DISCLOSES A SCHEME.
At noon next day, while Ansell was lying lazily in bed in the Palace
Hotel reading the _Matin_, a page entered with a letter.
He tore it open, and found that it was dated from the railway buffet at
Calais-Maritime, and read:
"DEAR RALPH,--Impossible to send oof. Lady Michelcoombe
squeezed dry. Husband knows. So lie low.--TED."
He crushed the letter in his hand with an imprecation. His mine of
wealth had suddenly become exhausted.
From the address it was plain that Ted Patten was flying from England.
Lord Michelcoombe had discovered the truth. Probably his wife had
confessed, and explained how she had been trapped and money extracted
from her. Well he knew that the penalty for his offence was twenty
years' penal servitude.
It was all very well for Ted to advise him to "lie low," but that was
impossible without ample funds. The "crook" who is big enough to effect
a big _coup_ can go into safe retirement for years if necessary. But to
the man who is penniless that is impossible.
He rose and dressed even more carefully than usual. Afterwards he took
his _dejeuner_ in the big _salle-a-manger_ and drank half a bottle of
Krug with it. Like all men of his class, he was fastidious over his food
and wines. The afternoon he spent idling in the casino, and that night
he again visited the private gaming house with his two hundred francs,
or eight pounds, in his pocket.
It proved a gay night, for there was a dance in progress. In the
card-room, however, all was quiet, and there he again met the Russian,
who, however, was playing with three other men, strangers to him.
After he had critically inspected the company, he at length accepted the
invitation of a man he did not know to sit down to a friendly hand. In
those rooms he was believed to be the wealthy American, as he
represented himself to be.
The men he found himself playing with were Frenchmen, and very soon, by
dint of "working the trick," he succeeded in swindling them out of about
fifty pounds.
Then suddenly his luck turned dead against him. In three _coups_ he lost
everything, except two coins he had kept in his pocket.
Again, with a gambler's belief in chance, he made another stake, one of
five hundred francs.
The cards were dealt and played. Again he lost.
His brows knit, for he could not pay.
From his pocket he drew a silver case, and, taking out his card:
SILAS P. HOGGAN,
_San Diego, Cal._
handed it to the man who had invited him to play, with a promise to let
him have the money by noon next day.
In return he was given a card with the name: "PAUL FORESTIER, Chateau de
Polivac, Rhone."
The men bowed to each other with exquisite politeness, and then Ralph
Ansell went out upon the moonlit _plage_ with only two pounds in his
pocket, laughing bitterly at his continued run of ill-luck.
That night he took a long walk for miles beside the rocky coast of
Calvados, through the fashionable villages of Beuzeval and Cabourg,
meeting no one save two mounted gendarmes. The brilliant moon shone over
the Channel, and the cool air was refreshing after the close, stuffy
heat of the gaming-house.
As he walked, much of his adventurous past arose before him. He thought
of Jean, and wondered where she was. Swallowed in the vortex of
lower-class life of Paris--dead, probably.
And "The Eel"? He was still in prison, of course. Would they ever meet
again? He sincerely hoped not.
As he walked, he tried to formulate some plan for the future. To remain
further in Trouville was impossible. Besides, he would have once more to
sacrifice his small belongings and leave the hotel without settling his
account.
He was debating whether it would be wise to return to Paris. Would he,
in his genteel garb, be recognised by some agent of the Surete as "The
American"? There was danger. Was it wise to court it?
At a point of the road where it ran down upon the rocky beach, upon
which the moonlit sea was lapping lazily, he paused, and sat upon the
stump of a tree.
And there he reflected until the pink dawn spread, and upon the horizon
he saw the early morning steamer crossing from Havre.
He was broke!
Perhaps Ted Patten had treated him just as he had treated Adolphe. That
letter might, after all, be only a blind.
"He may have got money, and then written to frighten me," he muttered to
himself. "Strange that he didn't give an address. But I know where I
shall find him sooner or later. Harry's in Paris is his favourite place,
or the American Bar at the Grand at Brussels. Oh, yes, I shall find him.
First let me turn myself round."
Then, rising, he walked back to Trouville in the brilliant morning, and
going up to his room, went to bed.
Whenever he found himself in an hotel with no money to pay the bill, he
always feigned illness, and so awakened the sympathies of the
management. In some cases he had lain ill for weeks, living on luxuries,
and promising to settle for it all when he was able to get about.
He had done the trick at the Adlon, in Berlin, till found out, and again
at the Waldorf-Astoria, in New York. This time he intended to "work the
wheeze" on the Palace at Trouville, though he knew that he could not
live there long, for the short season was nearly at an end, and in about
three weeks the hotel would be closed.
But for a fortnight he remained in bed--or, at least, he was in bed
whenever anyone came in. The doctor who was called prescribed for acute
rheumatism, and the way in which the patient shammed pain was pathetic.
This enforced retirement was in one way irksome. Wrapped in his
dressing-gown, he, after a week in bed, was sufficiently well to sit at
the window and look down upon the gay crowd on the _plage_ below, and
sometimes he even found himself so well that he could appreciate a
cigar.
The manager, of course, sympathised with his wealthy visitor, and often
came up for an hour's chat, now that the busiest week of his season was
over.
All the time Ansell's inventive brain was busy. He was devising a new
scheme for money-making, and concocting an alluring prospectus of a
venture into which he hoped one "mug," or even two, might put money,
and thus form "the original syndicate," which in turn would supply him
with funds.
He knew Constantinople, the city where the foreign "crook" and
concession-hunter abounds. Among his unscrupulous friends was an
under-official at the Yildiz Kiosk, with whom he had had previous
dealings. Indeed, he had paid this official to fabricate and provide
bogus concessions purporting to be given under the seal of the Grand
Vizier of the Ottoman Empire. For one of these concessions--for mining
in Asia Minor--he had paid one thousand pounds two years ago, and had
sold it to a syndicate in St. Petersburg for ten thousand. When the
purchasers came to claim their rights they found the document to be a
forgery.
He was contemplating a similar _coup_. He had written to Youssof Effendi
asking if he were still open for business, and had received a telegram
answering in the affirmative. Therefore, after days of thought, he had
at last decided upon obtaining a "concession" for the erection and
working of a system of wireless telegraphy throughout the Turkish
Empire, and opening coast stations for public service.
His ideas he sent in a registered letter to his accomplice in
Constantinople, urging him to have the "concession" prepared in his name
with all haste.
And now he was only waiting from day to day to receive the document by
which he would be able to net from some unsuspecting persons a few
thousand pounds.
True, the bogus documents concerning the mining concession had borne the
actual seal of the Grand Vizier, but though an inquiry had been opened,
nothing had been discovered. Corruption is so rife in Turkey that the
Palace officials ever hang together, providing there is sufficient
backsheesh passing. Ralph knew that, therefore he was always liberal. It
paid him to be.
A few days before the date of the closing of the hotel a large, official
envelope, registered and heavily sealed, was brought up to Mr. Hoggan's
room by a page, and Ralph, opening it, found a formidable document in
Turkish, which he was unable to read, bearing four signatures, with the
big, embossed seal of the Grand Vizier of the Sultan.
With it was an official letter headed "Ministere des Affaires Etrangers,
Sublime Porte," enclosing a translation of the document in French, and
asking for an acknowledgment.
The imitation was, indeed, perfect. Ralph Ansell rubbed his hands with
glee. In Berlin he could obtain at least ten thousand pounds for it, if
he tried unsuspicious quarters.
But he wanted ready money to pay his hotel bill and to get to Germany.
An hour later, when the manager came up to pay his usual morning visit,
he expressed regret that he had to close the hotel, and added:
"We have still quite a number of visitors. Among them we have Mr.
Budden-Reynolds, of London. Do you happen to know him? They say he has
made a huge fortune in speculation on the Stock Exchange."
"Budden-Reynolds!" exclaimed Ralph, opening his eyes wide. "I've heard
of him, of course. A man who's in every wild-cat scheme afloat. By Jove!
That's fortunate. I must see him."
The introduction was not difficult, and that same evening Mr.
Budden-Reynolds, a stout, middle-aged, over-dressed man of rather Hebrew
countenance, was ushered into the "sick" financier's room.
"Say, sir, I'm very pleased to meet you. I must apologise for not being
able to come down to you, but I've had a stiff go of rheumatism. I heard
you were in this hotel, and I guess I've got something which will
interest you."
Then, when he had seated his visitor, he took from a drawer the
formidable registered packet, and drew out the Turkish concession.
The speculator, whose name was well known in financial circles, took it,
examined the seal and signatures curiously, and asked what it was.
"That," said Silas P. Hoggan, grandly, "is a concession from the Sultan
of Turkey to establish wireless telegraph stations where I like, and to
collect the revenue derived from them. Does it interest you, sir?"
Hoggan saw that the bait was a tempting one.
"Yes, a little," replied the speculator grandly.
"It's a splendid proposition! I'm half inclined to go with it straight
to the Marconi Company, who will take it over gladly at once. But I feel
that we shall do better with a private syndicate, who, in turn, will
resell to the Telefunken, the Goldsmidt, or Marconi Company."
"I think you are wise," was the reply.
"There's a heap of money in it! Think of all the coast stations we can
establish along the Levant, the Dardanelles, and the Black Sea, to say
nothing of the inland public telegraph service. And this, as you will
see by the French translation, gives us a perfectly free hand to do
whatever we like, and charge the public what we like, providing we give
a royalty of five per cent. to the State."
Then he handed Mr. Budden-Reynolds the letter from the Sublime Porte,
together with the French translation.
The letter the speculator read through carefully, and then expressed a
desire to participate in the venture.
Ansell's bluff was superb.
The two men talked over the matter, "The American" drawing an entrancing
picture of the enormous sums which were bound to accrue on the
enterprise until, before he left the room, Mr. Budden-Reynolds declared
himself ready to put up three hundred and fifty pounds for preliminary
expenses if, in exchange, he might become one of the original syndicate.
Upon a sheet of the hotel notepaper a draft agreement was at once drawn
up, but not, however, until Ansell had raised many objections. He was
not eager to accept the money, a fact which greatly impressed the
victim.
An hour later, however, he took Mr. Budden-Reynolds' cheque, signed a
receipt, and from that moment his recovery from his illness was
extremely rapid.
Early next morning he handed in the cheque to a local bank for
telegraphic clearance--which would occupy two days--and then set about
packing.
On the second day, at three o'clock in the afternoon, he drew the money,
paid his hotel bill with a condescending air, and prepared to depart for
Constantinople, for, as he had explained to his victim, there were
several minor points in the concession which were not clear, and which
could only be settled by discussion on the spot.
Therefore he would go to Paris, and take the Orient Express direct to
the Bosphorus.
He had been smoking with Budden-Reynolds from four till five, and then
went out to the American bar for an _aperitif_.
When, however, he returned and ascended to his room to dress for dinner,
he was suddenly startled by a loud knock on the door, and his friend
Budden-Reynolds bustled in.
Facing "The American" suddenly, he said, purple with rage:
"Well, you're about the coolest and most clever thief I've ever met! Do
you know that your confounded Turkish concession isn't worth the paper
it's written upon?"
"What do you mean?" asked Ansell, with an air of injured innocence.
"I mean, sir," cried the speculator, "I mean that you are a thief and a
swindler, and I now intend to call in the police and have you arrested
for palming off upon me a bogus concession. As it happens, my son is in
the British Consulate in Constantinople, and, having wired to him to
investigate the facts, he has just sent me a reply to say that the Grand
Vizier has no knowledge of any such concession, and that it has not been
given by him. Indeed, the concession for wireless telegraphy in Turkey
was given to the Marconi Company a year ago, and, further, they have
already erected two coast-stations on the Black Sea."
Mr. Silas P. Hoggan, of San Diego, Cal., unscrupulous as he was, stood
before his irate visitor absolutely nonplussed.