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

Hunterleys moved at once on one side. Draconmeyer bowed pleasantly.

"Cheerful time we had last night, hadn't we?" he remarked. "Glad to see
your knock didn't lay you up."

Hunterleys disregarded his wife's glance. He was suddenly furious.

"All Monte Carlo seems to be gossiping about that little contretemps,"
Draconmeyer continued. "It was a crude sort of hold-up for a
neighbourhood of criminals, but it very nearly came off. Will you have
some tea with us?"

"Do, Henry," his wife begged.

Once again he hesitated. Somehow or other, he felt that the moment was
critical. Then a hand was laid quietly upon his arm, a man's voice
whispered in his ear.

"Monsieur will be so kind as to step this way for a moment--a little
matter of business."

"Who are you?" Hunterleys demanded.

"The Commissioner of Police, at monsieur's service."

CHAPTER XI

HINTS TO HUNTERLEYS

Hunterleys, in accordance with his request, followed the Commissioner
downstairs into one of the small private rooms on the ground floor. The
latter was very polite but very official.

"Now what is it that you want?" Hunterleys asked, a little brusquely, as
soon as they were alone.

The representative of the law was distinctly mysterious. He had a brown
moustache which he continually twirled, and he was all the time dropping
his voice to a whisper.

"My first introduction to you should explain my mission, Sir Henry," he
said. "I hold a high position in the police here. My business with you,
however, is on behalf of a person whom I will not name, but whose
identity you will doubtless guess."

"Very well," Hunterleys replied. "Now what is the nature of this
mission, please? In plain words, what do you want with me?"

"I am here with reference to the affair of last night," the other
declared.

"The affair of last night?" Hunterleys repeated, frowning. "Well, we all
have to appear or be represented before the magistrates to-morrow
morning. I shall send a lawyer."

"Quite so! Quite so! But in the meantime, something has transpired. You
and the young American, Mr. Richard Lane, were the only two who offered
any resistance. It was owing to you two, in fact, that the plot was
frustrated. I am quite sure, Sir Henry, that every one agrees with me in
appreciating your courage and presence of mind."

"Thank you," Hunterleys replied. "Is that what you came to say?"

The other shook his head.

"Unfortunately, no, monsieur! I am here to bring you certain
information. The chief of the gang, Armand Martin, the man whom you
attacked, became suddenly worse a few hours ago. The doctors suspect
internal injuries, injuries inflicted during his struggle with you."

"I am very sorry to hear it," Hunterleys said coolly. "On the other
hand, he asked for anything he got."

"Unfortunately," the Commissioner continued, "the law of the State is
curiously framed in such matters. If the man should die, as seems more
than likely, your legal position, Sir Henry, would be most
uncomfortable. Your arrest would be a necessity, and there is no law
granting what I believe you call bail to a person directly or indirectly
responsible for the death of another. I am here, therefore, to give you
what I may term an official warning. Your absence as a witness to-morrow
morning will not be commented upon--events of importance have called you
back to England. You will thereby be saved a very large amount of
annoyance, and the authorities here will be spared the most regrettable
necessity of having to deal with you in a manner unbefitting your rank."

Hunterleys became at once thoughtful. The whole matter was becoming
clear to him.

"I see," he observed. "This is a warning to me to take my departure. Is
that so?"

The Commissioner beamed and nodded many times.

"You have a quick understanding, Sir Henry," he declared. "Your
departure to-night, or early to-morrow morning, would save a good deal
of unpleasantness. I have fulfilled my mission, and I trust that you
will reflect seriously upon the matter. It is the wish of the high
personage whom I represent, that no inconvenience whatever should befall
so distinguished a visitor to the Principality. Good day, monsieur!"

The official took his leave with a sweep of the hat and many bows.
Hunterleys, after a brief hesitation, walked out into the sun-dappled
street. It was the most fashionable hour of the afternoon. Up in the
square a band was playing. Outside, two or three smart automobiles were
discharging their freight of wonderfully-dressed women and debonair men
from the villas outside. Suddenly a hand fell upon his arm. It was
Richard Lane who greeted him.

"Say, where are you off to, Sir Henry?" he inquired.

Hunterleys laughed a little shortly.

"Really, I scarcely know," he replied. "Back to London, if I am wise, I
suppose."

"Come into the Club," Richard begged.

"I have just left," Hunterleys told him. "Besides, I hate the place."

"Did you happen to notice whether Mr. Grex was in there?" Richard
enquired.

"I didn't see him," Hunterleys answered. "Neither," he added
significantly, "did I see Miss Grex."

"Well, I am going in to have a look round, anyway," Richard decided.
"You might come along. There's nothing else to do in this place until
dinner-time."

Hunterleys suffered himself to be persuaded and remounted the steps.

"Tell me, Lane," he asked curiously, "have you heard anything about any
of the victims of our little struggle last night--I mean the two men we
tackled?"

Richard shook his head.

"I hear that mine has a broken wrist," he said. "Can't say I am feeling
very badly about that!"

"I've just been told that mine is going to die," Hunterleys continued.

The young man laughed incredulously.

"Why, I went over the prison this morning," he declared. "I never saw
such a healthy lot of ruffians in my life. That chap whom you
tackled--the one with the revolver--was smoking cigarettes and using
language--well, I couldn't understand it all, but what I did understand
was enough to melt the bars of his prison."

"That's odd," Hunterleys remarked drily. "According to the police
commissioner who has just left me, the man is on his death-bed, and my
only chance of escaping serious trouble is to get out of Monte Carlo
to-night."

"Are you going?"

Hunterleys shook his head.

"It would take a great deal more than that to move me just now," he
said, "even if I had not suspected from the first that the man was
lying."

Richard glanced at his companion a little curiously.

"I shouldn't have said that you were having such a good time, Sir
Henry," he observed; "in fact I should have thought you would have been
rather glad of an opportunity to slip away."

Hunterleys looked around them. They had reached the top of the staircase
and were in sight of the dense crowd in the rooms.

"Come and have a drink," he suggested. "A great many of these people
will have cleared off presently."

"I'll have a drink, with pleasure," Richard answered, "but I still can't
see why you're stuck on this place."

They strolled into the bar and found two vacant places.

"My dear young friend," Hunterleys said, as he ordered their drinks, "if
you were an Englishman instead of an American, I think that I would give
you a hint as to the reason why I do not wish to leave Monte Carlo just
at present."

"Can't see what difference that makes," Richard declared. "You know I'm
all for the old country."

"I wonder whether you are," Hunterleys remarked thoughtfully. "I tell
you frankly that if I thought you meant it, I should probably come to
you before long for a little help."

"If ever you do, I'm your man," Richard assured him heartily. "Any more
scraps going?"

Hunterleys sipped his whisky and soda thoughtfully. There had been an
exodus from the room to watch some heavy gambling at _Trente et
Quarante_, and for a moment they were almost alone.

"Lane," he said, "I am going to take you a little into my confidence. In
a way I suppose it is foolish, but to tell you the truth, I am almost
driven to it. You know that I am a Member of Parliament, and you may
have heard that if our Party hadn't gone out a few years ago, I was to
have been Foreign Minister."

"I've heard that often enough," Lane assented. "I've heard you quoted,
too, as an example of the curse of party politics. Just because you are
forced to call yourself a member of one Party you are debarred from
serving your country in any capacity until that Party is in power."

"That's quite true," Hunterleys admitted, "and to tell you the truth,
ridiculous though it seems, I don't see how you're to get away from it
in a practical manner. Anyhow, when my people came out I made up my mind
that I wasn't going to just sit still in Opposition and find fault all
the time, especially as we've a real good man at the Foreign Office. I
was quite content to leave things in his hands, but then, you see,
politically that meant that there was nothing for me to do. I thought
matters over and eventually I paired for six months and was supposed to
go off for the benefit of my health. As a matter of fact, I have been in
the Balkan States since Christmas," he added, dropping his voice a
little.

"What the dickens have you been doing there?"

"I can't tell you that exactly," Hunterleys replied. "Unfortunately, my
enemies are suspicious and they have taken to watching me closely. They
pretty well know what I am going to tell you--that I have been out there
at the urgent request of the Secret Service Department of the present
Government. I have been in Greece and Servia and Roumania, and, although
I don't think there's a soul in the world knows, I have also been in St.
Petersburg."

"But what's it all about?" Richard persisted. "What have you been doing
in all these places?"

"I can only answer you broadly," Hunterleys went on. "There is a
perfectly devilish scheme afloat, directed against the old country. I
have been doing what I can to counteract it. At the last moment, just as
I was leaving Sofia for London, by the merest chance I discovered that
the scene for the culmination of this little plot was to be Monte Carlo,
so I made my way round by Trieste, stayed at Bordighera and San Remo for
a few days to put people off, and finally turned up here."

"Well, I'm jiggered!" Lane muttered. "And I thought you were just
hanging about for your health or because your wife was here, and were
bored to death for want of something to do."

"On the contrary," Hunterleys assured him, "I was up all night sending
reports home--very interesting reports, too. I got them away all right,
but there's no denying the fact that there are certain people in Monte
Carlo at the present moment who suspect my presence here, and who would
go to any lengths whatever to get rid of me. It isn't the actual harm I
might do, but they have to deal with a very delicate problem and to make
a bargain with a very sensitive person, and they are terribly afraid
that my presence here, and a meeting between me and that person, might
render all their schemes abortive."

Richard's face was a study in astonishment.

"Well," he exclaimed, "this beats everything! I've read of such things,
of course, but one only half believes them. Right under our very noses,
too! Say, what are you going to do about it, Sir Henry?"

"There is only one thing I can do," Hunterleys replied grimly. "I am
bound to keep my place here. They'll drive me out if they can. I am
convinced that the polite warning I have received to leave Monaco this
afternoon because of last night's affair, is part of the conspiracy. In
plain words, I've got to stick it out."

"But what good are you doing here, anyway?"

Hunterleys smiled and glanced carefully around the room. They were still
free from any risk of being overheard.

"Well," he said, "perhaps you will understand my meaning more clearly if
I tell you that I am the brains of a counterplot. The English Secret
Service has a permanent agent here under the guise of a newspaper
correspondent, who is in daily touch with me, and he in his turn has
several spies at work. I am, however, the dangerous person. The others
are only servants. They make their reports, but they don't understand
their true significance. If these people could remove me before any one
else could arrive to take my place, their chances of bringing off their
coup here would be immensely improved."

"I suppose it's useless for me to ask if there's anything I can do to
help?" Richard enquired.

"You've helped already," Hunterleys replied. "I have been nearly three
months without being able to open my lips to a soul. People call me
secretive, but I feel very human sometimes. I know that not a word of
what I have said will pass your lips."

"Not a chance of it," Richard promised earnestly. "But look here, can't
I do something? If I am not an Englishman, I'm all for the Anglo-Saxons.
I hate these foreigners--that is to say the men," he corrected himself
hastily.

Hunterleys smiled.

"Well, I was coming to that," he said. "I do feel hideously alone here,
and what I would like you to do is just this. I would like you to call
at my room at the Hotel de Paris, number 189, every morning at a certain
fixed hour--say half-past ten. Just shake hands with me--that's all.
Nothing shall prevent my being visible to you at that hour. Under no
consideration whatever will I leave any message that I am engaged or
have gone out. If I am not to be seen when you make your call, something
has happened to me."

"And what am I to do then?"

"That is the point," Hunterleys continued. "I don't want to bring you
too deeply into this matter. All that you need do is to make your way to
the English Bank, see Mr. Harrison, the manager, and tell him of your
fruitless visit to me. He will give you a letter to my wife and will
know what other steps to take."

"Is that all?" Richard asked, a little disappointed. "You don't
anticipate any scrapping, or anything of that sort?"

"I don't know what to anticipate," Hunterleys confessed, a little
wearily. "Things are moving fast now towards the climax. I promise I'll
come to you for help if I need it. You can but refuse."

"No fear of my refusing," Richard declared heartily. "Not on your life,
sir!"

Hunterleys rose to his feet with an appreciative little nod. It was
astonishing how cordially he had come to feel towards this young man,
during the last few hours.

"I'll let you off now," he said. "I know you want to look around the
tables and see if any of our friends of last night are to be found. I,
too, have a little affair which I ought to have treated differently a
few minutes ago. We'll meet later."

Hunterleys strolled back into the rooms. He came almost at once face to
face with Draconmeyer, whom he was passing with unseeing eyes.
Draconmeyer, however, detained him.

"I was looking for you, Sir Henry!" he exclaimed. "Can you spare me one
moment?"

They stood a little on one side, out of the way of the moving throng of
people. Draconmeyer was fingering nervously his tie of somewhat vivid
purple. His manner was important.

"Do you happen, Sir Henry," he asked, "to have had any word from the
prison authorities to-day?"

Hunterleys nodded.

"I have just received a message," he replied. "I understand that the man
with whom I had a struggle last night has received some internal
injuries and is likely to die."

Draconmeyer's manner became more mysterious. He glanced around the room
as though to be sure that they were not overheard.

"I trust, Sir Henry," he said, "that you will not think me in any way
presumptuous if I speak to you intimately. I have never had the
privilege of your friendship, and in this unfortunate disagreement
between your wife and yourself I have been compelled to accept your
wife's point of view, owing to the friendship between Mrs. Draconmeyer
and herself. I trust you will believe, however, that I have no feelings
of hostility towards you."

"You are very kind," Hunterleys murmured.

His face seemed set in graven lines. For all the effect the other's
words had upon him, he might have been wearing a mask.

"The law here in some respects is very curious," Draconmeyer continued.
"Some of the statutes have been unaltered for a thousand years. I have
been given to understand by a person who knows, that if this man should
die, notwithstanding the circumstances of the case, you might find
yourself in an exceedingly awkward position. If I might venture,
therefore, to give you a word of disinterested advice, I would suggest
that you return to England at once, if only for a week or so."

His eyes had narrowed. Through his spectacles he was watching intently
for the effect of his words. Hunterleys, however, only nodded
thoughtfully, as though to some extent impressed by the advice he had
received.

"Very likely you are right," he admitted. "I will discuss the matter
with my wife."

"She is playing over there," Draconmeyer pointed out. "And while we are
talking in a more or less friendly fashion," he went on earnestly,
"might I give you just one more word of counsel? For the sake of the
friendship which exists between our wives, I feel sure you will believe
that I am disinterested."

He paused. Hunterleys' expression was now one of polite interest. He
waited, however, for the other to continue.

"I wish that you could persuade Lady Hunterleys to play for somewhat
lower stakes."

Hunterleys was genuinely startled for a moment.

"Do you mean that my wife is gambling beyond her means?" he asked.

Draconmeyer shrugged his shoulders.

"How can I tell that? I don't know what her means are, or yours. I only
know that she changes mille notes more often than I change louis, and it
seems to me that her luck is invariably bad. I think, perhaps, just a
word or two from you, who have the right to speak, might be of service."

"I am very much obliged to you for the hint," Hunterleys said smoothly.
"I will certainly mention the matter to her."

"And if I don't see you again," Draconmeyer concluded, watching him
closely, "good-bye!"

Hunterleys did not appear to notice the tentative movement of the
other's hand. He was already on his way to the spot where his wife was
sitting. Draconmeyer watched his progress with inscrutable face.
Selingman, who had been sitting near, rose and joined him.

"Will he go?" he whispered. "Will our friend take this very reasonable
hint and depart?"

Draconmeyer's eyes were still fixed upon Hunterleys' slim,
self-possessed figure. His forehead was contorted into a frown. Somehow
or other, he felt that during their brief interview he had failed to
score; he had felt a subtle, underlying note of contempt in Hunterleys'
manner, in his whole attitude.

"I do not know," he replied grimly. "I only hope that if he stays, we
shall find the means to make him regret it!"

CHAPTER XII

"I CANNOT GO!"

Hunterleys stood for several minutes, watching his wife's play from a
new point of view. She was certainly playing high and with continued
ill-fortune. For the first time, too, he noticed symptoms which
disturbed him. She sat quite motionless, but there was an unfamiliar
glitter in her eyes and a hardness about her mouth. It was not until he
had stood within a few feet of her for nearly a quarter of an hour, that
she chanced to see him.

"Did you want me?" she asked, with a little start.

"There is no hurry," he replied. "If you could spare me a few moments
later, I should be glad."

She rose at once, thrusting her notes and gold into the satchel which
she was carrying, and stood by his side. She was very elegantly dressed
in black and white, but she was pale, and, watching her with a new
intentness, he discovered faint violet lines under her eyes, as though
she had been sleeping ill.

"I am rather glad you came," she said. "I was having an abominable run
of bad luck, and yet I hated to give up my seat without an excuse. What
did you want, Henry?"

"I should like," he explained, "to talk to you for a quarter of an hour.
This place is rather crowded and it is getting on my nerves. We seem to
live here, night and day. Would you object to driving with me--say as
far as Mentone and back?"

"I will come if you wish it," she answered, looking a little surprised.
"Wait while I get my cloak."

Hunterleys hired an automobile below and they drove off. As soon as they
were out of the main street, he thrust his hand into the breast-pocket
of his coat and smoothed out that half-sheet of notepaper upon his knee.

"Violet," he said, "please read that."

She read the few lines instructing the English Bank to hand over Sir
Henry Hunterleys' letters to the bearer. Then she looked up at him with
a puzzled frown.

"I don't understand."

"Did you write that?" he enquired.

She looked at him indignantly.

"What an absurd question!" she exclaimed. "Your correspondence has no
interest for me."

Her denial, so natural, so obviously truthful, was a surprise to him. He
felt a sudden impulse of joy, mingled with shame. Perhaps, after all, he
had been altogether too censorious. Once more he directed her attention
to the sheet of paper. There was a marked change in his voice and
manner.

"Violet," he begged, "please look at it. Accepting without hesitation
your word that you did not write it, doesn't it occur to you that the
body of the letter is a distinct imitation of your handwriting, and the
signature a very clever forgery of mine?"

"It is rather like my handwriting," she admitted, "and as for the
signature, do you mean to say really that that is not yours?"

"Certainly not," he assured her. "The whole thing is a forgery."

"But who in the world should want to get your letters?" she asked
incredulously. "And why should you have them addressed to the bank?"

He folded up the paper then and put it in his pocket.

"Violet," he said earnestly, "for the disagreements which have resulted
in our separation I may myself have been to some extent responsible, but
we have promised one another not to refer to them again and I will not
break our compact. All I can say is that there is much in my life which
you know little of, and for which you do not, therefore, make sufficient
allowance."

"Then you might have treated me," she declared, "with more confidence."

"It was not possible," he reminded her, "so long as you chose to make an
intimate friend of a man whose every interest in life is in direct
antagonism to mine."

"Mr. Draconmeyer?"

"Mr. Draconmeyer," he assented.

She smiled contemptuously.

"You misunderstand Mr. Draconmeyer completely," she insisted. "He is
your well-wisher and he is more than half an Englishman. It was he who
started the league between English and German commercial men for the
propagation of peace. He formed one of the deputation who went over to
see the Emperor. He has done more, both by his speeches and letters to
the newspaper, to promote a good understanding between Germany and
England, than any other person. You are very much mistaken about Mr.
Draconmeyer, Henry. Why you cannot realise that he is simply an ordinary
commercial man of high intelligence and most agreeable manners, I cannot
imagine."

"The fact remains, my dear Violet," Hunterleys said emphatically, "that
it is not possible for me to treat you with the confidence I might
otherwise have done, on account of your friendship with Mr.
Draconmeyer."

"You are incorrigible!" she exclaimed. "Can we change the subject,
please? I want to know why you showed me that forged letter?"

"I am coming to that," he told her. "Please be patient. I want to remind
you of something else. So far as I remember, my only request, when I
gave you your liberty and half my income, was that your friendship with
the Draconmeyers should decrease. Almost the first persons I see on my
arrival in Monte Carlo are you and Mr. Draconmeyer. I learn that you
came out with them and that you are staying at the same hotel."

"Your wish was an unreasonable one," she protested. "Linda and I were
school-girls together. She is my dearest friend and she is a hopeless
invalid. I think that if I were to desert her she would die."

"I have every sympathy with Mrs. Draconmeyer," he said slowly, "but you
are my wife. I am going to make one more effort--please don't be
uneasy--not to re-establish any relationship between us, but to open
your eyes as to the truth concerning Mr. Draconmeyer. You asked me a
moment ago why I had shown you that forged letter. I will tell you now.
It was Draconmeyer who was the forger."

She leaned back in her seat. She was looking at him incredulously.

"You mean to say that Mr. Draconmeyer wrote that order--that he wanted
to get possession of your letters?"

"Not only that," Hunterleys continued, "but he carried out the business
in such a devilish manner as to make me for a moment believe that it was
you who had helped him. You are wrong about Draconmeyer. The man is a
great schemer, who under the pretence of occupying an important
commercial position in the City of London, is all the time a secret
agent of Germany. He is there in her interests. He studies the public
opinion of the country. He dissects our weaknesses. He is there to point
out the best methods and the opportune time for the inevitable struggle.
He is the worst enemy to-day England has. You think that he is here in
Monte Carlo on a visit of pleasure--for the sake of his wife, perhaps.
Nothing of the sort! He is here at this moment associated with an
iniquitous scheme, the particulars of which I can tell you nothing of.
Furthermore, I repeat what I told you on our first meeting here--that in
his still, cold way he is in love with you."

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