The officer drew himself up:
“Oh, I can’t agree to that, you know!”
“Very well, then give me your word of honor that you’ll keep a secret which doesn’t belong to you. After which, we’ll say good night and go our own ways. I’ll do the boarding alone and you can go back to your own business. Observe, however, that I am not insisting on an immediate reply. You have plenty of time to reflect and to take the decision which your interest, honor and conscience may dictate to you. For my part, excuse me, but you know my weakness: when circumstances give me a little spare time, I take advantage of it to go to sleep. Carpe somnum, as the poet says. Good night, captain.”
And, without another word, Don Luis wrapped himself in his greatcoat, sprang into the boat and lay down.
Patrice had had to make a violent effort to restrain his anger. Don Luis’ calm, ironic tone and well-bred, bantering voice got on his nerves all the more because he felt the influence of that strange man and fully recognized that he was incapable of acting without his assistance. Besides, he could not forget that Don Luis had saved his life and Coralie’s.
The hours slipped by. The adventurer slumbered peacefully in the cool night air. Patrice hesitated what to do, seeking for some plan of conduct which would enable him to get at Siméon and rid himself of that implacable adversary and at the same time to prevent Don Luis from laying hands on the enormous treasure. He was dismayed at the thought of being his accomplice. And yet, when the first throbs of the motor were heard in the distance and when Don Luis awoke, Patrice was by his side, ready for action.
They did not exchange a word. A village-clock struck ten. The Belle Hélène was coming towards them.
Patrice felt his excitement increase. The Belle Hélène meant Siméon’s capture, the recovery of the millions, Coralie out of danger, the end of that most hideous nightmare and the total extinction of Essarès’ handiwork. The engine was throbbing nearer and nearer. Its loud and regular beat sounded wide over the motionless Seine. Don Luis had taken the sculls and was pulling hard for the middle of the river. And suddenly they saw in the distance a black mass looming up in the white moonlight. Twelve or fifteen more minutes passed and the Belle Hélène was before them.
“Shall I lend you a hand?” whispered Patrice. “It looks as if you had the current against you and as if you had a difficulty in getting along.”
“Not the least difficulty,” said Don Luis; and he began to hum a tune.
“But …”
Patrice was stupefied. The boat had turned in its own length and was making for the bank.
“But, I say, I say,” he said, “what’s this? Are you going back? Are you giving up? … I don’t understand. … You’re surely not afraid because they’re three to our two?”
Don Luis leapt on shore at a bound and stretched out his hand to him. Patrice pushed it aside, growling:
“Will you explain what it all means?”
“Take too long,” replied Don Luis. “Just one question, though. You know that book I found in old Siméon’s room, The Memoirs of Benjamin Franklin: did you see it when you were making your search?”
“Look here, it seems to me we have other things to …”
“It’s an urgent question, captain.”
“Well, no, it wasn’t there.”
“Then that’s it,” said Don Luis. “We’ve been done brown, or rather, to be accurate, I have. Let’s be off, captain, as fast as we can.”
Patrice was still in the boat. He pushed off abruptly and caught up the scull, muttering:
“As I live, I believe the beggar’s getting at me!”
He was ten yards from shore when he cried:
“If you’re afraid, I’ll go alone. Don’t want any help.”
“Right you are, captain!” replied Don Luis. “I’ll expect you presently at the inn.”
Patrice encountered no difficulties in his undertaking. At the first order, which he shouted in a tone of command, the Belle Hélène stopped; and he was able to board her peacefully. The two bargees were men of a certain age, natives of the Basque coast. He introduced himself as a representative of the military authorities; and they showed him over their craft. He found neither old Siméon nor the very smallest bag of gold. The hold was almost empty.
The questions and answers did not take long:
“Where are you going?”
“To Rouen. We’ve been requisitioned by the government for transport of supplies.”
“But you picked up somebody on the way.”
“Yes, at Mantes.”
“His name, please?”
“Siméon Diodokis.”
“Where’s he got to?”
“He made us put him down a little after, to take the train.”
“What did he want?”
“To pay us.”
“For what?”
“For a shipload we took at Paris two days ago.”
“Bags?”
“Yes.”
“What of?”
“Don’t know. We were well paid and asked no questions.”
“And what’s become of the load?”
“We transhipped it last night to a small steamer that came alongside of us below Passy.”
“What’s the steamer’s name?”
“The Chamois. Crew of six.”
“Where is she now?”
“Ahead of us. She was going fast. She must be at Rouen by this time. Siméon Diodokis is on his way to join her.”
“How long have you known Siméon Diodokis?”
“It’s the first time we saw him. But we knew that he was in M. Essarès’ service.”
“Oh, so you’ve worked for M. Essarès?”
“Yes, often. … Same job and same trip.”
“He called you by means of a signal, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he used to light an old factory-chimney.”
“Was it always bags?”
“Yes. We didn’t know what was inside. He
