A MAN in evening dress was holding a girl and trying to draw her closer to him.
“Leave me alone,” she moaned; “let me go or I’ll scream for help. I will, I tell you....”
“You little fool! As if a kiss or two would hurt you. Come on, I’ve got the car down below. Let me take you for a spin.”
“No, no. Let me go home to mother.”
He laughed. “You know your mother’s in the Casino playing the fool, with money I lent her,—the last, by God! she ever gets from me,—unless you are more amiable. I say, let’s go over to Ciro’s and have something.”
“Oh, please let me go. You’re hurting me. I must find mother. She wouldn’t like me to be alone here.”
“Bah! As long as she can gamble, your precious mother doesn’t care two pins what you do. Why, she knows you’re with me. She’s got an extra thousand to-night to keep out of the way. Come on, be reasonable! I’ll save your mother yet; but you’ve got to be pretty nice. Here, another kiss....”
“Oh, no. Please don’t. You forget yourself. You’ve been drinking. Let me go, I say, let me go....”
His answer was to clutch her more fiercely. With a sudden wrench she freed herself and broke away. He stood swaying for a moment, then with a drunken laugh sprang after her. His arms were once more about to close around her when Hugh leapt forward and dealt him a blow. The man went down.
The girl had turned. In the radiance of an arc-light Hugh saw her fear-distorted face.
“Miss Emslie!”
“Yes, yes,” she panted. “Oh, please help me. I’m afraid....”
“You needn’t be afraid. I’ll deal with this chap.”
“I don’t know you, but I’ve seen you often. How can I thank you....”
“Never mind about that. Run home to your friends.”
She vanished. As the man rose Hugh recognized Paul Vulning, his face flushed with wine and deadly with rage.
“You young devil, you! Why did you do that?”
“Because under the circumstances it seemed the proper thing to do.”
“Is it the proper thing to interfere in an affair that doesn’t concern you?”
“Her friends are my friends.”
“Who the devil are you? I’ve never met you. If it were not for these fellows there I’d thrash you.”
“These fellows” were two firemen who had appeared from the shadow. Probably they had been there all the time but had not judged the moment opportune to intervene. Hugh laughed.
“We needn’t let that stand in our way. If there’s thrashing to be done, I expect we can find lots of quiet places down on the beach.”
“I would be a fool to do that. I don’t know who you are. You may be a crook for all I know.”
“I may be. You don’t know me. But I know you for a rotter and a cad.”
Paul Vulning’s face grew purple in its fury. Throwing discretion to the winds, he rushed and swung a heavy blow. The two firemen valiantly tried to come between them, and one of them received the vicious swing intended for Hugh. Angered, he too struck out. There threatened to be a general mix-up, when a voice, suave but edged with authority, made them all turn.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, what’s this about? Do you want to be arrested?”
A tall dark man, with a lean intelligent face and a bland smile, seemed to have sprung from nowhere. It was Krantz. He continued smoothly:
“I would strongly recommend you both to go home. You know, gentlemen, we don’t want trouble in the Principality. Peace, perfect peace is our ideal. Be advised, messieurs: go home.”
Paul Vulning’s jaw had dropped, and he was staring at Krantz with a look that was half fascination, half fear. Then with a glower of hate at Hugh, he strode away.
The next day, as he had planned, Hugh played with placques and won a thousand francs. On his way out he met Mr. Gimp. The little lean man seemed agitated as he fumbled over “the makings.” He pursed out his underlip grimly.
“Heard the news?”
“No.”
“Mrs. Emslie ... she’s gone ... the veronal route....”
One morning Hugh awoke joyously and sang as he dressed.
“You seem very gay,” said Margot, “considering you came home so very late last night.”
“Yes, it was a gala night at Café de Paris. Masked dancers and all that sort of thing. Very jolly. But I’m gay for another reason. Look....”
He spread on the table five notes of a thousand francs each. “There! Gaze, gloat, marvel—the bank’s money.”
Her obvious awe was touched with anxiety.
“And you’ve made all that?”
“All.”
“You’re wonderful. You’ll stop now, I hope.”
“Stop nothing! I’m going on. I’ve got a lucky streak.”
“You’ll lose it all again.”
“Tant pis! I’m going to risk it. I’m going to play big. I say, you’d better come and watch me.”
“Never! I couldn’t. The emotion! It would be painful.”
“That’s what I love,—the emotion. The moment, just before the ball drops, when the heart seems to pause. Whether one wins or loses one has that precious thrill. Come.”
“No, thank you.”
Alone Hugh climbed the familiar hill. On his left towered huge hotels, on his right the water of the gem-like harbour was like lapis lazuli, the quays like porcelain. Dainty yachts, all varnish and brasswork, glassed themselves exquisitely. A carmine car dashed past him. Hugh caught a glimpse of Paul Vulning at the wheel. The seat raked so that he seemed to be lying down. Beside him sat the cross-eyed chauffeur.
Hugh entered the Rooms with no definite plan of playing. His five thousand francs were folded up into a small packet. It was curious, he thought as he fingered it, how suddenly he seemed to lose all sense of its value. It was not money at all, merely a ball of worthless paper. A magnificent recklessness came over him. Going to the first table, he took from his pocket the greasy wad of notes and threw it on red. There it was gone, that crumpled soiled packet. He was rid of it. In another moment that silly little ball would drop into a black slot, and he would turn away with a careless smile.... No, it had dropped into a red. How funny! He saw everybody turn to look at him. He stood in a daze while the croupier unfolded his notes, counted them and paid him five more. He had been in the Casino just one minute and he had made five thousand francs.
He was back in his room half an hour after he had left it. He spread his ten notes out on the table. Margot looked at him with admiration and anxiety. He enjoyed the admiration.
“Come on,” he said; “I won’t play any more to-day. We’ll go to Nice for lunch and make an afternoon of it.”
The next day he followed his impulse again, and threw five thousand francs on black. He lost. Going to another table he played again on black and won. The situation was unchanged, but his nerves were a little uncertain.
The following day he hesitated; but finally, after taking three imaginary losses, he played for a win, and got it. He had now fifteen thousand francs.
On the fourth day his nerve failed him. After watching the play, making up his mind, then hesitating and drawing back again he came away without having played.
On the fifth day he played a well-known coup that comes off three times out of five. After a long run on black, a break and a return to black, he played on red and won. Twenty thousand francs.
That afternoon like a miser he spread his twenty big notes all over the table, and a sudden exaggerated sense of their value came to him. Twenty thousand francs! Why, it meant Capital. In some quiet country place he could live for three or four years on that; buy himself an interest in a business, get a good start in life again. The Casino had served him well.
Margot looked at him with growing anxiety. “You’ll stop now, won’t you?”
“No, I haven’t got enough yet.”
“Mon Dieu! How much do you want?”
“Sixty thousand! I want to buy a good car for about twenty thousand. Then there’s a little cottage with a big garden at Villefranche I can get for another twenty. Between the car and the garden I think I can make a pretty tidy living.”
“And the third twenty?”
“That’s for you, my child. What the French call a dot, the day you marry.”
“And if I never marry?”
“Well, then, you’ll keep house for me in my little cottage covered with roses. You’ll still be my little sister.”
“That’s nicer. Now you can stop at forty thousand.”
“No. I’m an obstinate brute. Sixty thousand goes.”
The girl sighed. “By the way we have a new neighbour, such a fine looking old man, a Professor Durand.”
“The dickens! I know him quite well. He’s a little touched. Thinks he has an invincible system that’s going to bust up the Casino.”
“Yes, the concierge told me. He has books and books of figures and diagrams. He works over them night and day.”
“Seems to me the concierge takes too much interest in his locataires. I don’t like that man. I wish you would talk to him as little as possible.”
“Very well. I don’t like him myself, he ... he tried to make love to me.”
“The dog! I’ll smash him.”
“No, please don’t make a fuss. I stopped him pretty quick. It doesn’t do to make enemies of those people.”
The following day Hugh met Professor Durand on the stairway. The old man was bronzed and hale-looking.
“Ha! my young friend!” he said. “Yes, I’ve been in the mountains, the pines, preparing for the battle. I want all the strength that is left in me to accomplish my mission.”
“Poor old chap!” thought Hugh, “he doesn’t know what’s in front of him. Pathetic! Maybe another Casino tragedy.”
As he was sitting in the Café de Paris that evening listening to the music, Hugh idly watched the entrance to the Casino with its four great lanterns. In the softened lustre its pale yellow stone took on a mellow radiance almost onyxlike. Seen through the palms with the stars for a background it was like a gleaming palace of delight, poised over the mystery of the sea.
Into the pool of light from the doorway swished glossy limousines from which descended elegantly dressed people. One, a very tall man, mounted the steps and paused for a moment. He had a spade-shaped beard, a swarthy face, and a hooked nose.
“First time I’ve seen that chap,” thought Hugh. “Looks like a grandee of old Castile, but is probably an Armenian money-changer.”
Just at that moment Mr. Tope came bustling up. “I say,” said Hugh, “who’s that hidalgo-looking johnny on the steps?”
Mr. Tope screwed a monocle into his right eye. “Don’t know exactly. Some say he’s a South American, ex-president of some small republic who got away with the state treasure. Wouldn’t be surprised. He has a vulturish look. The scum of the world find their way here, and as long as they have money they are welcome. By the way, I hear great things of you, winning maximums and so on. Congratulations, young man! Any one who can get ahead of that institution over there has my profound admiration. You know, my boy, they’re making a million a week; and they say there’s a suicide a day. I believe that’s an exaggeration, though. If they put it at six a week they might be nearer the truth. I suppose you’ve heard of the latest one?...”
“No.”
“That big man with the skull cap; they used to call him ‘Cheero.’”
“Really!”
“Prussic acid in the Café of the Casino. They always said he was the luckiest player in the Rooms, the man who never lost. As it turned out he did nothing but lose; he lost a million and hid it behind that placid smile. That smile was a mask that hid his agony....”
“Pretty rough! One never knows. Oh, I say, I haven’t seen anything of the Calderbrooks lately.”
“No, they’re lying low at present. They went through their letter of credit and then borrowed from the bank. The old man wanted to go home, but the two women persuaded him to stay another month. They put a mortgage on their house, and are having two thousand pounds sent out.”
“And what about Mrs. Emslie’s daughter?”
“Oh, June. The Fitzoswalds have taken her in. Poor girl! She was very ill after the tragedy. We wanted to send her to England, but it seems she has no relatives there. They come from Australia. The mother gambled away all the girl’s fortune and the poor thing is alone in the world, helpless and destitute.”
“Is she better now?”
“Yes. The mother led her an awful life. June is helping Mrs. Fitzoswald to look after the kiddies. You know Mrs. Fitz? Spunky little Irishwoman with bronze gold hair and a turned up nose! Fitz is that red-headed, one-legged man; always plays the same game, builds up louis round the number thirty-two. He says it is his wife’s age, but she denies it. She says she wishes Fitz would hurry up and be ruined, for then they could go home to Ireland and live in peace. Well, they’re awfully fine people, and so good to June. I say, young man, there’s a chance for you. A sweet, pretty, refined girl, friendless and without a sou. Why don’t you sail in, marry her and be happy ever after?”
“But I’ve never had the faintest idea of marrying.”
“Ah well, poor June must become a nurse or a governess, or fall into the clutches of some professional seducer such as Vulning. I’ve heard he’s after her. I hope the Major gets ruined pretty soon, and then the Fitzoswalds can take June away from this infected hell.”
The very next day Hugh encountered June Emslie. She was playing with the Fitzoswald children in the circular sand pit near the dove-cage. She started and grew pale; then advanced to meet him with outstretched hand. Neither of them referred to the previous meeting. He found her timid, painfully embarrassed, but shyly worshipping as she looked at him. Come to think of it, he had made rather an effective entry on the scene that night, quite in the hero of romance fashion. If she was at all sentimental she must have idealized him. Being a prosaic young man he was rather annoyed at the thought and his manner became brusque, careless even. Her recent sorrow had not driven the fresh colour from her cheeks. If Margot was the type of the lily this girl was like a rose. Her features were sensitive and delicate, her hair a dark chestnut, her eyes deep blue. She was tall, and slender, and apparently not more than seventeen. After a few commonplace remarks, he said:
“If I can do anything for you, anything at all, please let me know. Think of me as a friend, and call on me if ever you should need me.”
She understood what he meant and a deep flush overspread her face.
“Yes, I will. Thank you so much. By the way,—I don’t know your name.”
He told her. “Shall I write it down?” he asked.
“Oh no. I assure you I can remember it.”
They said good-bye and he left her with an impression of her virginal sweetness and budding charm.
But she did not remain long in his thoughts. That afternoon he had an engagement with Mrs. Belmire. Of late she had gone out of her way to be nice to him, and he had begun to admire her enthusiastically. He was proud to be seen with her, and was blind to her deficiencies. She had for him the attraction of the ripe, experienced woman for the raw, callow youth. When she asked him to take her to Cap Martin, her request made him simmer with joyous excitement.
He called for her in a voiture with two horses and they drove along the shore road. She was simpler and sweeter than he had ever known her; but, he thought, abstracted and depressed. They sat on the rocks awhile, then had tea in the hotel. On the way home her pensiveness increased so noticeably that at last he taxed her with it.
“I say, what’s the matter? You seem so sad to-day.”
She turned with a forced smile. “Am I? Perhaps I am. You see I’m worried. But then what have my troubles got to do with you?”
“Oh, please tell me. Look on me as a friend.”
“Dear boy, so I do. Well, I’m in difficulties—financial difficulties. I’ve got money coming out from England; but I’ve had such rotten luck at baccarat lately, and a lot of little bills have been coming in, and ... well, this is all I have to meet them.”
From her vanity bag she took a tiny jewelled purse, and showed him in its satin interior a few torn franc bills and some sous.
“Grotesque, isn’t it? I wouldn’t care, only there’s my week’s bill at the pension. I’ll pull through somehow....”
Hugh thrilled with sympathy; he blushed, stammered and blurted out: “I say, I’ve been rather lucky at the tables lately. Won’t you let me help you ... a little loan....”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t think of it.”
“It will be a privilege. Make me happy, please, by accepting.”
“Well, if you put it that way. I know you’ve been lucky, dear boy. You’re just too nice. Perhaps a mille would tide me over.”
Hugh feverishly searched his pocket-book. Alas! he had prudently left his big bills with Margot. All he had were some twenty ten franc notes.
“Look here, it’s too bad,” he said, “I’ve left all my money at home. But, to-night, if you can meet me at the Café de Paris at nine, I’ll have it.”
“I can count on that?”
“Yes.”
“You darling! I say ... there’s no one on the road. Quick. If you like, you may kiss me.”
He arrived at the Café de Paris about half past eight, keyed up and exalted. The afternoon seemed to have added an inch to his stature. The most charming woman in Monte!... And he had kissed her.... Having a little time to spare he went into the Rooms. The impulse he knew so well was luring him on.
“If I give her a mille,” he thought, “why not make the Casino pay for it?”
At the first table he threw a maximum on red and won. Rather sourly they paid him six thousand francs.
“Five thousand for me,” he said, “and a thousand for Mrs. B.”
He found her exquisitely dressed and impatiently awaiting him. His luck had added to his excitement. He was feeling capable of any folly. He folded up a mille note very neatly and slipped it into her bag. Then somewhat to his chagrin she excused herself.
“I’m awfully sorry. I have an engagement at the club. Probably see you to-morrow.”
She left him feeling rather chilled and sober.
“Well,” he consoled himself, “perhaps it is just as well. In any case I now have twenty-five thousand francs.”
He did not play for the next few days. His success rather dismayed him; his nerve was gone. Then on two successive days a chance appeared which was too favourable to be resisted; it was what he called a sure-shot. As a matter of fact, it really came off in five cases out of six, but only by watching and waiting could one get on to it. A long run on one of the simple chances had to be followed by a certain combination of both chances. In each case when he played it he won; his capital had now increased to thirty-five thousand francs.
He began to feel what he had never felt in his life before,—secure. To a rich man that sum was nothing; to him, everything. But he was becoming increasingly nervous. He must not lose this money. He must be more prudent than ever. If he lost it, it would discourage him utterly; he would never have the heart to begin over again. Yet he must make the sixty thousand on which he had set his heart. Only twenty-five thousand more. Four wins of maximums would practically do it. Well, he must pluck up his courage and try again. He must nerve himself for the final struggle.