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Pull upon this line, I dared not, because I was sure it would bring the rope from its perch: but at least I had proved my theory and, what was more to the point, I had found I could cross the water whenever I pleased.

Since it was now past one, I sat down and ate my lunch: then I made my way leisurely homewards, that is to say, to the point at which Carson would pick me up. Marking the way as I went and finding seven more footprints, I reached the rendezvous soon after five, and since I had three hours to wait, I crossed the road and entered some pleasant woodland which looked as though it might offer a robing-room for him who was chosen to take the smugglers’ way.

I soon found a very sweet dell but five minutes’ walk from the road, where a man could lie in comfort until it was safe to move. A little lawn was edged by a tumbling rill, and, after the violence of the torrent, the childish speech of the former fell gratefully on the ear. Here I settled myself, and since I had had a short night and a tiring walk, after a very few minutes I fell asleep.

I awoke, as I sometimes do, in the sudden, certain knowledge that I was not alone.

A middle-aged man and a girl were standing close to my feet and were looking down upon me with curious eyes.

As I sat up—

“He would do very well,” said the former. “Ulysses’ clothes would fit him as few men that I have seen.”

“He is very strong,” said the latter. “No doubt about that.”

Both wore a ‘national dress’ that I had seen somewhere in France; but the tongue they used was German and they had the look of being Austrian born. The man, who was fat for his age, had a merry eye and made me think in an instant of one of Shakespeare’s clowns. The girl was slight, but well-made: health and sunshine had made up her pretty face, and the thick, fair hair which was curling about her shoulders was crowned by a Juliet cap.

I smiled.

“And who is Ulysses?” I said.

“Alas, he is dead,” said the man. “We buried him two days ago. He was our strong man and could lift incredible weights. But the wine was stronger than he. They had many a bout together, but in the end the wine won. And now our troupe is the poorer, for many can sing and dance – or think they can; but few can bend a crowbar into a hoop.”

“Few, indeed,” said I. “But why do you wear that dress? It is not Austrian.”

“Because,” said the man, “I am now in Austria. A prophet is not without honour, save in his own country. So in Austria I am a Frenchman, and when I am on parade, my German is very poor. The same in Italy, for Italy does not like those that are Austrian born. If ever I go to France, I shall wear my own dress.”

“You move about?” I said.

“From here to Italy. We have come South from Innsbruck and soon I shall be drinking the beer of Padua. The life is hard in a way; but I would not change it, sir, for any that I have seen.”

“Nor I,” said the girl. “It is very good to be free.”

“It is everything,” said the man. “For this reason, I am not so sure that we shall return from Italy in the spring.”

“Aha,” said I. “You have no use for the Boche?”

“None,” said the man. “Neither for lord nor for peasant, for matron or for maid. The Boche is no fellow creature. The blood is bad.”

“You are perfectly right,” said I. “If Europe is to be safe, the Boche should be behind bars.”

The fellow turned to the girl.

“How many times, Colette, have I used those very words?”

“It is true,” said the girl, smiling. “And Jasper knows Germany.”

“Before the Great War,” said the man, “I was with a German circus for nearly three years. That is the way, sir, to learn what a people is like; for you pass through the whole of the country, and high and low visit a circus and sit beside the ring.” He drew in his breath. “What the Boche enjoys most of all is another being’s distress – a bear in torment, sir, or a clown that is kicked by a horse. I have seen a dog, short of a paw, that, because he had a great heart, would try to do his tricks with the rest. And when he failed, the dog cried – I saw the tears on his face. And the Germans roared with delight… I could have been ringmaster: but, once I had learned my job, I went away.”

“What was your job?” I said.

“I was a tumbler, sir. Or, if you like it better, an acrobat. The sand, the rope and the horse, I learned to master them all.” He sighed. “But after forty, no man can do such work as it should be done. So now I have my own troupe, and I sing a ditty or two and play the fool.”

“Believe me, sir,” said Colette, “he is the life of the show.”

“I can well believe you,” I said. “If I were free, I would come to your show tonight.”

Jasper regarded me straitly.

“You are a man that has done many things in his time. You have sweated and shivered and you have walked with death. I can read these things in your face, and I know I am right. Add, then, to your wisdom, sir, and be our strong man. Just for a month, till we come to Padua. There, I think, I can find one to take Ulysses’ place. I swear you shall want for nothing and shall have a tent to yourself. You will, in fact, be our guest. And the life will entertain you…”

I laughed.

“I’m sure it would,” I said, “but I have too much to do. My holiday here is ending, and I must leave for England in two or three days.”

“Extend your holiday, sir, for I will wager no desk awaits your return. And your duties with us would be nothing.”

“The weights,” said Colette, “can be altered to suit your strength. Though you are stronger than most, the lifting of weights is an art. But our weights have a plate at the bottom, by which we can let out the sand. And then even I can move them. It is meant to be used when travelling, but we have given that up, for we had to take the sand with us in any event. Still, the plates are there.”

I sat very still.

“In such a case,” I said, “what would happen if somebody questioned the weights?”

Jasper fingered his chin.

“The fact remains, sir, that nobody ever has. No ordinary man can judge between forty and fifty pounds. But come, my friend, you do not know your strength. And weightlifting is a knack. After two days you will pick up a hundredweight.”

I put a hand to my head.

“I ought to get back,” I said, feebly, striving to hide my excitement from those keen eyes. “But Italy is a country which I have never seen.”

“Then here is your chance,” said the girl. “With us you will see the country as tourists never see it.”

“That is true,” said Jasper. “You will see the heart of the country – and not the smirk on its face.”

“We know,” said Colette, “that we cannot offer you money: but do us this favour and you shall be our guest.”

Jasper bowed.

“Our honoured guest, sir. Stroll for a month with us, and you’ll find that we poor players know our place.”

I got to my feet.

“My very good friends,” I said, “if I were to come, be sure I should ask no better than to be one of you. To live and laugh, to labour and rest as you do. To be frank, your suggestion attracts me. Once I worked with a circus, because it served my turn. And I know that, hard though it be, the life is good. And Italy is a country which I should like to see. But I must think it over, before I decide. Can you meet me here tomorrow?”

“Name your hour, sir,” said Jasper.

“What time is your show?”

“At half past seven. Yes, Colette, we must be going.”

“Will half past ten be all right?”

“At night?” said Jasper.

“At night.”

“We shall be here, sir, to take our good fortune up.”

“Don’t be too sure,” I said. “I may not be able to come.”

“Ah, yes,” said Colette. “We will strive to make you happy, and I will wash your linen day after day.”

“Bless your heart,” said I. “I shan’t ask that. I’d like to travel with you. But I have made other arrangements, and whether or no I can break them, I cannot tell.”

“Let him be,” said Jasper. “He knows his mind.” He turned to me. “Until tomorrow, sir.”

With that, he made me a bow and Colette, a smile. Then they turned and passed down the dell, by the side of the busy brook. Before they entered the greenwood, they turned and waved.

I put up a hand and waved back.

“William,” said Mansel, “I think you’ve driven the nail. I have no doubt that the gems can go into the weights, and I simply cannot imagine a safer vehicle. Indeed, so far as I see, there’s only one fence to fly. And that is, of course, that, unless you resemble Ulysses – and that I beg leave to doubt – you cannot go by a post, but must take the smugglers’ way. And that means taking Jasper into your confidence.”

“To a certain extent,” said I. “That the Boche is laying for me will be more than enough.”

“Then that’s all right. But, if you go, Bell must go with you. They’ll see nothing strange in that. And Bell can come and go, can keep in touch with Carson, and, at the appropriate moment, load your weights.”

“Yes,” I said. “Bell will be quite invaluable. I only wish they were leaving the country at once.”

“You must learn the date tomorrow. If you’re to come in, you’ve got to know where you stand.”

“I wish,” said I, “you were going to play the hand.”

“You’ll play it much better,” said Mansel. “Besides, I quite expect to have my hands full. Friar will be back before long, and the Boche may stumble upon us at any time. And your absence will take some explaining… Oh, no. I’m better here. But I feel that you should sign on as soon as you decently can. I have a hunch that a tempest is on the way. And you must have disappeared before it breaks loose.”

“You said last night that the Boche had put Diana on to Friar. How do you make that out?”

Mansel wrinkled his brow.

“The English police could have done it within twelve hours. I think the Boche could have done it in twenty-four. The ground was hard in the drive, but soft in the valley below. So Friar’s second car left prints. And one of the tyres was new, but the rest were old. If a policeman is properly served, it shouldn’t be very hard to follow that up.”

“Say you’re right,” said I. “He got on to Friar. But he never took any action.”

“The Boche doesn’t care about failures: and Friar had failed.”

“He’d done wilful murder,” I said.

“Be your age,” said Mansel. “What’s murder count with a German, if he can smell gold?”

At ten o’clock the next evening I left to keep my appointment, driving the Rolls myself, with Bell by my side. I berthed the car half a mile from the little dell, in a convenient thicket, fed by a track.

As I led the way—

“Stay in the background,” I said, “and listen to what is said. If I want you, I’ll say so, and you will appear. But I don’t think I shall.”

“Very good, sir.”

For this very strange instruction, my instinct was to blame. Not a very fine instinct, I fear, as my tale will show. Still, I had a feeling that Trouble was out that night: and I have learned not to ignore the nudge of Fancy. It may, of course, be misleading; but to take such a hint is worthwhile, though four times out of five your fear is proved vain. For the fifth time you honour the whim that may save your life.

I had been in the dell for ten minutes when Jasper appeared with Colette.

“Ah, my good sir,” he cried, “I knew that you would be here. Whether or no, you have come, because you passed your word.”

“Naturally,” said I. “I keep the appointments I make.”

“Not everyone does. Never mind. We await your decision, sir.”

“Upon certain conditions,” I said, “I will join your troupe.”

“There you are,” cried Colette. “I said he would.”

“We accept your conditions, sir, without hearing what they are.”

“Italy attracts me,” I said. “Were you not bound for Italy, I should not come. When will you enter that country?”

“In ten days’ time,” said Jasper.

I frowned.

“We can leave before that,” said Colette.

“Yes,” said Jasper, “we can. We had not intended to, but we can leave next Thursday, if you insist.”

“I insist upon nothing. But if I am to come – well, I was leaving for England, for I have been here long enough. If, instead, I can leave for Italy, well and good.”

“Next Thursday evening, sir.”

“Good enough. Next, I must bring my servant. He is the best of men and will pull his weight.”

Jasper bowed.

“We shall be most happy to have him. Another mouth means another pair of hands.”

“You will have no complaints,” I said.

“But no man can wash,” said Colette. “Your linen will be my affair.”

“He shall assist you,” I said.

“He shall watch and learn,” said Colette.

“Finally,” said I, “my incognito must be respected. No one outside the troupe must ever have any idea that I am an amateur.”

“That,” said Jasper, firmly, “is understood. You will be our strong man, for so long as you stay. And no one outside the troupe will have the faintest idea that you are not what you seem.”

“In case of emergency, I think I had better be French.”

“You do not look like a Frenchman, but as you will.”

“Those, then, are my conditions.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jasper. “Now I will tell you mine. You will have a tent to yourself, though, if you like, your servant shall sleep with you. You will do no sort of work, except that you will rehearse and will play the strong man. You will rise and retire when you please, your table will be as good as we can afford and from first to last you will be our honoured guest.”

“I think,” I said, “that we shall get on very well. But I want no special fare, for I do not do things by halves. If I am to join your troupe, then I shall be one of you. Do you give two shows tomorrow?”

“No, only one, sir, as usual, at half past seven o’clock. And on Monday we move to Godel. That is a handsome village, four miles from where we stand.”

(In fact, it was not so far – perhaps three miles and a half.)

“Very well,” said I. “I think I should join you at Godel. I mean, if I meet you there, my arrival will cause less remark.”

“That is most true,” said Jasper, “for I can say I had written and asked you to come. We travel betimes, sir: so we shall arrive before noon.”