Of the two remaining central brigades, one controls public carriages, the other the Halles, that great central market by which Paris is provided with a large part of its food. The cabmen of Paris are not easily controlled, but they are probably a much rougher lot than the London drivers, and they, no doubt, need a much tighter hand. Every cab-stand is under the charge of its own policeman, who knows the men, notes their arrival and departure, and marks their general behaviour. Other police officers of the central brigades superintend the street traffic, but not so successfully as do our police; indeed, parties of the French police
[Illustration: "EVERY CAB-STAND IS UNDER THE CHARGE OF ITS OWN POLICEMAN" (p. 262).]
have from time to time been sent to London for instruction in this difficult branch of police business, but have hardly benefited by their teaching. Parisian cabmen are forbidden to rove in search of fares, or hang about in front of cafes and at street corners, the penalty being imprisonment without the option of a fine. Indeed, a special quarter in one of the Paris prisons is known as the "cabmen's," and is often full of them. Yet the drivers are honest enough, and many curious stories are told of the self-denial shown by these hard-worked, poorly paid servants of the public. A rich Russian who had won ten thousand francs one night at his club left the whole sum behind him in a cab in which he had driven home. He was so certain that he had lost it irreparably that he returned to St. Petersburg without even inquiring whether or not it had been given up. Some time later he was again in Paris, and a friend strongly urged him at least to satisfy himself whether or not the missing money had been taken to the lost property office. He went and asked, although the limit of time allowed to claim the lost property was almost expired. "Ten thousand francs lost? Yes, there it is," and after the proper identification the money was restored to him. "What a fool that cabman must have been!" was the Russian's only remark. Again, a certain jeweller in the Palais Royal left a diamond _parure_ worth 80,000 francs (£3,200) in a cab, and the police, when he reported the loss, gave him scant hope of recovery. He did not know the number of the cabman--he had picked him up in the street, not taken him from the rank; and, worse than all, he had quarrelled with the driver, the reason why he had abruptly left the cab. The case seemed quite hopeless, yet the cabman brought back the diamonds of his own accord. The quaintest part of the story is to come. When told at the Prefecture to ask the jeweller for the substantial reward to which he was clearly entitled, he replied with intense indignation: "No, not I; he was too rude. I hope I may never see him or speak to him again."