Here he was confronted by a heated phantasmagoria of splendour and a
high pressure of suspense that seemed to make the air quiver. A low
whisper of conversation prevailed, which might probably have been not
wrongly defined as the lowest note of social harmony.
The people gathered at this negative pole of industry had come from
all civilized countries; their tongues were familiar with many forms of
utterance, that of each racial group or type being unintelligible in its
subtler variations, if not entirely, to the rest. But the language of
meum and tuum they collectively comprehended without translation. In a
half-charmed spell-bound state they had congregated in knots, standing,
or sitting in hollow circles round the notorious oval tables marked with
figures and lines. The eyes of all these sets of people were watching
the Roulette. Somerset went from table to table, looking among the
loungers rather than among the regular players, for faces, or at least
for one face, which did not meet his gaze.
The suggestive charm which the centuries-old impersonality Gaming,
rather than games and gamesters, had for Somerset, led him to loiter on
even when his hope of meeting any of the Power and De Stancy party had
vanished. As a non-participant in its profits and losses, fevers and
frenzies, it had that stage effect upon his imagination which is
usually exercised over those who behold Chance presented to them with
spectacular piquancy without advancing far enough in its acquaintance to
suffer from its ghastly reprisals and impish tricks. He beheld a hundred
diametrically opposed wishes issuing from the murky intelligences around
a table, and spreading down across each other upon the figured diagram
in their midst, each to its own number. It was a network of hopes; which
at the announcement, ‘Sept, Rouge, Impair, et Manque,’ disappeared like
magic gossamer, to be replaced in a moment by new. That all the people
there, including himself, could be interested in what to the eye of
perfect reason was a somewhat monotonous thing--the property of numbers
to recur at certain longer or shorter intervals in a machine containing
them--in other words, the blind groping after fractions of a result
the whole of which was well known--was one testimony among many of the
powerlessness of logic when confronted with imagination.
At this juncture our lounger discerned at one of the tables about the
last person in the world he could have wished to encounter there. It was
Dare, whom he had supposed to be a thousand miles off, hanging about the
purlieus of Markton.
Dare was seated beside a table in an attitude of application which
seemed to imply that he had come early and engaged in this pursuit in
a systematic manner. Somerset had never witnessed Dare and De Stancy
together, neither had he heard of any engagement of Dare by the
travelling party as artist, courier, or otherwise; and yet it crossed
his mind that Dare might have had something to do with them, or at least
have seen them. This possibility was enough to overmaster Somerset’s
reluctance to speak to the young man, and he did so as soon as an
opportunity occurred.
Dare’s face was as rigid and dry as if it had been encrusted with
plaster, and he was like one turned into a computing machine which no
longer had the power of feeling. He recognized Somerset as indifferently
as if he had met him in the ward of Stancy Castle, and replying to his
remarks by a word or two, concentrated on the game anew.
‘Are you here alone?’ said Somerset presently.
‘Quite alone.’ There was a silence, till Dare added, ‘But I have seen
some friends of yours.’ He again became absorbed in the events of the
table. Somerset retreated a few steps, and pondered the question whether
Dare could know where they had gone. He disliked to be beholden to Dare
for information, but he would give a great deal to know. While pausing
he watched Dare’s play. He staked only five-franc pieces, but it was
done with an assiduity worthy of larger coin. At every half-minute or
so he placed his money on a certain spot, and as regularly had the
mortification of seeing it swept away by the croupier’s rake. After a
while he varied his procedure. He risked his money, which from the
look of his face seemed rather to have dwindled than increased, less
recklessly against long odds than before. Leaving off backing numbers en
plein, he laid his venture a cheval; then tried it upon the dozens; then
upon two numbers; then upon a square; and, apparently getting nearer and
nearer defeat, at last upon the simple chances of even or odd, over or
under, red or black. Yet with a few fluctuations in his favour fortune
bore steadily against him, till he could breast her blows no longer. He
rose from the table and came towards Somerset, and they both moved on
together into the entrance-hall.
Dare was at that moment the victim of an overpowering mania for more
money. His presence in the South of Europe had its origin, as may be
guessed, in Captain De Stancy’s journey in the same direction, whom
he had followed, and troubled with persistent request for more funds,
carefully keeping out of sight of Paula and the rest. His dream of
involving Paula in the De Stancy pedigree knew no abatement. But
Somerset had lighted upon him at an instant when that idea, though not
displaced, was overwhelmed by a rage for play. In hope of being able to
continue it by Somerset’s aid he was prepared to do almost anything to
please the architect.
‘You asked me,’ said Dare, stroking his impassive brow, ‘if I had seen
anything of the Powers. I have seen them; and if I can be of any use to
you in giving information about them I shall only be too glad.’
‘What information can you give?’
‘I can tell you where they are gone to.’
‘Where?’
‘To the Grand Hotel, Genoa. They went on there this afternoon.’
‘Whom do you refer to by they?’
‘Mrs. Goodman, Mr. Power, Miss Power, Miss De Stancy, and the worthy
captain. He leaves them tomorrow: he comes back here for a day on his
way to England.’
Somerset was silent. Dare continued: ‘Now I have done you a favour, will
you do me one in return?’
Somerset looked towards the gaming-rooms, and said dubiously, ‘Well?’
‘Lend me two hundred francs.’
‘Yes,’ said Somerset; ‘but on one condition: that I don’t give them to
you till you are inside the hotel you are staying at.’
‘That can’t be; it’s at Nice.’
‘Well I am going back to Nice, and I’ll lend you the money the instant
we get there.’
‘But I want it here, now, instantly!’ cried Dare; and for the first
time there was a wiry unreasonableness in his voice that fortified his
companion more firmly than ever in his determination to lend the young
man no money whilst he remained inside that building.
‘You want it to throw it away. I don’t approve of it; so come with me.’
‘But,’ said Dare, ‘I arrived here with a hundred napoleons and more,
expressly to work out my theory of chances and recurrences, which is
sound; I have studied it hundreds of times by the help of this.’ He
partially drew from his pocket the little volume that we have before
seen in his hands. ‘If I only persevere in my system, the certainty that
I must win is almost mathematical. I have staked and lost two hundred
and thirty-three times. Allowing out of that one chance in every
thirty-six, which is the average of zero being marked, and two hundred
and four times for the backers of the other numbers, I have the
mathematical expectation of six times at least, which would nearly
recoup me. And shall I, then, sacrifice that vast foundation of waste
chances that I have laid down, and paid for, merely for want of a little
ready money?’
‘You might persevere for a twelvemonth, and still not get the better of
your reverses. Time tells in favour of the bank. Just imagine for the
sake of argument that all the people who have ever placed a stake upon a
certain number to be one person playing continuously. Has that imaginary
person won? The existence of the bank is a sufficient answer.’
‘But a particular player has the option of leaving off at any
point favourable to himself, which the bank has not; and there’s my
opportunity.’
‘Which from your mood you will be sure not to take advantage of.’
‘I shall go on playing,’ said Dare doggedly.
‘Not with my money.’
‘Very well; we won’t part as enemies,’ replied Dare, with the flawless
politeness of a man whose speech has no longer any kinship with his
feelings. ‘Shall we share a bottle of wine? You will not? Well, I hope
your luck with your lady will be more magnificent than mine has been
here; but--mind Captain De Stancy! he’s a fearful wildfowl for you.’
‘He’s a harmless inoffensive soldier, as far as I know. If he is
not--let him be what he may for me.’
‘And do his worst to cut you out, I suppose?’
‘Ay--if you will.’ Somerset, much against his judgment, was being
stimulated by these pricks into words of irritation. ‘Captain De Stancy
might, I think, be better employed than in dangling at the heels of a
lady who can well dispense with his company. And you might be better
employed than in wasting your wages here.’
‘Wages--a fit word for my money. May I ask you at what stage in the
appearance of a man whose way of existence is unknown, his money ceases
to be called wages and begins to be called means?’
Somerset turned and left him without replying, Dare following his
receding figure with a look of ripe resentment, not less likely to vent
itself in mischief from the want of moral ballast in him who emitted it.
He then fixed a nettled and unsatisfied gaze upon the gaming-rooms, and
in another minute or two left the Casino also.
Dare and Somerset met no more that day. The latter returned to Nice by
the evening train and went straight to the hotel. He now thanked his
fortune that he had not precipitately given up his room there, for a
telegram from Paula awaited him. His hand almost trembled as he opened
it, to read the following few short words, dated from the Grand Hotel,
Genoa:--
‘Letter received. Am glad to hear of your journey. We are not returning
to Nice, but stay here a week. I direct this at a venture.’
This tantalizing message--the first breaking of her recent silence--was
saucy, almost cruel, in its dry frigidity. It led him to give up his
idea of following at once to Genoa. That was what she obviously expected
him to do, and it was possible that his non-arrival might draw a letter
or message from her of a sweeter composition than this. That would at
least be the effect of his tardiness if she cared in the least for him;
if she did not he could bear the worst. The argument was good enough as
far as it went, but, like many more, failed from the narrowness of its
premises, the contingent intervention of Dare being entirely undreamt
of. It was altogether a fatal miscalculation, which cost him dear.
Passing by the telegraph-office in the Rue Pont-Neuf at an early hour
the next morning he saw Dare coming out from the door. It was Somerset’s
momentary impulse to thank Dare for the information given as to Paula’s
whereabouts, information which had now proved true. But Dare did not
seem to appreciate his friendliness, and after a few words of studied
civility the young man moved on.
And well he might. Five minutes before that time he had thrown open a
gulf of treachery between himself and the architect which nothing in
life could ever close. Before leaving the telegraph-office Dare had
despatched the following message to Paula direct, as a set-off against
what he called Somerset’s ingratitude for valuable information, though
it was really the fruit of many passions, motives, and desires:--
‘G. Somerset, Nice, to Miss Power, Grand Hotel, Genoa.
‘Have lost all at Monte Carlo. Have learnt that Captain D. S. returns
here to-morrow. Please send me one hundred pounds by him, and save
me from disgrace. Will await him at eleven o’clock and four, on the
Pont-Neuf.’