CHAPTER V

Gregory arrived at his hotel in the Latin Quarter about ten. Loneliness

oppressed him, and he went to the couple of attics upon the top floor

tenanted by himself and Deschamps. He hoped that the latter was in, and

in a better mood. He wanted an explanation from him, and he was haunted

by some half-formed fear that the Frenchman knew of some calamity that

might be about to overtake them--that something had gone wrong, perhaps,

with the great invention, or that their positions at the Societe

Generale Electrique were jeopardised.

There was no one in Deschamps' room as he switched on the electric

light, so he crossed the landing and entered his own.

This room also was untenanted, but the light was full on. He started,

for it could not have been turned on by him, and electric lights burning

at unnecessary hours were viewed with great disfavour and the

subsequent result in the monthly bill by the hotel proprietor. Almost

immediately, however, he understood, for a note in Deschamps'

handwriting, and addressed to him, lay upon the table.

He picked it up, and tore open the flimsy envelope, his hand trembling

as he did so.

For some reason or other he felt strangely excited, and he experienced

the feeling that something is about to happen which comes to everyone at

certain times. The note was quite short. It stated that Deschamps had

gone again to the Rue Petite Louise to visit the Carnet brothers, and

told Basil, in terms that were imperative, to proceed there immediately

upon his return. That there might be no doubt whatever of Deschamps'

meaning, the letter concluded by saying, "The matter is most urgent. I

can say no more, but come."

As Basil walked the considerable distance towards the woods quarter, he

was ill at ease and also in a bad temper. It was impossible to disregard

such a summons, but he saw no use nor meaning in it, while it seemed to

him almost an impoliteness to trouble the kindly entertainers of the

night before so soon again. He found his way to the long, narrow street

of the wood-sheds and wood-workers without much difficulty, only once

having to ask the way. As before, the street was ill-lit, and perfectly

quiet, though this time he could see it much more plainly owing to the

absence of fog and the light of a watery moon. He entered the little

passage, and rapped on the counter. Almost immediately that he had done

so the door behind flew open and Brother Charles came out.

The little man was apparently delighted to see him. He was cordiality

itself.

"Monsieur Deschamps is within," he said. "Enter, monsieur. We have been

expecting you."

Greatly wondering what this might mean, Basil Gregory passed through

into the workshop, where he found Edouard Carnet and Deschamps sitting

by the fire.

On this occasion one of the principal workbenches had been cleared of

lumber, and a white cloth was spread upon it, with a salad and boned

chickens from some neighbouring restaurant, flanked by several bottles

of that execrable sweet champagne beloved by the unsophisticated

Parisian at times of festival--the Parisian being at once the most

accomplished gourmet, and the worst judge in Europe of sparkling wines.

Deschamps, who rose with his hosts as Basil entered, was no longer surly

or depressed. On the contrary, Gregory saw at once that he was in a

state of intense excitement. There was a high colour upon his swarthy

face, and the big black eyes were glittering.

In fact, there was an unusual atmosphere of excitement about everyone

present in the workshop, and insensibly, in the first few moments even,

it began to communicate itself to the Englishman.

"We were waiting for you to begin supper," said Brother Edouard in his

twittering voice. "Afterwards we will tell you--what we have to tell."

Basil was not hungry, but he sat down with the others. Both Deschamps

and the Carnets ate quickly and said very little. It was as though they

wished to be done with the meal, but when the first bottle of champagne

was opened and the sweet wine creamed in the glasses Brother Charles

rose and lifted his glass on high. "To the success of the greatest

scheme that human genius ever evolved!" he piped. "To the ruin and

overthrow of that vast and evil power whose slaves and victims we have

been!" With a sudden gesture, he drained his glass and flung it on the

floor, where it crashed into a hundred pieces.

Then he stood there trembling, his bird-like face twisted into a

grotesque mask of hatred, which was reflected by his brother.

Gregory looked at one and the other with amazement and then turned to

Deschamps. He saw that the latter's face was more deeply flushed than

before, the whole expression was one of quivering eagerness and almost

ferocious hope. Gregory leant back in his chair and very deliberately

lit a cigarette.

"I do not want to be unduly inquisitive," he said, in a quiet and

measured voice, "but if one of you gentlemen would kindly give me the

slightest inkling of what you are talking about, and why you are all so

excited, then perhaps I shall feel a little less bewildered than I do at

the moment."

At this Deschamps broke into a torrent of words.

"My friend," he said, "our troubles are at an end! As Monsieur Charles

has just said, one of the most stupendous schemes that has ever entered

the human brain has come to me. By its means we shall all become

fabulously wealthy in a short time if all goes well."

Basil was staring at his friend, wondering whether he had taken leave of

his senses, when Charles Carnet interposed. "We shall not _all_ become

wealthy," he said. "Edouard and I have enough; we want no more. You will

become wealthy, and we shall have our revenge."

"I am listening," said Gregory rather stolidly.

As if by common consent the other three rose from the table. "Come to

the fire," Deschamps said, speaking now in a low voice, "and you shall

hear everything."

They sat round the fire very close together, and, looking round as if to

be quite certain that there was no one lurking in the recesses of the

workshop, Deschamps began:

"_Mon ami_," he said, putting his hand upon Basil's arm, "we are going

to take a journey, you and I."

"A journey?" Gregory said.

"To Monte Carlo," Deschamps replied.

Then there was a silence; Basil felt his brain whirling. "What do you

mean?" he said at length.

"I mean this," Deschamps answered, "that fortune is within our grip at

last, that we can now make as much money as we like, enough to conduct

all our experiments and get out perfect models of our invention to place

before the world. I will explain."

He threw away the cigarette which he had been smoking and began to

outline a plan so novel, a conspiracy so absolutely without precedent in

the history of the world, that his three listeners remained spell-bound.

"Chance, and chance alone," he began, "has placed the opportunity for

the most sensational coup of modern times in our hands. In the first

place, chance--the Spirit of Fortune, or what you will--led us to this

room in which we are sitting. The Messieurs Carnet, as you know, have

for years been employed in making roulette wheels for the Casino at

Monte Carlo. As you have also heard, they have resolved to give up their

occupation. The tragedy which has saddened their lives has been directly

due to the existence of the great gambling establishment. Both our

friends would give anything to be revenged upon the organisation which

has wrecked their hopes, and owing to the existence of which their so

beloved nephew met his untimely death."

A low mutter of assent broke from both the little Frenchmen.

"Very well, then," Deschamps continued, "you have wondered at my

abstraction during the last twenty-four hours. I could not speak to you.

I was absorbed. I hardly heard anything you said. The whole forces of my

intellect were focussed upon one thought, one aim. The germ of an idea

came to me. It was like a lightning flash, illuminating with sudden

splendour the dark skies of night. The flash came and went, but the germ

of the idea remained behind. Since then I have been working unceasingly

at it, and now I believe I have it perfected. You, yourself, my dear

friend, will be able to seize on any flaw, to improve upon my original

idea. Very well, then; I came to our friends here, and told them that I

believed I could, if I would, deal the Administration of Monte Carlo an

almost fatal blow. It was, I explained to them, by means of science, and

more especially of your and my new invention, that this could be done. I

pointed out to them that it would require their co-operation. I think I

may say"--here he looked interrogatively at the Carnets--"that directly

I made my proposal they agreed."

"We welcomed it with joy," said Brother Edouard instantly. "To us also

it came as a lightning flash, illuminating the dark and showing the word

'Revenge' in letters of fire upon the horizon!"

Basil leant forward, deeply interested. As yet he had not the slightest

idea of what was coming. Nevertheless, he was so impressed by Deschamps'

firm and confident manner that hope was beginning to rise high within

him, and an excitement to which he had been a stranger for many days,

began to flow over him like a tide.

Moreover, he knew Deschamps so well that he was certain that this was

no vision. The Frenchman was a Southerner, it is true, given to

pictorial flights of fancy in many ways. But when he began to speak of

any matter connected with science or their invention, he never made the

slightest overstatement. Science was his life and his religion.

"As yet," Deschamps said, "Monsieur Edouard and Monsieur Charles know

nothing of the actual means I propose to employ. I am going to divulge

my plan in such a way that they, knowing nothing of electricity and its

powers, will be able to understand my project in every detail. I shall

not use any technicalities beyond what are absolutely necessary. But

you, _mon ami_, will understand everything from the scientific point of

view, and you will see how perfectly feasible and likely of success is

what I propose to do."

He paused, and going to the table, poured out a little water into a

glass and drank it off. He did not sit down again, but walked up and

down a measured beat of four yards, talking with intense earnestness.

"You know, gentlemen," he said to the two wood-carvers, "what wireless

telegraphy means?"

"But, yes," said Brother Charles, "have they not just installed the

Marconi system in the Eiffel Tower? Of course, we know, but not, I

think, more than any ordinary member of the public."

"Very well," said Deschamps. "Now I must tell you that Monsieur Gregory

here and myself have for years been at work upon a system of

transmitting messages without wires, which, we believe, and indeed are

certain, surpasses the invention of Signor Marconi as a modern

battleship surpasses an ancient wooden frigate. It is this system of

ours that I propose to employ in the secret war against the

Administration at Monte Carlo. By its means we shall be able to win an

enormous sum of money at roulette. We shall be able to win exactly how

much, and when, we please. Every detail is perfectly clear in my mind,

and discovery is almost impossible with the precautions I shall take.

You must remember that the capital of Monte Carlo is unlimited. You

know nothing of the place, Basil?"

Gregory shook his head.

"Then, pardon a short digression," Deschamps continued, looking at the

Carnets. "The gambling rooms of Monte Carlo pay the Prince of Monaco a

yearly subsidy of eighty thousand pounds for permission to carry on

their business in his territory. There are no rates and taxes in Monte

Carlo, the Casino pays them all. Education is free. The Casino itself is

a glittering white palace upon the edge of the Mediterranean, erected at

an enormous cost, and decorated with the most lavish splendour. Few

kings have such vast halls and salons in their palaces as those in the

temple of the Goddess of Chance. The Casino is free to all the world,

though, of course, the Administration reserves the right of declining

admission. The gardens that surround this palace are the most beautiful

in the world. Sometimes, as if by touch of an enchanter's wand, the

thousand gardeners steal out in the night, and in the morning vast

parterres of flowers, which had been all red and gold as the sun sank,

are changed to blue and white. In addition to this--and the expenses of

the Principality are incalculable--the company pays a revenue to its

shareholders of over twenty-five million francs!"

Basil had been listening with absorbed interest. He started now.

"Twenty-five million francs!" he said, in an awed voice. "Clear profit

after those colossal expenses? A million English pounds!"

"Exactly," Deschamps returned, "and I have told you this so that you can

see that the resources of the company are practically unlimited. The

amount of their funds no one knows, but many a national bank could not

equal it. So you see, the authorities are pledged for the sake of their

own continuance to pay any player his winnings, however enormous they

may be. There have been several cases of players quite recently winning

sums of two and a half million francs--a hundred thousand pounds of your

English money. But we"--here his voice for the first time began to

tremble with excitement--"we can win whatever we please! And now to the

way in which it is to be done."

Deschamps stopped short in his walk up and down. He leant against the

work-table upon which were the remains of the supper.

The eyes of the other three were fixed upon him with an intense regard.

"You understand," he said to Basil, "the principle of roulette, do you

not?"

"Roughly," Basil answered; "the little ivory ball about the size of a

large marble is spun as you spun it the other night, and falls into a

numbered slot. The people who have placed their money upon a square of

the table with a number corresponding to that of the slot into which the

ball falls are the winners of varying amounts."

"That is more or less it," Deschamps replied. "I am not concerned at the

moment with anything but the bare mechanical operation. The whirling of

the wheel at the bottom, the opposite course of the ball, and the

triangular silver stars which break it, all make it a pure matter of

chance into which apartment upon the wheel the ball is going to fall. It

is obvious, therefore, that if by some means the player could determine

into which slot the ball is to fall, he would have the bank at his

mercy."

"Precisely," Basil said.

"Very well, then. It is a means by which this may be attained that I

have discovered. Of course, you, as an electrical engineer, can easily

see that a roulette wheel might easily be constructed by the bank by

which it could control the falling of the ball and so prevent players

who had backed a particular number from winning. This has often been

done by dishonest people who run private gambling hells. Upon the

surface everything appears all right, but, of course, an expert

examination would very speedily result in the discovery of the secret

mechanism--generally, by the way, electrical. Wires can be hidden in the

leg of the table upon which the wheel stands, and controlled by the foot

of the croupier who spins it. But never before--and I wish you to keep

this point most carefully in mind--has it been possible for the player

to control the wheel in action without the connivance of the croupier or

the bank. Now listen." He began to address himself now more particularly

to the Carnet Freres.

"The first detail in my plan is that the little ivory ball, while

remaining to all appearance a solid ball of ivory, is not really so. It

will contain a core or heart of steel. The very finest workmanship alone

could accomplish this without any possibility of detection. I assume--am

I right in assuming?--that our friends, Messieurs Charles and Edouard,

could make a ball or balls of this description."

The two little men, who had been listening with rigid attention, spoke

to one another rapidly for a moment or two, using technical terms which

the others could not understand.

Then Brother Charles looked up. "We can do it," he said proudly. "It

will be difficult, very difficult. First of all, there is the weight to

be considered, for the ball must not exceed a normal weight. Then there

must be a special quality of ivory, and work in turning and hollowing so

extraordinarily fine and delicate that perhaps only one of the Indian or

Chinese carvers could do it so that the operation showed no trace. I am

certain that no one in France but myself and my brother are capable of

this feat, but you may rest content--it is not beyond our powers!"

The little man concluded with quiet pride, and Deschamps showed

unmistakable relief.

"I was certain of it," he said, "but, naturally, I had some little

anxiety. Everything, in the first instance, depends upon that."

"We then have our prepared ball or balls--for a whole set must be made.

The next point is the peculiar construction of the rotating wheel upon

which the slots are fixed. Then, you, Basil, will immediately

understand, but I must explain it carefully to our friends, they will

have to work under my instructions, and with material which I supply.

The prepared wheel will be constructed quite differently from the

ordinary ones, though it will look exactly the same, when painted with

the numbers. Each slot, messieurs, will be constructed of metal varying

very slightly in composition. To all outward appearance the metal will

be just the ordinary tin amalgam generally employed. In reality, as far

as the metal goes, each slot will have, so to speak, a personality of

its own--a certain power of receptivity of certain influences which no

other slot has."

He stopped for a moment, and suddenly Basil Gregory rose from his

chair, and gave a great shout of excitement. A glimmering, a faint

glimmering, of the stupendous idea had come to him, and he trembled all

over with excitement.

The two little men were no less excited than he, though as yet they were

in the dark.

Deschamps made a movement with his hand, Basil sat down again, and the

Frenchman went on speaking.

"My colleague here," he said, "is already beginning to grasp the idea.

In a very few more words you will understand it also. I mentioned

wireless telegraphy to you just now. I also told you that my friend and

I had improved enormously upon the present system, though, owing to lack

of money, we have never been able as yet to place our invention upon the

market or get it recognised, while if we took it to quarters where it

would be appreciated and understood, we should be robbed of nearly all

the profits, as has happened with many another inventor.

"Well, then, messieurs, the invention of my friend and myself--I speak

purposely in non-technical terms--makes it possible for the mysterious

electrical power which sends messages over thousands of miles of

space--the Hertzian waves in short--to penetrate through any amount of

material resistance in the form of the walls of buildings, or barriers

of any kind. Marconi has already accomplished something of this; we have

perfected it. Now, in wireless telegraphy it is already possible to

'tune' sets of instruments so that the message sent at one end of the

transmitter will only be received at the other by a similarly tuned

receiver, this preventing the message being picked up by other receivers

as it flies through space. I am about to apply this principle, greatly

facilitated by our invention, to the slots of the roulette wheel. Each

slot will be tuned separately from its fellow. Having got thus far, let

me explain to you that, by means of the Hertzian waves, the operator

will be able to turn a slot into a temporary magnet of low power at any

moment he desires. That is to say, that when the prepared wheel is being

used upon the tables at Monte Carlo, an operator with his instrument may

be three or four hundred yards away in the upper room of a neighbouring

hotel, or, if necessary, two miles away up upon the mountains of the

Maritime Alps, and will be able to turn any slot he desires into a

magnet for just as long a period as he wishes it to remain so. There

will be no visible connection between the distant operator and the

wheel. It is absolutely impossible that the people clustered round the

wheel can know what is going on. The great secret, silent power of

electricity will be at work, and yet entirely unsuspected and unknown."

He paused again, and triumph dawned upon his face as he saw that now not

only did Basil Gregory thoroughly understand the plan, but that the

brothers Carnet also had grasped the idea. Their faces were blazing with

amazement, their bodies tense and rigid, there was no sound in the

workshop but that of his own voice.

"The rest is easy to explain," he said. "If, say, at a given moment, the

slot painted seven is converted into a low-power magnet directly the

wheel begins to revolve, then, as a natural consequence, as soon as the

velocity of the ball begins to die away, and the attractive power of the

magnet, which slot number seven has become, proves greater than the

impelling force of the ball, the ball which has a steel core will fall

into slot number seven.

"You will observe, then, that the unseen operator any distance from the

Casino is absolute master of the play at the particular table where the

prepared wheel is.

"His confederate will play at this table. He and the operator will carry

watches that are absolutely and utterly reliable, and which are

synchronised to a hundredth second of time. A course of play is

determined on. A sequence of certain numbers is agreed upon between the

two. Let us say that the player enters the rooms at twelve o'clock in

the morning and secures his place at the special table. At ten minutes

past twelve to the instant it is agreed that number seven, let us say,

is to receive the force of the Hertzian waves for a certain definite

period. As a usual thing, so rapid is the paying out and gathering in of

money at the tables at Monte Carlo, the wheel is spun every minute and a

half. Of course, if the stakes are very high, or if there is a dispute,

a coup may take a little longer. That, however, is a fair working

average. For a little less than a minute and a half, then, from the time

agreed upon, i.e., ten minutes past twelve, seven will remain a magnet.

For that particular spin seven must infallibly prove the winner. The

thing can be repeated over and over again."

"It is marvellous!" the brothers shouted out in chorus. "It will be

impossible to detect. Monsieur, you are the greatest mechanical genius

the world has ever seen!"

It was a great moment for Emile Deschamps. All the theatrical instincts

so deeply implanted within him were gratified. To watch the faces of his

audience, to see the dawn of understanding and admiration as he talked,

had been to him like cool water to one in the desert.

He stood still now, one hand upon his heart, and bowed. He had no

thought of mockery, the gesture was perfectly spontaneous and sincere.

He turned to Basil.

"And you, my friend, what do you think of it?" he asked.

Basil started. He had been thinking furiously, and the question came

unexpectedly.

"It is, of course, extremely brilliant," he said. "Naturally I can see

that even more readily than our friends here. I don't believe any brain

but yours, Emile, would ever have thought of it. Properly worked, and

there are a good many details I should like to discuss with you, it's

almost certain the scheme will succeed. But----"

"Ah," Deschamps burst in, "the usual English reservation! The invariable

'but' of caution! What is it now, you cold-blooded islander?"

"Oh, it is not caution," Basil answered. "Haven't I just told you that

the thing must succeed with a few modifications upon your original idea?

It is the morality of the thing I am thinking of."

Deschamps had sat down. He jumped up now like a Jack-in-the-box.

"_Tiens!_" he cried. "Morality? Morality?"

"I thought you had forgotten the meaning of the word," Basil answered

dryly. "It seems to me--I only offer the opinion for what it is

worth--that while this little plan is about as alluring a proposition as

I ever heard, one of the most elementary problems of life has been quite

lost sight of. We are going to steal--to put it quite frankly. It is an

iridium-pointed, hot-pressed, wire-wove, jewelled-in-every-hole sort of

steal, I know, but it is a steal all the same, isn't it? I am open to

conviction, of course, and, by the way, if anything goes wrong,

conviction is just what will occur. We have a little poem in England

which sums up the question in a nutshell--

He who prigs what isn't his'n,

When he's cotched will go to prison;

or, to put it in simpler form still, 'the penalty for abstracting quids

by electricity will be quod'--you are a Latin scholar, I believe,

Emile?"

The Frenchman made an impatient and angry gesture of his hands.

"There is no time for _blague_," he said, "with your quids and your

quods. I know nothing of your piggish English play upon words. Of

course, if it is the fear of discovery that deters you, and the

possibilities of arrest, well----"

He did not conclude, but shrugged his shoulders, and puffed out his lips

with a peculiarly French contempt.

Basil was quite unmoved. "It is not that," he said, "as you know very

well, Emile. I would risk anything upon any chance. Our lives at the

present moment are very like two puddings in a fog. Prison could not be

much worse. But I do not quite see how one is going to reconcile this

marvellously ingenious plan of yours with ordinary morals. There have

been lots of times when you and I have wanted a bottle of wine or a

packet of cigarettes very badly, and hadn't the money to pay for them.

If I had proposed to you to take a bottle of chambertin while the

wine-merchant was not looking--well!"

The two little Frenchmen had been listening with keen attention to this

dialogue. Basil's English irony had been lost upon them, but they

understood the main lines of his objections well enough.

It was Brother Edouard who came to the rescue.

"Permit me to say a word," he interrupted in his gentle, high-pitched

voice. "The cases of robbing a wine-merchant and the Administration of

Monte Carlo have not the slightest analogy. Your premises are false,

Monsieur Gregoire. This organisation at Monte Carlo is simply a soulless

machine for the making of money by exploiting one of the baser passions

of men. I and my brother--I freely confess it--have been parts of that

machine for years. But you know the sad event"--his voice trembled a

little--"which opened our eyes. We said to each other, 'If our hopes in

life have all been utterly swept away in an instant by the Casino at

Monte Carlo, how many other homes have been ruined, young lives

sacrificed, prospects blighted?' A soldier who assists to exterminate,

or, at any rate, to harass and injure a dangerous and unfriendly tribe

of savages is generally looked upon as doing a fine and meritorious

thing. Nor does he disdain to take the pay of his country for so doing.

You and Monsieur Deschamps will be in exactly the same case. You will be

seriously injuring the Casino. It may be that when the idea is developed

roulette will become impossible, though that is only a side issue, and

also--here you must listen to me carefully--you are not proposing to

obtain a large sum of money for the mere gratification of low

pleasures, to acquire a soulless ease and comfort. You have invented

something which will be of the highest benefit to mankind. Want of

fortune alone prevents you conferring that benefit upon the world. As

inventors, it is your duty--at least, so it appears to me--to take

advantage of the opportunity which the genius of Monsieur Deschamps has

provided. No one will be hurt except people who can well afford to

suffer."

His voice had gathered strength as he went on, and as he concluded there

was an almost prophetic note in it, a gravity and seriousness of

conviction which had an instant effect upon Basil Gregory's wavering

mind.

He thought for a minute, and then looked up.

"So be it," he said. "You have convinced me, though I will say I was

ready enough to be convinced. We will try it. Like all other gamblers,

we will risk everything upon a single throw."

As if by common consent, they all rose to their feet.

"And now," said Brother Charles, who had hitherto been silent, "let us

form ourselves into a committee of ways and means."

Deschamps' face grew pale. "_Mon Dieu!_" he cried, "fool that I am! I

have been carried away by the splendour of the prospect, and have

forgotten the most essential fact of all. Our friends here"--he was

speaking to Basil--"can prepare the wheel with my assistance. But how

about the apparatus, which, as you know, is costly enough for ordinary

purposes? The particular apparatus I shall want with all our own

modifications and specialities will cost about five thousand francs. And

then there is the getting to Monte Carlo, the putting up at an expensive

hotel to avoid suspicion--for the Administration has its spies and

detectives everywhere. It may be necessary to bribe, a thousand

emergencies may occur, which only money can overcome."

He dived one hand into the pocket of his trousers, and withdrew four

coins. He flung them on the floor with a curse.

"Three francs fifty!" he cried; "three francs fifty! Basil, I am a fool

and a dreamer! You can preserve your morality unspotted, after all!"

Basil looked blankly at his friend, who was now limp with an almost

ferocious dejection and self-contempt. He nodded slowly.

"Same old thing," he said; "we ought to have expected it. We are

stumped, old chap, for want of three or four hundred pounds."

An odd hissing noise, like the escape of steam from a very small pipe,

recalled him to his surroundings. The brothers Carnet were regarding the

two young men with pity. "Ah!" said Brother Charles, almost wringing his

hands, "What fools these men of genius are, Edouard! Messieurs!

Messieurs! my brother and I will, of course, provide the funds. Haven't

we already told you that we are quite well-to-do for people in our

position? You will draw on us for any money you may require. Nor must

you spare the francs. This is a great affair, conduct it greatly, and

you will earn our undying gratitude."

Once more the volatile Deschamps was transformed from limp dejection to

painful excitability. He leapt at both the little men, and embraced each

in turn. He called down blessings upon their heads, and then, in an

instant, assumed the manner of a calm business-like man.

He took a fountain-pen and an envelope from his pocket.

"You will, of course, take whatever proportion of our winnings you think

fit, gentlemen," he said, "and as far as the amount of the winnings is

concerned, you have only to say the word. It will be as well to make a

note of the terms at once, and we will have a proper agreement drawn

out."

The Carnets looked at Basil Gregory as much as to say, "What a hopeless

person this Southerner is!" Basil, far quicker than Deschamps to

understand the odd little men, changed the subject at once. "Never mind

about that now, Emile," he said. "Our friends have very kindly offered

to advance the money necessary for the great coup. We had now better go

into other details, so as not to lose time. Financial affairs can be

arranged later."

Deschamps nodded. "Very well, then," he said, "let us recapitulate what

is absolutely necessary to be done, immediately. In the first place, you

and I must give up our positions at the Societe Generale."

Basil started at this. "Is that really necessary?" he asked. "Couldn't

we get leave?"

Deschamps shook his head. "I feel almost sure they won't give us leave,"

he said. "We are only members of the rank and file, remember. But

'nothing venture, nothing have,'--we must resign."

"Very well," Basil replied, "we will give them notice to-morrow." But as

he said it he had a curious heart-pang as he thought of Ethel, and that,

if anything went wrong, he must resign for ever any hopes of calling her

his own.

"Now, about experiments and the construction of the apparatus,"

Deschamps continued. "We must have a workshop, to begin with."

"This is at your service," the brothers said eagerly.

Deschamps bowed. "A thousand thanks," he said. "Nothing could be better

fitted for the purpose. Here we shall be absolutely secret. You have a

forge and many appliances which will be useful. To-morrow I must buy

other machinery and certain tools. Fortunately you have the electric

light here, and I can tap one of the plugs for all the current that I

shall require for experimental purposes."

Basil snapped his fingers as if an idea had just come to him. "By Jove,

Emile!" he said, "how on earth shall we manage at Monte Carlo? We cannot

work with batteries. First of all, we could never get them into the

hotel without being seen, and even if we did, we shouldn't have enough

power."

"You don't know the Principality," Emile answered. "All the hotels have

the completest installation of electric light possible. It will be the

simplest thing to tap one of the mains and connect it with our new

portable transformer. We can get exactly what current we require."

"Good," Basil said, realising how deeply his friend had gone into the

technical side of the great coup.

Edouard Carnet spoke. "If you will come here to-morrow at midday," he

said, "having already resigned your posts at the Societe Generale, I

will have drawn a sufficient sum of money from the bank to enable you to

make all necessary purchases. Then we can go ahead as fast as we like."

"But don't forget this, brother," Charles Carnet interposed, "our new

wheels must be dispatched to Monaco. As a matter of fact, they are

expecting them immediately, but a telegram saying that we require

another fortnight will put that right. We have had to take a little

extra time before now, during the past years. A fortnight, however, is

as much grace as we shall be able to get and preserve our friendly

relations with the Administration. Will you be able to do all that is

necessary in the construction of the apparatus within a fortnight?"

"It will be quick work," Deschamps replied, "but it can be done. My

friend and myself can construct the necessary apparatus for sending the

waves, and we can also, with your co-operation, prepare the wheel and

tune the slots for the reception of the vibrations."

Then Basil spoke. "Look here, Emile," he said, "a thought strikes me. Of

course, I don't know anything about the Casino, and I have never been to

the South of France, but won't it look strangely suspicious if we win

day by day at the same table? Won't they change the wheel?"

"That is exactly what they will do, monsieur," Edouard Carnet replied to

him. "Of course, when a man wins a large sum at one table he always goes

to the same table to play. It is his lucky table. But there was a case

some years ago when a little syndicate of players--by means of the most

careful calculations--noticed that the wheel of the table where they

made their game had a slight bias. They traded on the fact for several

days, and won an enormous sum of money. It was one of our wheels, but

there must have been a flaw in the wood, or we had not allowed for the

expansion of the metal, owing to the greater heat of the South. At any

rate, as a result, the wheels have been constantly changed ever since."

"Then, how can we carry out our plan?" Basil asked.

"The wheels are not taken away entirely," Edouard went on; "they are

simply changed from table to table. The prepared wheel will have some

distinguishing mark by which you will know it. We must think that out;

it must be some very slight thing--a knot in the wood, a mere scratch on

the outside, would do."

A dry little chuckle came from Brother Charles.

"We are getting on! We are getting on!" he said, with a grotesque mirth.

"My brother, what is to prevent us preparing three wheels? They should

be 'tuned'--as Monsieur Deschamps calls it--exactly alike. Each will be

marked in some way, so that our friends can distinguish them from the

unprepared wheels. There are twelve roulette wheels in all used in the

Salle des Jeux."

"_Bien!_" Edouard replied; "your brain moves quickly. By this means our

friends will be able to move from table to table as they wish."

"And I would suggest," Deschamps broke in, "that we do not play for more

than a week in all. In a week's time we shall be able to win an enormous

sum of money, without unduly exciting suspicion. Great runs of luck, I

have observed, generally last for about seven or eight days. If, as

Monsieur Charles suggests, we move from table to table, a week should

be sufficient. We can go away with enormous sums, and no one will be any

the wiser."

"And another thing," Edouard Carnet said, "which of you is going to be

the actual operator of the telegraphic instrument, and which the player

at the tables?"

"Oh, I'd much better play," Deschamps answered, "and Basil work the

instrument."

Both the Carnets shook their heads at this.

"No," they said together, "that will be unwise. Monsieur Gregoire is

typically English. It is always best for a foreigner to make these great

coups. Moreover, the luck of the English and the Americans is

proverbial. Monsieur Gregoire must be thought an English millionaire. No

one thinks it strange when a millionaire wins another million! But, to

safeguard the future, it would be as well that monsieur were disguised."

Basil shook his head. "Disguised!" he cried. "Oh, I don't like that idea

at all!"

"It is necessary," Edouard Carnet said firmly; "but all that you have to

do, monsieur, is to shave off that blonde moustache, darken your skin a

little, and wear pince-nez. It is only ordinary caution, after all.

When you return with the spoils of war and grow your moustache again,

nobody will ever connect you with the winner of millions upon the Cote

d'Azur."

"And I have another idea," twittered Brother Charles, his little face

beaming with joy. "Monsieur Deschamps shall go to Monte Carlo as the

valet of Monsieur Gregoire. It will all seem so natural--the assiduous

valet, the heavy luggage, which the man-servant must guard! You see it?"

The situation struck Basil as humorous. He threw back his head and

laughed aloud. "Emile," he said.

Deschamps entered into the spirit of the thing. "_Bien_, monsieur," he

answered.

"Sit down at the table and teach me the rules of the game of roulette!"

PART II

CHAPTER VI

Two men sat alone in a first-class compartment of the Riviera

train-de-luxe.

The night before the most luxurious train in Europe had left the Gare de

Lyon at Paris. The night had been bitterly cold, and as the vast machine

swung out of the station all the suburbs of Paris and, indeed, the

plains of mid-France, were seen through the dark windows of the

corridors to be covered with a white sprinkling of snow.

A special carriage was reserved for a Monsieur Montoyer and his valet,

and the two persons mentioned upon the ticket had spent the whole night

in the luxurious cabin, with its beds and little tables, talking

earnestly.

Monsieur Charles Edouard Montoyer was an athletic, burly looking young

man, dressed in the height of French fashion, clean-shaved,

dark-complexioned, and wearing gold-rimmed spectacles, which only

partially concealed a pair of blue eyes which seemed oddly at variance

with his otherwise Southern appearance. His hair also was a dead black,

and in certain lights it had an almost metallic lustre.

The valet presented no very extraordinary appearance, except that he

seemed markedly intelligent and alert. His black hair was closely

cropped to a large and well-shaped head. His complexion was of the true

Southern swarthy tint, glowing out below the skin, as it were. He wore a

small black moustache, and the long first finger of his right hand was

deeply stained with the juice of cigarettes.

Once, about an hour after the start, the valet went to the restaurant

car, and brought back two bowls of soup, and a bottle of Pomard,

explaining to the waiter who gave them that his master was very hungry

and one tureen would be insufficient. But when the door of the

sleeping-car was locked, the blinds looking on the corridor drawn down,

the table set, and all the electric lights switched on, a spectator--had

there been one there--would have seen with some surprise that master and

man shared the meal equally. And perhaps he would have thought it a

touching testimony of the theoretical equality of Republican France that

master and man addressed each other by their Christian names.

In short, the great enterprise was begun, Basil and Emile, their

apparatus made, their plan of campaign concluded, were roaring and

crashing through France to the fairy-like shores of the Mediterranean.

It was now close upon nine o'clock in the morning. The blinds of the

sleeping-car were still drawn upon the corridor side, but the two men

were dressed. Their hand luggage was strapped and they were smoking

cigarettes.

"In a moment more, Basil," said Emile, his voice trembling with

excitement, "in a moment more you shall have your first vision of the

South! I would not let you look before and, indeed, as we went through

Avignon it was too dark to see much, but Marseilles--my beloved native

city--is the Gate of the South. You will see little of it, as within an

hour we shall be pulling out again for the Cote d'Azur, but you will see

something; you will at least breathe the enchanted air!"

Deschamps' voice was most powerfully affected. For a moment he had

forgotten the enterprise entirely. He was only consumed with an

over-mastering eagerness that his dearest friend and partner should

breathe with him that subtle, intoxicating air, and realise for the

first time in his life what the South means.

There was a long grinding of the brakes, and the train stood still.

Emile drew up the blinds, opened the door into the corridor, and led

Basil to the end of the car. Then they stepped down to the low platform.

They had left Paris in sullen bitter winter weather. Here, early as it

was, the sun was shining brilliantly in the cool, quiet station. Exactly

facing them was a huge stall of flowers, masses of purple violets,

delicate ivory-coloured roses from Grasse, the pale golden plumes of the

mimosa.

But the air! the air was the thing! So warm and sweet it was, it came

upon them with such a veritable caress, it so bathed them with golden

light and sweet odours, that tears started into Deschamps' eyes, and

Basil forgot his disguise.

"How wonderful! how wonderful!" he said in English, breathing like a man

who had been stifled all his life.

And that was their first glimpse of the enchanted country to which they

had come.

Through all the morning until mid-afternoon the train moved, slowly and

sleepily now, through scenes of loveliness such as the Englishman, at

any rate, had never dreamed of. Everywhere the Mediterranean gleamed

like an immense sapphire, flecked here and there with white fire. The

low cliffs of sandstone were crimson. The sky was an inverted bowl of

glowing turquoise, and everywhere tall, feathery palms were silhouetted

against it in brilliant green. And there were flowers, flowers

everywhere! Every station with its familiar name was full of

flowers--Grasse, Cannes, Nice, Villefranche--there were flowers

everywhere; flowers, exotic trees, and great white hotels that gleamed

jewel-like in terrace after terrace from the sea till they were lost in

the high places of the Maritime Alps.

And then--at last--Monaco, a few tunnels cut in the cliffs, and the

long, low station of Monte Carlo at last!

During the whole period of the slower journey along the seashore Basil

Gregory's excitement had been gradually growing. He and Deschamps had

talked but little, but both of them had been obsessed by the great idea

that they were getting nearer and nearer to the world-famous theatre of

their colossal enterprise.

Monte Carlo! Monte Carlo! The words had beaten themselves into a rythm

in Basil's brain, a rythm in tune with the regular pulsing of the

engine.

They were to stay at the Hotel Malmaison, for the brothers Carnet had

insisted that the two young men should lack nothing, and that Basil

should appear to be a person of great wealth and consequence. There was

to be no hole-and-corner business about the great coup. Suspicion was to

be averted by every possible means. "_Il fait aller en regal_," Brother

Charles had insisted, and so it was to be. Rooms had been engaged in

advance, a sitting-room and bedroom for Monsieur Charles Edouard

Montoyer, and a bedroom for his valet. It had been stipulated, however,

that the valet's bedroom should be at the very top storey of the hotel,

as that personage suffered from asthma.

The Malmaison was only some four hundred yards from the station, and in

consequence some three hundred from the Casino. They drove there in the

waiting omnibus, however, and at five o'clock were installed in their

rooms.

It was a little difficult to account for two large boxes among the

luggage, of extraordinary heaviness, which were placed in the

sitting-room of Monsieur Montoyer. But the ready Deschamps in his role

of valet explained that monsieur was a great student, and always

travelled with many books.

"I go now, _mon ami_" Emile said, "to my own room. All your clothes are

unpacked. I must not stay here too long at present. I shall have to meet

all the other servants and gossip with them, but I will come at seven to

assist you to dress, and then we can make our plans."

Basil was left alone in the brightly furnished sitting-room. He looked

down into a terraced garden, brilliant still with the declining rays of

the sun. Somewhere near by a band of guitars was playing accompanied by

voices as sweet and passionate as they.

He strolled up and down the room thinking deeply. But it was not of the

fairyland in which he found himself, it was not of the glories he was

soon to witness, it was not even of the great hazard he was to try--the

bold and reckless bid for fortune. It was of Ethel he was thinking.

CHAPTER VII

About ten o'clock in the morning of the day on which Basil Gregory and

Emile Deschamps had arrived at Monte Carlo, another train had pulled

into the long low station on the Mediterranean shore.

This train was very different from the huge, luxurious machine that

brought the adventurers to the City of Fortune earlier in the day. It

was the ordinary slow train, the third class, not even a _rapide_, and

only a few second-class carriages were included in its make-up.

Moreover, it had taken two whole days, and nights in its journey from

Paris, being everywhere shunted aside for the _rapides_ and _trains de

luxe_ to pass through.

From this train of poorer people two English ladies, quietly dressed,

and pale and stained with travel under none too pleasant conditions, had

descended.

They were driven at once with their trunks to a modest _pension_ in the

Rue Grimaldi in Monaco, and spent some hours in sleep.

Ethel McMahon had told her lover in Paris that she had obtained a

fortnight's leave of absence from her school, had saved a little money,

and was about to take her mother to Switzerland for a change of air.

Basil had accepted the statement implicitly, glad to hear that the girl

he loved was to have a short respite from her labours, and, for his own

part, finding that the proposed holiday would coincide with his own

absence from Paris, he said nothing of his plans. So it had been

arranged, and the two lovers were mutually ignorant of each other's

purposes and without the slightest idea that they were bound for the

same destination. Mrs. McMahon had absolutely refused to allow Ethel to

communicate a word of their project to Gregory, and the girl was all the

more ready because by now she was thoroughly infected with her mother's

enthusiasm, and was absolutely convinced in her own mind that they were

to gain a small fortune at the tables.

How splendid it would be to come to Basil and to tell him that they

could be married at once! That funds for the launching of the great

invention were forthcoming, that all was to end as happily as some old

song!

About six o'clock Ethel went into her mother's room. The rest had

refreshed her. Her eyes were glowing with excitement, and with her long

hair falling over her dressing-gown she seemed the personification of

radiant hope.

"Now, what are we to do, mother?" she said excitedly. "How do you feel?"

The older woman was seated in the one arm-chair the little bedroom of

the _pension_ boasted, and was anxiously scrutinising a bundle of faded

papers covered with figures and bold masculine handwriting.

"It is certain, Ethel!" she said. "I have been going through your

father's figures for the hundredth time. I am sure it can't fail. You

know he only invented this particular system just before he died, and we

never had an opportunity to try it properly."

Ethel nodded. "I feel just as you do, mother, dear," she answered. "It

_can't_ fail. But what are we to do? Are you thoroughly rested?"

"I feel in better health," the old lady answered, "than I have felt for

years. Excitement would keep me up if nothing else would, but, as it is,

I have no trace of fatigue. What's the use of spending the evening in

this dull _pension_ with these third-rate people, for such of the guests

as I have seen are rather a seedy-looking lot, and Madame de Bonville is

just the ordinary Southern Frenchwoman who keeps a place of this sort?

No! We will dress, have dinner, and take a cab to the Casino. There will

be no difficulty about obtaining our tickets for this evening. We shall

have to renew them each day, until we have been here for some time--if,

indeed, it is necessary to remain here. After a week or two they give

you a ticket for a month, but I don't suppose we shall need that."

"Then we are to begin to-night!" Ethel cried, a flush mounting in her

cheeks and her voice ringing with anticipation.

The elder lady smiled. "We will not begin the system to-night," she

answered. "That, I do think, would be unwise. We will take a louis or

two and get a place at one of the tables, if we can, and just see what

happens. I want you to get accustomed to a scene which will seem

extraordinarily strange to you. We will take it that we are merely

reconnoitring this evening, and begin serious play upon the morrow.

Dinner is at half-past seven, so go and prepare yourself, my child, and

then come and help me."

Ethel left the room and crossed the passage to her own, singing for

sheer lightness of heart. Already the beauty of the South had caught

hold of her, and such glimpses of it as she had seen only intensified

her mood. In her innocence she had not the slightest misgiving. She

would have laughed to scorn anyone who had told her that there was a

chance of losing the little unexpected capital that had come to them

from the lottery.

Dinner at the _pension de Bonville_ was the ordinary polyglot affair. An

English major--no regiment specified--some stolid Germans, three

shrill-voiced American girls, and some nondescript and rather haggard

looking young men made up the company. Doings at the Casino during the

day were compared and discussed. The little cards, printed in red and

black, which are provided by the Casino authorities for recording the

play, and pricked each time the wheel is spun, were handed about, and in

this atmosphere, so familiar to her in the past, old Mrs. McMahon seemed

like a changed being. She talked with the rest, in English or fluent

French; she was like some old war horse once more snuffling the breeze

of battle, and Ethel was no less interested and entranced, though her

knowledge of roulette--for none of the _pensionnaires_ seemed to indulge

in the more expensive _trente-et-quarante_--was purely theoretical.

After dinner the major gallantly offered to escort the ladies to the

Casino and to obtain their tickets. Shortly afterwards, muffled in opera

cloaks, for between eight and nine is often the coldest hour of the day

on the Riviera, the three walked up the steep, winding way towards the

Palace of Chance.

A full moon hung in the sky; everywhere were brilliant illuminations;

the air as it proved was not at all cold upon this night, but soft and

odorous of flowers.

The gardens of the Casino were like enchantment to Ethel McMahon. It was

indeed a scene from the "Arabian Nights." The tall palms clicked faintly

in the breeze with a sound like distant castanets. The electric lights

shone down upon enormous beds of flowers which everywhere studded the

lawns. Faint music was heard on every side, and gaudily painted and

luxurious automobiles flitted noiselessly along the polished roadways.

Here was the great Hotel de Paris, its long facade glowing with colour,

full of the wealthiest people in the world, dining very differently from

the way in which the major and his new friends had dined in the Rue

Grimaldi. Beyond, on the other side of the square, were the gardens of

the Metropole, and the glass Cafe de Paris at its side winked and

glittered like a gigantic topaz.

"That, my dear," said Mrs. McMahon, pointing to a modest looking

restaurant in an arcade, "that is Ciro's."

Ethel's sense of humour was tickled by the calm patronage of the

information. She knew, of course, that she was looking upon the most

famous restaurant in the whole world, but her mother's tone amused her.

And then, in a moment, she had no thought but one.

Before her was a magnificent building of white marble with many steps

leading to a wide entrance, glistening against the background of dark

sky, spangled with golden stars.

Mrs. McMahon clutched her daughter's arm. "There!" she said, almost in

an awed whisper. "Now you see it for the first time. That is the

Casino!"

For a moment all three were silent. The spirit of chance, the terrible

fever of the gambler was in their blood, and even the tough old major,

an _habitue_ of every gambling hell in Europe, shared for a moment the

emotion of his companions as they surveyed the supreme Temple of Chance.

They went up the steps, Ethel alert to everything she saw, and turned

into a long office to the left, rather more like a small bank than

anything else.

Two or three civil, quickly glancing Frenchmen, in black frock coats,

were standing in this room before the counter. Ethel was conscious of a

quick all-embracing scrutiny from three pairs of dark eyes, she heard

her name spoken in French by one of the officials, and shortly

afterwards two purple cards, bearing the mystic words:

"_Cercle des Etrangers,_

_Valable pour un jour,_"

and with their names written upon the back in thin clerkly script, were

handed to them.

From there, into a vestibule where cloaks were exchanged for metal discs

with a number upon them, and then in their evening frocks, but still

wearing their hats, the two ladies passed with their cavalier into the

Atrium.

The huge hall, with its galleries, marble columns and tesselated floor,

its gleaming lights in the roof, and its little groups of people dotted

here and there under the galleries or in the centre space, reminded

Ethel of a dance she had once attended in England at the magnificent

town hall of a great Northern city. Everyone was in evening dress,

everyone talked animatedly, new arrivals kept constantly pouring in. But

at one end of this enormous hall, where the huge marble pillars

clustered more thickly, was a series of great swing doors of an abnormal

height, doors which constantly opened noiselessly and closed again. And

round the doors were innumerable officials in their long frock coats,

standing there watching and waiting as the votaries of Chance pressed

inwards to the very sanctum of the Temple.

Mrs. McMahon nodded. "Come, Ethel," she said in a voice that was

positively hoarse with excitement, "the rooms are in there; let us go."

The two ladies walked up the long hall, presented their cards to an

official who glanced at them and bowed, and then one of the great doors

swung open and they entered. Although it was early yet, the rooms were

fairly full.

Ethel found herself in an enormous salon of great height, and with a

polished parquet floor. It resembled nothing so much as an immense

ball-room in some royal palace. The walls were covered by huge pictures

let into the gilded panelling, separated from each other by pilaster

after pilaster of gold. The ceilings, also, where electric lights

glowed brilliantly, were painted, and the general effect was one of

almost overpowering magnificence. Beyond this huge salon she saw, under

an immense archway, there was another and even larger one crossing it at

right angles, and beyond that still another. The size and splendour of

the place made her catch her breath and dazzled her eyes. "How

wonderful!" she whispered to her mother.

Her next impression was that she was in some church! Despite the

gorgeous decoration certainly not in the least ecclesiastical, the size

and shape, the curious hush and silence that pervaded everything, helped

the impression. There was only the very lowest murmur of conversation

perceptible. Women in astonishingly gorgeous toilets, with gold purses

hanging from their wrists by jewel-studded chains, moved slowly up and

down the parquet floor with a rustling of skirts. The air was full of

mingled perfume and suggested that odour of incense in a cathedral.

As all these impressions crowded into her mind, the girl's eyes became

more used to the surroundings, and she saw, at intervals under the high

dome-like roof, long tables were set, each one as long as two billiard

tables. There were four of them in this first salon, and many more

stretched away in the vista of brilliance. The air was quite clear,

nobody was smoking, and she could see everything very distinctly.

Around each table was a thick cluster of people, men and women, almost

entirely hiding it from view.

She turned to the table nearest her.

Around it, without any intervals, people were sitting in chairs. Behind

them stood other people, at some tables two deep. Above the tables were

suspended huge lamps with green shades--like the lights over a billiard

table, though not so brilliant.

"Why, they are oil lamps!" Ethel said in a low voice to her mother. "How

strange and antiquated!"

Mrs. McMahon smiled.

"If they had electric lights immediately over the tables," she said, "or

even gas, some of the gangs of bad characters who infest Monte Carlo

would find means to cut the pipes or wires, and in the confusion anybody

could take what money he pleased." She clutched her daughter's arm

tightly. "Child," she said, in an impressive voice, "at any one of these

tables at the present moment, lying about, unprotected, in notes and

gold, there is at least fifty thousand pounds!"

At that moment the major drew their attention to the fact that at a

table immediately ahead of them there was a little stir and movement.

A very tall and handsome young man had risen from his chair. His face

was a little flushed and his eyes sparkled, while he tried in vain to

conceal the smile of pleasure and excitement upon his lips. Several of

the other people at this table, who all appeared to know him, rose also

and began to congratulate him in low voices.

"That is the Archduke Theodore," the major said in a husky whisper. "He

is a cousin of the Tsar. For the last week he has been winning enormous

sums, and apparently he has done so again to-night. His pockets are

simply bulging with notes!"

Mrs. McMahon looked significantly at Ethel. Then she saw her chance.

"Come," she said, "we can sit down at this table. This is a very

fortunate chance." They went to the table and found two chairs

unoccupied, slipping into them quickly in the momentary diversion

created by the Archduke's success, and for the first time Ethel McMahon

sat actually a guest of the unknown goddess of Fortune, and about to woo

her.

To the girl's unaccustomed eyes the scene was bewilderingly strange. The

long expanse of green baize cloth stretched away on either side of her.

It was marked with numbered squares and triangles, while at one end were

two huge diamonds of red and black in either corner. She faced a row of

people, men and women in correct evening costume, save that the women,

like herself, wore the large hats which are _de rigueur_ in the Casino.

Jewels gleamed bewilderingly almost everywhere. Exactly opposite her was

a woman who was simply plastered with diamonds, and yet next this

gorgeous vision with the painted face and laughing eyes, with a king's

ransom round her throat and in her hair, sat an elderly yellow-faced

woman in a black dress and without a single ornament--more quietly and

even shabbily dressed than Mrs. McMahon herself. There were two

fresh-faced English boys, who looked like soldiers, there was an

enormous black-bearded Bulgarian, with eyes like black velvet and hands

like fat claws.

And all these people, on the green baize before them, had wads of notes

or piles of gold, save only the old lady, before whom were only a few

five-franc pieces--the minimum stake allowed at Monte Carlo.

And on the numbers themselves money was already beginning to be placed

from every part of the table. Sometimes the people pushed it themselves

on the chosen numbers, sometimes, when they were too far away, they

gave it to one of the silent croupiers who sat round among the

people and pushed the coins to the destined spot with their long

india-rubber-tipped rakes.

Dividing the long table in the centre was the wheel itself, and the

croupier in charge of it was already fingering the ivory ball. Behind

him, on a higher seat, sat the official in charge of all the others

engaged at this table, and from his lips came the occasional croak of

the famous "_Faites vos jeux, messieurs: faites vos jeux_."

Ethel had three golden louis in her purse. It was all the money that

they had brought with them.

Her mother had told her that beginners nearly always won the first time

they played--a very common superstition among gamblers, and one which,

for some reason or other, seems to be amply justified.

"What shall I do, mother?"

"Do whatever you like," Mrs. McMahon answered quickly. "I mustn't

influence you or it will spoil the luck."

Ethel hesitated, and as she did so the croupier swung the capstan and

spun the ball.

A low, humming whirr broke the silence.

"Quick! quick!" whispered Mrs. McMahon, "make your stake or it will be

too late."

Hardly knowing what she did, Ethel pushed her three louis on to the

green cloth, and as she did so the ball began to rattle on the

diamond-shaped pieces of silver at the side of the bowl, and the

croupier called out sharply, "_Rien ne va plus_," announcing that no

more stakes could be put upon the table.

Ethel had pushed her three golden louis exactly upon the edge of the

line which divided six numbers, from 13 to 18, unconsciously played what

is called a _transversale simple_.

If any of these six numbers turned up she would win five times her

original stake. And now--it all passed in a few seconds--the ball

was rattling among the compartments, clicking like a pair of

castanets. There was a final click as it fell into the slot, the

croupier put out his finger and stopped the capstan, announcing the

number--"_Rouge--dix-huit!_"

Red had turned up, but with that Ethel had no concern as she had not

backed the colour, but 18 had won, though for a moment she did not

realise it.

Then followed what to her was an extraordinary scene. The long rakes of

the croupiers shot out from every part of the table, threading their way

in and out among the masses of gold, silver and bank notes with

extraordinary rapidity and the most delicate manipulation.

A small fortune was swiftly swept away into the bank until the table

was comparatively bare. It was all done with the precision of a machine,

without a single mistake, and hardly was it completed when the stakes of

those who had won were being added to in a golden shower.

It takes a croupier at Monte Carlo a whole year to learn his business,

but when he has learnt it no juggler upon the stage can provide a more

startling exhibition. Coins flew from rapidly moving hands in a

continuous stream, as if liquid gold was being squirted from a hose. No

single coin rolled off its appointed square, but fell flat and

motionless within an inch of the stake at which it was aimed. And now

the rakes were pushing money towards the fortunate, not gathering it in

any more, and, almost ere eager or indifferent hands had gathered up

what Fortune had sent them, stakes were again being spread over the

board for the next coup. To Ethel, who had not in the least known what

had happened, there suddenly came a shower of gold falling just before

her upon her original three louis.

She stared at it bewildered, and the big Bulgarian opposite smiled at

her ignorance.

Not so Mrs. McMahon. "That is yours, Ethel," she said; "that is yours.

You've won, after all." And as if in a dream the girl drew the

glittering pile towards her. Fifteen louis, and her own three coins back

again! Fifteen louis! More than thirteen English pounds--come to her as

if by magic in less than a minute; her own, her very own to do as she

liked with.

"I can't believe it!" she whispered to her mother. "It can't be

true--all this--more than a quarter's salary in a minute!"

Old Mrs. McMahon was trembling with excitement, but there was triumph in

her voice.

"My dear," she said, in those very tones of calm superiority which she

had used when the lottery ticket had at last turned up trumps, "this is

nothing. What did I tell you!"

"What shall I do now?" was Ethel's only answer. "Perhaps it would be

better to do nothing."

Mrs. McMahon caught at the word with the true gambler's instinct. "My

dear," she said, "put one of those louis upon zero."

There was a croupier three or four seats away from the girl. She leant

forward, being now a little more accustomed to what she was doing,

"_Zero, s'il vous plait, monsieur_," she said, tossing the coin to him.

"_En plein, mademoiselle?_" he asked.

Ethel turned to her mother. "What does he mean?" she said. Mrs. McMahon

interposed. "_Oui, en plein_," she replied to the man. "You see, Ethel,

it is rather unusual to stake a coin upon a single number, because you

have thirty-five chances against you. Most people do what you did just

now--cover several numbers and be content with smaller winnings. But you

said 'nothing,' and it may be an omen."

Again the ball spun, and now, in full consciousness of what was

happening, Ethel knew excitement so fierce and keen, so utterly

overpowering and absorbing, that it burned within her like a flame, and

frightened her by its intensity.

Her coin was the only one upon zero, which is the bank's number, for

when it turns up all the stakes upon the board are taken by the bank,

except those placed upon red or black, or the other even chances.

Dame Fortune was very kind to-night, for with a slight emphasis the

croupier at the wheel called out "Zero," and several people within her

vicinity turned to look with envy or amusement, as the case might be, at

the beautiful girl who had alone staked upon the big white "O."

They paid her in notes this time, and Mrs. McMahon leant back in her

chair with a gasp. "Fool! Fool that I was," she whispered, her hands

clasping and unclasping themselves. "You had the money; you might have

put on the maximum of nine louis, and you would have won, my dear, you

would have won, and you would have won 6,300 francs--L252!"

"But, mother," Ethel whispered back, "I have won seven hundred francs

already, and three hundred with the first spin, that is a thousand

francs--almost my year's salary at the school!"

"You have been very fortunate" said the old lady. "And now let us go."

"Let us go, mother? No, look; they are beginning to spin again. Let me

try once more?"

Mrs. McMahon gathered up the gold and crisp notes of the Bank of France

and placed them in her chain purse.

"My dear," she replied, "I am almost as keen as you are to go on, but

let us be content with our great good fortune. We shall have all the

more money to play with when we begin upon the system to-morrow."

They vacated their seats, which were immediately occupied by people who

had been standing behind them, and moved slowly through the great hall

towards the doors. By this time the rooms were thronged with people of

all nationalities.

The wealthiest millionaires of London, Paris and Vienna rubbed shoulders

with well-dressed scoundrels known to the police of all three capitals.

There was a reigning king present--a tall, elderly man with a long white

beard--half the nobilities of Europe were represented. The most

expensive and extravagant toilets to be found anywhere in the world at

that hour were seen on either side, and yet there was a proportion of

the players as poor in worldly goods as Ethel McMahon and her mother

themselves; retired army men in whom the gambling fever burned and would

burn until their death, young spendthrifts who had come to spend their

all upon a last chance, financial defaulters who hoped by one smile of

the goddess Fortune to restore money which was not theirs, and to yet

preserve their honour in the eyes of the world.

And through this motley and brilliant crowd--the strangest crowd in

Europe, in the strangest place--Ethel and her mother moved as if in a

dream.

In the mind of the old lady a fierce and feverish greed flared like a

naphtha lamp. In the mind of the girl there was but one thought,

crystallised into a name--Basil! Basil! Basil!

They were near the end of the last salon and coming up to the long swing

doors when Ethel started violently and half stopped.

Standing at one of the tables, within two or three yards of her, was a

tall, well-built man in evening dress. His back was towards her, and

there was something so absolutely familiar in the shoulders, the poise

of the stranger, that she gasped.

For a moment she thought she saw Basil Gregory again--dear Basil, who

was far away at the electric light works in Paris.

Then the stranger made a half turn. He was clean shaved, his complexion

was swarthy, his hair was black. He was dressed also in the height of

the French fashion.

No! It was not Basil, though even now there was something strangely

reminiscent of her lover to the girl's eyes.

With a sigh, she passed out of the Atrium with her mother. They got

their cloaks and walked slowly down the hall to the Condamine. The air

was "all Arabia." A huge moon rode high in the heavens and washed the

Mediterranean with silver. The flowers of the gardens sent forth an

overpowering perfume--the night was sweet and dear.

"_Basil! Basil! Basil!_"

" ... To-morrow, my dear, we will get properly to work on the system.

To-morrow!"

CHAPTER VIII

It was six o'clock on the following evening.

In a tiny room high up in the Hotel Malmaison, above the servants'

quarters, and on the roof, indeed--for the valet of Monsieur Montoyer

was asthmatic and must breathe the freshest air possible--Emile

Deschamps was standing.

The blinds were drawn, the room was lit by candles stuck in bottles, and

presented the air more of a workshop than a bedroom.

The bed was littered with pliers, coils of insulated wire, strips of

thin india-rubber, and a tube of vulcanised paste for making joints.

Upon a large mahogany table close to the window stood a complicated

apparatus.

At one end there was a battery of Leyden jars, then came the intricate

induction coil upon a polished stand, its brass terminals glittering in

the light of the candles. Beyond was the interrupter magnet and beyond

that again the stout "seven-sixteens" wire which led to the electric

light casing in the wall, where the hotel current had been tapped to

take the place of a dynamo.

Upon that part of the table where the interrupter magnet was, there was

an apparatus which in some degree resembled the keyboard of a

typewriter. No letters were on these keys however. They bore numbers

only, from one to thirty-six, with the addition of a nought to represent

zero.

Deschamps, in list slippers, was walking nervously up and down the room.

Perspiration shone upon his face. His eyes had a fixed introspective

stare. He was obviously in a state of the highest possible tension.

Up and down the room he paced, like some caged animal, and every now and

again he rolled a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled a few whiffs of pungent

blue smoke, and threw it away. Now and then he poured himself out a cup

of strong coffee from a little _cafetiere_ which stood upon the

mantelshelf. On the hearth burned a small glowing fire of the mountain

wood and fir cones which are used upon the Riviera, and beside it stood

a soldering "iron" of copper, a file, and a bottle of zinc chloride

solution.

Deschamps looked at his watch.

"Basil is late," he muttered to himself, mopping his brow as he did so

with a very dingy handkerchief. "_Mon Dieu_, if only this were over!"

He resumed his walk, thinking deeply, checking off each incident of the

great adventure, the great fight of science against the precautions and

wariness of the most complete and cunning organisation in Europe.

The plans of the partners had been altered and modified. As the

preparations continued in Paris and the scheme was discussed a thousand

times, and with an infinity of detail which crystallised more and more

into definiteness, the most important thing that was at length

determined on--and the Carnet brothers had been in thorough

agreement--was that play should only last for one night. The

confederates had thought that phenomenal winnings, protracted over two

or three days, would inevitably give rise to suspicion. These suspicions

would, in all human probability, be absolutely wide of the real mark.

But, at any rate, they would be certain to result in the wheel at the

table where Monsieur Charles Edouard Montoyer made his colossal coups

being changed for another.

It was resolved, therefore, that Basil should play, with the aid of the

unseen electric influences, for one evening only. The whole thing had

been worked out, and it had been found that it would be easy, if nothing

went wrong, for him to win an enormous sum even within a few hours.

Directly that was accomplished Deschamps would pack his apparatus and

return to Paris. Basil would remain at Monte Carlo for a few days and

venture a few small sums to avoid suspicion. After that he would rejoin

his friend.

There was a low knock at the door, an interval of silence, and then five

more distinct taps.

Deschamps knew that Basil was without, and he quietly unlocked the door

and let in his friend.

Basil, tall, foreign looking, and in the most scrupulously chosen

evening dress, entered the dingy little bedroom with its litter of

machinery and tools. The door was locked behind him and the partners

were alone together.

Deschamps started. "_Mon Dieu!_" he said, "your _sang froid_ is

admirable. You are--how do you call it?--cool as a cucumber. _Froid

comme un concombre._ Look at me; I tremble all over, _moi_!"

Basil shrugged his shoulders. "What is the use?" he said briefly. "I

have been nervous enough up to the present, but now the moment has

arrived I have just _got_ to keep cool. The biggest strain is on me, and

if I fail now all our plans are over and it means"--he threw out his

hands with a foreign gesture--"well, we won't talk of what it means."

"You are marvellous!" said the excitable little Frenchman. "You have no

tremor, no compunction."

Basil shook his head. "I am strung up to go through with it," he

answered, "and take what comes--fortune or prison. As for compunction,

it seems to me a good deed to rob the proprietors of this hell if one

can, considering all the stories I have heard during the few hours I

have been here, and the evil passions I have seen displayed on all

sides. And, moreover, we do it for the sake of science, to confer an

inestimable benefit on the world!"

"_Bien_," Deschamps answered. "Now, have you got the card absolutely

safe? Let's compare it with mine for the last time."

From out of his pocket Basil drew an oblong slip of card. Upon it,

written in a cypher invented by himself and Deschamps, in which they had

perfected themselves during the last week or two, were a series of

numbers. Above each number was marked the time--9:5, 9:15, etc., etc.

They went through the cards together finding them to correspond in every

detail.

"And now for the watches," said Deschamps. From a kit bag in the corner

of the room he produced a leather case, containing two handsome gold

chronometers. "I have kept them there until now," he said, "in order

that they might not become magnetised by the electric work I have been

doing."

With the utmost care and nicety he adjusted the timepieces so that they

did not vary, one from the other, by a single second. Then he gave one

chronometer to Basil, and returned the other to the portmanteau.

"I have been playing all the day," Basil said, "with the hundred and

fifty louis we reserved for that. Sometimes I lost, sometimes I won. But

I spread my money about with supreme indifference. Always I put down a

maximum stake, and I played upon a number. Of course, I lost many times,

but I am sure I gave the desired impression to the croupiers at our

table where the marked wheel is, that I was a wealthy gambler

indifferent as to whether I won or lost. Towards the end I had a stroke

of luck. I had put nine louis on 7, and 7 turned up. So that I won 6,300

francs. I had heard that the rule forbidding all tips to the croupiers

had been recently abrogated; so that I feed the men in my neighbourhood

magnificently. I shall get a seat at our table all right if I am

punctual when the Casino opens for the evening play."

"And what are you going to do now?" Emile asked anxiously. "Will you

stay here with me?"

"I don't think so, _mon ami_," Basil returned. "We have worked out every

possible detail. The more we talk about it, the more nervous we shall

become. I shall go to my room, have a little fish and a single glass of

wine, and then stroll round the gardens in the fresh night air until it

is time to go in." He held out his hand. "Good luck, old fellow!"

Deschamps grasped it and nodded, too full of emotion and excitement to

answer.

Then Gregory quietly left the room and descended to his own.

As he walked down the passage he heard the click of the lock being shot

into its place and knew that Deschamps would be alone with his machinery

till midnight.

CHAPTER IX

Into the glittering rooms Basil Gregory strolled.

He had left the Hotel Malmaison but five minutes before. The metal check

for his light coat and opera hat was in his waistcoat pocket, and as he

walked slowly up the Atrium, smoking a cigarette, he seemed--even in an

environment where some of the most important people in the world

congregate--a very distinguished person indeed.

As he came up to the doors quick-eyed officials in their black frock

coats--carrion-crows people have called them--made their bows and pushed

open one of the great cedar portals.

Already the word had gone round that this tall and cool gentleman was an

unknown millionaire, who was pleased to amuse himself for an hour or two

at the tables.

Basil entered. People were still dining. The rooms were full--they

always are full--but of the ordinary and hungry crowd who do little

more than venture a few francs, and hardly dare take a chair at any

table when one is vacant.

Basil sauntered up to the right hand table in the large central salon.

Some people call this table the "suicides' table," others give that

sinister designation to another. Be that as it may, Basil found a chair

and sat down--on the left of the croupier who spins the wheel and his

colleague who sits behind him on a higher chair and directs the whole

operations of the table.

Basil sat down, took out his watch and placed it upon the space of green

baize before him. Then he drew twenty or thirty gold coins from his

pocket, and a couple of five hundred franc notes.

The official who sat above the man who turned the wheel smiled down at

the newcomer. It was a slack time. The table was half deserted, the rush

of the diners had not yet begun.

Basil took out his cypher card and placed it carefully behind a little

rampart of gold coins.

The croupier spun, and before the "_Rien ne va plus_" was uttered Basil

had shoved his usual maximum of nine louis upon number 3--sitting as he

did close to the wheel which divided the two long tables.

Twenty-eight turned up. Basil saw his money raked away, with the few

other stakes that were adventured, with a broad smile.

No one could possibly have noticed the quick glance he gave at his

watch. But that glance signified to him that for the next five minutes

number "11" would be certain to win.

He put the maximum upon number 11.

He glanced again at his watch, as the croupiers began to croak their

"_Faites vos jeux_" and gazed moodily round the table, which was now

beginning to fill up. At that moment--a supreme moment to him--he was

conscious of no particular emotion at all.

When asked about it afterwards by a certain intimate friend he always

said, "Really, I felt nothing whatever."

The weary yellow-faced slave of the wheel did his duties.

All the money upon the table, at that moment, was upon even chances,

upon the dozens, the _transversales_, or the columns. No single person

had played direct upon a number--a thirty-five to one chance.

The big triangles of red and black at the far end of the table were both

piled with gold and notes, the borders of several numbers were covered

with adventurous stakes.

There was a swift "click" as the ball went home.

Number 11 had turned up.

Basil Gregory had the impulse to rise from his seat and go striding up

and down those glittering halls, hugging his secret, spurning those

other players who knew nothing.

Everything had occurred exactly as he had planned with Emile Deschamps.

At the precise moment arranged between them the wireless message had

come to the spinning ball and it had fallen, as it was directed,

obedient to the unseen and unsuspected powers of science.

He drew towards him six thousand three hundred francs--two hundred and

fifty two English pounds!

He looked at his watch again. The next slot in the wheel that was to be

magnetised was 33. But it was not yet time. It had been arranged that

he was to lose occasionally in order to divert suspicion.

He placed the maximum of nine louis upon zero. To his consternation,

zero won. Again he received the enormous sum of six thousand and odd

francs. He leant back in his chair, outwardly indifferent and calm, but

throbbing in every nerve and pulse with wild excitement. It was true

then!

A few hundred yards away, in the little bedroom on the roof, Emile

Deschamps was pressing key after key with absolute precision. And as he

pressed the little spinning ball, flung from the hand of the croupier,

must perforce obey the invisible power that vibrated through the air.

That he had won upon zero--when he meant to lose--seemed only a minor

incident in the riot of his progress.

The one man in the crowded halls of that palace--the one and only

man--who could control Fortune herself, he sat there outwardly cold and

impassive, while his mind and nerves were torn and wrenched as by

opposing forces.

He was now more than five hundred pounds to the good, and as yet he had

only played one coup of the many agreed upon by the secret code.

Already the people at the table were glancing at each other and at the

impassive young man who staked a maximum each time, and had already won

twice _en plein_--so unprecedented a thing to do.

He was a Russian prince, it was whispered. His French was so

perfect--though it was not absolutely the French of a Frenchman--that

the whispering people round the table thought he could be none other

than a Russian. That he was English never occurred to anyone, for no

Englishman speaks French as Basil Gregory spoke it.

The wheel was turning again, and everyone watched to see what the

unperturbed figure by the croupier would do.

This time, with a glance at his cypher card, and also at his watch,

Basil backed red and not a number.

Each number in the wheel has its corresponding colour, red or black, and

it was as easy for him to win on an even chance as it was upon a chance

of thirty-five to one. He backed red, and, far away at the top of the

Hotel Malmaison, Emile Deschamps pressed the key which magnetised the

slot 18 in the wheel upon the green table--18 being a red number.

Basil placed the maximum upon red--that is, two hundred and forty

pounds.

Red turned up. He had now won nearly eight hundred pounds, and round his

chair were grouped a crowd of people three feet deep.

People were flocking from other tables, drawn by that nameless unknown

mental telegraphy which tells the whole Casino when big wins are being

made.

The whole of the great rooms became electric with an atmosphere of

excitement. There was not a sound as the people thronged to Basil's

table--at Monte Carlo the greatest successes, the most disastrous

failures, happen in silence.

But, in that tense atmosphere, there was more than sound--there was a

pressing together and focussing of human minds, converging upon one spot

to witness the battle.

"_Faites vos jeux, messieurs._"

"_Le jeu est fait._"

"_Rien ne va plus._"

A rattle, a hushed silence--the player who had put a maximum of nine

louis upon number 13 had lost!

Men and women nodded and whispered, whispered and nodded. "Monsieur's

luck was about to change, _n'est-ce 'pas_?" "It is not going to be a big

run after all, _hein_?"

Once more the wheel spun.

Monsieur, with extraordinary daring, placed the maximum upon 6.

Six turned up.

In front of Basil Gregory was a pile of gold, still more important and

significant a bundle of crinkled blue and white notes.

He took the notes up with cool deliberation, folded many of them, and

put them into the breast pocket of his coat, stretched out his hand, and

put the maximum upon black.

"_Noir, dix-neuf_," the croupier croaked, and another two hundred and

forty pounds was pushed over by the rakes to add to Basil's store.

By this time almost everyone at the table was playing as Basil played.

If he staked upon an 8, the number was plastered and covered with gold

and notes.

Each time he won and by now a rumour of something utterly unique had

spread through the whole vast building, other and lesser punters won

with him. When he was up three thousand pounds against the Bank, the

Bank had lost quite seventeen thousand.

The air was electric. The word had gone round. _Habitues_ of the Casino

crowded to watch one of those extraordinary nights of play which occur

now and then--far more rarely than is supposed--and which are talked

about for long afterwards. New-comers joined the throng, and still Basil

Gregory sat impassive in his place, conscious that he was the centre of

attention, but allowing nothing whatever to divert him from his purpose.

He glanced at his watch.

Stakes were being put upon the table timidly. The players were waiting

to see what he was going to do.

He glanced at his cypher-card. The moment was marked with a tiny cross.

He was now to adventure a bigger coup than ever before.

He placed the maximum of nine louis upon number 20--standing to win six

thousand francs. He placed the maximum of sixty louis upon the line that

covered the six figures from 16 to 21, including 20. Here also he stood

to win 6,000 francs if 20 turned up.

Then he staked on black. Number 20 upon the roulette wheel is a black

number, so here, again, he played the maximum and stood to win the

highest possible. Finally he backed the middle dozen of the 36 numbers,

here also staking the maximum of 150 louis, again making it possible to

win 6,000 francs.

In that quiet place, where any outward expression of excitement or

emotion is instantly suppressed, there came a low, sighing sound like

the fluttering of leaves in the wind.

It was the spectators whispering to each other.

Such high play as this was beyond the experience of almost everyone.

This time, getting more cautious, the other players wagered heavily

against Basil. They thought such phenomenal luck as he had had could

not possibly continue, and for the first time during the evening a

slight sardonic smile came upon the young man's face.

He knew, they did not, with what certainty number 20 would turn up.

The wheel swung, the ball spun. "_Noir et vingt_," croaked the croupier.

And now, as the rakes pursued their remorseless way, and swept in all

the stakes upon the table except Basil's maximums, there was a low

murmur of surprise and consternation. Anywhere else but in the Casino it

would have been a babel of tongues.

In one single minute Basil Gregory had won the huge sum of 24,000

francs--960 English pounds.

Standing by the director of the table, who sat above and behind the

croupier who spun the wheel, there was now seen a tall and unobtrusive

man with a pale face, a short black beard, and wearing evening dress. It

was one of the heads of the permanent staff of the Administration--a

mysterious being who only entered the rooms upon special occasion, a

person invested with unknown powers--one of the gods!

Basil had emptied his mind of thought.

He had focussed his whole being upon what he was doing. The huge pile of

wealth before him affected him no more than if the notes and gold--and

by now there were many notes and but little gold--were but so many

counters. Mechanically he folded bundle after bundle of thousand franc

notes and placed them in the inner pocket of his coat.

And then, in the stir and rustle, he heard a sharp

exclamation--unremarked by the crowd around in that moment of tension,

but like an arrow through his own consciousness.

He looked up.

Opposite him, down towards the end of the table, two ladies were

sitting. He had been vaguely conscious of them before, but, during all

his play, he had made a point of not allowing his thoughts or glances to

be distracted by the other players.

It was from one of those ladies, the young one, that he, and he alone,

heard a little gasping cry.

It was the girl he loved! It was Ethel McMahon!

A mist seemed to rise up from the table as if water had been poured upon

a heated plate of steel. For a moment it swayed and blotted out

everything. His mind seemed to be a turning wheel. He felt little

needles pricking at the back of his eyes, his blood congealed into a

jelly, and the palms of his hands suddenly became covered with a film of

perspiration.

Ethel!... It was Ethel! And as the mist cleared away and his mind came

to attention, he knew that this was no illusion, but that in very flesh

and blood Ethel and her mother were sitting almost opposite to him

playing at this table, playing roulette in the world's greatest gambling

hell!

The impulse to call out was almost unbearable, but he restrained it with

an iron effort.

He stared hungrily at the two women, and as he did so he saw Ethel and

Mrs. McMahon look up and meet his gaze. He saw this also--in their eyes

was envy and consternation, but not the slightest glint of recognition.

And then he remembered his disguise--the spectacles, the shaved

moustache, the foreign clothes, and swarthy complexion--and he realised

that their interest in him was no more than that of any of the others.

The whole crowd, the croupiers also, were waiting to see what he would

do.

The "_faites vos jeux_" was rapping out at him from all sides of the

table.

He knew that he must have an instant to think or else go mad. With

careless gesture he threw a couple of louis upon the table before him,

not caring where they fell, and once again the wheel of chance revolved.

What did this mean? There was no answer to his agonised mental inquiry.

He saw Ethel and her mother bending over a card covered with

figures--one of those system cards so frequently seen at the tables, so

certain to end in disaster.

He saw also the pallor of their faces. He realised in a flash of

intuition that they were losing heavily.

How to warn them, how to tell them that he and he only possessed the

secret key to Fortune to-night he could not think, he could not divine.

Again he glanced at his card. Habit had become mechanical. His watch

pointed to ten minutes past the hour. His directions stood clear and

plain in the cypher before him.

He sorted out his notes and did what was directed.

Up there, on the top of the Hotel Malmaison, Emile Deschamps was even at

that moment pressing a certain key. The result was as inevitable as sure

as Fate.

And as Fate or, rather, the cunning of science, the immense trickery of

the two young geniuses, spoke, Basil saw that Ethel McMahon and her

mother were very hard hit.

He watched them slant-wise from the ends of his spectacles, realising,

more definitely than ever, that they were playing upon some fallacious

scheme, and being sure--with a jerk of memory--that old Mrs. McMahon had

unearthed one of her late husband's systems, and was pursuing it to her

own ruin.

Again he won, and by now he was a rich man. The excitement was

tremendous, when suddenly the tall man in evening dress announced a

suspension of play.

Basil Gregory had "broken the bank."

There is a prevalent idea, among those who do not know much about Monte

Carlo, that breaking the bank means that the whole play of the Casino is

stopped for the night on which it occurs.

This is quite wrong.

"Breaking the bank" simply means that the resources of a particular

table, out of the dozen or so tables on which roulette is played, are

exhausted for a moment. In five minutes new money is brought and play

goes on.

It was so now. There was a hurried consultation, and in no time lackeys

were bearing oak coffers bound with brass, filled with money, to Basil's

table, accompanied by three or four frock-coated officials.

The money was spread out in rows before the principal paying croupier,

and six minutes had hardly passed when once more the calm, passionless

voice of the director was calling upon the players to "make their game."

But in the interim, as Basil Gregory leant back in his chair, he had

heard, with ears quickened by anxiety and love, these words from Ethel

to her mother--words spoken in English:

"But, mother, we _cannot_ go on."

Then the answer, in a sort of wail of despair: "We must go on, Ethel.

This next coup is certain to put us right. We must pay no attention to

the extraordinary luck of that young Russian nobleman opposite. We must

adhere to your father's system. If this coup goes wrong, then we can

only play twice again, and all our money will be exhausted. But I have

every faith in your father's system."

Then Basil heard something about "courage," and, finally, a whispered

lamentation that "our capital is so small."

Three numbers upon his cypher-card had passed by during the rebringing

of money to the table.

Glancing at his watch, he saw that the time was ripe for him to play

upon 16.

He was gathering up the necessary money to put upon the board, when the

sallow man from the Administration pushed through the people surrounding

him and whispered in his ear.

If he liked, the official did not press it at all, monsieur should have

the opportunity of playing three coups against the bank. That is to say,

that the ordinary maximum should be entirely abrogated in favour of

monsieur, and any sum he cared to wager upon an even chance, the

Administration would be pleased to meet.

The colloquy was very rapid. Deschamps had told Basil that such a thing

might happen--such an offer be made to him. When a player has

temporarily suspended the game at a certain table--or, in common

parlance, "broken the bank"--the authorities are nearly always ready for

a final sensational coup.

Basil nodded. "Certainly," he said, pulling out bundle after bundle of

notes. "I will play 200,000 francs on red."

The number 16 is a red number. Basil wagered almost his whole winnings

of that night without a tremor.

There was now a dead silence round the table. People clustered about it

ten deep in the vain effort to see what was going on. Yet, while the

wheel was turned and the ball spun, the only unconcerned person about

this gigantic stake was Basil Gregory himself.

No one else put a single coin upon the table, save only a trembling old

lady who sat by a young and lovely girl--an obstinate old lady, clinging

to a hope.

Basil was given notes to the value of L16,000.

The most notable thing about the Casino, with its enormous resources, is

the absolute impassibility of its officials.

Again Basil wagered L8,000--this time upon black.

He won, and as his money was being paid to him a loud murmur rose from

the crowd--a loud murmur, broken by a sharp and pulsing cry.

A tall and beautiful girl had risen from her feet and had fallen in a

deep swoon into the arms of the bystanders behind her.

There was an immediate struggle. The electric tension of the moment was

over. The well-dressed crowd surged and almost fought in a panic of

snapped nerves and suddenly relaxed excitement.

People came surging from all sides. The other tables were deserted,

and, far away through the great halls, those who were playing

_trente-et-quarante_ rose from their cards with listening ears.

In that supreme moment Basil Gregory did not lose his head. He gathered

up his enormous winnings. The pockets of his coat bulged with wealth.

And Ethel McMahon was being carried out into the Atrium, followed by her

mother in a state of wild hysteria, before he rose from his seat.

He took six thousand-franc notes from one of his pockets. To each of the

six croupiers he gave a note.

Then he sauntered quietly out into the huge hall.

Under the brilliant electric lights which gleamed upon the marble he saw

little groups of people--each group seeming quite small in the

immensity--talking earnestly together.

As he came out among them every head was turned, though of Ethel and her

mother he saw not a trace.

But as he went to the cloak-room, and delivered his metal ticket, two or

three commissionaires came up to him with awed and respectful faces.

"That young lady?" he said, "and the elder one with her?"

"It was nothing, monsieur," one of the men hastened to say. "They are

two English ladies staying at the _pension_ in the Rue Grimaldi. Your

success, monsieur, unnerved them. They have been sent home in a

_voiture_."

Basil nodded as he was helped into his long, dark coat.

With a smile he distributed a few gold coins, and then, alone,

unattended, he walked out into the warm, aromatic night, and strolled to

his adjacent hotel among flower-bordered paths, under the twin lights of

electricity and the great, red moon of the South.

At the Hotel de Paris, at the Metropole, at Ciro's, people were

gathering for gay supper parties.

As he entered the huge, brilliantly decorated lounge of the Malmaison,

groups of wealthy people were smoking a preliminary cigarette before

supper. Some of them--many of them--recognised him, and nodded and

whispered to each other, but he entered the lift and went straight to

his own room.

He turned up the electric lights, and locked the door. And then, from

pocket and pocket, he poured out crackling, crumpled heaps of notes,

heavy handfuls of gold--the wealth of which he had dreamed.

After a minute or two, without even locking the door of his

sitting-room, he stumbled out of it and up the stairs to the servants'

quarters.

He gave the signal knocks.

He was at once admitted to the dingy little bedroom-workshop.

Emile Deschamps was there. The Frenchman's face was as grey as evening

ice.

He was staring at his apparatus in a sort of stupor, and by his side the

chronometer ticked.

Emile gave a loud shout as Basil tumbled into the place.

"It is done, then?" he gasped. "_Mon ami_, it is a thing done?"

All grimy as he was Basil led his friend down into his sitting-room.

* * * * * *

At two o'clock on the afternoon of the next day two English ladies,

accompanied by a little, swarthy Frenchman, with a dressing-case which

never left his hands, rolled out of the station of Monte Carlo, _en

route_ for Paris.

For two days after this Monsieur Montoyer was observed to walk

distractedly through the salons and occasionally to place a maximum upon

a single number. Monsieur Montoyer did not repeat his successes, and

those who followed his play cursed him and their own credulity deeply

and silently.

The great night when Fortune smiled upon the "young Russian nobleman" is

still remembered by the assiduous acolytes of Chance. It is talked

about, and given as an instance to new-comers of what bold, indifferent

play can accomplish.

Nobody connects Sir Basil Gregory, Bart., the head of the great firm of

Deschamps, Gregory and Co., which has revolutionised wireless

telegraphy, with the spectacled, clean-shaven young gentleman who made

such a sensation one night in the Casino at Monte Carlo.

Sir Basil and Lady Gregory spend almost all their days in the charming

old house they have bought near Falmouth.

But on the Riviera there is an old, old lady--the well-known Madame

McMahon--who still haunts the gambling hells of the Continent. She is a

recognised figure. She has a marvellous system which never comes off,

but when she gets into difficulties with the proprietors of her

_pension_, mysterious telegraphic drafts upon the local bank always

arrive in the nick of time, either from Cornwall or from Quimperle, in

Brittany, where Monsieur Edouard and Monsieur Charles Carnet have a

house, and are churchwardens of the unique cathedral.