surprise he recognized it as that of Professor Durand. The old man was
clutching in his hands a number of the Revue of Monte Carlo with its
columns of permanencies.
“What a pity!” thought Hugh. “So fine, so venerable a head bent over
those wretched figures. This man who might be taken for a preacher, a
prophet,--a slave to this vulgar vice, puzzling over systems, trying to
outwit the Goddess Chance. _Le calcul peut vaincre le jeu_ ... that is
the lying phrase that lures them. Fools!”
Then he turned for the Professor was addressing him. Hugh saw a
flashing eye, a noble brow.
“Young man, you will excuse me, but I claim the privilege of age. At
the Sorbonne I have lectured to thousands like you. I speak because I
noted in your passing glance something of disdain.”
Hugh made a gesture of protest.
“No, I do not blame you. You see me with these numbers. But you
misjudge me.... Listen....”
The old man seemed to grow taller. He stretched his hand to where the
Casino glittered like a crown of gems.
“I am eighty years old to-day. I have a feeling that I shall never see
another birthday. But there is one thing I hope to do before I die ...
_to ruin that accursed place_.”
Hugh stared at him.
“I speak for the good of humanity, I speak because of the evil it
has done in the past, the harm it can do in years to come. I speak
in behalf of its thousand of blasted homes, its broken hearts, its
shameful graves. Ah! you only see the beautiful surface. You do not
see below. But I do. And to my eyes yonder rock on which it stands, is
built of human skulls, the waves that lap it are tears and blood. Look
at the loveliness of earth and sky, the purple mountain rising from the
silver sea, the dreamlike peace, the soft and gentle air. No painted
picture was ever half so beautiful. How happy all might be here! A
paradise, a human paradise; but because of that place, a poisoned
paradise.”
Hugh stared harder. The old man’s voice was tense with passion.
“You think I am a fanatic, a madman. Wait and see. I am going to
destroy that place. For years I have worked on my great plan. It is
the crown of my life. In a few weeks I will begin to play. I shall win
and win. By mathematics I will frustrate chance. I will compel them to
close their doors, for my system is invincible. God has given me this
task to do, and I will complete it before I die. Into my hands He has
delivered them. I am His instrument of vengeance. Let them beware!”
In a magnificent gesture he shook his clenched fists at the Casino.
When Hugh left him he was still standing like a prophet on the heights,
staring down on his poisoned paradise.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE GIRL WHO WAS ALWAYS ALONE
1.
Christmas had come and gone, a strange, unreal Christmas, with none
of those rigors and austerities that Hugh had been accustomed to
associate with the season. The long stretch of garden in front of the
Casino was enamelled with patterns of pink, purple and milky cyclamen,
as brilliant as banners against the green; the ribbon-like paths
were terra-cotta; and the usual indolent gardeners were shaving and
shampooing the velvety lawns.
Hugh was feeling elaborately well. In the last two months a great
change had come over him. His pale face had taken on a healthy tan; its
hollows had disappeared. A new force, a new courage possessed him; he
looked a lithe, swift youth, as clean as fire.
It was then with a joyous sense of recovered manhood that he took the
early train one morning for La Turbie, and started to walk to Menton.
As he swung along the High Corniche it seemed as if he was looking
over the nose of an aeroplane. The brilliant panorama of shore and sea
expanded before his gaze. He saw the Rock rising like a huge hump from
the water, the crowded red roofs of the Principality, the dainty hoop
of the harbour. His gaze shifted to the dazzling curve of the coast,
the pretentious Casino, Cap Martin with its gleam of modern villas in
ancient olive groves. A desire to paint this beauty kindled and glowed
within him.
He climbed to the ruins of the old castle of Roquebrune and gazed
through a round window onto a dizzy gulf of sea and sky. His reverie
was disturbed by a sound of voices and as he descended to the courtyard
he saw a woman standing by the battlements, looking out into the great,
shining space. She was tall and graceful, dressed in a jersey costume
of primrose silk. It was Mrs. Belmire.
As if she had known he was there, she stretched her hand backwards,
without turning her head.
“Come here,” she commanded.
Hugh obeyed. He took the outstretched hand and was drawn gently to her
side.
“Isn’t it lovely,” she sighed.
He felt her hand tighten in his. He had a sudden desire to kiss her
lovely neck. Slowly she turned towards him, then stepped back and
stamped her foot in vexation.
“Oh, it’s _you_!” she cried. “Well, of all the-- I thought it was Mr.
Fetterstein.”
But quickly she recovered herself.
“I’ve a bone to pick with you, naughty young man. Why have you never
come to see me?”
Hugh had no excuse ready.
“I had made up my mind not to speak to you again. But there! Good
nature was always my weakness. Promise me to come soon and I’ll forgive
you.”
While Hugh was promising another man joined them. Mrs. Belmire turned
to the newcomer radiantly.
“Mr. Fetterstein; I want to introduce Mr. Kildair; a young countryman
of mine.”
Mr. Fetterstein did not look enthusiastic, but mustered a show of
cordiality.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said; and offered a large hard hand. In fact
everything about Mr. Fetterstein suggested hardness. He looked muscular
and forceful. His hair was iron grey; the lines of his clean-shaven
face were firm and grim; his jaw strong; his eyes shrewd; his voice
had a determined rasp. Even his clothes were made of some hard,
wear-resisting tweed.
“Now, come,” said Mrs. Belmire; “I positively insist on your admiring
this view.”
“If you insist, Mrs. Belmire, there is nothing more to be said. But you
know how looking at scenery always makes me hungry. Even now I’ve got
an appetite I wouldn’t sell for a twenty dollar bill. I grant you this
is fine all right. We haven’t got anything in the United States that
could touch it. But for my part I’d rather look into the inside of a
good car than at the finest bit of scenery the Lord ever made.”
“Oh, you horrid materialist! But you must excuse him, Mr. Kildair. His
enthusiasm is entirely professional. Mr. Fetterstein makes automobiles
in America somewhere....”
“Detroit, Michigan, ma’am. We have five factories running right now.
In fact I’m over here to pick up pointers from French cars. I’ve got
one down there that’s a hummer. But that reminds me, Mrs. Belmire, we’d
better be getting _ong root_ if we want to make _Song Reemo_ in time
for _dayjoonay_. Come on. Let’s get down if you’ve had enough of your
old ruin.”
Mrs. Belmire sighed. “I’m sorry you don’t appreciate my ruin.”
“I guess it’s a first class ruin all right, but they ain’t much in my
line. Now, Mrs. Belmire, if you’ll kindly give me a few pointers on
roulette when we get back to Monte Carlo to-night, that’d make a hit
with me.”
They descended to the village square where stood a long
vicious-looking, torpedo-shaped car. It was painted a warm orange, with
finishings of nickel. In the curving body was a well with two seats,
and the whole thing looked like an aeroplane without wings.
“Twelve cylinders,” said Mr. Fetterstein, as he climbed into the raking
seat. Mrs. Belmire looked distinctly nervous but bravely adjusted
her cloak and veil. Mr. Fetterstein raced the engine, jammed in his
first speed; the car leapt forward like a flame. Hugh saw it flashing
down the white road and thrilled as it took the sharp curves. Then a
shoulder of mountain hid it from his view.
“A most delightful woman,” he thought; “no wonder she has a lot of
admirers. I wish I could call on her, but what’s the good. She’d
only find out that I’m what Mr. Fetterstein would describe as a
‘four-flusher.’”
2.
Hugh lunched and lounged in Menton, until he felt a strange nostalgia
for Monte Carlo come over him.
“Curious,” he reflected; “already the place has such a hold on me, I
cannot leave it even for a few hours.”
He jumped into a big lemon-coloured motor bus and in half an hour was
sitting in the Café de Paris.
“Hullo, old chap,” he heard a shrill voice say, and looked up to see
Mr. Jarvie Tope. Mr. Tope seemed as if he had stepped from a band-box,
a flawless figure of a well-dressed man.
“Hullo!” responded Hugh. “You’re looking well.”
Mr. Tope raised his jaunty panama.
“I should think so, sixty and still going strong. Getting younger
instead of older. Oh, I’m a great boy, I am.”
“Come and have tea with me,” Hugh begged.
Mr. Tope sat down. Together they gazed at the brilliant scene. The air
was bright with banners and exultant with music. Gay crowds promenaded
in front of the Casino. An aeroplane swooped down, scaring the drowsy
pigeons on the cornice. Men watched it through their monocles, women
from under their tiny frilled sunshades. Under the striped umbrellas
elegant _demi-mondaines_ sipped their orangeades; professional dandies,
slim and elegant, passed amid the green tables; and dancing girls,
befurred and bejewelled, sauntered on their way to the _Thé Dansant_.
It was a kaleidoscope of colour; a moving pattern of dainty costumes;
an entertainment that never lost its interest.
“Isn’t it just like a scene in a theatre?” said Mr. Tope. “That’s how
it strikes me even after twenty years. A beautifully dressed crowd,
beautifully behaved; yet below it all vice unfathomable. It sometimes
reminds me of the rainbow iridescence one sees on a pool of scum.... By
the way, I haven’t seen you tempting the fickle goddess?”
“No, I haven’t been inside the Casino.”
“Ha! that’s quite a distinction. I noticed you talking to old Bob
Bender the other day.”
“Yes, he’s having rather a hard time. He’s waiting a backer from
America.”
“Oh, you needn’t waste any sympathy on old Bob. He’ll never starve.”
“Why?”
“Well,” said Mr. Tope, lowering his voice to a whisper, “they say he’s
in the service of the Secret Police.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ah, young man! you only see the showy side of Monte; but believe me,
there’s a very seamy under one. This is the most cosmopolitan spot in
the world, and criminals of all countries collect here. You might call
it a sort of criminal clearing-house. Well, to counteract this, the
Casino people have the most efficient police force in Europe. They have
agents in all the big capitals; an international crook can’t put his
foot in Monaco without being recognized and watched.”
“You surprise me.”
“Do I? Let me tell you: the rooms are full of detectives, male and
female. The chief of the Secret Police is a man of genius, a Swiss
called Krantz. He speaks seven languages and seems to have an eighth
sense, the sense of detection. You may have seen him, a tall, thin man
dressed in black with a dark, clean-shaven face. He always wears a
smile of cheerful simplicity.”
“And Bob?”
“Oh, Bob’s just a spy. He keeps track of the English crooks and shadows
if required. They say Krantz values him.”
“It seems very strange to me.”
“Not at all. If you only knew the underground workings of this place,
the mentality, the way in which everything is run.... Why, here you’re
not living in the Twentieth Century at all. It’s mediæval. Even now
some spy may be trying to over-hear us.”
“A queer place!”
“Yes, and packed with the queerest people on earth. Now, for instance,
that little girl in black, just entering.”
Hugh started. The girl was Margot Leblanc. He had not seen her for some
time, and had wondered if she was still at the pension. She was dressed
shabbily and as she passed he saw that her face was white and haggard,
and her eyes stared vacantly before her. She sat down at a nearby table.
“Now, that girl,” continued Mr. Tope, “is a puzzle to me. She came
here about two months ago and she has never been seen to speak to any
one. She is always alone. Nobody knows anything about her. She spends
most of her time in the Rooms gambling with small stakes. I have seen
her stand silently at a table for hours.... By the way, here come my
friends, the Calderbrooks. Let me introduce you.”
The Calderbrooks were so uncompromisingly English, that their
nationality was recognizable a long way off. They wore tailored
costumes made of the same kind of tweed, with stockings of wool and low
tan shoes. Under broad-brimmed hats their faces were pink and cheerful.
The mother was sweet; the girl pretty; the father a tall thin man, with
drooping moustache, a mild manner, and pale blue eyes.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Calderbrook, after they had been introduced, “we’re
going on to Mentony; but we thought we must spend a day or two here....
Perfectly beautiful! Mr. Tope tells me you don’t go to the Rooms? How
very extraordinary! Of course, we strongly disapprove of the whole
thing; but I think every one should go once, if it’s only to see. We’re
going in now for the first time. Mr. Tope has promised to be our guide.
We shall play just once to say we have done so. You’d better come with
us.”
Hugh shook his head smilingly; “I’d rather not, thank you. I’ll wait
here till you come out.”
“All right. Shan’t be long.”
Piloted by Mr. Tope the three mounted the carpeted steps, passed the
bowing flunkeys, and disappeared through the swinging glass doors. In
half an hour they reappeared. They were quite excited.
“It’s wonderful,” said Mrs. Calderbrook; “Alice put five francs on the
twenty-one, that being her age. What do you think! The twenty-one came
up. They paid her a hundred and eighty francs. Of course we stopped at
once. It doesn’t do to abuse one’s luck. I really believe we are lucky.
We’re going again to-night. Father will try this time,--won’t you,
Father?”
Mr. Calderbrook said he would in his weak, refined voice. Alice was
shyly radiant. Hugh wished them further good fortune and they returned
to their hotel, eagerly talking of the play.
3.
Hugh remained a while longer. He was watching the girl of his pension.
Her face was pinched and peaked, her eyes strangely haunting in their
pathos. She was so thin that he could see the outline of her sharp
shoulder blades under her shabby jacket. Her bright hair was braided
and coiled away under a hat of black crepe.
“Poor little devil,” Hugh thought; “she looks up against it.”
Presently she took a note-book with black glazed covers from her bag,
and began to turn its pages abstractedly. Hugh saw that it was filled
with columns of figures.
“Roulette records,” he thought again, “the same idiotic obsession.”
Soon she rose; and having finished his tea, he sauntered idly after
her. He thought she was going to re-enter the Casino; but instead she
turned up-hill in the direction of the town. He saw her climb the steps
of the Church and enter its swinging door.
After waiting a little, he, too, entered. He found her seated in the
cool dusk, her slim hands crossed and her eyes closed. Whether she was
sleeping or praying he could not tell. He watched her for a while; then
as she continued to sit immovable he went away.
4.
Hugh had found that the strange theatrical charm of Monte Carlo was
most obvious after dark, and he never tired of wandering through the
still gardens, breathing the delicious freshness of the air. Whichever
way he looked a picture formed itself. The tiny paths were like coral
ribbands on a gown of green, embroidered with pansy patterns of
crimson, violet and silver. Under the lamps the blades of the patrician
palms shone like swords. There were lace-screens of translucent green,
rich velvet dusks, and sudden surprises of silver. The fountain sprayed
diamonds into the dark pool, from which came the ruddy flash of
gold-fishes; the roses climbed the palms as if to reach the light.
That evening he took a seat on the terrace. He heard below him the soft
crooning of the sea, and felt its cool breath. Behind him was starlight
and softly luminous mountains; in front, deep violet space ... mystery,
immensity.
A small form came slowly along the terrace. As it drew near he saw it
was the strange girl who was always alone. Once or twice she stopped,
looking out over the balustrade to the sea. As she passed him he saw
that her face had the vacant look of a sleep-walker. She sank on a
bench, and took a glazed note-book from her bag. As she looked at it
she sighed with weariness. Her head drooped forward and she slept.
Another dark form drew near her, the furtive figure of a man. Softly he
sat down on the same bench and seemed to edge nearer and nearer.
Hugh rose, making unnecessary noise. The man, with a start, glanced his
way and swiftly disappeared. Yet in that flash Hugh had recognized him;
it was that sinister individual, the Rat.
Hugh went for a walk in the Condamine and did not return until half
past ten. He glanced down to the terrace; hunched on the bench, a
solitary figure, the girl still slept.
When he got back to the pension, he found it strangely upset. The two
Swedish ladies were going off in a fiacre with their baggage. Their
faces were very red, and they gabbled furiously. The Twitcher and the
Sword-Swallower were talking in low tones. The Rat was nowhere to be
seen.
“Perhaps,” whispered Teresa, the waitress, “I shouldn’t tell you, but
madame and mademoiselle have left us. They say some one has gone into
their room and stolen money. It was done this afternoon. Fortunately
for me I was away at the time. It is very annoying. _Voila!_ it is
evident we have in the house a thief.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE THIEF
Hugh was preparing to leave the Pension Paoli. Its increasing
atmosphere of furtiveness and suspicion was getting on his nerves. He
had taken a large, sunny unfurnished room in the Condamine and had
bought a folding bed, a table, a chair, and some cooking utensils. Here
he would be alone and quite free. He would spend his days in sketching,
his evenings in reading.
He was considering all this as he sat on a bench on the terrace just
above that green promontory where they shot the pigeons. Even as he
watched the slaughter was going on. A nimble lad would run out by one
of the red, radiating paths and put a pigeon into one of the grey
boxes; then he would retire and after a short interval the side of the
box would collapse, leaving a bewildered bird facing an overwhelming
freedom. Sometimes the bird would hop around stupidly, fearing to rise
until a rubber ball bounding towards it hastened its decision. _Bang!
Bang!_ Generally the bird would drop on the green turf, to be swiftly
retrieved by an eager dog. Sometimes, however, it would get away and,
minus a tail, circle over the sea, finally rejoining its fellows in
front of the Casino. When a pigeon escaped, Hugh wanted to applaud for
joy. But few escaped, and he was turning away in disgust when he saw
the Calderbrooks.
“Hullo!” he said, “I’m surprised. I thought you’d gone long ago.”
“No,” said Mrs. Calderbrook, “we decided to extend our stay. It’s
really a lovely little place. We find the Casino so fascinating. We go
there every day now.”
“Do you still play?”
“Oh, a little. Just for chicken-feed though. Father makes enough to pay
for his cigarettes, while I generally get the Casino to stand afternoon
tea. Oh, we’re very careful.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Calderbrook in his soft refined voice. “One has to be
careful if one goes every day. However, an old fellow called Bender has
taught me a system that so far has been very successful. You put three
pieces on the passe and two on the first dozen, or three pieces on the
manque and two on the last dozen. You have only six numbers against
you. It’s safe.”
“By the way,” said Mrs. Calderbrook, “we saw an American break the bank
yesterday, a Mr. Fetterstein. He played the number seventeen in every
possible way, staking the maximum. They had to ring for more money. It
was quite interesting. He must have won over a hundred thousand francs.
Well, Father, we’ll leave you with Mr. Kildair to finish your pipe,
while Alice and I go in to try our luck.”
When they had gone Mr. Calderbrook talked of various subjects, until
suddenly dropping his voice, he said:
“You see that man in black coming along the terrace--the tall thin one.”
“The one with the clean-shaven face and the fixed smile?”
“Yes. That’s the great Krantz, the Chief of the Secret Police.”
As he passed them the eyes of Krantz were focussed on their faces.
“There,” said Mr. Calderbrook, “he knew we were discussing him.”
Hugh looked after the detective. His right hand, held behind his back,
was carrying what looked like a sword cane. It was a long and muscular
hand, and Hugh noted that part of the little finger was missing.
“They say,” said Mr. Calderbrook, “that he has all kinds of spies
working for him and that he is quite unscrupulous. People who displease
him have a way of disappearing suddenly. But then everything is
high-handed about this place. It is beyond the law. All kinds of
strange things can be done here and hushed up, all kinds of crimes
go unpunished. It seems to be run quite irresponsibly. The Casino
is supreme and rules with a high hand. All it cares for is to get
money....”
Mr. Calderbrook began to bore him, and Hugh excused himself. He
returned to the pension to prepare for his departure.
“To-morrow,” he thought, “I shall go away and all these people will
pass out of my existence. It is pleasant to think one can put them so
quietly out of one’s life. Ah! the beauty of liberty!”
He felt that he could not bear to remain more than one more night under
the same roof with the Rat. The Twitcher and the Sword-Swallower were
to be tolerated, but the Rat made him shudder. There are people who
make us wish the world was bigger, that we might have more room to
avoid them. The Rat was one of these; his very proximity was physically
disagreeable. His skin was the colour of the fresh Gruyère cheese,
except where his eye sockets darkened to chocolate. Criminal or not the
man suggested reptilian perversions.
When Hugh paid his modest bill, he received a thousand francs in
change, and as he stuffed the small notes into his pocket-book, he was
aware that the sharp eyes of the Rat were upon him.
It was after ten o’clock and the Pension Paoli was very quiet. All
the boarders were apparently at the Casino. The big building seemed
deserted.
Leaving the door of his room ajar, Hugh threw himself on his bed. Soon
he heard the street door open and some one pass upstairs. It was the
Rat.
As he lay in the darkness, and listened to the sounds of the great
gloomy house, a strange feeling of uneasiness began to creep over him.
This grew so strong that after a bit he rose and went out on his little
balcony. The air was exquisite. Over him flowed the river of night, and
looking up into its lucid depths he saw the sky, its bed, pebbled with
stars. Then his eyes drifted to the myriad lights that lay between him
and the sea, lights now clear, now confused into a luminous mist....
What was that? Surely some one was moving softly in the passage? No;
he was not wrong. Some one was trying the door of the next room, the
Twitcher’s. But the Twitcher had locked it, and after one or two
efforts the sound ceased.
Then Hugh had an inspiration. Taking out his pocket-book he threw it on
the bed. Enough light came from the window to show it black against the
white counterpane. There! the trap was baited.
Footsteps again in the passage, fumbling, muffled. They were drawing
nearer, they were opposite his door. In the darkness he heard hard,
hurried breathing. His own heart was tapping like a hammer. Surely the
footsteps were passing? No, they had halted. Then slowly, slowly, his
door was pushed open, and a black stealthy form crept to his bed.
He held his breath, and waited.... Now the dark shape was close.... Now
an arm reached out, and a hand seized the pocket-book.... Now....
Hugh leapt forward and closed the door. He was alone in the darkness
with the intruder. He had done it. The Rat was trapped.
“You dirty sneak-thief, I’ve got you,” he cried.
He switched on the electricity, and the room leaped into light. Against
the far wall, cowering and clutching at it for support, was a figure in
a black hood and cape.
Then it was Hugh’s turn to start back and utter a cry of dismay.
For framed in the black hood, and gazing at him wild-eyed with fear,
was Margot Leblanc.
CHAPTER SIX
THERE WAS A LONG SILENCE
1.