Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo Read online

  SECOND CHAPTER

  CONCERNS A GUILTY SECRET

  Just after seven o'clock that same evening young Henfrey and his friendBrock met in the small lounge of the Hotel des Palmiers, a ratherobscure little establishment in the Avenue de la Costa, behind theGardens, much frequented by the habitues of the Rooms who know MonteCarlo and prefer the little place to life at the Paris, the Hermitage,and the Riviera Palace, or the Gallia, up at Beausoleil.

  The Palmiers was a place where one met a merry cosmopolitan crowd, butwhere the cocotte in her bright plumage was absent--an advantage whichonly the male habitue of Monte Carlo can fully realize. The eternalfeminine is always so very much in evidence around the Casino, and themost smartly dressed woman whom one might easily take for the wife of aneminent politician or financier will deplore her bad luck and beg for "alittle loan."

  "Well," said Hugh as his friend came down from his room to the lounge,"I suppose we ought to be going--eh? Dorise said half-past seven, andwe'll just get across to the Metropole in time. Lady Ranscomb is alwaysawfully punctual at home, and I expect she carries out her time-tablehere."

  The two men put on light overcoats over their dinner-jackets andstrolled in the warm dusk across the Gardens and up the Galerie, withits expensive little shops, past the original Ciro's to the Metropole.

  In the big hall they were greeted by a well-preserved, grey-hairedEnglishwoman, Lady Ranscomb, the widow of old Sir Richard Ranscomb, whohad been one of the greatest engineers and contractors of modern times.He had begun life as a small jerry-builder at Golder's Green, and hadended it a millionaire and a knight. Lady Ranscomb was seated at alittle wicker table with her daughter Dorise, a dainty, fair-haired girlwith intense blue eyes, who was wearing a rather daring jazzing gown ofpale-blue, the scantiness of which a year or two before would have beenvoted quite beyond the pale for a lady, and yet in our broad-mindedto-day, the day of undressing on the stage and in the home, it wasnothing more than "smart."

  Mother and daughter greeted the two men enthusiastically, and at LadyRanscomb's orders the waiter brought them small glasses of an aperitif.

  "We've been all day motoring up to the Col di Tenda. Sospel is lovely!"declared Dorise's mother. "Have you ever been there?" she asked ofBrock, who was an habitue of the Riviera.

  "Once and only once. I motored from Nice across to Turin," was hisreply. "Yes. It is truly a lovely run there. The Alps are gorgeous. Ilike San Dalmazzo and the chestnut groves there," he added. "But thefrontiers are annoying. All those restrictions. Nevertheless, the run toTurin is one of the finest I know."

  Presently they rose, and all four walked into the crowded_salle-a-manger_, where the chatter was in every European language, andthe gay crowd were gossiping mostly of their luck or their bad fortuneat the _tapis vert_. At Monte Carlo the talk is always of the run ofsequences, the many times the zero-trois has turned up, and of howlittle one ever wins _en plein_ on thirty-six.

  To those who visit "Charley's Mount" for the first time all this is asYiddish, but soon he or she, when initiated into the games of rouletteand trente-et-quarante, quickly gets bitten by the fever and enters intothe spirit of the discussions. They produce their "records"--printedcards in red and black numbers with which they have carefully prickedoff the winning numbers with a pin as they have turned up.

  The quartette enjoyed a costly but exquisite dinner, chatting andlaughing the while.

  Both men were friends of Lady Ranscomb and frequent visitors to her finehouse in Mount Street. Hugh's father, a country landowner, had known SirRichard for many years, while Walter Brock had made the acquaintance ofLady Ranscomb a couple of years ago in connexion with some charity inwhich she had been interested.

  Both were also good friends of Dorise. Both were excellent dancers, andLady Ranscomb often allowed them to take her daughter to the Grafton,Ciro's, or the Embassy. Lady Ranscomb was Hugh's old friend, and heand Dorise having been thrown together a good deal ever since the girlreturned from Versailles after finishing her education, it was hardlysurprising that the pair should have fallen in love with each other.

  As they sat opposite each other that night, the young fellow gazed intoher wonderful blue eyes, yet, alas! with a sinking heart. How could theyever marry?

  He had about six hundred a year--only just sufficient to live uponin these days. His father had never put him to anything since he leftBrasenose, and now on his death he had found that, in order to recoverthe estate, it was necessary for him to marry Louise Lambert, a girl forwhom he had never had a spark of affection. Louise was good-looking,it was true, but could he sacrifice his happiness; could he ever cuthimself adrift from Dorise for mercenary motives--in order to get backwhat was surely by right his inheritance?

  Yet, after all, as he again met Dorise's calm, wide-open eyes, the grimtruth arose in his mind, as it ever did, that Lady Ranscomb, even thoughshe had been so kind to him, would never allow her only daughter tomarry a man who was not rich. Had not Dorise told him of the sly hintsher mother had recently given her regarding a certain very wealthy mannamed George Sherrard, an eligible bachelor who lived in one of the mostexpensive flats in Park Lane, and who was being generally sought afterby mothers with marriageable daughters. In many cases mothers--andespecially young, good-looking widows with daughters "on theirhands"--are too prone to try and get rid of them "because my daughtermakes me look so old," as they whisper to their intimates of their ownage.

  After dinner all four strolled across to the Casino, presenting theiryellow cards of admission--the monthly cards granted to those who areapproved by the smug-looking, black-coated committee of inspection, whojudge by one's appearance whether one had money to lose.

  Dorise soon detached herself from her mother and strolled up the Roomswith Hugh, Lady Ranscomb and Brock following.

  None of them intended to play, but they were strolling prior to going tothe opera which was beneath the same roof, and for which Lady Ranscombhad tickets.

  Suddenly Dorise exclaimed:

  "Look over there--at that table in the corner. There's that remarkablewoman they call 'Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo'!"

  Hugh started, and glancing in the direction she indicated sawthe handsome woman seated at the table staking her counters quiteunconcernedly and entirely absorbed in the game. She was wearing a deadblack dress cut slightly low in the neck, but half-bare shoulders, witha string of magnificent Chinese jade beads of that pale apple green soprized by connoisseurs.

  Her eyes were fixed upon the revolving wheel, for upon the numbersixteen she had just thrown a couple of thousand franc counters. Theball dropped with a sudden click, the croupier announced that numberfive had won, and at once raked in the two thousand francs among others.

  Mademoiselle shrugged her shoulders and smiled faintly. Yvonne Feradwas a born gambler. To her losses came as easily as gains. TheAdministration knew that--and they also knew how at the littlepigeon-hole where counters were exchanged for cheques she came often andhanded over big sums in exchange for drafts upon certain banks, both inParis and in London.

  Yet they never worried. Her lucky play attracted others who usuallylost. Once, a year before, a Frenchman who occupied a seat next to herdaily for a month lost over a quarter of a million sterling, and onenight threw himself under the Paris _rapide_ at the long bridge overthe Var. But on hearing of it the next day from a croupier Mademoisellemerely shrugged her shoulders, and said:

  "I warned him to return to Paris. The fool! It is only what I expected."

  Hugh looked only once across at the mysterious woman whom Dorisehad indicated, and then drew her away. As a matter of fact he had nointention that mademoiselle should notice him.

  "What do you know of her?" he asked in a casual way when they were onthe other side of the great saloon.

  "Well, a Frenchman I met in the hotel the day before yesterday toldme all sorts of queer stories about her," replied the girl. "She'sapparently a most weird person, and she has uncanny good luck at thetables. He said that she had won a la
rge fortune during the last coupleof years or so."

  Hugh made no remark as to the reason of his visit to the Riviera, for,indeed, he had arrived only the day previously, and she had welcomed himjoyously. Little did she dream that her lover had come out from Londonto see that woman who was declared to be so notorious.

  "I noticed her playing this afternoon," Hugh said a moment later ina quiet reflective tone. "What do the gossips really say about her,Dorise? All this is interesting. But there are so many interestingpeople here."

  "Well, the man who told me about her was sitting with me outside theCafe de Paris when she passed across the Place to the Casino. Thatcaused him to make the remarks. He said that her past was obscure. Somepeople say that she was a Danish opera singer, others declare thatshe was the daughter of a humble tobacconist in Marseilles, and othersassert that she is English. But all agree that she is a clever and verydangerous woman."

  "Why dangerous?" inquired Hugh in surprise.

  "Ah! That I don't know. The man who told me merely hinted at her pastcareer, and added that she was quite a respectable person nowadays inher affluence. But--well----" added the girl with a laugh, "I supposepeople gossip about everyone in this place."

  "Who was your informant?" asked her lover, much interested.

  "His name is Courtin. I believe he is an official of one of thedepartments of the Ministry of Justice in Paris. At least somebody saidso yesterday."

  "Ah! Then he probably knew more about her than he told you, I expect."

  "No doubt, for he warned my mother and myself against making heracquaintance," said the girl. "He said she was a most undesirableperson."

  At that moment Lady Ranscomb and Walter Brock joined them, whereupon theformer exclaimed to her daughter:

  "Did you see that woman over there?--still playing--the woman in blackand the jade beads, against whom Monsieur Courtin warned us?"

  "Yes, mother, I noticed her. I've just been telling Hugh about her."

  "A mysterious person--eh?" laughed Hugh with well-affected indifference."But one never knows who's who in Monte Carlo."

  "Well, Mademoiselle is apparently something of a mystery," remarkedBrock. "I've seen her here before several times. Once, about two yearsago, I heard that she was mixed up in a very celebrated criminal case,but exactly what it was the man who told me could not recollect. She is,however, one of the handsomest women in the Rooms."

  "And one of the wealthiest--if report be true," said Lady Ranscomb.

  "She fascinates me," Dorise declared. "If Monsieur Courtin had notwarned us I should most probably have spoken to her."

  "Oh, my dear, you must do no such thing!" cried her mother, horrified."It was extremely kind of monsieur to give us the hint. He has probablyseen how unconventional you are, Dorise."

  And then, as they strolled on into the farther room, the conversationdropped.

  "So they've heard about Mademoiselle, it seems!" remarked Brock to hisfriend as they walked back to the Palmiers together in the moonlightafter having seen Lady Ranscomb and her daughter to their hotel.

  "Yes," growled the other. "I wish we could get hold of that MonsieurCourtin. He might tell us a bit about her."

  "I doubt if he would. These French officials are always close asoysters."

  "At any rate, I will try and make his acquaintance at the Metropoleto-morrow," Hugh said. "There's no harm in trying."

  Next morning he called again at the Metropole before the ladies wereabout, but to his chagrin, he learnt from the blue-and-gold conciergethat Monsieur Courtin, of the Ministry of Justice, had left atten-fifteen o'clock on the previous night by the _rapide_ for Paris. Hehad been recalled urgently, and a special _coupe-lit_ had been reservedfor him from Ventimiglia.

  That day Hugh Henfrey wandered about the well-kept palm-lined gardenswith their great beds of geraniums, carnations and roses. Brock hadaccepted the invitation of a bald-headed London stock-broker he knew tomotor over to lunch and tennis at the Beau Site, at Cannes, while Doriseand her mother had gone with some people to lunch at the Reserve atBeaulieu, one of the best and yet least pretentious restaurants in allEurope, only equalled perhaps by Capsa's, in Bucharest.

  "Ah! If she would only tell!" Hugh muttered fiercely to himself as hewalked alone and self-absorbed. His footsteps led him out of Monte Carloand up the winding road which runs to La Turbie, above the beautifulbay. Ever and anon powerful cars climbing the hill smothered him inwhite dust, yet he heeded them not. He was too full of thought.

  "Ah!" he kept on repeating to himself. "If she would only tell thetruth--if she would only tell!"

  Hugh Henfrey had not travelled to Monte Carlo without much carefulreflection and many hours of wakefulness. He intended to clear up themystery of his father's death--and more, the reason of that strangeincomprehensible will which was intended to wed him to Louise.

  At four o'clock that afternoon he entered the Rooms to gain anothersurreptitious look at Mademoiselle. Yes! She was there, still playingon as imperturbably as ever, with that half-suppressed sinister smilealways upon her full red lips.

  Sight of her aroused his fury. Was that smile really intended forhimself? People said she was a sphinx, but he drew his breath, and whenoutside the Casino again in the warm sunshine he halted upon the broadred-carpeted steps and beneath his breath said in a hard, determinedtone:

  "Gad! She shall tell me! She shall! I'll compel her to speak--to tell methe truth--or--or----!"

  That evening he wrote a note to Dorise explaining to her that he was notfeeling very well and excusing himself from going round to the hotel.This he sent by hand to the Metropole.

  Brock did not turn up at dinner. Indeed, he did not expect his friendback till late. So he ate his meal alone, and then went out to theCafe de Paris, where for an hour he sat upon the _terrasse_ smoking andlistening to the weird music of the red-coated orchestra of Roumaniangipsies.

  All the evening, indeed, he idled, chatting with men and women he knew._Carmen_ was being given at the Opera opposite, but though he lovedmusic he had no heart to go. The one thought obsessing him was of thehandsome and fascinating woman who was such a mystery to all.

  At eleven o'clock he returned to the cafe and took a seat on the_terrasse_ in a dark corner, in such a position that he could see anyonewho entered or left the Casino. For half an hour he watched the peoplepassing to and fro. At last, in a long jade-green coat, Mademoiselleemerged alone, and, crossing the gardens, made her way leisurely homeon foot, as was her habit. Monte Carlo is not a large place, thereforethere is little use for taxis.

  When she was out of sight, he called the waiter to bring him a liqueurof old cognac, which he sipped, and then lit another cigarette. When hehad finished it he drained the little glass, and rising, strolled in thedirection the woman of mystery had taken.

  A walk of ten minutes brought him to the iron gates of a great whitevilla, over the high walls of which climbing roses and geraniums andjasmine ran riot. The night air was heavy with their perfume. He openedthe side gate and walked up the gravelled drive to the terracewhereon stood the house, commanding a wonderful view of the moon-litMediterranean and the far-off mountains of Italy.

  His ring at the door was answered by a staid elderly Italian manservant.

  "I believe Mademoiselle is at home," Hugh said in French. "I desire tosee her, and also to apologize for the lateness of the hour. My visit isone of urgency."

  "Mademoiselle sees nobody except by appointment," was the man's politebut firm reply.

  "I think she will see me if you give her this card," answered Hugh in astrained, unusual voice.

  The man took it hesitatingly, glanced at it, placed it upon a silversalver, and, leaving the visitor standing on the mat, passed through theglass swing-doors into the house.

  For some moments the servant did not reappear.

  Hugh, standing there, entertained just a faint suspicion that he heard awoman's shrill exclamation of surprise. And that sound emboldened him.

  At last, after an age
it seemed, the man returned, saying:

  "Mademoiselle will see you, Monsieur. Please come this way."

  He left his hat and stick and followed the man along a corridor richlycarpeted in red to a door on the opposite side of the house, which theservant threw open and announced the visitor.

  Mademoiselle had risen to receive him. Her countenance was, Hugh saw,blanched almost to the lips. Her black dress caused her pallor to bemore apparent.

  "Well, sir? Pray what do you mean by resorting to this ruse in order tosee me? Who are you?" she demanded.

  Hugh was silent for a moment. Then in a hard voice he said:

  "I am the son of the dead man whose card is in your hands, Mademoiselle!And I am here to ask you a few questions!"

  The handsome woman smiled sarcastically and shrugged her half-bareshoulders, her fingers trembling with her jade beads.

  "Oh! Your father is dead--is he?" she asked with an air of indifference.

  "Yes. _He is dead_," Hugh said meaningly, as he glanced around theluxurious little room with its soft rose-shaded lights and pale-blueand gold decorations. On her right as she stood were long French windowswhich opened on to a balcony. One of the windows stood ajar, and it wasapparent that when he had called she had been seated in the long wickerchair outside enjoying the balmy moonlight after the stifling atmosphereof the Rooms.

  "And, Mademoiselle," he went on, "I happen to be aware that you knewmy father, and--that you are cognizant of certain facts concerning hismysterious end."

  "I!" she cried, raising her voice in sudden indignation. "What on earthdo you mean?" She spoke in perfect English, though he had hithertospoken in French.

  "I mean, Mademoiselle, that I intend to know the truth," said Hugh,fixing his eyes determinedly upon hers. "I am here to learn it from yourlips."

  "You must be mad!" cried the woman. "I know nothing of the affair. Youare mistaken!"

  "Do you, then, deny that you have ever met a man named Charles Benton?"demanded the young fellow, raising his voice. "Perhaps, however, that isa bitter memory, Mademoiselle--eh?"

  The strikingly handsome woman pursed her lips. There was a strange lookin her eyes. For several moments she did not speak. It was clear thatthe sudden appearance of the dead man's son had utterly unnerved her.What could he know concerning Charles Benton? How much of the affair didhe suspect?

  "I have met many people, Mr.--er--Mr. Henfrey," she replied quietly atlast. "I may have met somebody named Benton."

  "Ah! I see," the young man said. "It is a memory that you do not wish torecall any more than that of my dead father."

  "Your father was a good man. Benton was not."

  "Ah! Then you admit knowing both of them, Mademoiselle," cried Hughquickly.

  "Yes. I--well--I may as well admit it! Why, indeed, should I seek tohide the truth--_from you_," she said in a changed voice. "Pardon me. Iwas very upset at receiving the card. Pardon me--will you not?"

  "I will not, unless you tell me the truth concerning my father's deathand his iniquitous will left concerning myself. I am here to ascertainthat, Mademoiselle," he said in a hard voice.

  "And if I tell you--what then?" she asked with knit brows.

  "If you tell me, then I am prepared to promise you on oath secrecyconcerning yourself--provided you allow me to punish those who areresponsible. Remember, my father died by foul means. _And you know it!_"

  The woman faced him boldly, but she was very pale.

  "So that is a promise?" she asked. "You will protect me--you will besilent regarding me--you swear to be so--if--if I tell you something.I repeat that your father was a good man. I held him in the highestesteem, and--and--after all--it is but right that you, his son, shouldknow the truth."

  "Thank you Mademoiselle. I will protect you if you will only reveal tome the devilish plot which resulted in his untimely end," Hugh assuredher.

  Again she knit her brows and reflected for a few moments. Then in a low,intense, unnatural voice she said:

  "Listen, Mr. Henfrey. I feel that, after all, my conscience would berelieved if I revealed to you the truth. First--well, it is no usedenying the fact that your father was not exactly the man you and hisfriends believed him to be. He led a strange dual existence, and I willdisclose to you one or two facts concerning his untimely end which willshow you how cleverly devised and how cunning was the plot--how----"

  At that instant Hugh was startled by a bright flash outside thehalf-open window, a loud report, followed by a woman's shrill shriek ofpain.

  Then, next moment, ere he could rush forward to save her, Mademoiselle,with the truth upon her lips unuttered, staggered and fell back heavilyupon the carpet!