A Splendid Hazard | Page 7

who may some day blow up
France, and yet we can put no hand on him till he throws the bomb."
"But there is always time to stop the flight of the bomb. That shall be
my concern; that is, if monsieur is not becoming discouraged and
desires me to occupy myself with other things. I repeat: I have
rheumatism, I apprehend the damp. He will go to America."
"Ah! It would be a very good plan if he remained there."
The little man did not reply.
"But you say in your reports that you have seen him going about with
some of the Orleanists. What is your inference there?"
"I have not yet formed one. It is a bit of a riddle there, for the crow and
the eagle do not fly together."
"Well, follow him to America."
"Thanks. The pay is good and the work is congenial." The tone of the
little man was softly given to irony.
Gray-haired, rosy-cheeked, a face smooth as a boy's, twinkling eyes
behind spectacles, he was one of the most astute, learned, and patient of
the French secret police. And he did not care the flip of his strong
brown fingers for the methods of Vidocq or Lecoq. His only disguise
was that not one of the criminal police of the world knew him or had
ever heard of him; and save his chief and three ministers of war--for
French cabinets are given to change--his own immediate friends knew
him as a butterfly hunter, a searcher for beetles and scarabs, who,

indeed, was one of the first authorities in France on the subjects:
Anatole Ferraud, who went about, hither and thither, with a little red
button in his buttonhole and a tongue facile in a dozen languages.
"Very well, monsieur. I trust that in the near future I may bring you
good news."
"He will become nothing or the most desperate man in Europe."
"Admitted."
"He is a scholar, too."
"All the more interesting."
"As a student in Munich he has fought his three duels. He has been a
war correspondent under fire. He is a great fencer, a fine shot, a daring
rider."
"And penniless. What a country they have over there beyond the Rhine!
He would never have troubled his head about it, had they not harried
him. To stir up France, to wound her if possible! He will be a man of
great courage and resource," said the secret agent, drawing the palms of
his hands together.
"In the end, then, Germany will offer him money?"
"That is the possible outlook."
"But, suppose he went to work on his own responsibility?"
"In that case one would be justified in locking him up as a madman. Do
you know anything about Alpine butterflies?"
"Very little," confessed the minister.
"There is often great danger in getting at them; but the pleasure is
commensurate."

"Are there not rare butterflies in the Amazonian swamps?" cynically.
"Ah, but this man has good blood in him; and if he flies at all he will
fly high. Think of this man fifty years ago; what a possibility he would
have been! But it is out of fashion to-day. Well, monsieur, I must be off.
There is an old manuscript at the Bibliothèque I wish to inspect."
"Concerning this matter?"
"Butterflies," softly; "or, I should say, chrysalides."
The subtle inference passed by the minister. There were many other
things to-ing and fro-ing in the busy corridors of his brain. "I shall hear
from you frequently?"
"As often as the situation requires. By the way, I have an idea. When I
cable you the word butterfly, prepare yourself accordingly. It will mean
that the bomb is ready."
"Good luck attend you, my savant," said the minister, with a
friendliness which was deep and genuine. He had known Monsieur
Ferraud in other days. "And, above all, take care of yourself."
"Trust me, Count." And the secret agent departed, to appear again in
these chambers only when his work was done.
"A strange man," mused the minister when he was alone. "A still
stranger business for a genuine scholar. Is he really poor? Does he do
this work to afford him ease and time for his studies? Or, better still,
does he hide a great and singular patriotism under butterfly wings?
Patriotism? More and more it becomes self-interest. It is only when a
foreign mob starts to tear down your house, that you become a patriot."
Now the subject of these desultory musings went directly to the
Bibliothèque Nationale. The study he pursued was of deep interest to
him; it concerned a butterfly of vast proportions and kaleidoscopic in
color, long ago pinned away and labeled among others of lesser
brilliancy. It had cast a fine shadow in its brief flight. But