Jacob, on the following morning, received a pencilled epistle from
Sybil which brought him little satisfaction. There was no orthodox
commencement, and it was written on sheets of paper torn apparently
from a block:
I have been asking myself, on my way into exile--where I am
going to stay with some pestilential relatives in
Devonshire--exactly why I dislike you more and more every
time we come into contact with one another, and I have come
to the conclusion that it is because in our controversies
you are nearly always right and I am nearly always wrong. I
suppose, as a matter of fact, I haven't the slightest
reason in harbouring ill-will against you for refusing to
put your money into the business which my father had
allowed to become derelict. I am quite sure that you gave
me good advice when you told me to keep away from those men
who tried to rob you. In short, you are always right and I
am always wrong, and I hate you all the more for it.
I shall not return to London for at least a good many
months. During that time I do beg that you will sit down
and forget all about me. Have an affair with Grace, if you
like, flirt with any one you want to, or, better still, get
married. But I tell you honestly that it absolutely
irritates and angers me to be made conscious of your--shall
I call it devotion? There is something antagonistic between
us. I don't know what it is, but I do know that I shall
never change. And I beg you, therefore, to do as I ask
you--forget that such a person exists.
You may think that because I have admitted as much as I
have admitted, that it has changed my feelings towards you.
It has not. It never could. I am boiling over with passion
at the present moment when I think how you treated our plot
with contempt and walked out of it with the air of a
conqueror. I am going to bury myself in Devonshire, partly
because I have nothing else to do and nowhere else to go,
but partly so that I may not have the misfortune to see
anything more of you. By the time we meet again, if ever we
do, I hope that you will be cured.
Sybil Bultiwell.
Jacob read the letter twice, until every phrase and syllable seemed
burned into his memory. Then he tore it into small pieces, gave
Dauncey a power of attorney, and started for Monte Carlo. He lingered
a little on the way there, exploring the country round Hyeres and
Costebelle. Almost the first person he met at Monte Carlo was Lord
Felixstowe. He was coming out of Ciro's bar, his shoulders a little
hunched, a cigarette dropping from his lips. He would have passed
Jacob, if the latter had not accosted him.
"Forgotten me, Lord Felixstowe?"
His young lordship recognised Jacob and cheered up.
"Oil in the wilderness, manna in the desert!" he exclaimed. "A man
with a banking account! Come right in, and Henry shall mix you a
morning tot that will make you feel as pink as the sunrise."
"I'll try this wonderful drink," Jacob consented, "but I don't need
it. By the bye, were you to have had your share of that five thousand
pounds?"
"Just one degree too thick that was for me," the young man confided,
after he had given mysterious orders to his white-linened friend
behind the bar. "I am not putting on frills, mind. I was willing to
come in on any scheme to induce you to part with a bit, but I didn't
fancy the medieval touch and the black gentleman. Gad, you're a little
terror, though, Pratt! I'd have given something to have seen you knock
those two about! I went to visit Mason in hospital. You couldn't see
his face for bandages."...
On Jacob's proposition, they strolled out on to the terrace.
"Are you going into the Rooms this morning?" he enquired.
Lord Felixstowe shook his head gloomily.
"They've skinned me," he confessed. "I got a fifty-pound note from an
old aunt, to bring her out as far as Bordighera. She don't speak the
lingo, and I am rather a nut at it. I landed her, all right, day
before yesterday, dropped off here on my way home, and lost the lot."
"What are you going to do, then?"
"Borrow a pony from you, old top," was the prompt reply.
Jacob counted out the notes, which the young man received with
enthusiasm.
"I like a chap who parts like a sportsman," he declared. "Now I wonder
if there is anything I can do for you. Would you like me to look you
up about dinner time at your hotel? If you are alone, I dare say I
could find you a pal or two."
"Come and dine with me, by all means," Jacob invited, "but I have a
few acquaintances here, and if I want any more no doubt I shall be
able to pick them up."
The young man looked at his watch.
"I have an appointment at table number five and a louis to go on
number fourteen, in a few minutes," he declared. "So long."
Jacob took out his card for the Rooms and the Sporting Club, lunched
leisurely with an acquaintance whom he had met on the train coming
down, made a few purchases, gambled mildly, with some success, and had
just changed and descended for his cocktail before dinner at the Paris
when Felixstowe strolled in. He smote Jacob on the back and ordered
delectable drinks.
"Your money has the right touch, old bean," he declared. "It's the
sort that worms its way to glory. I can assure you my little bit went
through the croupier's hands like water. Yours--God bless you, old
dear! We'll drink fizz to-night. To think that if I hadn't met you I
might have been trying the _vin ordinaire_ on my way back!"
"Do I gather that you won?" Jacob asked.
"Thirteen hundred of the best, my pocket Croesus," was the jubilant
reply. "To-morrow you shall have your pony back--not to-night. Your
money brings me luck, Jacob. It's the stuff I've been looking for."
They made their way into the dining-room, where Felixstowe was greeted
by many acquaintances. A bewildering confection in black and white
claimed his attention. He rejoined Jacob a moment later with a
proposition.
"Couple of little fairies there who'd like to hitch on, Jacob," he
suggested. "Betty Tomlinson's one, little girl I used to know at the
Gaiety. Got a flat in Paris now. The other little thing is an American
in the same line of business."
Jacob shook his head.
"If you don't mind," he said, "I'd rather not."
"The hand that pays the reckoning rules the roost," Felixstowe
paraphrased cheerfully. "Wait till I hand 'em the mit. Tell Louis to
put a magnum on the ice."
"Look here, young fellow," Jacob observed, when his young friend made
his joyous return, "just how old are you?"
"Twenty-four," Lord Felixstowe confided. "And if it's the wine you are
thinking about, don't you worry. We've got it in our blood and we
thrive on it. We doubled this little allowance each, the night after
we won the regimental polo cup, and I made a hundred and seven against
Yorkshire the following day. You should see the governor--a sallow,
lean-looking man, without an ounce of colour. He'd drink you under the
table before he'd begun to hiccough.... You're not much of a lad for
the fillies, what?"
"I find the variety here a little exotic," Jacob confessed.
"You like the homemade article, eh? Not sure that you ain't right.
Gad, I'm glad I met you!"
Jacob, who might have been dining alone, reciprocated the sentiment as
they solemnly toasted one another.
"Look here, old thing," the young man insisted, "we're pals. You've
crossed the Rubicon, so to speak--tipped up the ready at the right
moment and started me on the road to fortune. We'll drop the 'Mr.' and
the 'Lord'-ing. Felix and Jacob, eh? Good! My love, Jacob. Come along
with me into the Rooms and see me touch up those Johnnies to-night."
Jacob shook his head.
"I prefer the Club," he said, "and if you take my advice, you'll put a
thousand in your pocketbook and have a flutter with the three
hundred."
"Jacob," the young man declared, "I feel to-night as though Jove had
looked down from Olympus and winked the other eye at me. You get me? I
feel in luck, steeped in the magic of it; couldn't do wrong, couldn't
pick a loser if I tried. Seven times in eleven spins of the wheel
number fourteen came up this afternoon, and to-night I can see number
twenty-nine just the same way. Number five table, Jacob, that I'm
going to hit. The croupier who'll be on at ten o'clock has a sort of
double squint. I'll send him to the vaults, sure as this Pommery is
about the best tipple I ever drank.... Aren't you going to have a
flutter yourself?"
"Gambling doesn't appeal very much to me," Jacob admitted.
The young man who desired to be called Felix sighed.
"Doesn't gamble," he mused, "drinks moderately, and likes his fairies
good. Jacob dear, I must introduce you some day to the home circle.
You were certainly made for domesticity. Did you tell Cook's man about
yourself when you booked for Monte Carlo?"
"I told him that I'd heard it was a good place for winter golf," Jacob
replied, smiling. "If you've finished talking nonsense, perhaps you
will bring your mighty intellect to bear upon the question of liqueur
brandies."
"Are you feeling at all festive?" Felixstowe enquired.
"Absolutely," Jacob answered.
"Then consult Louis and leave it to him. You know what Pierpont Morgan
called Monte Carlo?--'the bleeding place for millionaires.' Louis will
see you through it."
The dinner came to a close in a little burst of glory, Louis himself
bringing them a dust-encrusted bottle, whilst a satellite placed
before them two glasses which looked like the insides of chandeliers.
"The right stuff," Lord Felixstowe declared approvingly. "Trust
Louis."
"Who trusts no one, my lord," the _maitre d'hotel_ jested, with a bow.
"You won't even leave the bottle?" his youthful client implored.
"Not even for the son of my valued patron, Monsieur le Marquis," Louis
replied, bearing it off, smiling.
"I go like a giant to my task," the young man declared, as he bade
Jacob au revoir. "Prepare for great news."...
Jacob spent a pleasant and a harmless evening wandering about the
Sporting Club, winning and losing a few five-louis plaques, and
sitting for a while outside the Cafe de Paris. He went to bed early,
with a view to a golf match on the morrow, and was wakened by a dead
weight upon his shins. He sat up and found Felixstowe sitting on the
bed, regarding him sorrowfully.
"Hullo!" Jacob exclaimed. "Where are the spoils?"
The young man opened his lips and spoke illuminating words concerning
Monte Carlo, gambling generally, number five table in the Rooms, and
the squint-eyed croupier particularly. In conclusion, he referred to
himself in terms, if possible, even more lurid. By the time he had
finished, Jacob was thoroughly awake.
"Lend me ten louis, old chap, for the journey," his nocturnal visitor
begged. "You'll have to wait for your pony."
"Take it off the dressing table," Jacob replied. "What's the hurry?"
"I'm off in three hours' time. Catching the early morning train."
Jacob hesitated for a moment.
"Look here, Felix," he suggested, "if you'd like to have another go at
them--"
Felixstowe shook his head.
"I'm not built that way," he interrupted. "I've given them best this
time. You see," he went on, "it's a mug's game, after all, and meant
for mugs. I shall wait and pick up my little bit where the grey
matter talks, what?"
"I see," Jacob replied. "Perhaps you are right. Sorry to lose you,
though."
"I'll look you up in town," the young man promised.