He was very much at home in this branch of work: for could not Mimile demolish a lock as easily as one rolls a cigarette? He was daring to a degree, and, as soon as his time in the army was up, he began to earn his living as an aviator, and rightly, for he had become an able airman.

Nevertheless, Mimile had aspired to greater things: a boring honest livelihood was not to his taste

He had come to the conclusion that provided he went warily, nothing could be easier than to carry on a lucrative smuggling trade by aeroplane: he could fly from country to country under the pretext that he was out to make records in flying. Custom-house officials and police inspectors in the interior would never think of examining the tubes of a flying machine, to see whether or no they were packed with lace; nor would it occur to them to overhaul certain cells fore and aft, to discover whether things of value had been secreted in them, such as thousands of matches or false coin.

So, from time to time, Mimile would announce that he was off on a trial trip to Brussels from Paris, from London to Calais, and so on.

For mechanics Mimile had two broken-down sharpers, who served as connecting links between the aviator and the band of smugglers and false coiners, who gathered at the lair of Mother Toulouche under the seal of secrecy. This was why big Ernestine was so anxious when she heard of Mimile’s accident. Had the aeroplane been totally wrecked? Would the very considerable prize of Malines lace they were expecting reach its destination safe and sound?

For some time past ill-luck had dogged them, had seemed to pursue implacably these unfortunates who took such pains and precautions to carry through their unlawful operations to a successful outcome. Already the Cooper, a member of the fraternity who had had his glorious hour in the famous days of Chaleck and Loupart, had scarcely left prison retirement before he had been nabbed again, owing to the far too sharp eyes of the French custom-house officials on the Belgian frontier. Others of the band were also under lock and key again – it really seemed as if Mother Toulouche and her circle were being strictly watched by the police at every moment.... and now here was Emilet, who had come a regular cropper in his aeroplane – no doubt about it! Mother Toulouche was set on knowing the rights of it.

“But what has happened to Emilet exactly?” She called Cranajour. The queer fellow came forward from the back store, where he had been loafing: he had a bewildered air.

“Cranajour,” said Mother Toulouche, putting a sou in his hand, “hurry off and buy me an evening paper! Now be quick about it! .. Don’t forget.... Make a knot in your handkerchief to remind your stupid head!”