CHAPTER TWO
THE CALL OF THE BLOOD
PINES packed the vast valley, climbing raggedly to the pale grey peaks. Sometimes the mountains swooped down in gulch and butte of fantastic beauty. The pines were pale green in the sunshine, the soil strangely red. There was a curious dryness, a hard brilliance about it all.
As Hugh looked from the train window he had a feeling of home-coming. It was as if his ancestors had lived in this land; as if in no other could he thrive so well.
“I’m feeling heaps better,” he thought. “Only let me get six months in these jolly old pine forests, living like a wood-cutter. The life of nature, that’s what I need to make a new man of me. Ah! this is my country. I’m here now; and here I’ll stay.”
Looking at that sky so invincibly blue, that soil so subjugated by the sun, it seemed hard to believe that elsewhere there could be fog and cold and sleet. Here the sunshine was of so conquering a quality, it was difficult to think of sullen lands that could resist it.
Again Hugh felt that sense of familiarity: “I’m a son of the sun,” he exulted; “a child of the sun-land.”
So absorbed was he that a rasping voice at his side almost startled him.
“The verdure here is profligate, ain’t it?”
The speaker was a rusty, creaky man smoking a rank cigar. He had a bony nose, and a ragged moustache. He wore a dusty bowler hat and a coat with a collar of hard-bitten musk-rat.
“The pines do seem to thrive,” said Hugh.
“Pines is very tendatious,” observed the shabby man. “Very saloobrious too.”
“Indeed,” said Hugh. “Are you a health-seeker?”
“No, sir. Not ’ealth,—wealth. I’m a man with a system, I am. The finest system on the Riviera.”
“I wish mine was. It’s rather dicky.”
“Oh, I wasn’t referrin’ to my corporationus system. It’s my system at roulette. Allow me....”
He handed Hugh a rather soiled card on which was engraved:
PROFESSOR ROBERT BENDER,
ROULETTE EXPERT,
INVENTOR OF BENDER’S VOISIN SYSTEM
AUTHOR OF “HOW TO LIVE AT THE COST OF THE CASINO.”
“Yes,” supplemented the shabby man importantly. “You see before you one of the greatest livin’ authorities on roulette. I’ve studied it now for twenty years. They all consult old Bob. Many a gentleman I’ve ’elped to fortune. ’Avin’ no capital myself, I’m obliged to let others ’ave the benefit of my experience.”
“And your system?” queried Hugh politely.
“Well, sir, it’s based on the fact that the old croupiers ’ave a ’abit of throwin’ the ball in a hotomatic way, so that they ’ave spells when they throw into the same section of the wheel. Of course, it calls for judgment and observation.”
“Luck, too, I should imagine.”
“Not so much. Luck is a thing we scientific roulette players try not to recognize. We aim to beat chance by calculation.”
“Is it really true,” said Hugh, “that one can live at the cost of the Casino?”
“Certainly. Thousands are doin’ it this very day. Why, I can go in any time and make a couple of louis.”
“I wish I could.”
“So you can, sir, with a little experience. You’re goin’ to Monte?”
“No, Menton.”
“Ah, that’s a pity. Mentony’s too full of English, too deadly dull. Monte’s a sporty little gem, the most beautiful spot on earth—and the wickedest.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“Interestin’ ... I should say so. There’s no square mile on God’s globe so packed with drama. There’s no theatre a patch on that Casino. You’d better get off at Monte, sir, and let me put you on to my system. Sixteen hundred francs capital is all you need, and I guarantees you a daily profit of from twenty to eighty per cent.”
Hugh thought of the poor two thousand francs that was to last him for six months.
“I’ll think over it. Meantime I’ve arranged to go to Menton.”
“Well, we’ll surely see you at the tables before long. By the way, sir, you see that gentleman with the white spats? He’s a English gentleman, a Mister Jarvie Tope. Very nice man, but he’s got a system that’s no good. Don’t let him fool you with it.”
“Thank you,” said Hugh, “I’ll be careful.”
The pine-lands had given way to vinelands, the peaks to plains. The vines pushed jagged forks through the red soil; the olive groves wimpled in the wind. The goats and donkeys scarcely raised their heads to gaze at the insolent train. Hugh was in such a deep reverie that he did not notice the approach of Mr. Jarvie Tope.
Mr. Tope was a little rosy man, round and bland with waxed grey moustaches. He was well groomed, and seemed on the most excellent terms with life.
“Ha, ha!” he squeaked as he drew near to Hugh, “Old Bob Bender’s been warning you against me, I could see it in his eye, the rascal. Told you, no doubt, I’d try to put you on to my system. Couldn’t, if I would. I’ve come over to play for a syndicate.”
“Indeed. What sort of a system is yours?”
“Well, it’s based on the idea that the same phenomenon cannot occur on the same spot at the same moment to-day that it occurred at the same spot on the same day last year. I have my phenomena carefully recorded and when the times comes I bet on them. The probabilities are millions in my favour.”
“There seems to be a lot of systems.”
“No end of ’em. We all think ours is the best and the other fellows’ no good. With a bit of luck all are good, but you need a lot of capital to defend yourself, and you must be content with a very moderate return. And after all none are infallible. That’s what we’re all seeking, a formula that’s infallible. So far no one has found it, but still we seek and hope.... You see that old fellow at the end of the corridor?”
“The venerable old chap with the white beard?”
“Yes, I call him Walt Whitman. Well, he’s a man over seventy, going to Monte Carlo for the first time, a professor from the Sorbonne, Durand by name. They say he has worked on his system for twenty years, and is bringing the savings of a lifetime to test it. Ah! we’ll see what we shall see. Fine looking old chap, isn’t he?”
“Very striking,—like a Hebrew prophet.”
“He has books and books of figures and calculations. What his system is no one knows. I’ve seen a heap of them come like conquerors and go away broken on the wheel.”
“You know the place well?”
“I should think so. Never missed a season for twenty years. Coming here has got to be a habit with me. In summer I have a cottage in Kent where I grow roses; in winter an apartment in Monte where I play roulette. Oh, I’m a great boy, you don’t know me.”
Mr. Tope laughed in jolly appreciation of himself.
“Well, I suppose I’m crazy like the rest of ’em. We’re all crazy there. The Casino is a great lunatic asylum. We wander about as if we were free, but we’re not. Inevitably our feet carry us back. Don’t let it get you, young man. Avoid Monte as you would the plague.... By the way there’s the first call for lunch. I’m going to have a wash first. See you later.”
Hugh followed a line of passengers to the dining car. He had found a place and was looking at the menu card when the waiter ushered a lady into the opposite seat. He looked up and then as quickly away. For even in that casual glimpse he was aware that his vis-à-vis was most alarmingly attractive.
Now Hugh was an unusually shy young man, and in the ordinary course of events would have eaten his meal in silence, and gone away without a word. To his amazement, he heard a firm, clear voice addressing him:
“Don’t you remember me?”
Suddenly he found himself gazing into a pair of smiling brown eyes; but even as he looked the smile died in their amber depths. In its place was embarrassment; a frown puckered the delicately pencilled eyebrows. Again the clear voice spoke almost with reproach.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, but you are ridiculously like a friend of mine,—Paul Vulning.”
“Indeed, that’s curious.”
“Yes, too absurd. For now I look, you’re quite a bit different. Paul must be five years older than you, but he looks ten. The dear boy doesn’t take the care of himself he ought. A sad scapegrace.”
She regarded him again, then laughed joyously.
“Why, here we are, two perfect strangers talking together like old pals. What must you think of me? Because of your likeness to Paul I feel as if I’d known you for ages. What’s your name?”
“Hugh Kildair.”
“Sounds deliciously Scotch. But you’re English, aren’t you?”
“I’ve lived all my life in England.”
“Indeed? So have I. But never again. The English are so cold. They don’t understand temperament. Even before my husband died and we lost all our money, I was quite fed up with it. Now I spend the winter in Monte and the summer in Aix.”
The waiter interrupted her with the wine card. She looked rather disdainfully down the list and chose the most expensive. Then she scanned Hugh appraisingly. His new grey suit sat well. His collar and tie were of the right sort. He looked clean, correct; a public school man. The lady seemed satisfied.
“You’re a nice boy,” she said happily. “I’m Mrs. Belmire. Every one in Monte knows me. You’re going to Monte, of course?”
Hugh hesitated. “No, I’m rather seedy. I’m going to Menton to rest up.”
“Menton. Why! you’ll be bored to death there! Nothing but old tabbies who go to each others’ teas and talk gossip. Oh, you’ll hate it. Get off at Monte. Promise me you will.”
She was really a beautiful woman. Everything about her was so exquisitely correct. Her complexion had the delicacy of porcelain; her henna-coloured hair looked as if it had just come from the hands of the coiffeur; her eyes had passion in their tarn-brown depths. As her hand touched his he felt that he would have got off at Hades to please her.
“Seems a good idea; I might as well rest there.”
“Topping! it’s decided then. You’ll come and see me. I suppose you’ll stay at the ‘Paris.’ I wouldn’t though. They’ll charge you two hundred francs a night for a room. Oh, yes, my dear boy, you’re going to say their charges are their charges, but you don’t know Monte. Unless you’re odiously oofy, don’t go to the Paris. It’s simply infested with ‘rastas’ and nouveaux riches. Some of the hotels on the hill are really quite nice, and you’ll meet the right sort of people there. You see, I’m taking a motherly interest in you. I don’t want to see you foolishly extravagant. Above all, don’t throw your money away recklessly at the Casino. If you must play let me be your adviser. Let me give you the benefit of my experience.”
“That’s awfully nice of you.”
“Not at all. I’ve helped heaps of men. I can’t afford to play myself, but I enjoy seeing others win. Have a cigarette?”
He took one from a gold case, and they puffed between courses. She sipped only a little of the wine, and the bottle was half full when the waiter whisked it away. She ordered a fine champagne with her coffee, and graciously allowed Hugh to pay the bill. As she rose to leave she gave his hand a little squeeze.
“There! I’ve enjoyed my lunch so much! Remember me; Mrs. Belmire. And don’t forget to get off at Monte.”
The paying of the bill had a sobering effect on him.
“After all,” he thought, “if she knew I was a nobody with only two thousand francs in the world she wouldn’t wipe her shoes on me. As for meeting her in Monte, this decides me. I’ll steer clear of the place.”
The scenery was as lovely as a painted panel. Between umbrella pines he saw the majestic sway of the sea. Snowy villas peeped from sombre cyprus groves. The palms were pale gold in the wistful sunshine. Magic names glorified the commonplace looking stations.—San Raphael, Agay, Nice. In the setting sun the way seemed to be growing more and more wonderful, as if working up to a climax of beauty. Every moment moved him to fresh rapture. And to think that this loveliness had been here all the time and he had not known! How could people continue to exist in that grim grey London? Was there such a place as this, or was he dreaming it? Would he ever go back again to fog and grime? No, never, never....
Villefranche, Beaulieu, Eze ... the light had faded, yet still he stared at the shadows through the darkened pane. He was aware suddenly that the glass was reflecting mirror-like the compartment behind him. At first he thought it was empty, then he heard a sigh and saw it was occupied by a slim slip of a girl. She was sitting in the corner, very quiet, very anxious. She was dressed in deep black, and her white, rather haggard face had a kind of pathetic appeal. He noted all this without any particular interest. Then suddenly she took off her hat and he saw that she had the most wonderful hair in the world.
She rose to arrange it before the small mirror above her seat. With a brusque movement she withdrew two combs and let it ripple down in a rain of gold. It reached below her waist. It covered her like a cape, it shimmered in the lamp-light, it seemed as luminous as a flame. At the sight of such glory Hugh turned and stared.
Then the girl noticed him and flushed with shame. She clutched her bright tresses to her head and swiftly rearranged them. She turned her back....
Monte Carlo.
They were getting in now. The train seemed to plunge into a dazzle of light; then the darkness of another tunnel; then a long green station. On the lamps so meanly printed, he could see the magic name that opens wide the portals of romance. Surely it should be blazoned in fiery capitals on the heights of heaven! This then was the spot of which people talk and dream, that masterpiece of nature and art which never disenchants, which is adorable even in its cruelty. Fatal, fascinating name,—Monte Carlo.
It was the climax of the beautiful journey. The train disgorged nearly all its passengers as if this place like a magnet was drawing them out. He saw Bob Bender, and Jarvie Tope. He watched old Professor Durand looking curiously about him, and a white-haired porter taking the baggage of Mrs. Belmire. He felt alone, abandoned.
As the train lingered, loth to leave this charmed spot, Hugh felt a sudden desire to get off. He saw the fair-haired girl struggling with a basket-valise. With a sudden impulse he gathered together his own luggage and prepared to descend, but the train was already in motion.
“Just as well. Now for Menton.”
Then behold! the train halted again and backed to the station.
“Fate!” said Hugh and jumped off. He passed through a long baggage room into a courtyard where there was a line of luxurious hotel omnibuses and porters in livery. The court was backed by a wall of rock that rose to the heights of a glorious garden. Palms speared the silvery arc-lights. Masses of geraniums stained the face of the rock. On the winding steps that led to the garden a nude statue of a woman was set in a niche amid ferns and water-lilies, and a diamond spray of water.
On the long hill to the right was a line of fiacres. He saw the fair-haired girl hand her bag to one of the drivers.
“Pension Paoli,” she said.
Hugh watched her drive away; then he, too, hailed a fiacre. The dark driver bent to him with smiling politeness.
“Where to, monsieur?”
Hugh thought for a moment. As he stood there he had a strange thrill of wonder and of joy. He seemed to breathe an enchanted air; the silver lights amid the trees were those of fairyland; he felt as if he were hesitating on the very threshold of romance.
“Pension Paoli,” he answered.