“So?” Forain’s eyes narrowed. “Then I’ll tell you something. I’ve written to Robert, who’s handling matters on the outside for the project. I’ve given him the formula and told him to use the paint. I happen to know him rather well, and I’m certain that he’ll test out my methods. After all, it’s in behalf of France. I get nothing out of it.”
Rampont spread his hands. “My dear fellow, I’m quite helpless! Your theory is good, I admit; but apparently there’s been a lot of trouble, in the administration, over this whole project.”
Forain grunted. “Do you know where the test will be made?”
“No. I imagine at Bray-sur-Seine, just above the Prussian-occupied territory.”
“Then on January 5th we’ll have results. If my calculations are right.”
“Perhaps then, perhaps never,” said Rampont, with a shrug. “By the way, the Prussians have had the kindness to send us some bad news. The Ville de Paris, which left on the 15th, was brought down or was landed in enemy territory; total loss. The General Chanzy, which left day before yesterday, was caught in a change of wind and landed in Bavaria, total loss.”
Forain whistled. “Bad! When are you going to put me up for active service and give me a balloon?”
“When you cease to be of greater service here, my friend. Patience! You’re on the list of accredited pilots. Continue, I beseech, with your work here.”
Forain left the huge train-shed frowningly. Two balloons down within a week! Bad indeed; a heavy loss in air mail, besides.
Both landed in enemy territory. This indicated that his experiments, his work on different instruments, was badly needed. He had devised simple indicators, but he must do better.
The pilots were, as a rule, seamen or volunteers from other branches of the service, and after a minimum of crude training took out the mail on their first solo flight. Experienced aeronauts, like aneroids and other instruments, had been rapidly used up in the first two weeks. The siege had now lasted full three months, balloons were going out every two or three days as conditions favored, and the problem of affording inexperienced pilots simple apparatus to indicate speed, height and direction was no easy one to solve.
* * * *
At the gas-pits where the ascensions took place, in the train yards beyond the station, Forain passed the guards and found two inflated bags ready for testing. The mail went out only at night, to avoid de Prussian gunfire; thus, during the day he had the place to himself. By means of captive balloons, he was making some extra-contract tests, and working on his instrument devices as well.
Five to three. His preparations made, he spoke to the workmen.
“In five minutes I’ll go up, with a passenger, remaining an hour. One thousand feet; the usual signals, for hauling in or letting up. Remember, we’re trying this new type of basket and heaters, so be ready for any emergency.”
The heaters were foot-warmers of new type, holding hot water, for the comfort of pilots; no flame, of course, could be installed close to the gas-filled bag.
At three o’clock, almost to the instant, Marie appeared, displayed her pass and her papers, and greeted Forain with smiling eagerness. He handed her into the basket and followed, with a pretty compliment on the new coat she was wearing; at his signal the lines were cast off. The balloon, attached by a single cable, soared up and up. Marie clung to the edge of the basket, overcome by the novelty and wonder of all Paris spread below her—or at least, a goodly part of it.
Then, turning, she found Forain beside her.
“Alone at last, with the stars and the angels and the sunbeams!” he exclaimed, and taking her hands, kissed her. She flushed, glanced around, and with a burst of laughter kissed him again.
“There! In sight of all Paris!” she exclaimed merrily. “And to think no one could see! But, my dear, I’ve news for you.” She sobered, as though the cannon-roll from Mont Valerien had brought recollection. “Those brothers of mine have sworn vengeance.”
“Bah! They don’t worry me, except as you’re concerned. Any trouble last night?”
She shrugged. “Naturally; it’ll pass. But give them credit for vicious hatred, my dear. Watch yourself. Such men hate all good men like you, and I’m afraid for you.”
Forain made light of her fears, held her in his arms, and laughed at her delight as more of Paris unfolded. There was little wind; the balloon was scarcely pulled over at all by its anchoring cable. With the heaters, the keen December cold was unnoticed.
“Now to business; look at Paris, while I make some notes,” said Forain. “Then we’re free to talk.”
* * * *
Notebook in hand, he jotted down observations on the new basket with its placements for ballast, mail pouches, apparatus; on the heaters and their position, on the value of the two strapontins, or folding seats, attached to the basket edge. Then he put up the notebook, finding the bag tugging in a freshening breeze, and signaled with a flag. The balloon was brought down a hundred feet, and once more floated level.
“Sit down, be comfortable,” he said, and stood beside her, hand in hand. “My dear, now for the project. It’s going through. We know that the Prussians have stretched nets across the river, so nothing can float down to Paris; they’ve seconded the nets with sunken booms to prevent anything slipping under. The only thing they don’t guard, and can’t guard, is the river bottom itself.”
She grimaced whimsically. “But these devils of Prussians can do even that!”
“Not likely. The idea is to take a zinc ball, or rather oval, about the size of a child’s head; this will hold from five to eight hundred letters. It is soldered tightly, hermetically sealed, weighted so it sinks to the bottom. Around this ball are fins; just as a water-wheel is turned, these fins are turned by the current, so the ball is carried along the bottom. It will, in short, find its own way down to Paris. Simple?”1
“Apparently,” she said cautiously. “How can it be kept secret?”
“Not a soul knows or will know, but the few people in on it. Anyone desiring to get a letter to Paris puts on one franc postage, instead of the usual twenty centimes, and marks the letter “Paris, by way of Moulins on the Allier.” Letters so marked go to this secret way; and theoretically are picked up here at Paris.”
“How?” she demanded. Forain laughed, delighted by her acumen.
“There’s the rub; if they escape Prussian nets, they’ll escape ours. Experiments prove that these balls find their own way past all obstacles. However, the spot where they’ll be picked up here is under the Pont Nationale, the bridge close by your charming home. The first go into the river on January second, and I figure they’ll show up here not later than the fifth. A sunken metal net will be stretched under the bridge to catch them.”
She knit her brows, looking at him, puzzled. “The river’s shallow there, except at one place,” she said, slowly.
“Correct. And oddly enough, my dear, there’s a strong secondary current along those shallows. Now we come to the point.”
Forain paused. “None of those balls will be picked up. I’ve predicted this. Not a single one!”
“Eh? Why not?”
“Because the asinine officials won’t listen to me. They’ll fish each day along the upstream line of the net dredging for the zinc balls. They’ll find none. Certainly they can’t see any that may be down there, twenty to thirty feet under the water! And in the course of twenty hours, I figure, such a ball would dig its own way through the mud beneath the net and be gone downstream. Therefore the problem as I see it is to have those zinc balls make their presence known.”
“By ringing a bell when they hit the metal meshes?” she asked.
Forain whistled. “Hello! That’s an idea; no one has thought of it. It might somehow be possible by using this new electric fluid. Still, nobody knows much about electricity as yet. No; I’ve devised a way. I’ve found a paint, made with a phosphorescent material, which will cover the ball. Upon reaching the net, the ball stops; at night it’ll shine s
trongly.”
“Won’t the paint wash off?” she objected.
Forain laughed. “Not my paint! Once dry, it must be exposed to strong sunlight for two days, to collect light. Then it’ll show, as a faintly radiant presence, even from the bottom of the Seine.”
“And you say nobody will use it?” she asked indignantly.
“Use it? They ridicule the very idea! However, one of the four balls put into the Seine on the first day will be treated as I suggest. If it comes through, if it’s recovered, I’m vindicated; it means a lot! On the night of the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, we must watch—you and I. We must take a look every hour. Eh?”
She clapped her hands, jubilant. “Good! Good! We’ll do it, yes! And if that ball comes through, and none of the others are found—”
“Then, my dear, your husband-to-be will get a government job such as he wants! We can be married at once, in other words, and let America wait till the end of the war!”
All of which, one must admit, was a deliriously happy project to the two most important people in Paris; or rather, above Paris.
By the time the hour was over, every detail was arranged. Marie, a government employee by virtue of her job in the post office, was to be furnished with a special pass; for after the first of the year that bridge and its approaches would be guarded night and day.
“I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow,” Forain promised as they were hauled down.
“But guard yourself!” she cautioned anxiously. “My brother Jules has sworn to wash out the memory of your blows in blood, and the others with him; they mean it, they mean it most dreadfully! You can come to watch for the balls, since there’ll be plenty of soldiers around then; but meantime, stay away from our quarter completely. I’ll meet you anywhere you say, but stay away from the Bercy quarter!”
* * * *
Forain, though he laughed at her fears and at Jules Leon as well, promised.
He had no difficulty in getting the desired pass, by telling Rampont frankly about the scheme. The director of posts laughed heartily; with Christmas a day away, even the bitter Christmas of the siege, he was indulgent to lovers. He added a special order which released Marie from her post office duties the first week in January—a girl, he said amiably, who is spending half the night working on a cold bridge, has no business trying to work by day. This, in reality, was an indication that he favored Forain’s hopes in more than one direction.
A mail balloon got off each of the three days before Christmas; then fog and unfavorable weather intervened. The next departure was on the 27th, and Forain suddenly found himself loaded down with work. The Bayard took out some of his new equipment on the 29th, and for two days he scarcely slept, working feverishly to equip the waiting balloons; snow and storm held off any departures during those days.
On New Year’s Day, Marie evaded the vigilance of her family—who, she stated, were indulging in a sound holiday drunk—and spent the afternoon and evening with him, at such festivities as the stricken city afforded. She warned him anew.
“Jules is more furious than ever; threats, threats, threats! His friends openly predict revolution. They have arms, for half of them are in the Republican Guard. Careful, my dear, careful! If there’s any uprising, Jules will seek your life first of all. I’m afraid he won’t wait for that, either. His words and hints alarm me to the depths!”
“Marriage will end all that,” Forain said. “I was talking yesterday with Vandenberg, the American business man who represents many firms here. He’s interested in my luminous paint. If my ball—our ball!—comes through, we can get money instantly. Vandenberg will advance it for a share in the discovery. We can be married that same day—eh? Yes?”
Her eyes warmed upon him, and she put out her hand to his.
“Done. It’s agreed, my dear! If the ball comes, it’s a lucky omen for all our lives!”
And then, next morning, Forain took up the Newton. She was leaving the following day, a brand new balloon, just past her inspection tests; the basket had been newly hung, and he was testing it under flight conditions.
A thousand feet, two thousand feet in air; snowy Paris was spread beneath him, and the mutter of the guns was continuous. He went about his work, completed it, and waved the flag for the cable to be hauled in. Today, up the Seine, the zinc balls were launching!
Slowly the bag came down. Forain, leaning on the edge of the basket, caught sight of a group of figures close by, on the roof of a shed in the railroad yards. Workmen, by their blouses, faces upraised, staring at him. They were close, so close that he laughed and waved his cap at them.
To his astonishment, he saw—too late—that one of them held a rifle and was aiming at him. Supposing it some joke, he waved again. He was nearly down now, on a level with them. The rifle spurted smoke; a second rifle appeared and spurted smoke. Something struck him. He was whirled around, and dropped in a heap on the floorboards of the basket.
After this, he had evil dreams; they were not coherent at all.
* * * *
When he wakened, it was to darkness, flickering lights, the groans and cries of hurt men sounding all around. He was in a bed. A woman approached, bearing a light; a nurse. She looked at him, uttered an exclamation, and bent over him.
“Do you know me? Is your mind clear?”
“The devil!” exclaimed Forain weakly. He tried to rise and could not. “Of course it’s clear! Where am I?”
“In a hospital. Lie quiet, now! I’ll send for M. Rampont at once.”
She flickered away. Rampont, eh? That made sense, anyway. Another nurse came, refused to talk or answer questions, fed him, and departed. He examined himself; his left arm was bandaged, which scarcely accounted for his weakness. He remembered now—the men on the shed, the rifles. He knew in a flash who was responsible.
No telling, however! If he gave the name of Jules Leon, the result would be terrible for Marie. Paris was rabid about spies. Her brother would be called a spy, a Prussian hireling, would be mobbed, torn to pieces! It would not be credited to any private feud. She, too, must suffer.
Decided on this point, he touched his face and started. Beard! How long had he lain here? His brain leaped to alarm. This beard, and weakness, spelled days. What about the watch on the bridge, and the submarine balls?
This query was still flaming, unanswered, when Rampont came. He advanced to the bed and Forain flung the question at him.
“How long have I been here? What does it mean?”
“Patience!” The official sat down, grasped his hands warmly. “My friend, you were shot on the second; it is now the evening of the fifth. You lost much blood before your wound was bandaged, you had fever. Now all is well, but you’ll be here for another week. I had you brought to this temporary hospital, near my own house.”
“The balls! The zinc balls!” exclaimed Forain. “Have they come through?”
Rampont made a gesture of negation. “None, so far; not one. Now tell me—”
“Wait!” broke in Forain. “Has any watch been made at night? Good lord, man, is everything lost because I was laid up?”
“My dear fellow, all the technical men say your idea was nonsense,” Rampant said compassionately. “Your paint would wash off, would be covered with mud, would not show. Let us forget the whole affair.
“The important thing is for you to tell us what you can in regard to this attack. Prussian spies, obviously; your life is invaluable to us, and they know it. Did you see the men who shot at you?”
Forain nodded. “Some men on the roof of a shed near the tracks.”
He went on to tell, mechanically, the little he knew, and said nothing of what he suspected. His mind was occupied entirely with the failure of his cherished project. The thought of Marie leaped into his brain.
“Where is she? Marie Leon? Does she know about this injury to me?”
“No one knows,” said Rampont. “I’ve kept the matter secret—”
“Then, for the love of heaven, Monsie
ur, send word at once to Marie Leon!”
So agonized was Forain’s manner, that the kindly official at once consented. He glanced at his watch; nine o’clock. He promised to send an orderly immediately. As for the zinc balls, he shrugged anew. He himself, and everyone else, had given up hope of any result from the harebrained scheme.
He did so. More, he returned an hour later, bringing some little delicacies that the hospital could not supply, and also an astonishing bit of news.
“I had forgotten about that girl of yours, Forain,” he exclaimed. “The weather’s been abominable; the Newton got away yesterday, but a fresh snowstorm is upon us tonight. My office has been like a madhouse.
“Ah, that girl! What devotion! My messenger brought back word that he had found her—where, think you? On the Pont Nationale! On the bridge unsheltered from the blast. She has been there the past three nights. Watching for your confounded luminous ball, of course. She comes and goes, they say, or remains there by the hour.”
Forain groaned. Watching for him, watching for the zinc ball—both! She must have thought he had failed her entirely, thanks to the accursed secrecy flung around him; she must have blamed him for never sending her a word or a line! Yet she had stuck to the task assigned, bitter weather or not. The eyes of Forain filled with tears.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Rampont spoke gently. “I regret that I forgot all about her; a thousand distractions have surrounded me, mon ami.”
“True as steel, true as steel!” murmured Forain, and then smiled quickly. “Monsieur! May I ask a favor, a personal kindness?”
“Whatever I can do, with all my heart!”
“Then send for Marie now, tonight, at once! Get an official from the Mairie, get the formalities waived, and have us married. She needs protection from that confounded family of hers.”
Rampont, on whose shoulders weighed the responsibility for the entire air mail service, beamed joyously at this added burden. For so important an official, and in time of war and siege, with Prussian shells bursting in Paris, formalities were no barrier.
“Expect us, my friend, in an hour!” said he gayly, and departed. Before he could close the door, an excited voice called his name; an orderly appeared, panting.
The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack Page 94