Produced by Steven desJardins, Mary Meehan, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
MR. GREX OF MONTE CARLO
BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
AUTHOR OF "THE VANISHED MESSENGER," "A PEOPLE'S MAN," "THE MISCHIEFMAKER"
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BYWILL GREFE
BOSTONLITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY1915
THE COLONIAL PRESSC. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
She leaned across and with trembling fingers backednumber fourteen _en plein_.]
CONTENTS
I. An Unexpected Meeting
II. By Accident or Design
III. A Warning
IV. Enter the American
V. "Who is Mr. Grex?"
VI. Cakes and Counsels
VII. The Effrontery of Richard
VIII. Up the Mountain
IX. In the Mists
X. Signs of Trouble
XI. Hints to Hunterleys
XII. "I Cannot Go!"
XIII. Miss Grex at Home
XIV. Dinner for Two
XV. International Politics
XVI. A Bargain with Jean Coulois
XVII. Duty Interferes Again
XVIII. A Midnight Conference
XIX. "Take Me Away!"
XX. Wily Mr. Draconmeyer
XXI. Assassination!
XXII. The Wrong Man
XXIII. Trouble Brewing
XXIV. Hunterleys Scents Murder
XXV. Draconmeyer is Desperate
XXVI. Extraordinary Love-Making
XXVII. Playing for High Stakes
XXVIII. To the Villa Mimosa
XXIX. For His Country
XXX. "Supposing I Take This Money"
XXXI. Nearing a Crisis
XXXII. An Interesting Meeting
XXXIII. The Fates Are Kind
XXXIV. Coffee for One Only
XXXV. A New Map of the Earth
XXXVI. Checkmate!
XXXVII. An Amazing Elopement
XXXVIII. Honeymooning
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
She leaned across and with trembling fingers backed number fourteen _enplein_
"For the last time, then--to Monte Carlo!"
"Come on, you fellows!" he shouted
"What we ask of France is that she looks the other way"
"That two hundred shall be five hundred, but it must be a cemetery towhich they take him!"
Mr. Grex, with his daughter and Lady Hunterleys on one side and MonsieurDouaille on the other, were in the van.
MR. GREX OF MONTE CARLO
CHAPTER I
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
The eyes of the man who had looked in upon a scene inordinately,fantastically brilliant, underwent, after those first few moments ofcomparative indifference, a curious transformation. He was contemplatingone of the sights of the world. Crowded around the two roulette tables,promenading or lounging on the heavily cushioned divans against thewall, he took note of a conglomeration of people representing, perhaps,every grade of society, every nationality of importance, yet with acurious common likeness by reason of their tribute paid to fashion. Heglanced unmoved at a beautiful Englishwoman who was a duchess but lookedotherwise; at an equally beautiful Frenchwoman, who looked like aduchess but was--otherwise. On every side of him were women gowned bythe great artists of the day, women like flowers, all perfume andsoftness and colour. His eyes passed them over almost carelessly. Alittle tired with many weeks' travel in countries where the luxuries oflife were few, his senses were dulled to the magnificence of the scene,his pulses as yet had not responded to its charm and wonder. And thenthe change came. He saw a woman standing almost exactly opposite to himat the nearest roulette table, and he gave a noticeable start. For amoment his pale, expressionless face was transformed, his secret was atany one's mercy. That, however, was the affair of an instant only. Hewas used to shocks and he survived this one. He moved a little on oneside from his prominent place in the centre of the wide-flung doorway.He stood by one of the divans and watched.
She was tall and fair and slight. She wore a high-necked gown ofshimmering grey, a black hat, under which her many coils of hair shonelike gold, and a necklace of pearls around her throat, pearls on whichhis eyes had rested with a curious expression. She played, unlike manyof her neighbours, with restraint, yet with interest, almost enthusiasm.There was none of the strain of the gambler about her smooth, beautifulface. Her delicately curved lips were free from the grim lines ofconcentrated acquisitiveness. She was thirty-two years old but shelooked much younger as she stood there, her lips a little parted in apleased smile of anticipation. She was leaning a little over the tableand her eyes were fixed with humorous intentness upon the spinningwheel. Even amongst that crowd of beautiful women she possessed acertain individual distinction. She not only looked what she was--anEnglishwoman of good birth--but there was a certain delicate aloofnessabout her expression and bearing which gave an added charm to apersonality which seemed to combine the two extremes of provocativenessand reserve. One would have hesitated to address to her even the chanceremarks which pass so easily between strangers around the tables.
"Violet here!" the man murmured under his breath. "Violet!"
There was tragedy in the whisper, a gleam of something like tragedy,too, in the look which passed between the man and the woman a fewmoments later. With her hands full of plaques which she had just won,she raised her eyes at last from the board. The smile upon her lips wasthe delighted smile of a girl. And then, as she was in the act ofsweeping her winnings into her gold bag, she saw the man opposite. Thesmile seemed to die from her lips; it appeared, indeed, to pass with allelse of expression from her face. The plaques dropped one by one throughher fingers, into the satchel. Her eyes remained fixed upon him asthough she were looking upon a ghost. The seconds seemed drawn out intoa grim hiatus of time. The croupier's voice, the muttered imprecation ofa loser by her side, the necessity of making some slight movement inorder to allow the passage of an arm from some one in search ofchange--some such trifle at last brought her back from the shadows. Herexpression became at once more normal. She did not remove her eyes butshe very slightly inclined her head towards the man. He, in return,bowed very gravely and without a smile.
The table in front of her was cleared now. People were beginning toconsider their next coup. The voice of the croupier, with hisparrot-like cry, travelled down the board.
_"Faites vos jeux, mesdames et messieurs."_
The woman made no effort to stake. After a moment's hesitation sheyielded up her place, and moving backwards, seated herself upon an emptydivan. Rapidly the thoughts began to form themselves in her mind. Herdelicate eyebrows drew closer together in a distinct frown. After thatfirst shock, that queer turmoil of feeling, beyond analysis, yet havingwithin it some entirely unexpected constituent, she found herselfdisposed to be angry. The sensation had not subsided when a moment ortwo later she was conscious that the man whose coming had proved sodisturbing was standing before her.
"Good afternoon," he said, a little stiffly.
She raised her eyes. The frown was still upon her forehead, although toa certain extent it was contradicted by a slight tremulousness of thelips.
"Good afternoon, Henry!"
For some reason or other, further speech seemed to him a difficultmatter. He moved towards the vacant place.
"If you have no objection," he observed, as he seated himself.
She unfurled her fan--an ancient but wonderful weapon of defence. Itgave her a brief respite. Then she looked at him calmly.
br /> "Of all places in the world," she murmured, "to meet you here!"
"Is it so extraordinary?"
"I find it so," she admitted. "You don't at all fit in, you know. Ascene like this," she added, glancing around, "would scarcely ever belikely to attract you for its own sake, would it?"
"It doesn't particularly," he admitted.
"Then why have you come?"
He remained silent. The frown upon her forehead deepened.
"Perhaps," she went on coldly, "I can help you with your reply. You havecome because you are not satisfied with the reports of the privatedetective whom you have engaged to watch me. You have come to supplementthem by your own investigation."
His frown matched hers. The coldness of his tone was rendered even morebitter by its note of anger.
"I am surprised that you should have thought me capable of such anaction," he declared. "All I can say is that it is thoroughly in keepingwith your other suspicions of me, and that I find it absolutelyunworthy."
She laughed a little incredulously, not altogether naturally.
"My dear Henry," she protested, "I cannot flatter myself that there isany other person in the world sufficiently interested in my movements tohave me watched."
"Are you really under the impression that that is the case?" he enquiredgrimly.
"It isn't a matter of impression at all," she retorted. "It is thetruth. I was followed from London, I was watched at Cannes, I am watchedhere day by day--by a little man in a brown suit and a Homburg hat, andwith a habit of lounging. He lounges under my windows, he is probablylounging across the way now. He has lounged within fifty yards of me forthe last three weeks, and to tell you the truth I am tired of him.Couldn't I have a week's holiday? I'll keep a diary and tell you allthat you want to know."
"Is it sufficient," he asked, "for me to assure you, upon my word ofhonour, that I know nothing of this?"
She was somewhat startled. She turned and looked at him. His tone wasconvincing. He had not the face of a man whose word of honour was anegligible thing.
"But, Henry," she protested, "I tell you that there is no doubt aboutthe matter. I am watched day and night--I, an insignificant person whosedoings can be of no possible interest save to you and you only."
The man did not at once reply. His thoughts seemed to have wandered offfor a moment. When he spoke again, his tone had lost its note ofresentment.
"I do not blame you for your suspicion," he said calmly, "although I canassure you that I have never had any idea of having you watched. It isnot a course which could possibly have suggested itself to me, even inmy most unhappy moments."
She was puzzled--at once puzzled and interested.
"I am so glad to hear this," she said, "and of course I believe you, butthere the fact is. I think that you will agree with me that it iscurious."
"Isn't it possible," he ventured to suggest, "that it is your companionswho are the object of this man's vigilance? You are not, I presume,alone here?"
She eyed him a little defiantly.
"I am here," she announced, "with Mr. and Mrs. Draconmeyer."
He heard her without any change of expression, but somehow or other itwas easy to see that her news, although more than half expected, hadstung him.
"Mr. and Mrs. Draconmeyer," he repeated, with slight emphasis on thelatter portion of the sentence.
"Certainly! I am sorry," she went on, a moment late, "that my companionsdo not meet with your approval. That, however, I could scarcely expect,considering--"
"Considering what?" he insisted, watching her steadfastly.
"Considering all things," she replied, after a moment's pause.
"Mrs. Draconmeyer is still an invalid?"
"She is still an invalid."
The slightly satirical note in his question seemed to provoke a certaindefiance in her manner as she turned a little sideways towards him. Shemoved her fan slowly backwards and forwards, her head was thrown back,her manner was almost belligerent. He took up the challenge. He askedher in plain words the question which his eyes had already demanded.
"I find myself constrained to ask you," he said, in a studiouslymeasured tone, "by what means you became possessed of the pearls you arewearing? I do not seem to remember them as your property."
Her eyes flashed.
"Don't you think," she returned, "that you are a little outstepping yourprivileges?"
"Not in the least," he declared. "You are my wife, and although you havedefied me in a certain matter, you are still subject to my authority. Isee you wearing jewels in public of which you were certainly notpossessed a few months ago, and which neither your fortune nor mine--"
"Let me set your mind at rest," she interrupted icily. "The pearls arenot mine. They belong to Mrs. Draconmeyer."
"Mrs. Draconmeyer!"
"I am wearing them," she continued, "at Linda's special request. She istoo unwell to appear in public and she is very seldom able to wear anyof her wonderful jewelry. It gives her pleasure to see them sometimesupon other people."
He remained quite silent for several moments. He was, in reality,passionately angry. Self-restraint, however, had become such a habit ofhis that there were no indications of his condition save in the slighttwitchings of his long fingers and a tightening at the corners of hislips. She, however, recognised the symptoms without difficulty.
"Since you defy my authority," he said, "may I ask whether my wisheshave any weight with you?"
"That depends," she replied.
"It is my earnest wish," he went on, "that you do not wear anotherwoman's jewelry, either in public or privately."
She appeared to reflect for a moment. In effect she was strugglingagainst a conviction that his request was reasonable.
"I am sorry," she said at last. "I see no harm whatever in my doing soin this particular instance. It gives great pleasure to poor Mrs.Draconmeyer to see her jewels and admire them, even if she is unable towear them herself. It gives me an intense joy which even a normal mancould scarcely be expected to understand; certainly not you. I am sorrythat I cannot humour you."
He leaned towards her.
"Not if I beg you?"
She looked at him fixedly, looked at him as though she searched forsomething in his face, or was pondering over something in his tone. Itwas a moment which might have meant much. If she could have seen intohis heart and understood the fierce jealousy which prompted his words,it might have meant a very great deal. As it was, her contemplationappeared to be unsatisfactory.
"I am sorry that you should lay so much stress upon so small a thing,"she said. "You were always unreasonable. Your present request is anotherinstance of it. I was enjoying myself very much indeed until you came,and now you wish to deprive me of one of my chief pleasures. I cannothumour you."
He turned away. Even then chance might have intervened. The moment herwords had been spoken she realised a certain injustice in them, realiseda little, perhaps, the point of view of this man who was still herhusband. She watched him almost eagerly, hoping to find some sign in hisface that it was not only his stubborn pride which spoke. She failed,however. He was one of those men who know too well how to wear the mask.
"May I ask where you are staying here?" he enquired presently.
"At the Hotel de Paris."
"It is unfortunate," he observed. "I will move my quarters to-morrow."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Monte Carlo is full of hotels," she remarked, "but it seems a pity thatyou should move. The place is large enough for both of us."
"It is not long," he retorted, "since you found London itself too small.I should be very sorry to spoil your holiday."
Her eyes seemed to dwell for a moment upon the Spanish dancer who sat atthe table opposite them, a woman whose name had once been a householdword, dethroned now, yet still insistent for notice and homage;commanding them, even, with the wreck of her beauty and the splendour ofher clothes.
"It seems a queer place, this," she observed, "
for domesticdisagreements. Let us try to avoid disputable subjects. Shall I be tooinquisitive if I ask you once more what in the name of all that isunsuitable brought you to such a place as Monte Carlo?"
He fenced with her question. Perhaps he resented the slightly ironicalnote in her tone. Perhaps there were other reasons.
"Why should I not come to Monte Carlo?" he enquired. "Parliament is notparticularly amusing when one is in opposition, and I do not hunt. Thewhole world amuses itself here."
"But not you," she replied quickly. "I know you better than that, mydear Henry. There is nothing here or in this atmosphere which couldpossibly attract you for long. There is no work for you to do--work, thevery breath of your body; work, the one thing you live for and were madefor; work, you man of sawdust and red tape."
"Am I as bad as all that?" he asked quietly.
She fingered her pearls for a moment.
"Perhaps I haven't the right to complain," she acknowledged. "I havegone my own way always. But if one is permitted to look for a momentinto the past, can you tell me a single hour when work was not theprominent thought in your brain, the idol before which you worshipped?Why, even our honeymoon was spent canvassing!"
"The election was an unexpected one," he reminded her.
"It would have been the same thing," she declared. "The only literaturewhich you really understand is a Blue Book, and the only music you hearis the chiming of Big Ben."
"You speak," he remarked, "as though you resented these things. Yet youknew before you married me that I had ambitions, that I did not proposeto lead an idle life."
"Oh, yes, I knew!" she assented drily. "But we are wandering from thepoint. I am still wondering what has brought you here. Have you comedirect from England?"
He shook his head.
"I came to-day from Bordighera."
"More and more mysterious," she murmured. "Bordighera, indeed! I thoughtyou once told me that you hated the Riviera."
"So I do," he agreed.
"And yet you are here?"
"Yet I am here."
"And you have not come to look after me," she went on, "and the mysteryof the little brown man who watches me is still unexplained."
"I know nothing about that person," he asserted, "and I had no idea thatyou were here."
"Or you would not have come?" she challenged him.
"Your presence," he retorted, nettled into forgetting himself for amoment, "would not have altered my plans in the slightest."
"Then you have a reason for coming!" she exclaimed quickly.
He gave no sign of annoyance but his lips were firmly closed. Shewatched him steadfastly.
"I wonder at myself no longer," she continued. "I do not think that anywoman in the world could ever live with a man to whom secrecy is asgreat a necessity as the very air he breathes. No wonder, my dear Henry,the politicians speak so well of you, and so confidently of yourbrilliant future!"
"I am not aware," he observed calmly, "that I have ever been undulysecretive so far as you are concerned. During the last few months,however, of our life together, you must remember that you chose toreceive on terms of friendship a person whom I regard--"
Her eyes suddenly flashed him a warning. He dropped his voice almost toa whisper. A man was approaching them.
"As an enemy," he concluded, under his breath.