BOOK FOUR The Vortex

CHAPTER ONE PROSPEROUS DAYS

1.

“BY Goad!” said MacTaggart, sipping his second whiskey, “the auld man’s a wizard. He’s got me fair bamboozilt.”

It was evening, and he and Hugh were sitting in the Café de Paris.

“I thocht I knew something o’ roulette, but noo I maun jist go back tae Strathbungo and play dominoes. And you, young man, wi’ that canny wee smile on yer gub,—I’m thinkin’ ye ken mair aboot it than ye want tae tell.”

Hugh shook his head.

“No, I can’t grasp it. And yet I’m with the old man every day. The scientific explanation of it’s beyond me. A mathematical mystery. Your system and all the others are based on the laws of average, the equilibrium. It’s a calculation of chances, of probabilities. So far so good! The law of average does exist. It’s all rot to say that the coup that’s gone has no influence on the one that is to come. It has. It’s true that the slots are all the same size and so each has an equal claim to the ball, but it is because of this equal chance that they will each receive it an equal number of times. I’ve seen a number come up three times in succession, yet I wouldn’t hesitate to bet thirty-five to one, in thousands, that it won’t come up a fourth time. Mechanically, maybe it has an equal chance with the others, but by the law of average, no.”

“That’s elementary,” said MacTaggart.

“Yes, but it’s as deep as the most of us get. We’re all in the kindergarten class. We grope vaguely. We fumble with probabilities. As far as we go we are right; but we don’t go far enough. We reach a point where our system breaks down. The law of average is too big for us to compress into a formula. In its larger workings it eludes us; we cannot regulate it. Our observations of it are too limited.”

“I’ve got a record of over two hundred thousand consecutive coups,” said MacTaggart.

“The professor has a record of over two million. The amount of work he has done is colossal. He has studied the numbers in their relation to one another; he has classified, co-ordinated, condensed. His system is one of correspondence and elimination. He has used the resources of mathematics to put it on a working basis. He has gone above and behind all the rest of us. His comprehension is larger; he has grasped the wider workings of the law of average. He has narrowed down and focussed the probability, and reduced the phenomena by the magnitude of his calculations to a minimum. The day of the year and the hour of the day has a bearing on the application of his system. That red note-book of his is full of algebraic formula. By looking at the last dozen numbers that have come up and referring to his formulæ, he has a hint how to play. But even then he is never quite sure. Sometimes he is only within eight numbers, sometimes within four. But that’s good enough. He has been lucky in hitting the precise number one time out of three; but scientifically speaking he considers he ought to strike it only one time out of five.”

“I’ve seen him strike it every day for the last month. He must hae averaged over sixty thoosand francs a day, I’m thinkin’. I expect the members o’ the board are losin’ lots o’ sleep them days. It’s no’ a question of him winnin’, but how much is he goin’ tae win. They’ve got old Bob Bender watchin’ him every time he plays. If it wisna that you were everlastingly doin’ the watch dog some one would get a graup o’ that wee book he’s forever keekin intae. Though I don’t suppose they’d mak’ much o’ it, wi’ a’ thae queer, crabbed letters an’ figures. I’m sure they’d be gled tae gi’ him a year’s profits if he’d stop. Aye, or pay a fortune tae any one that wad stop him. But then he’s got you for a bodyguard.”

“Yes, he never goes out without me.”

“Aye, ye’re a cautious young man. I’m sometimes thinkin’ ye’ve got a touch o’ the Scot in ye. I hope ye’ve no’ been an’ squandert that money ye were sae lucky as tae win?”

“No, the most of it’s in the bank. I won’t touch it for gambling purposes. In fact, I think I’ve finished.”

“I’m wishin’ I wis masel’. I’m sick o’ the place, but I must stay until I mak’ enough to go home no’ lookin’ like a tramp. Ye ken I still believe in ma system.”

“I tell you what,” said Hugh, “why don’t you play with a bigger unit? You play with five franc stakes and you make from four to eight pieces every day. Why not increase your unit to a hundred francs, and then you’ll make from four to eight hundred francs a day.”

“I hav’ nae the capital.”

“Suppose I lend you a thousand francs.”

“I micht lose it.”

“I tell you.... You play with my thousand francs, playing hundred franc stakes, and I’ll take the risk of you losing. When you win you can pay me a quarter of your gains.”

“All right. That’s fair enough. I’ll start to-morrow if ye like.”

Hugh gave MacTaggart a mille note, and every evening MacTaggart hunted him up and handed over a hundred and sometimes two hundred francs.

2.

For weeks the great system of the professor had been successful. His bank book showed a credit of over two million francs. Every day accompanied by Hugh, he made his triumphal entry into the Casino surrounded by an excited and admiring throng. He made no other public appearance and was a storm centre of curiosity. Hugh acted as the old man’s manager and saw to it that his mystery was preserved. He interviewed reporters, and kept off the curious; for the professor was fast becoming a character of international fame. The great press agencies chronicled his success; the great dailies paragraphed him; his portrait graced the picture page of the Daily Mail. There were articles about him in the illustrated weeklies; and even the monthly journals devoted to science began to consider him seriously. He and Hugh were snapshotted a dozen times a day. All the well-known roulette players, Speranza, Dr. Ludus, Max Imum and Silas Doolittle wrote long letters to the papers diagnosing his famous system. Never had the Casino had such advertising—yet it was costing them too much.

The old man never broke the bank. There was nothing sensational about his play. It was almost monotonous in its certitude; it had the air even of a commercial transaction in which he had come to collect a daily debt. It was this cold-blooded, business-like precision that alarmed them. It was almost cynical; it seemed to say: “Look out. I’m letting you off easy now, but when I proceed to tighten up the cinch, God help you.”

An imaginative reporter had said that Hugh was the professor’s nephew, and they both agreed to adopt this suggestion. Indeed, as time went on, Hugh himself began to think of the old man as a real uncle. At times it seemed almost impossible that they were not related.

Hugh had taken to smoking excellent cigars. Why not? MacTaggart was turning in over a thousand a week. He felt some compunction in accepting this; but MacTaggart was making three times as much for himself, and was more than satisfied. He could well afford to be extravagant in other directions as well. There was Mrs. Belmire, for instance. He took her to dinner a great deal, and out motoring as well. Apart from that he and Margot still lived in the same simple way.

One morning as Hugh sat smoking in the professor’s den, he observed the old man closely.

“He’s easily good for another ten years,” he thought. “Looks rather like Karl Marx, burly shoulders, clear, shrewd eyes. A sane man except for his fanatic obsession to down the Casino.”

The professor interrupted his reflections by saying:

“My boy, I’ve come to a great decision.” He paused impressively. “I’m an old man, and I am afraid that death may come on me unawares, my life work unfinished. I have decided that you are to carry it on. You shall begin where I leave off. I am going to instruct you in the system. You shall take the avenging sword from my failing grasp.”

Hugh made a gesture of protest. “I say, professor, it’s awfully good of you. I assure you I’m humbly grateful; but really I’m quite unworthy.”

“I know of no one so worthy.”

“Oh, no, the honour’s too great. Besides, I’ve made up my mind never to play again. A resolution’s a resolution, you know.”

“I know. You have force of will. But think.... You are not playing for yourself but for humanity. Yours will be a mission, the ridding society of a dangerous pest. In destroying the Casino you will be God’s avenger.”

“But, professor, I’m just a common ordinary sort of chap. I don’t want to be anybody’s avenger. As for the Casino, I don’t bear it any ill will. If I had lost, perhaps I might, but it has treated me well. Of course, I know it’s a plague spot, a menace to mankind and all that sort of thing, but that’s none of my business as far as I can see.”

The professor looked both grieved and shocked. “But don’t you want to be a benefactor to mankind? Don’t you want to fulfil a great destiny, to be a reformer, the leader of a new crusade?”

“No, professor, I admit with shame I don’t want to be any of those things. All I want is to live a quiet life and make a comfortable living. There’s a cottage with a garden and a second-hand Panhard I have my eye on. Between them I can rub along. Then on off days, I’ll paint. I’ve just begun to get the feeling of the place, and I think I can do good work. But there! You’re not an artist. You won’t understand.”

The professor seemed quite crushed. He sat silent and thoughtful. Finally he said:

“No, I’m not an artist. I’m a man of science, and for that reason I don’t want to see my life work lost to the world. Well then, if you refuse to be my disciple, will you be my trustee? You refuse to play for me,—will you see that the system is published after my death? It is a contribution to science; at the same time by its divination of the laws of chance, it will destroy the spirit of gambling. Not only the Casino of Monte Carlo, but gambling institutions all over the world will fall. The Casino is only an item in my programme. I destroy chance; I replace it with certitude. My work is not complete, but others will follow. They will perfect it. Will you then do this much for me? Will you see my great work in print?”

“Yes, I’ll do that. I promise. But hang it all, professor, you’ve got another thirty years to live.”

“One never knows. There have been no attempts on my life lately, but I must take no chances. I will begin now and teach you all there is to know.”

The professor opened his safe and took from it a thick folio bound in limp leather.

“Voila! My treatise. It’s all there, the condensed result of the labour of thirty years. The red note-book contains the application of my system to roulette; but in this folio is the result of all my researches, the scientific explanation of the invention by which I annihilate chance. Look at it.”

“But it’s all in cypher.”

“Yes, all. Not one cypher but many. For the alphabet alone I have three different sets of characters; for the figures, six. You will have to learn over a hundred symbols before you can translate this. And these must not be put on paper; they must be carried in the head. I will teach them to you but you must promise never to write them. I have protected myself well. Without the cypher keys that folio is valueless.”

So Hugh spent the next few days committing to memory the hundred odd cypher characters of the professor’s great discovery.

3.

When he was not engaged with the professor, he occupied most of his time dangling after Mrs. Belmire. She had definitely attached him to her train of admirers and he had fallen in line, not without a certain ill grace. The life she led was at variance with his tastes; and while he submitted to her charm, he was constantly on the point of rebellion. He was like a man who chafes at his chains but cannot break them. He resented the easy way in which she took his homage for granted. There were moments when he almost hated her. What rotten luck to fall in love with a woman so far beyond and above him! If it had only been June Emslie, or even Margot. But who can help these things? In the end he decided to let himself drift,—with a certain regard to the direction of his drifting.

Perhaps Paul Vulning was to some extent responsible for his subjection. He detested the man cordially and was jealous of the friendship between him and Mrs. Belmire. When he saw them together he was possessed by an irresponsible rage and tortured by all sorts of jealous imaginings. If it had only been Fetterstein or the old General.... But Vulning!

She had not borrowed any money from him lately, although she was always urging him to play again. The last time she had borrowed from him had set him thinking. He had suffered so much from the want of money that now he was painfully aware of its value. At all costs he was determined to hang on to his fifty thousand francs. He would lend her another thousand but no more. That was the breaking point, he told himself.

“In any case,” he thought, “I have only to tell her my position and she’ll chuck me ignominiously. She thinks I’m a rich somebody. When she learns I’m a poor nobody then.... But I won’t tell her yet awhile. I enjoy very much being with her, and undoubtedly I am learning a good deal from her. ‘Sophisticating me,’ she calls it. Well, I suppose that sort of thing is part of a chap’s education. I will have to regard it as a return for the money I have lent her, and which, poor thing, I am sure she will never return. Confound the woman! I don’t know what’s got into me. I can’t get her out of my head.”

One day he would vow he was finished with her, the next he would be crazy to see her again. Even when he was with her, his irritation sometimes drove him to the point of rebellion. For instance, there was the evening that they had supper at the High Life.

It was she who had suggested that they go there, and rather gloomily he had complied. They had gone first to the Casino and spent some time in the private room, for Mrs. Belmire disdained the ordinary one. After watching the play for awhile she had suggested:

“Why don’t you try your luck? It’s stupid to look on and not risk anything.”

“No, thanks, I don’t care to.”

“Oh, come on. You always win. Even if you lose, what do a few thousands matter to you when you have won so enormously? Even I saw you.”

He sighed gloomily.

“Yes, you saw me win but—you didn’t see me lose.”

“Of course, poor boy, I know one can’t always win. If you won’t play, give me some money and I’ll play for you.”

He took a hundred franc note from his pocket and handed it to her. She looked at it with a surprised contempt that nettled him. As if it were dirt she threw it on the first table. Of course it was swept away.

“There!” she said pettishly, “that’s gone. Well, it’s no use staying here if we don’t play. It’s tiresome. Let’s go where there’s music and dancing.”

They went to the High Life, a place he disliked. It had a rakehell atmosphere, and suggested debauch. He also resented the obvious fact that she was quite at home there.

“Faugh! a den of gilded corruption!” he was thinking, when an insinuating head-waiter presented a wine card and suggested a certain expensive brand of champagne.

“I know it’s the kind madam prefers,” he murmured.

“Do order a bottle,” said Mrs. Belmire carelessly.

Hugh ordered, and at her further suggestion he demanded a homard American; the bill came to two hundred francs. He was annoyed.

“Damned robbers,” he thought. “Well, they won’t get ahead of me on the champagne. I’ll finish the bottle.”

As he drank the place became more and more cheerful. He felt very strong and very playful. He clutched Mrs. Belmire’s arm; once even he pinched her cheek and called her Marion. She looked at him curiously. There is no saying to what further indiscretions his exhilaration might have prompted him, had not there at that moment occurred the episode of the Nouveau Riche and the Sick Soldier.

4.

The Nouveau Riche was all a nouveau riche should be, big, bloated and boastful. He had been a cobbler before the war, but had made a fortune in shoe contracts. The Soldier should never have been there at all. Some friends, however, had dragged him in; and he sat looking thin, pale, and wretchedly out of place.

The Nouveau Riche was playfully emptying a bottle of champagne over a small palm tree. The manager expostulated. It was doubtful if palms, however thirsty, would appreciate the virtue of Chateau Margaux, but the Nouveau Riche waved him aside.

“Put your damned palm on the bill,” he said, “and bring me a fresh bottle.” He was proceeding to pour this, too, on the unfortunate plant when the Sick Soldier sprang up.

“I’ve had enough,” he cried, and his black eyes flashed in his white face. He wrenched the bottle from the man’s hand. “You swine, you! Where I come from there are men who would give their heart’s blood for a mouthful of that wine you’re wasting like filthy water.”

The Nouveau Riche got purple in the face; the Soldier was gripping the loose flesh of his throat and pouring the rest of the champagne over his head.

“Here you sit and swill and guzzle,” he went on, “while my comrades out there in the desert are dying from hunger and thirst. In Syria.... Yes, I come from Syria where we crawled on our bellies on the sand, crawled to the water tanks to steal a few precious drops and were shot for it like mad dogs. We buried a dead horse and dug it up a week later and ate it. Half of us died in agony, the rest are wrecks—like me. And now when I see a pig like you squandering and wasting, and think of my pals out there, suffering, starving, panting with thirst, I tell you it makes me sick.... Oh, if I only had you out there, you rotten hog....”

There seemed every prospect of a row, but the Man from Syria suddenly collapsed and his friends led him away.

“This is a beastly hole,” said Hugh abruptly. “Let’s get out of it.”

There was something hard and cynical in Mrs. Belmire’s laugh as she replied: “Why should we? I think it’s rather amusing.”

“Amusing!” he retorted savagely. “You seem to think of nothing but being amused. One would think you lived for amusement.”

“Why, so I do, I believe. What better is there to live for? What do you live for?”

As he could not think of any worthy object that inspired his life he did not reply, and they sat in silence. Their drive home was silent also, but at the door of the Pension Pizzicato she held his hand.

“We haven’t quarrelled, have we?”

“No, why?”

“You’re so queer. Not a bit nice. I say, won’t you come up to my room and smoke a cigarette? It’s so late we can slip upstairs without meeting any one.”

An instinct of danger warned him. At the moment, too, she really repelled him.

“No, I’m tired. I want to go home.”

But she still held his hand with a soft pressure.

“Can’t I coax you? Please come. There’s something very important I want to talk to you about.”

“What is it? Can’t you tell me here?”

“Yes, but ... I was thinking about that man who spilled the champagne. Of course, he was an awful brute, but what heaps of money he must have. What a nuisance money is! It’s so sordid and yet one’s just got to have it.”

He knew what was coming.

“I say, you’re the best pal I’ve got here. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m in awful difficulties. Debts all round. Horrid people keep pressing me to pay their wretched bills. Oh, I’m only a lonely, unprotected woman....”

Here Mrs. Belmire began to cry.

“Can’t you lend me ten thousand francs, dear boy?”

“No.”

He was surprised at the explosive vehemence of his tone. The lady was even more surprised. Her tears ceased suddenly. With a kind of pained dignity she drew herself up.

“Good-night,” she said icily and then turning sharply, left him alone with the sea and the stars.

CHAPTER TWO A BURGLAR AND A ROW

1.

WHEN he got home he found Margot was still up. She was sewing under the lamp-glow, her coiled mass of hair a bright gold as she bent over her work, her face pale but full of patient sweetness. As Hugh stood there in his evening dress, flushed and reeking of wine, the eyes she raised to him were tired and sad.

Since the time she had met him with Mrs. Belmire there had been a change in her manner towards him. No longer did she make timid overtures of friendship, no longer tell him of the day’s doings. She had ceased to laugh and sing, and had become very quiet and reserved. She toiled continually with her needle.

It always irritated him to see her working so hard; and to-night, being in a bad humour, he said crossly: “Not in bed yet! You’ll hurt your eyes, you know.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just going. I stayed up because I wanted to see you about something.”

“Yes, what?”

“I’ve managed to make two hundred francs by my sewing. I don’t want to be a burden on you any longer. I’m going back to Paris to work in an atelier. I’m going to-morrow morning.”

He was quite taken aback. He stared for a moment; then a steady, serious look came into his eyes. Going forward he took her hand firmly.

“Do you really mean that?”

“Yes. I’ve been planning it for some time.”

“And you haven’t said anything.”

“I scarcely ever see you now. You’re so busy during the day and get home so late at night.”

He hesitated, staring thoughtfully at the lamp flame. His emotions were conflicting. Here was a chance to free himself from all responsibility regarding her. Sooner or later the separation would have to come, why not now while she was reconciled to it? Quickly he made up his mind.

“Look here, Margot, don’t go ... not just yet. Stay at least a little while longer. I’ve got so used to you. I’ll miss you awfully. Please stay, won’t you?”

“But what’s the good of staying?”

“I don’t know. I just feel I can’t let you go. I know I’m asking a selfish thing, but please don’t leave me just yet.”

“Very well.”

“You’ll stay? Thank you. You’re a good little pal. The best of the lot. Good-night....”

The following day his mood changed. His mind was full of Mrs. Belmire again. After all, he thought, he had been rather rough. He would lend her the money; he would seek her out that very afternoon.

Then an event occurred that changed the whole current of his thoughts.

2.

For two days Monte Carlo had been at the mercy of the Mistral. Many strange ships were sheltering in the narrow harbour that with its concrete arms fended back the savage seas; the palms in the gardens lashed furiously and the air was full of flying splinters.

All that morning the sky had been gloomy and towards noon the clouds over the Tête du Chien deepened to a purple black. The mountain seemed to cast a sinister shadow over the Condamine, and the pink roofs darkened to a dull crimson. Hugh suggested to the professor that they had better stay at home, but the old man insisted upon going to the Rooms. As they left the house they heard the first ominous growl of the thunder. Hugh wanted to take a carriage but again his companion refused.

“No,” he said, “the walk to and from the Casino is the only exercise I get since that balcony business.”

The business of the balcony had been a bad one. Across the front of the house, just outside their windows, ran a flimsy wooden balcony, with a division of lattice work between each room. The professor used to march up and down his portion of the balcony, while Hugh and Margot often sat in theirs.

One Sunday evening they were all on the balcony when they heard a crack, followed by a rending crash. As it happened both Hugh and Margot were near the window, and threw themselves backwards. The professor, too, saved himself by clutching at the sill of his window. The entire balcony collapsed. It overturned, hung for a moment, then fell with a rending of timbers. On examining the debris Hugh found that the supports had been sawn almost through, and that the cuts were quite fresh. Some one had evidently done it during the night.

A week later when Hugh was returning home after midnight a man rushed past him on the stairs. On the landing beside his door a pungent smoke was coming from a sack of shavings. Beside it was a large can of petrol. He beat out the fire. Had he arrived five minutes later the place would have been in flames. After that he got some ropes, so that in the case of future attempts to fire the place, they might escape by the windows. He also bought a Browning pistol.

That morning, as they entered the Casino, there was a livid blaze of lightning, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder. Perhaps the professor was affected by the storm, for his game was not so successful as usual; he played seven coups before he struck a winning number. Though his winnings were only thirty thousand francs, he decided that he had had enough and rose from the table. They heard the roar of the rain on the great dome above them, and found on going to the entrance a most appalling downpour. It was falling in crystal rods that beat the oozing earth to bubbles. There was not a soul in sight.

“It’s useless trying to get a cab,” said Hugh. “Let us go back to the atrium and wait till it clears up.”

They took a seat on one of the benches at the side of the refreshment bar and waited for an hour without any sign of the torrent abating. Every now and then Hugh would go to the door and look out. The day had darkened to a wan twilight in which the silver shafts of rain pearled the pools and rivulets.

“One might as well stand under a shower-bath as go out in that,” thought Hugh. “It would be the death of the professor.” And again he sighed for a voiture.

As he looked out for the tenth time he saw Margot making her way to the Casino through sheets of water. She wore his Burberry and the rain ran off her in streams. She was panting and pale with excitement.

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, I’m so glad I’ve found you. When the professor came back alone, I was afraid something was wrong.”

“Professor come back alone! ... what do you mean?”

“Why, he’s there, in his room. When I heard him come up the stairs and enter, I went to see if you were there, too. As I knocked at the door, I heard him moving about inside. I knocked again, but there was no answer. All was quiet. What with the storm and everything else I got nervous and excited. After knocking a couple of times more I came here to find you.”

Hugh listened with growing amazement.

“Are you quite sure there’s some one in the professor’s room?”

“Yes, yes!”

Leading her into the atrium he pointed to the buffet.

“There’s the professor.”

“But the other ... the man in the house ... now....”

“Stay with the professor. Don’t leave him. This looks serious.”

Without waiting for the coat she held out to him, he rushed into the rain and down the long steep hill, splashing through water and mud. In a few minutes, drenched and breathless, he reached the house. He mounted the stairs softly, pistol in hand. Whoever had entered had left the door on the latch. He burst into the room.

A man who had been bending over the steel safe rose and swung around.

“Don’t shoot,” he said sharply. He stood there, erect, composed, smiling.

“Krantz!”

“Precisely. What a pity you did not come ten minutes later. Then I should have finished my investigations.”

“Your burglary, you mean. I’ve a good mind to call the police.”

“My dear man, I am the police.”

“I am justified in shooting you.”

“If you did, you would surely regret it. Remember, young man, you’re not in England, you’re not in France; you’re in Monaco.”

“Does that justify you?”

“When the welfare of our beloved Principality is at stake, I am justified in many things,—even in the examination of private strong boxes.”

“Assassination too, I suppose.”

“Oh no! I draw the line at that. In the Principality we strongly disapprove of all violent measures.”

“What about the balcony, and the attempt to fire the house?”

“I assure you, on my honour, I had nothing to do with either. Of course, I am unable to answer for the zeal of my subordinates. They are Monegasques and patriots. You can understand their point of view. They believe that one man’s life weighs as nothing against the welfare of the community. They would willingly sacrifice their lives for their country; but they prefer to sacrifice some one else’s life. They are a crude and violent race. You must excuse their ardour.”

“So you know nothing of those two attempts.”

“Officially, no. Of course, privately I have my ideas. I did not go into the matter very closely. You see I have a sense of delicacy, of tact. I am modern in my conceptions; I deprecate the gentle art of assassination. But again I repeat I am not responsible for the excessive zeal of my subordinates. They are just grown up children, many of them, passionate and impulsive. In the same way those whom I serve are not responsible for my acts,—this investigation, for instance. In fact, I am sure they would condemn it in the strongest of terms. Abuse of authority, they would call it, and wax duly indignant. But please put away that silly little pistol you are fingering so nervously. It annoys me. I have no sense of the dramatic.”

Hugh lowered his hand and Krantz went on with his urbane smile:

“You know I saved all your lives on one occasion. One of my gentle patriots wanted to put a charge of dynamite under your rooms and blow you to the stars. Fortunately I found out in time, and prevented it. After all it would have caused a great scandal. Violence and scandal we do not like; we want everything to run smoothly in this most favoured of spots. That’s what I’m here for,—to see that things run smoothly. That is why a moment ago you found me attempting the combination of that safe. And now having failed in my mission, I presume you will allow me to go.”

With that Krantz made a deep bow and passed from the room. Hugh stared after his retreating back as he leisurely descended the narrow stairway.

3.

Now that Hugh’s gambling fever had abated he found himself looking at the players with apathy, even with disgust. He was purged, not by loss, but by gain. The thought of the fifty thousand francs he had wrested from the bank was like honey to him. Never would he give them a chance to win it back. The Casino itself had also ceased to interest him. Incidents that had been at first exciting, now appeared monotonous. The human debris no longer fascinated him. The spectacle of the squirming, scrabbling mob bored him. The systematizers with their fatuous convictions aroused his contempt; the besotted votaries of the game, his pity. More than all he hated the careless rich who squandered in an idle hour what would have kept many a widow from misery and many an orphan from shame.

More than ever he thought of that little cottage at Villefranche, between the silent mountains and the dreamy sea; and of that Panhard he was going to buy at a bargain price. He confided his discontent to the professor.

“I’m getting awfully fed up with Monte. We can’t go on indefinitely. Isn’t it time that you speeded up the system a little?”

“You are right,” sighed the professor, “but it fatigues me so, and the atmosphere of the Rooms aggravates my catarrh. Why will you not play? You are well instructed now.”

“I don’t want to. As I said before, I don’t hate the Casino. While I wouldn’t move a finger to prevent their ruin, I wouldn’t go out of my way to accomplish it. Then again, if I played, I should want to play for myself, not for society. To hell with society! It never did anything for me. Up to now I’ve had to fight and struggle. It is by sheer luck that I’ve got a little working capital and I mean to make the most of it. I’m only a selfish practical individual. I’ve no consuming wish to benefit mankind, to do the ‘leave the world better than I found it,’ sort of thing. If ever I have enough to keep me in modest comfort, I’ll stop work and spend my time painting. No, I fear I’m no philanthropist.... How much do you want to win for your schemes before you proceed to give the Casino the final knock out?”

“Fifty million.”

“And we have only ten. Heigh ho! I tell you I don’t think I can stick it out.”

“I quite understand. Try to endure it two weeks more and then we’ll see.”

Hugh continued to accompany the professor and to watch him with monotonous certainty make his seventy or eighty thousand francs a day. His association with the old man had made him quite a celebrated character. He shone with a reflected radiance, a moon to the old man’s sun. He was supposed to be a partner, a sharer in the colossal fortune, the professor’s heir and successor.

Many of the players were leaving Monte Carlo, for the season was over. Mr. Tope had returned to his Kentish cottage and his roses. The Calderbrooks, not being able to afford the mountains, had convinced themselves that Monte was even more charming in summer than in winter. The father looked tired, but amiably acquiesced.

“Of course,” said Mrs. Calderbrook, “we don’t promise to stay. If we have a bit of luck at the tables, we might take a month or two at Chamounix.”

The tall Brazilian with the spade-shaped beard was still a dominating figure in the Rooms. He wore great, horn-rimmed spectacles of a yellowish colour and walked up and down in an impeccable costume of white serge, his hands behind his back, his carriage that of deliberate dignity. He looked at the women harder than was necessary, though he repulsed all their efforts to speak with him. Once Hugh saw him turn to stare at the tall female in grey. In spite of the growing heat she continued to wear her veil and remained as mysterious as ever. She came less frequently, but still seemed to have lots of money.

Of the old crowd there remained only MacTaggart and Mr. Gimp and they made their exit from the scene in a very sensational manner.

4.

As MacTaggart had already paid him two thousand francs, Hugh insisted on cancelling the debt between them. MacTaggart was over eight thousand francs ahead, and continued to play with hundred franc counters. Curiously enough, his luck began to leave him as soon as he gambled entirely for himself.

“It’s fair playin’ auld Harry wi’ ma nerves,” he said. “The ither day I near fented at the table. After a’ they years, I’m thinkin’, I’ll hea tae gie it up. Ma system’s willin’ but the flesh is weak. I’m gettin’ that every time I put a stake on the table ma hert dings like an alarm clock. An’ ma temper. I don’t know whit I’m no’ capable o’ daein’ at times. It’s as if I had a kind o’ a brain-storm. There’s whiles I’m fair feart for masel’. I often think that if I wis once mair back in ma wee shop in Strathbungo, I’d never want tae see a roulette wheel for the rest o’ ma days.”

“What kind of a shop had you?”

“I’m a taxidermist, and though I say it masel’, there’s no’ a better. It’s a nice quiet trade, soothin’ tae the nerves. That’s whit’s the matter wi’ me, ma nerves.”

MacTaggart would probably have stayed until he had lost all his gains, had not a kindly fate stepped in and settled the matter for him.

He had been playing for three hours,—losing all the time. His head ached, his nerves were raw, his temper near to the breaking point. He wanted to smoke a cigarette in the atrium, but had to leave some one to take down his numbers. Beside him was a lady who was playing occasionally. She looked hot and very tired. MacTaggart asked her if she would mind occupying his seat for half an hour. She gladly consented, and he rose to give her the place. At the same moment, a red, truculent-looking Englishman on his other side, quickly put a louis on the table in front of MacTaggart.

“I claim the place,” he said sharply.

MacTaggart turned and glared at him. “But I’m givin’ the place tae the leddy,” he said.

“The place is mine,” said the man. “You rose and I put down my money. I appeal to the Chef du Table.”

The latter nodded. “By all the rules the place is monsieur’s; monsieur has put down his money, marking the place.”

MacTaggart was angry. He knew the croupiers did not like him, that they always decided against him if possible. He sat down again.

“All right,” he said, “in that case I’ll jist keep ma place. I’ll sit here till Hell freezes over before ye get it.”

The face of the Englishman grew very red. His voice rose nastily.

“But I insist on having the place. This man rose and I put my money down. The place is clearly mine.”

“Yes,” said the Chef du Table, “it is evident that the place is monsieur’s.”

“I’ll see ye dawmed firrst,” said MacTaggart, sitting square. “There’s no force in Monte Carlo ’ill budge me from this spot. Tak’ awaw yer dirrty money....”

He started to push away the man’s louis that lay in front of him.

“Here, don’t touch my money. Don’t dare to touch my money,” the Englishman exclaimed.

MacTaggart’s reply was to take the louis and flip it back at him. Every one was aghast. It was unheard of, an outrage. One of the lymphatic lackeys recovered the money and handed it to its owner, who was boiling over with rage. There is no knowing how the row might have ended had not a player opposite risen to catch a train, and the Chef, with great presence of mind, promptly claimed the place for the Englishman. The situation was saved. Tant Mieux. That mad Ecossais looked quite dangerous.

MacTaggart and the red-faced man sat opposite each other, and muttered, growled, and glared. Then the second incident occurred. Just as the ball was about to drop, MacTaggart pushed a placque to the croupier.

“Passe, please.”

But the croupier did not hear him correctly and threw it on pair, and at that moment the ball fell.

“Vingt sept, passe impair et noir.”

“But I telt ye tae pit it on passe,” said MacTaggart.

“No, monsieur said pair,” declared the croupier.

The Chef was appealed to. “Monsieur should have seen that his money was rightly staked,” said the Chef looking annoyed.

“Pay me,” cried MacTaggart, rising and clenching his fist.

He was ignored and the ball started for the next spin. Then MacTaggart did something unprecedented, something outrageous. He took up one of the rateaus and jammed it in the bowl of the wheel.

“By Goad,” said MacTaggart, “I’ll stop the bloody game till ye pay me.”

At this moment the red-faced man came in to the discussion. “I knew he was a crook,” he jeered. “Turn the beggar out.”

MacTaggart stared at him. For a moment he could not believe his ears, then a great glow came into his eyes and he swung the rateau and brought it down on the man’s head.

“Let me get at him,” he roared, “I’ll show him.”

The Chef laid a detaining hand on his shoulder, but MacTaggart swung round and caught him on the chin. The Chef went from his high chair like a ninepin. Shouting something in Gaelic, MacTaggart sprang on the table. Two croupiers tried to hold him back; but, using the rateau like a claymore, he rapped each on the head and with a leap was on the man with the red face.

“Turn me oot!” he shouted. “It wad tak a dizzen o’ the likes o’ you tae dae it.”

He had the big man down and was pounding him with both fists, when four of the lethargic lackeys threw themselves into the fray. MacTaggart saw red. He ran amuck. Right and left he struck in Berserker rage. His long arms were like flails before which men went down; croupiers, attendants, inspectors, all staggered back beneath his blows. A superintendent who ran up to see what was wrong, received a punch that landed him on his back. As MacTaggart burst through the doorway into the “Hall of Gloom,” the director of the games rushed up.

“Look out,” said the big Scotchman, “or as sure as my name’s Galloway MacTaggart I’ll fell ye tae the floor.”

The director did not look out and was duly downed. Then a group of lackeys, by a concerted rush, succeeded in mastering him. They knocked him down and hung onto his heaving arms and legs. They lifted him to carry him to the door. The MacTaggart was conquered.

But was he? No, not yet. From the other end of the “Hall of Light” a shrill yell suddenly split the air. It was something between the execration of a college football coach, and the war whoop of a red Indian. A little white-haired gentleman was covering the intervening space in great leaps and bounds. He roared and whirled his arms, his eyes aflame, his very hair bristling with fury. It was Mr. Gimp.

The attendants released MacTaggart, and turned to face this new foe. The fight began all over again.

It was Homeric, for Mr. Gimp had once been a bantam champion of the ring. There were bloody noses and broken teeth; there were curses and cries of pain; there were black eyes and bruised ribs before the indomitable two, overwhelmed by numbers, were carried to the door. The fray had lasted a quarter of an hour.

“Weel,” said MacTaggart that night as they sat in Quinto’s, “I’m thinkin’, Gimpy, auld man, we’ve lost oor tickets. We’ll no’ daur show oor faces in that place ony mair.”

“No,” said Mr. Gimp, “the spell’s broken at last. I’m a free man. To-morrow I’m off to the land where the handshake’s warmer.”

“An’ me fur Strathbungo. Eh, man, they got us oot, but it took a score o’ them tae dae it. An’ by Goad! we laft oor mark on every mither’s son.”

CHAPTER THREE TEMPTATION

1.

HUGH continued to be haunted by thoughts of Mrs. Belmire. At times he felt he would throw up everything to follow her; at others he consigned her to the devil. He had resolved to let her make the first advance and carefully avoided meeting her.

One day on returning home, Margot handed him an envelope bearing the initials M. B. He was not altogether pleased and put it in his pocket until he should be alone. He tore it open later and read:

“How could I be so horrid to you the last time we met? Can you forgive me enough to meet me this evening at Ciro’s at ten o’clock? It will probably be adieu. I am leaving for Vichy on Friday.”

The humility of the note touched him. She had put herself in the wrong. Nothing like a show of indifference with women, he thought. His vanity was flattered. A sentiment of generosity akin to tenderness glowed in him. Quite eagerly he awaited the evening.

She arrived a little late, wearing a very exquisite evening gown. She rightly believed that her shoulders and arms added to her charm. She took his hand in a firm, good-fellow grip. As she sat down he was conscious of the perfume she affected. She seemed to him to be stunning, the real thing, a femme de luxe.

Her manner was subdued to the point of mournfulness. It was one of her favourite moods and was in harmony with the melancholy of the restaurant. The orchestra played dispiritedly. Two teams of professional dancers shimmied in a forlorn fashion. Even the waiters looked listless.

“This place will be closing soon,” she sighed. “Monte is dying. All the right sort have gone already. I feel almost like a derelict. I’m bored to the verge of tears. For God’s sake do something to console me. Buy me a bottle of Cliquot.”

When the waiter brought it in its silver bucket of ice, the bottle looked very comforting. As they sipped, she grew more cheerful.

“Thank goodness I’m going. I say, why don’t you come, too? Do the giddy round,—Paris for the Grand Prix, Deauville, Biarritz,—one meets the same crowd at all these places, the world that lives to enjoy itself. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

“I don’t belong to that world. I’m a quiet chap. I want a quiet life.”

“And I—I want a gay one. But I’m lonely. God! at times I’m so lonely, I could shoot myself or get drunk. I say, let’s get drunk to-night.”

“You’re joking.”

“Yes, I suppose I am. But that’s just how I feel. I don’t know why. Perhaps its because I won’t see you again. Oh, I say,—be a priceless darling. Do come.”

He shrugged his shoulders. He felt her power, the melting appeal of her eyes, the caress of her hand. Passion was invading him. He wanted to seize her, crush her, hurt her. “Why not,” he thought, “a month of that gay life! It would cost a good deal, but perhaps it would be worth it. A delirious month....” Then he heard himself saying:

“No, it’s no use. I can’t go.”

She stamped her foot pettishly. The spell was broken. After a little she resumed:

“Well, if you won’t come with me, you won’t refuse to help me. I’m in debt all round. I owe quite a lot of money to the pension, too. I don’t know how much. I have no head for figures. I’m like a child in financial matters. I say, dear boy, you’ll lend me a bit, won’t you? I’ve counted on you, you know.”

He winced. His lips tightened.

“How much?”

“Oh, a little bunch of milles. Ten or twenty will do. What does it matter to you? You’re rich. You’re making millions. You’re not stingy, are you?”

He felt the time had come for an explanation. “Look here,” he said, “you’re all wrong. You assumed from the start I was a somebody and had something. I’m really a nobody and I have nothing. You might even call me an adventurer. I came here broken in health and practically penniless. Now I am strong and fit again. And I have some money, fifty thousand francs, which I managed to wrench from the Casino. That’s all I’ve got, I swear it. I’m not mean, but I’ve known bitter poverty and don’t want to know it again.”

She was looking at him in sheer amazement. He warmed to his subject, and spoke with a gusto that was almost malicious.

“That money means life to me. It means a home, a chance to make a living by healthy, agreeable work. I’m going to buy a car. Next year if you’re here and you see me standing in line waiting for a job, you can hire me. Now you know me. That’s the sort I am, a penniless adventurer. I should have told you before, but I enjoyed being with you so much that I postponed the confession. Well, that’s over any way. And now what are you going to do?”

For a full minute she was speechless. Then she said breathlessly:

“But you are making millions, you and that old man. Every one knows it. You are partners....”

“No, not partners. I never touch a sou of what he makes.”

“But ... he’s like a father to you. He’ll give you anything you want. A million if you ask. I am sure.”

“I don’t intend to ask.”

“I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Belmire.

“No, I don’t think you do; I don’t think you can. I’m sorry, but.... Hullo! there’s that fellow Vulning. By Jove! he’s coming in here. Drunk as a tinker, too, I’ll swear.”

She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. She sat silent, her chin propped on her hands, staring into vacancy with stormy, scornful eyes. Yes, she was lovely. Now that he had told her everything he was half sorry. She was lost to him. She would turn on him presently, and call him a most unmerciful bounder. Well, he deserved it. He waited. He felt sorry for her, she seemed so bowled over. Then suddenly she turned to him, fixing him with an intense gaze.

“I counted on you. Oh, how I counted on you!”

Tears and reproach were in her voice. At that moment he almost yielded, almost promised her the money. Even as he hesitated, his attention was attracted by Paul Vulning.

Vulning was standing at the bar. He was dressed in a golfing suit and looked as if he had been on a long debauch. His face was puffy and muddily red, his cheeks and chin bristly; his eyes fishy when they were not wild. He stared round the room, and recognized Mrs. Belmire, but he did not notice Hugh.

“Hullo! Marion,” he cried. “Come on, old girl, and have a Scotch.”

She did not pay any attention, but continued to brood, her chin in her cupped hands. He shouted once more.

“Here, don’t be haughty. You weren’t always too proud to drink at a bar. Well, I’ll come over and join you.”

Carrying his glass unsteadily, he made his way towards them.

“Brute!” said Hugh.

“Don’t take any notice of him,” said Mrs. Belmire contemptuously. “He’s always beastly when he’s in that state.”

Vulning halted.

“Excuse me. Didn’t notice you had a fellow. Never mind. We’re all pals here, ain’t we?”

He sat down unsteadily. “All pals.... Damn you!”

He had suddenly recognized Hugh, and he bent forward with a snarl like that of an angry dog.

“You bloody whipper-snapper.... Bah!”

Hugh restrained himself with difficulty, and sat tense. The frown on Mrs. Belmire’s face deepened. Vulning’s snarl gradually relaxed to a sneer. He meant mischief.

“You’re looking rippin’ to-night, Marion. ’Pon my soul I never saw you looking so stunning.”

He put out a rather dirty hand and patted her white shoulder. She drew back.

“Don’t touch me, you beast!”

Hugh broke in tempestuously. “Don’t do that again, you dog, or I’ll knock you down.”

Vulning gave a sneering laugh, then suddenly grew fierce.

“Why shouldn’t I do it if I choose? What’s it got to do with you, you young whelp? What can you do?”

“I can make you respect a lady in my presence.”

“Respect! Lady!” Vulning burst into a roar of laughter. “That a lady! That! Why, man, she’s been my mistress. She’s been the mistress of a dozen men I know. She’s anybody’s woman. Respect! Her! Oh you young fool! You poor flat.... Ach!”

He choked. Hugh had clutched him by the collar and was shaking him savagely. Vulning struck out wildly, but Hugh hurled him to the floor and stood over him.

“Come on,” said Mrs. Belmire wearily, “I’m going.”

She went to the door alone, pulling her cloak over her dazzling shoulders. Hugh hesitated, then followed her.

“I’d better see you home,” he said.

“Home!” she laughed bitterly. “I had a home once. I don’t suppose I’ll ever have another.”

“Was it true? What he said?”

Her voice was hard, scornful. “Yes, all true. What would you? I must live. I was brought up to do nothing. My husband died leaving me only his debts. Try to understand! Put yourself in my place. Men are brutes. A woman must prey or be preyed on. You are the first decent, clean man I’ve met since ... oh, ever so long. And you’ve never suspected?...”

“No, I didn’t think that of you. I suppose it was because I didn’t want to think it. I thought you were foolish, worldly, of limited means but straight, quite straight. I swear I did.”

“And now that you know you will never see me again?”

“I don’t know. I must think it out. We have both been deceived in the other.”

“Yes, we must both think it out. Here’s the pension. Good-night.”

“Good-night.”

2.

Two days later Hugh persuaded the professor to play more rapidly, with the result that in less than two hours the old man had won nearly two hundred thousand francs. The effort exhausted him and he retired to his bed for the day. He intended to repeat the performance the next morning.

When Hugh returned, he found Margot laying the table for lunch. He noticed that her hands trembled. Though quiet and reserved as always, she had a strange sullen set to her mouth and a resentful look in her eyes. Presently she said:

“A lady came to see you this morning.”

“A lady! Here! Who was it?”

“A haughty English lady,—with dyed hair.”

With some annoyance Hugh applied this description to Mrs. Belmire.

“What did she say?”

“I did not let her in. She took me for the domestic. I was scrubbing the kitchen and not very tidy. I said you were out and I had not the faintest idea when you would be in.”

“Yes?”

“She then said: ‘Tell him I will dine at the Carlton to-night at eight, and expect him to have dinner with me.’ I bobbed my head and answered, ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Then she said, ‘Do you think you can give that message correctly, my girl?’ I answered again, ‘Yes, ma’am. I think my intelligence will be equal to the strain you are putting on it.’ She then offered me a franc but I refused it.”

“Damn it! I’m sorry she came.... I mean I’m sorry you were put in such a position.”

“I think I’d better go away. Is that the lady you go about with so much?”

“How do you know I go about with her?”

“I’ve seen you; lots of times. She’s a bad woman, I tell you. I know all about her. She’s ruined lots of men. She’ll ruin you, too.”

The girl seemed to be trembling with suppressed rage. Hugh became angry.

“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself,” he said coldly.

“Are you going to see her to-night?”

“I don’t see what that’s got to do with you.”

“Because if you do, I won’t stay here. I’ll leave to-night. I swear I will.”

“You seem determined to create an atmosphere of unpleasantness. I don’t like it. I’ll go and get lunch elsewhere.”

He ate at the Bristol. Later, he took a walk, went for a swim, had tea at Scapini’s, and strolled about the “Cheese.” He could not get the thought of Margot out of his head. What had got into her? It was none of her business whom he went with. He would not let any one exercise a control over his actions. As for her going away, it was an empty threat. She had said the same thing before. What did Mrs. Belmire want with him? It would be safer, perhaps, not to see her again. It was playing with fire....

At seven o’clock, nevertheless, he went home and changed into his evening clothes. As he was going out Margot stood by the door.

“You’re going, then?”

“Yes,” he said curtly.

“Very well, then, I warn you; you won’t find me here when you come back.”

“Do as you please. You are entirely mistress of your own actions.”

He passed her, slamming the door.

3.

He found Mrs. Belmire waiting for him. She had reserved a table in one of the alcoves and looked very bewitching.

“This is my farewell supper. I had intended to invite some other men; then I thought it would be nicer, just we two.”

Mrs. Belmire’s invitations to supper always included the privilege of paying for it. She seemed to have made up her mind to be the most charming of hostesses. She ordered an exquisite brand of champagne and kept Hugh’s glass filled. She talked vivaciously, with long deep looks into his eyes, and little caressing touches of her hands. She nestled close to him, so close that it was disconcerting to look down on the delicious curves of dazzling flesh, emerging in such radiant and insolent beauty from a gown that sheathed her to the bust in front, and was cut to the waist behind.

It was a gala night. There was a gay crowd of dancers; brilliant Chinese lanterns were strung closely overhead, and the walls and columns were covered with fanciful decorations of coloured crêpe paper.

“Don’t you love it all?” she sighed. “Light, love, laughter,—what a part they play in life.”

He was inclined to agree with her. The triumphant wine was singing through his veins; the mad music was goading him to a frenzy of happiness; the dazzling shoulders and gleaming arms of Mrs. Belmire were pagan in their beauty. The whole combination, wine, woman, song, was for him. Every fibre of his will was weakening in this atmosphere of sheer delight.

“She’s got me going,” he almost groaned. When she turned away her head he emptied his champagne on the floor.

Seeing his glass empty she plied him with another. “You don’t drink anything,” she said. “Come, it’s a poor heart that never rejoices. Let’s abandon ourselves. It’s so jolly nice to be together like this. I wish it could last forever.”

The champagne was taking possession of his sense. He saw her through a roseate mist, a wholly voluptuous, desireful creature. He had drunk nearly two-thirds of the wine; more would be fatal. To avoid real intoxication, he stimulated a slight false one.

“No more of the damned stuff,” he said roughly. “My head’s all buzzing with it. It’s poison. The tears of widows and orphans, the widows and orphans the old professor’s working for....”

She leaned forward eagerly. “I heard you made quite a lot to-day.”

“He made nearly quarter of a million ... for his widows and orphans.”

“Why for them? Why not for you, for us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Wouldn’t you like to be rich? Wouldn’t you like to have a life like this always,—flowers, music, good wine, delicate food, a life of luxury?”

“No, I wouldn’t. I want quiet and simplicity. I don’t want to be rich.”

“Oh, you make me lose patience. You say you would like to be a painter. Well, why not study,—Paris, Rome and so on?”

“That takes money. I haven’t got it.”

“Yes, you have. All you want. Millions!”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you later. Have some more wine.”

“No, no. I’ve had enough. You want to make me drunk. Come on, let’s leave this cursed bordel. My head’s splitting. I want fresh air.”

“Poor boy! You want to lie down a bit. I say, come and stretch, chez moi. You can smoke a cigarette and have a snooze if you like. It’s quiet there.”

He would have broken away, but she held his arm and called a voiture. It was exactly ten o’clock when they left the restaurant and descended to the Pension Pizzicato. Once in the open air the fumes of the wine affected him with sudden drowsiness.

“Look here,” he said, “I do believe I’m a bit squiffy. Perhaps I’d better lie down on your sofa for half an hour.”

“That’s a good boy. Come on.”

He remembered descending unsteadily from the voiture and stumbling up to her room. They met no one on the way. He threw himself on her divan and closed his eyes.

4.

When he opened them again she was bending over him. She wore a lilac peignoir that clothed her loosely. As he looked at her, surprised, she said:

“My dear boy, how’s your poor head? You know you’ve slept nearly two hours. And look who’s here,—Mr. Fetterstein. He came just a few minutes after we did. We’ve been chatting.”

Fetterstein was comfortably seated, smoking a huge cigar, and drinking a whiskey and soda. He grunted amiably to Hugh.

“Yey, boy! Some snorer too, hey, Mrs. B.? Well, feelin’ better?”

“Yes, thanks. I’m all right now.”

“Have a cigar?”

“No, thanks.”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me I’ll hit the hay. I’m not the night-hawk I used to be. Gettin’ old, hey! I’ll leave the rounder game to you young bloods. Good-night, young chap.”

When he had gone Mrs. Belmire came impulsively to Hugh and knelt by the side of his chair.

“My poor darling! Are you really feeling better? We talked low so as not to disturb you. Old Fetterstein’s not a bad sort. You mustn’t mind him. You know he wants me to go to Vichy with him. He will pay all my debts.”

“Are you going?”

“I don’t want to. I want to go with you. Let’s go to Venice. It’s a dream.”

He looked at her in a dazed way. She put her arms around his neck.

“Oh, come. You’re the only man I love in all the world. In a few more years I will be passée; but now I am at my very best. Look at me. Don’t I please you? Take me. I’ll be everything to you as long as you like. When you tire of me, I’ll go. I’ll be yours, all yours. I’m not fickle. I’ll love you, you alone. You won’t regret it. We’ll live in places that glitter and glow; we will drink to the full the wine of life. Oh, take me, take me....”

“I don’t understand. How can I do these things? I’m not a man of wealth....”

“Oh, yes, you are, if you like. There’s the old professor. You know how to play as he does. You can get hold of his books, copy his figures. We’ll go to San Sebastien, Buenos Ayres, everywhere roulette is allowed. Play, play for yourself. Become rich. Life without money is hell. Come! you’ll do it. Won’t you, won’t you....”

She clung to him. He looked at her with something like horror.

“You want me to steal the professor’s system?”

“Yes, if you want to put it that way. Why not? He’s old, half mad. Charity begins at home. Why not?”

“Never!”

“You will ... you will....”

She seemed to be holding him with all the strength of her body; she kissed him like a mad thing. He could feel her hot panting breath on his face, see her eyes burn into his.

“No, a thousand times no!”

She was like a splendid animal mad with passion. He rose and wrenching her arms apart, backed away from her, a look of repulsion in his eyes. She saw it and knew she was defeated.

She crouched by the empty chair, her head dropping on her outstretched arms. She seemed to be sobbing.

He paused by the door. Something forlorn in her attitude touched him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “If I were mad for love of you, I would do anything you asked me, but ... I’m not. I can’t go with you because I don’t care for you in that way. I realize it now. Perhaps I should have known it sooner. Please forgive me.”

She rose and faced him.

“Forgive you.... You poor fool! Did you think I meant it? Why, I was only acting. Did you think I cared for you? It’s only money I care for, money, money. I offered myself to you and you refused me. You are the only man who ever did that. It’s that that hurts. You’ve wounded me in a way time will never heal. I hate you, hate you! Oh, I could kill you. Go!...”

She pointed to the door, then turning, once again dropped beside the chair. She was really crying now, shaken with great rending sobs.

He left her. As he passed in front of the dark Casino, the pinkish face of the clock showed it to be one in the morning. All the way downhill to the Condamine he did not meet a soul. There was no moon; and the quietness was almost eerie.

The passage leading to the house was as dark as a tunnel of anthracite. He plunged into its blackness, then stopped short. A man was blocking his way. Instinctively his hand went to his hip pocket for his automatic. Assassins....

Then a second man, darting from behind, gripped his arms. He struggled madly; but the first man, closing in, struck at him with something hard, and he remembered no more.

CHAPTER FOUR ARREST

“WHERE am I?”

About him were bare, white-washed walls; the light came by grudgingly through a small barred window that gave on rock and shrub. He struggled to a sitting position on the pallet bed on which he lay. The place reeled round and round. He groaned, and put his hand to his head. It was bandaged. It ached atrociously. What had happened? He tried to think, but thinking was painful. Memory returned in gleams and dashes. Bit by bit the evening before came back to him. But how to account for his present position? He gave up the effort and lay down again.

A man entered, a rather grim, brown man in a kind of uniform.

“Monsieur has awakened?”

“Yes, what place is this?”

“It is the detention room of the Monaco Police Station.”

“But why am I here?”

“Monsieur was arrested only this morning.”

“Arrested! Good Heavens! Why?”

“Ah! that is not for me to say. Monsieur will be brought before the examining magistrate in an hour. Will monsieur take petit déjeuner?”

“Bring me some strong coffee. It may buck me up.”

The coffee cleared his head wonderfully and helped him to realize his position. He had been arrested last night by those two men in the dark entry. They certainly had used him roughly enough. He would make a deuce of a row about that. The whole thing was outrageous, an error or else a dastardly plot. Then he became uneasy. Anything might happen here. He was at the mercy of the powers that be. They might throw him into one of the dungeons of the Castle. Sinister forebodings invaded him.

Presently two policemen came for him, and he walked between them to a large room where three men were sitting at a curving desk. Their backs were to a double window but he was placed in the glare of the strong light.

The three men were dusky Monegascans. They wore black frock coats and black bow ties. The centre one was severe and stout, the one on the right severe and thin, the third was young, intelligent and amiable looking. It was evident they were important personages in the judiciary system of the Principality, probably the examining magistrate, the state attorney and the chief of police. The stout one addressed him curtly.

“Your name is Hugh Kildair?”

“Yes.”

“You inhabit a room on the third floor of the Villa Lorenza?”

“Yes.”

The magistrate consulted his notes. There was a silence. Hugh saw six piercing eyes fixed on his face.

“Can you account for your movements from ten o’clock until midnight yesterday evening?”

Hugh reflected that his movements during that time consisted of somewhat stertorous respirations on the sofa of Mrs. Belmire’s sitting room, and hesitated. But after all, he thought, he had no need to be reticent as far as Mrs. Belmire was concerned. He resented those damned descendants of Saracen pirates, though. What had they against him?

“I don’t understand,” he protested. “What have I been arrested for? It’s an outrage. I’ll appeal to the British consul.”

The youngest of the men interposed smoothly. “You do not seem to realize the seriousness of your position, monsieur. You will do well to answer the question.”

Hugh was impressed.

“Well,” he said, “I was with a lady, if you wish to know.”

“Kindly give us her name.”

“A Mrs. Belmire, an English lady.”

The three exchanged glances. The thin one shrugged his shoulders. The pleasant one smiled meaningly.

“She is known to us,” said the fat one. “Will you be so good as to tell us where and how you passed the entire evening.”

Hugh repressed his growing indignation. He answered sullenly enough:

“I met her at eight at the Carlton. We had dinner. At ten we took a voiture and went to her hotel. There I fell asleep on her sofa and awoke about twelve. I remained till nearly one, when I left for my room. In the dark entry of the house where I live, my way was barred by a man.... But then you know more than I do about what happened from then on.”

“Why did you attempt to draw your pistol?”

“I was nervous. In the past few weeks there have been attempts to injure me.”

The pleasant looking man nodded confirmation to this. The thin man then said:

“We had better get hold of the English lady at once. She is not the most desirable of witnesses, but ... if what monsieur says is supported, he has an undeniable alibi and we can release him.”

“Release me! Of course, you will. What have I done, tell me. What am I charged with?”

“There is no charge yet. You are arrested on suspicion only.”

“Of what?”

The three looked at each other. Then the fat one bent forward dramatically.

“Of murder.”

“Good God! Whose murder?”

The lean one fixed his piercing eyes on Hugh’s face.

“Professor Durand was murdered in his room last night, between ten and twelve.”

All three watched him closely. He was dazed by the shock. He stared at them blankly.

“Horrible!” he murmured. “The poor old man ... murdered!...”

“Yes, stabbed to the heart.”

“But who did it? Why have you arrested me?”

“Because the concierge says he saw you go up to the old man’s room a little after ten, and leave a little after eleven.”

“Me!”

“Yes. If you can prove that you were elsewhere, then the man must have been mistaken. We’ll see the English lady at once.”

But alas! a telephone call to the Pension Pizzicato informed them that Mrs. Belmire had left early that morning with Mr. Fetterstein in a high powered car. Destination unknown.

“Hum!” said the magistrate, “that makes it bad for you. We are willing to release you if you can prove an incontestable alibi. We don’t want any trouble here. But if you cannot we must hand you over to the French authorities.”

“Hold on,” said Hugh. “Fetterstein was there too, in the room.”

“You mean Monsieur Fetterstein, the multi-millionaire American?”

“Yes, the same.”

“Ah!” All three looked impressed.

“If only Monsieur Fetterstein would testify in your favour that would end the matter as far as you are concerned. He is well known to us and much esteemed.”

“But can’t you find him?”

“That might be hard. There is all France to search. Cannot your friends here hire a lawyer, get some one to help you,—a detective?...”

Hugh considered. “Perhaps Monsieur Krantz would help me.”

They looked surprised; Hugh went on:

“Will you let him know the position I’m in? If any one can find them he can.”

The chief of police nodded. “He’s already interested in the case.”

The magistrate talked with the others in the Monegascan dialect. Finally he said:

“We will see what we can do. In the meantime you must remain here. We will investigate the affair thoroughly. If you are innocent you need have no fear of the result. That is all I can say for the present.”

Hugh was conducted back to his cell, and left to his own reflections. He sat for a long time in a state verging on stupor. The professor murdered,—that was the thought that drove all others from his head, made him forget even his own plight. The professor murdered! But by whom? There were those who had reason enough to want the old man out of the way; there were those who would rejoice at his death. But assassination! No, they would surely draw the line at that. Krantz had a drastic way of dealing with criminals, but he would never stain his hands with the blood of honest men. Still, he had admitted he could not always keep his subordinates in check.

If, then, it had not been the act of an irresponsible tool of Krantz, who else had an interest in disposing of the professor? As he lay through the long day he pondered on this. How slowly the time passed! He thought sadly that all his friends had gone. MacTaggart, Gimp, Tope, he was sure they would have hurried to his aid. Margot, too! Why had she not come? She must know by now where he was. A strange longing to see her came over him. It would be more comforting to see her than any one else.

In the evening to his surprise Krantz arrived. The detective entered with a smile of cheerful mockery that was rather irritating to a man in Hugh’s position.

“Hullo,” he said, laughing as if it was quite funny, “you’ve got yourself into a nice mess.”

“Have I?”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it? Here’s your concierge swearing you were in the old man’s room at the time the murder was committed. You say that you were elsewhere, but you cannot produce your witnesses. You name two people who have left the country, gone goodness knows where. Doesn’t it strike you that if they should not come back to testify for you, you will be in a devilish awkward box?”

“Look here, Krantz, you know I didn’t do it.”

“Of course, I know it,” said Krantz smilingly.

“And you know who did do it.”

The face of Krantz grew very grave. “Hum! I’m not so sure of that.”

“But what was the motive?”

“Robbery, of course. Didn’t they tell you that the safe was opened, all the papers taken? He had better luck than I, whoever he was.”

“And the system?”

“Stolen. That’s unfortunate. I wish I knew who he was.”

“Whoever has it can’t use it,” said Hugh. “It’s in cypher, and there’s only one man who can decipher it.”

“Who’s that?”

“Me.”

“That’s interesting. Humph! I’ll remember that.”

Krantz thoughtfully tapped the floor with his cane for a full minute. Then he rose.

“I’m going to help you if I can. I’ll try to find your two witnesses so that you can establish your alibi. But if I get you clear, and should ever want your aid (in an honourable way, of course) you’ll help me?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Don’t worry. Good-night.”

The visit of Krantz cheered Hugh and he was able to get some sleep. But the next two days crawled past miserably. Except for the warders with his food no one came near him; again his fears took shape. What if Mrs. Belmire and Fetterstein could not be found! Mrs. Belmire probably hated him and might be glad to revenge herself on him by keeping out of the way. But no, he thought, she was too good a sport for that. There was Fetterstein, too. Everything must come right. The time seemed so long.

On the fourth day he was again ushered into the bureau. The stout magistrate was at his desk and beside him sat the chief of police. He smiled benignly at Hugh.

“Everything has been explained,” he said, “as far as you are concerned. You are released. You need have no further fear. We regret exceedingly we have been obliged to put you to the inconvenience.”

He bowed with a gesture of dismissal, and Hugh lost no time in leaving the room. As he emerged from the police station a voice hailed him:

“Hullo there! Sorry we didn’t know you were in such a hell of a fix or we’d have got here sooner. They connected with us at Marseilles and we came right on in the car. We’ve just been and interviewed the old guy. You bet we soon straightened things out. By the way, allow me to present you to Mrs. Fetterstein.”

Hugh stared. Fetterstein with a hearty laugh was indicating a lady who was arranging her motoring veil. It was Mrs. Belmire. She looked radiant.

“Yes, we were married in Marseilles yesterday. Oh, I’m so happy! He’s really such a nice old thing. You’ve no idea. We’re going to Italy for our honeymoon. So sorry we didn’t know you were in trouble, or we’d have simply flown to the rescue. He’s made an affidavit, or something of the kind. Well, all’s well that ends well. Now we must be getting on. Come, you precious old dear. Good-bye, Mr. Kildair. Hope we’ll all meet again.”

Hugh had no time for congratulations. They sprang into a great cheese-coloured car, and were gone, leaving him in a state of utter bewilderment.

He made his way slowly back to the house he called home. Forebodings assailed him. The concierge had gone, no doubt dreading awkward explanations. Looking up Hugh saw that the windows of the professor’s room were shuttered. So also were his own. To find his room so dark, so silent, struck a chill to his heart!

“Margot! Margot!”

No reply. He pulled aside the grey curtain. Her bed had not been slept in. He searched everywhere for a note from her. Nothing! Had she carried out her threat? Had she left him as she had said she would?

He went slowly down stairs and asked the tenant of the room below for news. The woman shook her head.

“The petite blonde? No, I know nothing of her. She disappeared the night of the crime.”

CHAPTER FIVE TRAPPED

1.

THE next three days were more miserable to Hugh than those he had spent in prison. He missed Margot keenly. He had become so used to her; she had waited on him so devotedly; had made herself so essential to him in a hundred little ways. Her sudden desertion of him when he most needed her filled him with dismay.

He felt injured, too. He had done a good deal for her. He had always been a perfect brother, respectful and courteous. If she had been a real sister, he could not have thought more of her. If he could get her back he would be even more considerate. He would take her to the cinema, to tea sometimes, even for a drive occasionally. The trouble was, if he went about with her, people would jump at wrong conclusions. Well, in future, let ’em jump. He would buy that cottage and she should keep house for him. He wondered if it would be possible to legally adopt her as a sister. Then she could live with him until she found the man she wanted to marry. Why not?

Where was she? In Paris, no doubt; taking up the weary struggle once more. She would surely write soon, then he would go and fetch her. Why had she left most of her clothes, he wondered? All the things he had bought her? Perhaps she did not want to take them. The sight of her abandoned garments made him lonelier than ever.

She must have left just before the crime. If she had been there, it might not have happened, she always kept such a watchful eye on the old man’s door. How shocked she would be. She had been so fond of the professor, fussing over him, doing things for him. Poor man! So that was the end of all his grandiose schemes. And the system was useless, for only he, Hugh, had the key. Well, he was glad it had been stolen. He had always hated it. There had been something so uncanny about it. Although it was always successful, it seemed to bring misfortune on all connected with it.

He felt the shadow of the tragedy penetrating even to his room. The concierge who had identified him as the murderer, had discreetly gone on a vacation; but Hugh had gathered dubious details of what had happened. About ten o’clock the assassin had mounted to the old man’s room. The concierge had seen him enter, but had not seen him leave. About midnight the occupant of the room below, a Casino employé, had heard groaning; but by the time the door had been opened the old man was dead. He was lying face downward in a pool of blood with a knife stab just under the ribs. The safe was open and empty; the room ransacked.

That was all Hugh could learn. It was vague and confusing enough. The Monaco police seemed to be in no hurry to clear up the mystery and probably would allow it to swell the list of the Principality’s undiscovered crimes.

Oh, for a word from Margot! He was growing anxious about her. Then one day the postman handed him a letter.

2.

It bore the post-mark of Monaco. He tore it open and read with amazement the following:

“My dear Cousin:

“You will no doubt be surprised at this manner of address, but various things have led me to conclude that the above relationship exists between us.

“My uncle was Gilbert Kildair, the well-known artist, who, I find according to the records of the Municipality of Menton, was duly married to Lucia Fontana on the nineteenth of October, 1898.

“After his death she went to England to see if his family would not do something for her and her son; but they had quarrelled with him and refused to recognize her as his wife.

“My mother was a Kildair, and struck by the curious resemblance between us, I made inquiries with this result.

“I know that up to now your feelings towards me have been hostile, but I hope that in view of our newly discovered relationship, you will let byegones be byegones. After all, blood is thicker than water, and already I feel an interest in you that exceeds the warmth of ordinary friendship.

“I would like you to visit me at my Villa. If it suits you, my car will await you at ten this evening at the Church of St. Devoté. Do run you up. Please do not fail me.

“Your cousin, “Paul Vulning.”

Hugh had to read this extraordinary letter over three times before he understood the significance of it. To his amazement succeeded disgust. He had no desire to be related to Vulning. His dislike for the man was invincible. There was also his resentment towards his father’s family. He did not want to have anything to do with them. They had refused to recognize his mother, and had never shown the slightest interest in himself. Vulning was typical of them, arrogant, selfish, supercilious. Why then this sudden interest on his part? Why did Vulning recognize him now, want to take him up? Hugh was puzzled.

He decided to go to Vulning’s villa; there could be no harm in that. He might gain some information about his parents. He did not like Vulning any the better now that he knew he was a cousin. Still there was no reason they should not be decently civil to one another.

He was glad to learn that his father had been a well-known artist. That accounted for his own modest talent and his joy in playing with colours. His mother ... his poor mother ... perhaps she was one of the Fontanas of Monaco, the famous Fontanas. He must go over to Menton and look up the register. The letter suggested to him new and engrossing lines of thought. He awaited the evening with impatience.

At ten o’clock the carmine car was waiting, breathing softly, with great glowing eyes. The chauffeur touched his hat and Hugh leapt into the seat beside him. How he loved a car! This was a Hispana Suiza and the one-eyed chauffeur drove like a demon. He climbed the steep serpentine hill, nursing his motor with infinite delicacy. The engine roared triumphantly; the lights of the town fell away; the world widened gloriously. They rose with a steady, panting urge, toward the mountains and the stars.

Soon they were well in the belt of orange groves and the road became more difficult to follow. The chauffeur was driving at a slow pace, the way twisting and turning. Hugh could hardly believe that any one lived in such a remote place until he remembered that Vulning’s villa was the highest on the hillside. It was ideal for any one who loved seclusion; the view must be superb. Presently lights swooped towards them, and the wheels of the car ground in the gravel. They had arrived.

There is always something mysterious about the approach to a lonely house at night. The sense of mystery at Vulning’s villa was heightened by the great garden that encircled it. The vast velvety blackness, with its suggestions of pines and cyprus, and its rich sullen silence was almost aggressive. Against the mountain the tall house loomed faintly. It was terraced on three sides, with a flight of steps leading up to the front entrance.

As he mounted them the door opened and a man awaited him. Hugh was surprised to see it was Bob Bender. Bob smiled in his sly, deprecating way.

“How are you, sir? Mr. Vulning’s expecting you. He’s in the library. Come this way.”

He led Hugh down a long unlighted hall and halted before a door. The air was stale and heavy.

Then the door was opened and Hugh found himself in a large sombre room, panelled in dark wood; over what appeared to be a bay window hung heavy crimson curtains. The window was evidently open, as the curtains trembled slightly. By an oak table in the middle of the room stood Vulning with a curious smile on his face.

As the two men faced one another the resemblance between them was more striking than ever. Both were tall and slim and straight. Both had the severely regular features of the type that used to be known as the English governing class. Their hair was of the same light chestnut and brushed smoothly back. But while Hugh’s eyes were black, those of Vulning were blue; while Hugh’s face was frank and boyish, that of Vulning was cynical and blasé. There appeared to be a dozen years of difference in their ages.

For a moment there was an awkward pause, then Vulning held out his hand with a rather exaggerated cordiality.

“Come on, now, be cousinly. I know you are prejudiced against me; but, hang it all, I’ve suffered more at your hands than you have at mine. Let’s forget it, bury the hatchet, shake hands. Come, be a good sport.”

Hugh complied reluctantly. Cousin or not he could not overcome his repugnance to this man.

“You were doubtless surprised,” Vulning went on pleasantly. “I was, too, when I made the discovery. It was our mutual friend, Mrs. Belmire, who put me on the track. It is really a very curious coincidence. However, we won’t dwell on that. I asked you up here to speak about quite another matter. Won’t you sit down? You’ll find that arm-chair quite decent.”

Hugh took it, but Vulning remained standing.

“Now,” he continued, “I am afraid I am going to surprise you a second time. To make a long story short, a few days ago there came into my hands, in a round-about-way, certain documents with which you are doubtless familiar. It was with regard to these I wanted to see you. Look....”

With that Vulning extracted from the inside pocket of his coat a rolled mass of manuscript, and laid it on the table, keeping his hand on it.

“You know this, eh?”

Hugh was speechless. He sat staring at the document. The cover had been torn away, but he recognized it at once.

“The system of Professor Durand,” he gasped.

“Precisely. It’s all here. It was taken from his safe, and has come into my possession; how—I cannot for the moment explain. Now what I want of you is this....”

Vulning bent forward eagerly, his eyes gleaming.

“You and I alone know of this. I have all the documents that refer to the system, but I am forced to confess I can do nothing with it. You, I believe, are the one man who can decipher it. Now I want to propose a partnership between us. You will translate this manuscript. We will work the thing together. We will get a hundred million francs out of the bank. We will share fifty-fifty. That is generous,—too generous. But then we are cousins. Well, are you on?”

Hugh sat as if transfixed, staring at the folio. The sudden sight of it, combined with the impudence of the proposal, quite took away his breath. Vulning watched him keenly.

“Takes you some time to realize it. I told you I would surprise you.”

Hugh started up. “But,” he cried, “these documents do not belong to you. They were stolen. The professor intended to leave them to me after his death. I was to publish them. It’s a sacred trust. Here, give them to me....”

He made a grab for the documents; but Vulning withdrew them quickly, and at the same time jerked a small revolver from his pocket.

“No, you don’t,” he sneered. “Stand back. I’ve got you covered.”

“You’ve no right to these papers,” Hugh protested hotly. “I’ll go and tell the police.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. Don’t be a fool. It’s a fair offer I’m making you. You translate this and we’ll work together. Come!”

“I refuse.”

“You refuse. You surprise me. An easy chance to make fifty million francs. Think of all it means, man,—wealth, luxury, beauty. We are getting it all legitimately from an institution that deserves no better treatment. Consider again. You’ll translate this?”

“I tell you; no!”

“May I ask why?”

“Because.... Look here, how did those documents come into your hands?”

“Never mind. I told you we would not go into that.”

“You have some connection with this theft. You....”

Then a light burst on Hugh. The man for whom he had been arrested—

“It was you who stole them.... And—Oh, my God! ... you damned villain! It was you, you who murdered Professor Durand.”

Vulning’s face went white; he seemed about to collapse.

“No, I didn’t,” he stammered. “Not that. I swear I didn’t do that. Look here, I’ll be quite honest. I confess I took the papers. The professor admitted me in the dusk, thinking it was you. He was working, and the safe was open. I asked to refer to the system, and he brought it to me. Then he saw who it was. We struggled, and I gave him a touch of chloroform, a mere touch, not enough to harm him. When I came away he was sleeping like a baby. I took the papers, closed the safe and left very quietly. That’s all I know. He was found later, stabbed to the heart. I did not do it. I swear to that.”

Aghast, incapable of action, Hugh stood staring at him. Then as quickly as he had weakened Vulning recovered himself, and started forward, tense, tigerish.

“I’ve told you too much,” he snarled. He covered Hugh with his revolver.

“You dog! I hate you. You refuse to give up what you know,—well then, there’s only one thing left,—to make you. Ho! there.”

At his shout the door was thrown open. Bob Bender and the one-eyed chauffeur rushed in.

“Quick. That rope in the corner! Tie him up. Steady there, you young hound; or I’ll shoot.”

The chauffeur and Bob Bender threw themselves on Hugh. In spite of Vulning’s threat, he struggled fiercely. It was not until the chauffeur had pinioned and tripped him that he fell heavily. The three men held him down, and trussed him so that he could not move. He lay helpless, gazing up at them and panting painfully.

“Ah,” said Vulning, “that was hard. Let me get my breath....”

He regarded Hugh malevolently. As he lit a cigarette, his eyes were sinister in their cruelty.

“He refuses to do what we want, boys. There’s only one thing left, regrettable though it is; we’ve got to make him. Prop him up against the wall.”

They did so. Hugh glared at them.

“Go on,” he gasped. “You murdered the professor. Murder me too.”

“I think we’ll get what we want out of you without that,” said Vulning. “Close that window, Bob. He’ll probably scream. Charlot, you know your job.”

What were they going to do? Hugh’s eyes followed them fearfully. He watched Bob Bender go to the window and remain some moments fumbling at the latch. He saw the villainous-faced chauffeur leave the room and return with a pair of powerful pincers in his hand. Meanwhile Paul Vulning sat down on the edge of the table and inhaled his cigarette. He was evidently enjoying the scene and proposed to play with his victim as a cat does with a mouse. Well, Hugh resolved, he would not cry out whatever happened. At least Vulning should not get that satisfaction from him.