Arthur Sherburne Hardy

“ You are joking, Pichon."
"That is true," admitted Pichon, his anxiety somewhat appeased. "Nine hundred francs is very little."
"It is worse than nothing. If you are not paid at all, you receive a gold medal for a fine action. But if this action is paid for, you are not even noticed. It is impossible to be a hero when one is a mercenary."
"I had not thought of that," said Pichon; "but not every man's wife," he added mournfully, "is so fortunate as to receive a legacy like Madame Joly."
"That is what the prefect said to me. ”

“ I give them to you, Pichon."
"But I understand nothing," cried Pichon.
"Pichon," said M. Joly, "I once read in a book—one of those books in which we are held up to ridicule—of a man with an ear so acute that he could hear the tumblers of a lock fall into their places. I did not believe it. I do not believe it yet. Nevertheless, given a lock of a certain age and an audiphone—do you know what an audiphone is, Pichon? You will find one under the loose papers of the third drawer in Monsieur Bulow's desk at the Ministry—given these things, and it is possible." ”

“ Pichon glanced at his friend appealingly.
"Be seated, gentlemen," said M. Bulow.
"You are very good to receive a stranger so affably," replied M. Joly. "The truth is my position is a delicate one. Monsieur Pichon is afflicted with an insatiable curiosity. He wishes to know why a man who is not deaf provides himself with one of those instruments called audiphones—or, if he be deaf, why he leaves it at the Ministry instead of carrying it on his person. Keep your seat, Monsieur Bulow," continued M. Joly, taking the pistol from his pocket and laying it on his knee. ”

“ The prefect's voice was cold, and Pichon remained silent. It was true, he had made no progress. The prefect went to the window. Through the veils of the falling rain lights were beginning to appear in the neighboring buildings.
"What a pity Monsieur Joly took it into his head to retire. You used to work together so admirably."
Pichon winced. Watching the prefect's form dimly outlined against the window, he had the sensation of being slowly effaced, of no longer counting for anything.
"How often it happens that a good soldier makes a poor general." ”

“ One is above suspicion. There remains the other."
"What a devil of a logician you are, Pichon! You subtract one from two and one remains."
Pichon shook his head. "Logic is a fine thing, Monsieur Joly, but sentiment is still finer. This de Wimpffen is a friend of General Texier, who knows him from childhood. He served with him in Africa. He is the soul of honor! We have heard such arguments before." And Pichon shrugged his shoulders again disdainfully. ”

“ A sirop de groseitte, if you please, And you, Pichon, a fine champagne, as formerly?"
Pichon nodded.
"What you say is quite true," resumed M. Joly when they were alone again; "these things interest me no longer. Do you remember that little girl they called Dorante whom we found at the Restaurant des Tournelles in that affair of the Bank of France? She has become my own flesh and blood. I am teaching her the history of France. In the month of May we go into the woods for primroses. A small hand slips into yours and you break with the habits of a lifetime. ”

“ THE SILVER PENCIL
INSPECTOR JOLY had always maintained that conclusions were more important than stability. Not to change one's opinion under the pressure of evidence was the proof of mediocrity. Yet, after voluntarily retiring from active service and acquiring that suburban retreat which had so long been a dream, not for worlds would he have admitted to Madame Joly that any disappointment lurked in the dream's realization.
Monrepos certainly was not responsible for the disappointment. The reality coincided in all respects with the dream. ”

“ In this shadow, midway between the desk and the door, stood Pichon, lately promoted to the grade of inspector in place of Joly, resigned.
Pichon was often taciturn because he had so much to say. That his silence on this occasion was due to other causes was clear from his abject appearance. Under the gaze of the prefect his figure seemed to grow smaller and to retreat still further into the shadow. ”

“ As they crossed the open space before Notre Dame, Pichon's anxiety returned.
"I do not deny," continued M. Joly, "that sometimes, when I remember—we have had some interesting quarter-hours together, eh, Pichon? Tell me"—entering the Café de l'Ésperance and pushing open the door to the room in the rear—"tell me, is there anything interesting going on at this moment?"
"There is always something interesting going on," Pichon replied moodily. "Not ten minutes ago the prefect said to me it was a pity you had resigned." ”

“ His desk, his apartment?—not a straw."
"And then?" pursued M. Joly encouragingly.
Pichon hesitated.
"I will tell you," he replied, the desire to prove his adroitness overcoming his caution: "when a man is not suspected, he becomes careless. This man is not careless. But when a man knows that he is suspected, he becomes troubled—that is, he makes mistakes. I learned that Madame de Wimpffen was to return to Paris alone, and I had an idea." M. Joly's hands tightened. ”

“ The goldfish, motionless, lay in the shadow of the stone coping.
"Come now, friend Pichon," he said, closing the gate of Paradise behind him, "let us see about this pencil."
An hour later he descended from the omnibus on Boulevard du Palais. It was raining and he had no umbrella. Buttoning up his coat and lowering his head, he made a dash for the archway of the prefecture. Although the clock in the bureau of the prefect struck only three times, the lamp on the prefect's desk was burning, the sudden summer storm having enveloped the city in mid-afternoon darkness. ”

“ On the face of the envelope was the word "Mobilisation."
At this instant a quick step resounded in the corridor. Replacing the envelope, he closed the safe and stood up, listening. Some one was about to enter. He had barely reached the portières when the door was opened, shut, and locked again. Motionless, holding his breath, he waited. A few steps—then silence. He parted the curtains gently—and saw the back of Pichon! ”

“ On the morning of August 13, Colonel de Wimpffen and his wife go to Bourg-la-Reine to pass a few days with a cousin. On the 14th, General Texier, takes it into his head to consult this document. He opens the safe. The document in question has taken wing. He sends for the prefect. The prefect sends for me—and where we began, there we are now."
He stopped, took a turn up and down the room, shrugged his shoulders, and dropped into his chair.
"But you have a theory," said M. Joly; "develop your theory, Pichon."
"There is but one theory," replied Pichon testily. ”

“ What if the document was already back in its place! He rejected this idea as preposterous. A general of the staff! The alternative was inconceivable. Yet this idea, having once found a lodgment in his brain, returned with a disquieting persistence. ”