Bayonne.
In a few words, but with evident appreciation of the adventure, Mills described
to us how he swam to the beach clad simply in a money belt and a pair of
trousers. Shells were falling all round till a tiny French gunboat came out of
Bayonne and shooed the Numancia away out of territorial waters.
    He was very amusing and I was fascinated by the mental picture of that
tranquil man rolling in the surf and emerging breathless, in the costume you
know, on the fair land of France, in the character of a smuggler of war
material. However, they had never arrested or expelled him, since he was there
before my eyes. But how and why did he get so far from the scene of his sea
adventure was an interesting question. And I put it to him with most naïve
indiscretion which did not shock him visibly. He told me that the ship being
only stranded, not sunk, the contraband cargo aboard was doubtless in good
condition. The French custom-house men were guarding the wreck. If their
vigilance could be - h'm - removed by some means, or even merely reduced, a lot
of these rifles and cartridges could be taken off quietly at night by certain
Spanish fishing boats. In fact, salved for the Carlists, after all. He thought
it could be done. ...
    I said with professional gravity that given a few perfectly quiet nights
(rare on that coast) it could certainly be done.
    Mr. Mills was not afraid of the elements. It was the highly inconvenient
zeal of the French custom-house people that had to be dealt with in some way.
    »Heavens!« I cried, astonished. »You can't bribe the French Customs. This
isn't a South American republic.«
    »Is it a republic?« he murmured, very absorbed in smoking his wooden pipe.
    »Well, isn't it?«
    He murmured again, »Oh, so little.« At this I laughed, and a faintly
humorous expression passed over Mills' face. No. Bribes were out of the
question, he admitted. But there were many legitimist sympathies in Paris. A
proper person could set them in motion and a mere hint from high quarters to the
officials on the spot not to worry over-much about that wreck. ...
    What was most amusing was the cool, reasonable tone of this amazing project.
Mr. Blunt sat by very detached, his eyes roamed here and there all over the
café; and it was while looking upward at the pink foot of a