Hence, though neither Hambledon nor myself knew of it, both De Gex and his toady and agent, Gaston Suzor, were well aware of our presence, and, moreover, were kept posted concerning our movements from day to day!
Though we were in ignorance of all this, yet the desperate nature of the plot against me caused me to wonder what exactly was the fear in which De Gex held me. Of course it concerned Gabrielle Tennison. But exactly how, I failed to surmise.
One thing was certain, that the mystery-man of Europe intended to rid himself of me, and in this he was being aided by certain of his friends, chief among whom were Suzor and Moroni. That the assassin Despujol was only a paid servant was quite clear. But the pay must have been a very handsome sum to cause him to dare to come to Madrid so boldly and run the risk of arrest.
I smiled at my own innocence when I remembered how completely he had imposed upon me by showing me his papers of identity, and the photographs of his pretended family. Truly only a great criminal could have remained so imperturbed and polite to the man whom he intended should die.
“This drug orosin is a very mysterious one, I suppose?” I remarked a few seconds later as the Professor, who had offered me a cigar, was in the act of lighting up.
“Yes. A very weak solution taken by the mouth produces extraordinary effects upon the human brain. The latter almost instantly becomes unbalanced and the victim lapses into an unconscious state for days, even for weeks,” he said. “Very often the brain is quite normal, save that a complete loss of memory follows the return to consciousness. In other cases orosin has produced complete and hopeless dementia.”
“Always hopeless?” I asked eagerly, recollecting my own case and that of Gabrielle Tennison.
“Not always hopeless. There have been cases that have been cured.”
“Do you know any personally?” I demanded breathlessly.
“There are one or two – very few – on record. Professor Gourbeil, the well-known alienist of Lyons, has observed two patients who recovered. But the majority of cases where orosin has been administered were found incurable. The mind is blank, the memory completely destroyed, and the general health so undermined that only the strongest persons can withstand the strain.”
At once I described Gabrielle’s symptoms and general attitude, whereupon the Professor said:
“What you tell me are the exact symptoms exhibited by a person to whom a small dose of orosin has been administered. In most cases, however, such a state of mind develops into actual insanity with a homicidal tendency. Such a patient should be very carefully watched, for in ninety per cent. the chance of a cure is, alas! beyond expectation.”
CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH
MORE ABOUT THE MYSTERY-MAN
One very important fact I had established. Orosin was the obscure and little-known drug that had been administered to Gabrielle Tennison, as well as to myself, by the mystery-man of Europe at his palatial house in Stretton Street. Gabrielle being the weaker, was still suffering from its paralysing effects, while I, the stronger, had practically recovered.
Yet it had been intended by the daring Despujol that a fatal “accident” should now befall me! And could anything be plainer than that the fellow for whom the police were searching so eagerly was a hireling of the man De Gex who went in fear of me?
That most secret and most potent of all poisons might be known to Moroni! Indeed, it apparently was known to him, and the endeavour had been to introduce it into my system by means of an infected carpet pin.
On leaving Professor Vega I at once sent a note round to Hambledon, and awaited his arrival.
When he came I related all the professor had told me.
“Well, Hugh,” he said, “we now know the truth, and it remains for us to combat the fiends. If you are marked down – no doubt I am also. So it behoves us both to be very wary.”
“Why can’t we tell the police the whole circumstances?” I suggested.
“My dear fellow, they wouldn’t believe you, and they wouldn’t arrest such a powerful man as Oswald De Gex,” was his serious reply. “Money can buy immunity from arrest in every country in Europe, and especially De Gex’s money, for it can be distributed in secret by his agents. No. If we are to be successful we must lay our plans just as cleverly as he lays his. We must allow him to believe that we are entirely unsuspicious of his plotting. That is our only way.”
I realized that there was much truth in his argument. It remained with us to pretend ignorance. Therefore we resolved to still watch and wait.
A few hours later I told Señor Andrade, the Chief of Police, of the professor’s discovery that the points of the pins had been infected with orosin, the newly discovered drug which in small doses produced loss of memory and insanity, and in larger doses sudden death.
In reply, he informed me that though every effort had been made to trace the elusive fugitive, all had been in vain, and that he was still at large.
“But if he has this terrible drug in his possession he is more than ever a danger to society,” the Spanish official went on, speaking in French. “I thank you, m’sieur, for all the information you have given me, and you may rely upon me to take every possible step towards securing his arrest. I was in telegraphic communication with the Paris Sûreté only this morning concerning him. I will wire them again. They have been stirred into activity by the message I sent them after your call to see me.”
I longed again to be frank with the affable Señor Andrade, yet I saw that if I were I might negative all chance of solving the problem which concerned the health and life of the girl whom I had grown to love so fervently.
Upon a sudden impulse I remarked with affected carelessness:
“I hear that our English financier, Mr. De Gex, is at the Ritz.”
“Yes,” he replied. “He is here under an assumed name in connexion with some big railway scheme in Estremadura – a line between Toledo and Merida. It is badly wanted, and has been talked of for years. There is a huge stretch of country south of the Tagus as far as Villa Nueva without any railway communication. The King himself has been agitating for the development of that rich agricultural region for the last ten years. And now it seems as though your great financier, Monsieur De Gex, is here to consult with the Ministry of Communications.”
“Yes,” I said, realizing in what high esteem that mystery-man of millions was held.
“I do not think I would care to have such colossal wealth as his,” remarked the Chief of Police. “As soon as he arrived from Paris I had orders from the Ministry to place him under surveillance, because, it seems, he goes in fear of some personal attack upon him.”
“By whom?” I asked, instantly interested.
“The information is vague,” was his reply. Then, taking up a large yellow paper from his desk, he said: “It seems that he has applied to the Ministry for personal protection, and for a daily report of anyone who may be keeping observation upon him. There is a young Englishman living at the Palace Hotel who seems unduly interested in the gentleman’s movements. We are watching him.”
I held my breath. This was an unexpected revelation. De Gex was in fear of us, and had resorted to that ruse in order to keep himself posted upon Hambledon’s movements! Truly the situation was daily growing more complicated!
“Surely such a well-known man as Mr. De Gex – a man who is noted not only for his immense wealth, but for his generous contributions to charity – could not have enemies?” I remarked.
“Everyone has enemies, my dear m’sieur,” was the police official’s suave reply. “Señor De Gex was here in Madrid a year ago when he made a similar application to the Ministry for personal surveillance. He was here in connexion with the foundation of the new Madrid and Southern Spain Banking Corporation, which is guaranteed by a group of French and Dutch financiers of whom Señor De Gex is the head.”
He paused, and then continued:
“He seems highly strung and nervous. All men who are in the public eye seem to be the same. Well-known foreigners visiting Madrid often apply for surveillance, yet there is certainly no need of it. And I confess to you that my staff is, after all, unduly worked.”
“I can quite imagine that,” I said. “But is a strict watch kept upon Mr. De Gex?”
“Yes, and upon his agent, Monsieur Suzor, also.”
“Has Monsieur Suzor been in Madrid before?”
“He was here two years ago when Señor De Gex had some big financial deal with the Count Chamartin, who was head of the Miramar Shipping Company of Barcelona. They say he bought the whole fleet of steamers from Count Chamartin.”
“Was Count Chamartin wealthy?”
“Yes. A millionaire, without a doubt. But it is said that shortly before his death he quarrelled with his wife. Why, nobody knows. She lives at Segovia, and their house here in the capital has just been sold.”
“Was any attempt made upon Mr. De Gex?” I asked.
“Well, a mysterious young Frenchman called one night at the Ritz and demanded to see him. He was very excited, and when he was refused admission upstairs, he flourished a revolver. My agent on duty arrested the stranger, who was, after examination, deported. For that Señor De Gex sent me a letter of thanks, and the scarf-pin which you see I wear.”
The pin he indicated consisted of a single black pearl with the base surrounded by diamonds, an expensive piece of jewellery. That, in itself, was sufficient to show that Oswald De Gex was a past-master in the art of bribery, and that he had established in the minds of the authorities of the Spanish capital that when he came there he came in the interests of the Government, and hence he could do no wrong.
Ah! How I longed to be able to tell my story to that charming official. But I saw that if I did so he would not only disbelieve me, but put me down as an exaggerating fool. So I held my tongue.
I further questioned him concerning De Gex and his friend Suzor.
“Monsieur Suzor has been in Madrid before,” he said. “He is agent of Señor De Gex. But how wealthy the latter must be! During the war he made a big loan to our Government. The real extent of it is not known, but some say that he can pull the strings of the Cabinet in any way he wishes, though the King disapproved of the whole transaction. At least that is the rumour. Yet, after all, Señor De Gex is a true friend of Spain, even though he, like all financiers, obtains huge percentages upon his loans.”
“True,” I laughed. “Men of wealth are seldom philanthropists. One finds more true philanthropy among the poor, and in the artistic circles of lower Bohemia, than in the circles of the ultra-rich. Philanthropy is not written in the dictionary of the war-rich – those blatant profiteers with their motors and their places in the country, who, having fattened upon the lives of the brave fellows who fought and died to save Europe from the unholy Hun, are now enjoying their lives, while the widows and orphans of heroes starve.”
“Ah, M’sieur Garfield, with that I entirely agree,” sighed the astute man seated at his writing-table with the three telephones at his elbow. “In my official career as head of the police department of Madrid, I have watched recent events, and I have seen how men who were little removed from the category of the worst criminals, have suddenly jumped into wealth, with its consequent notoriety, and the power which is inseparable from the possessor of money.”
“The international financier Oswald De Gex is one of those,” I said. “You cannot close your eyes to that fact!”
“You appear to entertain some antipathy towards him,” he remarked, a little surprised it seemed.
“No, not at all,” I assured him, smiling. “I only speak broadly. All these great financiers fatten upon the ruin of honest folk.”
“I hardly think that such is the case with Señor De Gex,” he remarked. “But you are English, and you probably know more than myself concerning his career.”
“Nobody in England knows much about him,” was my reply. “We only know that he is immensely wealthy, and that his riches are daily increased by the various ventures which he finances.”
“He is a great support to our Ministry of Finance,” declared the Chief of Police. “It was Count Chamartin who first interested him in Spain, I believe. In any case, they combined to finance a number of industrial enterprises, including the great Guadajoz Copper Mine which must, in itself, have brought them both a fortune.”
“You said that the count is dead,” I remarked.
“Yes. He died quite suddenly last year. He was one of the most popular men at Court, and his tragic death caused a great sensation. He was taken ill in the Sud Express while travelling from Madrid to keep an appointment with Señor De Gex in Paris, and though he was taken from the train on its arrival at San Sebastian and conveyed to the hospital, he died a few moments after reaching there. He had a weak heart, and had consulted two doctors only a month previously. They had ordered him a complete rest and change, but, contrary to their advice, he continued attending to his affairs – with fatal result.”
“And the countess?”
“Ah! Poor lady, she was beside herself with grief. She was his second wife. His first was the daughter of an Englishman who lived in Madrid. The present countess is the daughter of the Marquis Avellanosa of Algeciras, and they were a most devoted pair. She now lives in Segovia in comparative seclusion. The count’s untimely end was a great loss to Spain.”
It was news to me that Oswald De Gex was in Madrid with his agent Suzor in connexion with the new railway scheme. Indeed, what I had just been told was all amazing, and showed De Gex to be a man of outstanding genius. The mystery-man of Europe took good care to inform himself of any person who watched his movements, or sought to inquire into his business. It certainly was a master-stroke to pretend fear of assassination, and compel the police to act as his personal guard. By that means he had learnt that Hambledon and myself were in Madrid on purpose to discover what we could, hence he had hired the assassin Despujol to set that dastardly trap for me.
Again it was upon the tip of my tongue to reveal the suspicions I had of the great financier, but I refrained, because I could see that my companion held De Gex in high esteem as a friend and financial mainstay of his country.
A few moments later I reverted to the possibility of the arrest of Despujol, for if arrested he might betray De Gex as the person who had paid him to place those infected pins in my room. In such case my story would be heard and investigated.
But the Chief of Police shook his head dubiously.
“I fear that he has again gone into safe hiding – up in the mountains somewhere, without a doubt,” he replied. “It was an act of considerable daring to come boldly to Madrid and stay at your hotel when he knows full well the hue-and-cry for him is raised everywhere, and that there is actually ten thousand pesetas offered as reward for his capture.”
“Someone may betray him,” I suggested with a smile.
“Yes. We hope so. One of his friends, male or female, will no doubt do so and come one day to us for the reward. Not till then shall we know the truth of that strange attempt upon your life. The motive could not have been robbery, as you had nothing worth taking save your watch. If he had been found in De Gex’s room at the Ritz one could have understood it.”
I smiled. The Chief of Police never suspected the true facts of the case, facts within my own knowledge, which were of such an amazing and startling character that I hesitated to relate them.
When I left my friend I again sought Hambledon and told him all I had learnt.
“H’m!” he grunted. “Very wily of De Gex to get the police to keep an eye upon me. If I’m not careful I shall suddenly find myself under arrest as a suspicious person who is in the habit of loitering in the vicinity of the great financier.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “This seems to put an end to our present activity – does it not?”
“Well, he apparently knows that we are watching,” Hambledon said. “What a pity we cannot tell the police all we know.”
“If we did we should not be believed, and, moreover, they wouldn’t hear a word against the great man who is such a friend to Spain. Money buys reputation, remember. Nobody knows that better than De Gex.”
Hambledon was standing at my bedroom window looking thoughtfully down upon the Puerta del Sol with its crowd of hurrying foot-passengers.
“It seems a miserable ending to all our careful surveillance upon Suzor – doesn’t it?” he grumbled.
“True, it does. But now that the pair are on the alert I cannot see that anything can be gained by remaining in Madrid longer,” I pointed out.
“Then you intend to give up the quest for the truth?”
“Not by any means,” I replied quickly. “I intend, at all hazards, and at all costs, to still fathom the mystery. What we have learned since we came to Spain puts quite a different complexion upon matters. We are now in possession of certain facts concerning De Gex – facts of which we had no suspicion. We had never dreamed that to further his ends he did not hesitate to employ a notorious criminal to commit murder with malice aforethought. Neither did we know anything of his financial dealings with the Spanish Ministry of Finance, or his partnership with the Conde de Chamartin, or that the drug he used upon poor Gabrielle and myself was the obscure but most deadly and dangerous orosin. All these are points which may in the near future be of greatest advantage to us. Therefore we must not despair. Let us take courage and continue to probe the mystery – for the sake of poor Gabrielle Tennison,” I urged. “Let us act as quietly and discreetly as our enemy is acting, and we may yet attain success!”
CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH
THE TRACK OF DESPUJOL
Having decided to still remain in Madrid I deemed it advisable to engage the services of a private inquiry agent to watch the movements of De Gex and Suzor, who still remained at the Ritz. The mystery-man, living under an assumed name, never went out in the daytime, though Suzor often went forth, paying visits to certain banks and commercial offices in connexion with the proposed new railway.
The man we engaged was an elderly ex-detective of the Seville police, named Pardo, who very soon discovered the identity of the secret agent employed to keep surveillance upon De Gex on behalf of the police so that no harm should befall him.
In consequence, I took Pardo into my confidence, and calling him to my hotel, explained that I desired to keep secret watch upon the Frenchman Suzor, without the knowledge of the detective watching De Gex.
“I particularly desire to know the addresses of any telegram which Suzor may send. Probably he may send some message to Italy. If so, please discover the address and the text of the message.”
I believed that De Gex might communicate with Moroni, now that the plot of Despujol had failed.
“I will watch, señor,” was the grey-haired Spaniard’s reply. “If Señor Suzor sends any telegram I shall probably obtain a copy of it. They know me well at the chief telegraph office. Señor Suzor appears to be transacting a considerable amount of business in Madrid – a scheme for a new railway, I understand.”
“Yes, I know. All I want you to do is to find out who visits Mr. De Gex, and whether any telegrams are sent by either him or Mr. Suzor.”
“I quite understand, señor,” was the detective’s reply as he rose, and a few minutes later withdrew.
Late in the evening two days afterwards I returned to the hotel to find the man Pardo awaiting me. After I had taken him up to my room and closed the door, he drew a piece of paper from his pocket, saying in French:
“Señor Suzor sent a telegram at half-past eight this evening of which this is a copy.”
The message he handed me was in a pencilled scribble, and was in English as follows:
“Charles Rabel, Rue de Lalande 163, Montauban. —
“Important that I should see you. Meet me at Hôtel Luxembourg, Nîmes, without fail, next Monday at noon. – O.”
The initial “O” stood for Oswald – Oswald De Gex! So the mystery-man of Europe contemplated leaving Madrid!
I thanked the man Pardo, who said:
“Señor Suzor did not dispatch the telegram from the chief office in the Calle del Correo, but from the branch office in the Plaza del Progreso. He apparently wished to send it in secret.”
“I wonder why?” I asked.
The Spaniard raised his shoulders.
The address conveyed nothing to me. But the message was proof that De Gex intended to leave Spain, and further, it was a source of satisfaction to know his destination in case he slipped away suddenly.
After Pardo had gone I sat and pondered. It struck me as very curious that Suzor should have gone to a distant telegraph office in order to send the message. It seemed that he feared to be recognized by the counter-clerk at the chief telegraph office. For over an hour I smoked reflectively. I confess that a curious ill-defined suspicion had arisen in my mind, a suspicion that became so strong that just about eleven o’clock I entered the Jefatura Superior de Policia in the Calle de la Princesa, and again inquired for Señor Andrade.
Fortunately he had been detained in his office, and I was shown into his presence.
He seemed surprised to see me, but at once he became interested when I said:
“I have a distinct suspicion that I know the whereabouts of Despujol.”
“Have you?” he exclaimed quickly. “What causes you to suspect?”
“A man whom I believe to be an acquaintance of his has to-day sent an urgent telegram to Charles Rabel, Rue de Lalande, 163, in Montauban, in France, making an appointment to meet him at the Hôtel Luxembourg at Nîmes next Monday at noon.”
“Who is his friend?” he asked eagerly.
“I regret, Señor Andrade, that I am not in a position to answer that question. The whole matter is only one of suspicion – very strong suspicion.”
The Chief of Police looked very straight at me.
“Ah! Then you are in possession of certain secret knowledge concerning the man who made such a dastardly attempt upon your life!” he remarked. “And you suspect this Charles Rabel at Montauban to be the fugitive – eh?”
“Exactly,” I replied.
He asked me to repeat the address, which he scribbled down, and then looking up, said:
“Personally, Señor Garfield, I think your suspicions are unfounded. Despujol, if he is ever found, will be discovered in hiding somewhere in the mountains of the north.”
“But why not in Montauban?” I asked. “He is apparently a well-educated man, judging from his conversation with me. He speaks French well, and perhaps passes as a French subject.”
“He could pass for a Spaniard, an Italian, a Greek, or a Frenchman,” Andrade remarked. “And as forged passports are so cheap nowadays, and almost impossible to detect, the means of escape of such a daring criminal are both numerous and easy. But,” he added, “I am interested in this person whom you believe to be a friend of the fugitive. Cannot you tell me who he is?”
I shook my head, and smiling replied:
“I have only come here to tell you of a very distinct suspicion I entertain that Despujol is at Montauban.”
“Then his friend is your enemy – eh?” he suggested, his dark, penetrating eyes fixed upon mine. “You know the motive of that trap which Despujol set for you, and yet you will not reveal it to me!”
Again I shook my head and smiled.
“It would make my task much easier,” he remarked.
“I am aware of that. But at present mine is only a suspicion. I have no actual knowledge that Charles Rabel is the man you are so desirous of arresting.”
“And you really refuse to tell me who sent this message?” he asked in a tone of disappointment.
“It was sent in secret,” I answered. “Indeed, it was that fact which caused me to suspect. You can, of course, obtain the original of the telegram by applying for it from the authorities. But it is only signed by an initial.”
“How did you obtain knowledge of it?”
“Again I have no intention of disclosing the source of my information, Señor Andrade,” I replied as politely as I could, “I am, as a matter of fact, here in Madrid attempting to solve a very remarkable mystery which occurred in London a few months ago.”
“This is most interesting! You never told me that before!” he exclaimed. “I confess I wondered with what motive you and your friend Señor Hambledon, living at separate hotels, had in remaining here. It was regarded as suspicious by the detective force that being such intimate friends you lived at separate hotels, and met only in secret. Reports have reached me of your movements, and of your meetings,” he laughed. “More than once you have been regarded as suspected persons,” he added.
“Well, I hope you do not regard me as a suspected person any longer, Señor Andrade!” I exclaimed with a smile.
“No, no,” he laughed. “But I confess you are something of a mystery. Why should the notorious Despujol dare to put his foot into Madrid and lay that deadly plot to kill you? You know the motive, and yet you will not disclose it to me.”
“Not at present,” I said. “If it is found that Charles Rabel is really Despujol, then I will come forward and state all that I know.”
“You promise that?”
“I do.”
“Very well – then I will give orders to have your suspicions investigated,” replied the patient, urbane official. “A detective shall leave by the next train for Montauban with a request to the Prefect of Police of the Department of Tarn-et-Garonne for the arrest of the individual in question, if he should be identified.”
“Then I will accompany him,” I said.
“Excellent,” he exclaimed. “It would be well if Señor Rivero, the head of the Detective Department, whom you have met, went in person to France. I will ring him up at his house.”
He took up the telephone and a few minutes later spoke rapidly in Spanish to the chief detective of Spain.
Presently after a rapid conversation he put down the receiver, and said:
“Señor Rivero will meet you at the Delicias Station at two o’clock to-morrow morning. The express for Barcelona leaves at two-fifteen. From Barcelona you can get direct to Nîmes, and on to Montauban. And,” he added, “I only hope you will be successful in arresting the notorious Despujol.”
I thanked him, and suggested that if we should be fortunate enough to identify him, we should watch for the keeping of the appointment at the Hôtel Luxembourg at Nîmes on the following Monday.
“With whom is he keeping the appointment?” asked Señor Andrade.
“That I will disclose later,” was my reply. “I know that the appointment has been fixed, and if we watch, we shall, I feel assured, gain some knowledge of considerable interest.”
“As you wish,” replied the Chief of Police, who now seemed convinced by my manner that I was in possession of certain actual facts. “You will meet Señor Rivero – eh?”
“Certainly,” I said.
“Then I wish the pair of you the good fortune of arresting the assassin Despujol,” he said as we shook hands and parted.
I drove at once to Hambledon’s hotel, where I found that he had just retired to bed. As he stood in his pyjamas, surprised at my unexpected visit at that hour, I told him what I had arranged.
“Then I will remain here and watch De Gex’s departure,” he said.
“Yes. But be very careful of yourself,” I urged. “Keep your revolver handy, for you never know when an attack may be made upon you. These fellows, though great men in the eyes of the world, employ desperate characters to do their dirty work.”
“I’m quite alive to that fact, Hugh,” replied my friend. “But we won’t give up till we punish those responsible for poor Miss Tennison’s state – will we?”
“No, we won’t,” I declared determinedly. “Of course we may be on a wrong scent, but something seems to tell me that we are pretty hot on the trail. The assassin Despujol would never have been employed by them if they did not hold us in dread.”
“Your journey to Montauban will prove whether you are right, Hugh,” he said, and then, after arranging that he should follow Suzor should De Gex leave without him, and that he should at once wire me word to the Poste Restante at Nîmes, I left, and returning to the hotel packed my suit-case and later met the bald-headed but famous detective.
The latter proved an amusing companion who, during the long night journey to the Mediterranean, recounted to me many of his interesting experiences. His French was better than his English, so we conversed in the former tongue.
There was no sleeping carriage upon the train, therefore, after my companion had spoken to the conductor, we made ourselves as comfortable as we could in the first-class compartment which had been reserved for us. At half-past three in the morning, with true Spanish forethought, he produced some sandwiches, fresh fruit, and a bottle of excellent wine, upon which we made a hearty meal, after which we dozed in our corners till dawn.
Throughout the day my companion, who was quite as eager as myself to arrest the notorious Despujol, chatted in French as we went slowly down the fertile valley of the Ebro and suddenly out to where on our right lay the broad blue sea. Not until late afternoon did we arrive at Barcelona, and having two hours to wait we went along the Paseo de San Juan to the Francia Station, and having deposited our bags there, strolled along to the Plaza de Cataluña, where, at the gay Maison Dorée, we had coffee and cigarettes, while my companion read the Diario and I watched the picturesque crowd about us. Rivero knew Barcelona well, so after we had finished our cigarettes we took a taxi to the Central Police Office, where we had a chat with the chief of the Detective Department, a short stout little man with a round boyish face and a black moustache. After that we took another taxi along to the toy-fair in the Plaza de la Constitución, it being the Feast of St. George, the patron saint of Catalonia, which accounted for the bustle and gaiety of the city.
Then, after an interesting half-hour, we returned to the station and set out upon our slow eight-hour journey through the rich wine lands of Catalonia, with their quaint mediæval villages and towns, with occasional glimpses of sapphire sea, and passing over many ravines and gullies we at last, long after nightfall, entered a long tunnel at the end of which was the station of Port-Bou, the French frontier.