Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo

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"Henry!" she cried.

"I cannot see how you can remain so wilfully blind," Hunterleys
continued. "I know the man inside out. I warned you against him in
London, I warn you against him now. This forged letter was designed to
draw us further apart. The little brown man who has dogged your
footsteps is a spy employed by him to make you believe that I was having
you watched. You are free still to act as you will, Violet, but if you
have a spark of regard for me or yourself, you will go back to London at
once and drop this odious friendship."

She leaned back in the car. They had turned round now and were on the
way back to Monte Carlo by the higher road. She sat with her eyes fixed
upon the mountains. Her heart, in a way, had been touched, her
imagination stirred by her husband's words. She felt a return of that
glow of admiration which had thrilled her on the previous night, when he
and Richard Lane alone amongst that motley company had played the part
of men. A curious, almost pathetic wistfulness crept into her heart. If
only he would lean towards her at that moment, if she could see once
more the light in his eyes that had shone there during the days of their
courtship! If only he could remember that it was still his part to play
the lover! If he could be a little less grave, a little less hopelessly
correct and fair! Despite her efforts to disbelieve, there was something
convincing about his words. At any moment during that brief space of
time, a single tremulous word, even a warm clasp of the hand, would have
brought her into his arms. But so much of inspiration was denied him. He
sat waiting for her decision with an eagerness of which he gave no sign.
Nevertheless, the fates were fighting for him. She thought gratefully,
even at that moment, yet with less enthusiasm than ever before, of the
devout homage, the delightful care for her happiness and comfort, the
atmosphere of security with which Draconmeyer seemed always to surround
her. Yet all this was cold and unsatisfying, a poor substitute for the
other things. Henry had been different once. Perhaps it was jealousy
which had altered him. Perhaps his misconception of Draconmeyer's
character had affected his whole outlook. She turned towards him, and
her voice, when she spoke, was no longer querulous.

"Henry," she said, "I cannot admit the truth of all that you say
concerning Mr. Draconmeyer, but tell me this. If I were willing to leave
this place to-night--"

She paused. For some reason a sudden embarrassment had seized her. The
words seemed to come with difficulty. She turned ever so slightly away
from him. There was a tinge of colour at last in her pale cheeks. She
seemed to him now, as she leaned a little forward in her seat,
completely beautiful.

"If I make my excuses and leave Monte Carlo to-night," she went on,
"will you come with me?"

He gave a little start. Something in his eyes flashed an answer into her
face. And then the flood of memory came. There was his mission. He was
tied hand and foot.

"It is good of you to offer that, Violet," he declared. "If I could--if
only I could!"

Already her manner began to change. The fear of his refusal was hateful,
her lips were trembling.

"You mean," she faltered, "that you will not come? Listen. Don't
misunderstand me. I will order my boxes packed, I will catch the eight
o'clock train either through to London or to Paris--anywhere. I will do
that if you will come. There is my offer. That is my reply to all that
you have said about Mr. Draconmeyer. I shall lose a friend who has been
gentleness and kindness and consideration itself. I will risk that. What
do you say? Will you come?"

"Violet, I cannot," he replied hoarsely. "No, don't turn away like
that!" he begged. "Don't change so quickly, please! It isn't fair.
Listen. I am not my own master."

"Not your own master?" she repeated incredulously. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I am here in Monte Carlo not for my own pleasure. I mean
that I have work, a purpose--"

"Absurd!" she interrupted him, almost harshly. "There is nobody who has
any better claim upon you than I have. You are over-conscientious about
other things. For once remember your duty as a husband."

He caught her wrist.

"You must trust me a little," he pleaded. "Believe me that I really
appreciate your offer. If I were free to go, I should not hesitate for a
single second.... Can't you trust me, Violet?" he implored, his voice
softening.

The woman within her was fighting on his side. She stifled her wounded
feelings, crushed down her disappointment that he had not taken her at
once into his arms and answered her upon her lips.

"Trust me, then," she replied. "If you refuse my offer, don't hint at
things you have to do. Tell me in plain words why. It is not enough for
you to say that you cannot leave Monte Carlo. Tell me why you cannot. I
have invited you to escort me anywhere you will--I, your wife.... Shall
we go?"

The woman had wholly triumphed. Her voice had dropped, the light was in
her eyes. She swayed a little towards him. His brain reeled. She was
once more the only woman in the world for him. Once more he fancied that
he could feel the clinging of her arms, the touch of her lips. These
things were promised in her face.

"I tell you that I cannot go!" he cried sharply. "Believe me--do believe
me, Violet!"

She pulled down her veil suddenly. He caught at her hand. It lay
passively in his. He pleaded for her confidence, but the moment of
inspiration had gone. She heard him with the air of one who listens no
longer. Presently she stopped him.

"Don't speak to me for several minutes, please," she begged. "Tell him
to put me down at the hotel. I can't go back to the Club just yet."

"You mustn't leave me like this," he insisted.

"Will you tell me why you refuse my offer?" she asked.

"I have a trust!"

The automobile had come to a standstill. She rose to her feet.

"I was once your trust," she reminded him, as she passed into the hotel.

CHAPTER XIII

MISS GREX AT HOME

Richard Lane, as he made his way up the avenue towards the Villa Mimosa,
wondered whether he was not indeed finding his way into fairyland. On
either side of him were drooping mimosa trees, heavy with the snaky,
orange-coloured blossom whose perfumes hung heavy upon the windless air.
In the background, bordering the gardens which were themselves a maze of
colour, were great clumps of glorious purple rhododendrons, drooping
clusters of red and white roses. A sudden turn revealed a long pergola,
smothered in pink blossoms and leading to the edge of the terrace which
overhung the sea. The villa itself, which seemed, indeed, more like a
palace, was covered with vivid purple clematis, and from the open door
of the winter-garden, which was built out from the front of the place in
a great curve, there came, as he drew near, a bewildering breath of
exotic odours. The front-door was wide open, and before he could reach
the bell a butler had appeared.

"Is Mr. Grex at home?" Richard enquired.

"Mr. Grex is not at home, sir," was the immediate reply.

"I should like to see Miss Grex, then," Richard proceeded.

The man's face was curiously expressionless, but a momentary silence
perhaps betrayed as much surprise as he was capable of showing.

"Miss Grex is not at home, sir," he announced.

Richard hesitated and just then she came out from the winter-garden. She
was wearing a pink linen morning gown and a floppy pink hat. She had a
book under her arm and a parasol swinging from her fingers. When she saw
Lane, she stared at him in amazement. He advanced a step or two towards
her, his hat in his hand.

"I took the liberty of calling to see your father, Miss Grex," he
explained. "As he was not at home, I ventured to enquire for you."

She was absolutely helpless. It was impossible to ignore his
outstretched hand. Very hesitatingly she held out her fingers, which
Richard grasped and seemed in no hurry at all to release.

"This is quite the most beautiful place I have seen anywhere near Monte
Carlo," he remarked enthusiastically.

"I am glad," she murmured, "that you find it attractive."

He was standing by her side now, his hat under his arm. The butler had
withdrawn a little into the background. She glanced around.

"Did my father ask you to call, Mr. Lane?" she enquired, dropping her
voice a little.

"He did not," Richard confessed. "I must say that I gave him plenty of
opportunities but he did not seem to be what I should call hospitably
inclined. In any case, it really doesn't matter. I came to see you."

She bit her lip, struggling hard to repress a smile.

"But I did not ask you to call upon me either," she reminded him
gravely.

"Well, that's true," Lane admitted, a little hesitatingly. "I don't
quite know how things are done over here. Say, are you English, or
French, or what?" he asked, point blank. "I have been puzzling about
that ever since I saw you."

"I am not sure that my nationality matters," she observed.

"Well, over on the other side," he continued,--"I mean America, of
course--if we make up our minds that we want to see something of a girl
and there isn't any real reason why one shouldn't, then the initiative
generally rests with the man. Of course, if you are an only daughter, I
can quite understand your father being a bit particular, not caring for
men callers and that sort of thing, but that can't go on for ever, you
know, can it?"

"Can't it?" she murmured, a little dazed.

"I have a habit," he confided, "of making up my mind quickly, and when I
decide about a thing, I am rather hard to turn. Well, I made up my mind
about you the first moment we met."

"About me?" she repeated.

"About you."

She turned and looked at him almost wonderingly. He was very big and
very confident; good to look upon, less because of his actual good looks
than because of a certain honesty and tenacity of purpose in his
expression; a strength of jaw, modified and rendered even pleasant by
the kindness and humour of his clear grey eyes. He returned her gaze
without embarrassment and he wondered less than ever at finding himself
there. Her complexion in this clear light seemed more beautiful than
ever. Her rich golden-brown hair was waved becomingly over her forehead.
Her eyebrows were silky and delicately straight, her mouth delightful.
Her figure was girlish, but unusually dignified for her years.

"You know," he said suddenly, "you look to me just like one of those
beautiful plants you have in the conservatory there, just as though
you'd stepped out of your little glass home and blossomed right here. I
am almost afraid of you."

She laughed outright this time--a low, musical laugh which had in it
something of foreign intonation.

"Well, really," she exclaimed, "I had not noticed your fear! I was just
thinking that you were quite the boldest young man I have ever met."

"Come, that's something!" he declared. "Couldn't we sit down somewhere
in these wonderful gardens of yours and talk?"

She shook her head.

"But have I not told you already," she protested, "that I do not receive
callers? Neither does my father. Really, your coming here is quite
unwarrantable. If he should return at this moment and find you here, he
would be very angry indeed. I am afraid that he would even be rude, and
I, too, should suffer for having allowed you to talk with me."

"Let's hope that he doesn't return just yet, then," Richard observed,
smiling easily. "I am very good-tempered as a rule, but I do not like
people to be rude to me."

"Fortunately, he cannot return for at least an hour--" she began.

"Then we'll sit down on that terrace, if you please, for just a quarter
of that time," he begged.

She opened her lips and closed them again. He was certainly a very
stubborn young man!

"Well," she sighed, "perhaps it will be the easiest way of getting rid
of you."

She motioned him to follow her. The butler, from a discreet distance,
watched her as though he were looking at a strange thing. Round the
corner of the villa remote from the winter-garden, was a long stone
terrace upon which many windows opened. Screened from the wind, the sun
here was of almost midsummer strength. There was no sound. The great
house seemed asleep. There was nothing but the droning of a few insects.
Even the birds were songless. The walls were covered with drooping
clematis and roses, roses that twined over the balustrades. Below them
was a tangle of mimosa trees and rhododendrons, and further below still
the blue Mediterranean. She sank into a chair.

"You may sit here," she said, "just long enough for me to convince you
that your coming was a mistake. Indeed that is so. I do not wish to seem
foolish or unkind, but my father and I are living here with one
unbreakable rule, and that is that we make no acquaintances whatsoever."

"That sounds rather queer," he remarked. "Don't you find it dull?"

"If I do," she went on, "it is only for a little time. My father is here
for a certain purpose, and as soon as that is accomplished we shall go
away. For him to accomplish that purpose in a satisfactory manner, it is
necessary that we should live as far apart as possible from the ordinary
visitors here."

"Sounds like a riddle," he admitted. "Do you mind telling me of what
nationality you are?"

"I see no reason why I should tell you anything."

"You speak such correct English," he continued, "but there is just a
little touch of accent. You don't know how attractive it sounds. You
don't know--"

He hesitated, suddenly losing some part of his immense confidence.

"What else is there that I do not know?" she asked, with a faintly
amused smile.

"I have lost my courage," he confessed simply. "I do not want to offend
you, I do not want you to think that I am hopelessly foolish, but you
see I have the misfortune to be in love with you."

She laughed at him, leaning back in her chair with half-closed eyes.

"Do people talk like this to casual acquaintances in your country?" she
asked.

"They speak sometimes a language which is common to all countries," he
replied quickly. "The only thing that is peculiar to my people is that
when we say it, it is the sober and the solemn truth."

She was silent for a moment. She had plucked one of the blossoms from
the wall and was pulling to pieces its purple petals.

"Do you know," she said, "that no young man has ever dared to talk to me
as you have done?"

"That is because no one yet has cared so much as I do," he assured her.
"I can quite understand their being frightened. I am terribly afraid of
you myself. I am afraid of the things I say to you, but I have to say
them because they are in my heart, and if I am only to have a quarter of
an hour with you now, you see I must make the best use of my time. I
must tell you that there isn't any other girl in the world I could ever
look at again, and if you won't promise to marry me some day, I shall be
the most wretched person on earth."

"I can never, never marry you," she told him emphatically. "There is
nothing which is so impossible as that."

"Well, that's a pretty bad start," he admitted.

"It is the end," she said firmly.

He shook his head. There was a terrible obstinacy in his face. She
frowned at him.

"You do not mean that you will persist after what I have told you?"

He looked at her, almost surprised.

"There isn't anything else for me to do, that I know of," he declared,
"so long as you don't care for any one else. Tell me again, you are sure
that there is no one?"

"Certainly not," she replied stiffly. "The subject has not yet been made
acceptable to me. You must forgive my adding that in my country it is
not usual for a girl to discuss these matters with a man before her
betrothal."

"Say, I don't understand that," he murmured, looking at her
thoughtfully. "She can't get engaged before she is asked."

"The preliminaries," she explained, "are always arranged by one's
parents."

He smiled pityingly.

"That sort of thing's no use," he asserted confidently. "You must be
getting past that, in whatever corner of Europe you live. What you mean
to say, then, is that your father has some one up his sleeve whom he'll
trot out for you before long?"

"Without doubt, some arrangement will be proposed," she agreed.

"And you'll have to be amiable to some one you've never seen in your
life before, I suppose?" he persisted.

"Not necessarily. It sometimes happens, in my position," she went on,
raising her head, "that certain sacrifices are necessary."

"In your position," he repeated quickly. "What does that mean? You
aren't a queen, are you, or anything of that sort?"

She laughed.

"No," she confessed, "I am not a queen, and yet--"

"And yet?"

"You must go back," she insisted, rising abruptly to her feet. "The
quarter of an hour is up. I do not feel happy, sitting here talking with
you. Really, if my father were to return he would be more angry with me
than he has ever been in his life. This sort of thing is not done
amongst my people."

"Little lady," he said, gently forcing her back into her place, "believe
me, it's done all the world over, and there isn't any girl can come to
any harm by being told that a man is fond of her when it's the truth,
when he'd give his life for her willingly. It's just like that I feel
about you. I've never felt it before. I could never feel it for any one
else. And I am not going to give you up."

She was looking at him half fearfully. There was a little colour in her
cheeks, her eyes were suddenly moist.

"I think," she murmured, "that you talk very nicely. I think I might
even say that I like to hear you talk. But it is so useless. Won't you
go now? Won't you please go now?"

"When may I come again?" he begged.

"Never," she replied firmly. "You must never come again. You must not
even think of it. But indeed you would not be admitted. They will
probably tell my father of your visit, as it is, and he will be very
angry."

"Well, when can I see you, then, and where?" he demanded. "I hope you
understand that I am not in the least disheartened by anything you have
said."

"I think," she declared, "that you are the most persistent person I ever
met."

"It is only," he whispered, leaning a little towards her, "because I
care for you so much."

She was suddenly confused, conscious of a swift desire to get rid of
him. It was as though some one were speaking a new language. All her old
habits and prejudices seemed falling away.

"I cannot make appointments with you," she protested, her voice shaking.
"I cannot encourage you in any way. It is really quite impossible."

"If I go now, will you be at the Club to-morrow afternoon?" he pleaded.

"I am not sure," she replied. "It is very likely that I may be there. I
make no promise."

He took her hand abruptly, and, stooping down, forced her to look into
his eyes.

"You will be there to-morrow afternoon, please," he begged, "and you
will give me the rose from your waistband."

She laughed uneasily.

"If the rose will buy your departure--" she began.

"It may do that," he interrupted, as he drew it through his buttonhole,
"but it will assuredly bring me back again."

* * * * *

Richard walked down the hill, whistling softly to himself and with a
curious light in his eyes. As he reached the square in front of the
Casino, he was accosted by a stranger who stood in the middle of the
pavement and respectfully removed his hat.

"You are Mr. Richard Lane, is it not so, monsieur?"

"You've guessed it in one," Richard admitted. "Have I ever seen you
before?"

"Never, monsieur, unless you happened to notice me on your visit to the
prison. I have an official position in the Principality. I am
commissioned to speak to you with respect to the little affair in which
you were concerned at La Turbie."

"Well, I thought we'd thrashed all that out," Lane replied. "Anyway, Sir
Henry Hunterleys and I have engaged a lawyer to look after our
interests."

"Just so," the little man murmured. "A very clever man indeed is
Monsieur Grisson. Still, there is a view of the matter," he continued,
"which is perhaps hard for you Englishmen and Americans to understand.
Assault of any description is very severely punished here, especially
when it results in bodily injury. Theft of all sorts, on the other hand,
is very common indeed. The man whom you injured is a native of Monte
Carlo. To a certain extent, the Principality is bound to protect him."

"Why, the fellow was engaged in a flagrant attempt at highway robbery!"
Richard declared, genuinely astonished.

His companion stretched out his hands.

"Monsieur," he replied, "every one robs here, whether they are
shop-keepers, restaurant keepers, or loafers upon the streets. The
people expect it. At the adjourned trial next week there will be many
witnesses who are also natives of Monte Carlo. I have been commissioned
to warn monsieur. It would be best, on the whole, if he left Monte Carlo
by the next train."

"Why in the name of mischief should I do that?" Richard demanded.

"In the first place," the other pointed out, "because this man, whom you
treated a little roughly, has many friends and associates. They have
sworn revenge. You are even now being followed about, and the police of
the Principality have enough to do without sparing an escort to protect
you against violence. In the second place, I am not at all sure that the
finding of the court next week will be altogether to your satisfaction."

"Do you mean this?" Richard asked incredulously.

"Without a doubt, monsieur."

"Then all I can say," Richard declared, "is that your magistrate or
judge, or whatever he calls himself, is a rotter, and your laws absurd.
I sha'n't budge."

"It is in your own interests, monsieur, this warning," the other
persisted. "Even if you escape these desperadoes, you still run some
risk of discovering what the inside of a prison in Monaco is like."

"I think not," Lane answered grimly. "If there's anything of that sort
going about, I shall board my yacht yonder and hoist the Stars and
Stripes. I shall take some getting into prison, I can tell you, and if I
once get there, you'll hear about it."

"Monsieur will be much wiser to avoid trouble," the official advised.

Lane placed his hand upon the other's shoulder.

"My friend," he said, "not you or a dozen like you could make me stir
from this place until I am ready, and just now I am very far from ready.
See? You can go and tell those who sent you, what I say."

The emissary of the law shrugged his shoulders. His manner was stiff but
resigned.

"I have delivered my message, monsieur," he announced. "Monsieur
naturally must decide for himself."

He disappeared with a bow. Richard continued on his way and a few
minutes later ran into Hunterleys.

"Say, did you ever hear such cheek!" he exclaimed, passing his arm
through the latter's. "A little bounder stopped me in the street and has
been trying to frighten me into leaving Monte Carlo, just because I
broke that robber's wrist. Same Johnny that came to you, I expect. What
are they up to, anyway? What do they want to get rid of us for? They
ought to be jolly grateful."

Hunterleys shook his head.

"So far as I am concerned," he said, "their reasons for wanting to get
rid of me are fairly obvious, I am afraid, but I must say I don't know
where you come in, unless--"

He stopped short.

"Well, unless what?" Richard interposed. "I should just like to know who
it is trying to get me kicked out."

"Can't you guess?" Hunterleys asked. "There is one person who I think
would be quite as well pleased to see the back of you."

"Here in Monte Carlo?"

"Absolutely!"

Richard was mystified.

"You are not very bright, I am afraid," Hunterleys observed. "What about
your friend Mr. Grex?"

Richard whistled softly.

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I am," Hunterleys assured him.

"But has he any pull here, this Mr. Grex?"

Hunterleys' eyes twinkled for a moment.

"Yes," he replied, "I think that Mr. Grex has very considerable
influence in this part of the world, and he is a man who, I should say,
was rather used to having his own way."

"I gathered that I wasn't exactly popular with him this afternoon,"
Richard remarked meditatively. "I've been out there to call."

Hunterleys stopped short upon the pavement.

"What?" he exclaimed.

"I have been out to call at the Villa Mimosa," Richard repeated. "I
don't see anything extraordinary in that."

"Did you see--Miss Fedora?"

"Rather! And thank you for telling me her name, at any rate. We sat on
the terrace and chatted for a quarter of an hour. She gave me to
understand, though, that the old man was dead against me. It all seems
very mysterious. Anyway, she gave me this rose I am wearing, and I think
she'll be at the Club to-morrow afternoon."

Hunterleys was silent for a moment. He seemed much impressed.

"You know, Richard," he declared, "there is something akin to genius in
your methods."

"That's all very well," the young man protested, "but can you give me a
single solid reason why, considering I am in love with the girl, I
shouldn't go and call upon her? Who is this Mr. Grex, anyway?"

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