It was not
the French anarchists I feared during the contest in which I was about
to become engaged, but the Paris police. I knew French officialdom too
well not to understand the futility of going to the authorities there
and proclaiming my object. If I ventured to approach the chief of
police with the information that I, in London, had discovered what it
was his business in Paris to know, my reception would be far from
cordial, even though, or rather because, I announced myself as Eugene
Valmont. The exploits of Eugene had become part of the legends of
Paris, and these legends were extremely distasteful to those men in
power. My doings have frequently been made the subject of feuilletons
in the columns of the Paris Press, and were, of course, exaggerated by
the imagination of the writers, yet, nevertheless, I admit I did some
good strokes of detection during my service with the French
Government. It is but natural, then, that the present authorities
should listen with some impatience when the name of Eugene Valmont is
mentioned. I recognise this as quite in the order of things to be
expected, and am honest enough to confess that in my own time I often
hearkened to narratives regarding the performances of Lecocq with a
doubting shrug of the shoulders.
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