DESCRIBES A MEETING AND ITS SEQUEL
His words staggered me.
“Not agents of police!” I cried, dumfounded. “Why, they were fully
cognizant of every detail of the affair. It was the Director of the
Casino who presented them.”
“Then M’sieur the Directeur was tricked, just as you were,” he answered
gravely. “You say that you actually received from the hands of some
one who wore an effective disguise the sum stolen from the unfortunate
m’sieur? Kindly explain the whole circumstances of your meeting, and
what passed between you.”
“My dear Carmela,” exclaimed Ulrica. “This fresh complication is
absolutely bewildering. You not only danced and chatted with the
murderer, but you were the victim of a very clever plot.”
“That is quite certain,” observed the officer. “The two individuals to
whom mademoiselle inadvertently gave the notes upon the representations
that they were agents of the police, were evidently well acquainted
with the murderer’s intention to give up the proceeds of the robbery,
and had watched you narrowly all through the evening. But kindly give
us exact details.”
In obedience to his demand, I recounted the whole story. It seemed
to me incredible that the two men who had sent for me were bogus
detectives, yet such was the actual fact, as was shown later when the
Director of the Casino explained how they had come to him, telling him
that they were police agents from Marseilles, and had ordered him to
send for me, as they wished to interrogate me regarding “the affair of
the Grand Hotel.” Such, he declared, was their air of authority that he
never for a moment doubted that they were genuine officers of police.
My statement held the two men absolutely speechless. I told them of the
strange appointment in London made by the man with the owl’s face, of
the curious warning he had given me, and of the manner in which he had
presented me with the sum won at the tables by the murdered man.
“You can give us absolutely no idea whatever of his personal
appearance?” he inquired dubiously.
“None whatever,” I answered. “The dress and mask were effectual in
disguising him.”
“And the two men who falsely passed as police agents--will you kindly
describe them?” And he took out a well-worn pocket-book and scribbled
in it.
I described their personal appearance as closely as I could, while on
his part he took down my statement very carefully.
“This is most extraordinary!” Ulrica observed, standing near me in
wonder. “The pair who said they were detectives were exceedingly
clever, and are evidently aware of all that has transpired.”
“Marvellous!” exclaimed the man reflectively. “Only a very clever thief
would dare to walk into the bureau of the Casino and act as they did.”
“Have they any connection with the actual assassin, do you think?”
“I’m inclined to believe so,” he responded. “It was a conspiracy on
their part to obtain possession of the money.”
“Of course, I gave it up in entire innocence,” I said. “I never dreamed
that such a plot could exist.”
“Ah, mademoiselle,” observed the detective, “in this affair we have
evidently to deal with those who have brought crime to a fine art.
There seems something remarkable regarding the appointment in London
on the second of June. It seems as though it were devised to gain time
with some secret object or another.”
“I am absolutely bewildered,” I admitted. “My position in this tragic
affair is anything but enviable.”
“Most certainly. All this must be most annoying and distressing to
mademoiselle. I only hope we shall be successful in tracing the real
perpetrators of the crime.”
“You think there was more than one?”
“That is most probable,” he replied. “At present, however, we still
remain without any tangible clue, save that the proceeds of the crime
have passed from one person to another through the agency of yourself.”
“Their audacity was beyond comprehension!” I cried. “It really seems
inconceivable that I should have danced with the actual murderer, and
afterwards been induced to hand over to a pair of impostors the money
stolen from the unfortunate young man. I feel that I am to blame for
my shortsightedness.”
“Not at all, mademoiselle, not at all,” declared the detective with his
suave Gallic politeness. “With such a set of ingenious malefactors it
is easy to commit an error and fall a victim.”
“And what can be done?”
“We can only continue our investigations.”
“But the man in the owl’s dress? Tell me candidly, do you really
believe that he was the actual murderer?”
“He may have been. It was evident that for some hidden reason he had
some strong motive in passing the stolen notes into your possession.”
“But why?”
“Ah! that is one of the mysteries which we must try and solve. The man
was French, you say?”
“He spoke English admirably.”
“No word of French?”
“Not a single word. Yet he possessed an accent rather unusual.”
“He might have been a foreigner--an Italian or German--for aught you
know?” the detective suggested.
“No,” I answered reflectively. “His gestures were French. I believe
that he was actually French.”
“And the bogus police agents?”
“They too were French, undoubtedly. It would have been impossible to
deceive the Director of the Casino, himself a Frenchman.”
“Mademoiselle is quite right. I will at once see M’sieur le Directeur
and hear his statement. It is best,” he added, “that the matter should
remain a profound secret. Do not mention it, either of you, even to
your nearest friends. Publicity might very probably render futile all
our inquiries.”
“I understand,” I said.
“And mademoiselle will say no word to any one about it?”
I glanced at Ulrica inquiringly.
“Certainly,” she answered. “If m’sieur wishes the affair shall be kept
secret.”
Then, after some further discussion, the police officer thanked us,
gave us an assurance of his most profound respect, and, accompanied by
his silent subordinate, withdrew.
“After all,” I remarked when they had gone, “it will be best, perhaps,
to say nothing whatever to Gerald. He might mention it incautiously,
and thus it might get into the papers.”
“Yes, my dear,” answered Ulrica, “perhaps silence is best. But the
trick played upon you passes comprehension. I don’t like the aspect of
affairs at all, and if it were not for the fact that we have so many
friends here in Nice, and that it is just the centre of the season, I
should suggest the packing of our trunks.”
“We shall leave soon,” I said, “as soon as the yachting party is
complete.”
That same night after our trip to Tourette we accompanied the Allens,
a middle-aged American and his wife, who lived in Paris, over to Monte
Carlo. The Battle of Flowers had taken place there during the day, and
that event always marks the zenith of the gaming season. The Rooms
were crowded, and the dresses, always magnificent at night, were more
daring than ever. Half of fashionable Europe seemed there, including an
English Royal Highness and a crowd of notables. One of De Lara’s operas
was being played in the Casino theatre, and his works, being great
favorites there, always attract a full house.
The display of jewels at the tables was that night the most dazzling I
had ever seen. Some women, mostly gay Parisiennes or arrogant Russians,
seemed literally covered with diamonds, and as they stood around one
risking their louis or five-franc pieces, it seemed strange that with
jewels of that worth upon them they should descend to play with such
paltry stakes. But many women at Monte Carlo play merely because it is
the correct thing so to do, and very often are careless of either loss
or gain.
The usual characters were there: the wizened old man with his
capacious purse; the old hag in black cashmere and rouged face playing
and winning; and, alas! the foolish young man who staked always in
the wrong place until he had flung away his last louis. In all the
world there is no stranger panorama of life than that presented at
ten o’clock at night at the tables of Monte Carlo. It is unique,
indescribable--appalling.
Temptation is spread before the unwary in all its forms, until the
fevered atmosphere of gold and avarice throbs with evil, becomes
nauseous, and one longs for a breath of the fresh night air and a
refreshing drink to take the bad taste out of one’s mouth.
I played, merely because Ulrica and Dolly Allen played. I think I won
three or four louis, but am not certain of the amount. You ask why?
Because seated at the table exactly opposite to where I stood unnoticed
among the crowd was Ernest Cameron.
At his side was the inevitable red and black card whereon he registered
each number as it came up; before him were several little piles of
louis and a few notes; while behind him, leaning now and then over his
chair and whispering, was _that woman_!
At frequent intervals he played, generally upon the dozens, and even
then rather uncertainly. But he often lost. Once or twice he played
with fairly large stakes upon a chance that appeared practically
certain; but he had no luck, and the croupier raked them in.
For fully a dozen times he staked two louis on the last twelve
numbers, but with that perversity which sometimes seems to seize the
roulette-ball, the numbers came up between 1 and 24.
Suddenly the tow-haired woman who had replaced me in his affections
leaned over and said in a voice quite audible to me,--
“Put the maximum on number 6!”
With blind obedience he counted out the sum sufficient to win the
maximum of six thousand francs, and pushed it upon the number she had
named.
“Rien ne va plus!” cried the croupier next instant, and there, sure
enough, I saw the ball drop into the number the witch had prophesied.
The croupier counted the stake quickly, and pushed with his rake
towards the fortunate player notes for six thousand francs, folded in
half, with the simple words,--
“En plein.”
“Enough!” cried the woman prompting him. “Play no more to-night!”
He sighed, and with a strange, preoccupied air, gathered up his coin,
notes, and other belongings, while a player tossed over a five-franc
piece to “mark” his place, or, in other words, to secure his chair when
he vacated it. Then, still obedient to her, he rose with a faint smile
upon his lips.
As he did so, he raised his eyes, and they fell full upon mine, for I
was standing there watching him.
Our gaze met suddenly. Next instant, however, the light died out
from his countenance, and he stood glaring at me as though I were an
apparition. His mouth was slightly opened, his hand trembled, his brows
contracted, and his face grew ashen.
His attitude was as though he were cowed by my presence. He remembered
our last meeting.
In a moment, however, he recovered his self-possession, turned his back
upon me, and strolled away beside that woman who had usurped my place.