This story, which ends in New York, begins in the Department of the Gironde at the town of Monsegur, seventy-five kilometers from Bordeaux, in the little vineyard of Monsieur Emile Lapierre ­“landowner.”  In 1901 Lapierre was a happy and contented man, making a good living out of his modest farm.  To-day he is ­well, if you understand the language of the Gironde, he will tell you with a shrug of his broad shoulders that he might have been a Monte Cristo had not lé bon Dieu willed it otherwise.  For did he not almost have five hundred million dollars ­two and a half milliards of francs ­in his very hands? Hein?  But he did!  Does M’sieu’ have doubts?  Nevertheless it is all true. C’est trop vrai!  Is M’sieu’ tired?  And would he care to hear the story?  There is a comfortable chair sous lé grand arbre in front of the veranda, and Madame will give M’sieu’ a glass of wine from the presses, across the road.  Yes, it is good wine, but there is little profit in it, when one thinks in milliards.

The landowner lights his pipe and seats himself cross-legged against the trunk of the big chestnut.  Back of the house the vineyard slopes away toward the distant woods in straight, green, trellised alleys.  A dim haze hangs over the landscape sleeping so quietly in the midsummer afternoon.  Down the road comes heavily, creaking and swaying, a wain loaded with a huge tower of empty casks and drawn by two oxen, their heads swinging to the dust.  Yes, it is hard to comprendre twenty-five hundred million francs.

It was this way.  Madame Lapierre was a Tessier of Bordeaux ­an ancient bourgeois family, and very proud indeed of being bourgeois.  You can see her passing and repassing the window if you watch carefully the kitchen, where she is superintending dinner.  The Tessiers have always lived in Bordeaux and they are connected by marriage with everybody ­from the blacksmith up to the Mayor’s notary.  Once a Tessier was Mayor himself.  Years and years ago Madame’s great-uncle Jean had emigrated to America, and from time to time vague rumors of the wealth he had achieved in the new country reached the ears of his relatives ­but no direct word ever came.

Then one hot day ­like this ­appeared M. lé General.  He came walking down the road in the dust from the gare, in his tall silk hat and frock coat and gold-headed cane, and stopped before the house to ask if one of the descendants of a certain Jean Tessier did not live hereabouts.  He was fat and red-faced, and he perspired, but ­Dieu! ­he was distingue, and he had an order in his buttonhole.  Madame Lapierre, who came out to answer his question, knew at once that he was an aristocrat.

Ah! was she herself the grandniece of Jean Tessier?  Then, Heaven be thanked! the General’s toilsome journey was ended.  He had much to tell them ­when he should be rested.  He removed the silk hat and mopped his shining forehead.  He must introduce himself that he might have credit with Madame, else she might hardly listen to his story, for there had never been a tale like it before since the world was.  Let him present himself ­M. lé General Pedro Suarez de Moreno, Count de Tinoco and Marquis de la d’Essa.  Although one was fatigued it refreshed one to be the bearer of good news, and such was his mission.  Let Madame prepare herself to hear.  Yes, it would be proper for her to call M’sieu’, her husband, that he might participate.

Over a draft of this same vintage M. lé General imparted to them the secret.  Lapierre laughs and shrugs his shoulders as he recalls the scene ­the apoplectic General, with the glass of wine in one hand, waving the other grandiloquently as he described the wealth about to descend upon them.

Yes, the General must begin at the beginning, for it was a long story.  First, as to himself and how he came to know of the affair.  It had been on his return from the Philippines after the surrender of Manila, where he had been in command of the armies of Spain, that he had paused for repose in New York and had first learned of the Tessier inheritance.  The precise manner of his discovery was left somewhat indefinite, but the Lapierres were not particular.  So many distinguished persons had played a part in the drama that the recital left but a vague impression as to individuals.  A certain Madame Luchia, widow of one Roquefailaire, whom he had accidentally met, had apparently been the instrument of Providence in disclosing the history of Jean Tessier to the General.  She herself had been wronged by the villains and knew all the secrets of the conspirators.  But she had waited for a suitable opportunity to speak.  Jean Tessier had died possessed of properties which to-day, seventy years after, were worth in the neighborhood of five hundred million dollars!  The General paused for the effect, solemnly nodding his head at his astounded auditors in affirmance.  Yes, it was even so!

Five hundred million dollars!  No more ­and no less!  Then he once more took up the thread of his narrative.

Tessier’s lands, originally farms, were to-day occupied by huge magasins, government buildings, palaces and hotels.  He had been a frugal, hardworking, far-seeing man of affairs whose money had doubled itself year by year.  Then had appeared one Emmeric Lespinasse, a Frenchman, also from Bordeaux, who had plotted to rob him of his estate, and the better to accomplish his purpose had entered the millionaire’s employ.  When Tessier died, in 1884, Lespinasse had seized his papers and the property, destroyed his will, dispersed the clerks, secretaries, “notaries” and accountants of the deceased, and quietly got rid of such persons as stood actively in his way.  The great wealth thus acquired had enabled him to defy those who knew that he was not entitled to the fortune, and that the real heirs were in far-away France.

He had prospered like the bay tree.  His daughter, Marie Louise, had married a distinguished English nobleman, and his sons were now the richest men in America.  Yet they lived with the sword of Damocles over their heads, suspended by a single thread, and the General had the knife wherewith to cut it.  Lespinasse, among other things, had caused the murder of the husband of Madame Luchia, and she was in possession of conclusive proofs which, at the proper moment, could be produced to convict him of his many crimes, or at least to oust his sons and daughter from the stolen inheritance.

It was a weird, bizarre nightmare, no more astonishing than the novels the Lapierres had read.  America, they understood, was a land where the rivers were full of gold ­a country of bronzed and handsome savages, of birds of paradise and ruined Aztec temples, of vast tobacco fields and plantations of thousands of acres of cotton cultivated by naked slaves, while one lay in a hammock fanned by a “petite nègre” and languidly sipped eau sucree.  The General had made it all seem very, very real.  At the weak spots he had gesticulated convincingly and digressed upon his health.  Then, while the narrative was fresh and he might have had to answer questions about it had he given his listeners opportunity to ask them, he had hastily told of a visit to Tunis.  There he had by chance encountered Marie Louise, the daughter of Lespinasse, living with her noble husband in a “handsome Oriental palace,” had been invited to dine with them and had afterward seized the occasion while “walking in the garden” with the lady to disclose the fact that he knew all, and had it in his power to ruin them as impostors.  Marie Louise had been frightfully angry, but afterward her better nature had suggested the return of the inheritance, or at least a hundred millions or so, to the rightful heirs.  The General had left the palace believing all would be well, and had retired to Paris to await letters and further developments, but these had never come, and he had discovered that he had been deceived.  It had been merely a ruse on the part of the woman and her husband to gain time, and now every step that he took was dogged by spies in the pay of the Lespinasses, who followed him everywhere.  But the right would triumph!  He had sworn to run the conspiracy to earth!

Many hours were consumed in the telling of the story.  The Lapierres were enchanted.  More than that, they were convinced ­persuaded that they were heirs to the richest inheritance in the world, which comprised most of the great American city of New York.

Persons who were going to participate in twenty-five hundred millions of francs could afford to be hospitable.  M. lé General stayed to dinner.  A list of the heirs living in or near Bordeaux was made out with the share of each in the inheritance carefully computed.  Madame Lapierre’s was only fifty million dollars ­but still that was almost enough to buy up Bordeaux.  And they could purchase Monsegur as a country place.  The General spoke of a stable of automobiles by means of which the journey from Bordeaux to the farm could be accomplished in the space of an hour.

That night the good man and his wife scarcely closed their eyes, and the next day, accompanied by the General, they visited Bordeaux and the neighboring towns and broke the news gently to the other heirs.  There was M. Pettit, the veterinary at Mormand; Tessier, the blacksmith in Bordeaux; M. Pelegue and his wife, M. Rozier, M. Cazenava and his son, and others.  One branch of the family lived in Brazil ­the Joubin Frères and one Tessier of “Saint Bezeille.”  These last had to be reached by post, a most annoyingly slow means of communication ­maïs que voulez-vous?

Those were busy days in and around Bordeaux, and the General was the centre of attraction.  What a splendid figure he cut in his tall silk hat and gold-headed cane!  But they were all very careful to let no inkling of their good fortune leak out, for it might spoil everything ­give some opportunity to the spies of the impostor Lespinasse to fabricate new chains of title or to prepare for a defense of the fortune.  The little blacksmith, being addicted to white wine, was the only one who did not keep his head.  But even he managed to hold his mouth sufficiently shut.  A family council was held; M. lé General was given full power of attorney to act for all the heirs; and each having contributed an insignificant sum toward his necessary expenses, they waved him a tremulous good-by as he stood on the upper deck of the steamer, his silk hat in one hand and his gold-headed cane in the other.

“He will get it, if any one can!” cried the blacksmith enthusiastically.

“It is as good as ours already!” echoed Rozier.

“My friends,” Madame Lapierre assured them, “a General of the armies of Spain and a Chevalier of the Order of Jiminez would die rather than fail in his mission.  Besides,” she added, her French blood asserting itself, “he is to get nineteen per cent. of the inheritance!”

As long as the steamer remained in sight the General waved encouragingly, his hat raised toward Heaven.

“Mais,” says Lapierre, with another shrug as he lights his pipe, “even you would have believed him. Vraiment!  He would have deceived the devil himself!”

Up the road the wain comes creaking back again.  A crow flaps across the vineyard, laughing scornfully at good M. Lapierre, and you yourself wonder if such a thing could have been possible.

On a rainy afternoon in March, 1905, there entered the writer’s office in the Criminal Courts Building, New York City, a ruddy, stoutly-built man, dressed in homespun garments, accompanied by an attractive and vivacious little woman, who, while unable to speak a single word of English, had no difficulty in making it obvious that she had a story to tell of the most vital importance.  An interpreter was soon found and the names of the visitors disclosed.  The lady, who did the talking for both of them, introduced herself as Madame Valoie Reddon, of Bordeaux, and her companion as M. Emile Lapierre, landowner, of Monsegur, They had come, she explained, from France to take possession of the inheritance Tessier.  She was a personal friend of Madame Lapierre, and as the Tessiers had exhausted all their money in paying the expenses connected with securing the fortune, she, being a well-to-do gentlewoman, had come to their assistance, and for the last few months had been financing the enterprise on a fifteen per cent. basis.  If Madame Lapierre was to receive ten million dollars, then, to be sure, Madame Reddon would have one million five hundred thouand dollars; but, of course, it was not for the money, but on account of friendship, that she was aiding them.  I would understand that three years had elapsed since a certain distinguished General Pedro Suarez de Moreno had disclosed to the Lapierres the fact that Madame was the heiress to the greatest estate in America.  M. Lapierre solemnly nodded confirmation as the lady proceeded.  It was the one subject talked about in the Gironde and Bordeaux ­that is, among those who had been fortunate enough to learn anything about it.  And for three years the Tessiers, their wives, their sons’ wives, and their connections, had been waiting to receive the glad tidings that the conspirators had been put to rout and the rightful heirs reinstated.

It was some time before the good lady succeeded in convincing her auditor that such a ridiculous fraud as she described had actually been perpetrated.  But there was M. Lapierre and there was Madame Valerie Reddon sitting in the office as living witnesses to the fact.  What wonderful person could this General Moreno be, who could hypnotize a hard-headed, thrifty farmer from the Gironde and a clever little French woman from Bordeaux into believing that five hundred million dollars was waiting for them on the other side of the Atlantic!  I expressed my surprise.  Madame Reddon shrugged her sloping shoulders.  Well, perhaps it was hard for M’sieu’ to believe, but then there were the proofs, the documents, the dossier, and, most of all, there was the General himself.  Oh’ if M’sieu’ could see the General in his tall silk hat and gold-headed cane!

I asked for the documents.  Madame Reddon opened her bag and produced a package of nearly one hundred letters, written in a fine Spanish hand.  Oh! he had been a wonderful writer, this gorgeous Count de Tinoco and Marquis de la d’Essa.  She had met him herself when he had been in Bordeaux.  Madame Lapierre had introduced him to her, and she had heard him talk.  How beautifully he talked!  The stories of his experiences as General of the armies of Spain under Don Carlos and as Brigadier-General in the Philippines were as fascinating as a romance.  But it was his letters which had really led her to take a personal interest in the undertaking.  With a sigh Madame Valoie untied the little blue ribbon which bound up the pitiful little history.  If M’sieu’ would be good enough to grant the time she would begin at the beginning.  Here was his first letter written after the General’s return to America: 

    June 25, ’02.

    My dear M. Lapierre: 

We have had a terrible voyage.  A horrible storm broke loose in mid-ocean, endangering all our lives....  The waves, like mountains, threatened every instant to swallow us all; the spectacle was terrifying.  I fell from the top of the stairs ’way down into the hole (sic), hurting my right leg in the centre of the tibia bone.  The ship’s doctor, who is nothing but a stupid fool, left me helpless almost the entire day....  If ever I should have dreamt what would occur to me in this trip, not for all the gold in the world would I have embarked.  But, now that I am here, I shall not retreat before any obstacle, in order to arrive at the fulfillment of my enterprise, and no matter at what cost, even at that of my life.  It is necessary that I succeed ­my pride demands it.  Those who are in the right shall triumph, that is sure....  In the mean time, will you kindly give my regards to Madame and your son, and all of your relatives, not forgetting your good old servant.  Squeezing your hand cordially, I bid you adieu.

    Your devoted,

    Pedro S. de Moreno.

“Can you not see the waves, and observe him falling down the hole?” asks Madame Reddon,

“Mais, voici une autre.”

    July 11, 1902.

    M. Jean Lapierre.

My dear M. Lapierre:  As soon as I could walk a little I began my research for the impostors of the inheritance Tessier.  Without a doubt some person who is interested in the case has already advised them of my arrival in New York, and to take the necessary precautions to lead me astray in my researches.

Already I have discovered almost everything.  I know even the house in which resided the deceased before his death.  It is a house of twenty-five stories high, which resembles the Church of Saint Magdalene in Paris.  To-day it is the biggest bank in New York.  I have visited it from top to bottom, ascending and descending in steel elevators.  This is a marvelous palace; it is worth more than five million dollars.  The house itself has the numbers 100, 102, 104, 106, 108, 110, 112, 114, 116 and 118.  In other words, it covers the ground of ten other houses made into one.

    I have also visited six houses belonging to him, which are worth
    millions and are located around Central Park....

As soon as the brothers Lespinasse knew that I had arrived in New York they immediately took their departure, one for Paris to find his father, Emmeric Lespinasse, the other to the city of Tuxpan, in Mexico, to visit the properties stolen from the heirs.  I have come to an understanding with the Reverend Father Van Rensselaer, Father Superior of the Jesuits, and have offered him two millions for his poor, in recompense for his aid to recover and to enter into possession of the inheritance.  He takes great pains, and is my veritable guide and confidant....

I have visited Central Park, also a property of the deceased; this property alone is worth more than twenty million dollars....  I have great confidence in my success, and I am almost sure to reach the goal, if you are the heirs, for here there is a mix-up by all the devils....

The wound of my leg has much improved, the consequences which I feared have disappeared, and I expect soon my complete convalescence, but the devil has bestowed upon me a toothache, which makes me almost crazy with pain.  I shall leave, nevertheless, to begin my campaign.

    Will you be kind enough to give my regards to your wife and son, and
    to our old friend, etc., etc.

    PEDRO S. DE MORENO.

“May the devil bestow upon him five hundred million toothaches!” exclaims Lapierre, for the first time showing any sign of animation.

The other letters were read in their order, interspersed with Madame Reddon’s explanations of their effect upon the heirs in France.  His description of the elevators of steel and of the house that covered an entire block had caused a veritable sensation.  Alas! those wonders are still wonders to them, and they still, I fancy, more than half believe in them.  The letters are lying before me now, astonishing emanations, totally ridiculous to a prosaic American, but calculated to convince and stimulate the imagination of a petit bourgeois.

The General in glowing terms paints his efforts to run down the Lespinasse conspirators.  Although suffering horribly from his fractured tibia (when he fell into the “hole"), and from other dire ills, he has “not taken the slightest rest.”  He has been everywhere ­“New Orleans, Florida, to the city of Coney Island” ­to corner the villains, who “flee in all directions.”  The daughter, Marie Louise, through whom the General expects to secure a compromise, has left for New Orleans.  “Wonderful coincidence,” he writes, “they were all living quietly and I believe had no intention whatever to travel, and two days after my arrival in New York they all disappeared.  The most suspicious of it all is that the banker, his wife and children had left for Coney Island for the summer and to spend their holidays, and certainly they disappeared without saying good-by to their intimate friends....  I have the whole history of Tessier’s life and how he made his fortune.  There is a family for the use of whom we must give at least a million, for the fortune of Tessier was not his alone.  He had a companion who shared his troubles and his work.  According to the will they were to inherit one from the other; the companion died, and Tessier inherited everything.  I do not see the necessity of your trip to New York; that might make noise and perhaps delay my negotiations.”  Then follows the list of properties embraced in the inheritance: 

PROPERTY AND PERSONAL ESTATE OF THE HEIRS

1 The land of Central Park ceded to the
    city of New York, of the value of $5,000,000.00

2 He had at the National Bank ­United
    States Bank ­deposited in gold ­twenty
    to thirty million dollars.  He
    never withdrew anything; on the
    contrary, he always deposited his income
    there 25,000,000.00

3 The big house on Broadway, Nos.
    to 118, of twenty-five stories, to-day
    the largest bank in New York 5,000,000.00

4 The house on Fifth Avenue, N,
    facing Central Park, to-day one of
    the first hotels of New York ­Hotel
    Savoy 8,000,000.00

5 House on Fifth Avenue, N, facing
    Central Park, to-day the biggest
    and most handsomest of American
    hotels, where the greatest people and
    millionaires stop ­Hotel Netherland 20,000,000.00

6 Two coal mines at Folkustung in Texas 9,000,000.00

7 A petroleum mine in Pennsylvania
    (Mexican frontier) 6,000,000.00

8 Shares of silver mine at Tuxpan,
    Mexico 10,000,000.00

9 The house at Tuxpan and its grounds,
    Mexico 15,000.00

10 The pleasure home and grounds in
    Florida (New Orleans) in the city of
    Coney Island 500,000.00

11 The house which covers all the Esquare
    Plaza (no number because it is all
    alone).  It is an immense palace,
    with a park and gardens, and waters
    forming cascades and labyrinths,
    facing Central Park 12,000,000.00

12 The block of houses on Fifth and Sixth
    Avenues, facing on this same Central
    Park, which, as all these grounds belong
    to him, he had put up.  They
    are a hundred houses, that is called
    here a block 30,000,000.00

13 He is the owner of two railroads and
    owns shares of others in Pennsylvania
    and Canada 40,000,000.00

14 A line of steam and sail boats ­Atlantic. 
    The Pennsylvania and the Tessier
    and other names 100,000,000.00

15 A dock and a quay of eight hundred
    meters on the Brooklyn River for
    his ships 130,000,000.00

16 Several values and debts owed him and
    which at his death had not been collected $40,000.
                                               ----------------
                                                $390,555,000.00

Which is in francs 1,952,775,
Plus 5 per cent 976,
--------------
Total in francs 1,953,751,388

“Do you blame us?” asks Madame Valoie, as I listen as politely as possible to this Arabian Nights’ dream of riches.

The letters continue:  The General is surrounded by enemies, of which the worst are French, and he is forced continually to change his residence in order to escape their machinations.  But all this takes money.  How can he go to Tuxpan or to the city of Coney Island?  “You cannot know nor imagine the expense which I have had to discover that which I have discovered.  I cannot live here like a miser, for the part I represent demands much of me.  Every moment I change my residence, and that costs money.”  He adds a little touch of detail.  “I must always be dressed properly, and laundry is very dear here ­a shirt costs twenty-five cents to wash, and there are other necessary expenses....  You have forgotten to tell me if you have received the album of views of New York in which I have indicated the properties of the deceased, I squeeze your hand.”

“Yes, and our purses too,” adds Madame Valoie.  “Would M’sieu’ care to see the album of the Tessier properties?  Yes?  M’sieu’ Lapierre, kindly show the gentleman.”

Lapierre unbuttons his homespun coat and produces a cheap paper-covered blank book in which are pasted small photographs and woodcuts of various well-known New York buildings.  It is hard not to smile.

“M’sieu’ will see,” continues Madame Valoie, “that the dream had something substantial about it.  When we saw these pictures in Bordeaux we were on the point of giving up in despair, but the pictures convinced us that it was all true.  Moreover, just at that time the General intimated that unless he had more money he might yield to the efforts of the Lespinasse family to buy him off.”

Madame Valoie points vindictively to a certain paragraph in one of the letters:  “Of course they are convinced that I am not for sale, not for anything....  To my regret, my very great regret, I shall be forced to capitulate if you do not come to my aid and that quickly, for I repeat to you that my funds are all gone.”

“And here is his bill,” continues Madame Valoie, producing a folded document composed of countless sheets of very thin paper, bound together at the edges by strips of heavier material.  This, when unfolded, stretches entirely across the room and is seen to be composed of hundreds of typewritten items, of which the following may serve as illustrations: 

EXPENSES IN NEW YORK

EXTRAORDINARY EXPENSES

“To obtain a collossal fortune as yours will be, it is necessary to spend money unstintingly and to have lots of patience.  Court proceedings will be useless, as trickery and lies are necessary to get the best of the scoundrels.  It is necessary also to be a scoundrel.”

“That he might well say,” interpolates Lapierre.  “He succeed, c’est sure.”

I rapidly glanced over the remaining letters.  The General seems always to be upon the verge of compelling a compromise.  “I have already prepared my net and the meshes are tightly drawn so that the fish will not be able to escape....  For an office like this one needs money ­money to go quickly from one place to another, prosecute the usurpers, not allow them an instant’s rest.  If they go to some city run after them at once, tire them with my presence and constantly harass them, and by this means compel them to hasten a compromise ­”

The General is meeting with superhuman obstacles.  In addition to his enemies he suffers all sorts of terrible bodily afflictions.  Whenever the remittances from the Lapierres do not arrive the difficulties and diseases increase.

At last, however, after an interval of two years, things took a turn for the better.  A “confidential representative” of the conspirators ­one “Mr. Benedict-Smith” ­arrived to make a bona fide offer of one hundred and fifty million dollars in settlement of the case.  The General writes at great length as to exactly in what proportion the money should be divided among the heirs.  The thing is so near a culmination that he is greatly exercised over his shabby appearance.

I am without a son and too badly dressed to go before the banker in the very likely case of his arrival here.  Send me my baggage at once with the first steamer, and mark each piece “fragile.”  This is all.  My regards to Madame Lapierre and your son.  I am cordially yours, squeezing your hand.

    PEDRO S. DE MORENO.

But the Lapierres and Tessiers, while not for an instant distrusting the honesty of the General, had become extremely weary of sending him money.  Each heir felt that he had contributed enough toward the General’s “expenses and invitations.”  Even the one hundred and fifty millions within easy reach did not prompt immediate response.

About the same time an extraordinary messenger arrived at the Lapierre farm, purporting to come from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and instructing Lapierre to repair immediately to Paris.  The messenger explained that the presence of Lapierre was desired at the Ministry in connection with some investigation then in progress into the affairs of one Jean Tessier.  Then the messenger departed as mysteriously as he had arrived.

Good M. Lapierre was highly excited.  Here was indubitable evidence of the truth of the General’s assertions.  But, just as the latter had intended, perhaps, the worthy farmer jumped to the conclusion that probably the messenger from Paris had been sent by the conspirators.

“At the last moment,” wrote Lapierre to Moreno, “I received from Paris a letter commanding me to go to the Ministry, and at the same time a telegram recommending that I leave at once.  I shall write you from Paris all that I learn to your interest.  If this letter should not reach you sealed in red wax, with small indentations made with a sewing thimble and my initials, which I always sign, it is that our correspondence is seized and read.”

Events followed in rapid succession.  Lapierre, the Tessiers, including the little blacksmith, became almost hysterical with excitement.  A gentleman, by name “Mr. Francis Delas,” called upon Lapierre and offered him twenty-five million dollars spot cash for his wife’s share in the Tessier inheritance.  This person also claimed that he had a power of attorney from all the other heirs, with the exception of Pettit and Rozier, and asserted that he was on the point of embarking for New York in their interest.  He urged Lapierre to substitute him for Moreno.  But Lapierre, now convinced that everything was as the General had claimed it to be, indignantly rejected any such proposition aimed at his old friend, and sent Mr. Francis Delas packing about his business.

“This is what my answer has been to him:  ’Sir, we have already an agent with whom we can only have cause to be satisfied, so that your services are not acceptable or needed.’  He left me most dissatisfied and scolding.”

The sending of this confederate on the part of the wily General had precisely the effect hoped for.  Lapierre and his friends were now convinced that the inheritance Tessier was a reality, and that powerful personages were not only exerting their influence to prevent the rightful heirs from obtaining their property, but had also in some way secured the cooperation of government officials.  It was agreed, on all hands, that the worthy landowner, accompanied by Madame Reddon, had better proceed at once to the scene of operations and unite with the General in their common purpose.  Once on the ground Lapierre could assume direction of his own campaign.

Lapierre and Madame Reddon accordingly sailed for America and arrived in New York on the fourth of December, 1904, where they were met on the dock by the General, who, freshly barbered, and with a rose in his buttonhole, invited them, as soon as they had recovered from the fatigue of landing, to make a personal inspection of their properties.

These heirs to hundreds of millions of dollars were conducted by the “Marquis de la d’Essa and Count de Tinoco” to the Battery, where he gallantly seated them in an electric surface car, and proceeded to show them the inheritance.  He pointed out successively Number 100 Broadway, the “Flatiron” Building, the Fifth Avenue Hotel and the Holland House, the Waldorf-Astoria, the Vanderbilt mansion at Fifty-seventh Street and Fifth Avenue, the Hotel Savoy and the Hotel Netherland, incidentally taking a cross-town trip to the ferry station at East Twenty-third Street, and to Bellevue Hospital.  A public omnibus conveyed them around Central Park ­also their own.  And, in spite of the cold weather, the General insisted on showing them the “Tessier mansion and estate at Fort George” ­visible from the Washington Bridge ­“a beautiful property in the centre of a wood.”  Returning, he took them to the Museum of Natural History and to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which contained “Tessier’s collections.”

Having thus given them a bird’s-eye view of the promised land, the General escorted them to his apartments and allowed them to see the Ark of the Covenant in the shape of a somewhat dilapidated leather trunk, which contained a paper alleged to be the will of Jean Tessier, made in Bellevue Hospital (one of his possessions), and unlawfully seized by the Lespinasse family.  It was only, Moreno alleged, through the powerful influence of the Jesuits that he had been able to secure and keep a copy of this will.

Although the Marquis de la d’Essa must have known that his days were numbered, he was as gay and as entertaining as ever.  Then, suddenly, the scales began to fall from Madame Reddon’s eyes.  The promised meeting with Marie Louise Lespinasse and her mysterious representative, “Mr. Benedict-Smith,” was constantly adjourned; the “police agents,” whom it had been so necessary to entertain and invite to saloons and cafes, were strangely absent, and so were the counsellors, Jesuit Fathers, bankers, and others who had crowded the General’s antechambers.  A slatternly Hibernian woman appeared, claiming the hero as her husband; his landlady caused him to be evicted from her premises; and his trunk containing the famous “dossier” was thrown into the street, where it lay until the General himself, placing it upon his princely shoulders, bore it to a fifteen-cent lodging-house.

“And now, M’sieu’,” said little Madame Reddon, raising her hands and clasping them entreatingly before her, “we have come to seek vengeance upon this miserable!  This villain m’sieu!  He has taken our money and made fools of us.  Surely you will give us justice!”

“Yes,” echoed Lapierre stubbornly, “and the money was my own money, which I had made from the products of my farming.”

A month later Don Pedro Suarez de Moreno, Count de Tinoco, Marquis de la d’Essa, and Brigadier-General of the Royal Armies of the Philippines and of Spain, sat at the bar of the General Sessions, twirling his mustache and uttering loud snorts of contempt while Lapierre and Madame Reddon told their story to an almost incredulous yet sympathetic jury.

But the real trial began only when he arose to take the witness chair in his own behalf.  Apparently racked with pain, and laboring under the most frightful physical infirmities, the General, through an interpreter, introduced himself to the jury by all his titles, asserting that he had inherited his patents of nobility from the “Prince of Arras,” from whom he was descended, and that he was in very truth “General-in-Chief of the Armies of the King of Spain, General Secretary of War, and Custodian of the Royal Seal.”  He admitted telling the Lapierres that they were the heirs of five hundred million dollars, but he had himself honestly believed it.  When he and the rest of them had discovered their common error they had turned upon him and were now hounding him out of revenge.  The courtly General was as distingue as ever as he addressed the hard-headed jury of tradesmen before him.  As what canaille he must have regarded them!  What a position for the “Count de Tinoco”!

Then two officers entered the courtroom bearing the famous trunk of the General between them.  The top tray proved to contain thousands of railroad tickets.  The prosecutor requested the defendant to explain their possession.

“Ah!” exclaimed Moreno, twirling his mustaches, “when I was General under my King Don Carlos, in the Seven Years’ War of ’75 and also in Catalonia in ’80, I issued these tickets to wounded soldiers for their return home.  At the boundaries the Spanish tickets were exchanged for French tickets.”  He looked as if he really meant it.

Then the prosecutor called his attention to the fact that most of them bore the date of 1891 and were printed in French ­not in Spanish.  The prisoner seemed greatly surprised and muttered under his breath vaguely about “plots” and “conspiracies.”  Then he suddenly remembered that the tickets were a “collection,” made by his little son.

Beneath the tickets were found sheaves of blank orders of nobility and blank commissions in the army of Spain, bearing what appeared to be the royal seal.  These the General asserted that he had the right to confer, by proxy, for his “King Don Carlos.”  Hundreds of other documents bearing various arms and crests lay interspersed among them.  The prisoner drew himself up magnificently.

“I was the General Secretary of War of my King,” said he.  “When I had to give orders to the generals under me, of whom I was the chief, I had the right to put thereon the royal imprint of Don Carlos.  I was given all the papers incident to the granting of orders and grades in the army, and I had the seal of the King ­the seal of the Royal King.”

But, unfortunately for the prisoner, the seals upon the papers turned out to be the legitimate arms of Spain and not those of Don Carlos, and as a finale he ingenuously identified the seal of the Mayor of Madrid as that of his “Royal King.”

Next came a selection of letters of nobility, sealed and signed in the name of Pope Leo the Thirteenth.  These, he asserted, must have been placed there by his enemies.  “I am a soldier and a general of honor, and I never did any such trafficking,” he cried grandly, when charged with selling bogus patents of nobility.

He explained some of his correspondence with the Lapierres and his famous bill for twelve thousand dollars by saying that when he found out that the inheritance Tessier did not exist he had conceived the idea of making a novel of the story ­a “fantastic history” ­to be published “in four languages simultaneously,” and asserted solemnly that he had intended printing the whole sixteen feet of bill as part of the romance.

Then, to the undisguised horror of the unfortunate General, at a summons from the prosecutor an elderly French woman arose in the audience and came to the bar.  The General turned first pale, then purple.  He hotly denied that he had married this lady in France twenty-three years ago.

“Name of a name!  He had known her!  Yes ­certainly!  But she was no wife of his ­she had been only his servant.  The other lady ­the Hibernian ­was his only wife.”  But the chickens had begun to come home to roost.  The pointed mustaches drooped with an unmistakable look of dejection, and as he marched back to his seat his shoulders no longer had the air of military distinction that one would expect in a general of a “Royal King.”  His head sank on his chest as his deserted wife took the stand against him ­the wife whom, he had imagined, he would never see again.

Any one could have seen that Elizabeth de Moreno was a good woman.  Her father’s name, she said, was Nichaud, and she had first met the prisoner twenty-three years ago in the village of Dalk, in the Department of the Tarne, where, in 1883, he had been convicted and sentenced for stealing bed linen from the Hotel Kassam.  She had remained faithful to him in spite of his disgrace, and had visited him daily in prison, bringing him milk and tobacco.  On his liberation she had married him and they had gone to live in Bordeaux.  For years they had lived in comfort, and she had borne him eight children.  He had never been to any war and was neither a general nor, so far as she had known, a friend of Don Carlos.  She had supposed that her husband held some position in connection with the inspection of railroads, but, in 1902, it had come out that he was in the business of selling counterfeit railroad tickets, and had employed a printer named Paul Casignol to print great numbers of third-class tickets for the purpose of selling them to ignorant soldiers and artisans.  Moreno had fled to America.  She had then discovered that he had also made a practice of checking worthless baggage, stealing it himself and then presenting claims therefor against the railroad companies.  She had been left without a sou, and the rascal had taken everything she had away with him, including even the locket containing the hair of her children.  By the time she had finished her story Moreno’s courage had deserted him, the jury without hesitation returned a verdict of guilty, and the judge then and there sentenced the prisoner to a term at hard labor in State’s prison.

“Mais oui,” grunts Lapierre, as the crow, with a final caw of contempt, alights in a poplar farther down the road, “I don’t blame the bird for laughing at me.  But, after all, there is nothing to be ashamed of.  Is one to be blamed that one is fooled? Hein!  We are all made fools of once and again, and, as I said before, he would have deceived the devil himself.  But perhaps things are better as they are.  Money is the root of all evil.  If I had an automobile I should probably be thrown out and have my neck broken.  But if M’sieu’ intends to take the next train for Bordeaux it is as well that he should be starting.”