The Day of Suspense
"Will you make me believe that I am not sent for . . . ?
Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow!"
--SHAKESPEARE.
From Nice to Monte Carlo over the Upper Corniche, was for us a spin of
less than two hours; and after that most beautiful drive in the world,
we slowed down before the green-shaded loggia of the Royal, early in
the afternoon. The hotel was only just open for the season, and it was
possible to have a choice of rooms. Jack selected a glass-fronted
suite, with a view more beautiful than any other in the extraordinary
little principality:
"Magic casements
Opening on the foam of perilous seas
In faëry lands forlorn."
which were, respectively, the harbour, and the rock of Monaco (as old
as Hercules), with its ancient towers dark against a sky of pearl.
I was given a peep into Molly's salon, which appeared to be a sort of
crystal palace, with its two window-walls curtained by trailing roses;
and Jack kept me for a moment at the door.
"I suppose we shall meet for dinner about eight, won't we, no matter
what we may all choose to do meanwhile?" said he.
"Well--er--no," I mumbled, feeling a little foolish. "I have--er--a
sort of engagement for to-night. I think I mentioned it before."
"What, to meet that missing Boy of yours?" asked Jack, in a chaffing
tone, so tactlessly loud that it must have been distinctly audible to
the ladies in the adjoining room, the door of which was open. "Isn't
that rather a mad idea? You were vaguely engaged to meet your pal, I
believe you said, on the night after your arrival, at the Hôtel de
Paris, for dinner. But considering the fact that, if you'd walked down
as you then intended, instead of motoring, you would have been a
fortnight on the way, isn't it fantastic to expect that he'll turn up?"
"Not quite as fantastic as you think," I retorted, remembering the
terms of the Boy's letter, which had not been confided to Jack, in
their exactness. "Anyhow, I'm going on the off chance."
"You apparently credit the youth with clairvoyance, my dear chap.
Supposing he has come down here, how could he know that you'd
arrived?"
"I wired him from Digne, telegraphing to the Poste Restante at Monte
Carlo, where he would certainly think of enquiring, if he took much
interest in my movements. In that message I made it very clear that I
should expect him to stick to our bargain, and I have an impression
that he will."
"He may. But, look here, my dear fellow,"--Jack now had the decency to
lower his voice,--"have you no red blood in your veins? Mercédès--the
real Mercédès--nearly restored to health and spirits by her run with
us through splendid air and scenery, is to unveil her charms this
evening at dinner. You have irreverently nicknamed her the Perpetual
Mushroom. To-night, you will see--but you don't deserve to be told
what you will see, if you haven't the curiosity to find out at the
first opportunity for yourself."
"Second opportunities, like second thoughts, are better than first,"
said I. "I shall he delighted to take the second opportunity of
meeting Miss Mercédès--by the way, what _is_ her other name? You
always seemed to take it for granted that I knew; but if it was ever
mentioned in the summer, I've forgotten."
"You should be ashamed to admit that you could deliberately and
stoically forget a charming young lady's name, and you don't deserve
to have your memory jogged. You shall be told the heiress's name when
you meet her, and not before."
"I must possess my soul in patience until to-morrow, then," I replied,
"for to me one pal in the bush is worth twenty heiresses in the hand,
and I am now going out to scour the said bush."
"Which means the Casino, no doubt."
"I shall stroll in, when I've got rid of the dust. The Rooms are the
place to come across people."
"All right, gang your ain gait, my son, and I suppose I must wish you
luck. Daresay we shall see each other before bedtime."
A few hours later, I was walking down through the gardens, on my way
to the Casino. The young grass, sown last month, had already become
green velvet, and the flowers were as fresh as if they had been
created an hour ago. The air smelled of La France roses and orange
blossoms, though I saw neither. Some pretty Austrian girls were
walking about in muslin frocks and gauzy hats, though by this time,
in England, women were putting on their fur boas in deference to
autumn; and a few days ago I had been lost in a snowstorm on a
middle-sized mountain of Savoie.
As I drew near to the big white Casino, strains of music came to me
from the terrace, and thinking that the Boy might be there listening
to the band, I went through the tunnel and came out on the beautiful
flower-decked plateau overhanging the sea. Out of season though it
was, a great many people were sitting there, drinking tea or coffee,
and listening to "La Paloma."
The windows of the Casino were open, protected by awnings; birds were
taking their last flight, before going to bed in some orange or lemon
tree. The place was more charming than in the high season; but the
face I looked for was not to be seen, and I deserted the Terrace for
the Rooms.
I had not been to "Monte" since the Boer war; and when I had gone
through the formalities at the Bureau, and entered the first _salle_,
it struck me strangely to find everything exactly as I had left it
years ago.
The same heavy stillness, emphasised by the continuous chink, chink of
gold and silver, and broken only by the announcement of events at
different tables: "_Onze, noir, impair et manque";--"Rien ne va
plus";--"Zèro!_"
The same _onze_; the same _rien n'va plus_; the same _zèro_ heralded
in the same secretly joyous, outwardly apologetic tone, by the
croupiers fortunate enough to produce it. The same croupiers too;--(or
do croupiers develop a family likeness of face, of voice, of coat, as
the years go chinking zeroly on?). The same players, or their
_doppelgängers_; the same pictured nymphs smiling on the ornate
walls. But there was no Boy, no Boy's sister; and suddenly it occurred
to me that I was foolish to expect him. He was too childlike in
appearance to have obtained a ticket of admission to the gambling
rooms.
Since it was useless to look for him here, and no other place seemed
promising at this hour, there was nothing to do but pass the moments
until time to change for dinner. Accordingly I watched the tables.
Once, like most men of my age, I had been bitten by the roulette fever
and had wrestled with "systems" in their thousands, not so much for
the mere "gamble," as for the joy of striving to beat the wily Pascal
at his own invention.
In those old days the wheel had been like a populous town for me,
inhabited by quaint little people, each living in his own snug house;
the Little People of Roulette. Not a number on the board but his face
was familiar to me; I would have known him if I had met him in the
street. There was sly, thin, dark little Dix, always sneaking up on
tiptoe when you did not want him, and popping out behind your back.
Business-like, successful, bustling Onze; tactless but honest Douze;
treacherous yet fascinating Treize; blundering Seize; graceful,
brunette Dix-Sept; and the faithful, friendly Vingtneuf; feminine
Rouge; brusque, virile Noir; mean little, underbred Manque, and senile
Passe; priggish Pair with his skittish young wife; the Dozens,
_nouveaux-riches_, thinking themselves a cut above the humbler Simple
Chances in Roulette Society; the upright, unbending Columns; the
raffish Chevaux; the excitable Transversales, and the brilliant
Carrés; charming on first acquaintance, but fickle as friends; the
twin, blind dwarfs, the Coups des Deux; these and many more, down to
the wretched, worried Intermittances, ever in a violent hurry to catch
a train but never catching it. I could see them all, still; but I saw
them pass with calmness now, for I wanted to find the Boy.
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