rain and down the long steep hill, splashing through water and mud.
In a few minutes, drenched and breathless, he reached the house. He
mounted the stairs softly, pistol in hand. Whoever had entered had left
the door on the latch. He burst into the room.
A man who had been bending over the steel safe rose and swung around.
“Don’t shoot,” he said sharply. He stood there, erect, composed,
smiling.
“Krantz!”
“Precisely. What a pity you did not come ten minutes later. Then I
should have finished my investigations.”
“Your burglary, you mean. I’ve a good mind to call the police.”
“My dear man, I _am_ the police.”
“I am justified in shooting you.”
“If you did, you would surely regret it. Remember, young man, you’re
not in England, you’re not in France; you’re in Monaco.”
“Does that justify _you_?”
“When the welfare of our beloved Principality is at stake, I am
justified in many things,--even in the examination of private strong
boxes.”
“Assassination too, I suppose.”
“Oh no! I draw the line at that. In the Principality we strongly
disapprove of all violent measures.”
“What about the balcony, and the attempt to fire the house?”
“I assure you, on my honour, I had nothing to do with either. Of
course, I am unable to answer for the zeal of my subordinates. They
are Monegasques and patriots. You can understand their point of view.
They believe that one man’s life weighs as nothing against the welfare
of the community. They would willingly sacrifice their lives for their
country; but they prefer to sacrifice some one else’s life. They are a
crude and violent race. You must excuse their ardour.”
“So you know nothing of those two attempts.”
“Officially, no. Of course, privately I have my ideas. I did not go
into the matter very closely. You see I have a sense of delicacy,
of tact. I am modern in my conceptions; I deprecate the gentle art
of assassination. But again I repeat I am not responsible for the
excessive zeal of my subordinates. They are just grown up children,
many of them, passionate and impulsive. In the same way those whom
I serve are not responsible for my acts,--this investigation, for
instance. In fact, I am sure they would condemn it in the strongest of
terms. Abuse of authority, they would call it, and wax duly indignant.
But please put away that silly little pistol you are fingering so
nervously. It annoys me. I have no sense of the dramatic.”
Hugh lowered his hand and Krantz went on with his urbane smile:
“You know I saved all your lives on one occasion. One of my gentle
patriots wanted to put a charge of dynamite under your rooms and blow
you to the stars. Fortunately I found out in time, and prevented it.
After all it would have caused a great scandal. Violence and scandal we
do not like; we want everything to run smoothly in this most favoured
of spots. That’s what I’m here for,--to see that things run smoothly.
That is why a moment ago you found me attempting the combination of
that safe. And now having failed in my mission, I presume you will
allow me to go.”
With that Krantz made a deep bow and passed from the room. Hugh stared
after his retreating back as he leisurely descended the narrow stairway.
3.
Now that Hugh’s gambling fever had abated he found himself looking at
the players with apathy, even with disgust. He was purged, not by loss,
but by gain. The thought of the fifty thousand francs he had wrested
from the bank was like honey to him. Never would he give them a chance
to win it back. The Casino itself had also ceased to interest him.
Incidents that had been at first exciting, now appeared monotonous. The
human debris no longer fascinated him. The spectacle of the squirming,
scrabbling mob bored him. The systematizers with their fatuous
convictions aroused his contempt; the besotted votaries of the game,
his pity. More than all he hated the careless rich who squandered in
an idle hour what would have kept many a widow from misery and many an
orphan from shame.
More than ever he thought of that little cottage at Villefranche,
between the silent mountains and the dreamy sea; and of that Panhard he
was going to buy at a bargain price. He confided his discontent to the
professor.
“I’m getting awfully fed up with Monte. We can’t go on indefinitely.
Isn’t it time that you speeded up the system a little?”
“You are right,” sighed the professor, “but it fatigues me so, and the
atmosphere of the Rooms aggravates my catarrh. Why will you not play?
You are well instructed now.”
“I don’t want to. As I said before, I don’t hate the Casino. While
I wouldn’t move a finger to prevent their ruin, I wouldn’t go out
of my way to accomplish it. Then again, if I played, I should want
to play for myself, not for society. To hell with society! It never
did anything for me. Up to now I’ve had to fight and struggle. It is
by sheer luck that I’ve got a little working capital and I mean to
make the most of it. I’m only a selfish practical individual. I’ve no
consuming wish to benefit mankind, to do the ‘leave the world better
than I found it,’ sort of thing. If ever I have enough to keep me in
modest comfort, I’ll stop work and spend my time painting. No, I fear
I’m no philanthropist.... How much do you want to win for your schemes
before you proceed to give the Casino the final knock out?”
“Fifty million.”
“And we have only ten. Heigh ho! I tell you I don’t think I can stick
it out.”
“I quite understand. Try to endure it two weeks more and then we’ll
see.”
Hugh continued to accompany the professor and to watch him with
monotonous certainty make his seventy or eighty thousand francs a
day. His association with the old man had made him quite a celebrated
character. He shone with a reflected radiance, a moon to the old man’s
sun. He was supposed to be a partner, a sharer in the colossal fortune,
the professor’s heir and successor.
Many of the players were leaving Monte Carlo, for the season was
over. Mr. Tope had returned to his Kentish cottage and his roses. The
Calderbrooks, not being able to afford the mountains, had convinced
themselves that Monte was even more charming in summer than in winter.
The father looked tired, but amiably acquiesced.
“Of course,” said Mrs. Calderbrook, “we don’t promise to stay. If we
have a bit of luck at the tables, we might take a month or two at
Chamounix.”
The tall Brazilian with the spade-shaped beard was still a dominating
figure in the Rooms. He wore great, horn-rimmed spectacles of a
yellowish colour and walked up and down in an impeccable costume of
white serge, his hands behind his back, his carriage that of deliberate
dignity. He looked at the women harder than was necessary, though he
repulsed all their efforts to speak with him. Once Hugh saw him turn
to stare at the tall female in grey. In spite of the growing heat she
continued to wear her veil and remained as mysterious as ever. She came
less frequently, but still seemed to have lots of money.
Of the old crowd there remained only MacTaggart and Mr. Gimp and they
made their exit from the scene in a very sensational manner.
4.
As MacTaggart had already paid him two thousand francs, Hugh insisted
on cancelling the debt between them. MacTaggart was over eight thousand
francs ahead, and continued to play with hundred franc counters.
Curiously enough, his luck began to leave him as soon as he gambled
entirely for himself.
“It’s fair playin’ auld Harry wi’ ma nerves,” he said. “The ither day I
near fented at the table. After a’ they years, I’m thinkin’, I’ll hea
tae gie it up. Ma system’s willin’ but the flesh is weak. I’m gettin’
that every time I put a stake on the table ma hert dings like an alarm
clock. An’ ma temper. I don’t know whit I’m no’ capable o’ daein’ at
times. It’s as if I had a kind o’ a brain-storm. There’s whiles I’m
fair feart for masel’. I often think that if I wis once mair back in ma
wee shop in Strathbungo, I’d never want tae see a roulette wheel for
the rest o’ ma days.”
“What kind of a shop had you?”
“I’m a taxidermist, and though I say it masel’, there’s no’ a better.
It’s a nice quiet trade, soothin’ tae the nerves. That’s whit’s the
matter wi’ me, ma nerves.”
MacTaggart would probably have stayed until he had lost all his gains,
had not a kindly fate stepped in and settled the matter for him.
He had been playing for three hours,--losing all the time. His head
ached, his nerves were raw, his temper near to the breaking point.
He wanted to smoke a cigarette in the atrium, but had to leave some
one to take down his numbers. Beside him was a lady who was playing
occasionally. She looked hot and very tired. MacTaggart asked her
if she would mind occupying his seat for half an hour. She gladly
consented, and he rose to give her the place. At the same moment, a
red, truculent-looking Englishman on his other side, quickly put a
louis on the table in front of MacTaggart.
“I claim the place,” he said sharply.
MacTaggart turned and glared at him. “But I’m givin’ the place tae the
leddy,” he said.
“The place is mine,” said the man. “You rose and I put down my money. I
appeal to the _Chef du Table_.”
The latter nodded. “By all the rules the place is monsieur’s; monsieur
has put down his money, marking the place.”
MacTaggart was angry. He knew the croupiers did not like him, that they
always decided against him if possible. He sat down again.
“All right,” he said, “in that case I’ll jist keep ma place. I’ll sit
here till Hell freezes over before ye get it.”
The face of the Englishman grew very red. His voice rose nastily.
“But I insist on having the place. This man rose and I put my money
down. The place is clearly mine.”
“Yes,” said the _Chef du Table_, “it is evident that the place is
monsieur’s.”
“I’ll see ye dawmed firrst,” said MacTaggart, sitting square. “There’s
no force in Monte Carlo ’ill budge me from this spot. Tak’ awaw yer
dirrty money....”
He started to push away the man’s louis that lay in front of him.
“Here, don’t touch my money. Don’t dare to touch my money,” the
Englishman exclaimed.
MacTaggart’s reply was to take the louis and flip it back at him.
Every one was aghast. It was unheard of, an outrage. One of the
lymphatic lackeys recovered the money and handed it to its owner, who
was boiling over with rage. There is no knowing how the row might
have ended had not a player opposite risen to catch a train, and the
_Chef_, with great presence of mind, promptly claimed the place for the
Englishman. The situation was saved. _Tant Mieux._ That mad Ecossais
looked quite dangerous.
MacTaggart and the red-faced man sat opposite each other, and muttered,
growled, and glared. Then the second incident occurred. Just as the
ball was about to drop, MacTaggart pushed a placque to the croupier.
“Passe, please.”
But the croupier did not hear him correctly and threw it on pair, and
at that moment the ball fell.
“_Vingt sept, passe impair et noir._”
“But I telt ye tae pit it on passe,” said MacTaggart.
“No, monsieur said pair,” declared the croupier.
The _Chef_ was appealed to. “Monsieur should have seen that his money
was rightly staked,” said the _Chef_ looking annoyed.
“Pay me,” cried MacTaggart, rising and clenching his fist.
He was ignored and the ball started for the next spin. Then MacTaggart
did something unprecedented, something outrageous. He took up one of
the _rateaus_ and jammed it in the bowl of the wheel.
“By Goad,” said MacTaggart, “I’ll stop the bloody game till ye pay me.”
At this moment the red-faced man came in to the discussion. “I knew he
was a crook,” he jeered. “Turn the beggar out.”
MacTaggart stared at him. For a moment he could not believe his ears,
then a great glow came into his eyes and he swung the _rateau_ and
brought it down on the man’s head.
“Let me get at him,” he roared, “I’ll show him.”
The _Chef_ laid a detaining hand on his shoulder, but MacTaggart swung
round and caught him on the chin. The _Chef_ went from his high chair
like a ninepin. Shouting something in Gaelic, MacTaggart sprang on the
table. Two croupiers tried to hold him back; but, using the _rateau_
like a claymore, he rapped each on the head and with a leap was on the
man with the red face.
“Turn me oot!” he shouted. “It wad tak a dizzen o’ the likes o’ you tae
dae it.”
He had the big man down and was pounding him with both fists, when four
of the lethargic lackeys threw themselves into the fray. MacTaggart
saw red. He ran amuck. Right and left he struck in Berserker rage.
His long arms were like flails before which men went down; croupiers,
attendants, inspectors, all staggered back beneath his blows. A
superintendent who ran up to see what was wrong, received a punch that
landed him on his back. As MacTaggart burst through the doorway into
the “Hall of Gloom,” the director of the games rushed up.
“Look out,” said the big Scotchman, “or as sure as my name’s Galloway
MacTaggart I’ll fell ye tae the floor.”
The director did not look out and was duly downed. Then a group of
lackeys, by a concerted rush, succeeded in mastering him. They knocked
him down and hung onto his heaving arms and legs. They lifted him to
carry him to the door. The MacTaggart was conquered.
But was he? No, not yet. From the other end of the “Hall of Light”
a shrill yell suddenly split the air. It was something between the
execration of a college football coach, and the war whoop of a red
Indian. A little white-haired gentleman was covering the intervening
space in great leaps and bounds. He roared and whirled his arms, his
eyes aflame, his very hair bristling with fury. It was Mr. Gimp.
The attendants released MacTaggart, and turned to face this new foe.
The fight began all over again.
It was Homeric, for Mr. Gimp had once been a bantam champion of the
ring. There were bloody noses and broken teeth; there were curses
and cries of pain; there were black eyes and bruised ribs before the
indomitable two, overwhelmed by numbers, were carried to the door. The
fray had lasted a quarter of an hour.
“Weel,” said MacTaggart that night as they sat in Quinto’s, “I’m
thinkin’, Gimpy, auld man, we’ve lost oor tickets. We’ll no’ daur show
oor faces in that place ony mair.”
“No,” said Mr. Gimp, “the spell’s broken at last. I’m a free man.
To-morrow I’m off to the land where the handshake’s warmer.”
“An’ me fur Strathbungo. Eh, man, they got us oot, but it took a score
o’ them tae dae it. An’ by Goad! we laft oor mark on every mither’s
son.”
CHAPTER THREE
TEMPTATION
1.
Hugh continued to be haunted by thoughts of Mrs. Belmire. At times he
felt he would throw up everything to follow her; at others he consigned
her to the devil. He had resolved to let her make the first advance and
carefully avoided meeting her.
One day on returning home, Margot handed him an envelope bearing the
initials M. B. He was not altogether pleased and put it in his pocket
until he should be alone. He tore it open later and read:
“_How could I be so horrid to you the last time we met? Can you forgive
me enough to meet me this evening at Ciro’s at ten o’clock? It will
probably be adieu. I am leaving for Vichy on Friday._”
The humility of the note touched him. She had put herself in the wrong.
Nothing like a show of indifference with women, he thought. His vanity
was flattered. A sentiment of generosity akin to tenderness glowed in
him. Quite eagerly he awaited the evening.
She arrived a little late, wearing a very exquisite evening gown.
She rightly believed that her shoulders and arms added to her charm.
She took his hand in a firm, good-fellow grip. As she sat down he
was conscious of the perfume she affected. She seemed to him to be
stunning, the real thing, a _femme de luxe_.
Her manner was subdued to the point of mournfulness. It was one
of her favourite moods and was in harmony with the melancholy of
the restaurant. The orchestra played dispiritedly. Two teams of
professional dancers shimmied in a forlorn fashion. Even the waiters
looked listless.
“This place will be closing soon,” she sighed. “Monte is dying. All the
right sort have gone already. I feel almost like a derelict. I’m bored
to the verge of tears. For God’s sake do something to console me. Buy
me a bottle of Cliquot.”
When the waiter brought it in its silver bucket of ice, the bottle
looked very comforting. As they sipped, she grew more cheerful.
“Thank goodness I’m going. I say, why don’t you come, too? Do the giddy
round,--Paris for the Grand Prix, Deauville, Biarritz,--one meets the
same crowd at all these places, the world that lives to enjoy itself.
Let’s enjoy ourselves.”
“I don’t belong to that world. I’m a quiet chap. I want a quiet life.”
“And I--I want a gay one. But I’m lonely. God! at times I’m so lonely,
I could shoot myself or get drunk. I say, let’s get drunk to-night.”
“You’re joking.”
“Yes, I suppose I am. But that’s just how I feel. I don’t know why.
Perhaps its because I won’t see you again. Oh, I say,--be a priceless
darling. Do come.”
He shrugged his shoulders. He felt her power, the melting appeal of her
eyes, the caress of her hand. Passion was invading him. He wanted to
seize her, crush her, hurt her. “Why not,” he thought, “a month of that
gay life! It would cost a good deal, but perhaps it would be worth it.
A delirious month....” Then he heard himself saying:
“No, it’s no use. I can’t go.”
She stamped her foot pettishly. The spell was broken. After a little
she resumed:
“Well, if you won’t come with me, you won’t refuse to help me. I’m
in debt all round. I owe quite a lot of money to the pension, too. I
don’t know how much. I have no head for figures. I’m like a child in
financial matters. I say, dear boy, you’ll lend me a bit, won’t you?
I’ve counted on you, you know.”
He winced. His lips tightened.
“How much?”
“Oh, a little bunch of _milles_. Ten or twenty will do. What does it
matter to you? You’re rich. You’re making millions. You’re not stingy,
are you?”
He felt the time had come for an explanation. “Look here,” he said,
“you’re all wrong. You assumed from the start I was a somebody and
had something. I’m really a nobody and I have nothing. You might even
call me an adventurer. I came here broken in health and practically
penniless. Now I am strong and fit again. And I have some money, fifty
thousand francs, which I managed to wrench from the Casino. That’s all
I’ve got, I swear it. I’m not mean, but I’ve known bitter poverty and
don’t want to know it again.”
She was looking at him in sheer amazement. He warmed to his subject,
and spoke with a gusto that was almost malicious.
“That money means life to me. It means a home, a chance to make a
living by healthy, agreeable work. I’m going to buy a car. Next year
if you’re here and you see me standing in line waiting for a job,
you can hire me. Now you know me. That’s the sort I am, a penniless
adventurer. I should have told you before, but I enjoyed being with you
so much that I postponed the confession. Well, that’s over any way. And
now what are you going to do?”
For a full minute she was speechless. Then she said breathlessly:
“But you are making millions, you and that old man. Every one knows it.
You are partners....”
“No, not partners. I never touch a _sou_ of what he makes.”
“But ... he’s like a father to you. He’ll give you anything you want. A
million if you ask. I am sure.”
“I don’t intend to ask.”
“I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Belmire.
“No, I don’t think you do; I don’t think you can. I’m sorry, but....
Hullo! there’s that fellow Vulning. By Jove! he’s coming in here. Drunk
as a tinker, too, I’ll swear.”
She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. She sat silent, her chin propped
on her hands, staring into vacancy with stormy, scornful eyes. Yes, she
was lovely. Now that he had told her everything he was half sorry. She
was lost to him. She would turn on him presently, and call him a most
unmerciful bounder. Well, he deserved it. He waited. He felt sorry for
her, she seemed so bowled over. Then suddenly she turned to him, fixing
him with an intense gaze.
“I counted on you. Oh, how I counted on you!”
Tears and reproach were in her voice. At that moment he almost yielded,
almost promised her the money. Even as he hesitated, his attention was
attracted by Paul Vulning.
Vulning was standing at the bar. He was dressed in a golfing suit and
looked as if he had been on a long debauch. His face was puffy and
muddily red, his cheeks and chin bristly; his eyes fishy when they were
not wild. He stared round the room, and recognized Mrs. Belmire, but he
did not notice Hugh.
“Hullo! Marion,” he cried. “Come on, old girl, and have a Scotch.”
She did not pay any attention, but continued to brood, her chin in her
cupped hands. He shouted once more.
“Here, don’t be haughty. You weren’t always too proud to drink at a
bar. Well, I’ll come over and join you.”
Carrying his glass unsteadily, he made his way towards them.
“Brute!” said Hugh.
“Don’t take any notice of him,” said Mrs. Belmire contemptuously. “He’s
always beastly when he’s in that state.”
Vulning halted.
“Excuse me. Didn’t notice you had a fellow. Never mind. We’re all pals
here, ain’t we?”
He sat down unsteadily. “All pals.... _Damn you!_”
He had suddenly recognized Hugh, and he bent forward with a snarl like
that of an angry dog.
“You bloody whipper-snapper.... Bah!”
Hugh restrained himself with difficulty, and sat tense. The frown on
Mrs. Belmire’s face deepened. Vulning’s snarl gradually relaxed to a
sneer. He meant mischief.
“You’re looking rippin’ to-night, Marion. ’Pon my soul I never saw you
looking so stunning.”
He put out a rather dirty hand and patted her white shoulder. She drew
back.
“Don’t touch me, you beast!”
Hugh broke in tempestuously. “Don’t do that again, you dog, or I’ll
knock you down.”
Vulning gave a sneering laugh, then suddenly grew fierce.
“Why shouldn’t I do it if I choose? What’s it got to do with you, you
young whelp? What can you do?”
“I can make you respect a lady in my presence.”
“Respect! Lady!” Vulning burst into a roar of laughter. “That a lady!
_That!_ Why, man, she’s been my mistress. She’s been the mistress of
a dozen men I know. She’s anybody’s woman. Respect! Her! Oh you young
fool! You poor flat.... _Ach!_”
He choked. Hugh had clutched him by the collar and was shaking him
savagely. Vulning struck out wildly, but Hugh hurled him to the floor
and stood over him.
“Come on,” said Mrs. Belmire wearily, “I’m going.”
She went to the door alone, pulling her cloak over her dazzling
shoulders. Hugh hesitated, then followed her.
“I’d better see you home,” he said.
“Home!” she laughed bitterly. “I had a home once. I don’t suppose I’ll
ever have another.”
“Was it true? What he said?”
Her voice was hard, scornful. “Yes, all true. What would you? I must
live. I was brought up to do nothing. My husband died leaving me only
his debts. Try to understand! Put yourself in my place. Men are brutes.
A woman must prey or be preyed on. You are the first decent, clean man
I’ve met since ... oh, ever so long. And you’ve never suspected?...”
“No, I didn’t think _that_ of you. I suppose it was because I didn’t
want to think it. I thought you were foolish, worldly, of limited
means but straight, quite straight. I swear I did.”
“And now that you know you will never see me again?”
“I don’t know. I must think it out. We have both been deceived in the
other.”
“Yes, we must both think it out. Here’s the pension. Good-night.”
“Good-night.”
2.
Two days later Hugh persuaded the professor to play more rapidly, with
the result that in less than two hours the old man had won nearly two
hundred thousand francs. The effort exhausted him and he retired to his
bed for the day. He intended to repeat the performance the next morning.
When Hugh returned, he found Margot laying the table for lunch. He
noticed that her hands trembled. Though quiet and reserved as always,
she had a strange sullen set to her mouth and a resentful look in her
eyes. Presently she said:
“A lady came to see you this morning.”
“A lady! Here! Who was it?”
“A haughty English lady,--with dyed hair.”
With some annoyance Hugh applied this description to Mrs. Belmire.
“What did she say?”
“I did not let her in. She took me for the domestic. I was scrubbing
the kitchen and not very tidy. I said you were out and I had not the
faintest idea when you would be in.”
“Yes?”
“She then said: ‘Tell him I will dine at the Carlton to-night at
eight, and expect him to have dinner with me.’ I bobbed my head and
answered, ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Then she said, ‘Do you think you can give that
message correctly, my girl?’ I answered again, ‘Yes, ma’am. I think my
intelligence will be equal to the strain you are putting on it.’ She
then offered me a franc but I refused it.”
“Damn it! I’m sorry she came.... I mean I’m sorry you were put in such
a position.”