When a few minutes later they rose Liane declared that she must return
to lunch; therefore they walked together in the sun-glare along the
Promenade, at that hour all but deserted, for the cosmopolitan crowd of
persons who basked in the brilliant sunshine during the morning had now
sought their hotels for dejeuner. Few words they uttered, so full of
gloom and sadness were both their hearts. Liane had insisted that this
must be their last meeting, but time after time he had declared that he
would never allow her to marry Zertho, although he could make no
suggestion whereby she could escape the cruel fate which sooner or later
must overwhelm her.
They had strolled about half-way towards the villa in which she and the
Captain were staying, when suddenly he halted opposite a short narrow
lane, which opened from the Promenade into the thoroughfare running
parallel--the old and narrow Rue de France. On either side were high
garden walls, and half-way along, these walls, taking a sudden turn at
right angles, opened wider; therefore the way was much narrower towards
where they stood than at the opposite end.
"Let us go down here," George suggested. "There is more shade in the
street, and you can then reach your villa by the back entrance."
"No," she answered, glancing with repugnance at the narrow lane, and
turning away quickly. He fancied she shuddered; but, on glancing at the
clean little thoroughfare only about a hundred paces in length, he could
detect nothing which could cause her repulsion, and at once reassured
himself that he had been mistaken.
"But it is so terribly hot and dazzling along here," he urged.
"You should carry a sun-umbrella," she smiled. "But there, I suppose
men don't care to be seen with green ginghams."
"But surely this glare upon the footway hurts your eyes," he continued.
"It is so much cooler in the Rue de France."
"No," she replied. And again he thought he detected a gesture of
uneasiness as, turning from him, she walked on, her sunshade lowered to
hide her face. Puzzled, he stepped forward and quickly caught her up.
There was, he felt certain, some hidden reason why she declined to pass
along that small unnamed lane. But he did not refer to the subject
again, although after he had left her he pondered long and deeply upon
her curious attitude, and in walking back to the town he turned into the
narrow passage and passed through it to the Rue de France, whence he
took the tram down to the Place Massena.
A dozen times had she urged him to leave her and return to London, but
so full of mystery seemed all her actions that he was more than ever
determined to remain and strive to elucidate the reason of her dogged
silence, and solve the curious problem of her strange inexplicable
terror.
It was plain that she feared Mariette Lepage, and equally certain also
that this mysterious woman who feigned to be her friend was nevertheless
her bitterest foe. The reason of her visit to him was not at all plain.
Her inquiries regarding the tragic circumstances of Nelly Bridson's
death were, he felt confident, mere excuses. As he sat in the tram-car
while it jogged slowly along the narrow noisy street, it suddenly
occurred to him that from her he might possibly obtain some information
which would lead him to an explanation of Liane's secret.
He thought out the matter calmly over a pipe at his hotel, and at last
decided upon a bold course. She had given him her address, he would,
therefore, seek her that afternoon.
In pursuance of his plan he alighted about four o'clock from the train
at Monaco Station and inquired his way to the Villa Fortunee. Following
the directions of a waiter at the Hotel des Negociants, he walked down
the wide read to the foot of the great rock whereon the town is
situated, then ascended by the broad footway, so steep that no vehicles
can get up, and passing through the narrow arches of the fort, found
himself at last upon the ramparts, in front of the square
Moorish-looking palace of the Prince. Around the small square were
mounted several antiquated cannon, while near them were
formidable-looking piles of heavy shot which are carefully dusted each
day, and about the tiny review ground there lounged several
gaudily-attired soldiers in light blue uniforms, lolling upon the walls
smoking cigarettes. The Principality is a small one, but it makes a
brave show, even though its defences remind one of comic opera, and its
valiant soldiers have never smelt any other powder save that of the
noon-day gun. The silence of the siesta was still upon the little
place, for the afternoon was blazing hot. On one side of the square the
sentry at the Palace-gate leaned upon his rifle half-asleep, while on
the other the fireman sat upon the form outside the engine-house, and
with his hands thrust deep in his trousers-pockets moodily watched the
slowly-moving hands of the clock in its square, white castellated tower.
George stood for a few moments in the centre of the clean,
carefully-swept square, the centre of one of the tiniest governments in
the world, then making further inquiry of the sleepy fireman, was
directed along the ramparts until he found himself before a fine,
square, flat-roofed house, with handsome dead white front, which, facing
due south and situated high up on the summit of that bold rock,
commanded a magnificent view of Cap Martin, the Italian coast beyond,
and the open Mediterranean. Shut off from the ramparts by a handsome
iron railing, the garden in front was filled with high palms, fruitful
oranges, variegated aloes and a wealth of beautiful flowers, while upon
a marble plate the words "Villa Fortunee" were inscribed in gilt
letters. The closed sun-shutters were painted white, like the house,
and about the exterior of the place was an air of prosperity which the
young Englishman did not fail to notice.
Its situation was certainly unique. Deep below, on the great brown
rocks descending sheer into the sea, the long waves lashed themselves
into white foam, while away sea-ward the water was a brilliant blue
which, however, was losing its colour each moment as the shadows
lengthened. Within sight of gay, dazzling Monte Carlo, with all her
pleasures and flaunting vices, all her fascinating beauty and hideous
tragedy, the house was nevertheless quiet and eminently respectable.
For an instant he paused to glance at the beautiful view of sea-coast
and mountain, then entering the gate, rang the bell.
An Italian man-servant opened the door and took his card, and a few
moments later he was ushered into the handsome salon, resplendent with
gilt and statuary, where Mariette Lepage had evidently been dozing. The
jalousies of the three long windows were closed; the room, perfumed by
great bowls of violets, was delightfully cool; and the softly-tempered
light pleasant and restful after the white glare outside.
"This is an unexpected pleasure," Mariette exclaimed in English, rising
to allow her hand to linger for an instant in his, then sinking back
with a slight yawn upon her silken couch. In the half-light, as she
reclined in graceful abandon upon the divan, her head thrown back upon a
great cushion of rose silk, she looked much younger than she really was.
George had guessed her age at thirty-five when she had called at his
hotel, but in that dimly-lit room, with her veil removed and attired in
a thin light-coloured gown she looked quite ten years younger, and
certainly her face was eminently handsome.
She stretched out her tiny foot, neat in its silk stocking and patent
leather shoe, with an air of coquetry, and in doing so displayed either
by accident or design that _soupcon_ of _lingerie_ which is no
indiscretion in a Frenchwoman.
He had taken a seat near her, and was apologising for calling during her
siesta.
"No, no," she exclaimed, with a light laugh. "I am extremely glad
you've come. I retire so late at night that I generally find an
afternoon doze beneficial. We women suffer from nerves and other such
things of which you men know nothing."
"Fortunately for us," he observed. "But then we are liable to a malady
of the heart of far greater severity than that to which your sex is
subject. Women's hearts are seldom broken; men's often are. A woman
can forget as easily as a child forgets; but the remembrance of a face,
of a voice, of a pair of eyes, to him brighter and clearer than all
others, is impressed indelibly upon a man's memory. Every woman from
the moment she enters her teens is, I regret to say, a coquette at
heart. In the game of love the chances are all against the man."
"Why are you so pessimistic?" she asked, raising herself upon her elbow
and looking at him amused. "All women are not heartless. Some there
are who remember, and although evil and vicious themselves, are
self-denying towards others."
"Yes," he answered. "A few--a very few."
"Of course you must be forgiven for speaking thus," she said, in a soft,
pleasant tone. "Your choice of a woman has been an exceedingly unhappy
one."
"Why?" he exclaimed, with quick suspicion. "What allegation do you make
against Liane?"
"I make no allegation, whatever, m'sieur," she answered, with a smile.
"It was not in that sense my words were intended. I meant to convey
that your love has only brought unhappiness to you both."
"Unfortunately it has," he sighed. "In vain have I striven to seek some
means in which to assist Liane to break asunder the tie which binds her
to Prince Zertho, but she will not explain its nature, because she says
she fears to do so."
"I am scarcely surprised," she answered. "Her terror lest the true
facts should be disclosed is but natural."
"Why?" he inquired, hastily.
But she shook her head, saying: "Am I not striving my utmost to assist
her? Is it therefore to be supposed that I shall explain facts which
she desires should remain secret? The object of your present visit is
surely not to endeavour to entrap me into telling you facts which, for
the present, will not bear the light? Rather let us come to some
understanding whereby our interests may be mutual."
"It was for that reason I have called," he said, in a dry, serious tone.
Her gaze met his, and he thought in that half-light he detected in her
dark, brilliant eyes a keen look of suspicion.
"I am all attention," she answered, pleasantly, moving slightly, so that
she faced him.
"Well, mine is a curious errand," he began, earnestly, bending towards
her, his elbows on his knees. "There is no reason, as far as I'm aware,
why, if you are really Liane's friend, we should not be perfectly frank
with one another. First, I must ask you one question--a strange one you
will no doubt regard it. But it is necessary that I should receive an
answer before I proceed. Did you ever live in Paris--and where?"
She knit her brows for an instant, as if questions regarding her past
were entirely distasteful.
"Well, yes," she answered, after some hesitation. "I once lived in
Paris with my mother. We had rooms in the Rue Toullier."
"Then there can be no mistake," he exclaimed, quickly. "You are
Mariette Lepage."
"Of course I am," she said, puzzled at the strangeness of his manner.
"Why?"
"Because there is a curious circumstance which causes our interests to
be mutual," he answered, watching the flush of excitement upon her face
as he spoke. "Briefly, my father, Sir John Stratfield, was somewhat
eccentric, and because he knew I loved Liane, he left me penniless. He,
however, added an extraordinary clause to his will, in which you are
mentioned." Then drawing from his breast-pocket a copy of the document,
he glanced at it.
"I am mentioned?" she echoed, raising herself and regarding him
open-mouthed.
"Yes," he said. "By this will he has left me one hundred thousand
pounds on condition that I become your husband within two years of his
death."
"You--my husband?" she cried. "Are you mad?"
"Not so mad as my father when he made this absurd will," he answered,
calmly. "You are, under its provisions, to be offered twenty thousand
pounds in cash if you will consent to become my wife. This offer will
be made to you formally by his solicitors in London as soon as I inform
them that you are at last found. Read for yourself," and he passed to
her the copy of the will.
She took it mechanically, but for several moments sat agape and
motionless. The extraordinary announcement held her bewildered.
Quickly she glanced through the long lines of formal words, reassuring
herself that he had spoken the truth. She was to receive twenty
thousand pounds if she would marry the man before her, while he, on his
part, would become possessed of a substantial sum sufficient to keep
them comfortably for the remainder of their lives. At first she was
inclined to doubt the genuineness of the document; but it bore the
signature of the firm of solicitors, and was attested by them to be a
true copy of the original will. It held her dumb in astonishment.
"Then we are to marry?" she observed amazedly, when at last she again
found voice.
"The offer is to be made to you," he answered, evasively. "As you have
seen, if you refuse, or if you are already married, I am to receive half
the amount."
"I am not married," she answered with a slightly coquettish smile, her
chin resting upon her palm in a reflective attitude as she gazed at him.
"Marriage with you will mean that we have together the substantial sum
of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds."
"That is so," he said gravely. "If we married we certainly should have
money."
"But you love Liane," she answered in a low tone. "You can never love
me," and she sighed.
He did not answer. The look upon his face told her the truth. He
feared lest she should accept this curious offer, knowing that he would
then be drawn into a marriage with her. She regarded him critically,
and saw that he was tall, good-looking, muscular, and in every way a
thorough type of the good-natured Englishman. Twenty thousand pounds
was, she reflected, a sum that would prove very acceptable, for she
lived extravagantly, and the Villa Fortunee itself was an expensive
luxury.
"It is very dull living alone," she exclaimed, with a little touch of
melancholy in her voice. Then, with a laugh, she added, "To be
perfectly frank, I should not object to you as my husband."
"But is there not a barrier between us?" he exclaimed, quickly.
"Only Liane. And she can never marry you."
"I love her. I cannot love you," he answered. Her effort at coquetry
sickened him.
"It is not a question of love," she answered, coldly, toying with the
fine marquise ring upon her white finger. "It is a question of one
hundred and twenty thousand pounds."
"Would either of us be one whit the better for it, even if we married?"
he queried. "I think not. At present we are friends. If we married I
should hate you."
"Nevertheless I should obtain twenty thousand pounds," she argued.
"Is it worth while to risk one's future happiness for that?" he said.
"I have not yet sufficiently considered the matter," she replied, with
her eyes still fixed on him. "At present I'm inclined to think that it
is. But I must have time to reflect. One cannot refuse such an offer
without due consideration."
"Then you are inclined to accept," he observed, blankly.
She hesitated. Slowly she rose from the settee, crossed to the window
and pushed open the sun-shutters, allowing the golden sunset to stream
into the room from over the clear blue-green sea.
"Yes," she answered, standing gazing out upon the far-off horizon where
the white-sailed racing yachts, Ailsa and Britannia, were passing, "I am
inclined to accept."
"Very well," he stammered, sitting rigid and immovable. "My future is
entirely in your hands."
She passed her hand wearily across her brow. With the sunset falling
full upon her, he saw how heavy-eyed she was, and how artificial was the
complexion that had looked so well in the dreamy half-light when the
jalousies had been closed. Yes. She no doubt bore traces of a faded
beauty, but she was old; there were lines in her brow, and crows' feet
showed at the corners of her eyes. She was _passee_, and all the
vivacity and coquettishness she had shown had been carefully feigned to
assume an appearance of youth. The thought of it nauseated him.
Again she turned towards him. Her momentary gravity had vanished, and
she commenced a commonplace conversation. At last, however, he rose to
go, but she would not hear of it.
"No; remain here and dine," she said, in a low, persuasive tone.
"Afterwards we can go over to Monte Carlo for an hour or so, and you can
catch the yellow _rapide_ back to Nice at eleven."
"But you must really excuse me. I--"
"I will take no excuse," she said, laughing. "You must remain," and she
rang for the servant and told him that m'sieur would dine.
Together they stood at the open window watching the succession of lights
and shadows upon the purple mountains, how the rose of the afterglow
grew deeper over the sea until it faded, and the streak of gold and
orange died out behind the distant rocks of Cap d'Aggio. Then the mists
rose, creeping slowly up the mountain sides, the dusk deepened, a chill
wind blew in from the sea, and just as they closed the windows the door
opened and the man announced dinner.
The table, set for two in a cosy little salle-a-manger, glittered with
its cut-glass and shining plate, and was rendered bright by its shaded
candles and small silver repousse stands filled with choice flowers.
Throughout the meal she was gay and vivacious, speaking but little of
herself and carefully avoiding all references to Liane. He found her a
pleasant hostess, unusually well-informed for a woman. They discussed
art and literature, and in all her criticisms she exhibited a wide and
intimate knowledge of men and things. Then, when they rose, she opened
a door at the further end of the room and he found himself in a spacious
conservatory, where she invited him to smoke while she dressed to go to
the Casino.
Half an hour later she reappeared in a handsome gown of pale blue silk,
the corsage trimmed with narrow braiding of silver; a costume which
suited her admirably, yet so daring was it that he could not disguise
from himself the suggestion that it was the dress of a demi-mondaine.
Her hair had been redressed by her maid, and as he placed about her
shoulders her small black cape of lace and feathers, he mumbled an
apology that he was not able to dress.
"What does it matter? I invited you," she said, with a gay laugh.
"Come."
Together they entered the open carriage awaiting them, and descending
the long winding road to the shore, drove rapidly through La Condamine,
and ascended the steep incline which brought them round to the main
entrance to the Casino.
The night was brilliant, and the broad Place, with its palms and
flowers, its gay, laughing crowd of promenaders, and its showy Cafe de
Paris, where the band was playing Mattei's "Non e ver," lay bright as
day beneath the moonbeams and electric rays. As they entered, Mariette
handed him her cape, which he deposited for her in the cloakroom, then
both passed through a crowd of habitues of the rooms. Several men
around bowed to her, and she greeted them with a smile.
"You appear to be well-known here," he laughed, as the well-guarded
doors opened to them.
"I suppose I am," she answered vaguely. "When I am lonely I come here
and play. It is the only recreation I have."
The rooms were hot and crowded. The monotonous cry of the croupiers,
the incessant clicking of the roulette-ball, the jingle of coin, and the
faint odour of perfume were in striking contrast to the quiet of the
road along which they had just driven, but walking side by side they
passed through one room after another until they reached that fine
square salon, with its huge canvas representing a peaceful pastoral
scene occupying the whole of the opposite wall, the "trente-et-quarante"
room.
There was not quite so large a crowd here, but the stakes were higher, a
louis being the minimum. Mariette saw a player rise from his chair at
the end of the table and instantly secured the vacant seat, then turning
to her companion with a gay laugh, said,--
"I am going to tempt Fortune for half an hour."
She took from the large purse she carried a card on which to record the
game, impaled it to the green cloth with a pin, in the manner of the
professional gambler, and drew forth a small roll of notes.
The first time she played the "tailleur" dealt the cards quickly, one by
one, then cried, "_Six, quatre, rouge gagne et couleur perd_."
She had lost. But next time she tossed two notes upon the scarlet
diamond before her and won. She doubled her stake, won again, and then
allowed the cards to be dealt several times without risking anything.
Presently, she hesitated, but suddenly counted out five one
hundred-franc notes, folded them in half and carelessly tossed them upon
the red. Again the cards were dealt one by one upon the leather-covered
square; again the monotonous voice sounded, and again came her winnings
towards her, five notes folded together on the end of the croupier's
rake.
So engrossed had George become in the game, that he noticed nothing of
what was transpiring around him. Had he not been so deeply interested
in the play of this woman whom his father had designated as his wife,
his attention would probably have been attracted by a curious incident.
At the moment when the cards had been dealt, a man seated at the end of
the opposite table, who, with his companion had won a considerable sum,
raised his head, and, for the first time, noticed amid the excited
expectant crowd, that it was a woman who had been successful at the
other table.
The man was Zertho. Next instant, however, his face went white. In his
eyes there was a look of abject terror when he identified the lucky
player. With a sudden movement he put his hand to his head to avoid
recognition, and bending quickly to his companion, gasped,--
"Look, Brooker! Can't you see who's in front? Good God! why there's
`The Golden Hand.' Quick! We must fly!"