The fugitive was already out of sight when his pursuer gained the road.
In the crooked streets of Monaco, with their dark arches, narrow
passages and steep inclines, it is easy to evade pursuit, and Zertho, to
whom the place was well-known, was fully aware that if he could gain the
foot of the rock he could get clean away. He crushed his hat on his
head and ran swiftly as a deer.
Max knew the road the accused man must take, and dashed after him,
hatless, as fast as his legs would carry him. Suddenly, however, he
entered a crooked lane, only to find himself in a _cul-de-sac_. He
quickly retraced his steps and gained the square in front of the Palace,
but by this time the man he was pursuing was already at the foot of the
rock. Rushing up to the wall of the fortifications he peered over, and
saw far below the fugitive spring into a open cab and drive rapidly
towards La Condamine. To overtake him now was impossible. The police
must take up the chase.
He ran back to the Villa Fortunee to tell Mariette and the others of his
failure and obtain her sanction to invoke the aid of police, while the
other sat bolt upright in the cab, staring straight before him, not
daring to glance behind. Yet all seemed peaceful in that calm sunset
hour. Along the boulevard around the bay he drove at a spanking pace,
but in front the road to Monte Carlo rose steeply, and soon they were
only travelling at walking pace.
"Quicker!" he cried, impatiently to the driver; and with an oath added:
"Whip your horses! Quicker!"
"Impossible, m'sieur," the man answered without turning towards him.
The moments that went by during that slow ascent seemed hours. Each
instant he expected to hear loud cries and demands as the police bore
down upon him. He knew that his face must betray the deadly terror that
held him paralysed. Like a fox going to cover he had headed
instinctively for Monte Carlo, but knew not how he was about to act, or
whither he was going. He knew that he must fly to save his liberty and
life, and had a vague idea that if he crossed into Italy the pursuit
would thereby be delayed.
"Where to, m'sieur?" inquired the driver, when at last they gained the
brow of the hill.
"The Casino! Quick!" he answered, after an instant's reflection. Then
to himself, he muttered behind his set teeth: "One throw. My last
chance. Life or death!"
He sprang from the cab, tossed the man a ten-franc piece, and ran up the
red-carpeted steps to the atrium, showed his white ticket to the two
doorkeepers, and entered the hot, garish gaming-rooms.
The atmosphere was troubled, faint with the thousand perfumes exhaled
from the tightly-laced corsets of the women. Charming and pretty as
many of the latter are, they are, nevertheless, designedly or
unconsciously, the most active and dangerous companions at the tables.
Their influence upon their fellow-players is always on the side of the
bank.
Queen Roulette is the most absorbing and most imperious of all
mistresses. The most determined, young or old, audacious or timid, find
themselves powerless to resist her, for when the fatal fascination
creeps upon them she engages their brain, saps their spirit, holds
captive their senses, breaks asunder their resolutions, and lures them
to their ruin. She is indeed an enchantress infernal.
The jingle and chatter jarred upon his unstrung nerves. For a moment he
stood nauseated, half-dazed by the thousand memories, hideous spectres
of a guilty past, that crowded upon him.
But again he walked forward blindly, on past several of the tables
encircled by their hot, eager crowds, until he came to the Moorish room.
As he was passing a man rose wearily from the roulette-table with a
roll of notes in his hand, and instantly he took his chair. He cast a
furtive glance around the circle of faces, pale beneath the green-shaded
oil lamps suspended from the long brass chains. The emotions of hope,
disgust, anxiety, or greed were displayed on each of the perspiring
countenances ranged around that table. Next him was a beautiful woman
well-known in Riviera society, winning, and therefore a little excited,
her cheeks burning with two bright spots, her eyes shining like lamps;
and she looked like a girl as she now and then heaved a deep sigh. Next
her a blotchy-faced man, smelling strongly of rank cigars, was playing
and losing heavily, his countenance betraying nothing more than a
half-hearted smile, while opposite a staid matron made room for her
daughter, and handed her money to put on, believing, as so many believe,
that innocence is a kind of "mascot."
He lowered his gaze. The deathly pallor of his own cheeks had attracted
notice. It seemed as though these people, many of them personally known
to him, held him in suspicion.
He paused in hesitation, holding his breath the while, trying to calm
the wild tumultuous throbbing of his heart.
"_Messieurs, faites vos jeux_!"
The red and black disc in the centre of the table was revolving, the
money was already placed within the squares, and the little ivory ball
had already been launched when, with sudden resolve, he drew from his
pocket a louis and tossed it carelessly upon the scarlet diamond.
"Gain, I fly!" he murmured to himself. "Lose, I remain."
In flinging the coin his hand had lost its deftness, for instead of
falling flat, it fell upon its edge and rolled from the "red" over the
line into the "impair."