THE GREEN TABLE.
One afternoon a fortnight later Ralph Ansell, well dressed, and posing
as usual as a wealthy American, who had lived for many years in France,
stood at the window of his room in the expensive Palace Hotel at
Trouville, gazing upon the sunny _plage_, with its boarded promenade
placed on the wide stretch of yellow sand.
In the sunshine there were many bathers in remarkable costumes, enjoying
a dip in the blue sea, while the crowd of promenaders in summer clothes
passed up and down. The season was at its height, for it was the race
week at Deauville, and all the pleasure world of Paris had flocked
there.
Surely in the whole of gay Europe there is no brighter watering place
than Trouville-sur-Mer during the race week, and certainly the
played-out old Riviera, with the eternal Monte, is never so _chic_, nor
are the extravagant _modes_ ever so much in evidence, as at the
Normandie at Deauville, or upon the boarded promenade which runs before
those big, white hotels on the sands at Trouville.
Prices were, of course, prohibitive. The casino was at its gayest and
brightest, and the well-known American bar, close to the last-named
institution, Ansell patronised daily in order to scrape acquaintance
with its chance customers.
Having been up playing cards the greater part of the night before, he
had eaten his luncheon in bed, and had just risen and dressed.
He gazed out of his window down upon the sunny scene of seaside revelry,
as a bitter smile played upon his lips.
"What infernal luck I had last night," he muttered, between his teeth.
Then glancing at the dressing-table, his eyes fell upon the hotel bill,
which had come up on the tray with his _dejeuner_. "Fourteen hundred and
eighteen francs," he muttered, "and only those three louis to pay it
with."
Those last three louis had been flung carelessly upon the table when he
had undressed at six o'clock that morning.
He took them in his palm and looked at them.
"Not a word from Ted," he went on, with a sigh. "I wonder what can have
happened. Has he got a bit more out of the Michelcoombe woman and
cleared out? No," he added, "he's a white man. He'd never prove a
blackguard like that."
Ralph Ansell had not recalled his own dastardly action when he robbed,
deserted, and trapped his accomplice, Adolphe Carlier.
For a long time he remained silent as slowly he paced the small,
well-furnished room, his hands thrust deep in his trousers pockets, his
eyes fixed upon the carpet. His fertile, inventive brain was trying to
devise some subtle means to obtain money. He was a genius regarding
schemes, and he put them before his victims in such an inviting and
attractive way that they found refusal impossible. For some of the
wildest of schemes he had been successful in subscribing money--money
which had enabled him to live well, to travel up and down Europe, and
pose as a man of considerable means.
Railway concessions in the Balkans, the exploitation of oil in Roumania,
of tin in Montenegro, and copper in Servia, had all been fruitful
sources of income, and now when they had failed he had fallen back upon
his skill at cards.
On the previous night, at a disreputable but luxuriant gaming-house
situated only a few dozen paces from the hotel, he had met his match. His
opponent was too wary, and he had lost very considerably. Indeed, all
that remained to him were those three golden louis.
And with that slender capital he intended that night to retrieve his
lost fortune. It is usually easy for the cheat to retrieve his fortune.
So with a laugh he lit a fresh cigarette, put his three louis in his
pocket, and muttered, "I wish to Heaven Ted would come over here. We
might work something big. I'll wire him."
Then, examining himself in the glass, and settling his tie, he walked
out at three o'clock in the afternoon, his first appearance that day.
Emerging from the lift into the hall, he passed through the low-built
lounge, where a number of summer muslin-dressed idlers were chatting and
laughing, and strode out upon the boards placed upon the golden
sea-sands outside the hotel.
Trouville is unique. Other watering-places have a drive along the
sea-front, but the gay little bathing "trou" has no sea-front. The
hotels abut upon the actual sands, just as Arcachon abuts upon its
shallow oyster-beds.
Ansell had not gone half-a-dozen yards along the _plage_ before he met a
young Englishman whose acquaintance he had made in a night _cafe_ on the
previous evening--a young cavalry officer, who greeted him merrily,
believing him to be the well-known American financier. Even the men who
are "British officers and gentlemen" in these days are prone to bow the
knee to American dollars, the golden key which unlocks the door of the
most exclusive English society. Only the old-fashioned squire of the
country village, the old-fashioned English hunting gentleman, will
despise the men who aspire to society because they can buy society's
smiles.
He walked with the young fellow as far as the casino. Ansell did not
even know his name, and as he had already summed him up as living on his
pay, with a load of debts behind, he did not trouble even to inquire.
Only wealthy "mugs" interested him.
Entering the casino, they had a drink together, then smoked and chatted.
Ansell was half inclined to tell a tale and borrow a "fiver," but so
clever was he that he feared lest the young fellow might speak of it in
Trouville. Therefore he stood at the bar laughing merrily, as was his
wont, and keeping a watchful eye upon any man who entered. He could
fascinate other men by cheery good humour, his disregard for worry, his
amusing optimism, and his brightness of conversation.
His training as a crook had surely been in a good school, yet there were
times when, before his vision, arose the face of the true, honest girl
whom he had married, and whom he had so cruelly treated. Sometimes, just
as at that hour when he stood at the bar of the great gilded casino,
laughing gaily, he would reflect upon his married life, and wonder where
Jean was and how she fared.
The young Englishman, Baldwin by name, was spending the season at
Trouville with his mother, who rented a pretty villa in the vicinity,
and he, being on leave, was idling amid the mad gaiety of
Paris-by-the-Sea.
He was much taken by the manners and airy talk of the rich American,
whom he found much less vulgar than many he had met in London society.
He made no ostentatious show, though it was whispered throughout
Trouville that he was one of the wealthiest men in Wall Street. What
would young Baldwin have thought if he had seen those three precious
louis?
Until five o'clock Ansell chatted and smoked with him, all the time his
brain busy to invent some fresh scheme to obtain funds. Then,
punctually at five, he took leave of his friend, and entering a
_fiacre_, drove along to Deauville, that fashionable village of smart
villas, with its big, white casino and its quaintly built but extremely
select Hotel Normandie.
At the latter he descended and, entering, passed through the big lounge
where the elegant world and the more elegant half world were chattering
and taking their tea after the races. He knew the big hotel well, and
many men and women glanced up and remarked as he passed, for Silas P.
Hoggan had already established a reputation.
Finding nobody to speak to, he took a seat in a corner, drank tea
because it was the correct thing to do, smoked a cigarette, and became
horribly bored.
Those who saw him reflected upon the great burden which huge wealth as
his must be, little dreaming that, after all, he was but a blackmailer
and an ingenious swindler.
Presently he looked in at the casino, where he found a French Baron whom
he knew, and then, after a further hour in the _cafe_, he returned to
his hotel in Trouville, where he dressed carefully and later on appeared
at dinner.
Whenever funds were especially low, Ralph Ansell always made it a rule
to order an expensive dinner. It preserved the illusion that he was
wealthy. He was especially fond of Russian Bortch soup, and this having
been ordered, it was served with great ceremony, a large piece of cream
being placed in the centre of the rich, brown liquid.
The dinner he ate that night was assuredly hardly in keeping with the
ugly fact that, within the next four days, if funds were not
forthcoming, he would find himself outside the hotel without his
newly-acquired luggage.
Truly his luck was clean out.
After dinner he sat outside the hotel for an hour, watching people pass
up and down the _plage_. The evening was close, and the sand reflected
back the hot rays of the sun absorbed during the day.
He was thinking. Only those three louis remained between him and
starvation. He must get money somehow--by what means it mattered not, so
long as he got it.
Suddenly, with a resolve, he rose and, passing along the _plage_,
arrived at a large, white house overlooking the sea, where, on the
second floor, he entered a luxuriously-furnished suite of rooms where
roulette was in full swing.
Many smartly-dressed men and women were playing around the green
table--some winning, some losing heavily.
The room, filled to overflowing, was almost suffocating, while, combined
with the chatter of women and the lower voices of men, was the
distinctive sound of the clink of gold as the croupier raked it in or
paid it out.
To several acquaintances Ralph nodded merrily as he strolled through the
room, until suddenly he came upon two men, wealthy he knew them to be,
with whom he had played cards on the previous night.
"Ah, messieurs!" he cried, greeting them merrily. "Are you prepared to
give me my revenge--eh?"
"Quite, m'sieur," was the reply of the elder of the men. "Shall it be in
the next room? There is a table free."
"At your pleasure," was "The American's" reply. The man who had proved
so shrewd on the previous night was absent, but the two other men were,
he knew, somewhat inexperienced at cards.
They passed into the adjoining room and there sat down, a stranger
joining them. Others were playing in the same room, including at least a
couple of "crooks" well known to Ansell--one man an elegantly-dressed
Italian and the other a Spaniard. The summer resorts of Europe prove the
happy hunting-ground for the knights of industry.
The cards were dealt, and the game played.
At the first _coup_ Ralph Ansell won three hundred francs, though he
played fairly. Again and again he won. His luck had returned.
In half an hour he had before him a pile of notes and gold representing
about three hundred pounds.
His face, however, was sphinx-like. Inveterate gambler that he was, he
never allowed his countenance to betray his emotion. Inwardly, however,
he was elated at his success, and when the stranger, a middle-aged
Russian Baron, proposed to stake an amount equal to his winnings, he
quickly welcomed the proposal.
In an instant he was on the alert. Now was the moment to perform one of
his clever card-sharping tricks, the trick by which he had so often won
big sums from the unsuspecting.
He placed two one-hundred franc notes aside in case he should lose; then
the cards were dealt, and the game played.
Only at that moment did the "crook" realise what an astute player the
stranger was.
He tried to cheat, and, though he performed the trick, nevertheless his
opponent actually beat him.
He bit his lip in anger.
Then, pushing the money across to the Baron, he rose from the table and
bade his companions good-night, though the sun was beginning to shine in
between the drawn curtains of the stuffy room.