Chapter XXIV: The Robbers

“It is not late enough yet, Finot, it would be wiser to hide ourselves in the woods a little longer.”

“But Passe Partout, we must have a little daylight to spy around; I, especially, for I have not studied the entrances.”

“You have never studied anything, your comrades certainly made a mistake in naming you Finot, I would have called you Pataud, instead.”

“That does not prevent my being the originator of all the good plans.”

“Good plans indeed! that depends. What are we going to do at the castle?”

“What are we going to do? Rifle the kitchen garden, cut up the artichokes, gather the peas, the beans, the turnips, carrots, carry off the fruits, that is the work.”

“And what then?”

“Why do you say what then? We are going to collect everything in a pile, get it over the wall, and take it to the market at Moulins and sell it.”

“And how will you get into the garden, dunce?”

“Over the wall, with a ladder to be sure. Would you have me go to the gardener and politely request the loan of his keys and tools?”

“That’s a poor joke, I only want to know if you have marked out the place where we are to climb over the wall?”

“No, and for that reason, I prefer going at once, to reconnoitre.”

“And if they should see you, what would you say?”

“I would say—that I came to beg a glass of cider and a crust of bread.”

“That plan is not worth much. Now, here is my idea: I know the kitchen garden; one part of the wall needs repairing; I can climb up there by setting my feet among the stones; I shall find a ladder and pass it over to you, as you are not very expert in climbing.”

“No; I am not as much of a cat as you.”

“But suppose some one comes to upset our plans?”

“You are a real child; if any one comes to disturb me, I shall know what to do.”

“What would you do?”

“If a dog, I would kill him; I don’t carry my sharp knife to no purpose.”

“But suppose it’s a man?”

“‘A man?’” answered Finot, scratching his ear. “That would be more perplexing—A man? yet a man can be killed as well as a dog. If it were only for something valuable but for vegetables! And, then, this castle is full of people.”

“But tell me, what would you do?”

“My faith! I would make off as fast as possible; it would be the safest plan.”

“You are a coward, do you know that? If you see or hear a man, you have only to call me, and I will settle him.”

“Act according to your own taste; it would not be mine.”

“Well, now we are agreed—this is the plan: To-night we go to the kitchen garden wall; you remain at one end as a guard, whilst I climb over and get you a ladder, by means of which you rejoin me.”

“Yes; it is all right,” answered Finot.

Just then he looked anxiously around, listened, and said in a whisper:

“I heard something stir back there, could it be anybody?”

“Who wants to hide in the woods?” answered Passe Partout. “You are always afraid; it may be a frog or a snake.”

They said no more. I did not stir again, and I now began to devise some means of thwarting these robbers’ plans and causing their arrest. I could warn no one; I could not even prevent their entering the garden. However, after much reflection, I thought of a scheme that might end theirs. I let them set out ahead of me, determined not to budge until they were out of hearing.

I knew they could not walk fast, as the night was very dark. I took a short cut, and, clearing several hedges, reached the wall long before them. I knew the dilapidated place of which Passe Partout had spoken, and, finding it, crouched as close as possible to the wall to prevent their discovering me.

Here I waited at least a quarter of an hour, still no one came; at last, I heard heavy footsteps and then a faint whispering. They approached very cautiously, one coming towards the spot in which I was concealed (this was Passe Partout), the other going in the opposite direction, near the entrance (this was Finot).

I saw nothing, but I heard all. When Passe Partout reached the spot where several stones had fallen from the wall, and thus made a sufficient resting place for the feet, he began to ascend, assisting himself with his hands. I did not stir; I scarcely breathed; I heard and understood every one of his movements. When he had climbed about as high as my head, I darted out from my hiding place, seized him by the leg and gave him a vigorous pull. Before he had time to recollect himself, he was on the ground, stunned by the fall, wounded by the stones. To prevent his crying out, or calling on his comrade for help, I gave him a hard kick on the head, which left him unconscious. I then took my station very near him, thinking his comrade would soon come to see what had happened. I had not waited long ere I heard Finot advancing very cautiously. He took a few steps and stopped—he listened, heard nothing—and went a few steps farther. In this manner, he at length drew very near his companion, but without perceiving it, as his gaze was fixed upon the wall and the companion lay motionless on the ground.

“Pst! pst! Have you the ladder? Must I mount now?” said he, in a low voice. The other, not hearing him, of course there was no answer. I saw that he was not much in the notion of climbing and might leave—it was time to act. I rushed at him, and, pulling him to the ground by the back of his blouse, gave him, like his companion, a hard kick on the head, and, with the same success, he lay motionless near his friend. Then, having nothing more to lose, I began to bray in my most formidable voice; I ran to the gardener’s house, to the stables, to the castle, braying with such violence that everybody was aroused. Some of the bravest hastened out with arms and lanterns; I ran up to them, and, by running a little ahead, led them to the two robbers stretched at the foot of the wall.

“Two dead men! What can that mean?” said William’s father.

“They are not dead,” answered James’s father; “they breathe.”

“And I just heard one groan,” said the gardener.

“Look at the blood! Such a wound on his head!” said the coachman.

“And the other is similarly wounded; it looks like the kick of a horse or mule,” said William’s father.

“Yes,” replied James’s father; “here is the mark of the shoe on his forehead.”

“What are the gentlemen’s orders?” asked the coachman; “what shall we do with these men?”

“Carry them to the house,” answered William’s father; “harness up the cab, and go for the doctor; whilst waiting for him, the rest of us will try to restore them to consciousness.”

The gardener brought a litter, on which the wounded men were placed and carried to a large room used as an orangery in winter. They were still unconscious.

“I do not know these faces,” said the gardener, after examining them attentively by the light.

“Perhaps they have some papers about them that will reveal their identity,” said Louis’s father; “we ought to let their families know they are here and wounded.”

The gardener rummaged in their pockets, and drew forth some papers, which he handed James’s papa; then two sharp, pointed knives and a big bunch of keys.

“Ah! ah! This tells what these men are,” he exclaimed, “they came to rob and perhaps kill!”

“I begin to understand it all now,” said William’s papa; “Cadichon’s presence and his extraordinary brayings explain matters; these men came here to rob; Cadichon instinctively divined their intentions, attacked them, kicked them on the head, and then began braying to arouse us.”

“That is just it, the very thing,” said James’s papa; “this brave Cadichon can boast of having rendered us a great service; come, Cadichon, you are restored to favor this time.”

I was happy once more, as I promenaded up and down before the green-house, whilst Finot and Passe Partout received the necessary attentions. They had not yet recovered consciousness, when Doctor Tudoux, who was not long in making his appearance, reached the spot. He examined their wounds.

“Here are two well-directed blows,” said he; “I see distinctly the mark of a small horse-shoe, or I might say a donkey’s—and,” added he, perceiving me, “it is probably a new piece of mischief on the part of this animal, which seems as interested in our actions as if he understood them.”

“Not a piece of mischief, but an act of fidelity and intelligence,” answered William’s papa; “these men are robbers, as you see by the knives and papers found on them.”

And he began to read:

“No. 1. Castle Herp. Many people; not easily robbed—kitchen garden easy—vegetables and fruits, wall a little high.”

“No. 2. Presbytery. Old priest; no arms—woman servant, old and deaf—Good chance to rob during Mass.”

“No. 3. Sourval Castle. Master absent—Wife alone on ground floor, servant in the second story, fine silver, easily robbed. Kill if they give an alarm.”

“No. 4. Chanday Castle. Fierce watch dogs to be poisoned—no one on the ground floor—plate, gallery of rich curiosities and jewels to rob. Kill if anybody comes.”

“You see,” continued he, “these men are burglars who came to rifle our garden in default of something better. Whilst you give them surgical attention, I will send to the town for the chief of the police.”

Drawing from his pocket a case of surgical instruments, Doctor Tudoux took a lancet and bled the two robbers, who soon opened their eyes. They were greatly frightened at finding themselves in the castle and surrounded by people. When entirely restored to consciousness, they wished to speak.

“Silence knaves,” said Doctor Tudoux slowly and calmly. “Silence, there is no necessity for your telling us who you are or what brought you here.”

Finot put his hand in his vest; the papers were not there, he sought his knife, it was also gone. He looked at Passe Partout with a serious air and said in a low voice:

“I told you in the woods I heard a noise.”

“Hush,” answered Passe Partout in the same tone, “they will understand. We must deny everything.”

“But the papers, they have them.”

“We must say we found them.”

“And the knives?”

“We found them also, we must make a bold stand.”

“Do you know who it was gave you that blow on the head which stretched you senseless?”

“My faith! I do not know, I had not time to see or hear. I found myself on the ground and struck in a trice.”

“And I the same. We must find out however, if they saw us climb the wall.”

“We will indeed find out, those who attacked us, of course, will tell how and why.”

“That is true. Till then we must deny everything. Just now, let us agree upon the details of our account, so as not to contradict each other. First, were we journeying together? Where did we find the—”

“Separate these two men,” said Louis’s father, “they are agreeing upon the tale they are to tell.”

Two men seized Finot, and two, Passe Partout, bound them hand and foot, in spite of their resistance, and carried Passe Partout into another room.

The night was far advanced, all were impatiently awaiting the chief of the police. About daybreak he arrived, and accompanied by four policeman, having been told there was question of arresting two robbers. My little masters’ fathers recounted all that had happened, and produced the knives and papers found in the men’s pockets.

“This sort of a knife,” said the officer, “indicates dangerous burglars, who murder to further their purposes. Moreover, it is easy to learn from these papers, that they had planned several robberies in the neighborhood. I would not be at all surprised if these two men were not Finot and Passe Partout, very hardened brigands escaped from the galleys, and now the object of official pursuit in several of the departments, where they have committed numberless and audacious thefts. I am going to examine them separately, you may assist at the examination if you wish.”

Saying this, he entered the room where Finot lay. Looking at him an instant, he said:

“Good morning, Finot! so you are taken at last.”

Finot trembled and reddened, but said nothing.

“Ah! Finot, so we have lost our tongue? Nevertheless, it was voluble enough at the last trial.”

“To whom were you speaking, sir,” said Finot looking all around him, “there is no one here but myself.”

“I know that very well, it is to yourself I am speaking.”

“I do not know, sir, why you address me thus, I am not acquainted with you.”

“Yes, but I am acquainted with you, you are Finot, an escaped criminal, condemned to the galleys for robbery and assaults.”

“You are mistaken, sir, I am not the person you pretend to know so well.”

“Then who are you, whence do you come, and where were you going?”

“I am a dealer in sheep and was on my way to a fair at Moulins, to buy lambs.”

“Indeed! and your companion, is he also a dealer in sheep and lambs?”

“I do not know, we had met but a few moments before we were attacked and overcome by a band of robbers.”

“And what about the papers in your pockets?”

“I do not even know what they contain, we found them not far from here, and had not time to examine them.”

“And the knives?”

“The knives were with the papers.”

“Really, you were lucky, to find and pick up so much without being able to see, the night was very dark.”

“It was mere chance. My comrade stepped upon something that felt strange, we both stooped down, and feeling around, found these papers and knives which we divided.”

“It is very unfortunate they were divided, for this circumstance furnishes evidence sufficient to thrust each of you in prison.”

“You have no right to put us in prison, we are honest men.”

“That is just what we are to find out, and before very long. Good day, Finot. Do not disturb yourself,” added he, seeing that Finot attempted to rise from the bench. “Men, give this man every attention, and keep him under your eye, for he has already escaped us more than once.”

The officer retired, leaving Finot anxious and dejected.

“If Passe Partout should only give the same account as myself,” said Finot, “but it is mere chance that he does.”

Seeing the officer enter, Passe Partout felt that all was lost; however, he tried to conceal his anxiety and appear at ease, whilst the policeman looked at him attentively.

“How do you happen to be here wounded and tied?” said the officer.

“I know nothing about it,” answered Passe Partout.

“You certainly know who you are, where you were going, by whom you were wounded.”

“I know very well who I am, and where I was going, but I do not know who brutally attacked me.”

“Well then, we will proceed in order—who are you?”

“Is that your business? You have no right to ask travelers who they are.”

“I have so good a right, that I put thumb-screws on those who refuse to answer, and take them to prison.”

“I will begin again: who are you?”

“I am a cider merchant.”

“Your name if you please.”

“Robert Partout.”

“Where were you going?”

“Just wherever I could buy cider.”

“You were not alone, you had a companion?”

“Yes, my partner in business, we attend to our affairs together.”

“And these papers in your pockets, do you know anything about them?”

“Ah!” said Passe Partout mentally, “he has read these papers, and thinks he can catch me there, but I will outwit him.”

And then he added aloud:

“Do I know anything about them? I certainly do. You mean the papers the brigands lost, and which I intended taking to the city police.”

“How did you get these papers?”

“We found them on the way, and having read them, were so anxious to deliver them to the authorities, that we continued our journey at night.”

“And the knives that were found on you?”

“The knives? we brought them to defend ourselves, for we had been told there were robbers in this part of the country.”

“How and by whom were you and your companion wounded?”

“By robbers who came upon us without our seeing them.”

“Ah! Finot’s account is different from yours.”

“Finot is so frightened that he has lost his memory, you must not credit what he says.”

“I do not believe what he says, any more than I believe what you yourself tell me, friend Passe Partout, for I am well acquainted with you, you have betrayed yourself.”

Passe Partout immediately perceived what a fool he had been in recognizing his companion as Finot. It was a nickname given him at the prison in derision of his lack of cunning.

As to Passe Partout, his real name was Partout. One day as they were hurrying to the refectory, Finot exclaimed, “Passe Partout,” and the name became a fixture. He could deny matters no longer, still he would not confess; but shrugging his shoulders said:

“Because I am acquainted with Finot? It was no harm to suppose you spoke of my companion. I thought you called him Finot in derision.”

“Well, that is good! twist that as you will; it is none the less true, however, that you and your companion were journeying together buying cider, that you found these papers on the road, read them, and were carrying them to the town to put them in the hands of the authorities—that you bought the knives to defend yourselves against robbers, that you were attacked and wounded by these same robbers,—is not that the story?”

“Yes, yes; that is, indeed, my account.”

“Say, rather, your tale; for your companion has told quite another story.”

“What did he say?” anxiously inquired Passe Partout.

“It is not necessary for you to know just at present, but when you are both in the convict prison he will tell you.”

And the officer went out of the room, leaving Passe Partout in a state of rage and anxiety easily imagined.

“Do you think, doctor, that these men are able to walk to the town?” inquired the officer of Doctor Tudoux.

“I think they can get there, if you do not urge them on too fast,” responded Doctor Tudoux, slowly. “Moreover, should they even give out on the way, you could easily send for a carriage and put them in it; but they are badly kicked on the head, and might die in three or four days.”

The officer was perplexed, for he was a kind man, and, although the prisoners deserved no pity, he did not wish to make them suffer unnecessarily. Mr. de Ponchat, father of William and Henry, seeing his embarrassment, proposed to harness up one of our conveyances. His offer was gratefully accepted, and, when the vehicle was brought to the door, Finot and Passe Partout were put into it, each between two guards. Moreover, their feet were tied to prevent their leaping out and escaping, and the officer on horseback rode beside the wagon, never losing sight of his prisoners. They soon disappeared, and I remained alone before the house, eating grass and impatiently awaiting my little masters, especially my dear James, whom I longed to see. I knew that the service I had just rendered would secure their pardon for all past misdeeds.

When, at last, it was a reasonable hour in the morning, and everyone about the castle had arisen, dressed and breakfasted, a group rushed down the front steps. It was the children. All ran to me and caressed me to my heart’s content, but the caresses of none were so affectionate or so dear to me as those of little James.

“My good Cadichon,” said he, “you have come back! I was so sorry when you went away! You see my dear Cadichon, that we still love you!”

“He has really become good,” said Maud.

“And he has lost that insolent air he used to have,” said Beatrice.

“And he bites his comrade and the watch dogs, no longer,” said Elizabeth.

“And he lets himself be saddled and bridled without trouble,” said Louis.

Helen—“And he doesn’t eat the bouquets, I hold in my hand.”

Ruth—“And he doesn’t kick any more when we mount him.”

William—“And he doesn’t run after my pony any more to bite his tail.”

James—“And he has saved all our fruits and vegetables by causing the arrest of these robbers.”

Henry—“And he has broken their hands with his feet.”

Elizabeth—“But how could he cause the arrest of the robbers?”

William—“We do not know all the particulars, but the household was aroused by his brayings. Papa, my uncles and some servants went out, and saw Cadichon galloping up and down from the house to the garden; following him with lanterns till he came to the end of the wall around the kitchen garden, they there found these two men, unconscious whom they discovered to be robbers.”

James—“How could they tell these men were robbers? do not robbers look and dress like us?”

Elizabeth—“Indeed they are not like us! I have seen a band of robbers, they wore pointed hats, and chestnut colored mantles and they had such wicked countenances and enormous mustaches.”

“Oh! where did you see them and when?” exclaimed all the children at once.

Elizabeth—“I saw them, last winter, at the Franconia theatre.”

Henry—“Ah! ah! ah! What nonsense! I thought you meant real robbers, that you had met in some of your travels, and I was astonished at never having heard my uncle and aunt mention it.”

“Certainly, sir, they were real robbers,” answered Elizabeth quite piqued, “the soldiers fought against them, and killed some and took some prisoners. There was nothing funny about it; I was much frightened and some of the poor soldiers were wounded.”

William—“Ah! ah! ah! how silly you are! you saw what we call a drama, which is played by paid men, who repeat it every night.”

Elizabeth—“How can they repeat it when they are killed?”

William—“They only pretend to be killed or wounded, they are as sound as you or I.”

Elizabeth—“How then did papa and my uncles know these men were robbers?”

William—“Because knives to kill people were found in their pockets, and—”

“But those knives to kill people, how are they made?” interrupted James.

William—“Like—like, all other knives.”

James—“Then how could you tell that they were to kill people? Perhaps they were to cut their bread?”

William—“You worry me James, you always want to understand everything, and you interrupted me, just as I was going to tell you, that papers were found on them, revealing their plans; it was all written down what they were to do, steal our vegetables, and kill the priest and many other people.”

James—“And why were they not going to kill us?”

Elizabeth—“Because they know papa and my uncles are very brave, that they have pistols and guns, and also that we all would have helped.”

Henry—“You would be famous assistance, indeed, if any one were to attack us.”

Elizabeth—“I would be as brave as you, sir, and I would know very well how to pull the robbers by the legs to prevent their killing papa.”

Maud—“Come, come; don’t quarrel, but let William tell us what he heard.”

Elizabeth—“It is not necessary for William to tell us what we already know.”

William—“Then why ask me how papa discovered that these men were robbers?”

“Masters William and Henry, master Alfred wants you,” said the gardener, who had just brought the vegetables for the kitchen.

“Where is he?” asked William and Henry.

“In the garden,” answered the gardener; “he dares not come to the house, for fear of meeting Cadichon.”

I sighed, as I thought that poor Alfred feared me not without reason since the sad day I had treated him so shamefully, almost drowning him in a filthy ditch, after scratching him with briers and thorns, and nibbling the pony’s tail until he was pitched over its head.

“I ought to make reparation,” said I; “what can I do, what service can I render him to convince him that he has no longer any reason to fear me?”