“I am certain of one thing,” said Speed, staring out over the sun-lit water with narrowing eyes. “I know that Mornac is using Buckhurst.”
“Perhaps it is Buckhurst who is using Mornac,” I suggested.
“I think both those gentlemen have the same view in end—to feather their respective nests under cover of a general smash,” said Speed. “It would not do for Mornac to desert the Empire under any circumstances. But he can employ Buckhurst to squeeze it dry and then strike an attitude as its faithful defender in adversity.”
“But why does Buckhurst desire to go to Paradise?” I asked.
The boat swung into a dock near the Point du Jour; a few passengers left, a few came aboard; the boat darted on again under the high viaduct of masonry, past bastions on which long siege cannon glistened in the sunshine, past lines of fresh earthworks, past grassy embankments on which soldiers moved to the rumble of drums.
“I know something about Paradise,” said Speed, in a low voice.
I waited; Speed chewed his cigar grimly.
“Look here, Scarlett,” he said. “Do you know what has become of the crown jewels of France?” 152
“No,” I said.
“Well, I’ll tell you. You know, of course, that the government is anxious; you know that Paris is preparing to stand siege if the Prussians double up Bazaine and the army of Châlons in the north. But you don’t know what a pitiable fright the authorities are in. Why, Scarlett, they are scared almost to the verge of idiocy.”