CHAPTER XXI
ASSASSINATION!
Selingman, a large cigar between his lips and a happy smile upon hisface, stood in the square before the Casino, watching the pigeons. Hehad just enjoyed an excellent lunch, he was exceedingly pleased with anew light grey suit which he was wearing, and his one unsatisfied desirewas for companionship. Draconmeyer was away motoring with LadyHunterleys, Mr. Grex was spending the early part of the day in conclavewith their visitor from France, and Mademoiselle Nipon had gone to Nicefor the day. Selingman had been left to his own devices and wasbeginning to find time hang upon his hands. Conversation andcompanionship were almost as great necessities with him as wine. Hebeamed upon the pigeons and looked around at the people dotted about inchairs outside the Cafe de Paris, hoping to find an acquaintance. Itchanced, however, that he saw nothing but strangers. Then his eyes fellupon a man who was seated with folded arms a short distance away, a manof respectable but somewhat gloomy appearance, dressed in dark clothes,with pale cheeks and cavernous eyes. Selingman strolled towards him.
"How go things, friend Allen?" he enquired, dropping his voice a little.
The man glanced uneasily around. There was, however, no one in hisimmediate vicinity.
"Badly," he admitted.
"Still no success, eh?" Selingman asked, drawing up a chair and seatinghimself.
"The man is secretive by nature," was the gloomy reply. "One wouldimagine that he knew he was being watched. Everything which he receivesin the way of a written communication is at once torn up. He is the mostdifficult order of person to deal with--he is methodical. He has onlythe hotel valet to look after his things but everything is always in itsplace. Yesterday I went through his waste-paper basket. I took home thecontents but the pieces were no larger than sixpences. I was able to puttogether one envelope which he received yesterday morning, which wasfranked 'On His Majesty's Service,' and the post-mark of which wasDowning Street."
Selingman shook his head ponderously and then replied seriously:
"You must do better than that, my Sherlock Holmes--much better."
"I can't make bricks without straw," Allen retorted sullenly.
"There is always straw if one looks in the right place," Selingmaninsisted, puffing away at his cigar. "What we want to discover is,exactly how much does Hunterleys know of certain operations of ourswhich are going on here? He is on the watch--that I am sure of. There isone known agent in the place, and another suspected one, and I am prettycertain that they are both working at his instigation. What we want toget hold of is one of his letters to London."
"I have been in and out of his rooms at all hours," the other said. "Ihave gone into the matter thoroughly, so thoroughly that I have taken asituation with a firm of English tailors here, and I am supposed to goout and tout for orders. That gives me a free entree to the hotel. Ihave even had a commission from Sir Henry himself. He gave me a coat toget some buttons sewn on. I am practically free of his room but what'sthe good? He doesn't even lead the Monte Carlo life. He doesn't give onea chance of getting at him through a third person. No notes from ladies,no flower or jewelry bills, not the shadow of an assignation. The onlyphotograph upon his table is a photograph of Lady Hunterleys."
"Better not tell our friend Draconmeyer that," Selingman observed,smiling to himself. "Well, well, you can do nothing but persevere,Allen. We are not niggardly masters. If a man fails through no fault ofhis own, well, we don't throw him into the street. Nothing parsimoniousabout us. No need for you to sit about with a face as long as a fiddlebecause you can't succeed all at once. We are the people to kick at it,not you. Drink a little more wine, my friend. Give yourself a liqueurafter luncheon. Stick a cigar in your mouth and go and sit in thesunshine. Make friends with some of the ladies. Remember, the sun willstill shine and the music play in fifty years' time, but not for you.Come and see me when you want some more money."
"You are very kind, sir," the man replied. "I am going across to thehotel now. Sir Henry has been about there most of the morning but he hasjust gone in to Ciro's to lunch, so I shall have at least half-an-hour."
"Good luck to you!" Selingman exclaimed heartily. "Who knows but thatthe big things may come, even this afternoon? Cheer up, and try and makeyourself believe that a letter may be lying on the table, a letter heforgot to post, or one sent round from the bank since he left. I amhopeful for you this afternoon, Allen. I believe you are going to dowell. Come up and see me afterwards, if you will. I am going to my hotelto lie down for half-an-hour. I am not really tired but I have no friendhere to talk with or anything to do, and it is a wise economy of thehuman frame. To-night, mademoiselle will have returned. Just now everyone has deserted me. I will rest until six o'clock. Au revoir, friendAllen! Au revoir!"
Selingman climbed the hill and entered the hotel where he was staying.He mounted to his room, took off his coat, at which he glancedadmiringly for a moment and then hung up behind the door. Finally hepulled down the blinds and lay down to rest. Very soon he was asleep....
The drowsy afternoon wore on. Through the open windows came the sound ofcarriages driven along the dusty way, the shouts of the coachmen totheir horses, the jingling of bells, the hooting of motor horns. A limetree, whose leaves were stirred by the languorous breeze, kept tappingagainst the window. From a further distance came the faint, muffledvoices of promenaders, and the echo of the guns from the Tir du Pigeons.But through it all, Selingman, lying on his back and snoring loudly,slept. He was awakened at last by the feeling that some one had enteredthe room. He sat up and blinked.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed.
A man in the weird disguise of a motor-cyclist was standing at the footof the bed. Selingman continued to blink. He was not wholly awake andhis visitor's appearance was unpleasant.
"Who the devil are you?" he enquired.
The visitor took off his disfiguring spectacles.
"Jean Coulois--behold!" was the soft reply.
Selingman raised himself and slid off the bed. It had seemed rather likea dream. He was wide-awake now, however.
"What do you want?" he asked. "What are you here for?"
Jean Coulois said nothing. Then very slowly from the inside pocket ofhis coat he drew a newspaper parcel. It was long and narrow, and inplaces there was a stain upon the paper. Selingman stared at it andstared back at Jean Coulois.
"What the mischief have you got there?" he demanded.
Coulois touched the parcel with his yellow forefinger. Selingman sawthen that the stains were of blood.
"Give me a towel," his visitor directed. "I do not want this upon myclothes."
Selingman took a towel from the stand and threw it across the room.
"You mean," he asked, dropping his voice a little, "that it isfinished?"
"A quarter of an hour ago," Jean Coulois answered triumphantly. "He hadjust come in from luncheon and was sitting at his writing-table. It wascleverly done--wonderfully. It was all over in a moment--not a cry. Youcame to the right place, indeed! And now I go to the country," Couloiscontinued. "I have a motor-bicycle outside. I make my way up into thehills to bury this little memento. There is a farmhouse up in themountains, a lonely spot enough, and a girl there who says what I tellher. It may be as well to be able to say that I have been there fordejeuner. These little things, monsieur--ah, well! we who understandthink of them. And since I am here," he added, holding out his hand--
Selingman nodded and took out his pocket-book. He counted out the notesin silence and passed them over. The assassin dropped them into hispocket.
"Au revoir, Monsieur le Gros!" he exclaimed, waving his hand. "We meetto-night, I trust. I will show you a new dance--the Dance of Death, Ishall call it. I seem calm, but I am on fire with excitement. To-night Ishall dance as though quicksilver were in my feet. You must not miss it.You must come, monsieur."
He closed the door behind him and swaggered off down the passage.Selingman stood, for a moment, perfectly still. It was a strange thing,but two big tears were in his eyes. Th
en he heaved a great sigh andshook his head.
"It is part of the game," he said softly to himself, "all part of thegame."