Bordighera, that charming, well-sheltered little town which, lying well
back in its picturesque bay on the Italian Riviera, has during the past
year or so come quickly into fashionable prominence, is at its best
towards the end of February. It is not by any means a large place. The
quaint old town is perched upon a conical hill with queer ladder-like
streets, so narrow that no vehicles can pass up them. There are strong
stone arches to support the houses against possible earthquakes. The
streets are dark, sometimes mere tunnels, as is so frequent in those
neighbouring rock villages, Sasso, Dolceacqua, Apricale, and the rest,
the reason being that they were built in the days when the Moorish
pirates made constant raids along that coast, and the houses were
clustered together for mutual protection against those dreaded raiders.
But below the ancient town, Bordighera has spread along the seashore and
into the olive-woods. In February, when in England all is bare and
cheerless, the gardens of the handsome hotels and the big white villas
on the hillsides are ablaze with flowers, the air is heavy with the
perfume of the heliotrope, growing in great bushes, and the sweet scent
of the carnations, grown in fields for Covent Garden and the
flower-market outside the Madeleine.
The tourist in knickerbockers, with his camera over his shoulder, never
goes to Bordighera, for to the uninitiated it is far too dull. There is
no casino, as at Nice, no jetty, no cafes with al-fresco music, no
tables out upon the pavement; and, truth to tell, such attractions are
not required. The people who winter at Bordighera represent the most
distinguished coterie in Europe. They are not of the snobbish crowd who
frequent San Remo, and they do their best to avoid attracting into their
midst the undesirable crowd from Monte Carlo, or the Cookites from Nice.
Life in Bordighera from November until the end of April is essentially
charming. The people who winter there regularly--English, Germans,
Russians, Belgians, and Italians--all know each other, and nearly every
evening there are brilliant entertainments, at which princes, dukes,
marquesses, and counts attend as thickly as blackberries grace the
hedgeside in autumn. The big hotels give dances weekly, to which
everyone in Society is welcome. In fact, life in Bordighera is very
similar to that in a pleasant country town in England, but with the
difference that it is purely cosmopolitan, without any distinction of
caste. Emperors, kings, grand-dukes, and reigning princes are all
patrons of the place, and it certainly stands unique in the whole world
both for its natural beauties and for its unpretentiousness. There is
no artificial charm, as at Nice, San Remo, Monte Carlo, or Cannes. The
easy-going people of Bordighera are well aware that the charm of their
clean, white little town lies in its natural beauty and quaint old-world
picturesqueness; hence, although the health and comfort of their foreign
visitors are studied, no attempt is made to give it a false air of
garishness and gaiety.
When at noon, two days after the Princess's visit to me, I stepped from
the sleeping-car that had brought me down from Paris, and, entering a
fiacre, drove up to the Hotel Angst, I turned back and saw before me a
sunny panorama of turquoise sea and purple mountains, which compelled me
to pause in rapt admiration. The grey-green of the olives, the brighter
foliage of the oranges with the yellow fruit gleaming in the green, the
high feathery palms waving in the zephyr, the flowers of every hue, the
dazzlingly white town, and its background of grey inaccessible crags,
snow-tipped here and there, behind Apricale, combined to make up a
picture unique and superb.
I had been in Bordighera once before, but this second impression in no
way destroyed the former. On several previous occasions I had spent a
month or so in the South at Monte Carlo, Mentone, and Nice, but I must
admit that I preferred King's Road at Brighton to the Promenade des
Anglais at Nice. Mentone I disliked because of its bath-chair invalids,
San Remo because of its snobbery; and Monte Carlo, with all its jargon
of the play, the eternal Casino, the band outside the Cafe de Paris, the
clatter at Ciro's, and the various pasteboard attractions, was to me
only tolerable for a week. Bordighera, with better climate and a native
population exceedingly well-disposed towards the English, possesses
distinct advantages over them all, although it never advertises itself
on railway-station hoardings, like Nice or San Remo, by means of posters
in which the sea is the colour of washing-blue.
As I had not advised Edith of my coming, it being my intention to
surprise her, it was not until after the dressing-bell had rung for
dinner that evening that I went below. I watched her descend the
staircase, a neat figure in cream, with corsage slightly decollete, and
with pink carnations in her hair. Then I approached her in the great
hall and held out my hand.
She drew back in amazement. The next moment she welcomed me warmly,
evidently under the impression that I had come there in order to
forgive.
Aunt Hetty, looking quite spruce in black satin, and wearing a gay cap
and an emerald brooch, came downstairs a few minutes later, and, after a
brief explanation, we followed the others in to the table-d'hote. As
early arrivals, they had places near the head of the table, while mine
was far down, near the end. Therefore, not until the meal was over, and
we sat in rocking-chairs in the hall listening to the music, was I able
to chat to her, and then nothing confidential could pass between us
because of the other guests seated around, the men smoking and
gossiping, and the women enjoying the lazy post-prandial hour before the
arrival of the English mail with the two-days-old letters and
newspapers.
After a long talk with her, mostly upon trivialities, I retired that
night with a distinct impression that somehow my presence there was
unwelcome. She had told me that they did not intend to remain much
longer in Bordighera, and that they would either go on to Rome or back
to England. I felt convinced that this decision had been suddenly
arrived at since my advent.
On the following morning, after my coffee, I went forth for a stroll
into the long high-street of the town, where, in the window of the
British Vice-Consulate, was placed a board bearing a number of
telegrams. I paused, finding that they gave the latest news of the war
in the Transvaal, which was telegraphed from London twice daily. As I
did so, another passer-by paused and eagerly peered into the window
beside me.
He was a shabbily dressed Italian, smoking a long, rank Toscano, and as
I turned away from the board my eyes fell suddenly upon his face.
It was Paolo Bertini.
Our recognition was mutual, and I saw in an instant that he became
confused. He moved away, but I walked beside him.
"Why are you here?" I inquired in French with some warmth.
"I may put to you the same question," he answered defiantly, his dark
eyes flashing upon me with an evil gleam.
"Remember," I said, "you have been already condemned as a French spy,
although you are an Italian. They are not fond of French spies here, on
the frontier."
"What do you mean?" he cried, turning upon me quickly. "Is that a
threat?"
"It is," I answered boldly. "We have met now, and you must answer to me
for several things."
"For what?"
"For your recent actions as a spy."
"You are extremely polite--like all the English," he said sneeringly.
We had turned back and were walking in the direction of the hotel again.
"In this matter politeness is not necessary--only plain speaking," I
said. "First, I may tell you, for your own information, that I know
well your methods and all about your assistance to your accomplice Wolf.
Every action of yours during these past three months has been watched,
and the truth is now known."
His face went pale, but his nerve never deserted him. Even though I
myself had once given him into the hands of the police, he was still the
same scheming, desperate spy as he had ever been.
"Well," he laughed, "if you know the truth I hope it interests you. You
had best go back to Paris and not seek to interfere with me."
"I came here for a purpose," I told him plainly, "and that purpose was
to find you and hand you over to the police as a French secret agent.
In France you are secure, but here you will discover that your
countrymen are not so well-disposed towards a traitor."
"I have no fear of arrest," he replied. "Do your worst, caro mio. You
cannot harm me."
"Very well," I answered, "we shall see."
He glanced at me quickly with an evil look. If he had dared he would
have struck me down with the poignard which he kept always concealed in
his belt. But he was a coward, I knew; therefore, I felt safe while
among the crowd of gaily dressed promenaders who were enjoying the
morning sunshine. If he made an attempt upon me, it would be in secret,
not in the open.
"Shall I tell you why you are here?" he asked. "You have come to
Bordighera to follow Edith Austin--just as I did."
"And if so, what then?"
"Return to Paris. She is mine."
"She shall never be!" I cried furiously. "You, a spy, a coward, and a
traitor, hold her within your power, and are forcing her to become your
catspaw. I know it all. I saw you that night at Ryburgh. I followed
you. I made inquiries of her, and learned the truth."
"What!" he cried, "she told you--she has dared to give me away?"
"I know all," I answered firmly, "and your doom is imprisonment on the
Island of Gorgona for the remainder of your life."
"You exposed me once!" he cried in anger. "I have not forgotten it. We
shall be quits one day."
"We shall be quits this very day," I asserted hotly.
"Ah!" he laughed defiantly, "that remains to be seen. You are jealous
of Edith Austin," he added with a supercilious sneer.
"She is your victim!" I cried, "and I have resolved to rescue her."
"Because you think she is pure and honest, and that she loves you? But
very soon you will discover your mistake."
"Do you make an imputation against her honour?" I demanded fiercely.
He shrugged his shoulders meaningly, his face broadening into an evil
grin.
"You are a coward in addition to being a spy and a traitor!" I
declared. "You would even endeavour to besmirch a woman's fair name."
"Fair name!" he laughed insultingly. "Love like yours, amico mio, is
always blind. You English are always so amusingly simple."
"Come," I said, halting suddenly when we had arrived at the small garden
in the centre of which the band-stand is placed. As we were some
distance away from the promenaders, we could not be overheard. "Enough
has passed between us. I tell you plainly that it is my intention to
end all this and to apply for your arrest as a spy."
"And supposing I do not allow myself to be arrested? Suppose I cross
the frontier at once?"
"A telegram to the police at Ventimiglia will prevent you," I answered
quite calmly. "You see that city guard yonder?" I said, pointing to a
man in uniform standing not far off upon the kerb. "I have only now to
demand your arrest, and you will never again enjoy freedom your whole
life long."
"But you don't think I should be such a fool as to allow myself to be
taken, do you?" he said, his air of defiance still perfect.
He went on chewing the end of his Virginia. "Your description is too
well known. You will not be at liberty a single hour after I make my
statement to the Prefect." Then I paused, and, looking straight into
his evil face, added, "There is, however, yet another way."
"How?"
"A way in which you may avoid arrest--the only way."
"Explain," he said. "This is very interesting."
"By being perfectly frank with me," I replied, "and by making
explanation of your work of espionage in London."
"You will never know that," he replied quickly. "Cause my arrest if you
wish, but upon the incidents of the past year my lips are sealed,
because I know that you can never secure my conviction in Italy."
"Then you still defy me, and refuse to explain anything?"
It was my endeavour to obtain from him the secret of how despatches had
so frequently been stolen.
"I will explain nothing," he declared firmly.
"You have no evidence upon which to convict me."
"Very well," I answered slowly and distinctly, "we shall see. You
apparently forget that within your photographic camera, which so
fortunately fell into my hands, was an undeveloped negative of an
important diplomatic document having reference to Italy's position in
regard to the Triple Alliance, which you photographed in the Italian
Embassy in Brussels and intended to hand to your employers in Paris? I
have a print of it here, in my pocket-book, and I think it will be of
considerable interest both to the Italian police and the Italian
Government."
His jaw dropped, and the light went out of his dark, sallow countenance.
I saw that if ever the spirit of murder was in this scoundrel's heart
it was there at that moment.