“It’s all U.P., Carter, as far as this trip is concerned. They’ve given us the slip about proper. Goodness only knows where they are by this time; perhaps halfway to the States. Let’s find a telegraph office and report to Headquarters.”
A few minutes later French had sent a long wire to his chief at the Yard. Then at a loose end, he turned to Sergeant Carter.
“Well, Carter, what shall we do with ourselves now? Here’s ten o’clock and we can’t get back until the evening. We have the whole day to play round in.”
Except that he believed he could do with a bit more breakfast, the Sergeant’s ideas were nebulous. French laughed at him.
“It’s what I was thinking myself,” he admitted, “but it’s a bad time. These folk over here have no notion of what a good breakfast means, and it’s a bit early for their lunch. However, we’ll see what we can do.”
They went into a small restaurant and asked for coffee and ham and eggs. This proving too much for the waiter, the proprietor was summoned. He had a little English and at last understood.
“But yes, messieurs,” he cried, waving his hands. “The ham, the eggs, the omelette; is it not so?” He bowed low. “Immediately, messieurs. Will messieurs be pleased to be seated.”
Messieurs were pleased to be seated, and in an incredibly short space of time a smoking omelette arrived, garnished with chip potatoes and onions, together with coffee and delicious rolls and butter. To this the hungry men did full justice, and Carter’s estimate of the French, which had been low, went up several points. They took their time over the meal, but eventually it was finished, and the problem of how to fill in their time once more became insistent.
“We might go round and see some of these coast places,” French suggested. “St. Malo or some of those. Or I dare say we could work across somehow to Dieppe and catch the afternoon boat to Newhaven. What do you say?”
Carter voted for going to the station and looking into the possibilities, and they walked slowly up the town, fascinated by the foreign life of the busy port. Havre is a fine city with good streets, shops, and public buildings, but it is not an interesting town, and by the time they reached the station, a mile and a half away, they felt they had seen enough of it.
An examination of the timetables showed that they were too late for Dieppe—the English boat would have left before they could possibly get there—and St. Malo, they discovered, was not in that part of the country at all, but miles away to the southwest. Trouville was only eight or ten miles away across the bay, but Trouville in winter did not seem an attractive prospect.
“Tell you what,” French said at last. “We’ve got an introduction to these French johnnies. We’ll go and look ’em up, and perhaps see something of their police station.”
Sergeant Carter, delighted with his superior’s condescension, hurriedly agreed, and a few minutes later the two men found themselves ascending the steps of a large building which bore over the door the legend “Gendarmerie.” Here French tendered his introduction, with the result that he was shown into the presence of and politely welcomed by the officer in charge.
“I regret the Chief is out of town at present,” the latter said in excellent English. “He will be sorry not to have seen you. I hope that presently you will give me the pleasure of your company at lunch, and in the meantime let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”
French explained the circumstances. He would not stay for lunch, as he had but a short time since finished an excellent breakfast, but he would be most grateful if the other would tell him how best he could spend the time until his return boat to Southampton.
“That’s not until midnight,” answered the Frenchman. “You don’t know this country?”
“Not at all. It was just that if there was anything to see within reach, we might as well see it.”
“Of course, naturally. Well, monsieur, were I in your place I should certainly go to Caen. It is an interesting old town, well worth a visit. There is a steamer all the way, but you would scarcely have time for that; it is rather slow. I should recommend you to go to Trouville by steamer—it’s just across the bay—and then go on from there to Caen by rail. In the time at your disposal I really do not think you could do anything better.”
French thanked him, and the other continued, “The steamer sails according to the tide. Today,” he glanced at an almanac, “it leaves at midday. You should get to Caen about two, and you could dine there and come back in the evening in time for your boat.”
At ten minutes to twelve French and his satellite reached the wharf, having delayed on their walk down town to consume bocks in one of the many attractive cafés in the main streets. They took tickets and went on board the little steamer. The day was cold though fine, and there were but few travellers. They strolled about, interested in the novel scene, and at last finding two seats in the lee of the funnel, sat down to await the start.
Midday came, and with leisurely movements the horn was blown, the gangway run ashore, and the ropes slacked. The Captain put his lips to the engine-room speaking tube, but before he could give his order an interruption came from the shore. Shouts arose and a man in the blue uniform of a gendarme appeared running towards the boat and gesticulating wildly. The Captain paused, the slackened ropes were pulled tight,
