HUGH was preparing to leave the Pension Paoli. Its increasing atmosphere of furtiveness and suspicion was getting on his nerves. He had taken a large, sunny unfurnished room in the Condamine and had bought a folding bed, a table, a chair, and some cooking utensils. Here he would be alone and quite free. He would spend his days in sketching, his evenings in reading.
He was considering all this as he sat on a bench on the terrace just above that green promontory where they shot the pigeons. Even as he watched the slaughter was going on. A nimble lad would run out by one of the red, radiating paths and put a pigeon into one of the grey boxes; then he would retire and after a short interval the side of the box would collapse, leaving a bewildered bird facing an overwhelming freedom. Sometimes the bird would hop around stupidly, fearing to rise until a rubber ball bounding towards it hastened its decision. Bang! Bang! Generally the bird would drop on the green turf, to be swiftly retrieved by an eager dog. Sometimes, however, it would get away and, minus a tail, circle over the sea, finally rejoining its fellows in front of the Casino. When a pigeon escaped, Hugh wanted to applaud for joy. But few escaped, and he was turning away in disgust when he saw the Calderbrooks.
“Hullo!” he said, “I’m surprised. I thought you’d gone long ago.”
“No,” said Mrs. Calderbrook, “we decided to extend our stay. It’s really a lovely little place. We find the Casino so fascinating. We go there every day now.”
“Do you still play?”
“Oh, a little. Just for chicken-feed though. Father makes enough to pay for his cigarettes, while I generally get the Casino to stand afternoon tea. Oh, we’re very careful.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Calderbrook in his soft refined voice. “One has to be careful if one goes every day. However, an old fellow called Bender has taught me a system that so far has been very successful. You put three pieces on the passe and two on the first dozen, or three pieces on the manque and two on the last dozen. You have only six numbers against you. It’s safe.”
“By the way,” said Mrs. Calderbrook, “we saw an American break the bank yesterday, a Mr. Fetterstein. He played the number seventeen in every possible way, staking the maximum. They had to ring for more money. It was quite interesting. He must have won over a hundred thousand francs. Well, Father, we’ll leave you with Mr. Kildair to finish your pipe, while Alice and I go in to try our luck.”
When they had gone Mr. Calderbrook talked of various subjects, until suddenly dropping his voice, he said:
“You see that man in black coming along the terrace—the tall thin one.”
“The one with the clean-shaven face and the fixed smile?”
“Yes. That’s the great Krantz, the Chief of the Secret Police.”
As he passed them the eyes of Krantz were focussed on their faces.
“There,” said Mr. Calderbrook, “he knew we were discussing him.”
Hugh looked after the detective. His right hand, held behind his back, was carrying what looked like a sword cane. It was a long and muscular hand, and Hugh noted that part of the little finger was missing.
“They say,” said Mr. Calderbrook, “that he has all kinds of spies working for him and that he is quite unscrupulous. People who displease him have a way of disappearing suddenly. But then everything is high-handed about this place. It is beyond the law. All kinds of strange things can be done here and hushed up, all kinds of crimes go unpunished. It seems to be run quite irresponsibly. The Casino is supreme and rules with a high hand. All it cares for is to get money....”
Mr. Calderbrook began to bore him, and Hugh excused himself. He returned to the pension to prepare for his departure.
“To-morrow,” he thought, “I shall go away and all these people will pass out of my existence. It is pleasant to think one can put them so quietly out of one’s life. Ah! the beauty of liberty!”
He felt that he could not bear to remain more than one more night under the same roof with the Rat. The Twitcher and the Sword-Swallower were to be tolerated, but the Rat made him shudder. There are people who make us wish the world was bigger, that we might have more room to avoid them. The Rat was one of these; his very proximity was physically disagreeable. His skin was the colour of the fresh Gruyère cheese, except where his eye sockets darkened to chocolate. Criminal or not the man suggested reptilian perversions.
When Hugh paid his modest bill, he received a thousand francs in change, and as he stuffed the small notes into his pocket-book, he was aware that the sharp eyes of the Rat were upon him.
It was after ten o’clock and the Pension Paoli was very quiet. All the boarders were apparently at the Casino. The big building seemed deserted.
Leaving the door of his room ajar, Hugh threw himself on his bed. Soon he heard the street door open and some one pass upstairs. It was the Rat.
As he lay in the darkness, and listened to the sounds of the great gloomy house, a strange feeling of uneasiness began to creep over him. This grew so strong that after a bit he rose and went out on his little balcony. The air was exquisite. Over him flowed the river of night, and looking up into its lucid depths he saw the sky, its bed, pebbled with stars. Then his eyes drifted to the myriad lights that lay between him and the sea, lights now clear, now confused into a luminous mist....
What was that? Surely some one was moving softly in the passage? No; he was not wrong. Some one was trying the door of the next room, the Twitcher’s. But the Twitcher had locked it, and after one or two efforts the sound ceased.
Then Hugh had an inspiration. Taking out his pocket-book he threw it on the bed. Enough light came from the window to show it black against the white counterpane. There! the trap was baited.
Footsteps again in the passage, fumbling, muffled. They were drawing nearer, they were opposite his door. In the darkness he heard hard, hurried breathing. His own heart was tapping like a hammer. Surely the footsteps were passing? No, they had halted. Then slowly, slowly, his door was pushed open, and a black stealthy form crept to his bed.
He held his breath, and waited.... Now the dark shape was close.... Now an arm reached out, and a hand seized the pocket-book.... Now....
Hugh leapt forward and closed the door. He was alone in the darkness with the intruder. He had done it. The Rat was trapped.
“You dirty sneak-thief, I’ve got you,” he cried.
He switched on the electricity, and the room leaped into light. Against the far wall, cowering and clutching at it for support, was a figure in a black hood and cape.
Then it was Hugh’s turn to start back and utter a cry of dismay.
For framed in the black hood, and gazing at him wild-eyed with fear, was Margot Leblanc.