He left the garden by the lane, reached the quay and called out from the other side of the wall:
“Are you there, captain?”
“Yes.”
“Fix your branch so that I can see it from here. Capital.”
Patrice now joined Don Luis, who was crossing the road. All the way down the Seine are wharves, built on the bank of the river and used for loading and unloading vessels. Barges put in alongside, discharge their cargoes, take in fresh ones and often lie moored one next to the other. At the spot where Don Luis and Patrice descended by a flight of steps there was a series of yards, one of which, the one which they reached first, appeared to be abandoned, no doubt since the war. It contained, amid a quantity of useless materials, several heaps of bricks and building-stones, a hut with broken windows and the lower part of a steam-crane. A placard swinging from a post bore the inscription:
BERTHOU
WHARFINGER & BUILDER.
Don Luis walked along the foot of the embankment, ten or twelve feet high, above which the quay was suspended like a terrace. Half of it was occupied by a heap of sand; and they saw in the wall the bars of an iron grating, the lower half of which was hidden by the sand-heap shored up with planks.
Don Luis cleared the grating and said, jestingly:
“Have you noticed that the doors are never locked in this adventure? Let’s hope that it’s the same with this one.”
His theory was confirmed, somewhat to his own surprise, and they entered one of those recesses where workmen put away their tools.