Читать книгу The Kidnapping of Madame Storey and Other Stories (Madame Storey) - Footner Hulbert - Страница 12

The time that followed was hard on the nerves. Charlie reported to Marcel that Lady Wedderminster was carrying around half a million francs on her person. Marcel transmitted the fact to his boss, and received instructions from him what to do. But Charlie was unable to find out what his orders were. Charlie said:

"While Marcel was decoding his letter from the boss he caught me looking at it. He didn't say anything, but his face turned ugly. When he had digested the contents he lit a match and burned it up."

"H'm!" said Mme. Storey grimly. "Never allow yourself to look at one of the boss's letters again. Make no attempt to get hold of them. We don't want to lose you. I'll put out another line.

"They write to each other on small pieces of paper," said Charlie, "and enclose their letters in little envelopes about two inches by three in size. There is no address on these envelopes. How they come to Marcel or how he sends them I can't guess. They don't go through the mail, and no messengers come to the house. Marcel goes out by himself about nine o'clock every morning, but I reckon it wouldn't be healthy for me to try to follow him."

"It would not," said Mme. Storey. "But you can bring me one of the envelopes they use if Marcel does not burn them."

Thus we were in the position of expecting to be robbed at any moment without knowing when nor where the blow would fall. Mme. Storey did, as a matter of fact, carry around the half million with her. The bills were marked. What made the strain harder on me was that she took to going out by herself at all hours. That perpendicular line appeared between her brows which always warns me that the situation is serious. She never speaks of her plans in advance.

Marcel's instructions to Charlie were merely to "keep the old girl going." Sometimes when Charlie met us Marcel would be with him; sometimes Charlie came alone.

Meanwhile smart society in Monte Carlo, having been impressed by the social items in the Paris Herald, began to take notice of Lady Wedderminster. Amos Rudd sent her one of his characteristic notes asking her to dinner.

She answered it in the third person with that superb nonchalance of which only the English are capable.

"Lady Wedderminster presents her compliments to Mr. Rudd, and begs to thank him for his invitation. Lady Wedderminster never accepts invitations from those whom she has not had the pleasure of meeting."

So much for Amos!

Mr. and Mrs. James Wentworth Hawkins came to call. Their names were pronounced over the telephone with a certain awe.

"Why are they so famous?" I said.

"For no reason," said Mme. Storey, "except that their names appear so often in the Paris Herald. That's what they live for."

We went down to the hotel drawing-room to receive them. I didn't like them any better at a second view. Like so many married couples they bore a strong resemblance to each other. Fat and brutalised by rich living they were the most useless cumberers of the earth I have ever encountered.

Mme. Storey, alias Lady Wedderminster, polite and a little bored, forced them to make the running. They stumbled through it somewhat confused, but determined to see the visit to a finish. When they got up to go Mrs. Hawkins said effusively:

"I hope you'll fix a night when we may have the pleasure of having you to dinner."

"So kind of you," drawled Lady Wedderminster playing with her bracelet. "But I've come to Monte Carlo for a rest. I'm not accepting any invitations. I'm sure you'll understand."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Hawkins.

When they had gone Mme. Storey said dryly, "They won't be any the less anxious to have me just because they were turned down once."

One afternoon when Mme. Storey sat down at a roulette table in the Sporting Club, she found herself almost directly opposite Turner Moale. I was standing meekly behind her chair.

Mr. Moale paid no attention to us. The man's distinction was remarkable. He was beautifully dressed and he could gamble without losing his dignity. In his eyes showed that intensely withdrawn look that characterises the born gambler. Well, if you require excitement there is nothing like roulette. I have enough excitement in my job.

The supposed Lady Wedderminster put a thousand francs on number thirty-three and won. An excited murmur went around the table. Turner Moale took notice of her. Presently she won again and refused to play any more for the moment.

"It is so tiresome when everybody follows one's play," she said as we left the table.

We went into the café and ordered aperitifs. By and by Turner Moale came strolling through the rooms, putting on his princely manner whether anybody was watching him or not. He stopped by our table.

"May I introduce myself?" he said with engaging affability. "I am Turner Moale."

Lady Wedderminster could afford to unbend with him because his style was so much better than the other Americans. "I have heard of you," she said. "Won't you sit down. I am Lady Wedderminster."

"I know it," he said, sitting.

"How did you know it?"

"I asked at the roulette table where we were both playing just now. Everybody around the table knew you. Everybody was talking of your luck."

She frowned. "How annoying!"

"Why?" he asked.

"Somebody may carry the news back to England."

"What of it?" he said.

"I do not come of a gambling family," she said dryly.

"Thank God I have no family!" he said with his calm assurance. "And so I can say it openly. I love to gamble! When I gamble I am twenty-one again!"

Lady Wedderminster smiled. "Sometimes one is dull in England," she said, looking down at her hands.

"You like it here?" he asked.

She shrugged in a manner that allowed him to suppose anything he wished.

"How long shall you remain in Monte Carlo?"

"As long as my luck holds."

"Ah, I wish I could catch a little luck from you. Lady Wedderminster. I always lose!" He said it with a wave of his hand that suggested he lost no sleep over it.

"I don't always win," she said.

"But according to the gossip of the tables you are thousands and thousands ahead," he said laughing. "Do you know what they call you? The golden Milady."

Lady Wedderminster smiled.

Charlie came searching for us through the rooms, and she arose like a woman transformed. "Charlie!" she murmured, slipping her hand under his arm. "I was so afraid you weren't coming!"

Charlie was wise. He realised that a show was being put on for somebody, and played up to her. "I am a bit late," he said, patting her hand. "So sorry!"

"Come," she said. "I have so much to tell you. I won a hundred thousand francs to-day." Suddenly she appeared to recollect Mr. Moale, and became the reserved Englishwoman again. "Oh! Pardon! Au revoir, Mr. Moale. I hope we may meet soon again."

She moved away, leaning on Charlie's arm. Mr. Moale returned to the gaming rooms treading like the Prince of a small country, looking about him as if anxious not to miss anybody's bow. I paid the check.