CHAPTER III IS A MYSTERY

I was left alone with Reggie, for Ulrica had taken Gerald into the orchestral concert.

"What awfully good luck you had!" he observed, after we had been chatting some time. "If you'd had the maximum on each time, you'd have won over seven hundred pounds."

"There are a good many 'ifs' in gambling," I remarked. "I've never had any luck before in gambles at bazaars and such-like places."

"When you do have luck, follow it, is my motto," he laughed. "I should have advised you to continue playing to-day, only I thought it might annoy Ulrica," and he raised his whisky and seltzer to his lips.

"But I might have lost all I won," I remarked. "No, I prefer to keep it. I'd like to be unique among other people and go away with some of the bank's money, I intend to keep what I have, and not to play again."

"Never?"

"Never!"

"My dear Miss Rosselli, that's what everyone says here," he laughed. "But before you've been on the Riviera long you'll soon discover that this is no place for good resolutions. Gambling is one of the sweetest and most insidious of vices, and has the additional attraction of being thought chic. Look at the crowd of women here! Why, every one of them plays. If she didn't, others would believe her to be hard-up—and poverty, you know, is distinctly bad form here. Even if a woman hasn't sufficient to pay her hotel bill, she must wear the regulation gold chatelaine and the gold chain-purse, if it only contains a couple of pieces of a hundred sous. And she must play. Fortunes have been won with only five francs."

"Such stories, I fear, are only fairy tales," I said incredulously.

"No. At least, one of them is not," he answered, blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips and looking at me amusedly. "I was playing here one night last March when a young French girl won three hundred thousand francs after having first lost all she had. She borrowed a five-franc piece from a friend, and with it broke the bank. I was present at the table where it occurred. Fortune is very fickle here."

"So it seems," I said. "That is why I intend to keep what I've won."

"You might have a necklace made of the louis," he said. "Many women wear coins won at Monte attached to their bangles, along with golden pigs and enamelled discs bearing the fatal number thirteen."

"A happy thought!" I exclaimed. "I'll have one put on my bangle to-morrow as a souvenir."

"Are you staying on the Riviera long?" he inquired presently.

"I really don't know. When Ulrica is tired of it we shall move down to Rome, I suppose."

"When she's lost sufficient, you mean," he smiled. "She's quite reckless when she commences. I remember her here several seasons ago. She lost very heavily. Luck was entirely against her."

I, too, remember her visit. She left me in London and went to the Riviera for a couple of months, and on her return was constantly bewailing her penury. This, then, was the secret of it. She had never revealed to me the truth.

"And you think that I shall be stricken with the prevalent epidemic?" I inquired.

"I hope not," he answered quickly. "But, after all, the temptation is utterly irresistible. It is sad, indeed, that here, in this corner of God's earth, which He has marked as the nearest approach to Paradise created, should be allowed to flaunt all the vices which render the world horrible. Monte Carlo is the one blot upon the Riviera. I'm a gambler—I make no secret of it, because I find resistance impossible while I have money in my pocket—nevertheless, much as I like a fling here each winter, I would gladly welcome the closing of the Casino. It has been well said that those red-carpeted steps and the wide doors opposite form the entrance-gate to hell."

I sighed, glancing over to the flight of steps opposite, where all sorts of women, wintering among temptations in summer toilettes, were passing up and down. He was possessed of common sense, and spoke the truth. Inside those Rooms the perspiring and perfumed crowds were fluttering round the tables as moths round a candle, going headlong to ruin, both moral and financial.

"Yes," I observed reflectively, "I suppose you're right. Thousands have been ruined within that place."

"And thousands have ended by committing suicide," he added. "The average number of suicides within this tiny Principality of Monaco is more than two a day!"

"More than two a day!" I exclaimed incredulously.

"Yes. Of course, the authorities bribe the Press to hush it all up, but the authentic figures were published not long ago. The Administrator of the Casino finds it cheaper to bury a corpse than to pay a ruined gambler's fare to St. Petersburg, London, or New York. That's why the poor devils who are cleaned out find the much-talked-of viatique so difficult to obtain. Human life is held very cheap here, I can tell you."

"Oh, don't talk like that!" I protested. "You make one feel quite nervous. Do you mean that murder is often committed?"

"Well—not exactly that. But one must always remember that here, mixing with the best people of Europe, are the very scum of the world, both male and female. Although they dress elegantly, live well, play boldly, and give themselves airs and false titles of nobility, and wear decorations to which they are not entitled, they are a very queer and unscrupulous crowd, I can assure you."

"Do you know any of them by sight?" I inquired, much interested.

"Oh, one or two," he answered, laughing. "Some of them are, of course, eccentric and quite harmless characters." Then a moment later he added: "Do you see that tall, thin old man just ascending the steps—the one with the soft white felt hat? Well, his is a curious story. Twenty years ago he came here as a millionaire, and within a month lost everything he possessed at trente et quarante. So huge were the profits made by the bank that, instead of giving him his viatique to London, they allotted him a pension of a louis a day for life, on the understanding that he should never again enter the Rooms. For nearly twenty years he lived in Nice, haunting the Promenade des Anglais, and brooding over his past foolishness. Last year, however, somebody died unexpectedly, and left him quite comfortably off, whereupon he paid back to Monte Carlo all that he had received and returned again to gamble. His luck, however, has proved just as bad as before. Yet each month, as soon as he draws his income, he comes over, and in a single day flings it all away upon the red, his favourite colour. His history is only one of many."

With interest I looked at the tall, thin-faced old gambler as he painfully ascended the steps; and even as I watched he passed in, eager to fling away all that stood between himself and starvation.

Truly, the world of Monte Carlo is a very queer place.

Ulrica and Gerald came laughing across the leafy Place and joined us at our table. It was very pleasant there, with the band playing the latest waltzes, the gay promenaders strolling beneath the palms, the bright flowers and the pigeons strutting in the roadway. Indeed, as one sat there it seemed hard to believe that this was actually the much-talked-of Monte Carlo—the plague-spot of Europe.

I don't think that I ever saw Ulrica look so well as on that afternoon in the white serge which she had had made in Paris; for white serge is, as you know, always de rigueur at Monte in winter, with white hat and white shoes. I was also in white, but it never suited me as it did her, yet one had to be smart, even at the expense of one's complexion. At Monte Carlo one must at least be respectable, even in one's vices.

"Come, let's go back to the Rooms," suggested Ulrica, when she had finished her tea, flavoured with orange-flower water in accordance with the mode at the Café de Paris.

"Miss Rosselli won't play any more," said Reggie.

"My dear Carmela!" cried Ulrica. "Why, surely, you've the pluck to follow your good fortune!"

But I was obdurate, and although I accompanied the others I did not risk a single sou.

The place was crowded, and the atmosphere absolutely unbearable, as it always becomes about five o'clock. The Administration appear afraid of letting in a little air to cool the heads of the players, hence the Rooms are, as it were, hermetically sealed.

As I wandered about with Reggie, he pointed out to me other well-known characters in the Rooms—the queer old fellow who carries a bag-purse made of coloured beads; the old hag with a moustache who always brings her own rake; the bright-eyed, dashing woman known to the croupiers as "The Golden Hand"; the thin, wizen-faced little hunch-back, who one night a few months before had broken the bank at the first roulette table on the left; men working so-called "systems," and women trying to snatch up other people's winnings. Now and then my companion placed a louis upon a transversale or colonne, and once or twice he won; but declaring that he had no luck that day, he soon grew as tired of it as myself.

Ulrica came up to us flushed with excitement. She had won three hundred francs at the table where she always played. Her favourite croupier was turning the wheel, and he always brought her luck. We had both won, and she declared it to be a happy augury for the future.

While we were standing there the croupier's voice sounded loud and clear "Zero!" with that long roll of the "r" which habitués of the Rooms know so well.

"Zero!" cried Reggie. "By Jove! I must put something on," and hurrying toward the table he handed the croupier a hundred-franc note, with a request to put it on the number 29.

The game was made and the ball fell.

"Vingt-neuf! Rouge, impair et passe!"

"By Jove!" cried Gerald. "He's won! Lucky devil! How extraordinary that after zero the number 29 so frequently follows!"

The croupier handed Reggie three thousand-franc notes and quite a handful of gold. Then the lucky player moved his original stake on to the little square marked 36.

Again he won, and again and again. The three thousand-franc notes he had just received he placed upon the middle dozen. The number 18 turned up, and the croupier handed him six thousand francs—the maximum paid by the bank on a single coup. Every eye around that table watched him narrowly. People began to follow his play, placing their money beside his, and time after time he won, making only a few unimportant losses.

We stood watching him in silent wonder. The luck of the man with whom I had been flirting was simply marvellous. Sometimes he distributed his stakes on the colour, the dozens and the "pair," and thus often won in several places at the same time. The eager, grabbing crowd surged round the table and the excitement quickly rose to fever heat. The assault Reggie was making upon the bank was certainly a formidable one. His inner pockets bulged with the mass of notes he had crammed there, and the outer pockets of his jacket were heavy with golden louis.

Ulrica stood behind him, but uttered no word. To speak to a person while playing is believed by the gambler at Monte Carlo to bring evil fortune.

When he could cram no more notes into his pockets, he passed them to Ulrica, who held them in an overflow bundle in her hand.

He tossed a thousand francs on the red, but lost, together with the dozens of others who had followed his play.

He played again, with no better result.

A third time he played on the red, which had not been up for nine times in succession, a most unusual run.

Black won.

"I've finished," he said, turning to us with a laugh. "Let's get out of this—my luck has changed."

"Marvellous!" cried Ulrica. "Why, you must have won quite a fortune!"

"We'll go across to the Café and count it," he said, and we all walked out together; and while sitting at one of the tables we helped him to count the piles of gold and notes.

He had, we found, won over sixty thousand francs.

At his invitation we went along to Gast's, the jeweller's, in the Galerie, and he there purchased for each of us a ring as a little souvenir of the day. Then we entered Giro's and dined.

Yes, life at Monte Carlo is absolutely intoxicating. Now, however, that I sit here calmly reflecting on the events of that day when I first entered the Sign of the Seven Sins, I find that even though the display of such wealth as one sees upon the tables is dazzling, yet my first impression of it has never been altered.

I hated Monte Carlo from the first. I hate it now.

The talk at dinner was, of course, the argot of the Rooms. At Monte Carlo the conversation is always of play. If you meet an acquaintance, you do not ask after her health, but of her luck and her latest successes.

The two bejewelled worlds, the monde and the demi-monde, ate, drank, and chattered in that restaurant of wide renown. The company was cosmopolitan, the conversation polyglot, the dishes marvellous. At the table next us there sat the Grand-Duke Michael of Russia, with the Countess Torby, and beyond a British earl with a couple of smart military men. The United States Ambassador to Germany was at another table with a small party of friends; while La Juniori, Derval, and several other well-known Parisian beauties were scattered here and there.

I was laughing at a joke of Reggie's, when suddenly I raised my eyes and saw a pair of new-comers. The man was tall, dark, handsome, with face a trifle bronzed—a face I knew only too well!

I started, and must have turned pale, for I knew from Ulrica's expression that she noticed it.

The man who entered there, as though to taunt me with his presence, was Ernest Cameron, the man whom I had loved—nay, whom I still loved—the man who had a year ago cast me aside for another and left me to wear out my young heart in sorrow and suffering.

That woman was with him—the tow-haired woman whom they told me he had promised to make his wife. I had never seen her before. She was rather petite, with a fair, fluffy coiffure, blue-grey eyes and pink-and-white cheeks. She had earned, I afterwards discovered, a rather unenviable notoriety in Paris on account of some scandal or other, but the real truth about it I could never ascertain.

Our eyes met as she entered, but she was unaware that she gazed upon the woman who was her rival, and who hated her. She had stolen Ernest from me, and I felt that I could rise there, in that public place, and crush the life from that fragile body.

Ernest himself brushed past my chair, but without recognising me, and went down the room gaily with his companion.

"Do you notice who has just entered?" asked Ulrica.

I nodded. I could not speak.

"Who?" inquired Reggie quickly.

"Some friends of ours," she answered carelessly.

"Oh! everyone meets friends here," he remarked, as he raised his champagne unsuspectingly to his lips.

Reader, if you are a woman, you will fully understand how the sight of that man who held me by a fatal fascination, caused in my breast a whirl of passions. I hated and loved at the same instant. Even though we were parted, I had never ceased to think of him. For me the world had no longer any charm, since the light of my life had now gone out, and I was suffering in silence, just as so many women who have become the sport of Fate are bound to do.

Yes. Ulrica's notion was, after all, very true. No man whom I had ever met was really worth consideration. All were egoists. The rich believed that woman was a mere toy, while the poor were always ineligible.

Reggie spoke to me, but I scarcely heeded him. Now that the man I loved was near me, I felt an increasing desire to get rid of this male encumbrance. True, he was rich, and I knew, by my own feminine intuition, that he admired me, but for him I entertained no spark of affection. Alas! that we always sigh for the unattainable.

For myself, the remainder of the meal was utterly without interest. I longed to get another glimpse of that man's bronzed face, and of the tow-haired woman whom he had preferred to me, but they were evidently sitting at a table in the corner out of sight.

Ulrica knew the truth, and took compassion upon me by hastening the dinner to its end. Then we went forth again into the cool, balmy night. The moon shone brightly, and its reflection glittered in a long stream of silver brilliance upon the sea; the Place was gaily lit and the white façade of the Casino, with its great illuminated clock, shone with lights of every hue.

Across to the Hermitage we strolled, and there drank our coffee.

I laughed at Reggie's pockets bulging with notes, for, the banks being closed, he was compelled to carry his winnings about with him. While we sat there, however, a brilliant idea occurred to him.

"Nearly all these notes are small," he said suddenly. "I'll go into the Rooms and exchange the gold and small notes for large ones. They'll be so much easier to carry."

"Ah!" cried Ulrica, "I never thought of that. Why, of course!"

"Very well," he answered, rising. "I shan't be ten minutes."

"Don't be tempted to play again, old fellow," urged Gerald.

"No fear of that!" he laughed, and, with a cigarette in his mouth, strode away in the direction of the Casino.

We remained there gossiping for fully half an hour, yet he did not return. As it was only a walk of a couple of minutes from the Hermitage to the Casino, we concluded that he had met some friend and been detained, for, like Gerald, he came there each winter and knew quite a host of people. One makes a large circle of acquaintances on the Riviera, many interesting, but the majority undesirable.

"I wonder where he's got to?" Gerald observed presently. "Surely he isn't such an idiot as to resume play!"

"No. He's well enough aware that there's no luck after dinner," remarked Ulrica. "We might, however, I think, take a last turn through the Rooms and see whether he's there."

This suggestion was carried out, but although we searched every table we failed to discover him. Until ten o'clock we lounged about, then returned by the express to Nice.

That he should have left us in that abrupt manner was certainly curious; but as Gerald declared he was always erratic in his movements, and that his explanation in the morning would undoubtedly be found entirely satisfactory, we returned together to the hotel, where we wished our companion good-night, and ascended in the elevator to our own sitting-room on the second floor.

My good fortune pleased me, but my heart was nevertheless overburdened with sorrow. The sight of Ernest had reopened the gaping wound which I had so strenuously striven to heal by the aid of lighter woes. I now thought only of him.

Ulrica, who was in front of me, pushed open the door of our sitting-room and switched on the light, but ere she crossed the threshold she drew back quickly with a loud cry of horror and surprise.

In an instant I was at her side.

"Look!" she gasped, terrified, pointing to the opposite side of the room. "Look!"

The body of a man was lying, face downwards, upon the carpet, half hidden by the round table in the centre of the room.

Together we dashed forward to his assistance and tried to raise him, but were unable. We succeeded, however, in turning him upon his side, and then his white, hard-set features became suddenly revealed.

"My God!" I cried, awe-stricken. "What has occurred? Why—it's Reggie!"

"Reggie!" shrieked Ulrica, kneeling quickly and placing her gloved hand eagerly upon his heart. "Reggie!—and he's dead!".

"Impossible!" I gasped, almost petrified by the hideous discovery.

"It is true," she went on, her face white as that of the dead man before us. "Look, there's blood upon his lips. See—the chair over there is thrown down and broken. There has apparently been a fierce struggle."

Next instant a thought occurred to me, and bending, I quickly searched his inner pockets. The bank-notes were not there.

Then the ghastly truth became entirely plain.

Reginald Thorne had been robbed and murdered.