e.

"All in good part, eh?"

I took his hand. He meant no harm, did old Leroux. He was just a
common, vulgar fellow who did not know a gentleman when he saw one.

And we parted the best of friends.

2.

A week later I was at Gex. At St. Claude I had parted from Leroux, and
then hired a chaise to take me to my destination. It was a matter of
fifteen kilometres by road over the frontier of the customs zone and
through the most superb scenery I had ever seen in my life. We drove
through narrow gorges, on each side of which the mountain heights rose
rugged and precipitous to incalculable altitudes above. From time to
time only did I get peeps of almost imperceptible tracks along the
declivities, tracks on which it seemed as if goats alone could obtain
a footing. Once--hundreds of feet above me--I spied a couple of mules
descending what seemed like a sheer perpendicular path down the
mountain side. The animals appeared to be heavily laden, and I
marvelled what forbidden goods lay hidden within their packs and
whether in the days that were to come I too should be called upon to
risk my life on those declivities following in the footsteps of the
reckless and desperate criminals whom it was my duty to pursue.

I confess that at the thought, and with those pictures of grim nature
before me, I felt an unpleasant shiver coursing down my spine.

Nothing of importance occurred during the first fortnight of my
sojourn at Gex. I was installed in moderately comfortable, furnished
rooms in the heart of the city, close to the church and market square.
In one of my front windows, situated on the ground floor, I had placed
a card bearing the inscription: "Aristide Barrot, Interpreter," and
below, "Anglais, Allemand, Italien." I had even had a few
clients--conversations between the local police and some poor wretches
caught in the act of smuggling a few yards of Swiss silk or a couple
of cream cheeses over the French frontier, and sent back to Gex to be
dealt with by the local authorities.

Leroux had found lodgings at Mijoux, and twice daily he walked over to
Gex to consult with me. We met, mornings and evenings, at the cafe
restaurant of the Crane Chauve, an obscure little tavern situated on
the outskirts of the city. He was waxing impatient at what he called
my supineness, for indeed so far I had had nothing to report.

There was no sign of M. Aristide Fournier. No one in Gex appeared to
know anything about him, though the