CHAPTER TWO
A BURGLAR AND A ROW
WHEN he got home he found Margot was still up. She was sewing under the lamp-glow, her coiled mass of hair a bright gold as she bent over her work, her face pale but full of patient sweetness. As Hugh stood there in his evening dress, flushed and reeking of wine, the eyes she raised to him were tired and sad.
Since the time she had met him with Mrs. Belmire there had been a change in her manner towards him. No longer did she make timid overtures of friendship, no longer tell him of the day’s doings. She had ceased to laugh and sing, and had become very quiet and reserved. She toiled continually with her needle.
It always irritated him to see her working so hard; and to-night, being in a bad humour, he said crossly: “Not in bed yet! You’ll hurt your eyes, you know.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just going. I stayed up because I wanted to see you about something.”
“Yes, what?”
“I’ve managed to make two hundred francs by my sewing. I don’t want to be a burden on you any longer. I’m going back to Paris to work in an atelier. I’m going to-morrow morning.”
He was quite taken aback. He stared for a moment; then a steady, serious look came into his eyes. Going forward he took her hand firmly.
“Yes. I’ve been planning it for some time.”
“And you haven’t said anything.”
“I scarcely ever see you now. You’re so busy during the day and get home so late at night.”
He hesitated, staring thoughtfully at the lamp flame. His emotions were conflicting. Here was a chance to free himself from all responsibility regarding her. Sooner or later the separation would have to come, why not now while she was reconciled to it? Quickly he made up his mind.
“Look here, Margot, don’t go ... not just yet. Stay at least a little while longer. I’ve got so used to you. I’ll miss you awfully. Please stay, won’t you?”
“But what’s the good of staying?”
“I don’t know. I just feel I can’t let you go. I know I’m asking a selfish thing, but please don’t leave me just yet.”
“Very well.”
“You’ll stay? Thank you. You’re a good little pal. The best of the lot. Good-night....”
The following day his mood changed. His mind was full of Mrs. Belmire again. After all, he thought, he had been rather rough. He would lend her the money; he would seek her out that very afternoon.
Then an event occurred that changed the whole current of his thoughts.
For two days Monte Carlo had been at the mercy of the Mistral. Many strange ships were sheltering in the narrow harbour that with its concrete arms fended back the savage seas; the palms in the gardens lashed furiously and the air was full of flying splinters.
All that morning the sky had been gloomy and towards noon the clouds over the Tête du Chien deepened to a purple black. The mountain seemed to cast a sinister shadow over the Condamine, and the pink roofs darkened to a dull crimson. Hugh suggested to the professor that they had better stay at home, but the old man insisted upon going to the Rooms. As they left the house they heard the first ominous growl of the thunder. Hugh wanted to take a carriage but again his companion refused.
“No,” he said, “the walk to and from the Casino is the only exercise I get since that balcony business.”
The business of the balcony had been a bad one. Across the front of the house, just outside their windows, ran a flimsy wooden balcony, with a division of lattice work between each room. The professor used to march up and down his portion of the balcony, while Hugh and Margot often sat in theirs.
One Sunday evening they were all on the balcony when they heard a crack, followed by a rending crash. As it happened both Hugh and Margot were near the window, and threw themselves backwards. The professor, too, saved himself by clutching at the sill of his window. The entire balcony collapsed. It overturned, hung for a moment, then fell with a rending of timbers. On examining the debris Hugh found that the supports had been sawn almost through, and that the cuts were quite fresh. Some one had evidently done it during the night.
A week later when Hugh was returning home after midnight a man rushed past him on the stairs. On the landing beside his door a pungent smoke was coming from a sack of shavings. Beside it was a large can of petrol. He beat out the fire. Had he arrived five minutes later the place would have been in flames. After that he got some ropes, so that in the case of future attempts to fire the place, they might escape by the windows. He also bought a Browning pistol.
That morning, as they entered the Casino, there was a livid blaze of lightning, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder. Perhaps the professor was affected by the storm, for his game was not so successful as usual; he played seven coups before he struck a winning number. Though his winnings were only thirty thousand francs, he decided that he had had enough and rose from the table. They heard the roar of the rain on the great dome above them, and found on going to the entrance a most appalling downpour. It was falling in crystal rods that beat the oozing earth to bubbles. There was not a soul in sight.
“It’s useless trying to get a cab,” said Hugh. “Let us go back to the atrium and wait till it clears up.”
They took a seat on one of the benches at the side of the refreshment bar and waited for an hour without any sign of the torrent abating. Every now and then Hugh would go to the door and look out. The day had darkened to a wan twilight in which the silver shafts of rain pearled the pools and rivulets.
“One might as well stand under a shower-bath as go out in that,” thought Hugh. “It would be the death of the professor.” And again he sighed for a voiture.
As he looked out for the tenth time he saw Margot making her way to the Casino through sheets of water. She wore his Burberry and the rain ran off her in streams. She was panting and pale with excitement.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, I’m so glad I’ve found you. When the professor came back alone, I was afraid something was wrong.”
“Professor come back alone! ... what do you mean?”
“Why, he’s there, in his room. When I heard him come up the stairs and enter, I went to see if you were there, too. As I knocked at the door, I heard him moving about inside. I knocked again, but there was no answer. All was quiet. What with the storm and everything else I got nervous and excited. After knocking a couple of times more I came here to find you.”
Hugh listened with growing amazement.
“Are you quite sure there’s some one in the professor’s room?”
“Yes, yes!”
Leading her into the atrium he pointed to the buffet.
“There’s the professor.”
“But the other ... the man in the house ... now....”
“Stay with the professor. Don’t leave him. This looks serious.”
Without waiting for the coat she held out to him, he rushed into the rain and down the long steep hill, splashing through water and mud. In a few minutes, drenched and breathless, he reached the house. He mounted the stairs softly, pistol in hand. Whoever had entered had left the door on the latch. He burst into the room.
A man who had been bending over the steel safe rose and swung around.
“Don’t shoot,” he said sharply. He stood there, erect, composed, smiling.
“Krantz!”
“Precisely. What a pity you did not come ten minutes later. Then I should have finished my investigations.”
“Your burglary, you mean. I’ve a good mind to call the police.”
“My dear man, I am the police.”
“I am justified in shooting you.”
“If you did, you would surely regret it. Remember, young man, you’re not in England, you’re not in France; you’re in Monaco.”
“Does that justify you?”
“When the welfare of our beloved Principality is at stake, I am justified in many things,—even in the examination of private strong boxes.”
“Assassination too, I suppose.”
“Oh no! I draw the line at that. In the Principality we strongly disapprove of all violent measures.”
“What about the balcony, and the attempt to fire the house?”
“I assure you, on my honour, I had nothing to do with either. Of course, I am unable to answer for the zeal of my subordinates. They are Monegasques and patriots. You can understand their point of view. They believe that one man’s life weighs as nothing against the welfare of the community. They would willingly sacrifice their lives for their country; but they prefer to sacrifice some one else’s life. They are a crude and violent race. You must excuse their ardour.”
“So you know nothing of those two attempts.”
“Officially, no. Of course, privately I have my ideas. I did not go into the matter very closely. You see I have a sense of delicacy, of tact. I am modern in my conceptions; I deprecate the gentle art of assassination. But again I repeat I am not responsible for the excessive zeal of my subordinates. They are just grown up children, many of them, passionate and impulsive. In the same way those whom I serve are not responsible for my acts,—this investigation, for instance. In fact, I am sure they would condemn it in the strongest of terms. Abuse of authority, they would call it, and wax duly indignant. But please put away that silly little pistol you are fingering so nervously. It annoys me. I have no sense of the dramatic.”
Hugh lowered his hand and Krantz went on with his urbane smile:
“You know I saved all your lives on one occasion. One of my gentle patriots wanted to put a charge of dynamite under your rooms and blow you to the stars. Fortunately I found out in time, and prevented it. After all it would have caused a great scandal. Violence and scandal we do not like; we want everything to run smoothly in this most favoured of spots. That’s what I’m here for,—to see that things run smoothly. That is why a moment ago you found me attempting the combination of that safe. And now having failed in my mission, I presume you will allow me to go.”
With that Krantz made a deep bow and passed from the room. Hugh stared after his retreating back as he leisurely descended the narrow stairway.
Now that Hugh’s gambling fever had abated he found himself looking at the players with apathy, even with disgust. He was purged, not by loss, but by gain. The thought of the fifty thousand francs he had wrested from the bank was like honey to him. Never would he give them a chance to win it back. The Casino itself had also ceased to interest him. Incidents that had been at first exciting, now appeared monotonous. The human debris no longer fascinated him. The spectacle of the squirming, scrabbling mob bored him. The systematizers with their fatuous convictions aroused his contempt; the besotted votaries of the game, his pity. More than all he hated the careless rich who squandered in an idle hour what would have kept many a widow from misery and many an orphan from shame.
More than ever he thought of that little cottage at Villefranche, between the silent mountains and the dreamy sea; and of that Panhard he was going to buy at a bargain price. He confided his discontent to the professor.
“I’m getting awfully fed up with Monte. We can’t go on indefinitely. Isn’t it time that you speeded up the system a little?”
“You are right,” sighed the professor, “but it fatigues me so, and the atmosphere of the Rooms aggravates my catarrh. Why will you not play? You are well instructed now.”
“I don’t want to. As I said before, I don’t hate the Casino. While I wouldn’t move a finger to prevent their ruin, I wouldn’t go out of my way to accomplish it. Then again, if I played, I should want to play for myself, not for society. To hell with society! It never did anything for me. Up to now I’ve had to fight and struggle. It is by sheer luck that I’ve got a little working capital and I mean to make the most of it. I’m only a selfish practical individual. I’ve no consuming wish to benefit mankind, to do the ‘leave the world better than I found it,’ sort of thing. If ever I have enough to keep me in modest comfort, I’ll stop work and spend my time painting. No, I fear I’m no philanthropist.... How much do you want to win for your schemes before you proceed to give the Casino the final knock out?”
“And we have only ten. Heigh ho! I tell you I don’t think I can stick it out.”
“I quite understand. Try to endure it two weeks more and then we’ll see.”
Hugh continued to accompany the professor and to watch him with monotonous certainty make his seventy or eighty thousand francs a day. His association with the old man had made him quite a celebrated character. He shone with a reflected radiance, a moon to the old man’s sun. He was supposed to be a partner, a sharer in the colossal fortune, the professor’s heir and successor.
Many of the players were leaving Monte Carlo, for the season was over. Mr. Tope had returned to his Kentish cottage and his roses. The Calderbrooks, not being able to afford the mountains, had convinced themselves that Monte was even more charming in summer than in winter. The father looked tired, but amiably acquiesced.
“Of course,” said Mrs. Calderbrook, “we don’t promise to stay. If we have a bit of luck at the tables, we might take a month or two at Chamounix.”
The tall Brazilian with the spade-shaped beard was still a dominating figure in the Rooms. He wore great, horn-rimmed spectacles of a yellowish colour and walked up and down in an impeccable costume of white serge, his hands behind his back, his carriage that of deliberate dignity. He looked at the women harder than was necessary, though he repulsed all their efforts to speak with him. Once Hugh saw him turn to stare at the tall female in grey. In spite of the growing heat she continued to wear her veil and remained as mysterious as ever. She came less frequently, but still seemed to have lots of money.
Of the old crowd there remained only MacTaggart and Mr. Gimp and they made their exit from the scene in a very sensational manner.
As MacTaggart had already paid him two thousand francs, Hugh insisted on cancelling the debt between them. MacTaggart was over eight thousand francs ahead, and continued to play with hundred franc counters. Curiously enough, his luck began to leave him as soon as he gambled entirely for himself.
“It’s fair playin’ auld Harry wi’ ma nerves,” he said. “The ither day I near fented at the table. After a’ they years, I’m thinkin’, I’ll hea tae gie it up. Ma system’s willin’ but the flesh is weak. I’m gettin’ that every time I put a stake on the table ma hert dings like an alarm clock. An’ ma temper. I don’t know whit I’m no’ capable o’ daein’ at times. It’s as if I had a kind o’ a brain-storm. There’s whiles I’m fair feart for masel’. I often think that if I wis once mair back in ma wee shop in Strathbungo, I’d never want tae see a roulette wheel for the rest o’ ma days.”
“What kind of a shop had you?”
“I’m a taxidermist, and though I say it masel’, there’s no’ a better. It’s a nice quiet trade, soothin’ tae the nerves. That’s whit’s the matter wi’ me, ma nerves.”
MacTaggart would probably have stayed until he had lost all his gains, had not a kindly fate stepped in and settled the matter for him.
He had been playing for three hours,—losing all the time. His head ached, his nerves were raw, his temper near to the breaking point. He wanted to smoke a cigarette in the atrium, but had to leave some one to take down his numbers. Beside him was a lady who was playing occasionally. She looked hot and very tired. MacTaggart asked her if she would mind occupying his seat for half an hour. She gladly consented, and he rose to give her the place. At the same moment, a red, truculent-looking Englishman on his other side, quickly put a louis on the table in front of MacTaggart.
“I claim the place,” he said sharply.
MacTaggart turned and glared at him. “But I’m givin’ the place tae the leddy,” he said.
“The place is mine,” said the man. “You rose and I put down my money. I appeal to the Chef du Table.”
The latter nodded. “By all the rules the place is monsieur’s; monsieur has put down his money, marking the place.”
MacTaggart was angry. He knew the croupiers did not like him, that they always decided against him if possible. He sat down again.
“All right,” he said, “in that case I’ll jist keep ma place. I’ll sit here till Hell freezes over before ye get it.”
The face of the Englishman grew very red. His voice rose nastily.
“But I insist on having the place. This man rose and I put my money down. The place is clearly mine.”
“Yes,” said the Chef du Table, “it is evident that the place is monsieur’s.”
“I’ll see ye dawmed firrst,” said MacTaggart, sitting square. “There’s no force in Monte Carlo ’ill budge me from this spot. Tak’ awaw yer dirrty money....”
He started to push away the man’s louis that lay in front of him.
“Here, don’t touch my money. Don’t dare to touch my money,” the Englishman exclaimed.
MacTaggart’s reply was to take the louis and flip it back at him. Every one was aghast. It was unheard of, an outrage. One of the lymphatic lackeys recovered the money and handed it to its owner, who was boiling over with rage. There is no knowing how the row might have ended had not a player opposite risen to catch a train, and the Chef, with great presence of mind, promptly claimed the place for the Englishman. The situation was saved. Tant Mieux. That mad Ecossais looked quite dangerous.
MacTaggart and the red-faced man sat opposite each other, and muttered, growled, and glared. Then the second incident occurred. Just as the ball was about to drop, MacTaggart pushed a placque to the croupier.
“Passe, please.”
But the croupier did not hear him correctly and threw it on pair, and at that moment the ball fell.
“Vingt sept, passe impair et noir.”
“But I telt ye tae pit it on passe,” said MacTaggart.
“No, monsieur said pair,” declared the croupier.
The Chef was appealed to. “Monsieur should have seen that his money was rightly staked,” said the Chef looking annoyed.
“Pay me,” cried MacTaggart, rising and clenching his fist.
He was ignored and the ball started for the next spin. Then MacTaggart did something unprecedented, something outrageous. He took up one of the rateaus and jammed it in the bowl of the wheel.
“By Goad,” said MacTaggart, “I’ll stop the bloody game till ye pay me.”
At this moment the red-faced man came in to the discussion. “I knew he was a crook,” he jeered. “Turn the beggar out.”
MacTaggart stared at him. For a moment he could not believe his ears, then a great glow came into his eyes and he swung the rateau and brought it down on the man’s head.
“Let me get at him,” he roared, “I’ll show him.”
The Chef laid a detaining hand on his shoulder, but MacTaggart swung round and caught him on the chin. The Chef went from his high chair like a ninepin. Shouting something in Gaelic, MacTaggart sprang on the table. Two croupiers tried to hold him back; but, using the rateau like a claymore, he rapped each on the head and with a leap was on the man with the red face.
“Turn me oot!” he shouted. “It wad tak a dizzen o’ the likes o’ you tae dae it.”
He had the big man down and was pounding him with both fists, when four of the lethargic lackeys threw themselves into the fray. MacTaggart saw red. He ran amuck. Right and left he struck in Berserker rage. His long arms were like flails before which men went down; croupiers, attendants, inspectors, all staggered back beneath his blows. A superintendent who ran up to see what was wrong, received a punch that landed him on his back. As MacTaggart burst through the doorway into the “Hall of Gloom,” the director of the games rushed up.
“Look out,” said the big Scotchman, “or as sure as my name’s Galloway MacTaggart I’ll fell ye tae the floor.”
The director did not look out and was duly downed. Then a group of lackeys, by a concerted rush, succeeded in mastering him. They knocked him down and hung onto his heaving arms and legs. They lifted him to carry him to the door. The MacTaggart was conquered.
But was he? No, not yet. From the other end of the “Hall of Light” a shrill yell suddenly split the air. It was something between the execration of a college football coach, and the war whoop of a red Indian. A little white-haired gentleman was covering the intervening space in great leaps and bounds. He roared and whirled his arms, his eyes aflame, his very hair bristling with fury. It was Mr. Gimp.
The attendants released MacTaggart, and turned to face this new foe. The fight began all over again.
It was Homeric, for Mr. Gimp had once been a bantam champion of the ring. There were bloody noses and broken teeth; there were curses and cries of pain; there were black eyes and bruised ribs before the indomitable two, overwhelmed by numbers, were carried to the door. The fray had lasted a quarter of an hour.
“Weel,” said MacTaggart that night as they sat in Quinto’s, “I’m thinkin’, Gimpy, auld man, we’ve lost oor tickets. We’ll no’ daur show oor faces in that place ony mair.”
“No,” said Mr. Gimp, “the spell’s broken at last. I’m a free man. To-morrow I’m off to the land where the handshake’s warmer.”
“An’ me fur Strathbungo. Eh, man, they got us oot, but it took a score o’ them tae dae it. An’ by Goad! we laft oor mark on every mither’s son.”