Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo

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

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21

"That," Hunterleys replied, "is entirely for you to decide. I am
perfectly willing to listen to anything you have to say--all the more
ready because now there can be no possibility of any misunderstanding
between us."

"Very well," Mr. Draconmeyer assented, "I will proceed. After all, I am
not sure that the personal element enters into what I was about to say.
I was going to propose not exactly an alliance--that, of course, would
not be possible--but I was certainly going to suggest that you and I
might be of some service to one another."

"In what way?"

"I call myself an Englishman," Mr. Draconmeyer went on. "I have made
large sums of money in England, I have grown to love England and English
ways. Yet I came, as you know, from Berlin. The position which I hold in
your city is still the position of president of the greatest German bank
in the world. It is German finance which I have directed, and with
German money I have made my fortune. To be frank with you, however,
after these many years in London I have grown to feel myself very much
of an Englishman."

Hunterleys was sitting perfectly still. His face was rigid but
expressionless. He was listening intently.

"On the other hand," Mr. Draconmeyer proceeded slowly, "I wish to be
wholly frank with you. At heart I must remain always a German. The
interests of my country must always be paramount. But listen. In Germany
there are, as you know, two parties, and year by year they are drawing
further apart. I will not allude to factions. I will speak broadly.
There is the war party and there is the peace party. I belong to the
peace party. I belong to it as a German, and I belong to it as a devoted
friend of England, and if the threatened conflict between the two should
come, I should take my stand as a peace-loving German-cum-Englishman
against the war party even of my own country."

Hunterleys still made no sign. Yet for one who knew him it was easy to
realise that he was listening and thinking with absorbed interest.

"So far," Draconmeyer pointed out, "I have laid my cards on the table. I
have told you the solemn truth. I regret that it did not occur to me to
do so many months ago in London. Now to proceed. I ask you to emulate my
frankness, and in return I will give you information which should enable
us to work hand in hand for the peace which we both desire."

"You ask me," Hunterleys said thoughtfully, "to be perfectly frank with
you. In what respect? What is it that you wish from me?"

"Not political information," Mr. Draconmeyer declared, his eyes blinking
behind his glasses. "For that I certainly should not come to you. I only
wish to ask you a question, and I must ask it so that we may meet on a
common ground of confidence. Are you here in Monte Carlo to look after
your wife, or in search of change of air and scene? Is that your honest
motive for being here? Or is there any other reason in the world which
has prompted you to come to Monte Carlo during this particular month--I
might almost say this particular week?"

Hunterleys' attitude was that of a man who holds in his hand a puzzle
and is doubtful where to commence in his efforts to solve it.

"Are you not a little mysterious this afternoon, Mr. Draconmeyer?" he
asked coldly. "Or are you trying to incite a supposititious curiosity? I
really cannot see the drift of your question."

"Answer it," Mr. Draconmeyer insisted.

Hunterleys took a cigarette from his case, tapped it upon the table and
lit it in leisurely fashion.

"If you have any idea," he said, "that I came here to confront my wife,
or to interfere in any way with her movements, let me assure you that
you are mistaken. I had no idea that Lady Hunterleys was in Monte Carlo.
I am here because I have a six months' holiday, and a holiday for the
average Englishman between January and April generally means, as you
must be aware, the Riviera. I have tried Bordighera and San Remo. I have
found them, as I no doubt shall find this place, wearisome. In the end I
suppose I shall drift back to London."

Mr. Draconmeyer frowned.

"You left London," he remarked tersely, "on December first. It is to-day
February twentieth. Do you wish me to understand that you have been at
Bordighera and San Remo all that time?"

"How did you know when I left London?" Hunterleys demanded.

Mr. Draconmeyer pursed his lips.

"I heard of your departure from London entirely by accident," he said.
"Your wife, for some reason or other, declined to discuss your
movements. I imagine that she was acting in accordance with your
wishes."

"I see," Hunterleys observed coolly. "And your present anxiety is to
know where I spent the intervening time, and why I am here in Monte
Carlo? Frankly, Mr. Draconmeyer, I look upon this close interest in my
movements as an impertinence. My travels have been of no importance, but
they concern myself only. I have no confidence to offer respecting them.
If I had, it would not be to you that I should unburden myself."

"You suspect me, then? You doubt my integrity?"

"Not at all," Hunterleys assured his questioner. "For anything I know to
the contrary, you are, outside the world of finance, one of the dullest
and most harmless men existing. My own position is simply as I explained
it during the first few sentences we exchanged. I do not like you, I
detest my wife's name being associated with yours, and for that reason,
the less I see of you the better I am pleased."

Mr. Draconmeyer nodded thoughtfully. He was, to all appearance, studying
the pattern of the carpet. For once in his life he was genuinely
puzzled. Was this man by his side merely a jealous husband, or had he
any idea of the greater game which was being played around them? Had he,
by any chance, arrived to take part in it? Was it wise, in any case, to
pursue the subject further? Yet if he abandoned it at this juncture, it
must be with a sense of failure, and failure was a thing to which he was
not accustomed.

"Your frankness," he admitted grimly, "is almost exhilarating. Our
personal relations being so clearly defined, I am inclined to go further
even than I had intended. We cannot now possibly misunderstand one
another. Supposing I were to tell you that your arrival in Monte Carlo,
accidental though it may be, is in a sense opportune; that you may, in a
short time meet here one or two politicians, friends of mine, with whom
an interchange of views might be agreeable? Supposing I were to offer my
services as an intermediary? You would like to bring about better
relations with my country, would you not, Sir Henry? You are admittedly
a statesman and an influential man in your Party. I am only a banker, it
is true, but I have been taken into the confidence of those who direct
the destinies of my country."

Hunterleys' face reflected none of the other's earnestness. He seemed,
indeed, a little bored, and he answered almost irritably.

"I am much obliged to you," he said, "but Monte Carlo seems scarcely the
place to me for political discussions, added to which I have no official
position. I could not receive or exchange confidences. While my Party is
out of power, there is nothing left for us but to mark time. I dare say
you mean well, Mr. Draconmeyer," he added, rising to his feet, "but I am
here to forget politics altogether, if I can. If you will excuse me, I
think I will look in at the baccarat rooms."

He was on the point of departure when through the open doorway which
communicated with the baccarat rooms beyond came a man of sufficiently
arresting personality, a man remarkably fat, with close-cropped grey
hair which stuck up like bristles all over his head; a huge,
clean-shaven face which seemed concentrated at that moment in one
tremendous smile of overwhelming good-humour. He held by the hand a
little French girl, dark, small, looking almost like a marionette in her
slim tailor-made costume. He recognised Draconmeyer with enthusiasm.

"My friend Draconmeyer," he exclaimed, in stentorian tones, "baccarat is
the greatest game in the world. I have won--I, who know nothing about
it, have won a hundred louis. It is amazing! There is no place like this
in the world. We are here to drink a bottle of wine together,
mademoiselle and I, mademoiselle who was at once my instructress and my
mascot. Afterwards we go to the jeweler's. Why not? A fair division of
the spoils--fifty louis for myself, fifty louis for a bracelet for
mademoiselle. And then--"

He broke off suddenly. His gesture was almost dramatic.

"I am forgotten!" he cried, holding out his hand to
Hunterleys,--"forgotten already! Sir Henry, there are many who forget me
as a humble Minister of my master, but there are few who forget me
physically. I am Selingman. We met in Berlin, six years ago. You came
with your great Foreign Secretary."

"I remember you perfectly," Hunterleys assured him, as he submitted to
the newcomer's vigorous handshake. "We shall meet again, I trust."

Selingman thrust his arm through Hunterleys' as though to prevent his
departure.

"You shall not run away!" he declared. "I introduce both of you--Mr.
Draconmeyer, the great Anglo-German banker; Sir Henry Hunterleys, the
English politician--to Mademoiselle Estelle Nipon, of the Opera House.
Now we all know one another. We shall be good friends. We will share
that bottle of champagne."

"One bottle between four!" mademoiselle laughed, poutingly. "And I am
parched! I have taught monsieur baccarat. I am exhausted."

"A magnum!" Selingman ordered in a voice of thunder, shaking his fist at
the startled waiter. "We seat ourselves here at the round table.
Mademoiselle, we will drink champagne together until the eyes of all of
us sparkle as yours do. We will drink champagne until we do not believe
that there is such a thing as losing at games or in life. We will drink
champagne until we all four believe that we have been brought up
together, that we are bosom friends of a lifetime. See, this is how we
will place ourselves. Mademoiselle, if the others make love to you, take
no notice. It is I who have put fifty louis in one pocket for that
bracelet. Do not trust Sir Henry there; he has a reputation."

As usual, the overpowering Selingman had his way. Neither Draconmeyer
nor Hunterleys attempted to escape. They took their places at the table.
They drank champagne and they listened to Selingman. All the time he
talked, save when mademoiselle interrupted him. Seated upon a chair
which seemed absurdly inadequate, his great stomach with its vast
expanse of white waistcoat in full view, his short legs doubled up
beneath him, he beamed upon them all with a smile which never failed.

"It is a wonderful place," he declared, as he lifted his glass for the
fifth time. "We will drink to it, this Monte Carlo. It is here that they
come from all quarters of the world--the ladies who charm away our
hearts," he added, bowing to mademoiselle, "the financiers whose word
can shake the money-markets of the world, and the politicians who
unbend, perhaps, just a little in the sunshine here, however cold and
inflexible they may be under their own austere skies. For the last time,
then--to Monte Carlo! To Monte Carlo, dear mademoiselle!--messieurs!"

[Illustration: "For the last time, then--to Monte Carlo!"]

They drank the toast and a few minutes later Hunterleys slipped away.
The two men looked after him. The smile seemed gradually to leave
Selingman's lips, his face was large and impressive.

"Run and fetch your cloak, dear," he said to the girl.

She obeyed at once. Selingman leaned across the table towards his
companion.

"What does Hunterleys do here?" he asked.

Draconmeyer shook his head.

"Who knows?" he answered. "Perhaps he has come to look after his wife.
He has been to Bordighera and San Remo."

"Is that all he told you of his movements?"

"That is all," Draconmeyer admitted. "He was suspicious. I made no
progress."

"Bordighera and San Remo!" Selingman muttered under his breath. "For a
day, perhaps, or two."

"What do you know about him?" Draconmeyer asked, his eyes suddenly
bright beneath his spectacles. "I have been suspicious ever since I met
him, an hour ago. He left England on December first."

"It is true," Selingman assented. "He crossed to Paris, and--mark the
cunning of it--he returned to England. That same night he travelled to
Germany. We lost him in Vienna and found him again in Sofia. What does
it mean, I wonder? What does it mean?"

"I have been talking to him for twenty minutes in here before you came,"
Draconmeyer said. "I tried to gain his confidence. He told me nothing.
He never even mentioned that journey of his."

Selingman was sitting drumming upon the table with his broad fingertips.

"Sofia!" he murmured. "And now--here! Draconmeyer, there is work before
us. I know men, I tell you. I know Hunterleys. I watched him, I listened
to him in Berlin six years ago. He was with his master then but he had
nothing to learn from him. He is of the stuff diplomats are fashioned
of. He has it in his blood. There is work before us, Draconmeyer."

"If monsieur is ready!" mademoiselle interposed, a little petulantly,
letting the tip of her boa play for a moment on his cheek.

Selingman finished his wine and rose to his feet. Once more the smile
encompassed his face. Of what account, after all, were the wanderings of
this melancholy Englishman! There was mademoiselle's bracelet to be
bought, and perhaps a few flowers. Selingman pulled down his waistcoat
and accepted his grey Homburg hat from the vestiaire. He held
mademoiselle's fingers as they descended the stairs. He looked like a
school-boy of enormous proportions on his way to a feast.

"We drank to Monte Carlo in champagne," he declared, as they turned on
to the terrace and descended the stone steps, "but, dear Estelle, we
drink to it from our hearts with every breath we draw of this wonderful
air, every time our feet touch the buoyant ground. Believe me, little
one, the other things are of no account. The true philosophy of life and
living is here in Monte Carlo. You and I will solve it."

CHAPTER III

A WARNING

Hunterleys dined alone at a small round table, set in a remote corner of
the great restaurant attached to the Hotel de Paris. The scene around
him was full of colour and interest. A scarlet-coated band made
wonderful music. The toilettes of the women who kept passing backwards
and forwards, on their way to the various tables, were marvellous; in
their way unique. The lights and flowers of the room, its appointments
and adornments, all represented the last word in luxury. Everywhere was
colour, everywhere an almost strained attempt to impress upon the
passerby the fact that this was no ordinary holiday resort but the giant
pleasure-ground of all in the world who had money to throw away and the
capacity for enjoyment. Only once a more somber note seemed struck when
Mrs. Draconmeyer, leaning on her husband's arm and accompanied by a
nurse and Lady Hunterleys, passed to their table. Hunterleys' eyes
followed the little party until they had reached their destination and
taken their places. His wife was wearing black and she had discarded the
pearls which had hung around her neck during the afternoon. She wore
only a collar of diamonds, his gift. Her hair was far less elaborately
coiffured and her toilette less magnificent than the toilettes of the
women by whom she was surrounded. Yet as he looked from his corner
across the room at her, Hunterleys realised as he had realised instantly
twelve years ago when he had first met her, that she was incomparable.
There was no other woman in the whole of that great restaurant with her
air of quiet elegance; no other woman so faultless in the smaller
details of her toilette and person. Hunterleys watched with
expressionless face but with anger growing in his heart, as he saw
Draconmeyer bending towards her, accepting her suggestions about the
dinner, laughing when she laughed, watching almost humbly for her
pleasure or displeasure. It was a cursed mischance which had brought him
to Monte Carlo!

Hunterleys hurried over his dinner, and without even going to his room
for a hat or coat, walked across the square in the soft twilight of an
unusually warm February evening and took a table outside the Cafe de
Paris, where he ordered coffee. Around him was a far more cosmopolitan
crowd, increasing every moment in volume. Every language was being
spoken, mostly German. As a rule, such a gathering of people was, in its
way, interesting to Hunterleys. To-night his thoughts were truant. He
forgot his strenuous life of the last three months, the dangers and
discomforts through which he had passed, the curious sequence of events
which had brought him, full of anticipation, nerved for a crisis, to
Monte Carlo of all places in the world. He forgot that he was in the
midst of great events, himself likely to take a hand in them. His
thoughts took, rarely enough for him, a purely personal and sentimental
turn. He thought of the earliest days of his marriage, when he and his
wife had wandered about the gardens of his old home in Wiltshire on
spring evenings such as these, and had talked sometimes lightly,
sometimes seriously, of the future. Almost as he sat there in the midst
of that noisy crowd, he could catch the faint perfume of hyacinths from
the borders along which they had passed and the trimly-cut flower-beds
which fringed the deep green lawn. Almost he could hear the chiming of
the old stable clock, the clear note of a thrush singing. A puff of wind
brought them a waft of fainter odour from the wild violets which
carpeted the woods. Then the darkness crept around them, a star came
out. Hand in hand they turned towards the house and into the library,
where a wood fire was burning on the grate. His thoughts travelled on. A
wave of tenderness had assailed him. Then he was awakened by the
waiter's voice at his elbow.

"Le cafe, monsieur."

He sat up in his chair. His dreaming moments were few and this one had
passed. He set his heel upon that tide of weakening memories, sipped his
coffee and looked out upon the crowd. Three or four times he glanced at
his watch impatiently. Precisely at nine o'clock, a man moved from
somewhere in the throng behind and took the vacant chair by his side.

"If one could trouble monsieur for a match!"

Hunterleys turned towards the newcomer as he handed his matchbox. He was
a young man of medium height, with sandy complexion, a little freckled,
and with a straggling fair moustache. He had keen grey eyes and the
faintest trace of a Scotch accent. He edged his chair a little nearer to
Hunterleys.

"Much obliged," he said. "Wonderful evening, isn't it?"

Hunterleys nodded.

"Have you anything to tell me, David?" he asked.

"We are right in the thick of it," the other replied, his tone a little
lowered. "There is more to tell than I like."

"Shall we stroll along the Terrace?" Hunterleys suggested.

"Don't move from your seat," the young man enjoined. "You are watched
here, and so am I, in a way, although it's more my news they want to
censor than anything personal. This crowd of Germans around us, without
a single vacant chair, is the best barrier we can have. Listen.
Selingman is here."

"I saw him this afternoon at the Sporting Club," Hunterleys murmured.

"Douaille will be here the day after to-morrow, if he has not already
arrived," the newcomer continued. "It was given out in Paris that he was
going down to Marseilles and from there to Toulon, to spend three days
with the fleet. They sent a paragraph into our office there. As a matter
of fact, he's coming straight on here. I can't learn how, exactly, but I
fancy by motor-car."

"You're sure that Douaille is coming himself?" Hunterleys asked
anxiously.

"Absolutely! His wife and family have been bustled down to Mentone, so
as to afford a pretext for his presence here if the papers get hold of
it. I have found out for certain that they came at a moment's notice and
were not expecting to leave home at all. Douaille will have full powers,
and the conference will take place at the Villa Mimosa. That will be the
headquarters of the whole thing.... Look out, Sir Henry. They've got
their eyes on us. The little fellow in brown, close behind, is hand in
glove with the police. They tried to get me into a row last night. It's
only my journalism they suspect, but they'd shove me over the frontier
at the least excuse. They're certain to try something of the sort with
you, if they get any idea that we are on the scent. Sit tight, sir, and
watch. I'm off. You know where to find me."

The young man raised his hat and left Hunterleys with the polite
farewell of a stranger. His seat was almost immediately seized by a
small man dressed in brown, a man with a black imperial and moustache
curled upwards. As Hunterleys glanced towards him, he raised his Hamburg
hat politely and smiled.

"Monsieur's friend has departed?" he enquired. "This seat is
disengaged?"

"As you see," Hunterleys replied.

The little man smiled his thanks, seated himself with a sigh of content
and ordered coffee from a passing waiter.

"Monsieur is doubtless a stranger to Monte Carlo?"

"It is my second visit only," Hunterleys admitted.

"For myself I am an habitue," the little man continued, "I might almost
say a resident. Therefore, all faces soon become familiar to me.
Directly I saw monsieur, I knew that he was not a frequenter."

Hunterleys turned a little in his chair and surveyed his neighbour
curiously. The man was neatly dressed and he spoke English with scarcely
any accent. His shoulders and upturned moustache gave him a military
appearance.

"There is nothing I envy any one so much in life," he proceeded, "as
coming to Monte Carlo for the first or second time. There is so much to
know, to see, to understand."

Hunterleys made no effort to discourage his companion's obvious attempts
to be friendly. The latter talked with spirit for some time.

"If it would not be regarded as a liberty," he said at last, as
Hunterleys rose to move off, "may I be permitted to present myself? My
name is Hugot? I am half English, half French. Years ago my health broke
down and I accepted a position in a bank here. Since then I have come in
to money. If I have a hobby in life, it is to show my beloved Monte
Carlo to strangers. If monsieur would do me the honour to spare me a few
hours to-night, later on, I would endeavour to see that he was amused."

Hunterleys shook his head. He remained, however, perfectly courteous. He
had a conviction that this was the man who had been watching his wife.

"You are very kind, sir," he replied. "I am here only for a few days and
for the benefit of my health. I dare not risk late hours. We shall meet
again, I trust."

He strolled off and as he hesitated upon the steps of the Casino he
glanced across towards the Hotel de Paris. At that moment a woman came
out, a light cloak over her evening gown. She was followed by an
attendant. Hunterleys recognised his wife and watched them with a
curious little thrill. They turned towards the Terrace. Very slowly he,
too, moved in the same direction. They passed through the gardens of the
Hotel de Paris, and Hunterleys, keeping to the left, met them upon the
Terrace as they emerged. As they came near he accosted them.

"Violet," he began.

She started.

"I beg your pardon," she said. "I did not recognise you."

"Haven't you been told," he asked stiffly, "that the Terrace is unsafe
for women after twilight?"

"Very often," she assented, with that little smile at the corners of her
lips which once he had found so charming and which now half maddened
him. "Unfortunately, I have a propensity for doing things which are
dangerous. Besides, I have my maid."

"Another woman is no protection," he declared.

"Susanne can shriek," Lady Hunterleys assured him. "She has wonderful
lungs and she loves to use them. She would shriek at the least
provocation."

"And meanwhile," Hunterleys observed drily, "while she is indulging in
her vocal exercises, things happen. If you wish to promenade here,
permit me to be your escort."

She hesitated for a moment, frowning. Then she continued her walk.

"You are very kind," she assented. "Perhaps you are like me, though, and
feel the restfulness of a quiet place after these throngs and throngs of
people."

They passed slowly down the broad promenade, deserted now save for one
or two loungers like themselves, and a few other furtive, hurrying
figures. In front of them stretched an arc of glittering lights--the
wonderful Bay of Mentone, with Bordighera on the distant sea-board;
higher up, the twinkling lights from the villas built on the rocky
hills. And at their feet the sea, calm, deep, blue, lapping the narrow
belt of hard sand, scintillating with the reflection of a thousand
lights; on the horizon a blood-red moon, only half emerged from the sea.

"Since we have met, Henry," Lady Hunterleys said at last, "there is
something which I should like to say to you."

"Certainly!"

She glanced behind. Susanne had fallen discreetly into the rear. She was
a new importation and she had no idea as to the identity of the tall,
severe-looking Englishman who walked by her mistress's side.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21