THE CAFÉ DES BULGARS
Their adieux to Fifi and Nini were elaborate and complicated by bursts
of laughter. The Tziganes recommended Captain Sengoun to go home and
seek further adventures on his pillow; and had it not been for the gay
babble of the fountain and the persistent perfume of flowers, he might
have followed their advice.
It was after the two young men had left the Jardin Russe that Captain
Sengoun positively but affectionately refused to relinquish possession
of Neeland's arm.
"Dear friend," he explained, "I am just waking up and I do not wish to
go to bed for days and days."
"But I do," returned Neeland, laughing. "Where do you want to go now,
Prince Erlik?"
The champagne was singing loudly in the Cossack's handsome head; the
distant brilliancy beyond the Place de la Concorde riveted his roving
eyes.
"Over there," he said joyously. "Listen, old fellow, I'll teach you
the skating step as we cross the Place! Then, in the first _Bal_, you
shall try it on the fairest form since Helen fell and Troy burned--or
Troy fell and Helen burned--it's all the same, old fellow--what you
call fifty-fifty, eh?"
Neeland tried to free his arm--to excuse himself; two policemen
laughed; but Sengoun, linking his arm more firmly in Neeland's,
crossed the Place in a series of Dutch rolls and outer edges, in which
Neeland was compelled to join. The Russian was as light and graceful
on his feet as one of the dancers of his own country; Neeland's
knowledge of skating aided his own less agile steps. There was
sympathetic applause from passing taxis and _fiacres_; and they might,
apparently, have had any number of fair partners for the asking, along
the way, except for Sengoun's headlong dive toward the brightest of
the boulevard lights beyond.
In the rue Royal, however, Sengoun desisted with sudden access of
dignity, remarking that such gambols were not worthy of the best
traditions of his Embassy; and he attempted to bribe the drivers of a
couple of hansom cabs to permit him and his comrade to take the reins
and race to the Arc de Triomphe.
Failing in this, he became profusely autobiographical, informing
Neeland of his birth, education, aims, aspirations.
"When I was twelve," he said, "I had known already the happiness of
the battle-shock against Kurd, Mongol, and Tartar. At eighteen my
ambition was to slap the faces of three human monsters. I told
everybody that I was making arrangements to do this, and I started for
Brusa after my first monster--Fehim Effendi--but the Vali telegraphed
to the Grand Vizier, and the Grand Vizier ran to Abdul the Damned, and
Abdul yelled for Sir Nicholas O'Connor; and they caught me in the Pera
Palace and handed me over to my Embassy."
Neeland shouted with laughter:
"Who were the other monsters?" he asked.
"The other two whose countenances I desired to slap? Oh, one was Abdul
Houda, the Sultan's star-reader, who chattered about my Dark Star
horoscope in the Yildiz. And the other was the Sultan."
"Who?"
"Abdul Hamid."
"What? You wished to slap _his_ face?"
"Certainly. But Kutchuk Saïd and Kiamil Pasha requested me not
to--accompanied by gendarmes."
"You'd have lost your life," remarked Neeland.
"Yes. But then war would surely have come, and today my Emperor would
have held the Dardanelles where the Turkish flag is now flying over
German guns and German gunners."
He shook his head:
"Great mistake on my part," he muttered. "Should have pulled Abdul's
lop ears. Now, everything in Turkey is 'Yasak' except what Germans do
and say; and God knows we are farther than ever from St. Sophia....
I'm very thirsty with thinking so much, old fellow. Did you ever drink
German champagne?"
"I believe not----"
"Come on, then. You shall drink several gallons and never feel it.
It's the only thing German I could ever swallow."
"Prince Erlik, you have had considerable refreshment already."
"_Copain, t'en fais pas!_"
The spectacle of two young fellows in evening dress, in a friendly
tug-of-war under the lamp-posts of the Boulevard, amused the passing
populace; and Sengoun, noticing this, was inclined to mount a
boulevard bench and address the wayfarers, but Neeland pulled him down
and persuaded him into a quieter street, the rue Vilna.
"There's a German place, now!" exclaimed Sengoun, delighted.
And Neeland, turning to look, perceived the illuminated sign of the
Café des Bulgars.
German champagne had now become Sengoun's fixed idea; nothing could
dissuade him from it, nothing persuade him into a homeward bound taxi.
So Neeland, with a rather hazy idea that he ought not to do it,
entered the café with Senguon; and they seated themselves on a leather
wall-lounge before one of the numerous marble-topped tables.
"Listen," he said in a low voice to his companion, "this is a German
café, and we must be careful what we say. I'm not any too prudent and
I may forget this; but don't _you_!"
"Quite right, old fellow!" replied Sengoun, giving him an owlish look.
"I must never forget I'm a diplomat among these _sales Boches_----"
"Be careful, Sengoun! That expression is not diplomatic."
"Careful is the word, _mon vieux_," returned the other loudly and
cheerfully. "I'll bet you a dollar, three kopeks, and two sous that I
go over there and kiss the cashier----"
"No! Be a real diplomat, Sengoun!"
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Neeland, because she's unusually pretty.
And we might establish a triple entente until you find some Argive
Helen to quadruple it. Aha! Here is our German champagne! Positively
the only thing German a Russian can----"
"Listen! This won't do. People are looking at us----"
"Right, old fellow--always right! You know, Neeland, this friendship
of ours is the most precious, most delightful, and most inspiring
experience of my life. Here's a full goblet to our friendship! Hurrah!
As for Enver Pasha, may Erlik seize him!"
After they had honoured the toast, Sengoun looked about him
pleasantly, receptive, ready for any eventuality. And observing no
symptoms of any eventuality whatever, he suggested creating one.
"Dear comrade," he said, "I think I shall arise and make an incendiary
address----"
"No!"
"Very well, if you feel that way about it. But there is another way to
render the evening agreeable. You see that sideboard?" he continued,
pointing to a huge carved buffet piled to the ceiling with porcelain
and crystal. "What will you wager that I can not push it over with one
hand?"
But Neeland declined the wager with an impatient gesture, and kept his
eyes riveted on a man who had just entered the café. He could see only
the stranger's well-groomed back, but when, a moment later, the man
turned to seat himself, Neeland was not surprised to find himself
looking at Doc Curfoot.
"Sengoun," he said under his breath, "that _type_ who just came in is
an American gambler named Doc Curfoot; and he is here with other
gamblers for the purpose of obtaining political information for some
government other than my own."
Sengoun regarded the new arrival with amiable curiosity:
"That worm? Oh, well, every city in Europe swarms with such maggots,
you know. It would be quite funny if he tries any blandishments on us,
wouldn't it?"
"He may. He's a capper. He's looking at us now. I believe he remembers
having seen me in the train."
"As for an hour or two at chemin-de-fer, baccarat, or roulette,"
remarked Sengoun, "I am not averse to a----"
"Watch him! The waiter who is taking his order may know who you
are--may be telling that gambler.... I believe he _did_! Now, let us
see what happens...."
Sengoun, delighted at the prospect of an eventuality, blandly emptied
his goblet and smiled generally upon everybody.
"I hope he will make our acquaintance and ask us to play," he said.
"I'm very lucky at chemin-de-fer. And if I lose I shall conclude that
there is trickery. Which would make it very lively for everybody," he
added with a boyish smile. But his dark eyes began to glitter and he
showed his beautiful, even teeth when he laughed.
"Ha!" he said. "A little what you call a mix-up might not come amiss!
That gives one an appetite; that permits one to perspire; that does
good to everybody and makes one sleep soundly! Shall we, as you say in
America, start something?"
Neeland, thinking of Ali-Baba and Golden Beard and of their undoubted
instigation by telegraph of the morning's robbery, wondered whether
the rendezvous of the robbers might not possibly be here in the Café
des Bulgars.
The gang of Americans in the train had named Kestner, Breslau, and
Weishelm--the one man of the gang whom he had never seen--as
prospective partners in this enterprise.
Here, somewhere in this building, were their gambling headquarters.
Was there any possible chance that the stolen box and its contents
might have been brought here for temporary safety?
Might it not now be hidden somewhere in this very building by men too
cunning to risk leaving the city when every train and every road would
be watched within an hour of the time that the robbery was
committed?
Leaning back carelessly on the lounge and keeping his eyes on the
people in the café, Neeland imparted these ideas to Sengoun in a low
voice--told him everything he knew in regard to the affair, and asked
his opinion.
"My opinion," said Sengoun, who was enchanted at any prospect of
trouble, "is that this house is 'suspect' and is worth searching. Of
course the Prefect could be notified, arrangements made, and a search
by the secret police managed. But, Neeland, my friend, think of what
pleasure _we_ should be deprived!"
"How do you mean?"
"Why not search the place ourselves?"
"How?"
"Well, of course, we could be picturesque, go to my Embassy, and fill
our pockets with automatic pistols, and come back here and--well, make
them stand around and see how high they could reach with both hands."
Neeland laughed.
"That would be a funny jest, wouldn't it?" said Sengoun.
"Very funny. But----" He nudged Sengoun and directed his attention
toward the terrace outside, where waiters were already removing the
little iron tables and the chairs, and the few lingering guests were
coming inside the café.
"I see," muttered Sengoun; "it is already Sunday morning, and they're
closing. It's too late to go to the Embassy. They'd not let us in here
when we returned."
Neeland summoned a waiter with a nod:
"When do you close up inside here?"
"Tomorrow being Sunday, the terrace closes now, monsieur; but the café
remains open all night," explained the waiter with a noticeable German
accent.
"Thank you." And, to Sengoun: "I'd certainly like to go upstairs. I'd
like to see what it looks like up there--take a glance around."
"Very well, let us go up----"
"We ought to have some excuse----"
"We'll think of several on the way," rising with alacrity, but Neeland
pulled him back.
"Wait a moment! It would only mean a fight----"
"All fights," explained Sengoun seriously, "are agreeable--some more
so. So if you are ready, dear comrade----"
"But a row will do us no good----"
"Pardon, dear friend, I have been in serious need of one for an hour
or two----"
"I don't mean that sort of 'good,'" explained Neeland, laughing. "I
mean that I wish to look about up there--explore----"
"Quite right, old fellow--always right! But--here's an idea! I could
stand at the head of the stairs and throw them down as they mounted,
while you had leisure to look around for your stolen box----"
"My dear Prince Erlik, we've nothing to shoot with, and it's likely
they have. There's only one way to get upstairs with any chance of
learning anything useful. And that is to start a row between
ourselves." And, raising his voice as though irritated, he called for
the reckoning, adding in a tone perfectly audible to anybody in the
vicinity that he knew where roulette was played, and that he was going
whether or not his friend accompanied him.
Sengoun, delighted, recognised his cue and protested in loud, nasal
tones that the house to which his comrade referred was suspected of
unfair play; and a noisy dispute began, listened to attentively by the
pretty but brightly painted cashier, the waiters, the _gérant_, and
every guest in the neighbourhood.
"As for me," cried Sengoun, feigning to lose his temper, "I have no
intention of being tricked. I was not born yesterday--not I! If there
is to be found an honest wheel in Paris that would suit me. Otherwise,
I go home to bed!"
"It _is_ an honest wheel, I tell you----"
"It is not! I know that place!"
"Be reasonable----"
"Reasonable!" repeated Sengoun appealingly to the people around them.
"Permit me to ask these unusually intelligent gentlemen whether it is
reasonable to play roulette in a place where the wheel is notoriously
controlled and the management a dishonest one! Could a gentleman be
expected to frequent or even to countenance places of evil repute?
_Messieurs_, I await your verdict!" And he folded his arms
dramatically.
Somebody said, from a neighbouring table:
"_Vous avez parfaitement raison, monsieur!_"
"I thank you," cried Sengoun, with an admirably dramatic bow.
"Therefore, I shall now go home to bed!"
Neeland, maintaining his gravity with difficulty, followed Sengoun
toward the door, still pretending to plead with him; and the _gérant_,
a tall, blond, rosy and unmistakable German, stepped forward to unlock
the door.
As he laid his hand on the bolt he said in a whisper:
"If the gentlemen desire the privilege of an exclusive club where
everything is unquestionably conducted----"
"Where?" demanded Neeland, abruptly.
"On the third floor, _monsieur_."
"Here?"
"Certainly, sir. If the gentlemen will honour me with their names, and
will be seated for one little moment, I shall see what can be
accomplished."
"Very well," said Sengoun, with a short, incredulous laugh. "I'm
Prince Erlik, of the Mongol Embassy, and my comrade is Mr. Neeland,
Consul General of the United States of America in the Grand Duchy of
Gerolstein!"
The _gérant_ smiled. After he had gone away toward the further room in
the café, Neeland remarked to Sengoun that doubtless their real names
were perfectly well known, and Sengoun disdainfully shrugged his
indifference:
"What can one expect in this dirty rat-nest of Europe? Abdul the
Damned employed one hundred thousand spies in Constantinople alone!
And William the Sudden admired him. Why, Neeland, _mon ami_, I never
take a step in the streets without being absolutely certain that I am
watched and followed. What do I care! Except that towns make me sick.
But the only cure is a Khirgiz horse and a thousand lances. God send
them. I'm sick of cities."
A few moments later the _gérant_ returned and, in a low voice,
requested them to accompany him.
They passed leisurely through the café, between tables where lowered
eyes seemed to deny any curiosity; but guests and waiters looked after
them after they had passed, and here and there people whispered
together--particularly two men who had followed them from the
sun-dial fountain in the rue Soleil d'Or to the Jardin Russe, across
the Place de la Concorde, and into the Café des Bulgars in the rue
Vilna.
On the stairs Neeland heard Sengoun still muttering to himself:
"Certainly I am sick of cities and narrow strips of sky. What I need
is a thousand lances at a gallop, and a little Kirghiz horse between
my knees."