The waiter shrugged his shoulders. Jules got up to follow the others. Just as he rose his eye was attracted by a face on the other side of the room. It seemed vaguely familiar. It was the face of a young man, talking to a girl. What was disturbing was that the young man was staring at him and quite patently talking to the girl about him. As he reached the door, he remembered in a flash that it was the young clerk to the Jew who had bought the field-glasses. Once through the door, Jules ran as fast as he could until he had put several abrupt turnings between himself and that sinister cafe. He was terribly frightened. His heart was beating against his ribs. The appearance of the young clerk from the pawnbroker s shop seemed to be a portentous climax to the sordid adven¬ ture. He must keep clear of that side of the river for some time. He went a long way round, and avoiding the Pont de Bordeaux, crossed ^the river by the railway bridge. His teeth were chattering when he rejoined the THE FALL 25 other two in that crazy room in the Place Duquesne. He found Uncle Sem feeding a fat moulting canary with lumps of sugar, and calling it endearing names. La Tonnerre was stretched luxuriously on an old couch, eating sardines out of a tin. The evening had been a great success. The Dutchman’s wallet had contained seven thousand three hundred francs. 