has done is colossal. He has studied the numbers in their relation to
one another; he has classified, co-ordinated, condensed. His system is
one of correspondence and elimination. He has used the resources of
mathematics to put it on a working basis. He has gone above and behind
all the rest of us. His comprehension is larger; he has grasped the
wider workings of the law of average. He has narrowed down and focussed
the probability, and reduced the phenomena by the magnitude of his
calculations to a minimum. The day of the year and the hour of the day
has a bearing on the application of his system. That red note-book of
his is full of algebraic formula. By looking at the last dozen numbers
that have come up and referring to his formulæ, he has a hint how to
play. But even then he is never quite sure. Sometimes he is only within
eight numbers, sometimes within four. But that’s good enough. He has
been lucky in hitting the precise number one time out of three; but
scientifically speaking he considers he ought to strike it only one
time out of five.”
“I’ve seen him strike it every day for the last month. He must hae
averaged over sixty thoosand francs a day, I’m thinkin’. I expect the
members o’ the board are losin’ lots o’ sleep them days. It’s no’ a
question of him winnin’, but how much is he goin’ tae win. They’ve got
old Bob Bender watchin’ him every time he plays. If it wisna that you
were everlastingly doin’ the watch dog some one would get a graup o’
that wee book he’s forever keekin intae. Though I don’t suppose they’d
mak’ much o’ it, wi’ a’ thae queer, crabbed letters an’ figures. I’m
sure they’d be gled tae gi’ him a year’s profits if he’d stop. Aye, or
pay a fortune tae any one that wad stop him. But then he’s got you for
a bodyguard.”
“Yes, he never goes out without me.”
“Aye, ye’re a cautious young man. I’m sometimes thinkin’ ye’ve got a
touch o’ the Scot in ye. I hope ye’ve no’ been an’ squandert that money
ye were sae lucky as tae win?”
“No, the most of it’s in the bank. I won’t touch it for gambling
purposes. In fact, I think I’ve finished.”
“I’m wishin’ I wis masel’. I’m sick o’ the place, but I must stay until
I mak’ enough to go home no’ lookin’ like a tramp. Ye ken I still
believe in ma system.”
“I tell you what,” said Hugh, “why don’t you play with a bigger unit?
You play with five franc stakes and you make from four to eight pieces
every day. Why not increase your unit to a hundred francs, and then
you’ll make from four to eight hundred francs a day.”
“I hav’ nae the capital.”
“Suppose I lend you a thousand francs.”
“I micht lose it.”
“I tell you.... You play with my thousand francs, playing hundred
franc stakes, and I’ll take the risk of you losing. When you win you
can pay me a quarter of your gains.”
“All right. That’s fair enough. I’ll start to-morrow if ye like.”
Hugh gave MacTaggart a _mille_ note, and every evening MacTaggart
hunted him up and handed over a hundred and sometimes two hundred
francs.
2.
For weeks the great system of the professor had been successful.
His bank book showed a credit of over two million francs. Every day
accompanied by Hugh, he made his triumphal entry into the Casino
surrounded by an excited and admiring throng. He made no other public
appearance and was a storm centre of curiosity. Hugh acted as the
old man’s manager and saw to it that his mystery was preserved. He
interviewed reporters, and kept off the curious; for the professor
was fast becoming a character of international fame. The great press
agencies chronicled his success; the great dailies paragraphed him;
his portrait graced the picture page of the _Daily Mail_. There were
articles about him in the illustrated weeklies; and even the monthly
journals devoted to science began to consider him seriously. He and
Hugh were snapshotted a dozen times a day. All the well-known roulette
players, Speranza, Dr. Ludus, Max Imum and Silas Doolittle wrote long
letters to the papers diagnosing his famous system. Never had the
Casino had such advertising--yet it was costing them too much.
The old man never broke the bank. There was nothing sensational about
his play. It was almost monotonous in its certitude; it had the air
even of a commercial transaction in which he had come to collect a
daily debt. It was this cold-blooded, business-like precision that
alarmed them. It was almost cynical; it seemed to say: “Look out. I’m
letting you off easy now, but when I proceed to tighten up the cinch,
God help you.”
An imaginative reporter had said that Hugh was the professor’s nephew,
and they both agreed to adopt this suggestion. Indeed, as time went on,
Hugh himself began to think of the old man as a real uncle. At times it
seemed almost impossible that they were not related.
Hugh had taken to smoking excellent cigars. Why not? MacTaggart
was turning in over a thousand a week. He felt some compunction in
accepting this; but MacTaggart was making three times as much for
himself, and was more than satisfied. He could well afford to be
extravagant in other directions as well. There was Mrs. Belmire, for
instance. He took her to dinner a great deal, and out motoring as well.
Apart from that he and Margot still lived in the same simple way.
One morning as Hugh sat smoking in the professor’s den, he observed the
old man closely.
“He’s easily good for another ten years,” he thought. “Looks rather
like Karl Marx, burly shoulders, clear, shrewd eyes. A sane man except
for his fanatic obsession to down the Casino.”
The professor interrupted his reflections by saying:
“My boy, I’ve come to a great decision.” He paused impressively. “I’m
an old man, and I am afraid that death may come on me unawares, my life
work unfinished. I have decided that you are to carry it on. You shall
begin where I leave off. I am going to instruct you in the system. You
shall take the avenging sword from my failing grasp.”
Hugh made a gesture of protest. “I say, professor, it’s awfully good of
you. I assure you I’m humbly grateful; but really I’m quite unworthy.”
“I know of no one so worthy.”
“Oh, no, the honour’s too great. Besides, I’ve made up my mind never to
play again. A resolution’s a resolution, you know.”
“I know. You have force of will. But think.... You are not playing
for yourself but for humanity. Yours will be a mission, the ridding
society of a dangerous pest. In destroying the Casino you will be God’s
avenger.”
“But, professor, I’m just a common ordinary sort of chap. I don’t want
to be anybody’s avenger. As for the Casino, I don’t bear it any ill
will. If I had lost, perhaps I might, but it has treated me well. Of
course, I know it’s a plague spot, a menace to mankind and all that
sort of thing, but that’s none of my business as far as I can see.”
The professor looked both grieved and shocked. “But don’t you want to
be a benefactor to mankind? Don’t you want to fulfil a great destiny,
to be a reformer, the leader of a new crusade?”
“No, professor, I admit with shame I don’t want to be any of those
things. All I want is to live a quiet life and make a comfortable
living. There’s a cottage with a garden and a second-hand Panhard
I have my eye on. Between them I can rub along. Then on off days,
I’ll paint. I’ve just begun to get the feeling of the place, and I
think I can do good work. But there! You’re not an artist. You won’t
understand.”
The professor seemed quite crushed. He sat silent and thoughtful.
Finally he said:
“No, I’m not an artist. I’m a man of science, and for that reason I
don’t want to see my life work lost to the world. Well then, if you
refuse to be my disciple, will you be my trustee? You refuse to play
for me,--will you see that the system is published after my death? It
is a contribution to science; at the same time by its divination of
the laws of chance, it will destroy the spirit of gambling. Not only
the Casino of Monte Carlo, but gambling institutions all over the
world will fall. The Casino is only an item in my programme. I destroy
chance; I replace it with certitude. My work is not complete, but
others will follow. They will perfect it. Will you then do this much
for me? Will you see my great work in print?”
“Yes, I’ll do that. I promise. But hang it all, professor, you’ve got
another thirty years to live.”
“One never knows. There have been no attempts on my life lately, but I
must take no chances. I will begin now and teach you all there is to
know.”
The professor opened his safe and took from it a thick folio bound in
limp leather.
“_Voila!_ My treatise. It’s all there, the condensed result of the
labour of thirty years. The red note-book contains the application
of my system to roulette; but in this folio is the result of all my
researches, the scientific explanation of the invention by which I
annihilate chance. Look at it.”
“But it’s all in cypher.”
“Yes, all. Not one cypher but many. For the alphabet alone I have three
different sets of characters; for the figures, six. You will have to
learn over a hundred symbols before you can translate this. And these
must not be put on paper; they must be carried in the head. I will
teach them to you but you must promise never to write them. I have
protected myself well. Without the cypher keys that folio is valueless.”
So Hugh spent the next few days committing to memory the hundred odd
cypher characters of the professor’s great discovery.
3.
When he was not engaged with the professor, he occupied most of his
time dangling after Mrs. Belmire. She had definitely attached him to
her train of admirers and he had fallen in line, not without a certain
ill grace. The life she led was at variance with his tastes; and while
he submitted to her charm, he was constantly on the point of rebellion.
He was like a man who chafes at his chains but cannot break them. He
resented the easy way in which she took his homage for granted. There
were moments when he almost hated her. What rotten luck to fall in love
with a woman so far beyond and above him! If it had only been June
Emslie, or even Margot. But who can help these things? In the end he
decided to let himself drift,--with a certain regard to the direction
of his drifting.
Perhaps Paul Vulning was to some extent responsible for his subjection.
He detested the man cordially and was jealous of the friendship between
him and Mrs. Belmire. When he saw them together he was possessed by an
irresponsible rage and tortured by all sorts of jealous imaginings. If
it had only been Fetterstein or the old General.... But Vulning!
She had not borrowed any money from him lately, although she was always
urging him to play again. The last time she had borrowed from him had
set him thinking. He had suffered so much from the want of money that
now he was painfully aware of its value. At all costs he was determined
to hang on to his fifty thousand francs. He would lend her another
thousand but no more. That was the breaking point, he told himself.
“In any case,” he thought, “I have only to tell her my position and
she’ll chuck me ignominiously. She thinks I’m a rich somebody. When she
learns I’m a poor nobody then.... But I won’t tell her yet awhile. I
enjoy very much being with her, and undoubtedly I am learning a good
deal from her. ‘Sophisticating me,’ she calls it. Well, I suppose that
sort of thing is part of a chap’s education. I will have to regard it
as a return for the money I have lent her, and which, poor thing, I am
sure she will never return. Confound the woman! I don’t know what’s got
into me. I can’t get her out of my head.”
One day he would vow he was finished with her, the next he would be
crazy to see her again. Even when he was with her, his irritation
sometimes drove him to the point of rebellion. For instance, there was
the evening that they had supper at the High Life.
It was she who had suggested that they go there, and rather gloomily he
had complied. They had gone first to the Casino and spent some time in
the private room, for Mrs. Belmire disdained the ordinary one. After
watching the play for awhile she had suggested:
“Why don’t you try your luck? It’s stupid to look on and not risk
anything.”
“No, thanks, I don’t care to.”
“Oh, come on. You always win. Even if you lose, what do a few thousands
matter to you when you have won so enormously? Even I saw you.”
He sighed gloomily.
“Yes, you saw me win but--you didn’t see me lose.”
“Of course, poor boy, I know one can’t always win. If you won’t play,
give me some money and I’ll play for you.”
He took a hundred franc note from his pocket and handed it to her. She
looked at it with a surprised contempt that nettled him. As if it were
dirt she threw it on the first table. Of course it was swept away.
“There!” she said pettishly, “that’s gone. Well, it’s no use staying
here if we don’t play. It’s tiresome. Let’s go where there’s music and
dancing.”
They went to the High Life, a place he disliked. It had a rakehell
atmosphere, and suggested debauch. He also resented the obvious fact
that she was quite at home there.
“Faugh! a den of gilded corruption!” he was thinking, when an
insinuating head-waiter presented a wine card and suggested a certain
expensive brand of champagne.
“I know it’s the kind madam prefers,” he murmured.
“Do order a bottle,” said Mrs. Belmire carelessly.
Hugh ordered, and at her further suggestion he demanded a _homard
American_; the bill came to two hundred francs. He was annoyed.
“Damned robbers,” he thought. “Well, they won’t get ahead of me on the
champagne. I’ll finish the bottle.”
As he drank the place became more and more cheerful. He felt very
strong and very playful. He clutched Mrs. Belmire’s arm; once even he
pinched her cheek and called her Marion. She looked at him curiously.
There is no saying to what further indiscretions his exhilaration might
have prompted him, had not there at that moment occurred the episode of
the _Nouveau Riche_ and the Sick Soldier.
4.
The _Nouveau Riche_ was all a _nouveau riche_ should be, big, bloated
and boastful. He had been a cobbler before the war, but had made a
fortune in shoe contracts. The Soldier should never have been there
at all. Some friends, however, had dragged him in; and he sat looking
thin, pale, and wretchedly out of place.
The _Nouveau Riche_ was playfully emptying a bottle of champagne over
a small palm tree. The manager expostulated. It was doubtful if palms,
however thirsty, would appreciate the virtue of Chateau Margaux, but
the _Nouveau Riche_ waved him aside.
“Put your damned palm on the bill,” he said, “and bring me a fresh
bottle.” He was proceeding to pour this, too, on the unfortunate plant
when the Sick Soldier sprang up.
“I’ve had enough,” he cried, and his black eyes flashed in his white
face. He wrenched the bottle from the man’s hand. “You swine, you!
Where I come from there are men who would give their heart’s blood for
a mouthful of that wine you’re wasting like filthy water.”
The _Nouveau Riche_ got purple in the face; the Soldier was gripping
the loose flesh of his throat and pouring the rest of the champagne
over his head.
“Here you sit and swill and guzzle,” he went on, “while my comrades out
there in the desert are dying from hunger and thirst. In Syria.... Yes,
I come from Syria where we crawled on our bellies on the sand, crawled
to the water tanks to steal a few precious drops and were shot for it
like mad dogs. We buried a dead horse and dug it up a week later and
ate it. Half of us died in agony, the rest are wrecks--like me. And now
when I see a pig like you squandering and wasting, and think of my
pals out there, suffering, starving, panting with thirst, I tell you it
makes me sick.... Oh, if I only had you out there, you rotten hog....”
There seemed every prospect of a row, but the Man from Syria suddenly
collapsed and his friends led him away.
“This is a beastly hole,” said Hugh abruptly. “Let’s get out of it.”
There was something hard and cynical in Mrs. Belmire’s laugh as she
replied: “Why should we? I think it’s rather amusing.”
“Amusing!” he retorted savagely. “You seem to think of nothing but
being amused. One would think you lived for amusement.”
“Why, so I do, I believe. What better is there to live for? What do you
live for?”
As he could not think of any worthy object that inspired his life he
did not reply, and they sat in silence. Their drive home was silent
also, but at the door of the Pension Pizzicato she held his hand.
“We haven’t quarrelled, have we?”
“No, why?”
“You’re so queer. Not a bit nice. I say, won’t you come up to my room
and smoke a cigarette? It’s so late we can slip upstairs without
meeting any one.”
An instinct of danger warned him. At the moment, too, she really
repelled him.
“No, I’m tired. I want to go home.”
But she still held his hand with a soft pressure.
“Can’t I coax you? Please come. There’s something very important I want
to talk to you about.”
“What is it? Can’t you tell me here?”
“Yes, but ... I was thinking about that man who spilled the champagne.
Of course, he was an awful brute, but what heaps of money he must have.
What a nuisance money is! It’s so sordid and yet one’s just got to have
it.”
He knew what was coming.
“I say, you’re the best pal I’ve got here. I don’t know what I’d do
without you. I’m in awful difficulties. Debts all round. Horrid people
keep pressing me to pay their wretched bills. Oh, I’m only a lonely,
unprotected woman....”
Here Mrs. Belmire began to cry.
“Can’t you lend me ten thousand francs, dear boy?”
“No.”
He was surprised at the explosive vehemence of his tone. The lady was
even more surprised. Her tears ceased suddenly. With a kind of pained
dignity she drew herself up.
“Good-night,” she said icily and then turning sharply, left him alone
with the sea and the stars.
CHAPTER TWO
A BURGLAR AND A ROW
1.
When he got home he found Margot was still up. She was sewing under the
lamp-glow, her coiled mass of hair a bright gold as she bent over her
work, her face pale but full of patient sweetness. As Hugh stood there
in his evening dress, flushed and reeking of wine, the eyes she raised
to him were tired and sad.
Since the time she had met him with Mrs. Belmire there had been
a change in her manner towards him. No longer did she make timid
overtures of friendship, no longer tell him of the day’s doings. She
had ceased to laugh and sing, and had become very quiet and reserved.
She toiled continually with her needle.
It always irritated him to see her working so hard; and to-night, being
in a bad humour, he said crossly: “Not in bed yet! You’ll hurt your
eyes, you know.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just going. I stayed up because I wanted to see you
about something.”
“Yes, what?”
“I’ve managed to make two hundred francs by my sewing. I don’t want to
be a burden on you any longer. I’m going back to Paris to work in an
_atelier_. I’m going to-morrow morning.”
He was quite taken aback. He stared for a moment; then a steady,
serious look came into his eyes. Going forward he took her hand firmly.
“Do you really mean that?”
“Yes. I’ve been planning it for some time.”
“And you haven’t said anything.”
“I scarcely ever see you now. You’re so busy during the day and get
home so late at night.”
He hesitated, staring thoughtfully at the lamp flame. His emotions were
conflicting. Here was a chance to free himself from all responsibility
regarding her. Sooner or later the separation would have to come, why
not now while she was reconciled to it? Quickly he made up his mind.
“Look here, Margot, don’t go ... not just yet. Stay at least a little
while longer. I’ve got so used to you. I’ll miss you awfully. Please
stay, won’t you?”
“But what’s the good of staying?”
“I don’t know. I just feel I can’t let you go. I know I’m asking a
selfish thing, but please don’t leave me just yet.”
“Very well.”
“You’ll stay? Thank you. You’re a good little pal. The best of the lot.
Good-night....”
The following day his mood changed. His mind was full of Mrs. Belmire
again. After all, he thought, he had been rather rough. He would lend
her the money; he would seek her out that very afternoon.
Then an event occurred that changed the whole current of his thoughts.
2.
For two days Monte Carlo had been at the mercy of the Mistral. Many
strange ships were sheltering in the narrow harbour that with its
concrete arms fended back the savage seas; the palms in the gardens
lashed furiously and the air was full of flying splinters.
All that morning the sky had been gloomy and towards noon the clouds
over the Tête du Chien deepened to a purple black. The mountain seemed
to cast a sinister shadow over the Condamine, and the pink roofs
darkened to a dull crimson. Hugh suggested to the professor that they
had better stay at home, but the old man insisted upon going to the
Rooms. As they left the house they heard the first ominous growl of the
thunder. Hugh wanted to take a carriage but again his companion refused.
“No,” he said, “the walk to and from the Casino is the only exercise I
get since that balcony business.”
The business of the balcony had been a bad one. Across the front of the
house, just outside their windows, ran a flimsy wooden balcony, with a
division of lattice work between each room. The professor used to march
up and down his portion of the balcony, while Hugh and Margot often sat
in theirs.
One Sunday evening they were all on the balcony when they heard a
crack, followed by a rending crash. As it happened both Hugh and Margot
were near the window, and threw themselves backwards. The professor,
too, saved himself by clutching at the sill of his window. The entire
balcony collapsed. It overturned, hung for a moment, then fell with
a rending of timbers. On examining the debris Hugh found that the
supports had been sawn almost through, and that the cuts were quite
fresh. Some one had evidently done it during the night.
A week later when Hugh was returning home after midnight a man rushed
past him on the stairs. On the landing beside his door a pungent smoke
was coming from a sack of shavings. Beside it was a large can of
petrol. He beat out the fire. Had he arrived five minutes later the
place would have been in flames. After that he got some ropes, so that
in the case of future attempts to fire the place, they might escape by
the windows. He also bought a Browning pistol.
That morning, as they entered the Casino, there was a livid blaze of
lightning, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder. Perhaps
the professor was affected by the storm, for his game was not so
successful as usual; he played seven _coups_ before he struck a winning
number. Though his winnings were only thirty thousand francs, he
decided that he had had enough and rose from the table. They heard the
roar of the rain on the great dome above them, and found on going to
the entrance a most appalling downpour. It was falling in crystal rods
that beat the oozing earth to bubbles. There was not a soul in sight.
“It’s useless trying to get a cab,” said Hugh. “Let us go back to the
atrium and wait till it clears up.”
They took a seat on one of the benches at the side of the refreshment
bar and waited for an hour without any sign of the torrent abating.
Every now and then Hugh would go to the door and look out. The day had
darkened to a wan twilight in which the silver shafts of rain pearled
the pools and rivulets.
“One might as well stand under a shower-bath as go out in that,”
thought Hugh. “It would be the death of the professor.” And again he
sighed for a voiture.
As he looked out for the tenth time he saw Margot making her way to the
Casino through sheets of water. She wore his Burberry and the rain ran
off her in streams. She was panting and pale with excitement.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, I’m so glad I’ve found you. When the professor came back alone, I
was afraid something was wrong.”
“Professor come back alone! ... what do you mean?”
“Why, he’s there, in his room. When I heard him come up the stairs and
enter, I went to see if you were there, too. As I knocked at the door,
I heard him moving about inside. I knocked again, but there was no
answer. All was quiet. What with the storm and everything else I got
nervous and excited. After knocking a couple of times more I came here
to find you.”
Hugh listened with growing amazement.
“Are you quite sure there’s some one in the professor’s room?”
“Yes, yes!”
Leading her into the atrium he pointed to the buffet.
“There’s the professor.”
“But the other ... the man in the house ... now....”
“Stay with the professor. Don’t leave him. This looks serious.”