Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo

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Before long he was once more upon his feet, starting out upon his quest
with renewed energy. He had scarcely taken a dozen steps, however, when
he came face to face with Lady Hunterleys and Mr. Draconmeyer. Quite
oblivious of the fact that they seemed inclined to avoid him, he greeted
them both with unusual warmth.

"Saw your husband just now, Lady Hunterleys," he remarked, a little
puzzled. "I fancied he said he was alone here."

She smiled.

"We did not come together," she explained; "in fact, our meeting was
almost accidental. Henry had been at Bordighera and San Remo and I came
out with Mr. and Mrs. Draconmeyer."

The young man nodded and turned towards Draconmeyer, who was standing a
little on one side as though anxious to proceed.

"Mr. Draconmeyer doesn't remember me, perhaps. I met him at my sister's,
Lady Weybourne's, just before Christmas."

"I remember you perfectly," Mr. Draconmeyer assured him courteously. "We
have all been admiring your beautiful yacht in the harbour there."

"I was thinking of getting up a little cruise before long," Richard
continued. "If so, I hope you'll all join us. Flossie is going to be
hostess, and the Montressors are passengers already."

They murmured something non-committal. Lady Hunterleys seemed as though
about to pass on but Lane blocked the way.

"I only arrived the other day from Algiers," he went on, making frantic
efforts to continue the conversation. "I brought Freddy Montressor and
his sister, and Fothergill."

"Mr. Montressor has come to the Hotel de Paris," Lady Hunterleys
remarked. "What sort of weather did you have in Algiers?"

"Ripping!" the young man replied absently, entirely oblivious of the
fact that they had been driven away by incessant rain. "This place is
much more fun, though," he added, with sudden inspiration. "Crowds of
interesting people. I suppose you know every one?"

Lady Hunterleys shook her head.

"Indeed I do not. Mr. Draconmeyer here is my guide. He is as good as a
walking directory."

"I wonder if either of you know some people named Grex?" Richard asked,
with studious indifference.

Mr. Draconmeyer for the first time showed some signs of interest. He
looked at their questioner steadfastly.

"Grex," he repeated. "A very uncommon name."

"Very uncommon-looking people," Richard declared. "The man is elderly,
and looks as though he took great care of himself--awfully well turned
out and all that. The daughter is--good-looking."

Mr. Draconmeyer took off his gold-rimmed spectacles and rubbed them with
his handkerchief.

"Why do you ask?" he enquired. "Is this just curiosity?"

"Rather more than that," Richard said boldly. "It's interest."

Mr. Draconmeyer readjusted his spectacles.

"Mr. Grex," he announced, "is a gentleman of great wealth and
illustrious birth, who has taken a very magnificent villa and desires
for a time to lead a life of seclusion. That is as much as I or any one
else knows."

"What about the young lady?" Richard persisted.

"The young lady," Mr. Draconmeyer answered, "is, as you surmised, his
daughter.... Shall we finish our promenade, Lady Hunterleys?"

Richard stood grudgingly a little on one side.

"Mr. Draconmeyer," he said desperately, "do you think there'd be any
chance of my getting an introduction to the young lady?"

Mr. Draconmeyer at first smiled and then began to laugh, as though
something in the idea tickled him. He looked at the young man and
Richard hated him.

"Not the slightest in the world, I should think," he declared. "Good
afternoon!"

Lady Hunterleys joined in her companion's amusement as they continued
their promenade.

"Is the young man in love, do you suppose?" she enquired lightly.

"If so," her companion replied, "he has made a somewhat unfortunate
choice. However, it really doesn't matter. Love at his age is nothing
more than a mood. It will pass as all moods pass."

She turned and looked at him.

"Do you mean," she asked incredulously, "that youth is incapable of
love?"

They had paused for a moment, looking out across the bay towards the
glittering white front of Bordighera. Mr. Draconmeyer took off his hat.
Somehow, without it, in that clear light, one realised, notwithstanding
his spectacles, his grizzled black beard of unfashionable shape, his
over-massive forehead and shaggy eyebrows, that his, too, was the face
of one whose feet were not always upon the earth.

"Perhaps," he answered, "it is a matter of degree, yet I am almost
tempted to answer your question absolutely. I do not believe that youth
can love, because from the first it misapprehends the meaning of the
term. I believe that the gift of loving comes only to those who have
reached the hills."

She looked at him, a little surprised. Always thoughtful, always
sympathetic, generally stimulating, it was very seldom that she had
heard him speak with so much real feeling. Suddenly he turned his head
from the sea. His eyes seemed to challenge hers.

"Your question," he continued, "touches upon one of the great tragedies
of life. Upon those who are free from their youth there is a great tax
levied. Nature has decreed that they should feel something which they
call love. They marry, and in this small world of ours they give a
hostage as heavy as a millstone of their chances of happiness. For it is
only in later life, when a man has knowledge as well as passion, when
unless he is fortunate it is too late, that he can know what love is."

She moved a little uneasily. She felt that something was coming which
she desired to avoid, some confidence, something from which she must
escape. The memory of her husband's warning was vividly present with
her. She felt the magnetism of her companion's words, his compelling
gaze.

"It is so with me," he went on, leaning a little towards her, "only in
my case--"

Providence was intervening. Never had the swish of a woman's skirt
sounded so sweet to her before.

"Here's Dolly Montressor," she interrupted, "coming up to speak to us."

CHAPTER VI

CAKES AND COUNSELS

The Sporting Club seemed to fill up that afternoon almost as soon as the
doors were opened. At half-past four, people were standing two or three
deep around the roulette tables. Selingman, very warm, and looking
somewhat annoyed, withdrew himself from the front row of the lower
table, and taking Mr. Grex and Draconmeyer by the arm, led them towards
the tea-room.

"I have lost six louis!" he exclaimed, fretfully. "I have had the
devil's own luck. I shall play no more for the present. We will have tea
together."

They appropriated a round table in a distant corner of the restaurant.

"History," Selingman continued, heaping his plate with rich cakes, "has
been made before now in strange places. Why not here? We sit here in
close touch with one of the most interesting phases of modern life. We
can even hear the voice of fate, the click of the little ball as it
finishes its momentous journey and sinks to rest. Why should we, too,
not speak of fateful things?"

Mr. Draconmeyer glanced around.

"For myself," he muttered, "I must say that I prefer a smaller room and
a locked door."

Selingman demolished a chocolate eclair and shook his head vigorously.

"The public places for me," he declared. "Now look around. There is no
one, as you will admit, within ear-shot. Very well. What will they say,
those who suspect us, if they see us drinking tea and eating many cakes
together? Certainly not that we conspire, that we make mischief here. On
the other hand, they will say 'There are three great men at play, come
to Monte Carlo to rest from their labours, to throw aside for a time the
burden from their shoulders; to flirt, to play, to eat cakes.' It is a
good place to talk, this, and I have something in my mind which must be
said."

Mr. Grex sipped his pale, lemon-flavoured tea and toyed with his
cigarette-case. He was eating nothing.

"Assuming you to be a man of sense, my dear Selingman," he remarked, "I
think that what you have to say is easily surmised. The Englishman!"

Selingman agreed with ponderous emphasis.

"We have before us," he declared, "a task of unusual delicacy. Our
friend from Paris may be here at any moment. How we shall fare with him,
heaven only knows! But there is one thing very certain. At the sight of
Hunterleys he will take alarm. He will be like a frightened bird, all
ruffled feathers. He will never settle down to a serious discussion.
Hunterleys knows this. That is why he presents himself without reserve
in public, why he is surrounded with Secret Service men of his own
country, all on the _qui vive_ for the coming of Douaille."

"It appears tolerably certain," Mr. Draconmeyer said calmly, "that we
must get rid of Hunterleys."

Mr. Grex looked out of the window for a moment.

"To some extent," he observed, "I am a stranger here. I come as a guest
to this conference, as our other friend from Paris comes, too. Any small
task which may arise from the necessities of the situation, devolves, I
think I may say without unfairness, upon you, my friend."

Selingman assented gloomily.

"That is true," he admitted, "but in Hunterleys we have to do with no
ordinary man. He does not gamble. To the ordinary attractions of Monte
Carlo he is indifferent. He is one of these thin-blooded men with
principles. Cromwell would have made a lay preacher of him."

"You find difficulties?" Mr. Grex queried, with slightly uplifted
eyebrows.

"Not difficulties," Selingman continued quickly. "Or if indeed we do
call them difficulties, let us say at once that they are very minor
ones. Only the thing must be done neatly and without ostentation, for
the sake of our friend who comes."

"My own position," Mr. Draconmeyer intervened, "is, in a way, delicate.
The unexplained disappearance of Sir Henry Hunterleys might, by some
people, be connected with the great friendship which exists between my
wife and his."

Mr. Grex polished his horn-rimmed eyeglass. Selingman nodded
sympathetically. Neither of them looked at Draconmeyer. Finally
Selingman heaved a sigh and brushed the crumbs from his waistcoat.

"If one were assured," he murmured thoughtfully, "that Hunterleys'
presence here had a real significance--"

Draconmeyer pushed his chair forward and leaned across the table. The
heads of the three men were close together. His tone was stealthily
lowered.

"Let me tell you something, my friend Selingman, which I think should
strengthen any half-formed intention you may have in your brain.
Hunterleys is no ordinary sojourner here. You were quite right when you
told me that his stay at Bordighera and San Remo was a matter of days
only. Now I will tell you something. Three weeks ago he was at
Bukharest. He spent two days with Novisko. From there he went to Sofia.
He was heard of in Athens and Constantinople. My own agent wrote me that
he was in Belgrade. Hunterleys is the bosom friend of the English
Foreign Secretary. That I know for myself. You have your reports. You
can read between the lines. I tell you that Hunterleys is the man who
has paralysed our action amongst the Balkan States. He has played a neat
little game out there. It is he who was the inspiration of Roumania. It
is he who drafted the secret understanding with Turkey. The war which we
hoped for will not take place. From there Hunterleys came in a gunboat
and landed on the Italian coast. He lingered at Bordighera for
appearances only. He is here, if he can, to break up our conference. I
tell you that you none of you appreciate this man. Hunterleys is the
most dangerous Englishman living--"

"One moment," Selingman interrupted. "To some extent I follow you, but
when you speak of Hunterleys as a power in the present tense, doesn't it
occur to you that his Party is not in office? He is simply a member of
the Opposition. If his Party get in again at the next election, I grant
you that he will be Foreign Minister and a dangerous one, but to-day he
is simply a private person."

"It is not every one," Mr. Draconmeyer said slowly, "who bows his knee
to the shibboleth of party politics. Remember that I come to you from
London and I have information of which few others are possessed.
Hunterleys is of the stuff of which patriots are made. Party is no
concern of his. He and the present Foreign Secretary are the greatest of
personal friends. I know for a fact that Hunterleys has actually been
consulted and has helped in one or two recent crises. The very
circumstance that he is not of the ruling Party makes a free lance of
him. When his people are in power, he will have to take office and wear
the shackles. To-day, with every quality which would make him the
greatest Foreign Minister England has ever had since Disraeli, he is
nothing more nor less than a roving diplomatist, Emperor of his
country's Secret Service, if you like to put it so. Furthermore, look a
little into that future of which I have spoken. The present English
Government will last, at the most, another two years. I tell you that
when they go out of power, whoever comes in, Hunterleys will go to the
Foreign Office. We shall have to deal with a man who knows, a man--"

"I am not wholly satisfied with these eclairs," Selingman interrupted,
gazing into the dish. "Maitre d'hotel, come and listen to an awful
complaint," he went on, and, addressing one of the head-waiters. "Your
eclairs are too small, your cream-cakes too irresistible. I eat too much
here. How, I ask you in the name of common sense, can a man dine who
takes tea here! Bring the bill."

The man, smiling, hastened away. Not a word had passed between the
three, yet the other two understood the situation perfectly. Hunterleys
and Richard Lane had entered the room together and were seated at an
adjoining table. Selingman plunged into a fresh tirade, pointing to the
half-demolished plateful of cakes.

"I will eat one more," he declared. "We will bilk the management. The
bill is made out. I shall not be observed. Our friend," he continued,
under his breath, "has secured a valuable bodyguard, something very
large and exceedingly powerful."

Draconmeyer hesitated for a moment. Then he turned to Mr. Grex.

"You have perhaps observed," he said, "the young man who is seated at
the next table. It may amuse you to hear of a very extraordinary piece
of impertinence of which, only this afternoon, he was guilty. He
accosted me upon the Terrace--he is a young American whom I have met in
London--and asked me for information respecting a Mr. and Miss Grex."

Mr. Grex looked slowly towards the speaker. There was very little change
in his face, yet Draconmeyer seemed in some way confused.

"You will understand, I am sure, sir," he continued, a little hastily,
"that I was in no way to blame for the question which the young man
addressed to me. He had the presumption to enquire whether I could
procure for him an introduction to the young lady whom he knew as Miss
Grex. Even at this moment," Draconmeyer went on, lowering his voice, "he
is trying to persuade Hunterleys to let him come over to us."

"The young man," Mr. Grex said deliberately, "is ignorant. If necessary,
he must be taught his lesson."

Selingman intervened. He breathed a heavy sigh.

"Well," he observed, "I perceive that the task at which we have hinted
is to fall upon my shoulders. We must do what we can. I am a
tender-hearted man, and if extremes can be avoided, I shall like my task
better.... And now I have changed my mind. The loss of that six louis
weighs upon me. I shall endeavour to regain it. Let us go."

They rose and passed out into the roulette rooms. Richard Lane, who
remained in his seat with an effort, watched them pass with a frown upon
his face.

"Say, Sir Henry," he complained, "I don't quite understand this. Why,
I'd only got to go over to Draconmeyer there and stand and talk for a
moment, and he must have introduced me."

Hunterleys shook his head.

"Let me assure you," he said, "that Draconmeyer would have done nothing
of the sort. For one thing, we don't introduce over here as a matter of
course, as you do in America. And for another--well, I won't trouble you
with the other reason.... Look here, Lane, take my advice, there's a
sensible fellow. I am a man of the world, you know, and there are
certain situations in which one can make no mistake. If you are as hard
hit as you say you are, go for a cruise and get over it. Don't hang
around here. No good will come of it."

The young man set his teeth. He was looking very determined indeed.

"There isn't anything in this world, short of a bomb," he declared,
"which is going to blow me out of Monte Carlo before I have made the
acquaintance of Miss Grex!"

CHAPTER VII

THE EFFRONTERY OF RICHARD

Hunterleys took leave of his companion as soon as they arrived at the
roulette rooms.

"Take my advice, Lane," he said seriously. "Find something to occupy
your thoughts. Throw a few hundred thousand of your dollars away at the
tables, if you must do something foolish. You'll get into far less
trouble."

Richard made no direct reply. He watched Hunterleys depart and took up
his place opposite the door to await his sister's arrival. It was a
quarter to five before she appeared and found him waiting for her in the
doorway.

"Say, you're late, Flossie!" he grumbled. "I thought you were going to
be here soon after four."

She glanced at the little watch upon her wrist.

"How the time does slip away!" she sighed. "But really, Dicky, I am late
in your interests as much as anything. I have been paying a few calls. I
went out to the Villa Rosa to see some people who almost live here, and
then I met Lady Crawley and she made me go in and have some tea."

"Well?" he asked impatiently. "Well?"

She laid her fingers upon his arm and drew him into a less crowded part
of the room.

"Dicky," she confessed, "I don't seem to have had a bit of luck. The
Comtesse d'Hausson, who lives at the Villa Rosa, knows them and showed
me from the window the Villa Mimosa, where they live, but she would tell
me absolutely nothing about them. The villa is the finest in Monte
Carlo, and has always been taken before by some one of note. She
declares that they do not mix in the society of the place, but she
admits that she has heard a rumour that Grex is only an assumed name."

"I begin to believe that myself," he said doggedly. "Hunterleys knows
who they are and won't tell me. So does that fellow Draconmeyer."

"Sir Henry and Mr. Draconmeyer!" she repeated, raising her eyes. "My
dear Dick, that doesn't sound very reasonable, does it?"

"I tell you that they do," he persisted. "They as good as told me so.
Hunterleys, especially, left me here only half-an-hour ago, and his last
words were advising me to chuck it. He's a sensible chap enough but he
won't even tell me why. I've had enough of it. I've a good mind to take
the bull by the horns myself. Mr. Grex is here now, somewhere about. He
was sitting with Mr. Draconmeyer and a fat old German a few minutes ago,
at the next table to ours. If I had been alone I should have gone up and
chanced being introduced, but Hunterleys wouldn't let me."

"Well, so far," Lady Weybourne admitted, "I fear that I haven't done
much towards that electric coupe; but," she added, in a changed tone,
looking across the tables, "there is just one thing, Dicky. Fate
sometimes has a great deal to do with these little affairs. Look over
there."

Richard left his sister precipitately, without even a word of farewell.
She watched him cross the room, and smiled at the fury of a little
Frenchman whom he nearly knocked over in his hurry to get round to the
other side of the table. A moment later he was standing a few feet away
from the girl who had taken so strange a hold upon his affections. He
himself was conscious of a curious and unfamiliar nervousness.
Physically he felt as though he had been running hard. He set his teeth
and tried to keep cool. He found some plaques in his pocket and began to
stake. Then he became aware that the girl was holding in her hand a note
and endeavouring to attract the attention of the man who was giving
change.

"_Petite monnaie, s'il vous plait_," he heard her say, stretching out
the note.

The man took no notice. Richard held out his hand.

"Will you allow me to get it changed for you?" he asked.

Her first impulse at the sound of his voice was evidently one of
resentment. She seemed, indeed, in the act of returning some chilling
reply. Then she glanced half carelessly towards him and her eyes rested
upon his face. Richard was good-looking enough, but the chief
characteristic of his face was a certain honesty, which seemed
accentuated at that moment by his undoubted earnestness. The type was
perhaps strange to her. She was almost startled by what she saw.
Scarcely knowing what she did, she allowed him to take the note from her
fingers.

"Thank you very much," she murmured.

Richard procured the change. He would have lifted every one out of the
way if she had been in a hurry. Then he turned round and counted it very
slowly into her hands. From the left one she had removed the glove and
he saw, to his relief, that there was no engagement ring there. He
counted so slowly that towards the end she seemed to become a little
impatient.

"That is quite all right," she said. "It was very kind of you to
trouble."

She spoke very correct English with the slightest of foreign accents. He
looked once more into her eyes.

"It was a pleasure," he declared.

She smiled faintly, an act of graciousness which absolutely turned his
head. With her hand full of plaques, she moved away and found a place a
little lower down the table. Richard fought with his first instinct and
conquered it. He remained where he was, and when he moved it was in
another direction. He went into the bar and ordered a whisky and soda.
He was as excited as he had been in the old days when he had rowed
stroke in a winning race for his college boat. He felt, somehow or
other, that the first step had been a success. She had been inclined at
first to resent his offer. She had looked at him and changed her mind.
Even when she had turned away, she had smiled. It was ridiculous, but he
felt as though he had taken a great step. Presently Lady Weybourne, on
her way to the baccarat rooms, saw him sitting there and looked in.

"Well, Dicky," she exclaimed, "what luck?"

"Sit down, Flossie," he begged. "I've spoken to her."

"You don't mean,--" she began, horrified.

"Oh, no, no! Nothing of that sort!" he interrupted. "Don't think I'm
such a blundering ass. She was trying to get change and couldn't reach.
I took the note from her, got the change and gave it to her. She said,
'Thank you.' When she went away, she smiled."

Lady Weybourne flopped down upon the divan and screamed with laughter.

"Dicky," she murmured, wiping her eyes, "tell me, is that why you are
sitting there, looking as though you could see right into Heaven? Do you
know that your face was one great beam when I came in?"

"Can't help it," he answered contentedly. "I've spoken to her and she
smiled."

Lady Weybourne opened her gold bag and produced a card.

"Well," she said, "here is another chance for you. Of course, I don't
know that it will come to anything, but you may as well try your luck."

"What is it?" he asked.

She thrust a square of gilt-edged cardboard into his hand.

"It's an invitation," she told him, "from the directors, to attend a
dinner at La Turbie Golf Club-house, up in the mountains, to-night. It
isn't entirely a joke, I can tell you. It takes at least an hour to get
there, climbing all the way, and the place is as likely as not to be
wrapped in clouds, but a great many of the important people are going,
and as I happened to see Mr. Grex's name amongst the list of members,
the other night, there is always a chance that they may be there. If
not, you see, you can soon come back."

"I'm on," Richard decided. "Give me the ticket. I am awfully obliged to
you, Flossie."

"If she is there," Lady Weybourne declared, rising, "I shall consider
that it is equivalent to one wheel of the coupe."

"Have a cocktail instead," he suggested.

She shook her head.

"Too early. If we meet later on, I'll have one. What are you going to
do?"

"Same as I've been doing ever since lunch," he answered,--"hang around
and see if I can meet any one who knows them."

She laughed and hurried off into the baccarat room, and Richard
presently returned to the table at which the girl was still playing. He
took particular care not to approach her, but he found a place on the
opposite side of the room, from which he could watch her unobserved. She
was still standing and apparently she was losing her money. Once, with a
little petulant frown, she turned away and moved a few yards lower down
the room. The first time she staked in her new position, she won, and a
smile which it seemed to him was the most brilliant he had ever seen,
parted her lips. He stood there looking at her, and in the midst of a
scene where money seemed god of all things, he realised all manner of
strange and pleasant sensations. The fact that he had twenty thousand
francs in his pocket to play with, scarcely occurred to him. He was
watching a little wisp of golden hair by her ear, watching her slightly
wrinkled forehead as she leaned over the table, her little grimace as
she lost and her stake was swept away. She seemed indifferent to all
bystanders. It was obvious that she had very few acquaintances. Where he
stood it was not likely that she would notice him, and he abandoned
himself wholly to the luxury of gazing at her. Then some instinct caused
him to turn his head. He felt that he in his turn was being watched. He
glanced towards the divan set against the wall, by the side of which he
was standing. Mr. Grex was seated there, only a few feet away, smoking a
cigarette. Their eyes met and Richard was conscious of a sudden
embarrassment. He felt like a detected thief, and he acted at that
moment as he often did--entirely on impulse. He leaned down and
resolutely addressed Mr. Grex.

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