Various - "Scientific American Supplement No. 275"

Jessie Eldridge Southwick - "Expressive Voice Culture"

Alexandre Dumas - "Bric à brac"

William Allan Reed - "Negritos of Zambales"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo

E >> E. Phillips Oppenheim >> Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo




Hunterleys was struck by the thought. He remembered several chance
remarks of his wife. He remembered, too, the coincidence of his recent
visits to the villa having prevented him in each case from acceding to
some request of Violet's.

"I am glad you've mentioned this, child," he said frankly. "Now I come
to think of it, my wife certainly did know that I came up to the villa
very late one night, and she seemed upset about it. Of course, she
hasn't the faintest idea about your brother."

"Well," Felicia declared, with a sigh of relief, "I felt that I had to
tell you. It sounded horribly conceited, in a way, but then she wouldn't
know that you came to see Sidney, or that I was engaged to David.
Misunderstandings do come about so easily, you know, sometimes."

"This one shall be put right, at any rate," he promised her. "Now, if
you will take my advice, you will go home and lie down until the
evening. You are going to sing again, aren't you?"

"If there is no change," she replied. "I know that he would like me to.
You haven't minded--what I've said?"

"Not a bit, child," he assured her; "in fact I think it was very good of
you. Now I'll put you in this carriage and send you home. Think of
nothing except that Sidney is getting better every hour, and sing
to-night as though your voice could reach his bedside. Au revoir!"

He waved his hand to her as she drove off, and returned to the Hotel de
Paris. He found a refreshed and rejuvenated Simpson smoking a cigarette
upon the steps.

"To lunch!" the latter exclaimed. "Afterwards I will tell you my plans."




CHAPTER XXXII

AN INTERESTING MEETING


Hunterleys leaned suddenly forward across the little round table.

"The question of whether or no you shall pay your respects to Monsieur
Douaille," he remarked, "is solved. Unless I am very much mistaken, we
are going to have an exceedingly interesting luncheon-party on our
right."

"Monsieur Douaille----" Mr. Simpson began, a little eagerly.

"And the others," Hunterleys interrupted. "Don't look around for a
moment. This is almost historical."

Monsieur Ciro himself, bowing and smiling, was ushering a party of
guests to a round table upon the terrace, in the immediate vicinity of
the two men. Mr. Grex, with his daughter and Lady Hunterleys on one side
and Monsieur Douaille on the other, were in the van. Draconmeyer
followed with Lady Weybourne, and Selingman brought up the rear with the
Comtesse d'Hausson, one of the most prominent leaders of the French
colony in Monte Carlo, and a connection by marriage of Monsieur
Douaille.

[Illustration: Mr. Grex, with his daughter and Lady Hunterleys on one
side and Monsieur Douaille on the other, were in the van.]

"A luncheon-party for Douaille," Hunterleys murmured, as he bowed, to
his wife and exchanged greetings with some of the others. "I wonder what
they think of their neighbours! A little embarrassing for the chief
guest, I am afraid."

"I see your wife is in the enemy's camp," his companion observed.
"Draconmeyer is coming to speak to me. This promises to be interesting."

Draconmeyer and Selingman both came over to greet the English Minister.
Selingman's blue eyes were twinkling with humour, his smile was broad
and irresistible.

"This should send funds up in every capital of Europe," he declared, as
he shook hands. "When Mr. Meredith Simpson takes a holiday, then the
political barometer points to 'set fair'!"

"A tribute to my conscientiousness," the Minister replied, smiling. "I
am glad to see that I am not the only hard-worked statesman who feels
able to take a few days' holiday."

Selingman glanced at the round table and beamed.

"It is true," he admitted. "Every country seems to have sent its
statesmen holiday-making. And what a playground, too!" he added,
glancing towards Hunterleys with something which was almost a wink.
"Here, political crises seem of little account by the side of the
turning wheel. This is where the world unbends and it is well that there
should be such a place. Shall we see you at the Club or in the rooms
later?"

"Without a doubt," Mr. Simpson assented. "For what else does one live in
Monte Carlo?"

"How did you leave things in town?" Mr. Draconmeyer enquired.

"So-so!" the Minister answered. "A little flat, but then it is a dull
season of the year."

"Markets about the same, I suppose?" Mr. Draconmeyer asked.

"I am afraid," Mr. Simpson confessed, "that I only study the city column
from the point of view of what Herr Selingman has just called the
political barometer. Things were a little unsteady when I left. Consols
fell several points yesterday."

Mr. Draconmeyer frowned.

"It is incomprehensible," he declared. "A few months ago there was real
danger, one is forced to believe, of a European war. To-day the crisis
is passed, yet the money-markets which bore up so well through the
critical period seem now all the time on the point of collapse. It is
hard for a banker to know how to operate these days. I wish you
gentlemen in Downing Street, Mr. Simpson, would make it easier for us."

Mr. Simpson shrugged his shoulders.

"The real truth of the matter is," he said, "that you allow your
money-market to become too sensitive an affair. A whisper will depress
it. A threatening word spoken in the Reichstag or in the House of
Parliament, magnified a hundred-fold before it reaches its destination,
has sometimes a most unwarranted effect upon markets. You mustn't blame
us so much, Mr. Draconmeyer. You jump at conclusions too easily in the
city."

"Sound common sense," Mr. Draconmeyer agreed. "You are perfectly right
when you say that we are over-sensitive. The banker deplores it as much
as the politician. It's the money-kings, I suppose, who find it
profitable."

They returned to their table a moment later. As he passed Douaille,
Selingman whispered in his ear. Monsieur Douaille turned around at once
and bowed to Simpson. As he caught the latter's eye he, too, left his
place and came across. Mr. Simpson rose to his feet. The two men bowed
formally before shaking hands.

"Monsieur Simpson," the Frenchman exclaimed, "it is a pleasure to find
that I am remembered!"

"Without a doubt, monsieur," was the prompt reply. "Your last visit to
London, on the occasion when we had the pleasure of entertaining you at
the Guildhall, is too recent, and was too memorable an event altogether
for us to have forgotten. Permit me to assure you that your speech on
that occasion was one which no patriotic Englishman is likely to
forget."

Monsieur Douaille inclined his head in thanks. His manner was not
altogether free from embarrassment.

"I trust that you are enjoying your holiday here?" he asked.

"I have only this moment arrived," Mr. Simpson explained. "I am looking
forward to a few days' rest immensely. I trust that I shall have the
pleasure of seeing something of you, Monsieur Douaille. A little
conversation would be most agreeable."

"In Monte Carlo one meets one's friends all the time," Monsieur Douaille
replied. "I lunch to-day with my friend--our mutual friend, without a
doubt--who calls himself here Mr. Grex."

Mr. Simpson nodded.

"If it is permitted," he suggested, "I should like to do myself the
honour of paying my respects to you."

Monsieur Douaille was flattered.

"My stay here is short," he regretted, "but your visit will be most
acceptable. I am at the Riviera Palace Hotel."

"It is one of my theories," Mr. Simpson remarked, "that politicians are
at a serious disadvantage compared with business men, inasmuch as, with
important affairs under their control, they have few opportunities of
meeting those with whom they have dealings. It would be a great pleasure
to me to discuss one or two matters with you."

Monsieur Douaille departed, with a few charming words of assent. Simpson
looked after him with kindling eyes.

"This," he murmured, leaning across the table, "is a most extraordinary
meeting. There they sit, those very men whom you suspect of this
devilish scheme, within a few feet of us! Positively thrilling,
Hunterleys!"

Hunterleys, too, seemed to feel the stimulating effect of a situation so
dramatic. As the meal progressed, he drew his chair a little closer to
the table and leaned over towards his companion.

"I think," he said, "that we shall both of us remember the coincidence
of this meeting as long as we live. At that luncheon-table, within a few
yards of us, sits Russia, the new Russia, raising his head after a
thousand years' sleep, watching the times, weighing them, realising his
own immeasurable strength, pointing his inevitable finger along the road
which the Russia of to-morrow must tread. There isn't a man in that
great country so much to be feared to-day, from our point of view, as
the Grand Duke Augustus. And look, too, at the same table, within a few
feet, Simpson, of you and of me--Selingman, Selingman who represents the
real Germany; not the war party alone, intoxicated with the clash of
arms, filled with bombastic desires for German triumphs on sea and land,
ever ready to spout in flowery and grandiloquent phrases the glory of
Germany and the Heaven-sent genius of her leaders. I tell you, Simpson,
Selingman is a more dangerous man than that. He sits with folded arms,
in realms of thought above these people. He sits with a map of the world
before him, and he places his finger upon the inevitable spots which
Germany must possess to keep time with the march of the world, to find
new homes for her overflowing millions. He has no military fervour, no
tinselly patriotism. He knows what Germany needs and he will carve her
way towards it. Look at him with his napkin tucked under his chin,
broad-visaged, podgy, a slave, you might think, to the joys of the table
and the grosser things of life. You should see his eyes sometimes when
the right note is struck, watch his mouth when he sits and thinks. He
uses words for an ambush and a barricade. He talks often like a gay
fool, a flood of empty verbiage streams from his lips, and behind, all
the time his brain works."

"You seem to have studied these people, Hunterleys," Simpson remarked
appreciatively.

Hunterleys smiled as he continued his luncheon.

"Forgive me if I was a little prolix," he said, "but, after all, what
would you have? I am out of office but I remain a servant of my country.
My interest is just as keen as though I were in a responsible position."

"You are well out of it," Simpson sighed. "If half what you suspect is
true, it's the worst fix we've been in for some time."

"I am afraid there isn't any doubt about it," Hunterleys declared. "Of
course, we've been at a fearful disadvantage. Roche was the only man out
here upon whom I could rely. Now they've accounted for him, we've
scarcely a chance of getting at the truth."

Mr. Simpson was gloomily silent for some moments. He was thinking of the
time when he had struck his pencil through a recent Secret Service
estimate.

"Anyhow," Hunterleys went on, "it will be all over in twenty-four hours.
Something will be decided upon--what, I am afraid there is very little
chance of our getting to know. These men will separate--Grex to St.
Petersburg, Selingman to Berlin, Douaille to Paris. Then I think we
shall begin to hear the mutterings of the storm."

"I think," Mr. Simpson intervened, his eyes fixed upon an approaching
figure, "that there is a young lady talking to the maitre d'hotel, who
is trying to attract your attention."

Hunterleys turned around in his chair. It was Felicia who was making her
way towards him. He rose at once to his feet. There was a little murmur
of interest amongst the lunchers as she threaded her way past the
tables. It was not often that an English singer in opera had met with so
great a success. Lady Hunterleys, recognising her as she passed, paused
in the middle of a sentence. Her face hardened. Hunterleys had risen
from his place and was watching Felicia's approach anxiously.

"Is there any news of Sidney?" he asked quickly, as he took her hand.

"Nothing fresh," she answered in a low voice. "I have brought you a
message--from some one else."

He held his chair for her but she shook her head.

"I mustn't stay," she continued. "This is what I wanted to tell you. As
I was crossing the square just now, I recognised the man Frenhofer, from
the Villa Mimosa. Directly he saw me he came across the road. He was
looking for one of us. He dared not come to the villa, he declares, for
fear of being watched. He has something to tell you."

"Where can I find him?" Hunterleys asked.

"He has gone to a little bar in the Rue de Chaussures, the Bar de
Montmartre it is called. He is waiting there for you now."

"You must stay and have some lunch," Hunterleys begged. "I will come
back."

She shook her head.

"I have just been across to the Opera House," she explained, "to enquire
about some properties for to-night. I have had all the lunch I want and
I am on my way to the hospital now again. I came here on the chance of
finding you. They told me at the Hotel de Paris that you were lunching
out."

Hunterleys turned and whispered to Simpson.

"This is very important," he said. "It concerns the affair in which we
are interested. Linger over your coffee and I will return."

Mr. Simpson nodded and Hunterleys left the restaurant with Felicia. His
wife, at whom he glanced for a moment, kept her head averted. She was
whispering in the ear of the gallant Monsieur Douaille. Selingman,
catching Draconmeyer's eye, winked at him solemnly.

"You have all the luck, my silent friend," he murmured.




CHAPTER XXXIII

THE FATES ARE KIND


The Bar de Montmartre was many steps under the level of the street,
dark, smelly, and dilapidated. Its only occupants were a handful of
drivers from the carriage-stand opposite, who stared at Hunterleys in
amazement as he entered, and then rushed forward, almost in a body, to
offer their services. The man behind the bar, however, who had evidently
been forewarned, intervened with a few sharp words, and, lifting the
flap of the counter, ushered Hunterleys into a little room beyond.
Frenhofer was engaged there in amiable badinage with a young lady who
promptly disappeared at Hunterleys' entrance. Frenhofer bowed
respectfully.

"I must apologise," he said, "for bringing monsieur to such a place. It
is near the end now, and with Monsieur Roche in the hospital I ventured
to address myself to monsieur direct. Here I have the right to enter. I
make my suit to the daughter of the proprietor in order to have a safe
rendezvous when necessary. It is well that monsieur has come quickly. I
have tidings. I can disclose to monsieur the meeting-place for to-night.
If monsieur has fortune and the wit to make use of it, the opportunity I
shall give him is a great one. But pardon me. Before we talk business we
must order something."

He touched the bell. The proprietor himself thrust in his head,
bullet-shaped, with black moustache and unshaven chin. He wore no
collar, and the remainder of his apparel was negligible.

"A bottle of your best brandy," Frenhofer ordered. "The best, mind, Pere
Hanaut."

The man's acquiescence was as amiable as nature would permit.

"Monsieur will excuse me," Frenhofer went on, as the door was once more
closed, "but these people have their little ways. To sell a whole bottle
of brandy at five times its value, is to Monsieur le Proprietaire more
agreeable than to offer him rent for the hire of his room. He is outside
all the things in which we are concerned. He believes--pardon me,
monsieur--that we are engaged in a little smuggling transaction.
Monsieur Roche and I have used this place frequently."

"He can believe what he likes," Hunterleys replied, "so long as he keeps
his mouth shut."

The brandy was brought--and three glasses. Frenhofer promptly took the
hint and, filling one to the brim, held it out to the landlord.

"You will drink our health, Pere Hanaut--my health and the health of
monsieur here, and the health of the fair Annette. Incidentally, you
will drink also to the success of the little scheme which monsieur and I
are planning."

"In such brandy," the proprietor declared hoarsely, "I would drink to
the devil himself!"

He threw back his head and the contents of his glass vanished. He set it
down with a little smack of the lips. Once more he looked at the bottle.
Frenhofer filled up his glass, but motioned to the door with his head.

"You will excuse us, dear friend," he begged, laying his hand
persuasively upon the other's shoulder. "Monsieur and I have little
enough of time."

The landlord withdrew. Frenhofer walked around the little apartment.
Their privacy was certainly assured.

"Monsieur," he announced, turning to Hunterleys, "there has been a great
discussion as to the next meeting-place between our friends--the next,
which will be also the last. They are safe enough in reality at the
villa, but Monsieur Douaille is nervous. The affair of last night
terrified him. The reason for these things I, of course, know nothing
of, but it seems that Monsieur Douaille is very anxious indeed to keep
his association with my august master and Herr Selingman as secret as
possible. He has declined most positively to set foot again within the
Villa Mimosa. Many plans have been suggested. This is the one adopted.
For some weeks a German down in Monaco, a shipping agent, has had a
yacht in the harbour for hire. He has approached Mr. Grex several times,
not knowing his identity; ignorant, indeed, of the fact that the Grand
Duke himself possesses one of the finest yachts afloat. However, that is
nothing. Mr. Grex thought suddenly of the yacht. He suggested it to the
others. They were enthusiastic. The yacht is to be hired for a week, or
longer if necessary, and used only to-night. Behold the wonderful
good-fortune of the affair! It is I who have been selected by my master
to proceed to Monaco to make arrangements with the German, Herr Schwann.
I am on my way there at the moment."

"A yacht?" Hunterleys repeated.

"There are wonderful things to be thought of," Frenhofer asserted
eagerly. "Consider, monsieur! The yacht of this man Schwann has never
been seen by my master. Consider, too, that aboard her there must be a
dozen hiding-places. The crew has been brought together from anywhere.
They can be bought to a man. There is only one point, monsieur, which
should be arranged before I enter upon this last and, for me, most
troublesome and dangerous enterprise."

"And that?" Hunterleys enquired.

"My own position," Frenhofer declared solemnly. "I am not greedy or
covetous. My ambitions have long been fixed. To serve an Imperial
Russian nobleman has been no pleasure for me. St. Petersburg has been a
prison. I have been moved to the right or to the left as a machine. It
is as a machine only I have lived. Always I have longed for Paris. So
month by month I have saved. After to-night I must leave my master's
employ. The risk will be too great if monsieur indeed accepts my
proposition and carries it out. I need but a matter of ten thousand
francs to complete my savings."

The man's white face shone eagerly in the dim light of the gloomy little
apartment. His eyes glittered. He waited almost breathlessly.

"Frenhofer," Hunterleys said slowly, "so far as I have been concerned
indirectly in these negotiations with you, my instructions to my agent
have been simple and definite. We have never haggled. Your name was
known to me eight years ago, when you served us in St. Petersburg and
served us well. You have done the same thing now and you have behaved
with rare intelligence. Within the course of an hour I shall transfer
ten thousand francs to the account of Francois Frenhofer at the English
Bank here."

The eyes of the man seemed suddenly like pinpricks of fire.

"Monsieur is a prince," he murmured. "And now for the further details.
If monsieur would run the risk, I would suggest that he accompanies me
to the office of this man Schwann."

Hunterleys made no immediate reply. He was walking up and down the
narrow apartment. A brilliant idea had taken possession of him. The more
he thought of it, the more feasible it became.

"Frenhofer," he said at last, "I have a scheme of my own. You are sure
that Mr. Grex has never seen this yacht?"

"He has never set eyes upon it, monsieur, save to try and single it out
with his field-glasses from the balcony of the villa."

"And he is to board it to-night?"

"At ten o'clock to-night, monsieur, it is to lie off the Villa Mimosa. A
pinnace is to fetch Mr. Grex and his friends on board from the private
landing-stage of the Villa Mimosa."

Hunterleys nodded thoughtfully.

"Frenhofer," he explained, "my scheme is this. A friend of mine has a
yacht in the harbour. I believe that he would lend it to me. Why should
we not substitute it for the yacht your master imagines that he is
hiring? If so, all difficulties as to placing whom I desire on board and
secreting them are over."

"It is a great scheme," Frenhofer assented, "but supposing my master
should choose to telephone some small detail to the office of the man
Schwann?"

"You must hire the yacht of Schwann, just as you were instructed,"
Hunterleys pointed out. "You must give orders, though, that it is not to
leave the harbour until telephoned for. Then it will be the yacht which
I shall borrow which will lie off the Villa Mimosa to-night."

"It is admirable," Frenhofer declared. "The more one thinks of it, the
more one appreciates. This yacht of Schwann's--the _Christable_, he
calls it--was fitted out by a millionaire. My master will be surprised
at nothing in the way of luxury."

"Tell me again," Hunterleys asked, "at what hour is it to be off the
Villa Mimosa?"

"At ten o'clock," Frenhofer replied. "A pinnace is to be at the
landing-stage of the villa at that time. Mr. Grex, Monsieur Douaille,
Herr Selingman, and Mr. Draconmeyer will come on board."

"Very good! Now go on your errand to the man Schwann. You had better
meet me here later in the afternoon--say at four o'clock--and let me
know that all is in order. I will bring you some particulars about my
friend's boat, so that you will know how to answer any questions your
master may put to you."

"It is admirable," Frenhofer repeated enthusiastically. "Monsieur had
better, perhaps, precede me."

Hunterleys walked through the streets back to Ciro's Restaurant, filled
with a new exhilaration. His eyes were bright, his brain was working all
the time. The luncheon-party at the next table were still in the midst
of their meal. Mr. Simpson was smoking a meditative cigarette with his
coffee. Hunterleys resumed his place and ordered coffee for himself.

"I have been to see a poor friend who met with an accident last night,"
he announced, speaking as clearly as possible. "I fear that he is very
ill. That was his sister who fetched me away."

Mr. Simpson nodded sympathetically. Their conversation for a few minutes
was desultory. Then Hunterleys asked for the bill and rose.

"I will take you round to the Club and get your _carte_," he suggested.
"Afterwards, we can spend the afternoon as you choose."

The two men strolled out of the place. It was not until after they had
left the arcade and were actually in the street, that Hunterleys gripped
his companion's arm.

"Simpson," he declared, "the fates have been kind to us. Douaille has a
fit of the nerves. He will go no more to the Villa Mimosa. Seeking about
for the safest meeting-place, Grex has given us a chance. The only one
of his servants who belongs to us is commissioned to hire a yacht on
which they meet to-night."

"A yacht," Mr. Simpson replied, emptily.

"I have a friend," Hunterleys continued, "an American. I am convinced
that he will lend me his yacht, which is lying in the harbour here. We
are going to try and exchange. If we succeed, I shall have the run of
the boat. The crew will be at our command, and I shall get to that
conference myself, somehow or other."

Mr. Simpson felt himself left behind. He could only stare at his
companion.

"Tell me, Sir Henry," he begged, almost pathetically, "have I walked
into an artificial world? Do you mean to tell me seriously that you, a
Member of Parliament, an ex-Minister, are engaged upon a scheme to get
the Grand Duke Augustus and Douaille and Selingman on board a yacht, and
that you are going to be there, concealed, turned into a spy? I can't
keep up with it. As fiction it seems to me to be in the clouds. As
truth, why, my understanding turns and mocks me. You are talking
fairy-tales."

Hunterleys smiled tolerantly.

"The man in the street knows very little of the real happenings in
life," he pronounced. "The truth has a queer way sometimes of spreading
itself out into the realms of fiction. Come across here with me to the
hotel. I have got to move heaven and earth to find my friend."

"Do with me as you like," Mr. Simpson sighed resignedly. "In a plain
political discussion, or an argument with Monsieur Douaille--well, I am
ready to bear my part. But this sort of thing lifts me off my feet. I
can only trot along at your heels."

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