The mysterious Mr. Quin
Mr. Satterthwaite, whose private estimate of the lady's age was between
forty-five and forty-nine, merely raised his eyebrows.
"I should caution you against believing all you are told at Monte
Carlo," he murmured.
He had enough experience to know the futility of arguing with the lad.
Franklin Rudge was at a pitch of white-hot chivalry when he would have
disbelieved any statement that was not backed with authoritative proof.
"Here is the Countess," said the boy, rising.
She came up to them with the languid grace that so became her.
Presently they all three sat down together. She was very charming to
Mr. Satterthwaite, but in rather an aloof manner. She deferred to him
prettily, asking his opinion, and treating him as an authority on the
Riviera.
The whole thing was cleverly managed. Very few minutes had elapsed
before Franklin Rudge found himself gracefully but unmistakably
dismissed, and the Countess and Mr. Satterthwaite were left
_tête-à-tête_.
She put down her parasol and began drawing patterns with it in the dust.
"You are interested in that nice American boy, Mr. Satterthwaite, are
you not?"
Her voice was low with a caressing note in it.
"He's a nice young fellow," said Mr. Satterthwaite noncommittally.
"I find him sympathetic, yes," said the Countess reflectively. "I have
told him much of my life."
"Indeed," said Mr. Satterthwaite.
"Details such as I have told to few others," she continued dreamily. "I
have had an extraordinary life, Mr. Satterthwaite. Few would credit the
amazing things that have happened to me."
Mr. Satterthwaite was shrewd enough to penetrate her meaning. After
all, the stories that she had told to Franklin Rudge _might_ be the
truth. It was extremely unlikely, and in the last degree improbable,
but it was _possible_. No one could definitely say, "This is not so."
He did not reply, and the Countess continued to look out dreamily
across the bay. And suddenly Mr. Satterthwaite had a strange and new
impression of her. He saw her no longer as a harpy, but as a desperate
creature at bay, fighting tooth and nail. He stole a sideways glance at
her. The parasol was down; he could see the little haggard lines at the
corners of her eyes. In one temple a pulse was beating.
It flowed through him again and again--that increasing certitude. She
was a creature desperate and driven. She would be merciless to him
or to anyone who stood between her and Franklin Rudge. But he still
felt he hadn't got the hang of the situation. Clearly she had plenty
of money. She was always beautifully dressed, and her jewels were
marvelous. There could be no real urgency of that kind. Was it love?
Women of her age did, he well knew, fall in love with boys. It might be
that. There was, he felt sure, something out of the common about the
situation.
Her _tête-à-tête_ with him was, he recognized, a throwing down of the
gauntlet. She had singled him out as her chief enemy. He felt sure that
she hoped to goad him into speaking slightingly of her to Franklin
Rudge. Mr. Satterthwaite smiled to himself. He was too old a bird for
that. He knew when it was wise to hold one's tongue.
He watched her that night in the Cercle Privé, as she tried her
fortunes at roulette.
Again and again she staked, only to see her stake swept away. She bore
her losses well, with the stoical _sang-froid_ of the old habitué. She
staked _en plein_ once or twice, put the maximum on red, won a little
on the middle dozen and then lost it again; finally she backed _manque_
six times and lost every time. Then with a little graceful shrug of the
shoulders she turned away.
She was looking unusually striking in a dress of gold tissue with an
underlying note of green. The famous Bosnian pearls were looped round
her neck and long pearl earrings hung from her ears.
Mr. Satterthwaite heard two men near him appraise her.
"The Czarnova," said one. "She wears well, does she not? The Crown
jewels of Bosnia look fine on her."
The other, a small man, stared curiously after her. "So those are the
pearls of Bosnia, are they?" he asked. "_En vérité._ That is odd."
He chuckled softly to himself.
Mr. Satterthwaite missed hearing more, for at the moment he turned his
head and was overjoyed to recognize an old friend.
"My dear Mr. Quin." He shook him warmly by the hand. "The last place I
should ever have dreamed of seeing you."
Mr. Quin smiled, his dark, attractive face lighting up.
"It should not surprise you," he said. "It is Carnival time. I am often
here in Carnival time."
"Really? Well, this is a great pleasure. Are you anxious to remain in
the rooms? I find them rather warm."
"It will be pleasanter outside," agreed the other. "We will walk in the
gardens."
The air outside was sharp, but not chill. Both men drew deep breaths.
"That is better," said Mr. Satterthwaite.
"Much better," agreed Mr. Quin. "And we can talk freely. I am sure that
there is much that you want to tell me."
"There is indeed."
Speaking eagerly, Mr. Satterthwaite unfolded his perplexities. As usual
he took pride in his power of conveying atmosphere. The Countess, young
Franklin, uncompromising Elizabeth--he sketched them all in with a deft
touch.
"You have changed since I first knew you," said Mr. Quin, smiling, when
the recital was over.
"In what way?"
"You were content then to look on at the dramas that life offered.
Now--you want to take part--to act."
"It is true," confessed Mr. Satterthwaite. "But in this case I do not
know what to do. It is all very perplexing. Perhaps--" He hesitated.
"Perhaps you will help me?"
"With pleasure," said Mr. Quin. "We will see what we can do."
Mr. Satterthwaite had an odd sense of comfort and reliance.
The following day he introduced Franklin Rudge and Elizabeth Martin
to his friend Mr. Harley Quin. He was pleased to see that they got on
together. The Countess was not mentioned, but at lunch time he heard
news that aroused his attention.
"Mirabelle is arriving in Monte this evening," he confided excitedly to
Mr. Quin.
"The Parisian stage favorite?"
"Yes. I daresay you know--it's common property--she is the King of
Bosnia's latest craze. He has showered jewels on her, I believe. They
say she is the most exacting and extravagant woman in Paris."
"It should be interesting to see her and the Countess Czarnova meet
tonight."
"Exactly what I thought."
Mirabelle was a tall, thin creature with a wonderful head of dyed
fair hair. Her complexion was a pale mauve with orange lips. She
was amazingly chic. She was dressed in something that looked like a
glorified bird of paradise, and she wore chains of jewels hanging down
her bare back. A heavy bracelet set with immense diamonds clasped her
left ankle.
She created a sensation when she appeared in the Casino.
"Your friend the Countess will have a difficulty in outdoing this,"
murmured Mr. Quin in Mr. Satterthwaite's ear.
The latter nodded. He was curious to see how the Countess comported
herself.
She came late, and a low murmur ran round as she walked unconcernedly
to one of the center roulette tables.
She was dressed in white--a mere straight slip of marocain, such as a
debutante might have worn, and her gleaming white neck and arms were
unadorned. She wore not a single jewel.
"It is clever, that," said Mr. Satterthwaite with instant approval.
"She disdains rivalry and turns the tables on her adversary."
He himself walked over and stood by the table. From time to time he
amused himself by placing a stake. Sometimes he won, more often he lost.
There was a terrific run on the last dozen. The numbers 31 and 34
turned up again and again. Stakes flocked to the bottom of the cloth.
With a smile, Mr. Satterthwaite made his last stake for the evening,
and placed the maximum on Number 5.
The Countess in her turn leaned forward and placed the maximum on
Number 6.
"_Faites vos jeux_," called the croupier hoarsely. "_Rien ne va plus.
Plus rien._"
The ball spun, humming merrily. Mr. Satterthwaite thought to himself:
_This means something different to each of us. Agonies of hope and
despair, boredom, idle amusement, life and death._
Click!
The croupier bent forward to see.
"_Numéro cinq, rouge, impair et manque._"
Mr. Satterthwaite had won!
The croupier, having raked in the other stakes, pushed forward Mr.
Satterthwaite's winnings. He put out his hand to take them. The
Countess did the same. The croupier looked from one to the other of
them.
"_A Madame_," he said brusquely.
The Countess picked up the money. Mr. Satterthwaite drew back. He
remained a gentleman. The Countess looked him full in the face and he
returned her glance. One or two of the people round pointed out to
the croupier that he had made a mistake, but the man shook his head
impatiently. He had decided. That was the end. He raised his raucous
cry.
"_Faites vos jeux, Messieurs et Mesdames._"
Mr. Satterthwaite rejoined Mr. Quin. Beneath his impeccable demeanor he
was feeling extremely indignant. Mr. Quin listened sympathetically.
"Too bad," he said, "but these things happen. We are to meet your
friend Franklin Rudge later. I am giving a little supper party."
* * * * *
The three met at midnight, and Mr. Quin explained his plan.
"It is what is called a 'Hedges and Highways' party," he explained. "We
choose our meeting-place, then each one goes out and is bound in honor
to invite the first person he meets."
Franklin Rudge was amused by the idea. "Say, what happens if they won't
accept?"
"You must use your utmost powers of persuasion."
"Good. And where's the meeting-place?"
"A somewhat Bohemian café--where one can take strange guests. It is
called Le Caveau."
He explained its whereabouts, and the three parted. Mr. Satterthwaite
was so fortunate as to run straight into Elizabeth Martin and he
claimed her joyfully. They reached Le Caveau and descended into a
kind of cellar, where they found a table spread for supper and lit by
old-fashioned candles in candlesticks.
"We are the first," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "Ah! here comes Franklin--"
He stopped abruptly. With Franklin was the Countess. It was an awkward
moment. Elizabeth displayed less graciousness than she might have done.
The Countess, as a woman of the world, retained the honors.
Last of all came Mr. Quin. With him was a small dark man, neatly
dressed, whose face seemed familiar to Mr. Satterthwaite. A moment
later he recognized him. It was the croupier who earlier in the evening
had made such a lamentable mistake.
"Let me introduce you to the company, M. Pierre Vaucher," said Mr. Quin.
The little man seemed confused. Mr. Quin performed the necessary
introductions easily and lightly. Supper was brought--an excellent
supper. Wine came--very excellent wine. Some of the frigidity went out
of the atmosphere. The Countess was very silent, so was Elizabeth.
Franklin Rudge became talkative. He told various stories--not humorous
stories, but serious ones. And quietly and assiduously Mr. Quin passed
round the wine.
"I'll tell you--and this is a true story--about a man who made good,"
said Franklin Rudge impressively. He had shown no lack of appreciation
of the champagne.
He told his story--perhaps at somewhat unnecessary length. It was, like
many true stories, greatly inferior to fiction.
As he uttered the last word, Pierre Vaucher, opposite him, seemed to
wake up. He also had done justice to the champagne. He leaned forward
across the table.
"I, too, will tell you a story," he said thickly. "But mine is the
story of a man who did not make good. It is the story of a man who
went, not up, but down the hill. And, like yours, it is a true story."