Without a word, Don Luis took from his pocket the book which Patrice had seen lying on his knees, The Memoirs of Benjamin Franklin, and motioned to him to read some lines which he indicated with his finger. They were written towards the end of the reign of Louis XVI and ran:
“We go daily to the village of Passy adjoining my home, where you take the waters in a beautiful garden. Streams and waterfalls pour down on all sides, this way and that, in artfully leveled beds. I am known to like skilful mechanism, so I have been shown the basin where the waters of all the rivulets meet and mingle. There stands a little marble figure in the midst; and the weight of water is strong enough to turn it a quarter circle to the left and then pour down straight to the Seine by a conduit, which opens in the ground of the basin.”
Patrice closed the book; and Don Luis went on to explain:
“Things have changed since, no doubt, thanks to the energies of Essarès Bey. The water escapes some other way now; and the aqueduct was used to drain off the gold. Besides, the bed of the river has narrowed. Quays have been built, with a system of canals underneath them. You see, captain, all this was easy enough to discover, once I had the book to tell me. Doctus cum libro.”
“Yes, but, even so, you had to read the book.”
“A pure accident. I unearthed it in Siméon’s room and put it in my pocket, because I was curious to know why he was reading it.”
“Why, that’s just how he must have discovered Essarès Bey’s secret!” cried Patrice. “He didn’t know the secret. He found the book among his employer’s papers and got up his facts that way. What do you think? Don’t you agree? You seem not to share my opinion. Have you some other view?”
Don Luis did not reply. He stood looking at the river. Beside the wharves, at a slight distance from the yard, a barge lay moored, with apparently no one on her. But a slender thread of smoke now began to rise from a pipe that stood out above the deck.
“Let’s go and have a look at her,” he said.
The barge was lettered: