Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo

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"I should like to ask you, Selingman," he said, "whether you have made
any definite plans for your conflict with the British Navy? I admit that
the days of England's unique greatness are over. She may not be in a
position to-day, as she has been in former years, to fight the world. At
the same time, her one indomitable power is still, whatever people may
say or think, her navy. Only last month the Cabinet of my country were
considering reports from their secret agents and placing them side by
side with known facts, as to the relative strength of your navy and the
navy of Great Britain. On paper it would seem that a German success was
impossible."

Selingman smiled--the convincing smile of a man who sees further than
most men.

"Not under the terms I should propose to you, Monsieur Douaille," he
declared. "Remember that we should hold Calais, and we should be assured
at least of the amiable neutrality of your fleet. We have spoken of
matters so intimate that I do not know whether in this absolute privacy
I should not be justified in going further and disclosing to you our
whole scheme for an attack upon the English Navy. It would need only an
expression of your sympathy with those views which we have discussed, to
induce me to do so."

Monsieur Douaille hesitated for several moments before he replied.

"I am a citizen of France," he said, "an envoy without powers to treat.
My own province is to listen."

"But your personal sympathies?" Selingman persisted.

"I have sometimes thought," Monsieur Douaille confessed, "that the
present grouping of European Powers must gradually change. If your
country, for instance," he added, turning to Mr. Grex, "indeed embraces
the proposals of Herr Selingman, France must of necessity be driven to
reconsider her position towards England. The Anglo-Saxon race may have
to battle then for her very existence. Yet it is always to be remembered
that in the background are the United States of America, possessing
resources and wealth greater than any other country in the universe."

"And it must also be remembered," Selingman proclaimed, in a tone of
ponderous conviction, "that she possesses no adequate means of guarding
them, that she is not a military nation, that she has not the strength
to enforce the carrying out of the Monroe Doctrine. Things were all very
well for her before the days of wireless telegraphy, of aeroplanes and
airships, of super-dreadnoughts, and cruisers with the speed of express
trains. She was too far away to be concerned in European turmoils.
To-day science is annihilating distance. America, leaving out of account
altogether her military impotence, would need a fleet three times her
present strength to enforce the Monroe Doctrine for the remainder--not
of this century but of this decade."

Then the bombshell fell. A strange voice suddenly intervened, a voice
whose American accent seemed more marked than usual. The four men turned
their heads. Selingman sprang to his feet. Mr. Grex's face was marble in
its whiteness. Monsieur Douaille, with a nervous sweep of his right arm,
sent his glass crashing to the floor. They all looked in the same
direction, up to the little music gallery. Leaning over in a careless
attitude, with his arms folded upon the rail, was Richard Lane.

"Say," he begged, "can I take a hand in this little discussion?"

CHAPTER XXXVI

CHECKMATE!

Of the four men, Selingman was the first to recover himself.

"Who the hell are you, and how did you get up there?" he roared.

"I am Richard Lane," the young man explained affably, "and there's a way
up from the music-room. You probably didn't notice it. And there's a way
down, as you may perceive," he added, pointing to the spiral staircase.
"I'll join you, if I may."

There was a dead silence as for a moment Richard disappeared and was
seen immediately afterwards descending the round staircase. Mr. Grex
touched Selingman on the arm and whispered in his ear. Selingman nodded.
There were evil things in the faces of both men as Lane approached them.

"Will you kindly explain your presence here at once, sir?" Mr. Grex
ordered.

"I say!" Richard protested. "A joke's a joke, but when you ask a man to
explain his presence on his own boat, you're coming it just a little
thick, eh? To tell you the truth, I had some sort of an idea of asking
you the same question."

"What do you mean--your own boat?" Draconmeyer demanded.

He was, perhaps, the first to realise the situation. Richard thrust his
hands into his pockets and sat upon the edge of the table.

"Seems to me," he remarked, "that you gentlemen have made some sort of a
mistake. Where do you think you are, anyway?"

"On board Schwann's yacht, the _Christabel_," Selingman replied.

Richard shook his head.

"Not a bit of it," he assured them. "This is the steam-yacht,
_Minnehaha_, which brought me over from New York, and of which I am most
assuredly the owner. Now I come to think of it," he went on, "there was
another yacht leaving the harbour at the same time. Can't have happened
that you boarded the wrong boat, eh?"

Mr. Grex was icily calm, but there was menace of the most dangerous sort
in his look and manner.

"Nothing of that sort was possible," he declared, "as you are, without
doubt, perfectly well aware. It appears to me that this is a deliberate
plot. The yacht which I and my friends thought that we were boarding
to-night was the _Christabel_, which my servant had instructions to hire
from Schwann of Monaco. I await some explanation from you, sir, as to
your purpose in sending your pinnace to the landing-stage of the Villa
Mimosa and deliberately misleading us as to our destination?"

"Well, I don't know that I've got much to say about that," Richard
replied easily.

"You are offering us no explanation?" Selingman demanded.

"None," Richard assented coolly.

Selingman suddenly struck the table with his clenched fist.

"You were not alone up in that gallery!"

"Getting warm, aren't you?" Richard murmured.

Selingman turned to Grex.

"This young man is Hunterleys' friend. They've fixed this up between
them. Listen!"

A door slammed above their heads. Some one had left the music gallery.

"Hunterleys himself!" Selingman cried.

"Sure!" Richard assented. "Bright fellow, Selingman," he continued
amiably. "I wouldn't try that on, if I were you," he added, turning to
Mr. Grex, whose hand was slowly stealing from the back of his coat.
"That sort of thing doesn't do, nowadays. Revolvers belong to the last
decade of intrigue. You're a bit out of date with that little weapon.
Don't be foolish. I am not angry with any of you. I am willing to take
this little joke pleasantly, but----"

He raised a whistle to his lips and blew it. The door at the further end
of the saloon was opened as though by magic. A steward in the yacht's
uniform appeared. From outside was visible a very formidable line of
sailors. Grex, with a swift gesture, slipped something back into his
pocket, something which glittered like silver.

"Serve some champagne, Reynolds," Richard ordered the steward who had
come hurrying in, "and bring some cigars."

The man withdrew. Richard seated himself once more upon the table,
clasping one knee.

"Look here," he said, "I'll be frank with you. I came into this little
affair for the sake of a pal. It was only by accident that I found my
way up yonder--more to look after him than anything. I never imagined
that you would have anything to say that was interesting to me. Seems I
was wrong, though. You've got things very nicely worked out, Mr.
Selingman."

Selingman glared at the young man but said nothing. The others, too,
were all remarkably bereft of words.

"Don't mind my staying for a little chat, do you?" Richard continued
pleasantly. "You see, I am an American and I am kind of interested in
the latter portion of what you had to say. I dare say you're quite right
in some respects. We are a trifle too commercial and a trifle too
cocksure. You see, things have always gone our way. All the same, we've
got the stuff, you know. Just consider this. If I thought there was any
real need for it, and I begin to think that perhaps there may be, I
should be ready to present the United States with a Dreadnought
to-morrow, and I don't know that I should need to spend very much less
myself. And," he went on, "there are thirty or forty others who could
and would do the same. Tidy little fleet we should soon have, you see,
without a penny of taxation. Of course, I know we would need the men,
but we've a grand reserve to draw upon in the West. They are not
bothering about the navy in times of peace, but they'd stream into it
fast enough if there were any real need."

The chief steward appeared, followed by two or three of his
subordinates. A tray of wine was placed upon the table. Bottles were
opened, but no one made any attempt to drink. Richard filled his own
glass and motioned the men to withdraw.

"Prefer your own wine?" he remarked. "Well, now, that's too bad. Hope
I'm not boring you?"

No one spoke or moved. Richard settled himself a little more comfortably
upon the table.

"I can't tell you all," he proceeded, "how interested I have been,
listening up there. Quite a gift of putting things clearly, if I may be
allowed to say so, you seem to possess, Mr. Selingman. Now here's my
reply as one of the poor Anglo-Saxons from the West who've got to make
room in the best parts of the world for your lubberly German colonists.
If you make a move in the game you've been talking so glibly about, if
my word counts for anything, if my persuasions count for anything--and
I've facts to go on, you know--you'll have the American fleet to deal
with at the same time as the English, and I fancy that will be a trifle
more than you can chew up, eh? I'm going back to America a little
earlier than I anticipated. Of course, they'll laugh at me at first in
Washington. They don't believe much in these round-table conferences and
European plots. But all the same I've got some friends there. We'll try
and remember this amiable little statement of policy of yours, Mr.
Selingman. Nothing like being warned, you know."

Mr. Grex rose from his place.

"Sir," he said, "since we have been and are your unwilling guests, will
you be so good as to arrange for us at once to relieve you of our
presence?"

"Well, I'm not so sure about that," Richard remarked, meditatively. "I
think I'd contribute a good deal to the comfort and happiness of this
generation if I took you all out to sea and dropped you overboard, one
by one."

"As I presume you have no such intention," Mr. Grex persisted, "I repeat
that we should be glad to be allowed to land."

Richard abandoned his indolent posture and stood facing them.

"You came on board, gentlemen, without my invitation," he reminded them.
"You will leave my ship when I choose--and that," he added, "is not just
at present."

"Do you mean that we are to consider ourselves your prisoners?"
Draconmeyer asked, with an acid smile.

"Certainly not--my guests," Richard replied, with a bow. "I can assure
you that it will only be a matter of a few hours."

Monsieur Douaille hammered the table with his fist.

"Young man," he exclaimed, "I leave with you! I insist upon it that I am
permitted to leave. I am not a party to this conference. I am merely a
guest, a listener, here wholly in my private capacity. I will not be
associated with whatever political scandal may arise from this affair. I
demand permission to leave at once."

"Seems to me there's something in what you say," Richard admitted. "Very
well, you can come along. I dare say Hunterleys will be glad to have a
chat with you. As for the rest of you," he concluded, as Monsieur
Douaille rose promptly to his feet, "I have a little business to arrange
on land which I think I could manage better whilst you are at sea. I
shall therefore, gentlemen, wish you good evening. Pray consider my
yacht entirely at your disposal. My stewards will be only too happy to
execute any orders--supper, breakfast, or dinner. You have merely to say
the word."

He turned towards the door, closely followed by Douaille, who, in a
state of great excitement, refused to listen to Selingman's entreaties.

"No, no!" the former objected, shaking his head. "I will not stay. I
will not be associated with this meeting. You are bunglers, all of you.
I came only to listen, on your solemn assurance of entire secrecy. We
are spied upon at the Villa Mimosa, we are made fools of on board this
yacht. No more unofficial meetings for me!"

"Quite right, old fellow," Richard declared, as they passed out and on
to the deck. "Set of wrong 'uns, those chaps, even though Mr. Grex is a
Grand Duke. You know Sir Henry Hunterleys, don't you?"

Hunterleys came forward from the gangway, at the foot of which the
pinnace was waiting.

"We are taking Monsieur Douaille ashore," Richard explained, as the two
men shook hands. "He really doesn't belong to that gang and he wants to
cut adrift. You understand my orders exactly, captain?" he asked, as
they stepped down the iron gangway.

"Perfectly, sir," was the prompt reply. "You may rely upon me. I am
afraid they are beginning to make a noise downstairs already!"

The little pinnace shot out a stream of light across the dark, placid
sea. Douaille was talking earnestly to Hunterleys.

"Pleasantest few minutes I ever spent in my life," Richard murmured, as
he took out his cigarette case.

CHAPTER XXXVII

AN AMAZING ELOPEMENT

The sun was shining brilliantly and the sky was cloudless as Richard
turned his automobile into the grounds of the Villa Mimosa, soon after
nine o'clock on the following morning. The yellow-blossomed trees,
slightly stirred by the west wind, formed a golden arch across the
winding avenue. The air was sweet, almost faint with perfume. On the
terrace, holding a pair of field-glasses in her hand and gazing intently
out to sea, was Fedora. At the sound of the motor-horn she turned
quickly. She looked at the visitor in surprise. A shade of pink was in
her face. Lane brought the car to a standstill, jumped out and climbed
the steps of the terrace.

"What has brought you here?" she asked, in surprise.

"I have just come to pay you a little visit," he remarked easily. "I was
only afraid you mightn't be up so early."

She bit her lip.

"You have no right to come here at all," she said severely, "and to
present yourself at this hour is unheard of."

"I came early entirely out of consideration for your father," he assured
her.

She frowned.

"My father?" she repeated. "Please explain at once what you mean. My
father is on that yacht and I cannot imagine why he does not return."

"I can tell you," he answered, standing by her side and looking out
seawards. "They are waiting for my orders before they let him off."

She turned her head and looked at him incredulously.

"Explain yourself, please," she insisted.

"With pleasure," he assented. "You see, I just had to make sure of being
allowed to have a few minutes' conversation with you, free from any
interruption. Somehow or other," he added thoughtfully, "I don't believe
your father likes me."

"I do not think," she replied coldly, "that my father has any feelings
about you at all, except that he thinks you are abominably
presumptuous."

"Because I want to marry you?"

She stamped with her foot upon the ground.

"Please do not say such absurd things! Explain to me at once what you
mean by saying that my father is being kept there by your orders."

"I'll try," Lane answered. "He boarded that yacht last night in mistake.
He thought that it was a hired one, but it isn't. It's mine. I found him
there last night, entertaining a little party of his friends in the
saloon. They seemed quite comfortable, so I begged them to remain on as
my guests for a short time."

"To remain?" she murmured, bewildered. "For how long?"

"Until you've just read this through and thought it over."

He passed her a document which he had drawn from his pocket. She took it
from him wonderingly. When she had read a few lines, the colour came
streaming into her cheeks. She threw it to the ground. He picked it up
and replaced it in his pocket.

"But it is preposterous!" she cried. "That is a marriage license!"

"That's precisely what it is," he admitted. "I thought we'd be married
at Nice. My sister is waiting to go along with us. I said we'd pick her
up at the Hotel de Paris."

Severe critics of her undoubted beauty had ventured at times to say that
Fedora's face lacked expression. There was, at that moment, no room for
any such criticism. Amazement struggled with indignation in her eyes.
Her lips were quivering, her breath was coming quickly.

"Do you mean--have you given her or any one to understand that there was
any likelihood of my consenting to such an absurd scheme?"

"I only told her what I hoped," he said quietly. "That is all I dared
say even to myself. But I want you to listen to me."

His voice had grown softer. She turned her head and looked at him. He
was much taller than she was, and in his grey tweed suit, his head a
little thrown back, his straw hat clasped in his hands behind him, his
clear grey eyes full of serious purpose, he was certainly not an
unattractive figure to look upon. Unconsciously she found herself
comparing him once more with the men of her world, found herself
realising, even against her will, the charm of his naive and dogged
honesty, his youth, his tenacity of purpose. She had never been made
love to like this before.

"Please listen," he begged. "I am afraid that your father must be in a
tearing rage by now, but it can't be helped. He is out there and he
hasn't got an earthly chance of getting back until I give the word.
We've got plenty of time to reach Nice before he can land. I just want
you to realise, Fedora, that you are your own mistress. You can make or
spoil your own life. No one else has any right to interfere. Have you
ever seen any one yet, back in your own country, amongst your own
people, whom you really felt that you cared for--who you really believed
would be willing to lay down his life to make you happy?"

"No," she confessed simply, "I do not know that I have. Our men are not
like that."

"It is because," he went on, "there is no one back there who cares as I
do. I have spent some years of my life looking--quite unconsciously, but
looking all the same--for some one like you. Now I have found you I am
glad I have waited. There couldn't be any one else. There never could
be, Fedora. I love you just in the way a man does love once in his life,
if he's lucky. It's a queer sort of feeling, you know," he continued,
leaning a little towards her. "It makes me quite sure that I could make
you happy. It makes me quite sure that if you'll give me your hand and
trust me, and leave everything to me, you'll have just the things in
life that women want. Won't you be brave, Fedora? There are some things
to break through, I know, but they don't amount to much--they don't,
really. And I love you, you know. You can't imagine yet what a wonderful
difference that makes. You'll find out and you'll be glad."

She stood quite still. Her eyes were still fixed seawards, but she was
looking beyond the yacht, now, to the dim line where sky and sea seemed
to meet. The vision of her past days seemed to be drawn out before her,
a little monotonous, a little wearisome even in their splendour, more
than a little empty. And underneath it all she was listening to the new
music, and her heart was telling her the truth.

"You don't need to make any plans," he said softly. "Go and put on your
hat and something to wear motoring. Bring a dressing-bag, if you like.
Flossie is waiting for us and she is rather a dear. You can leave
everything else to me."

She looked timidly into his eyes. A new feeling was upon her. She gave
him her hand almost shyly. Her voice trembled.

"If I come," she whispered, "you are quite sure that you mean it all?
You are quite sure that you will not change?"

He raised her hand to his lips.

"Not in this world, dear," he answered, with sublime confidence, "nor
any other!"

She stole away from him. He was left alone upon the terrace, alone, but
with the exquisite conviction of her return, promised in that last
half-tremulous, half-smiling look over her shoulder. Then suddenly life
seemed to come to him with a rush, a new life, filled with a new
splendour. He was almost humbly conscious of bigger things than he had
ever realised, a nearness to the clouds, a wonderful, thrilling sense of
complete and absolute happiness.... Reluctantly he came back to earth.
His thoughts became practical. He went to the back of his car, drew out
a rocket on a stick and thrust it firmly into the lawn. Then he started
his engine and almost immediately afterwards she came. She was wearing a
white silk motor-coat and a thick veil. Behind her came a bewildered
French maid, carrying wraps, and a man-servant with a heavy
dressing-case. In silence these things were stowed away. She took her
place in the car. Lane struck a match and stepped on to the lawn.

"Don't be frightened," he said. "Here goes!"

A rocket soared up into the sky. Then he seated himself beside her and
they glided off.

"That means," he explained, "that they'll let your father and the others
off in two hours. Give us plenty of time to get to Nice. Have you--left
any word for him?"

"I have left a very short message," she answered, "to say that I was
going to marry you. He will never forgive me, and I feel very wicked and
very ungrateful."

"Anything else?" he whispered, leaning a little towards her.

She sighed.

"And very happy," she murmured.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

HONEYMOONING

Hunterleys saw the Right Honourable Meredith Simpson and Monsieur
Douaille off to Paris early that morning. Then he called round at the
hospital to find that Sidney Roche was out of danger, and went on to the
villa with the good news. On his way back he stayed chatting with the
bank manager until rather later than usual, and afterwards strolled on
to the Terrace, where he looked with some eagerness towards a certain
point in the bay. The _Minnehaha_ had departed. Mr. Grex and his
friends, then, had been set free. Hunterleys returned to the hotel
thoughtfully. At the entrance he came across two or three trunks being
wheeled out, which seemed to him somehow familiar. He stopped to look at
the initials. They were his wife's.

"Is Lady Hunterleys leaving to-day?" he asked the luggage-porter.

"By the evening train, sir," the man announced. "She would have caught
the _Cote d'Azur_ this morning but there was no place on the train."

Hunterleys was perplexed. Some time after luncheon he enquired for Lady
Hunterleys and found that she was not in the hotel. A reception clerk
thought that he had seen her go through on her way to the Sporting Club.
Hunterleys, after some moments of indecision, followed her. He was
puzzled at her impending departure, unable to account for it. The
Draconmeyers, he knew, proposed to stay for another month. He walked
thoughtfully along the private way and climbed the stairs into the Club.
He looked for his wife in her usual place. She was not there. He made a
little promenade of the rooms and eventually he found her amongst the
spectators around the baccarat table. He approached her at once.

"You are not playing?"

She started at the sound of his voice. She was dressed very simply in
travelling clothes, and there were lines under her eyes, as though she
were fatigued.

"No," she admitted, "I am not playing."

"I understood in the hotel," he continued, "that you were leaving
to-day."

"I am going back to England," she announced. "It does not amuse me here
any longer."

He realised at once that something had happened. A curious sense of
excitement stole into his blood.

"If you are not playing here, will you come and sit down for a few
moments?" he invited. "I should like to talk to you."

She followed him without a word. He led the way to one of the divans in
the roulette room.

"Your favourite place," he remarked, "is occupied."

She nodded.

"I have given up playing," she told him.

He looked at her in some surprise. She drew a little breath and kept her
eyes steadily averted.

"You will probably know sometime or other," she continued, "so I will
tell you now. I have lost four thousand pounds to Mr. Draconmeyer. I am
going back to England to realise my own money, so as to be able to pay
him at once."

"You borrowed four thousand pounds from Mr. Draconmeyer?" he repeated
incredulously.

"Yes! It was very foolish, I know, and I have lost every penny of it. I
am not the first woman, I suppose, who has lost her head at Monte
Carlo," she added, a little defiantly.

"Does Mr. Draconmeyer know that you are leaving?" he asked.

"Not yet," she answered, after a moment's hesitation. "I had an
interview with him yesterday and I realised at once that the money must
be paid, and without delay. I realised, too, that it was better I should
leave Monte Carlo and break off my association with these people for the
present."

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