Crooks in the Sunshine (2024)

E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

TEN COMMODORE JASEN STORIES

Published as a series in Nash's Pall Mall Magazine, 1931-1932

First UK book edition: Hodder & Stoughton, London, 1932
First US book edition: Little, Brown & Co., Boston, 1933

Reprint editions:
A.L. Burt Co., New York, 1932
McClelland & Stewart Ltd., Toronto, 1933
Tauschnitz Verlag, Leipzig, 1934

This e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2019
Version Date: 2019-02-17
Produced by Roy Glashan

The text of this book is in the public domain in Australia.
All original content added by RGL is protected by copyright.

Click here for more books by this author

TABLE OF CONTENTS

I.—THE SALVATION OF MR.TIMOTHY RYAN

No record of magazine publication in this form found.
Presumably appeared in Pall Mall Magazine in Dec 1931.

"ANY one else for the board? Last time ofasking."

The little company of gloriously bronzed young men and women,lying on the two rafts moored outside the rocky Paradise of theCap d'Antibes' bathing enclosure, bestirred themselves lazily.Passing at a snail's pace only a few yards away was the speedboat they had been admiring half the morning. Ben Richmond, thepresiding genius of the place, who had been careering round thebay for the last twenty minutes and had just slipped off theplank, came swimming towards them with long easy strokes.

"Glorious, you fellows!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "My,that old gentleman has some engines on her. I'll swear we weredoing forty at the bends."

"How many times did they lose you?" a fair-haired girlenquired.

"They tricked me off once," the young man confessed. "Not sobad. The fastest aquaplaning I've ever had."

The elderly gentleman in smart nautical costume leaned overthe side of the launch and repeated his invitation.

"Any one else for the board? Last round before lunch."

Ned Loyd, who had been lying prone on his back, his faceupturned to the sun, rose to a sitting posture, and, all unawarethat thereby he was making history in the criminal records of theworld, held up his hand to signify his acceptance of theinvitation.

"Guess I'll have one turn," he decided lazily. "Makes you feellike a porpoise lying here all the morning."

His sister Caroline, stretched out by his side, turned halfwaytowards him. She held up her hand as though to shield her facefrom the burning sunshine, but in reality to hide the faintshadow of trouble in her eyes. She looked steadily out towardsthe launch, a very magnificent affair piled with red cushions andwith all the appurtenances of nautical luxury. Two very smartlydressed young women in bathing costumes and peignoirs were lyingin wicker chairs heaped with voluptuous-looking cushions. Athird, in pyjamas of the latest cut, was leaning over the side,smoking a cigarette. The obvious owner had turned aside for amoment to speak with the engineer.

"I wouldn't go if I were you, Ned," the girl on the raftbegged. "We can't tell who the crowd are in that boat," she wenton, under her breath, "and it isn't worth while risking anything.Seems queer, if you come to think of it, that they should beinviting strangers to go aquaplaning all the morning."

Her brother, however, was already in the water, swimming tothe place where the board was floating. He turned on his back andwaved his hand.

"I signalled I'd go," he said, "so I'd better have a shortturn. The skipper's a harmless-looking old duck, anyway."

It was too late now for anything further in the way ofintervention. Caroline Loyd, sitting on the edge of the raft,watched her brother clamber on to the board, listened to the roarof the engines as the launch started off, and still watched as,skilfully manipulating the ropes, he rose cautiously but expertlyto his feet. In a moment they were off, Ned Loyd a graceful,swaying figure firmly established upon the board, the nose of theboat, large though she was, slightly out of the water, and a longtrail of white, churned-up sea already behind them. The girl kepther face averted from her immediate neighbours, for although shehad no idea why, fear, for almost the first time in her life, hadcome to her.

"Who owns that boat, anyway?" she asked presently. "Does anyone know?"

Apparently no one did. There were a variety of rumours passedback to her from one or another of the loungers upon the rafts. Anewcomer, who had just swum over from the shore, brought thelatest information.

"Commodore B. Jasen, he calls himself," the latter announced,as he clambered up the steps and sank into a prone position."They say that he is a multimillionaire and that he has taken theChâteau d'Antibes for the season."

A young bond salesman from Wall Street pricked up hisears.

"Commodore B. Jasen," he repeated thoughtfully. "Well, hedidn't make his money down our way or I should have heardsomething of him."

The girl seemed to have forgotten her sun-bathing. She stoodon the edge of the raft—a magnificent figure in her scantybut elegant swimming costume—shading her eyes with herhand. Not once did she look away from the boat. She watched ittake a shorter run than usual towards Cannes, watched it sweepround, leaving behind a trough of water and a long trail of foam,watched the swaying figure of the man who, tense and alert allthe time, gripped the cords of the plane to which he seemedsomehow or other to have become permanently attached. The boat,travelling at great speed, was almost opposite, now about quarterof a mile away. She waved her arm—a significant andimperative signal—but she realised, almost as she did it,that there was scant chance of any one aquaplaning at thirty orforty kilometres an hour looking to the right or to the left.Exactly what she had dreaded happened. The boat failed to makethe usual turn. It swept on towards the long tongue of land knownas Mosque Point, wheeled round it and out of sight. That was thelast any one ever saw of Ned Loyd, better known amongst hiscollege friends and the new world into which he had madetentative entrance as "Lord God Ned."

* * * * *

IT was half an hour before uneasiness manifesteditself in action, during which time there was no sign of thereturn of the mysterious launch or its aquaplaning passenger. Theblue sea was as unruffled as ever, the sunshine as fierce, thefaint breath of westerly wind still gentle and imperceptible. Themajority of the bathers had taken no note of the incident at all.They were either in the sea again, or were lying on the rocksanointing themselves, or had clambered up to the restaurantabove. The two who were more deeply concerned—Caroline Loydand Ralph Joslin, a slim dark young man with the complexionalmost of an Indian, who had been lying a little apart from theothers and had spoken to no one—were already making theirway along the beach through the pine woods towards the other sideof the point. The young man was only mildly puzzled. He failed tounderstand his companion's emotion, or to grasp why, through thewonderful tan of her cheeks, the pallor of fear had begun to showitself.

"What's your worry, Caroline?" he asked. "Aquaplaning ischild's business to Ned."

"What made them drive on straight past the point?" shedemanded almost fiercely. "They always set down passengers nearthe rafts."

"Well, I don't see that that amounts to anything," he argued."If the old man's taken the Château d'Antibes, why they'veprobably gone round there for a drink. Seems natural enough tome. Every one takes a fancy to the lad—you know that. Whatare you scared of, Carrie? You're not afraid of Ned taking theglad eye from the women?"

"Not I," she scoffed, although there was a sob in her throat."That isn't my business, but I've got a queer hunch, Ralph. Iexpect I'll be laughing at it in a few minutes. You saw the cableabout looking out for the Lebworthy Gang?"

"Yes, I saw that," he admitted. "What about it?"

"Seeing that they were supposed to be coming out here," shewent on breathlessly, "I think Ned might have thought twicebefore he picked up with a strange crowd."

Her companion laughed reassuringly.

"It's a hell of a long way from Rimmington Drive or back ofBroadway to Antibes here."

"They are all such a social lot at the hotel," she went on,almost as though she had not heard him, "but no one seems to knowanything about these people at the Château. Still, it isn'tlikely—it isn't likely, Ralph, is it?"

"What isn't likely?" he demanded almost roughly.

"It isn't likely that these people should have anything to dowith the Lebworthy Gang?"

"You've been reading too much crime fiction, Caroline," heexpostulated. "That crowd have had me guessing more than once,but I'm not figuring about seeing any of them just in theseparticular parts. Save your breath, kid. It's rough walking,this."

They scrambled across a stretch of shingle through somebody'sgarden and on to another beach. Then something like a tragedyconfronted them. They were on the other side of the point now,but nowhere in sight of them was anything resembling a motorlaunch, nor was there anywhere to be seen the bobbing head of aswimmer!

"Don't you start worrying," Ralph enjoined cheerfully, astheir eyes swept the empty space simultaneously. "TheChâteau's just round the next corner. We'll have to makeour way there somehow or other. There's a wall to climb andsomebody else's garden to cross. Guess we'd better havetelephoned."

They scrambled forwards. To avoid the wall, they entered thesea and swam—side by side and without a word to eachother—the man with strong, fierce strokes and the girl withalmost frenzied speed. Presently they reached a long brokencluster of rocks, over which they clambered and dropped down onto the next beach. Right ahead of them was a small harbour inwhich the motor boat was lying, silent and apparently deserted.By its side was also a small sailing craft and a dinghy, bothmoored to floating buoys. They hurried along, the girl breakinginto a little run whenever there was a strip of sand. In lessthan ten minutes they had reached the launch. The passengers hadevidently all left, for the decks were deserted and the cabinalso was apparently empty. They hurried down the wooden dock andstepped on board. In response to Ralph Joslin's shout, a man inblue overalls—apparently a mechanic—thrust his headout from the cabin.

"Hello," he challenged. "Wot yer looking for?"

"Where's the man you took aquaplaning?" Ralph Joslindemanded.

The mechanic displayed a little more of himself and stretchedhis long limbs.

"Ask me another," he replied. "He waved his hand and slid offthe plane just after we rounded the point."

"Why didn't you stop?"

"Why the hell should we?" was the surly retort. "We were onlythirty yards from the shore. He got off of his own accord."

Hope shone once more in the girl's eyes. On the other hand,her companion did not appear to share her relief.

"If your passenger got off at the point," the latter remarked,"we should have met him."

"I can't help your troubles," the mechanic said sourly. "It'smy job to run this boat and I don't worry about what happens tothe passengers, especially when they're fools enough to go ridingon them slither boards. If he couldn't swim the thirty yardsbetween him and the point, he should never have got on theboard.... Here's the Boss. You can ask him anything you wantto."

The man withdrew his head and shoulders and disappeared. Hisquestioners turned round. A very trim and precise-looking elderlygentleman, with white hair brushed back with almost meticulouscare, a white moustache and benevolent expression, dressed incorrect nautical attire, came hurrying breathlessly down theplank walk and stepped on board.

"What's this I hear?" he asked anxiously. "They're telephoningfrom the hotel to say that the young man I took aquaplaning hasnot returned."

"That's what we've come over about," Ralph Joslin replied. "Wesaw you pass our landing places and round the point. He washolding on then and going strong. We waited but nothing happened.You didn't bring him back and we've seen nothing of him."

"Extraordinary," the other exclaimed. "I should have droppedhim by the raft, but I had called out a few minutes before andasked him to come round as far as the Château and have aco*cktail. He seemed to me to accept, so we went straight on. Whenwe got to the point, though, he waved his hand, let go quite inthe manner of an expert, and dived. Naturally we came along homethen. He was only a few yards from the shore."

The girl's eyes had never left the speaker's face. She seemedto be weighing every word he uttered.

"We have just come across the point," she said. "There wasn'ta soul anywhere about."

The owner of the launch smiled reassuringly.

"My dear lady," he explained, "the point is much longer thanit seems, and if you came the direct way, you might easily havemissed your friend. Besides, he may have taken the opportunity ofstaying to examine that queer building at the end. My own guestsare always curious about it. You'd better allow me to send youback in the launch to your landing stage, and when you get there,you will surely find the young man waiting for you."

"Might I enquire your name, sir?" Ralph Joslin asked.

"Certainly," was the courteous reply. "Jasen—CommodoreJasen. I am very sorry if my offer to your friend has brought youany disquietude. Tim," he went on, calling to the mechanic, "takethis lady and gentleman back to the Cap landing. You can managealone for that short distance."

The man made his way towards the engine, rubbing his handswith a piece of waste. The Commodore stepped off the launch andbeamed at his departing visitors.

"You'll find him there, all right," he called outcheerily.

There must have been something crazy in her blood that day,Caroline Loyd told herself fiercely. Looking back, it seemed toher that there was an almost satanic expression in thatapparently bland, benevolent face, something menacing in thesimple words. She swung around to seek consolation for hercompanion, but Ralph Joslin had none to offer. A memory had cometo him—a memory touched with inspiration—and he knew,as well as though he could see it written in the flaming blueskies, that never again in this world would he see his friend andleader, Ned Loyd.

* * * * *

CAROLINE LOYD heard all the hours of earlymorning strike. The long night with its anxieties was past. Ithad become an accepted fact now that her brother had disappeared.When the first shiver of light came from the east, she foundherself standing on the balcony of her room at Cap d'Antibes. Thepaling stars were fading into the sky, the moon was colourless.Away eastward the morn was strangely heralded by breaking linesof cream-coloured foamy clouds with the faintest background ofsaffron pink. It was the one hour of complete silence in thetwenty-four. She leaned forward, listening intently. A pearlymist rode on the far seas. From somewhere behind that came thefaintest sounds. She clutched the balustrade and listened. Everymoment it became more distinct. Now she was sure. The break inthe skies eastward became more pronounced. Soon twilight was topass and a disc of the sun would be visible. Her beautiful eyes,strained and frantically searching, sought to pierce those mists.All the time the sound continued, the dull beating of a muffledengine. Even before the first gleam of sunlight had escaped, ithad slid into sight. From some errand far southwards, the motorboat of Commodore Jasen was rushing homewards towards itsharbourage.

* * * * *

ENTIRELY at her ease, with scant signs of thetragedy weighing upon her heart, a tragedy which hung, in fact,like a cloud over the whole of the little community, Caroline, onthe following evening, waited in the shabby magnificence of thelibrary of the Château d'Antibes for the man whom she hadcome to see. Her eyes were dry. There were no longer any signs ofthe tempest which had swept over her. The first lesson she hadlearned, when she had embarked upon the life adventurous, was thelesson of self-control. She had lost a good deal of sympathy atthe Hôtel du Cap d'Antibes during the last twenty-fourhours; every one had thought her inclined to be callous. No onerealised from what a battlefield of the emotions herhyperphilosophic attitude had arisen.

Hawk-faced, slim of features and of person, Jake Arnott cameinto the room with his usual stealthy tread, a pantherlike effigyof a man, notwithstanding his correct dinner attire, the monoclewhich hung from his neck and the signet ring upon his littlefinger. He closed the door carefully behind him.

"And what," he asked, "does Caroline Loyd want of us?"

"Nothing of you," she answered curtly. "My visit is toCommodore Jasen."

"We have friends dining," he explained, "local notabilitieswith whom we wish to stand well. It is, in fact, our débutinto local society, stage-managed, I am afraid, by the local landagent, but still, important to us. The Commodore thought thatperhaps I might deputise."

"The Commodore should have known better," she said coldly. "Hecan take his own time. I shall wait for him here."

"As you wish," he observed. "I can tell you all you want toknow."

"I shall hear it," she replied, "from the man whom I holdresponsible."

Jake Arnott, once, alas, graduate of Harvard, later ofChicago, now major-domo in the house of crime, turned on his heeland left the room without a word or gesture of farewell. Theminutes passed. To Caroline, waiting before the half-openedwindow, with the flash of the lighthouse every thirty secondstravelling over the tops of the trees, and the murmur of the seain her ears, those minutes seemed to become crystallised nuggetsin her memory, each one with its measure of burning passion. Whenat last the period of waiting came to an end, it did so withoutwarning. There was no sound of footsteps outside, but the doorwas quietly opened and Commodore Jasen stepped deliberately in.His dinner clothes were as immaculate as his yachting costume.His eyes shone with sympathy. His attitude was half apologetic,half deprecating.

"Madame," he said, "a thousand apologies. If I have kept youwaiting, I regret. We have friends dining from different parts ofthe Riviera. It was too late to put them off, even in face ofsuch a tragedy."

Caroline Loyd listened. She had the air of one who had come tolisten more than to talk.

"I shall have to wait a great deal longer, Commodore," shesaid, with a peculiar smile at the corner of her lips. "I thinkthat my feet will have to beat time through life for many years,before I gain what I seek from you. For the present, you canguess, I think, what it is I need."

"My dear lady, in any expression of my regret—"

"Do you mind leaving off?" she interrupted coldly. "We can dowithout all that rubbish. I want to hear from your own lips thatyou are the person responsible for what happened yesterday."

There was a brief silence. Commodore Jasen's face had lost itsbenevolent expression. There was a glint of something repellentin his eyes. It was the same light which had flashed itsterrifying message into her apprehension, when he had waved hishand in sarcastic farewell from the wooden quay some thirty-sixhours ago. Still he persevered.

"Do you need to come here to ask that?" he demanded. "I am thelessee of the Château and I am the person who wasresponsible for inviting your brother to take a ride with us uponthe sea."

That, for the moment, was the end of Commodore Jasen.Something seemed to blaze out from the girl which paralysed anyretort upon his part. In the duologue, for the next few minutes,he was no longer a vital factor.

"I know who you are, Samuel Lebworthy," she cried. "I knowwhat you stand for. I know where you will end. Three years' milddetention, probably, while the others swing. You're as clever ashell—you play the show piece always in front of the tragedyto divert people's attention. You and I may have plenty to say toeach other in the future, but don't waste my time to-night.Answer me in plain words—exactly what have you done with mybrother?"

"He got just what was coming to him, that's all. Might come toany of us at any time," he added, critically selecting acigarette from his case. "He got put away."

She listened with unchanged expression.

"You admit it?"

There was a look of gentle remonstrance in his blue eyes.

"Admit it? What a stupid word. It was quite inevitable. Nedknew that."

"Tell me how you did it," she begged. "Ned was a better manthan you with fists or a gun, and he could have swum home fromyour harbour."

The Commodore reflected for a moment.

"Perhaps. But no brains to speak of. I shot him through thecabin window, with one of the new Derlicher rifles, just after wehad rounded the Point. As you people were making such a fuss wefished up the body last night and took it out where no one islikely to find it. Anything else?"

"You are in a hurry to return to your guests?"

"Not particularly. I am playing bridge, but my hand is downand there are two or three to take my place. If there is anythingelse you have to say, let me hear it, now that we are alonetogether."

"Where did Ned cross your gang?" she demanded.

"My dear young lady," he remonstrated, "it is scarcelypossible that you do not know. What has happened has been just inthe ordinary course of events. You would have thought nothing ofit in Chicago, less in New York. Ned and I got across over acertain Mr. Timothy D. Ryan, who was our fellow passenger on thesteamer. We both quite naturally marked him down. There wasn'troom for both of us. That's the long and short of it. We had itup against Ned already and Ned went; the better mansurvives."

"Are you the better man?" she asked.

"Come to me," he replied, "and I'll prove it. We might evenconsider giving you a small share in the Ryan business. Ned knewquite well that we always wanted you both."

She looked at him with scorn in her eyes.

"I am perfectly satisfied with my position. I prefer to workalone. One thing I do claim, however, and that is a half share inthe Ryan business. If you refuse to give it me, you may regretit."

He looked at her in mild amusem*nt.

"Just what do your threats mean?" he asked. "You are perhapsthinking of the French police? Would it be possible that you knowso little of the etiquette of our profession?"

"No," she replied. "I am not thinking of the French police.There are surer ways than that."

"You have nothing of a gang to work with," he pointed out. "Iknow the few stragglers on whom you rely, inside out. They willtake you nowhere. If you butt up against us, you will be wipedout. Come along to the other side of the street, Caroline. We'lltake care of you."

She laughed in his face.

"Is this a challenge or an invitation?" she asked.

His fingers toyed for a moment with his white moustache.

"You can take it which way you like," he said. "Come to usalone, cut out those other suckers, and you shall stand in evenshares with Jake and myself in all fresh business. Those littlewitches we shipped over from New York mean nothing to us. Who youare or where you come from, God only knows, but you're the sortof woman we want. Make up your mind to it and come along. I'llfetch you myself some time, if you don't."

On the table by her side was a glass which Jake Arnott hadbeen carrying in his hand when he had entered the room. Shecaught it up and hurled it across at him. With a lightning-likedive he let it pass over his head and splinter against thefireplace.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," he complained mildly. "We pay avery heavy rent for this Château, and breakages countagainst us. Am I to take it that you are not—"

"You are to take it that I am your enemy," she interruptedfiercely. "You are to take it that whatever scheme you engage in,I shall do my best to wreck. You are to take it that the spiritsof two people dwell in me—the spirit of Ned and my own. Sothat's that."

He shrugged his shoulders as he pressed the bell.

"I would rather," he said, "have had you on my side."

* * * * *

WHEN, a week or so later, Commodore Jasen andhis friend Jake Arnott strolled out on to the terrace through oneof the mercifully opened windows of the Salle Privée atMonte Carlo, they received a most unpleasant shock. CarolineLoyd, in a most becoming after-bathing costume of embroideredwhite serge, was lying there, gazing dreamily away towardsItaly.

"Hello," she murmured. "Where's Mr. Timothy B. Ryan?"

"What did you say?" the Commodore demanded.

"Mr. Timothy B. Ryan," she repeated. "President of the ChicagoWheat Crushing Mills. A very important man, Mr. Ryan. I thoughtyou were here to look after him."

"What the mischief do you know about Tim Ryan?" Jake Arnottinquired, his teeth and eyes glittering.

"Oh, quite a great deal," she replied. "He crossed on the samesteamer with Ned, you know, and we had some very interestingplans all arranged with him. I can't quite get your scheme, but Iknow that it's something very important. It means keeping him outof the way for a fortnight at least, doesn't it? Well, I supposethat might be done, but I am rather curious," she went on, withan insolent little smile, "as to how you mere men can do it. ThatZeigfeld Folly show you have over at the Château won't makemuch impression on Mr. Timothy Ryan, I don't think."

"Curse you," Commodore Jasen muttered.

"A compliment," she acknowledged. "If I am to be cursed, I amto be feared. In this case, I should not think there was theslightest doubt about it. I am a very dangerous woman."

"Out with it," Jake Arnott demanded. "What's your game,Caroline? Come over with it."

"Why on earth should I tell you?" she answered lazily. "Neddiscovered him and, if you want to know what I think about it, Ibelieve that's the sole reason why you bumped him off. I offeredto come in fifty-fifty and our dear friend the Commodore evadedthe point."

"Well, what about it now?" the latter asked ungraciously.

She scrutinised her fingernails for a moment.

"I am inclined," she confessed, "to rescue him."

"Why?"

"He would be very grateful. Gratitude is sometimes moreremunerative even than blackmail. He is a widower. I might marryhim."

They turned their backs upon her. She followed them into theroom. At the nearest table, in the most important place by theside of the croupier, sat Mr. Timothy B. Ryan, and the stacks ofchips in front of him amounted to many thousands. He greeted hisfriends with a cheerful grin. They saw, however, with sinkinghearts, his eyes travel over their shoulders, the lines of mirthfade from his face and something new appear, something which theyhad never previously associated with Mr. Timothy B. Ryan. Therewas a faint odour of perfume just by the Commodore's leftnostril. He felt a touch upon his shoulder.

"Won't you please present me to Mr. Ryan? I believe a friendof mine crossed from New York with him."

Mr. Ryan rose to his feet. The fact that he had thirtymille upon the table and that the ball was spinning seemedto be a negligible happening. He gazed instead into the face ofthe most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, a womantoo who was smiling at him.

"I don't worry about your friend, Miss Loyd," he said, "but Iam surely glad to know you."

She smiled into his face. The ball dropped into its appointeddestination. Mr. Timothy B. Ryan had lost his thirty thousandfrancs. The incident left him unmoved. It seemed to him that hehad found something far more wonderful.

"The Commodore has just invited me to have a drink," she liedsweetly. "You would not care to come with us?"

He swept his pile of chips from the table and dropped theminto his jacket pocket. A few he left to mark his place.

"A drink," he confessed, "was just what I was needing."

"You're sure you are not missing the game?" she asked.

"Miss Loyd," he declared with fervour, "I am missing nothingthat won't be made up to me a hundred times over in the barthere."

Her little laugh was a quite satisfactory response.

* * * * *

MR. TIMOTHY B. RYAN, comfortably established inthe principal guest room at the Château d'Antibes, yawnedin somewhat aggrieved fashion as he opened his eyes on thefollowing morning to find his host standing by his bedside. Itwas before the hour at which he had expected to be called, and heraised himself in bed somewhat sleepily.

"You're an early bird, Commodore, aren't you?" he remarked. "Iordered my coffee for nine o'clock."

"That's all right," the other assured him. "It will arrive ina few minutes. I thought I would like just a short chat with youbefore you get up."

"Good for you," Mr. Ryan, who had drunk a great deal of whiskythe night before, murmured drowsily. "Say, you boys got me lit uplast night. I'll be the better after a swim. Any news of thelady?"

"You will probably see her during the morning," his hostconfided. "She has a good many friends over at the hotel and weall meet about co*cktail time. Meanwhile, there's just a word ortwo I'd like to say."

Mr. Ryan swung a couple of rather pudgy pyjama-clad legs outof bed, stretched himself vigorously and rubbed his eyes.

"Shoot," he invited.

"Did you ever hear by any chance, Mr. Ryan, of the LebworthyGang? They started in Chicago, you know, and then moved to NewYork."

"Yes, I have heard of them," was the prompt admission. "Whohasn't? Pretty quiet they've been lately."

"That," Commodore Jasen explained, "is because they have oncemore changed their quarters. Chicago to New York—New Yorkto Antibes."

Mr. Timothy B. Ryan paused in the midst of a yawn.

"Who the hell are you getting at?" he demandedincredulously.

"No one," was the suave reply. "I am telling you the truth. Itsaves time. You are in the hands of the Lebworthy Gang at thepresent moment. It will cost you five hundred thousand dollars.Not so very much for a man who must have cleaned up ten or twelvemillions last year."

Mr. Timothy Ryan's mouth was wide open, his hands wereclasping his knees, his position on the edge of the bed wasprecarious and his general appearance ridiculous.

"Are you kidding me, Commodore?"

"Not a bit of it. I am trying to save time. Explanations areso troublesome. I thought if we could finish our little businessin the way I can suggest, you might enjoy your coffee, and Icould probably, if you behave sensibly, devise some means ofpleasant entertainment for you during the latter part of theday."

"So I am in the hands of the Lebworthy Gang, am I?" Mr. Ryanreflected.

"You are."

"And it is going to cost me five hundred thousanddollars?"

"It is."

The victim of this unfortunate circ*mstance scratched hishead.

"How," he asked shrewdly, "do you expect to get that moneyfrom me at all, and how, having got it, do you expect to keep mymouth shut?"

"Pertinent questions," the Commodore admitted. "I will answeryou as briefly as possible. We start with some knowledge of youraffairs, you see. Here," he went on, drawing out a cable formfrom his pocket, "is a despatch written out to your firm, whichwill be handed in this morning at Monte Carlo."

"STREAK OF BAD LUCK HERE. CABLE FIVEHUNDRED THOUSAND BARCLAY'S BANK, MONTE CARLO. TIMOTHY B. RYAN,CHÂTEAU D'ANTIBES."

"Good," Mr. Ryan approved. "That's the first step. The halfmillion dollars will be cabled over, all right. How do you expectto get the bank to hand the money over to you?"

"You will endorse them over to us upon persuasion."

"And keep my mouth shut afterwards?"

Commodore Jasen shrugged his shoulders.

"There are men who like to live," he reflected, "and there areothers who prefer to die. You may be one of the others. Therewere one or two in Chicago. There were two in New York."

"You mean you would put me away?"

"Nothing in this world," was the emphatic declaration, "wouldbe more certain. You might," he went on, "bring some slightinconvenience upon us, you might even force us to change ourhabitation, although that I think very doubtful, but there isnothing surer in this world—and you know it, TimothyRyan—than that your days upon this earth would be numbered.You would be lying somewhere under the sunshine with a bulletthrough your heart, or somewhere deep down in the Mediterranean,surrounded by curious little fish with unpleasant masticatoryhabits. No one is ever alive twenty-four hours after theLebworthy Gang has doomed them to die."

"Well, well!" Mr. Ryan murmured thoughtfully.

"You have to make the choice," his host went on. "I believeyou are worth something like twenty millions. You have to makeyour choice whether you will go on living with nineteen millionfive hundred thousand or leave twenty millions to your legatees,whoever they may be. To a reasonable man, the choice should besimple."

"Could I have my coffee and a bath on this?" Mr. Ryanasked.

His host touched the bell.

"You can indeed," he assented.

A sombre-looking manservant answered the summons—ofFrench appearance but with an American accent. He arranged abreakfast table by the side of the bed, but Mr. Ryan pointed tothe recess in front of the window.

"Guess I'll taste a little of this Mediterranean breeze," hedecided. "It will cool my head off."

"You can now prepare the bath," the Commodore directed, "andput out some suitable clothes for Mr. Ryan. Perhaps you wouldprefer a bathing suit?"

"That goes all right with me," the latter agreed, stumpingacross the room. "Coffee smells good."

The servant, evidently a well-trained one, produced a dressinggown in which the visitor robed himself. The Commodore drew up aneasy-chair on the other side of the window. Together they lookedout on the very pleasant view—the little harbour below withthe famous motor boat and sailing craft, and beyond the opensea.

"Nice spot this," the prisoner observed, as he poured out hiscoffee.

"Charming," his companion agreed. "Very expensive to rent,though," he went on, studying his finger nails.

"I have struck some expensive hotels," Mr. Ryan confided, ashe buttered a piece of toast, "but five hundred thousand dollarsfor bed and board—for how long?"

"A week with pleasure," his host suggested.

"Well, even for a week that's a little stiff. Besides which,the great inducement I was promised never appeared."

"Surely Zoë and Laura have their attractions," theCommodore remonstrated.

"The usual Broadway stuff," his guest criticised. "I can packthat sort of rubbish in my own satchel any time I come across, ifI want to. But the other—" Mr. Ryan kissed the tips of hispudgy fingers out of the window, towards the hotel where CarolineLoyd was at that moment also looking seawards and making plans."You might send the cable, anyway," he decided. "I guess they'llget it at opening time this morning. Something like six hoursbehind, aren't we? They'll toot the money across. Between now andthen, I can make up my mind whether I part or whether I take onthe Lebworthy Gang."

Commodore Jasen smiled.

"You are the type of man, sir," he said, "with whom I like totransact business."

* * * * *

COMMODORE JASEN proved himself rather a severegaoler, for it appeared that his guest developed a headacheduring the morning, and it was the Commodore who sat withCaroline Loyd at one of the tented tables in the open-air bar atthe Cap, and sipped a wonderful concoction of orange juice at afew minutes before luncheon time. Caroline, in the opinion ofevery one there, had that morning surpassed herself. Her pyjamaswere the most delicate shade of pearly pink, their cut was thelast degree of elegance. From the shine of her burnished hair tothe modified polish of her toe-nails, she was the most perfectthing that the Cap d'Antibes could produce.

"What have you done with my admirer?" she askedquerulously.

"He is awaiting a despatch from New York," was the urbanereply. "As soon as it arrives and our little piece of business istransacted, it will give us all the greatest pleasure to have youdine and meet him again."

"I wonder," she reflected, "what it would be like to dine atthe Château."

"We should do our best to make it agreeable," her companionassured her.

"Yes," she meditated, "I am sure you would do that. You madehis last few hours agreeable to Ned, didn't you?"

Commodore Jasen showed every desire to be tolerant.

"You know perfectly well that Ned asked for it," he pointedout. "He was already upon the black list, and we knew for a factthat he had invited our friend Ryan to visit him at your hotel,although he was quite well aware that we had our own plans forthe entertainment of that gentleman. You must admit that it wasstupid."

"Yes, it was stupid," she agreed. "I warned him."

"We do not wish," the Commodore continued emphatically, "torun these unnecessary risks. We do not wish to have to proceed tothese extreme measures. Year by year crime is becoming morecivilised. We try to make a fine art of it. We must have money.We collect it from those who can afford to pay, and we prefer tocut out the rough stuff altogether. On the other hand, when thenecessity arises, you know very well what our reputation is."

"Yes, I know," she admitted.

"We can be, and often are, absolutely and entirely ruthless,"the Commodore confided, a queer unpleasant expression tighteningup the lines of his face. "I talked it over with the others whenwe made this move. We are going to work peaceably if we can, butif any one doesn't want that sort of treatment, if there is anyone who hesitates to come across with what we want, Chicago andNew York won't have anything on Antibes."

"And what about Mr. Ryan?"

"We are hoping," the Commodore proceeded gently, dropping hisvoice a little and exchanging a benevolent smile with a group ofpassing acquaintances, "that there will be no trouble. We do notwish for trouble. What we want is half a million dollars."

"And none for me," she grumbled.

"Naturally not," was the firm reply. "You can leave yourfriends and come to us altogether on reasonable terms if youwish. Otherwise—hands off!"

Caroline drew a little sigh and smoothed the silk of herpyjamas petulantly.

"I consider that Ryan was our business," shedeclared.

"Possession," the Commodore remarked amiably, "is nine tenthsof the law."

The under concierge from the hotel had paused at their table.He addressed Caroline.

"There is a telephone message for Madame from Marseilles," heannounced.

For a moment Caroline frowned. She glanced swiftly at hercompanion to see if he had overheard. He was watching with dreamyeyes the flight of some seagulls.

"Is the message put through down here?" she enquired.

The boy pointed to the telephone booth.

"It is here, Madame."

Caroline rose to her feet.

"I am wanted," she said. "Afterwards it is luncheon time. Aurevoir, Commodore."

He rose and bowed gallantly.

"Au revoir, Miss Loyd."

* * * * *

THE presiding genius of Barclay's Bank, MonteCarlo, was evidently of a hospitable disposition, for a portionof the floor space of the bank was devoted to a long tablecovered with copies of the latest journals and maps andsurrounded with easy-chairs. The public, clients of the bank atany rate, were invited to treat the place as a sort of club, andas the chairs presented a very good vantage ground for pouncingupon the manager, or under manager, when he passed that way, theunspoken invitation was freely accepted.

Mr. Timothy B. Ryan and Commodore Jasen sat, on the followingmorning, side by side at this table. They had cleared a littlespace in front of them and an official had deposited there ablotting pad, ink and pens. Mr. Tunney, the bank manager,introduced to big business, was always at his best.

"Yes, we received the credit before closing time yesterday,"he admitted. "Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Ryan. What canwe do for you?"

"Our friend," Commodore Jasen explained, "has been exceedinglyunfortunate at the tables. I daresay you have read of the highplay at Juan and at Palm Beach? Mr. Ryan has been a heavy loserat both Casinos, besides losing here. I have been supplying himwith money to the extent of my means, but although I don't callmyself a poor man, he has, I confess, finished me off. His firstdesire, now that his money has arrived, is to pay his debts."

The manager produced a book of blank cheque forms and laidthem on the table.

"If Mr. Ryan likes to give you an open cheque," he said, "wecan cash it at once, or you can open a deposit account with us,Commodore. You bank at Lloyds, I think?"

"I do for the moment," the other assented. "Mr. Ryan's desireis to transfer the whole amount of his credit into my name."

The bank manager was startled.

"The whole amount?" he repeated.

"Well, I guess so," the American sighed. "Might leave twentythousand dollars for some sort of side show."

"I should like a draft payable in Rome for one hundredthousand dollars," Commodore Jasen continued, "one payable inParis for two hundred thousand, one payable in London for ahundred thousand, and two millions in French money here."

The bank manager made a few notes.

"This will take a little time," he pointed out.

"Get to work at once," Commodore Jasen suggested pleasantlybut with the necessary amount of impressiveness in his tone. "Mr.Ryan and I will go up to the Royalty Bar and see you again inhalf an hour."

The manager hurried away. Timothy B. Ryan bit savagely at thestump of his cigar.

"I guess I'm making a fool of myself over this business," hemuttered. "Why should I stand for losing half a million dollars,even though you are the Lebworthy Gang? The police here can't besuch a dud crowd as not to fasten onto a big thing when they'reput wise to it."

Commodore Jasen appeared to be profoundly indifferent. Heflicked a particle of dust from the sleeve of his blue sergecoat.

"We have had all this out before," he reminded his friend."You can walk out of the bank if you like and refuse to doanother thing about it. You will probably be alive for twenty-four hours, unless you go to the police. You certainly won't lasta week, though. It's a mortifying experience, no doubt, to haveto pay blackmail, but you have just this consolation aboutit—we never touch the same person more than once."

Mr. Ryan looked more morose than ever. Suddenly his wholeexpression changed. He laid down his cigar on the edge of thetable, shook the ash from his waistcoat, and, springing to hisfeet, held out his hand.

"If this isn't Miss Loyd," he exclaimed. "The one person I'vebeen wanting to see."

"Not nearly so much as I and a few other people apparentlyhave been wanting to see you," she replied, as she shook hands."How are you, Commodore? Let me present my friend—MonsieurDrouplain, Commodore Jasen, Mr. Timothy B. Ryan."

Monsieur Drouplain, who was a short, stiff little man withclosely cropped black hair and a fierce black moustache, hadapparently very little use for Commodore Jasen. He laid hold ofthe American's hand and grasped it.

"You are Mr. Timothy B. Ryan of the firm Ryan and Butler ofChicago?" he demanded. "Is that not so?"

"Why, sure," was the hearty reply. "Fancy your knowing aboutmy business."

"It is rather my business to know other people's," thenewcomer murmured.

"Monsieur Drouplain," Caroline explained, "is the Chef de laSûreté at Marseilles. He is over here on account ofsome cables he received yesterday from New York. You have goodfriends, Mr. Ryan. Some of them over there seemed to have theidea that you were getting into trouble."

"Mr. Ryan will give me ten minutes of his time at once," theChef de la Sûreté begged, "and I will explain thematter. I am staying at the Hôtel de Paris. Let us proceedthere."

He led the way to the door, his grasp on his companion'sshoulder a very firm one. The latter looked back.

"I guess I can sign those documents a little later on," hecalled out to his host. "Come right along down to the hotel andbring Miss Loyd with you. We might see about a bite ofluncheon."

The two men disappeared through the swing doors. CommodoreJasen had scarcely moved in his chair. His eyes were like steelpoints of fire.

"Does this mean intervention on your part, Caroline?" he askedquietly. "You know the price that you will pay? You know theunspoken rule which exists between us and your people and everyone indulging in our activities in every city of the States andthe world? You know what resort to the police means?"

"Of course I do, my dear man," Caroline assured him, peeringinto the mirror which she had drawn from her bag.

"It means death," the Commodore continued, without a quiver inhis tone. "It has meant death without a single break for the lastfifteen years. Even the police stand on one side. Not one livingsoul has escaped."

Caroline thrust back a refractory wisp of fair hair underneaththe white cap she was wearing.

"Untidy, aren't I?" she observed. "You see, we motoredfast.... I know perfectly well the etiquette of our profession,my friend, but you will have to believe for a moment what you canprove afterwards with ease. It was not I who sent for thepolice—I have not approached them in any way. I havedivulged nothing concerning your friend Mr. Ryan."

"Then what was the meaning of the telephone message fromMarseilles yesterday?" he snapped.

"I always knew you had exceptionally good ears," she sighed."All the same, you will have to take my word for it that thatmessage had nothing to do with the police."

The bank manager, who had an eye for feminine beauty,approached the two. He bowed, but Commodore Jasen was in nohumour to introduce anybody to this pest of agirl—especially such a valuable acquaintance as abanker.

"Rather a formidable piece of business you and your friendhave given us, Commodore," he remarked. "I thought I'd bettertell you that it will take at least another hour to get all thepapers in order and your money counted out. If you can bring Mr.Ryan back to sign after lunch, I think it would be better. Yousee, we have a lot of tourists here this morning too, from theAmerican liner in port."

"I am so glad we have not to wait any longer," Carolinemurmured. "I was just trying to persuade the Commodore," sheadded, looking up at the bank manager with a very sweet smile,"to take me out and give me a co*cktail."

"The Commodore," the manager declared, as he himself openedthe door for them, "is a very fortunate fellow."

Her companion objected to entering Caroline's car and theydrove down to the Hôtel de Paris in his own open limousine.He whispered a word to his chauffeur as he stepped out, and thelatter was visible, a few moments later, loitering in the shadowsof the bar entrance. Caroline selected two comfortable chairs andthe Commodore lighted a cigarette with steady fingers. He hadchosen a place on the right-hand side of Caroline and within afew yards of the open door. A very close observer might havenoticed something sinister in the way his fingers were caressingthe protuberance in his hip pocket. For anything he knew, thismight be a trap, and he was not to be caught unprepared. He tookswift stock of the room and was forced to decide that there wasnot a suspicious-looking person in it. Caroline herself had edgedher chair a little closer to his, as though prepared for a fewminutes' intimate and pleasant conversation. There was not ashadow of fear in her eyes, although she must have noticed hischauffeur lounging outside and the stealthy movements of hercompanion's fingers. He waited till the glasses were placed onthe table before them, then he leaned towards her.

"Caroline Loyd," he said, and his voice, although it waspleasantly modulated, was full of menace, "if this is a trap, Iwant you to understand that the first person who goes out will beyou. Two of us have you covered."

"Don't suggest such unpleasant things," she begged. "You arespoiling my appetite and I am ravenously hungry. You've gotnothing against me. I'm even hoping that you will invite me tolunch."

"How is it that the Chef de la Sûreté ofMarseilles has come here to look for Ryan and it was you whor*ceived the telephone message from Marseilles yesterdaymorning?" Commodore Jasen demanded. "I'm waiting for an answer tothat question and it is about time I got it. Don't flirt aboutwith that mirror or come any nearer to me, Caroline. I can seehim coming in just as well as you. You may think the odds are inyour favour, but they aren't. There are two others here who'vegot him covered—and you too—beside myself. If it's aplant, you'll get what you deserve from me. Stay where youare."

"My dear man," she remonstrated, "don't be absurd. Ici,Monsieur," she called out.

The newcomer advanced with a smile and a bow.

"Dick," she said, "I congratulate you, for theCommodore—who is really a very clever man—believesthat you are Monsieur Drouplain, Chef de la Sûretéat Marseilles! Where did you leave Mr. Ryan?"

"He's put it over the purser and got the state suite on theboat," was the reply from the fierce little man in unexpectedlybroad American. "They're just off."

"Who is this person and what is he talking about?" theCommodore gasped.

"Well," Caroline explained, "his name is Dick Ferber. He's oneof our little lot. Four of us altogether, you know. Two we leftat Marseilles—Dick had a little business onthere—Ralph is in Antibes, and myself. Dick, shake handswith the Commodore."

"Glad to know you, I'm sure," the little man remarked with abroad grin.

The Commodore did not reciprocate. Caroline shrugged hershoulders.

"My dear man," she begged, "you must be a sport. There isnothing in our Magna Charta against either of us outwitting theother if the opportunity arises. If I had squealed, I knew quitewell that I should have signed my own death warrant. I neverdreamed of doing such a thing. You chose to cut me out of it andrun this little affair with Mr. Ryan by yourself. I decided toteach you a lesson and to play a hand against you. I've played itfairly. You have lost, and Mr. Ryan, who is now on the ocean, hassaved half a million dollars. He will keep his mouth shut andthere's no trouble anywhere. What about that lunch?"

Commodore Jasen drew a long breath and summoned thebarman.

"Telephone over for the maître d'hôtel," hedirected, "to bring the menu from the restaurant."

II.—THE TABLE UNDER THETREE

No record of magazine publication in this form found.
Presumably appeared in Pall Mall Magazine in Jan 1932.

THERE were a scattered few of the little companyof al fresco diners at the Restaurant de la Pomme d'Or atSt. Paul, not so interested perhaps in their dinners or theircompanions, who realised what was about to happen. To themajority, however, the sudden darkness came almost as a shock. Amoment before, the whole place had been flooded with moonlight,their plates, their fellow diners, the wine in their glasses, theanxious face of the one overworked waiter hurrying back and forthall plainly visible. Then, without the slightest warning, camedarkness. A fragment of inky black cloud had floated across thesurface of the moon with an amazing result. No longer could onelook down upon the valley below, stretching away towards thepastures and the flowery land which led seawards, a vivid andbrilliant picture of moonlit beauty, every tree visible and therise and fall of the land as easily to be traced as at midday.Below now was nothing but a black chasm of darkness, with anoccasional pin prick of light from the cottages or farmhouses onthe hillside. Where before it seemed to be a fairy panorama, onecould lean now over the terrace wall and peer over the edge ofthe world into an impenetrable gloom. The little company ofguests seated at small tables became suddenly like shadowy,unreal figures, chaotic in shape, their faces blurred streaks ofwhite upon the darkness.

There was a moment or two of almost complete silence, then alittle nervous laughter. The waiter was groping his way towardsthe electric switch which turned on a shaded lamp at each table.The girl who assisted him stumbled against a tree and dropped twoof the plates she was carrying with a crash. Almostsimultaneously there was another sound, clear and vibrant withagony—without a doubt a human cry. At first, it seemed asthough it might have come from the darkness below, then to almostevery one came a feeling of shivering apprehension. It had comefrom somewhere in their very midst, from one of themselves.People began peering about with terrified eyes. Neighbours andfriends at different tables called to one another forreassurance.

The owner of the restaurant put his head out from the doorwaywhich led to the inside premises and called loudly to the waiterto hasten with the switch. No one thought of eating or drinkingduring those tense seconds. Every one was eager, yet fearful, forthe coming of the light. At last from the first of the tablescame a flicker, and four startled people swung round in theirchairs to gaze terror-stricken into the gloom. The same thinghappened at the second and third. Then, as the light flashed outfrom the fourth, the waiter stepped back with a shout—itseemed like the scream of a woman. People rose in their placesand simultaneously through the wide-flung doors of the hotelrestaurant came a broad stream of added illumination. The fourthtable was occupied by a single man only. In the partial darknessthere might have seemed nothing unusual in his somewhat grotesqueattitude. In the clearer light one saw now that he was halfsprawling across the table and that there was a very sinister-looking glitter from something rigid between his shoulderblades.... Several of the women began to shriek. One fainted. Themen rushed forward and would have pressed to the table itself,but Monsieur Canis, the owner of the place, was there to pushthem back.

"Every one must stand clear," he insisted. "No one must comenear the table before the police. Jean has gone for thegendarmes."

"Send for the doctor too," some one called out. "The man maynot be dead."

But there were very ugly evidences upon the table that theaffair was already hopeless.

* * * * *

THE village gendarme arrived upon a scene ofmuch confusion. Some of the lights had refused to burn, and thewhole of the little outdoor terrasse, bordered withtables, and night by night an oasis of pleasure and merriment,seemed turned into a grim and ghastly tableau in which thefigures of the seated guests had grown shadowy and sinister. Toadd to the weird effect, one of the stray dogs that haunted theplace had a strain of bloodhound in him, and was seated on hishaunches howling. The perspiring official wiped the sweat fromhis forehead and gave excited directions to Monsieur Canis.

"No one must leave the place," he commanded. "Those at theadjoining tables must remain in their seats. I am going to searchfor the Commissaire. Who will lend an automobile?"

There were plenty of offers, and by the time the man took hisleave, having sipped plentifully from a glass of brandy which hadbeen thrust into his hand, the doctor of the little hill town hadarrived. The latter was more of the savant than theordinary practitioner and he was scared and startled at the sightwhich he was called upon to face. His fingers stole tremblinglyforward toward their task. His examination disturbed nothing: itwas made with the gentleness of a woman. In a very few minutes herose to his feet and brushed the dust mechanically from histrousers.

"The man was killed instantaneously," he announced. "The bladeof that knife is through the heart. He could have known nothing,scarcely even felt any pain. Who is he?"

Monsieur Canis held up his hand. It was beginning to occur tohim that, although, possibly, he was a ruined man, he wastemporarily in a position of importance.

"No questions," he insisted. "It is for the police, this.Every one must remain in their places."

The gates into the little enclosure, closed perhaps once ortwice in a lifetime, were pushed to, but there seemed to be noone there who was in the least anxious to leave. Most of thediners were members of the artist colony who lived together, moreor less communally, in one establishment close at hand, andalways took their evening meals at the restaurant. There were oneor two visitors from Nice, for the place had a vogue, and a fewothers from Juan and Cagnes. They stood or sat about in littlegroups, talking. The proprietor went from one to the other.

"If any one would wish to eat inside," he suggested, "it ispossible, so long as they don't leave the place. Nothing else canbe served here. Inside, there is emptiness."

But no one wanted to go inside.

* * * * *

THE Commissaire arrived. He sprang from theautomobile and was across the open space, round which the diningtables were arranged, in half a dozen swift strides. He was longand lantern-jawed, with a hungry mouth and enquiring eyes. Atorrent of words streamed from his lips. The two gendarmes whomhe had brought with him and Monsieur Canis hastened to do hisbidding. In less than five minutes he had made a hurriedexamination of the dead man, drawn a circle of chalk around thescene of the tragedy, across which no one was permitted to tread,and established himself at a table dragged into the centre of thecourtyard a few yards away. He spoke first to Monsieur Canis, whoexplained that no one had witnessed the tragedy, that a passingcloud had completely obscured the moon and, during the briefinterval of darkness, the murdered man's death cry had suddenlystartled everybody. He himself, Monsieur Canis, had been in thekitchen and had heard nothing.

"The name of the deceased?" the Commissaire barked out.

There was only one of the diners who could tell himthat—a painter, strangely attired in a workman's blouse anda pair of loose trousers.

"It was I whom he saw," he explained, "when he came to theChâteau Pension for quarters as an artist. He told me thathis name was Paul Legarge and that he was a painter."

"What nationality?"

The other shook his head.

"He spoke French, but it was scarcely the French of aFrenchman. English or American perhaps."

"Has any one else here spoken with the deceased?" theCommissaire demanded.

The waiter and Monsieur Canis confessed to having exchangedbanalities concerning the view and on the matter of food. He hadspoken always in French.

"Was he dining alone?" the Commissaire asked.

"Naturally," Monsieur Canis assented.

"Who was at the table behind?" was the next question.

An avocat from Nice and his lady friend acknowledgedthemselves. The Commissaire took their names.

"Now, tell me," he said, hunching his shoulders and leaningforward. "You were within two metres of this murdered man. Canyou tell me that you saw no one plunge that knife into hisshoulders?"

"I saw no one," the avocat declared. "Nor could any oneelse in my position. It was impossible to see even the table. Asfor Madame, she was facing me, with her back towards the wholeaffair. I neither heard nor saw any one. I simply heard the cryand saw nothing until the lights went on."

"And there was no one standing up or moving about theplace?"

"No one except the waiter, and his hand was on the switch whenthe lights went on."

The Commissaire glared round at everybody. It seemed apparentthat he considered every one of them a possible, even a probableassassin.

"It is a circ*mstance most extraordinary," he declared, "thatin this small place, during a temporary cessation of moonlight, aman should have been murdered in sight of all of you and no oneapparently saw the assassin leave this place or heard anythingbut the cry. There is only one conclusion," he said, stretchingout his hand. "The murderer is still present."

There was a little shiver of emotion. Every one lookedfearfully around. For the moment there was no one who was notunder suspicion, from Monsieur Canis himself and his pale-faced,weedy little waiter, to Monsieur Plessis, the wealthyavocat from Nice.

"Has this Monsieur Legarge dined here before?" the Commissairedemanded, resuming his examination.

"Several times," Monsieur Canis acknowledged. "On the lastoccasion with one of the young ladies who dance at the smallcabaret up the hill."

The Commissaire grasped his pen. There were possibilitieshere.

"What ladies?" he demanded. "I know nothing of any cabaretshow here."

"They were two young ladies who, with another one, I believe,came over from America some months ago to entertain the guests ofan American millionaire living down at the Châteaud'Antibes—Commodore Jasen. Chiefly, one believes, for theiramusem*nt, the Commodore permitted them to give a smallentertainment here one night a week. This Monsieur Legarge wasapparently acquainted with them, for he brought one of the youngladies here to dine."

"She is not here to-night?" the Commissaire snapped.

"One has seen nothing of either of the young ladies for somedays," Monsieur Canis replied.

"This unfortunate man—had he an apartment in St.Paul?"

"Barely a hundred yards away."

"Is there any one here present," the Commissaire demanded,"who can tell me more about the dead man, or who saw anything ofthe event of to-night other than has been described?"

"I saw the man come in," the notary from Nice observed. "Onecould scarcely fail to remark him, for he was wearing a claret-coloured shirt and blue trousers, as though he had come straightfrom the easel. He stood by his table for several minutes beforehe sat down, and seemed to be looking around, as though to knowexactly who was here. He was restless, too, for after sittingdown for a few minutes, he got up and went inside."

"That was to drink an apéritif," Monsieur Canisexplained. "He came to me for it in the bar. He looked round theroom as though in search of some one and went back to histable."

"He gave you the impression of being nervous?" the Commissaireasked the notary.

The latter assented.

"When he sat down again he even looked over the parapet, asthough to see if there was any one on the terrace below."

The Commissaire stroked his chin.

"If he was afraid of any one," he remarked, "it is strangethat he should have chosen the one table which is in some measureof obscurity—the table under the tree."

"He had sat there on each of his previous visits," MonsieurCanis confided.

There was an interruption and revival of interest. Policeassistance had arrived from Nice with a detective and finger-print expert. If anything was discovered, however, there waslittle that found its way to the outside public, for before theyeven commenced their investigations every one had been requestedto move inside. There were rumours flying about that night, butnothing else....

The Pomme d'Or closed its doors early and from the street itseemed that every light was extinguished. The little dancingcabaret in the quaint Provençal barn a few hundred yardsaway was never opened. The inhabitants of St. Paul were forced todiscuss the tragedy which had happened amongst them either in thestreets or in their own houses. At a little before midnight,however, the Commissaire, accompanied by a gendarme, emerged fromthe side door of the Pomme d'Or and mounted the crazy street tothe house which had been indicated as the temporary abode of themurdered man. There was a small crowd on the pavement outside.Madame, who owned the house, was entertaining a group of friendsand gossips. The coming of the Commissaire created a freshthrill.

"It is you who are the proprietress of this house, Madame?"the Commissaire enquired.

The woman acknowledged the fact.

"Monsieur le Commissaire can ask me any questions," sheinvited. "He was a silent man, that Legarge, but he spokesometimes."

"First of all," the official announced, "I wish to examine hisroom. I have the key here."

The woman rose to her feet and pointed up the stairs.

"It was a habit of his," she confided, "to lock always hisdoor when he went out—honest people though we are. The doorfaces you at the corner of the banisters."

The Commissaire mounted, followed by the gendarme. The stepswere of stone and the house was of great age. The gendarme fittedthe key in the lock and pushed open the heavy oak door. The roomwas in darkness, but electric light was plentiful in St. Paul,and the gendarme soon found the switch. A cry of amazement brokefrom the lips of both men almost simultaneously.

"Now, who the devil has been here?" the Commissaireexclaimed.

"Nom de Dieu!" the gendarme cried.

The room was in wild disorder. Every drawer in a chest hadbeen turned out and its contents emptied. A despatch box had beenbroken open and a collection of unimportant trifles scatteredover the table.

"Touch nothing," the Commissaire ordered.

He called in Madame. With uplifted hands she screamed out heramazement. The Commissaire had a way with women and he silencedher quickly.

"It would appear to be impossible to enter this room without akey," he said. "Are there any except the one which I found in thedead man's pocket and have just used?"

"There is another," Madame acknowledged.

"Where is it then?"

The woman hesitated, but there were few people who would havecared to lie to her fierce questioner.

"There is a young lady who dances here," she confided. "I donot think that she has often made use of it, but one night I sawMonsieur give her his spare key."

"For the moment that will do," the Commissaire observed,feeling that he was getting on very nicely. "Leave us."

The search of the apartment and of the belongings of themurdered man revealed nothing of interest. His wearing appareland linen, ordinary enough, had apparently been bought inMarseilles. There was not the slightest indication to be gatheredfrom any of the objects displayed as to his position in life, hispoverty or his wealth. If he were indeed a foreigner, he appearedto possess no passport. There were a few hundred francs in ashabby pocketbook and a letter directed to "Dear Paul" and signedonly "Max" with no address on it, begging for the loan of amille. Whatever Monsieur Legarge had possessed of value hadgone!

There was a knock at the door. The gendarme opened it. One ofthe young painters of the place—the one who had alreadyspoken of his brief acquaintance with the murdered man—madetentative appearance.

"There is a thing here which might interest you, Monsieur leCommissaire," he said politely, as he glanced around the room."Ah yes, I see that I was right. Tell me, Monsieur—you area judge of art without a doubt—what you think of the deadman's genius?"

There was a row of paintings ranged against the wall, one halffinished upon an easel. The Commissaire examined themsuperficially.

"I do not know why you intrude with your question," he saidgruffly, "but the work is passable. I am not an artist, but Ishould say that the young man had learnt his trade."

"The fact that the paintings are here at all," the otherreplied, "is a proof that he had not. Every one of thosecanvases, including the unfinished one, he bought from me. Youcan see, if you look closely, where my name has been scratchedout."

"You mean that they are your work?" the Commissairedemanded.

"Precisely."

"But is such a thing usual that one artist should buy the workof another?"

"Within my knowledge," the young painter declared, "such athing has never happened before. Yet that is what has occurred.Legarge came to me with a story about an uncle who might come tosee his work and if he found nothing would stop his allowance. Hehad plenty of money at the time. He asked me to sell him somepictures. I sold him these and he dragged one I was halfwaythrough from my easel."

"It is incredible," the police functionary exclaimed.

"Yet it is true," the other affirmed. "Voilà, Monsieurle Commissaire, your murdered man may have been anything in theworld, but he was no artist. He couldn't draw a line, neithercould he paint."

The Commissaire stood with folded arms, staring out of thewindow across the crazy street to the hills beyond. He might havebeen posing for a study of a great man in thought.

* * * * *

COMMODORE JASEN laid down the fishing tacklewhich he had been stretching out upon the billiard table, removedhis pipe from his mouth and glanced at the card which was handedto him soon after nine o'clock on the following morning.

Monsieur Georges
Commissaire de Police.

"Show the gentleman in at once," he directed. "Always pays tobe civil to the police," he added to Jake Arnott, who waslounging in a chair at the farther end of the room.

There was a lightning-like flash from the other's eyes.

"What the hell do the police want here?" he muttered under hisbreath.

"So far, I haven't an idea," the Commodore replied coolly."Together we'll hear what the gentleman has to say."

The Commissaire was ushered in. The Commodore welcomed himpleasantly and pointed to a chair.

"What can I do for you, sir?" he enquired.

"I am engaged in investigating an unfortunate affair whichoccurred up at St. Paul last night," the Commissaire explained."You have no doubt heard about it. I understand that a young ladynamed Mademoiselle Adams—one of the dancers, in fact, atthe small cabaret there—is staying with you. I should likea few words with her."

"By all means," Commodore Jasen assented, leaning over towardsthe bell and pressing the knob. "I cannot say that the young ladyis exactly staying with me, but she, with a friend and an elderlylady who acts as chaperone, are my guests in the annex here."

The butler presented himself, always the same—sombre,taciturn—with an air of great reserve.

"Find Miss Adams, if she's not gone out to bathe," his masterinstructed, "and ask her to come here for a few minutes. If sheis not in the place, you'd better go down to the bathingpool."

"Very well, sir."

"May I ask," the Commissaire continued, as the man left theroom, "whether it is under your auspices, Commodore, that thesetwo young ladies have started this cabaret entertainment up atSt. Paul?"

Jasen pushed the cigar box toward his guest who, however,declined the civility. The former considered his reply forseveral moments.

"Well, I don't know that I can exactly say that it was undermy auspices," he said at last, with some deliberation. "I invitedthe young ladies to come here to entertain my guests in theevenings, expecting to have a much larger house party, but thatunfortunate accident a short time ago—I daresay youremember that a young man staying at the hotel was drowned whilstaquaplaning with us—was rather a shock to us all, and Ihave not been entertaining as much as I expected. The girlswanted to do something, as they are both very talented, so theytried this scheme up at St. Paul."

"Was there a performance last night, can you tell me?"

"Fortunately, no."

"Then neither of the young ladies was up at St. Paul?" theCommissaire continued.

The door was suddenly opened and Miss Zoë Adams, in loosepyjamas with very wide legs, a little cap on the side of her headwhich only partially concealed her very attractive yellow hair,came gaily into the room. She threw a kiss at Arnott and lookedat the Commissaire as though he were some sort of naturalcuriosity.

"Here is the young lady herself," Commodore Jasen observed, byway of introduction. "She can answer your questions betterperhaps than I can. This is the Commissaire of Police, Zoë,"he continued. "You must tell him anything he wants to know."

She threw herself into a chair and withdrew her cigarette fromher lips. To any one but the closest observer her deportment wasboth natural and indifferent. The lines of her tight littlemouth, however, were drawn close together and, underneath herslightly questioning frown, her small shrewd eyes were filledwith a cautious light.

"Shoot," she invited briefly.

"The young lady speaks French?" the Commissaire asked.

"Eloquently, but with a ferocious accent," the Commodoreassured him. "Her mother was a Niçoise."

Zoë made a grimace at her patron. The police officialasked his questions in French which was eloquently suggestive ofhis local birth.

"You were acquainted with Monsieur Paul Legarge who wasmurdered last night at the Pomme d'Or?"

"Yes, I knew him," the girl answered.

"When did you know that he had been murdered?"

"When every one else in the house did, I suppose—at thetime of the petit déjeuner this morning."

"Where and how did you meet him?"

"I never met him, if you mean by that introductions and thatsort of thing," the girl replied carelessly. "In my profession,Monsieur le Commissaire, if a member of our small audiencecompliments us upon our dancing civilly and says pleasant things,the acquaintance is made."

"It was in such fashion that you met Legarge?"

"Precisely. On the night he spoke to us, he took my friend andmyself and Madame Ferber, who goes with us every night when wedance at St. Paul or Vence, to the Pomme d'Or for a drink afterthe show. I remember thinking," she went on, "that he seemed moreopulent than any of the painters I had ever met, for he gave uschampagne."

"Since then you have seen him how often?"

"I do not keep a diary," she replied. "Half a dozen to a dozentimes, perhaps. He was quite agreeable."

"Of what nationality was he?" the Commissaire asked.

She looked at him in surprise.

"Is it possible that you are ignorant of that? American, ofcourse."

"Did you admire his skill as a painter?"

"Some of the things in his room seemed pretty good," was theindifferent rejoinder.

"Do you believe them to be his own work?"

"And why not?"

"Why did you have a key to his room?" the Commissaire asked,with a sudden change of subject.

The girl looked at him with upraised eyebrows.

"You are indeed inquisitive," she remarked. "Well, I am good-natured. I will tell you. Probably not for the reason you think.We give our show in two parts and there is nowhere to rest in thebarn. Paul gave me the key to his room so that I could go in andsit there if I wanted to be alone between the performances."

"Was Paul Legarge your lover?" the Commissaire demanded.

"Mind your own business," the girl replied promptly.

For the first time, to judge from his set and gloomy features,it might have been the first time in his life, the Commissairesmiled.

"You decline to answer that question, Mademoiselle?"

"I certainly do."

"Now, think before you answer this one. Were you in Legarge'sroom last night?"

"I do not need to think," was the prompt rejoinder. "I wasnot. Apparently the poor fellow was not there himself afterdinner."

"Were you in St. Paul?"

"I was not. Ask the Commodore. Ask any one. There was noperformance last night. I dined here. Afterwards we sang songs.You do not need to take my word. You can ask any one."

The Commissaire was disappointed.

"Do you know of any one else who has a key to the murderedman's room?"

"I do not. It is difficult to imagine that there would be morethan two. He kept one himself and the other is at the presentmoment in my room."

The Commissaire frowned and pulled at his under lip.

"If the young lady's word," Commodore Jasen intervened,"should need any confirmation, I can assure you as to the truthof what she has told you. She dined here with her youngcompanion, Mr. Wilson, a neighbour of ours, and myself. We hadquite a pleasant little evening's music. Certainly the youngladies were not out of our sight until long after the murder hadtaken place."

The official thought of that ransacked room, remembered thekey which had been found in the murdered man's pocket, andabstained from speech. The Commodore glanced at himdeprecatingly.

"There is no reason, Monsieur," he pointed out, "for you totake the young lady's word, or even mine. If we two are not to bebelieved, the butler who waited upon us, the chef who cooked thedinner, the second man who served the coffee and liqueurs, areall here and at your disposal. Mr. Wilson you will know yourselfwhere to find. It can be abundantly proved," he concluded, "thatthe two young ladies dined here and did not leave these premisesuntil after midnight. We were inclined to be light-hearted lastnight. I think it must have been half-past twelve before we brokeoff."

The Commissaire listened in stony silence, saluted stiffly andturned away.

"Mademoiselle is not leaving the neighbourhood?" he enquired,as he waited at the door for the servant whom his host hadsummoned.

"You bet I'm not," the young lady assured him. "I beg yourpardon," she added, repeating her intentions in French. "So longas the bathing remains good and the Commodore is agreeable, thisis my home."

The butler threw open the door. The uninvited visitor tookconventional but ungracious leave. The Commodore resumed theunravelling of his fishing line.

"A type," he murmured.

* * * * *

THE inky black cloud which had thrown itsprotecting gloom over the murderer of the Pomme d'Or the nightbefore had not crawled across the sky for nothing. The flawlessserenity of the long spell of summer weather seemed at last to bedisturbed. The Commissaire took his departure from theChâteau to the salute of rolling mutterings of thunder, anddown at the Cap the bathing beaches were deserted. CommodoreJasen, after a brief visit to the terrace, abandoned his plansfor a day's fishing with a sigh and considered the matter of avisit to Monte Carlo. Before he could make up his mind, however,another visitor was announced. Caroline Loyd, a little breathlessfrom her scramble over the rocks, was ushered in. For a momentthe two men were speechless. Then Commodore Jasen, with a smileof welcome, stepped forward and raised his visitor's fingers tohis lips.

"Our friend the enemy," he murmured. "Welcome, dear Caroline.It is not often you favour us like this."

She nodded to Arnott and accepted a chair. She was wearing awhite pullover, a white cap of the béret type and a linenskirt. The shine and odour of the sea still lingered withher.

"Ostensibly," she remarked, "the reason for my visit isbecause there will be no more bathing at the Cap to-day.Incidentally, however, I have come to have a very serious wordwith you both."

Jake Arnott strolled across the room and sat on the edge ofthe billiard table close to his host. Caroline watchedsympathetically his glance towards the closed door.

"I have always the same feeling about this Château ofyours, Commodore," she confided. "It seems full of corners andodd places. A perfect Paradise for eavesdroppers, I shouldthink."

The Commodore nodded.

"Come this way," he invited. "I approve and I agree. There isnot an indoor servant in this place who does not belong to us andwho has not been thoroughly tested, but the police have been herethis morning already, and one never knows."

He led the way to a small room which opened out from thelarger apartment and closed the door carefully. The windows herewere of the ordinary type and there was no outside terrace. Thewalls were lined with bookshelves.

"This," he pointed out, "is more intime. May I commenceby asking you a question?"

"Just as you like," she assented.

"How did you get to know that Pullertons had sent a man overhere?"

She looked at him steadily for a moment.

"How did you?" she countered.

The Commodore frowned.

"Caroline Loyd," he said earnestly, "in a matter like the onewith which we are concerned at the moment, it is necessary thatthere should be complete confidence between us, because we areequally threatened. I will give you a lead if you will permit me.Last night a man posing as an artist and calling himself PaulLegarge was killed up at St. Paul. My little Zoë, who is oneof the brightest children that ever fooled the world, had beensuspicious of him from the first. An hour before he was killed,she had searched his room and discovered, in a secret hidingplace, his badge and the envelope of a letter which he hadreceived only that morning from Police Headquarters in NewYork."

Caroline Loyd's eyes were troubled. Her manner lost somethingof its serenity.

"I thought it must be that," she murmured. "But, Commodore,aren't you bringing the extreme measures of Chicago and New Yorkinto a country where they are barely necessary? One might atleast have had an explanation with this man Legarge. One mighthave bought him, or if he wouldn't talk reason, after all hecould only cramp your style a little. The only one of us who wasliable for extradition, so far as we know, was poor Ned, and he'sgone."

The two men were equally and genuinely puzzled. There was nodoubt that their visitor was speaking in all sincerity. JakeArnott had paused in the act of filling a pipe and looked towardshis partner for enlightenment. He found none. The Commodore wasalso seeking for understanding.

"Look here, Caroline," he said, "we don't need any dope fromyou. You hate us like hell, I know that, but you will play thegame. What we want to know—Jake and I—is what haveyou got to complain of? The man was just as likely to have beenafter you as us."

"The man ought to have had a chance," Caroline declaredcoldly. "I never cared about this promiscuous killing. You knowthat. So long as you had him marked down, he could never have gotaway."

Jake Arnott suddenly stiffened; the lines in his face seemedto grow deeper.

"Look here," he said, "let's have this straight between thethree of us. Caroline Loyd, do you think that I or any one of ourgang bumped off that man last night?"

"Of course I do," she replied.

The Commodore shook his head slowly.

"Chuck that, Jake," he begged. "It isn't worth while withCaroline."

"Chuck it be damned!" was the fierce reply. "We're great onalibis round here; in fact, we have built up our safety on them,but I don't need one this time. I was down at the Casino at Juanfrom dinner time till three o'clock this morning. I never wentnear St. Paul. If this guy Legarge was done in by any one of ourcrowd, it was without my knowledge."

Commodore Jasen relapsed slowly into an easy-chair. The powerof speech appeared to have left him. Caroline stared at Arnottwith wide-open eyes.

"Damn it all," the latter went on, "there were a dozen peoplethere saw me dining, and a whole table full of people with whom Iplayed 'chemie.' There is not any one else on this outfit whowould have tackled the man except myself, unless they had orders.I should have had him this week sure, but I was waiting for hisnext advices from New York. That's the solid truth. Some one gotin ahead of me."

Caroline pointed to the Commodore.

"How is it that he doesn't believe you?" she asked.

The Commodore pulled himself together.

"I believe him if he says so," he declared. "Jake's never toldme a lie. They don't pay in our profession."

"But you must have talked it over since last night," Carolineobjected. "What I mean is, that if Jake was dumb, you must haveasked him questions."

"That's just what we didn't do and never have done," Jasenpointed out quickly. "A clean job like that is never mentioned. Iam not supposed to know what my men do. I ask for no report andnone is ever made to me unless there is a necessity. I knew thatJake was out all night, but I thought that he was covering up histracks after St. Paul."

Caroline looked across towards the man standing by themantelpiece.

"If you didn't kill Legarge, who do you think did, then?" sheasked.

"Why, one of your men, of course," was the confident reply. "Isaw that little chap of yours who looks like a Frenchman, up atSt. Paul the other day, and I never doubted but that he was onLegarge's track too. When I heard the news this morning, well, Irather thought that you had found your nerve again. That's allthere was to it."

Commodore Jasen sat forward in his chair.

"This is a serious and is becoming an alarming affair," hepointed out. "Let us have it, as it were, in black and white. Notone of us three is fool enough to tell lies; besides, it's notdone in our world. Jake, you spent the night at Juan Casino, younever went to St. Paul, you didn't push that knife into the NewYorker?"

"My word's good enough, Commodore," was the prompt reply. "Inever set foot in St. Paul last night, nor dreamt of going there,and I have never set eyes on the man. As you know, it was prettywell understood between us that he had to be given his ticket,but I shouldn't have chosen a public place like that. You believeme, Caroline?"

"I must," she answered.

"So do I," the Commodore decided. "Now, listen here, Caroline.What about Ralph Joslin? He would be just the sort of fellow notto let on to you so that you should be kept clear."

"Ralph was with me from half-past seven last evening untilafter midnight," Caroline affirmed. "As a matter of fact, we wentover to Palm Beach Casino."

"There we are then," the Commodore said, lighting a cigarette."Some one else has done our job for us. It's uncanny. I don'tlike the feeling."

"Damned if I do either," Jake Arnott muttered.

Caroline glanced from one to the other in some distress.

"I think it's terrible," she declared.

* * * * *

THE Commissaire of Police sat in his office,biting his nails. Never had there been a case so full ofpossibilities, never one in which a swift and prompt solutionwould bring such credit upon his office. Yet up till that moment,though all manner of strange happenings were connected with theaffair, not one of them seemed to lead to a definite clue. Hisassistant disturbed his not too pleasant meditations.

"Gentleman to see you, sir," he announced. "It is the Monsieurfrom the Château d'Antibes."

The owner, even if he were only a temporary owner, of thegreat house of the neighbourhood, was deserving of consideration.The Commissaire shook hands with him once more when he wasushered in.

"I beg," Commodore Jasen said courteously, as he accepted achair, "that you will not consider me in any way officious, buton thinking over your visit this morning and some of the detailsof this terrible affair in St. Paul, I am emboldened to offer youa suggestion. It is an idea which occurred to me, I must confess,only half an hour ago. I ordered a car and came at once to seeyou. I may say that if it should help you, I desire neitherthanks nor credit. I pass on the idea to you—a freegift."

"I will hear it," the Commissaire, very much to his futurebenefit, conceded.

A night of inky, sulphurous blackness, low-hanging clouds,immovable, leaning menacingly from the sky. Every table at thePomme d'Or was occupied, notwithstanding the tragedy of theprevious night and although it was unusual to dine out of doorsunder such unpromising conditions. The shaded lights had beenreinforced, but even then there were pools of darkness in manyplaces. Conversation everywhere was restrained and scanty.Laughter was a thing unheard. Upon the spirits of every one thereseemed to rest the memory of the recent tragedy. In a way it wasa gruesome scene, the more gruesome because seated at the tableunder the tree, the light upon his table the feeblest of all, wasa man dining alone in a claret-coloured shirt and blue trousers.There was something almost ghoulish about the highly chargedatmosphere, the spasmodic conversation, the silences, the air ofimpending tragedy. One woman found it too much for her nerves andwas led out, sobbing. Her place, however, was speedily taken byanother. It was a feast of drama that night for the guests of thePomme d'Or.

At a table under the inner wall three men were seatedtogether. Commodore Jasen was one, the Commissaire was another,and Jake Arnott the third. They had champagne in their glassesand food was placed occasionally on their plates by the stealthy-footed, subdued waiter. No one ate much that night, however. Theywere waiting for a signal which seemed slow in coming.

Monsieur Canis emerged from his secret lurking-place and stolelike a ghost amongst his guests. The Commissaire summoned him. Abig spot of rain had fallen. There was fear of more.

"He is there?"

"He watches all the time," Monsieur Canis answered, with ashiver.

"Let it be now," the Commissaire directed, and even his voiceshook perceptibly.

The figure of the proprietor faded into the shadows. Suddenlythere came what all had been warned to expect, but all haddreaded. The lights on every table went out.

"Such darkness," the police functionary muttered. "I neverwould have believed it possible. One can understand now."

The maid went by, sobbing with hysterical fright, keeping faraway from the table by the tree, carrying a candle in her hand,which flickered out before she had taken very many steps. Therewas a low murmur of voices through the blackness. Here and therea white face was visible where some one had struck a match.Suddenly the Commissaire leaped to his feet. There was ashout from the table under the tree. The seated figure there hadleaped to one side. There was a confused vision of menstruggling, a cry that rang through the whole place, down thehillside and along the valleys.... The lights went on again. Onthe ground by the side of the table under the tree a white-facedman with a scraggy beard lay struggling with three gendarmes, thehandcuffs already upon his wrists, a knife by his side. Over himstood the Commissaire.

"Jaques Courdon," he challenged, "it was you who killed theAmerican artist at this table last night."

"I thought," came a pitiful voice, "that he was here again to-night."

"You came with the same idea in your mind?"

The Commissaire repeated his question, his shrill voiceechoing portentously through the courtyard. The figure on theground rocked helplessly from side to side.

"I thought I had killed him last night," he moaned. "I saw hersteal away from his rooms and I came here to kill him. I came upthe ramparts—I dropped over into the darkness and I thoughtI had killed him—and to-night some one brought me to thegate and pointed, and he was there in the same place! It musthave been a dream!"

They hurried the man away. The Commissaire shook hands withmany of the friends who had come to his aid—supers in avery ghastly show.

"Of all the reconstructions the history of the criminal worldhas ever known," the avocat from Nice told him, "yours,Monsieur Georges, has been the most wonderful. Mycongratulations. Many people shall know of this."

The Commissaire flushed with gratified pride, but he glancedfurtively at Commodore Jasen. Commodore Jasen, however, was thesecond to congratulate him.

* * * * *

"THAT I should have lived to see the day,"Caroline Loyd murmured, as they drove down the hill, "when myfriend Commodore Jasen would lend his aid to the Law!"

"There were reasons," the latter explained. "I saw at oncethat if ever gossip stirred about the tenants of theChâteau—or the lady at the Cap—thisundiscovered crime would count against us. I came up here andmade a few enquiries. I heard of this poor wretch—the MadBaker they call him—who lives here on sufferance amongst agood-hearted set of neighbours. In common with every one else,the people who keep the barn had been kind to him and he had afree seat every night my two young protégéesdanced. It was cruel perhaps to be amused, but many people wereamused at his outrageous infatuation. He would sit withoutstirring during the whole performance, his eyes hungering afterlittle Zoë every moment she was on the stage. He wouldtrudge down the hill after her till she was in her car. Once ortwice she had thrown him a kind word. Sometimes a kind word isfuel to madness.... Zoë, of course, supplied the idea. Onenight when she had dined with this fellow Legarge, she had seenthe lunatic hiding in the shrubs below, looking at their tableand at her companion with murder in his eyes. She said nothingfor fear of getting him into trouble, but her recollection of theincident was opportune. For the rest, it seemed easy enough. Theonly trouble about our little show was—even if the nightwere dark, would he come again if he saw a figure at the tablelike the figure of the night before? That idea, I will admit, weput into his mind. A gamble, surely a gamble.Enfin—I have made the reputation of theCommissaire for life."

"It is a very sound asset," Jake Arnott remarked, "to havefriends amongst the police."

III.—FIFTY-FIFTY

Published in Pall Mall Magazine, Feb 1932

THE croupier, who liked to get on with the game,looked ingratiatingly round at the little company of players atthe chemin de fer table.

"Un banco de cinq mille," he announced. "Qui fait lebanco?"

There was no response. About a quarter of the amount wasgrudgingly subscribed. The croupier appealed to the on-lookers.

"Un banco de cinq mille," he announced once more inparrot-like tones. "Qui fait le banco?"

Caroline, with the shoe in her hand, glanced indifferentlyaround. She was not a great gambler. It was the third round andshe was half inclined to take in the hand. Then she caught theeye of her shabby, but aristocratic-looking vis-à-vis,with whom she had already exchanged a few courteous amenities.Perhaps he took her enquiring glance, the faint quiver of heradorable lips, as a challenge. The fingers of his long whitehand, which were resting upon the table, trembled, and a slightflush crept into his pallid cheeks. Five mille was a great dealof money. Nothing, alas, to this rich new crowd, who were pushingthe world upon one side, but a great deal of money to the Marquisde St. Véran, whose great-great-grandfather had owned thesite upon which the Casino was built and all the land between thesea and the hills. Nevertheless, he felt that the adorable youngAmerican lady had challenged him.

"Banco," he said.

Even then Caroline hesitated. She had a very sure instinct inhuman relations, and something told her that five mille was morethan her opponent could afford and that his bet was a gestureincited by her simple glance of enquiry. Once more she was almostinclined to take in the hand, but his fingers alreadyoutstretched for the cards, the composure of his face and manner,changed her idea. He might think that she guessed his poverty. Hemight, on the other hand, be wealthy, notwithstanding hisslightly worn linen, the marks of pressing upon his admirablyarranged cravat, the shine upon the lapels of his dinner coat.She decided not to risk hurting him and she gave the cards. TheMarquis accepted them without undue haste. He glanced at themand, despite his almost icy self-possession, there was a faintglitter in his eyes. He turned them over and displayed a naturaleight. With a little shrug of the shoulders, Caroline threw downher own. There was a murmur around the table. To the non-playersit was just a piece of hard luck which lent a thrill to the game.Caroline had exposed a natural nine!... The loser looked at thecards steadily and the glitter faded from his eyes. There was noother sign, however, of emotion. He bowed his congratulations,counted out the two mille worth of counters in front of him andturned to the man at the desk.

"Donnez-moi trois mille, Monsieur," he directed.

The official showed a curious hesitation. He looked as thoughabout to grope in his drawer. He whispered rapidly in the ear ofan overseer standing by. There was a brief colloquy. He was not abad fellow, but it was more than he dared do to disobeyorders.

"If Monsieur le Marquis would apply at the desk," he suggestedrespectfully.

"You have not three mille?"

"One regrets, Monsieur le Marquis."

Caroline bit her lip. She felt that she could have bitten itthrough for giving the hand. Her first instinct had been correct.The Marquis rose to his feet and leant for a moment on his heavystick. He bowed slightly to Caroline.

"I regret this momentary delay," he apologised. "I will returnimmediately."

He walked towards the distant counter with its brass rail andwhite-faced, mechanical-looking cashiers, dealing out mille noteswith Robot-like indifference. Caroline had an inspiration. Shethrew three mille plaques into the bank.

"There is no need to delay the game," she said. "I will takethe money from the gentleman when he returns. I pass thehand."

Every one was relieved at not having to wait. The affair ofthe cagnotte was speedily arranged and the money passedover to Caroline. She threw back a generous pourboire anddropped the remainder into her bag. She glanced over her shoulderand felt a queer shiver of sympathy. Before the desk the Marquis,leaning slightly upon his stick and gesticulating with his freehand, was talking to the indifferent-looking clerk and one of themanagers. No mille notes were in evidence and the attitude of thetwo officials, although respectful enough, was uncompromising.Caroline acted upon a sudden inspiration. She marked her place,rose to her feet and made her way into the deserted bar behind.She threw herself into an easy-chair in a distant corner and lita cigarette.

"Madame prendra quelque chose?" the barman invited,with a courteous little bow.

"Tout à l'heure," she replied.

Her instinct was correct. From the window she watched theMarquis, very pale save for one angry spot of colour on hischeek, return to his place, whisper to the valet as he noted herempty seat and come to the bar. He mounted the steps and made hisway towards her. She made room for him by her side.

"Let us forget that silly game," she begged. "Come and talk tome for a while."

She saw his fine mouth quiver as he sank into the chair.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "I have a confession to make to you.I owe the authorities here a little, a very little money. Theythink that it is enough. They do not wish to advance me threemille."

She laughed softly.

"How silly!" she exclaimed. "As though it mattered. As amatter of fact, I paid it and took the bank in. It was greedy ofme, perhaps, but I wanted a rest. I wonder whether you would careto offer me an orangeade? The three mille will do next time wemeet here."

The Marquis gave the order at the counter. He drew from aslim, worn pocketbook a card and laid it upon the table.

"Mademoiselle," he begged, "you will be so kind as to tell meyour name. I am the Marquis de St. Véran, and I live atthe Château de St. Véran on the hill beyondMougins."

"My name is Caroline Loyd," she confided. "I am staying at theCap d'Antibes Hôtel. As you can perhaps tell from myaccent, I am an American, and as I have neither husband norbrother, nor any one there who knows anything about me, they arebeginning to think that I must be an adventuress."

The waiter served her with an orangeade and handed afine to the Marquis. The latter's fingers were stilltrembling as he raised the glass to his lips, but he was full ofgratitude to this beautiful young woman who had smoothed away hishumiliation. He was not as a rule attracted by the tourists whoflocked to Juan. The pyjama-clad woman at night filled him withhorror. He loved the precise ways of the older generations.Caroline, in her black gown, her not too sunburnt neck and arms,her kindly expression and softly modulated voice, pleased him,apart from her actual beauty, as no other woman had done foryears. She might be, as she had confided, an American, but shemight also have stepped from one of the frames of the pictureshanging in the long gallery at St. Véran.

"All men and women in life are better for the spirit ofadventure," he said. "I myself possessed it once. I had a greatscheme for reclaiming some of my lands, but the War came and theyallowed even me to fight, because my family had been famous assoldiers. Hence my foot and my infirmity, for which, however, Ican claim little sympathy, as it improves every day. Tell me,Mademoiselle, if you will, where you learned to speak French withso pleasant an accent."

She smiled.

"Not in France, alas," she confessed. "I was educated at aconvent in New Orleans. Several of the Sisters were French. I tryto speak correctly, but it is years since I was in thiscountry.... The other day," she went on, "I passed yourChâteau, Marquis. I think it is one of the most beautifulbuildings I have ever seen."

The Marquis inclined his head. It was praise he loved to hear,but it brought with it a certain sadness.

"It is, alas," he regretted, "only a shell, but if you would,Mademoiselle, you can add to the very great kindness you havealready shown me. I am a middle-aged, almost an elderly man, or Iwould not ask such a favour, but if you would lunch with me to-morrow—the next day if to-morrow is inconvenient—andbe content with very simple fare, I will show you all that thereis left to show of my home, which is little enough, save for afew pictures and some very beautiful studies in architecture. Ishall have the pleasure too of discharging my debt at the sametime."

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," she assured him."About half-past twelve?"

"At that time," he said, rising to his feet, "my gates, whichare usually inhospitably locked, will be thrown open and I shallbe awaiting your arrival. I must not detain you now from yourgame. Needless to say, I shall not play again."

She understood and she took her leave. The Marquis resumed hisseat and toyed with his liqueur glass. His eyes were set, and hewas still suffering from the humiliation to which he had beensubjected. He looked through the walls and dreamed, for a fewbitter moments, of the years before the Casino had been built,when the waves came tumbling in upon an empty beach, and when, atthe sight of a Lord of St. Véran, any passer-by would havecurtseyed or doffed his hat.

All the time, from outside, came the parrot-like calls of thecroupiers, the eager voices of a common, cosmopolitan and, asthey seemed to him, an indecently clad, grotesque crowd. Theworld had changed!

* * * * *

CAROLINE felt herself somehow a garish andmeretricious fragment of the new vulgarity which had fallen likea pest upon the earth, as, in her forty-horse-power Hispano-Suiza, with its silver fittings and highly polished body, sheswept through the gates of St. Véran to pay her promisedvisit. On either side of the lodge houses, which were practicallyin ruins, were carved in now decayed masonry the St. Véranarms. The woman who had admitted her, and who stood with onelean, quivering hand upon the gate, seemed as though she belongedto a world long finished with. On either side of the rough road,what had evidently once been a park was waste land, here andthere planted with vines. There were treeless spaces where once aforest had been. Small white plastered houses with green roofs,stark and ungracious, were dotted about the bare hillside, withtheir strip of vineyard, and occasionally a more gracious expanseof flower-growing land. There was a sawmill buzzing by the sideof a stream. A grim and merciless utilitarianism had gripped thefair lands of St. Véran. Only the Château itself,with its rounded walls, its weather-stained, well-definedminarets and tower, remained untouched, brooding gloomily overthe desecration by which it was surrounded. Caroline shiveredalmost with fear as her car, with its flamboyant expression ofopulence, rolled across the weed-grown square to the great frontdoors. She felt it to be almost a consolation that the opulenceitself was in some measure a sham.

The Marquis stood ready to receive her upon the threshold. Anold servant had faded literally from behind him. The former movedto hand his guest from the car and raised her fingers to hislips.

"You are the first lady who has entered my home for years," hesaid. "You are very welcome."

"I am very glad to come," she assured him. "If you knew howtired one gets of hotels—doing the same thing, eating thesame food all the time. What a possession!

"It has been. It is still," he admitted, "a great house. Itwas built in the fourteenth century. The world was very muchalive then. Architects, painters, sculptors were all crazy withtheir thirst for beauty. I shall not talk about the lines of thearch, for instance, or that ceiling, because I think you willfeel them. Pintorini designed the chapel. Nowadays curves likethat do not exist."

In a sense it was terrible. He led her through great, emptyrooms, beautiful in their proportions, but stripped bare of everyother attraction. Only in the long picture gallery there werestill, notwithstanding many empty places, a few pictures.

"Much of the St. Véran collection," he told her, "wasdestroyed during the Revolution. Many more pictures my ancestorssold, not for themselves, but to aid others of our order lessfortunate. My brother and I—my brother who was head of thefamily before myself and who is now dead—swore an oath thatno other picture should pass out of our possession, even thoughwe lived by eating the roots in our last field and drinking thewine we make on what was once our lawn."

"But surely these pictures that are left," she beganhesitatingly—

"The portrait of a lady on your right there was painted byAndrea del Sarto on his hurried way home after his visit toFrancis. Yes, I know what you are thinking. It would bring memoney, of course, but there is money that rather burns one'sfingers.... Now for something a little more cheerful! Here wepass," he pointed out, opening a great French window, "on to oursouthern terrace. You see, we lunch here," he went on, indicatinga small round table. "Below us to the sea the distance is sevenkilometres. Every square metre of that land once belonged to us.Yet it seems that a little matter of three mille—"

"Don't," she begged him.

"You are right," he agreed. "Henri and I between us haveattempted the amazing enterprise of an apéritif. Wehad no ice, but we have water as cold as ice itself from ourspring. We have laid our bottles in that. The vermouth is ourown. The other ingredients I shall not specify, but they areproduced on the estate."

From a richly chased glass Caroline drank the concoction,delicately flavoured, fragrantly sweet, a potion which might havebeen served by a lover to his mistress on St. Agnes' Eve, but theheadiness of which was lost with age. The Marquis handed her toher place and the meal which followed was certainly a change fromthe hotel fare to which she was accustomed. There was a freshlycaught trout with plain butter its only sauce, yet delicious; achicken, a poor thin affair, but with fresh salad; a bowl offruit and strangely tasting coffee. There was wine in pricelessdecanters, but wine from which the flavour was passing or hadalready passed. There were flowers upon the table in a bowl atwhich Caroline looked so often that her host moved it closer toher.

"The painting round the sides," he showed her, "is by Watteau.The china at which you are looking—you like to know thesethings?—is Sèvres. It is pleasant to see it again.Those rings for the napkins—an old-fashioned customthat—are three hundred years old and of solid gold. Yes,"he went on, with a quaint smile, "don't think that I am toofoolish about these things. I know, of course, that they areworth a great deal of money. That thought only comes to me attimes and I banish it because it is an evil thought. The worldthinks of nothing but money nowadays. Well, I thank God that I amcontent to go on until I am an old man and yet face the rest ofmy days without it. One foolish thing I have done, and that wasbecause in the blood of every one of my forefathers has lurkedthe passion for gambling. I have no friends left with whom topass my time, so I have tried my luck against this modernJuggernaut—the artificial machines of chance. With whatlack of success you yourself have seen.... And now there comes ahorrible thought to me. I have denied myself tobacco so oftenthat I think nothing of it, but I remember now that the modernlady smokes. I have not a cigarette to offer you."

She passed him a well-filled case.

"The modern woman is prepared for all contingencies," shereminded him. "Please try these. They are not very good but theyare very mild."

They strolled to the edge of the terrace, where indeed theview was marvellous. He pointed out the faint outline of theEsterel.

"Always in the shadow," he told her. "Always a differentshade, from the most delicate of greys to the deepest ofpurples."

They looked across at the islands in the smiling sea. Therewas singularly little to be seen of the new outbreak of buildingeastwards, for the corner of the hill stood out like a bluff.

"It is here I pass my days," he continued. "I have thirty orforty books. I used to take my daily newspaper, but that I haveleft off. It matters so little what happens. Are you fortifiedwith your simple lunch? Can you bear to hear bad news?"

"If you really have any to tell me," she assured him, "I thinkI can bear it with equanimity."

"I cannot pay your three mille," he told her.

"Do you, who really are a person of detachments," she askedhim, "think that it matters?"

"Yes, it does matter," he answered. "I owe the Casino six. Ishould have owed them three more but for their refusal lastnight. I had intended to pay them with my quarter's rents from anoutside property, which should reach me to-morrow or the nextday. That is of no consequence. You have come for your threemille and I cannot pay you, but I can do this, Mademoiselle, andif you will humour me, it will make me very happy. Will you stepthis way?"

They passed back into the great library, the shelves of whichwere not only empty but crumbling to decay. In one corner was anoaken chest, black and with the worm holes of genuine age. TheMarquis drew from his pocket a crooked key of ancient design andfitted it into the lock.

"There are still some treasures left to the house," he sighed."When my time comes, the hungry dealers will find their way here,and these things will go with the others. I know nothing of themoney value of the contents of this chest. I know this, however.Whilst I live, its contents will be displayed in no shop windows.Will you choose something, please, and take it instead of themoney I cannot pay you? Choose something which will be worthwhile, if you wish to gratify me. The brocade you are handlingbelonged to one of the ladies of Marie Antoinette's court, a St.Véran who had married a Duc de Montmorency. There is abundle of lace there. I know nothing of it. It may interest you.It has a history, I believe. Then in that box—that littlecoffer—that is really rather wonderful paste. Those bucklesonce belonged to Marie Antoinette."

Caroline was speechless. Her fingers were passing reverentlyover treasures more beautiful than she had ever seen.

"There is nothing here which I can take," she declared. "Thereis nothing which I can disturb."

He leaned upon his stick and looked at her with kindly eyes.The hard lines had left his mouth. He seemed suddenly to havebecome once more a young man.

"You must please do as you are bidden," he begged. "I shallleave you to yourself. I shall stroll upon the terrace."

He passed out and left her alone. Caroline leaned back in thechair which he had dragged up for her and indulged in a shiveringtravesty of a laugh. If only he had known! She had even stoopedonce—more than once, perhaps—to what was littlebetter than ordinary theft and she knew something about valuablethings. There was more than enough here to pay her debt athousand times over. She began her search for something lessvaluable than the articles he had disclosed to her, and, gropinginto the recesses of the box, she dragged up an old parchment.She read its quaint French, word by word. Presently she becameinterested. She was still studying it, unconscious of the flightof time, when the Marquis returned.

"Well," he asked, "have you chosen?"

"Do you know anything about this?" she enquired, handing himthe deed.

He took it into his hand and glanced it through.

"Nothing at all," he confessed. "The old French isinteresting. The lawyers in Paris took most of the documentsaway. This, I suppose, they found of no value."

"It might be," she meditated.

"What I think I would like you to have," he said, "is the oldminiature at which I see you have been looking. It is of MarieAntoinette by Fioretto. You will see on the back, on that yellowsheet of paper, the agreement to pay Fioretto thirty pieces ofgold and to give him the Farm of the Four Hills. That is the farmon the hillside above. He had a fancy for the place and thoughthe might paint there. He was paid and you see he left theacknowledgment behind. It is a great curiosity."

"Yes," she admitted. "I have looked at it. It is, as you say,a great curiosity and I should think it would fetch to-day—"

"Don't," he pleaded.

"At least half a million francs," she went on. "Thank you, Iam something of a thief, but only one sort of a thief. I willtake this parchment deed in its quaint French for my threemille."

He scoffed at her.

"But believe me, it is worthless," he pointed out. "Do notplease imagine that it has the slightest value. We have no claimto a single yard of land in France except the land on which thisChâteau stands. For all that is gone we have beenpaid."

"I choose it," she decided.

He shrugged his shoulders and, as she rose to her feet, helocked the box.

"More than ever," she continued, with a smile, "you willwonder, from that strange little corner of the world in which youlive mentally, at the new race which has come upon the world.Women who can choose a few pages of yellow parchment, when theymight possess themselves of something really beautiful! Nevermind, we are all as we were made, and beauty means something tome too."

He pushed the box back and she laid her fingers upon his armas they passed down the great vaulted room, where even theirfootsteps made ghostly echoes.

"I have chosen my present," she said to him, "and I am takingit away with me on one condition—a terribly modernone."

"It is granted," he promised her.

"If I should find that it has unexpected value—half ofit is yours and half is mine."

"It has no value," he assured her.

"If it has unexpected value," she repeated firmly, "we divide.In to-day's language, we go 'fifty-fifty.' You will not be tooproud to divide with me?"

They were out in the fresh air again. He raised her fingers tohis lips.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "if I were ten years younger anddisaster had not overtaken my house, I would divide my life withyou."

* * * * *

TO Commodore Jasen, a few afternoons later,basking comfortably in a chaise longue in a shelteredcorner of the Château grounds, which permitted him aspreading view of the sea, was announced a visitor. He put downthe book and rose to his feet. He recognised, to his greatsurprise, Monsieur Debeney, the presiding genius of the Casino,and the new Juan.

"Good day, my friend," the Commodore exclaimed, as he shookhands. "What is it that has happened? What service can I have thepleasure of rendering you? Sit down, pray."

Monsieur Debeney took off his hat, wiped his forehead andaccepted a chair. The Commodore called back the departing butlerand ordered refreshments.

"Commodore," his visitor began, "we have an impression that wehave seen you sometimes with a lady, and it has been made knownto us that she occasionally visits you—that you are, inshort, a friend of Mademoiselle Loyd who rests at the Capd'Antibes Hôtel."

"The young lady has been a friend of mine since she was achild," the Commodore assented. "I see little of her here becausethe crowd at the Cap d'Antibes is a gay one and I myself prefer amore peaceful existence, but that she is a friend of mine is thetruth. Proceed, Monsieur Debeney."

Monsieur Debeney was hot, but still pale. He had the air of aman who took insufficient exercise. He had also the air of a manwho was suffering from a bad fright.

"Some week or two ago," he commenced, "or it may have beenbefore that, in the Baccarat Rooms of the Casino, this young ladymade the acquaintance of the Marquis de St. Véran.

"A resident here?"

"The Marquis," Monsieur Debeney explained, "is therepresentative of the family to whom belonged for manygenerations the whole of the land around here—the land uponwhich the Casino is built, the hotel and most of the villas, theland through which most of the roads have been cut. In fact, thewhole place."

"He ought to be a multimillionaire," the Commodoreobserved.

"He is, on the other hand, living in dire poverty. He has beenused to coming down to the Casino and playing for low stakes atchemin de fer. Lately he has borrowed insignificant sums,most of which have been repaid. It happened, however, that onenight about a week ago he was owing three or four mille. Heapplied to our cashier for three mille to discharge a debt, andmy cashier, using in my absence his own judgment, refused toadvance the amount."

The Commodore nodded.

"It sounds hard," he observed, "but I suppose cashiers are notmen of sentiment."

Monsieur Debeney groaned and wiped his forehead with hisprofusely scented handkerchief.

"If I had been there," he muttered, "if only I had been there!However, the thing happened. The young lady whom I have mentionedwas the person to whom the money was due and with great tact andkindness—one admits that—she covered up the incident.The Marquis invited her, it seems, to his Château on thefollowing day to receive payment. She went there to lunch andspent a portion of the afternoon there."

"Is all this vital to the matter concerning which you havecome to see me?" Jasen enquired.

"The matter is of too vast an importance not to be told indetail," the other groaned. "I have had no conversation with theyoung lady who, perhaps properly, declines to see me, but throughher lawyer I gather that the Marquis found himself still unableto produce the three mille. He is of a peculiar temperament, likemany of our aristocracy, and I think his father—"

"You must forgive my interruption for one moment," theCommodore begged. "You told me a few moments ago that it was theSt. Vérans who owned the whole of the land which hasbecome the scene of this amazing prosperity. How is it possiblethen that the Marquis was unable to discharge so paltry adebt?"

"That should be explained," Monsieur Debeney acknowledged. "Itwas the father of the present Marquis who sold the property. Hesold it to a syndicate of which I was a member, and he sold it,without a doubt, remarkably cheap. Nevertheless, it was a largesum. Unfortunately, the late Marquis was a gambler. With themoney we paid him he frequented the casinos of northern France.He lost everything. No share of that purchase money ever came tothe present Marquis, who inherited nothing but debts."

"I understand," his companion acknowledged. "Now please goon."

"We arrive at this point, therefore," Monsieur Debeneycontinued. "The Marquis found himself unable to discharge even sopaltry a debt as three mille, but unlike his father, the presentMarquis is a man of sentiment and character. There are treasuresstill at the Château which he has steadfastly refused tosell. One hears of old Italian masters there locked up, but ofpriceless value, and other treasures. What matter? To proceed. Heopens a chest full of objets d'art, and he invitesMademoiselle to choose something for herself. There was nothingthere which was not infinitely more valuable than the threemille, but the young lady had, it seems, strange tastes. Shediscovered, hidden underneath a roll of engravings, an ancientdocument in curious old French, some of which she interprets. Inthe end she claims the document for her three mille. Whether shemade any arrangements with the Marquis, we do not know, but hehanded over the document, and she brought it away with her."

"We approach actualities," the Commodore observed. "What wasthe nature of the document?"

"It was part of the original title deeds of the Château.There is an old legal term which I have forgotten, governing theconditions of sale of any landed property in France, and in thisportion of the title deeds there is a special interdictionagainst any building or buildings being erected between theChâteau de St. Véran and the sea, visible from theChâteau, without the consent of two generations of thefamily."

Monsieur Debeney leaned back in his chair, once more used hishandkerchief and drank deep of the iced contents of the tumblerwith which he had just been served. Commodore Jasen whistledsoftly to himself.

"Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed. "And the document? Is it legal?"

"If its duplicate was deposited at Grasse, there is fear thatit is legal," Monsieur Debeney acknowledged. "We have heardprivately that the duplicate is there."

"And the result?"

Monsieur Debeney groaned.

"The result," he declared, "would be to give the owner of St.Véran—the present Marquis—a claim to havedemolished or to possess the Casino and our great hoteladjoining, not to mention some two hundred villas and smallhotels!"

Commodore Jasen was dumb. What a woman and what luck! Theexpression of placid benevolence had left his face. His eyesburnt with envious fire. There was an ugly twist to his mouth.Not a word had Caroline said to him of this great find of hers.He thought nothing of the agony of the little man who had come tovisit him. He was already making plans on his own account.

"We have two lawyers from Paris staying in Nice at the presentmoment," Monsieur Debeney continued, "but they are able to giveus very little encouragement. Mademoiselle, your friend, appearsto have contented herself with the services of MonsieurLafardière, who is the principal lawyer in theseparts."

"And what is it you want me to do?" the Commodore asked.

"We desire you to use your influence with Mademoiselle, inwhose hands the Marquis seems to have left the whole affair,"Monsieur Debeney declared eagerly. "There are wealthy men in oursyndicate, and sooner than see the town ruined, we will go fromcourt to court of France, and the suit may last for years.Implore her to be reasonable. If the document is veritable, andour lawyers admit it, compensation shall be paid to the St.Vérans or their representatives, but if the fabulous isdemanded, the place would be ruined. We could not pay. We aredetermined upon that."

"Do you remember the purchase price of the property?" theCommodore enquired.

Monsieur Debeney was not altogether at his ease.

"It was not high," he admitted. "But who could have foreseenwhat has arrived—what our enterprise has produced here? Atthe time of the purchase, the land was worth no more than itsagricultural value. The syndicate gave, I think, a matter of twomillions for it."

There was a brief silence. Monsieur Debeney's attention seemedfixed upon his tumbler. His host was looking at him inastonishment.

"Two millions," he gasped. "And to-day its value," hereflected, "roughly speaking, I should think, would be at leastfive hundred millions."

"To-day's value," Monsieur Debeney declared, "is entirely dueto the foresight, the sagacity and the enterprise of oursyndicate. Look at the money we have risked—the money wehave spent. The Casino might have been a failure, Le mondechic might not have responded to this new craze for summerbathing and warmer atmospheres."

"I quite agree with you," the Commodore murmured.

"The object of my visit I have now explained," MonsieurDebeney concluded. "A woman by herself is apt to be unreasonable.St. Véran is angry with us and the anger of such a man isa difficult matter to deal with. Therefore I say—will youtalk sense to Mademoiselle?"

"I certainly will," the Commodore promised his visitoremphatically.

* * * * *

COMMODORE JASEN found Caroline just returnedfrom Nice. She established him on the terrace whilst she changedinto a bathing suit and peignoir.

"Now," she declared, as she rejoined him, "I feel like a humanbeing again. Please tell me what you want."

"I have come over to ask you, Caroline Loyd," the Commodoreconfided, "whether we are together in this latest enterprise ofyours?"

"We certainly are not," she replied promptly. "Our enterprisesare conducted along different lines, and any idea we might havehad of joining forces ceased the day you took Ned out for anaquaplane ride."

"I have told you before," Jasen continued quietly, "that thislittle corner of the country is not large enough for two bands ofadventurers. We could work together admirably, but to ask one ofus to stand aside and see the other, through sheer luck, bringoff a great coup, is scarcely reasonable. Under thecirc*mstances," the Commodore went on, feeling that he had madean impression, and balancing his finger tips carefully together,"I think that a special arrangement should be made in this case.You had the luck to stumble into the affair and you had also thebrains to work it. My establishment is much the more expensive,"he continued, with a sigh, "but that, I suppose, is my own fault.I suggest that we work on the principle—in this case only,mind you—of two thirds to you and one third to us. I shallmake the same proposition to you with regard to an enterprisewhich we are figuring out ourselves, but in it you will take thelesser part."

Caroline was silent for several moments. Her eyes hadtravelled seawards. She was looking at the exact spot at whichthe Commodore's flying launch had emerged from the mists on themorning after Ned's disappearance.

"Is that all?" she asked softly.

"It is all," was the firm reply. "Except this. You should notneed reminding that I and those who are with me are betterfriends than enemies."

"I do not wish to have anything to do with you in eithercapacity," Caroline pronounced slowly. "I shall be on my guardagainst you all the time and I have arranged to leave behind, ifat any time I should make an unfortunate disappearance, severalclues which will be sufficient to break up your littleorganisation. I do not need your help. I refuse to have anythingto do with any scheme in which you are concerned. If there is noroom for two bands of adventurers on this strip of the coast,pack up and go. It was I who had the idea of coming herefirst."

"I have unfortunately," the Commodore sighed, "theChâteau on my hands for the season. I have invested a greatdeal of capital in the hire of it—also in my motor boat. Bereasonable, Caroline. You know how I feel about you. You keep meat arm's length, but it is not really wise of you. I am sorryabout Ned, but you know the game and you know the rules."

"I do," she admitted bitterly. "I kept my mouth shut aboutNed, didn't I, although I was fonder of him than anything else inlife? I let you get away with it, but as to working with you ortaking you for a partner—that will never happen. Besides,in this case, we are through, as a matter of fact. Fixed. Thething's done with. You do not take a partner into a deal when theprofit is already made."

"The profit," her companion reminded her, "is not yet in yourpocket."

She laughed.

"You have my answer," she said. "Now go along down to thelanding stage, step on to your magnificent launch and drive home.I am going to bathe, but you need not ask me to ride youraquaplane board!"

They walked down the flinty path almost in silence. Carolineleft her peignoir on the rocks, poised her exquisite figure for amoment upon the diving board and plunged into the sea. CommodoreJasen stepped into his motor boat and, swinging her round,followed the line of the coast down to Juan-les-Pins.

* * * * *

LATE that night Jasen received a sealed letterby the hand of a special messenger, brought over from theprincipal hotel in Nice. There was no signature to it and nocommencement.

"Record at Grasse discovered confirms andlegalises document but is valueless without production ofdocument itself."

After that, for two days, there was secret activity at theChâteau d'Antibes, secret activity also at a little hotelthe wrong side of the Seine in Paris, secret activity in a smallflat at Beausoleil. Then, twenty-four hours later—sensationin Nice. In the early morning, at the premises of MaîtreLafardière, the avocat, one of the most perfectlyperpetrated burglaries of modern times was discovered. Both ofthe very modern safes had been opened as though by the hand of amagician, and their contents strewn upon the floor. Every drawer,tin box and receptacle of any sort had been forced open andthoroughly explored. It was another twenty-four hours before thelawyer and his staff of clerks could make the desired report tothe police and to the detectives who haunted the place. In theend the news came from Maître Lafardière, whocommunicated it in person, with a slight twinkle in his eyes, tothe Chef de la Sûreté.

"Our investigations are complete, Monsieur le Chef," heannounced. "Nothing is missing from our office but a smallquantity of postage stamps, some American razor blades and aphotograph of Greta Garbo which hung in the outer office."

"Then, for what purpose," the official demanded, "was thisburglary planned? It is a work of art. Nothing like it have Iever seen. The most complicated locks have been opened as thoughwith butter-smeared keys, the hardest metal has been cut throughas though it were brown paper! Great artists have been here,Maître Lafardière. For what reason?"

Maître Lafardière shrugged his shoulders.

"I had only one document of importance," he confided, "andthat was elsewhere."

* * * * *

THE Marquis de St. Véran, as wascustomary with him when the weather permitted, took his luncheonon the terrace of the Château. It appeared that on thatparticular morning coffee was not available, so with a littlesigh, he lit a Caporal cigarette and moved his chair farther intothe sunshine. To him came bustling out the shadowy old woman who,with the exception of her husband—now at work on the landbut called into the house on rare occasions—was the soledomestic employed in the Château.

"There are two gentlemen who arrive. One is Monsieur Roubaud,the other a stranger."

"Place chairs," the Marquis directed wearily. "I will seethem."

Monsieur Roubaud, grey-haired and almost patriarchal inappearance, whose family had been advisers to the St.Véran family for many generations, presented himself in astate of much repressed excitement. He introduced hiscompanion—a younger, fine-looking man—MonsieurLafardière, who wore a ribbon in his buttonhole and who,besides being the principal lawyer, was also Mayor of Nice. TheMarquis waved them to the dilapidated seats. He was a littlebored by their visit, for curiosity with him was a dead quality.He realised only that people had been worrying him about thatmouldy yellow document, which he had given to the beautiful ladywho had saved him from humiliation at the Casino, and that he hadsimply passed all enquiries and letters concerning the latterunopened on to Monsieur Roubaud, who had arrived in haste fromParis on receipt of the first communication.

"I trust," the Marquis said, "that you gentlemen have lunched.My housekeeping here is a very simple affair."

"We have lunched," Monsieur Roubaud assured him. "Do notdisturb yourself, I beg, dear Marquis. A great thing hashappened. An amazing thing! I ask myself whether my firm is inany way to blame, but of that there is no proof. I beg that youwill kindly listen to what Maître Lafardière has tosay."

"With great pleasure," the Marquis sighed, trying to hide hisweariness.

"Monsieur le Marquis," Lafardière commenced, "I havebeen told that you are not a man of business. Very well. I shallput what I have to say to you in a few commonplace words. Yourfather disposed of much of the land which you see stretching fromhere to the sea, to a syndicate of men living in these parts. Hewas poorly paid, but, as you see, the people who bought the landhave built a casino, hotels, villas, they have made aplage, they have made huge profits."

The Marquis' eloquent shoulders were for a moment raised.

"It pleased my father to do this," he said coldly.

"Now we come to the point," Lafardière continued. "Yourfather had no right to make the sale at all. The solicitors forthe syndicate made the grievous error of not looking into theconditions under which the property descended from generation togeneration of your family. The condition of the sale of any landhas existed since the year 1700. It was properly recorded atGrasse and has become a condition of the tenure of the land.Briefly speaking, that condition is this—no building couldbe erected between here and the sea without the consent of thereigning Lord of St. Véran. Behold, Monsieur leMarquis—"

The lawyer's hand was outstretched. Away seawards the landseemed full of life. The huge white hotel upon the hill yawnedtowards them, the Casino sent out its flaunting wings on eitherside. The once quiet little village had become a bustling town.Other hotels, many villas dotted the hillside.

"What is the result of all this?" the Marquis asked, with somefaint show of interest.

"Chaos," the lawyer replied. "The land was improperly sold andimproperly bought. It was sold for something like two millions.It is worth to-day, with what stands upon it, far more than twohundred millions. It seems probable, Monsieur le Marquis, that ifyou care for a lengthy law process, that sum of money, more orless, would certainly become yours."

The Marquis moved uneasily in his chair. So many dreams hadcome to him during these last years of solitude. This must beanother of them. These men were mocking him. Nevertheless,although he said nothing, some cloud seemed to have been liftedfrom his brain. He listened now with a different light in hiseyes—a fresh measure of intelligence.

"This extraordinary situation," the lawyer continued, "appearsto have been disclosed by a document which you gave to a lady whowas visiting you. She was a very clever young lady indeed, forshe realised its possible significance and brought it to me.Whereupon I at once communicated with Monsieur Roubaud. It seemsthat you gave her a Power of Attorney to act in the matter foryou?"

"A paper was sent to me from her," the Marquis agreed. "Isigned it. It was her affair. I gave her the document."

"The lady, if I may be allowed to say so," MaîtreLafardière went on, "has shown a wise discretion. I maysay that the members of the syndicate have been in a state ofterror for the last few weeks, and the matter has beencomplicated, gravely complicated, by an organised burglary of mypremises with the obvious intention of stealing the document. Theattempt, naturally, was unsuccessful. I do not keep documentsbelonging to my clients, of that value, anywhere except in thevault of my bank. But forgive me, this is a dissertation. Thismorning the lady, whose name it appears is Mademoiselle CarolineLoyd, has, with our approval, come to an arrangement with thesyndicate, which has already been concluded and registered. Shehas accepted as compensation from the syndicate the sum of fiftymillions—half of which is to be paid to her and half toyou."

The sun was warm, but for a moment the Marquis shivered.

"Half to me?" he repeated in dazed fashion.

"Certainly," the lawyer said. "She told us that that was theagreement."

"I scarcely thought that I was concerned," the Marquisfaltered. "I gave her the document. I owed her money which Icould not pay. So that was what she meant when she said 'feefty-feefty'!"

"Fifty-fifty," Maître Lafardière explained, "isan Anglo-Saxon term for proclaiming an equal division in adeal."

"How much, then," the Marquis asked, "is my share?"

"Twenty-five millions," Maître Lafardièreconfided. "Twelve million five hundred thousand francs have beenpaid into your account at the Crédit Lyonnais thismorning."

The Marquis held his head. Three times he repeated the sum.Then a vagrant thought brought a queer little smile to hisface.

"Sorry," he apologised. "I was thinking of the face of thebank manager. I was compelled to ask him the other day for twohundred and fifty francs. He gave it to me, but in doing so hehad the air of a man who was tearing the notes into small piecesand blowing them away. Twelve million five hundred thousandfrancs!"

"The remainder," Lafardière concluded, "will bedeposited to your credit within seven days. The lady is beingtreated precisely in the same way. There will be quittances andpapers for you to sign. Monsieur Roubaud will present them toyou."

"And you will forgive a slight liberty, my dear Marquis, I amsure," Monsieur Roubaud intervened, drawing from his pocket along black case and opening it with trembling fingers. "I, asyour old agent and representative—well, we know how thingsare. I thought perhaps—see, here is a cheque book. Keepthat, please, locked up. I thought perhaps thirty or forty millein notes might make the thing seem more real. Fifty mille Ibrought. Forty-five in mille notes—here they are. The restin smaller amounts."

The lawyer's fingers trembled more than ever, as he snapped arubber band around the packet and pushed it across to theMarquis.

"Unless there are questions you would like to ask us," heconcluded tremulously, "Maître Lafardière and I willtake our leave. This is an astonishing happening, Marquis, and Ineed not tell you how great is the happiness of myself, my familyand the firm, to see our most valued client restored to such agreat measure of prosperity. It occurs to me—this must havebeen a great shock, Marquis—you would like to be alone fora time. I shall wait upon you with my younger partner later inthe day. A domestic staff must be engaged, a car—oh, thereare many things! Life must be reëstablished for you. We willtalk of practical matters later on."

The Marquis rose to his feet in dignified fashion and heforgot to lean upon his stick as he bade his guests farewell.

"I have no words," he acknowledged. "They will not pass mythroat. Maître Lafardière, I thank you for yourvisit and for your share in this happening. Roubaud, old friend,we meet later in the day. I shall be myself then. I offer no moreapologies for leaving you to make your own departure."

They faded away—Monsieur Roubaud fat and so agitatedthat he groped his way across the terrace. EvenLafardière, the grave man of affairs, was assailed by asudden wave of rare emotion. Arm in arm they disappeared....

The Marquis sat alone. A soft west wind was blowing in thevines which reached almost to the terrace and rustling in theleaves of the little bower of orange trees and cypresses below.In his pocket was that unaccustomed roll. He took it out andexamined it. Mille franc notes! He tore one a little at thecorner. There was no doubt about it. He thrust them back into thedepths and rose to his feet. He was alone in the Château,for the old woman who filled the place of bonne à toutfaire did her modest cooking in the ruins of one of theouthouses. Alone he began his melancholy promenade. He walkedthrough the ruined and tarnished suites of reception rooms. Thegilt had dropped from the panels. On the walls themselves therewere great stains of damp—here and there cracks. There wasthick dust on the floor, a hole in the corner of the first roomwhere, for many nights, the Marquis had watched, by the light ofhis solitary candle, the coming of the first of a small companyof rats. He passed on to the stately gallery, whose onlyremaining beauty was its form. There was a fallen oaken beamwhich had crashed on to the floor. There were empty frames, withthe mockery of dead beauties smiling their way back into thememory of the man who paused every now and then to look upwardsin his melancholy pilgrimage. There had been a Murillo,here at the end, that marvellous painting of King Francis, thework of Andrea del Sarto, presented to the Lord of St.Véran after he had won the great battle against theinvaders on the heights of Cimiez....

The Marquis pushed open a door half a foot thick, of whichonly one hinge still did its work, but which hung bravely on. Hecrossed the great hall, cold even on this brilliant day, cold anddamp, with empty leaden frames in the windows from which thestained glass had gone, many decades ago, to the markets of theworld. He passed into the banqueting chamber where a long dealplank on trestles, at which a hundred men might have sat,stretched only half the length of the room. He remembered now thereason for its presence. Monsieur le Curé had begged itfor a school treat on a wet day. He looked through the spacewhere a window had been, into the little chapel where nothingremained but the picture of the Virgin, curled up and blisteredwith damp, looking down upon the altar. He spared himselfnothing. He passed through the more habitable rooms where thelast generation and he himself had lived, where odd pieces offurniture still remained, rooms dead with the horror of firelessyears and open windows, through which draughts and winds had,year by year, brought their poisonous burden of rotting leavesand dead insects....

The footsteps of the wanderer grew slower. He was fighting hislast battle with the horror with which he had been surrounded foryears, and it seemed as though success had brought defeat, forthere was a hand of ice upon his heart. He stumbled back into thesunshine, groped his way to the edge of the terrace, leaning onhis stick again now, and gazed down the valley, gazed at thevineyards where the park land should have been, at the razedwoods which speculators had bought, listened to the distant humof the sawmill where birds should have sung, gazed gravely at thehillside blistered and disfigured by the staring white villas ofthe prosperous shopkeepers, over the roofs of the smaller hotels,to the great structure upon the hills, and down to the Casino.Nothing, nothing, could change what lay before him. Nothing couldbring life to what lay behind. Millions of bourgeois gold pouredinto his hands! What for? Centuries had gone to the beautifyingof the St. Véran lands, which seemed suddenly to flow intolife before his eyes, lit with the pain of memory, from theterrace to the sea. The groves of olive trees, the pine woods,the two old Provençal farmhouses with their meadow landsin which cows stood deep in buttercup-starred grass. A goldenstrip of cornland reached almost to the edge of the sea. Memorytook him back for a moment, from the horrified contemplation ofthe shattered magnificence of his home, where dilapidationreigned instead of elegance, and dignity had given place tosordid and humiliating ruin.... He seemed to sense with a sort ofrepulsion the suave and black-coated restorer from theestablishment in the Rue de la Paix, brimful of new ideas,babbling the modern shibboleth of interior decoration, andheedless of the fact that no power on God's earth could bringback the beauty which the hand of the speculator had throttled.They were there for all time—the bustling hotels, the noisyCasino, the ugly little villas.

A fit of temporary madness seized him. He drew the fat roll ofnotes from his pocket and flung them down amongst the weeds andcracked stones of the terrace. He tore his cheque book in half,so that little fragments of white and green paper were flutteringin the afternoon mistral all over the place. He was glad thatthere was no one there to pick up the notes, and he realised witha fierce despair that the millions, an inevitable force, wouldmock him now and for ever in the archives of the bank. He wouldnever be able to escape from the gifts of the gods that came toolate.

Then, the world seemed suddenly different. A new peace was inhis body, a new sense of life creeping into his veins. An arm wasthrust through his, a faint breath of familiar perfume minglingwith the scent of the roses, a white, reproachful finger pointingat the torn fragments upon the terrace.

"I was afraid you might be feeling like this," Carolinewhispered. "That's why I came."

IV.—NO RED RIBBON FOR THECOMMODORE

Published in Pall Mall Magazine, Apr 1932

IT appeared to Commodore Jasen that the worldhad turned upside down, when he woke in the small hours of themorning to find himself looking into the barrel of a somewhatold-fashioned, but perfectly serviceable revolver. Instinctivelyhis right hand stole towards the stand at the side of the bed,where, amongst other articles of possible utility, he kept asmall automatic. His action, however, had been anticipated. Theweapon had disappeared.

"You lay quite still, Guv'nor," a hard voice enjoined. "We'renot looking for trouble, so long as you do what you are told andkeep quiet."

"But what is this all about?" Commodore Jasen demanded. "Whatis it you want?"

"I want, or rather we want—there are plenty of us in thehouse—the key of the old wine cellar."

"Well, you want what I haven't got," was the perfectlycollected reply. "The owners of this property left me a certainamount of cellarage, but the old wine cellar has been locked upever since I took possession."

"Where's the key?"

"At this sacred hour of the morning," Jasen replied, "and withthat most unpleasant-looking weapon pointing at my head—Iwish you'd lower it—I can speak nothing but the truth. Ido not know. Do you get that? I do not know where the key ofthe old wine cellar is."

"Let's have a look at you and see if you are telling thetruth," the intruder remarked coolly.

He turned on an electric switch, and, in doing so, lowered theweapon which had given the Commodore so much uneasiness. The twomen were now facing each other, the burglar leaning over the railof the bed, and the Commodore sitting up in his bright bluepyjamas opposite to him. The latter looked long and earnestly athis vis-à-vis. Probably English, he decided. Not veryexpert at his job. Certainly not a high-class gangster byprofession. The humour of the situation began to appeal tohim.

"So far as regards my portion of the cellarage," he said, "youwill find it at the bottom of the steps leading out of thekitchen. We have not troubled to fit a lock, as I have confidencein my servants. If it's a drink you're after, pray help yourself.If champagne should be your favorite beverage, let me recommend asmall quantity of Veuve Cliquot '19. If it's brandy, you ought totry my Armagnac—forty-eight years old, I can assure you,and genuine."

"Chatty old person, aren't you?" the burglar observed.

"I am talkative upon occasions," Jasen admitted, "but I am notold. I am not sure that I should be called even elderly. If youcare for a little competition, the sun will be up in half anhour; I will swim you, box you, run with you, jump with you, forany sum you like to name."

The man at the end of the bed grinned.

"Well, you're a cool customer," he remarked. "Look here.Business. We have not come here for nothing, me and my pal. Wehave an appointment inside that wine cellar. What we didn'treckon for was it's having a sheet-iron door. We could blow it topieces, but they would hear the noise up at Juan, therefore we'drather have the key. If you haven't the key, you must know whereit is."

"My friend," Commodore Jasen began, "let me assureyou—"

It was at this point that the Commodore dropped out of theconversation. The snapped-out command to throw up his hands,which came from the shadows of the room, was very much more likethe real thing than the burglar's rough invitation. Jake Arnotthad entered the room stealthily and crept round the screen whichthe Commodore had established at the far side of his bed.Compared with the vision of his crouching figure, his set faceand his wicked-looking automatic, held in fingers which grippedit as though in a vice, the burglar appeared almost like anamateur. He had sense enough, however, to grasp the situation,dropped his revolver upon the floor and raised his hands.

"What's he after?" Jake Arnott asked, crawling a littlenearer.

"He says that he wants the key of the old wine cellar," theCommodore explained.

"So did another one of them, who is looking sick on the grassoutside," Jake Arnott confided. "Upon my word, if this isn't aqueer start. I never reckoned upon burglars in this part of theworld. We didn't even take out an insurance, did we,Commodore?"

"I don't think we did," the latter replied. "On the otherhand, I don't think we are going to lose anything."

"Not to this outfit, anyway," Jake Arnott scoffed. "I didn'twaste any gunpowder upon the young man downstairs, but I thinkhe'll have a headache for a week."

"Now that we can speak without embarrassment," the Commodoreremarked, sitting a little farther up in the bed, "let us try andinduce our visitor to explain to us why he is so anxious toacquire the key of the old wine cellar."

"If I tell you, will you let me go?"

The Commodore considered the matter.

"I really do not think," he decided, "that we should be thegainers by keeping you. You are not handsome enough for apet—besides, I prefer Sealyhams. We are overstaffed withservants and you would probably be all the time worrying aroundthat closed door. Yes, my friend. Gratify our curiosity in thedirection I have indicated, and you may assist your sick comradeon the lawn and take him where you damn' well please."

The man at the foot of the bed looked suspiciously at his twocompanions.

"Sure you're not kidding?" he asked. "You honestly don't knowwhy Lord Wyndham left that old servant of his here?"

"To spy on us, I expect," the Commodore speculated. "To see wedon't do any harm and try to work up the dilapidationaccount."

"Don't you worry," the burglar rejoined. "He left him here onguard to see that no one tried to break into the cellar. You knowvery well that there's nothing else in the house worth a tinker'sdamn. Why do you suppose this man sleeps most of the daytime andspends the night promenading the lower regions?"

"The fellow's talking sense," Jake Arnott acknowledged. "I'vealways thought it was a crazy idea. There may be something init."

The Commodore clasped his blue-clad legs in his locked handsand looked affably at his visitor.

"What is there to guard in the old wine cellar?" he askedinsinuatingly.

"I'll tell you the honest truth," the man replied. "I don'tknow."

"Then why were you and your companion, properly armed and nodoubt with the usual burglar's outfit, paying us the honour ofthis visit?" his questioner persisted. "You were not expecting tofind anything worth while amongst the belongings of us poortenants."

"Here's the truth," the other declared. "You can believe it ornot. Old man Wyndham's a millionaire several times over. Everyone knows that. Mean as they make 'em—a man with the mindof a shopkeeper, but all the same a great collector. If there's asale at Christie's of silver, old pictures, lacquer work,miniatures, jewels—anything of that sort—you will seeLord Wyndham's name as one of the buyers. Why, only three monthsago he gave seventeen thousand pounds for a pair of vases. Hedoes the same thing in Rome and the same thing in Paris. I haveheard him say at dinner time—"

"A guest of the house," Commodore Jasen murmured.

"Oh, shut up," the other interrupted. "I was temporary butlerhere for three months; as long as any one could stick it, Ishould think. I heard him say once at dinner that he scarcelyever bought a stock or a share, but invested the whole of hissurplus income in portable property. You look around this place.There isn't a picture or a piece of silver, an ornament, nothingworth a snap of the fingers. Where is it all, then? Behind thatsteel door, I expect. Anyhow we came to see."

"If you were once a butler here," Jasen demanded, "how is itthat you didn't know there was a steel door?"

"Because it's two years since I was in the house," the manreplied, "and that door must have been placed there within thelast twelve months. Any one can see the masonry round it is allnew."

Commodore Jasen sidled out of bed and wrapped himself in hisdressing gown.

"Jake," he enjoined, "will you take our friend down and seehim and his companion off the premises? By-the-by, how did youget here?"

"We came in a fishing boat with a small auxiliary engine," theman confided.

"Excellent. See them back into their fishing boat, Jake. Letthem start up their old engine and get away before it'slight."

Jake Arnott threw open the door.

"This way," he directed shortly. "I'll show you where to findyour pal."

The two men left the room. Commodore Jasen drew his dressinggown closer around himself, opened his window and sat out in theperfumed stillness, his eyes fixed upon the long shaft of lighteastwards. Presently he heard the beat of a motor engine almostdirectly below, and in a few minutes the boat, with a singlelantern in front, glided out across the placid waters of the bay,a spectral-like looking craft in the fading shadows. Immediatelyafterwards Jake Arnott could be seen, crossing the lawn.Commodore Jasen called to him softly and in due course he madehis appearance.

"Bring a chair out, Jake," his patron invited. "We can sithere and watch the sun rise."

Jake Arnott was not in the mood to appreciate the beauties ofnature. His remarks about the sunrise were pungent andunprintable.

"Honest to God," he begged, "I wish you'd stop kidding. We'vebeen here months now—the Lebworthy Gang, mark you, or thebest of it—and not once have we touched, whereas the dameover at the hotel—"

"Yes, yes, I know all about that, Jake," his companioninterrupted soothingly. "What's your trouble at this particularmoment, though? Are you dissatisfied?"

"My bank account is," was the grim reply.

"What sort of a state is Grogan in?" the Commodore asked withapparent irrelevance.

"He's conscious but sick."

Jasen's manner seemed suddenly to change.

"There's no one sleeping in the house except our people?" heasked.

"No one," Arnott replied hopefully. "Got an idea, Boss?"

The Commodore was already back in the bedroom. He drew on apair of trousers and fastened them with a belt. Then, aftercarefully covering his hand with a pyjama jacket which he tookfrom a drawer, he picked up the revolver.

"I was trying to think of a safer way," he said slowly. "Thereisn't one. Is the boat still in sight, Jake?"

Arnott nodded.

"Their engines ain't up to much."

"This is going to be a rush job," the Commodore confided."Come with me, Jake. Follow my lead. Where did you say Groganwas?"

"In his easy-chair against the wall, facing the door of theold cellar."

The two men descended the stairs, passed through the kitchensand went down more stairs into the cellar. In the second cryptthey came upon a pitiful figure. Grogan, his collar torn apartand his bonds loosened by Arnott, was groaning miserably withhalf-closed eyes. There were other and sufficient evidences ofhis condition. The Commodore leaned over him.

"Grogan," he enjoined, "pull yourself together, man."

The watchman's eyes opened a little wider.

"Have they gone?" he faltered.

"We've driven them off, but I fear they're coming back. Tryand listen to me, Grogan."

The man's lips moved and he raised himself a few inches. Itwas evident that he was doing his best.

"They threatened that they're coming back," Jasen went on,"with the stuff to blow that door out. You did your duty. Youkept the key away from the burglars. We'll see to the rest. Giveme the keys. We'll protect whatever may be there."

The man's head rolled on one side. He spoke withdifficulty.

"Never—part with the keys—his lordship's lastwords."

"Listen here, Grogan," the Commodore continued soothingly."You have obeyed your master and you have done wonderfully, butunless you use your common sense it will be of no good. Mr.Arnott and I will deal with these men when they come back, but ifthey bring explosives with them, and if we were to shoot downhere, it would blow the place to pieces. Give us the keys and wewill move the valuables upstairs and guard them till the policecome."

"Have you sent for the police?" Grogan faltered.

"Of course we have," was the impatient reply. "They would havebeen here by now if only there was an all-night telephoneservice."

The man groaned. He leant over on one side for a moment. Hisface was a ghastly colour.

"You have done well so far, Grogan," Jasen assured him. "Don'tspoil it all. If you do not trust us with the keys, you may haveto lie here and see those two men walk inside. They will probablylet you be blown to pieces too."

"The keys," the man confided, "are in a small safe underneathmy bed. The key of the safe is under the pillow."

The Commodore turned swiftly to his companion.

"You heard, Jake," he said. "Get the keys. You know thebedroom—it leads off the kitchen somewhere. Bring the poorfellow some brandy, but don't be long about it."

Jake took swift leave. The Commodore looked down at the sickman and shook his head compassionately.

"Bad luck," he murmured to himself. "Still, safety first."

He unfolded the revolver which he had been carrying wrapped upin his pyjama jacket, wound the sleeve carefully around the butt,stepped back a few paces and raised it. The man's eyes suddenlyopened. He half sat up. A strangled scream gurgled in his throat.He pawed the air with his hands.

"God," he cried. "Don't! Don't!"

Commodore Jasen fired three times into the man's body, whichfell over in a limp heap. Again being careful not to touch anypart of the weapon with his fingers, he threw it a short distanceaway, tucked the pyjama jacket into his dressing-gown pocket, andturned round to meet Arnott, who was hurrying towards him.

"Put him out, have you?" the latter exclaimed.

The Commodore nodded.

"With him alive, we were for it all the time," heexplained.

"Quite like old times," Arnott muttered appreciatively."Here's the key of the safe door. I know that, anyway. All theselittle ones must be for places inside."

The Commodore paused to listen. There was silence still in thehouse. They moved towards the door and Jake fitted the key. Theywere hard men, both of them, and emotions seized them seldom andsluggishly, nevertheless their half-stifled cry, as they lookedinside, rang out and awakened a hundred echoes in the low vaultedcorridor.

* * * * *

THE Commissaire of Police of the district beganto feel himself a very important man indeed. This was the secondmurder which he had been called upon to investigate within a fewweeks. He presented himself before the man who had assisted himto solve the first, with the nearest approach to an amiable smilewhich had ever parted his lips. The Commodore was taking hisbreakfast in his usual corner of the terrace and greeted hisvisitor with the customary handshake.

"Sit down, Monsieur le Commissaire," he invited. "A cup ofcoffee?"

"I breakfasted two hours ago, sir," the latter regretted."What I have come to see is whether you can give me any ideasabout this terrible affair. It was really you who solved theLegarge mystery."

Jasen shook his head gently and poured himself out another cupof coffee.

"I am afraid I cannot be inspired all the time, Monsieur leCommissaire," he replied. "You see I had something to go by onthe other occasion."

"But this affair," the police functionary pointed out, "hastaken place in the very house you are occupying. From here youmight almost have heard the shots that were fired at the deadman."

"Quite true," the Commodore admitted, "but you see I didn't. Iheard nothing."

The Commissaire sighed.

"That is unfortunate. You have not even a hint to offerme?"

"I might be able to fix the time of the affair for you, ifthat's any good," the Commodore observed, pushing back his chairand lighting a cigarette. "I am a very good sleeper and I seldomwake, but early this morning, without hearing any definite soundsI found myself sitting up in bed, listening. Then I heard againthe sound which must have wakened me. It was a motor boat in myprivate waters, or rather the private waters of theChâteau. I got out of bed and went out on to my balcony.Within a few yards of the shore there was what seemed to be afishing boat with an auxiliary engine."

"What time was this?" the Commissaire asked quickly.

"Soon after four."

The Commissaire reflected.

"At four o'clock," he remarked, "it is still night. There weremany clouds too. How was it you were able to see the boat?"

The Commodore smiled.

"Because of the lantern hanging in front," he explained."There was no moon, it is true, but there was quite enough light,when one's attention had been fixed upon the lantern, to tracethe outlines of the boat."

"Did you do anything about it?"

"What would a sleepy man do because a fishing boat was toonear his beach—or rather his landlord's beach?" theCommodore expostulated. "I got back into bed again and went tosleep."

"It is your impression, then, that the thieves got away inthat boat?"

"I have no definite impression. It seems likely."

"It appears to me to be a strange thing that not one of yourservants, whom I have interrogated, appears to have heard thedischarge of the revolver or any sound whatever."

"It is a large house," the Commodore reminded his questioner,"and the cellars are a long way from the servants' quarters. Do Igather, then, that you have already interrogated my staff?"

"I have seen every one of them," the Commissaire assented,"including the two young ladies and the elderly one in theannex."

The Commodore shrugged his shoulders with a gesture ofannoyance.

"In England or in America you would have come first to themaster of the house and asked for permission to interrogate theservants," he observed.

"The law over here does not bother about permission. We act aswe think best," was the curt rejoinder.

"Have you discovered how the thieves entered the house?" theCommodore enquired.

The other nodded.

"Simple enough," he replied. "They cut a large pane out of oneof the lower windows. But to get into the house was a child'saffair. There are other things one asks oneself."

"As, for instance?"

"Many of our French criminals," he confided, "are as bad as itis possible for that type of man to be, but when they rob they donot often kill. I ask myself why did they kill the watchman?"

"To get the key," the Commodore suggested.

His visitor indulged in a contemptuous little exclamation.

"How could a dead man give them a key?"

"Then perhaps they killed him because he would not give themthe key."

"But what use would that be to them? It would besenseless."

"To prevent his identifying them afterwards," the Commodoreventured.

"Aha!" the other approved. "That is the only idea which Imyself have preserved. They might have got out of that, though,by wearing masks."

"It appears to me," Jasen reflected, "that the fact of theirkilling him, doubtless to avoid identification, is a proof thatthey were not, after all, strangers from a Marseilles gang oranything of that sort. It seems to me proof that they were knownto the watchman and that he recognised them."

"It is a point," the Commissaire conceded.

"It would therefore seem to one a reasonable course ofprocedure," the Commodore continued, "to make enquiries in thenear-by ports and see which fishing boats were out lastnight."

The Commissaire smiled—not pleasantly, but with anobvious sense of amusem*nt streaked with malice.

"Marvellous," he murmured. "You have the genius of adetective, Monsieur."

Jasen moved irritably in his place. His visitor's mannerpuzzled him.

"You have perhaps already pursued that obvious course," heremarked.

"Soon after daylight," the Commissaire assented, "JacquesBarataud, one of the worst characters amongst the boatmen,together with a foreigner—either English or American, weredetained. From here I go to Antibes to interrogate them again. Ihave already had a few words with them."

"Capital," the Commodore observed. "I congratulate you, monami. Has any stolen property been discovered?"

The Commissaire shrugged his shoulders.

"It is early to discuss that," he pointed out, "until we knowwhat was in that amazing hiding place. There was nothing,however, in the boat or on their persons of the least value."

"Well, my congratulations, in any case," the Commodorerepeated. "You evidently won't need my help this time."

The police functionary saluted and took his leave.

"One never knows," were his parting words....

The Commodore moved to the edge of the terrace, lit acigarette, and looked thoughtfully out across the sea. Hisexpression was completely serene. There was a faint drawingtogether of the brows, however, which indicated concentration. Herecognised the footsteps of Jake Arnott crossing the terrace andspoke to him without turning his head.

"Has the Commissaire gone?" he enquired.

"Sure," Arnott answered, seating himself upon the topmoststep.

"Did the servants line up all right?"

"Absolutely."

"Zoë and Laura?"

"They couldn't help it. They never heard anything."

"What's the trouble?"

"The trouble with me," Jake Arnott replied, "is that I fancy alittle sea air—just halfway to the islands and round thebay."

The Commodore rose to his feet and the two men strolled downthe path. They talked of the mistral that might or might notdevelop. The Commodore spoke pleasantly to the men at work,stopped to help an old woman who was weeding, with her bundle.They all looked after him admiringly. What a master!

Tim, the mechanic, who was lounging on deck, shot out his handat their approach, and the engine was started before they reachedthe quay. They glided out from the harbour into the more troubledwaters. The two men spread themselves on the cushions aft.

"Kind of feel we can talk here," Jake Arnott remarked. "Theseseagulls look knowing, but their story wouldn't cut any ice, evenin a French court. Boss, I'm not quite sure I like thatCommissaire."

"I've had moments of wondering about him myself," was thethoughtful reply. "Shoot."

"Oh, there's nothing special. Nothing to get the wind upabout, at any rate," Arnott went on, as he filled his pipe. "Theonly thing is, I wondered why he went up into your room and stoodout on the balcony."

"Did he do that this morning?"

"He surely did."

"He must have wanted to see how much I could see of a fishingboat that was close in," the Commodore reflected. "Well, you cansee a great deal more than any one would imagine."

"Seems to show he's turning things over in his mind," Jakeobserved. "Has he had their story yet?"

"He's put them through what he calls the first interrogation,"the Commodore confided. "That's what struck me as queer. He nevertold me what I am perfectly certain one of the men must have toldhim—that he had come up into my room for the keys. He nevertold me a word of their story and I couldn't ask him. Now he'sgone back to have another shy at them."

"Things ought to be cast iron for us," Jake Arnott mused. "Weare in a different position from most of the guys who might putup a show like this. They are nearly always given away by a dameor one of their own people. There's no chance of that with us.Zoë and Laura are all right, and if they weren't, they don'tknow a damn' thing about it. As for the others,well—there's only been three squeals in ten years, and theywere from outside members of the gang, not one of whom lived fortwenty-four hours. Besides, we have got the stuff."

"They know that?"

"They do. Sure," Arnott answered. "Broadman's tickled todeath. He was getting like we were—a trifle fedup—and he wants to send some money home."

"He can have it any time," the Commodore observed.

"What about the stuff?" his chief of the staff enquired.

"The stuff is good," the Commodore acknowledged. "It's betterthan I ever dreamt of, but it's none the less extraordinarilydifficult. We shall have to take a voyage out East before webegin to dispose of it."

"You're a wizard at the valuation, Boss," Arnott said. "Whatdo you make of it?"

"Three hundred thousand pounds," was the soft but confidentreply. "There are pink pearls and sapphires there, which musthave taken many years to collect, even if every gem merchant fromPort Said to Rangoon was working. The green emeralds I canscarcely speak about, and by the grace of Providence they areuncut. There are half a dozen I could take to Amsterdam to-morrow, under ordinary circ*mstances, and they would beunrecognisable in a week, and fit to sell to the most captiouscourtesan in Paris or South America. The stuff's all right, Jake,but—what we had to leave behind! There's a million pounds'worth of fairly portable things there still, if only we'd known.It would have been worth while making this our one exploit inEurope. We could have done it marvellously."

"Too late now," Jake Arnott said regretfully. "We are too wellknown as the tenants of the Château, and of course, afterthis, every one will be wise to the stuff."

"The pity of it!" the Commodore sighed.

"The rest of it is off the map for us," Jake Arnott decidedfirmly. "We've got to go dawdling along as usual for a time. Nota servant can leave the place, neither can you or I. Our mottomust be 'Life as usual.'"

"You are quite right, Jake," his chief agreed. "You havenothing more definite to say about the Commissaire, then?"

"Not a thing. I just don't like his manner. Guess I'd betterhave a turn on the board. It will look better. I'll pass the wordto Tim."

He rose to his feet, stripped off his Lido shirt, displayinghis scanty bathing attire. The boat slackened down and the boardwas thrown out. He dived and clambered on to it. In a few minutesthey were off again at top speed, Arnott swaying from side toside gracefully, his host watching him from the stern of the boatwith friendly interest. They circled round the bay for half anhour, then the Commodore passed the word forward and held up hishand to Jake. The boat slackened speed and circled round. Arnottdived off the plank and swam to the side.

"I think I'll go and hear the gossip in the bar," theCommodore decided. "You take the boat back and then send her forme, Jake. There will be another descent upon the Châteaubefore long."

"Sure," Jake assented, as he scrambled on board.

* * * * *

THE Commodore was surrounded as soon as he drewnear to the rocks upon which the Cap d'Antibes bathers were lyingsunning themselves. He was, in his way, quite a popular man andhad made a great many friends amongst thehabitués.

"I say, Commodore, they're not giving you much of a peacefulsummer vacation," a stalwart young American observed, rising tohis feet. "We're all crazy to know the truth. Was there really aburglary last night at the Château?"

"There was indeed," the Commodore admitted gravely. "A seriousaffair too."

"Is it true that some one was killed?" a woman askedbreathlessly.

"The man whom Lord Wyndham left as caretaker was killed,"Jasen confided. "Brutally murdered, by the look of it. Shot threeor four times through the body."

"Have they got the man who did it?" some one elsedemanded.

"They have made two arrests. I should think they've got theright fellows," the Commodore replied.

"But what on earth was there at the Château to steal?"an elderly man, who had joined them on their way to the bar,enquired. "I have been there once or twice to lunch with Wyndham,and a barer-looking place I never saw."

"I have never been inside it," another one of the groupobserved, "although I live not a kilometre away. I have alwaysheard, though, that Lord Wyndham was a great collector and hadsome very valuable things."

"You are both right in a way," the Commodore said, as theydrew into a little circle round one of the tables looking outseawards. "The place looks as empty of valuables as you couldpossibly imagine. In fact, it is like an American seasideboarding house. Down in the cellars, however, there is a chamberwith a steel door, and I believe that, stored away inside, LordWyndham had a great collection of things he had picked up on histravels—objets d'art and jewels of every sort. Thesefellows had evidently got to know about it."

"Did they get away with much?"

"No one knows," Jasen went on. "So far, the thing is prettymysterious. The caretaker was found shot several times throughthe body, by the side of the chair where he used to sit in thepassage outside the cellars. The key of the principal door ismissing from his bedroom, where he used to keep it, but the dooritself is still locked, and at present no one knows how to getinto the vault. Presumably the thieves cleared out what theywanted, locked up afterwards, and disposed of the keysomehow."

The Commodore had set the ball rolling, but he took verylittle part in the babel which followed. Presently, with a wordof excuse, he rose and went to meet Caroline, who was just comingout of the dressing rooms. She greeted him with a queer littlesmile.

"So you are in trouble again," she remarked.

"Come and let me tell you about it," he begged.

She hesitated, but walked with him down the room.

"This is rather against our principles," she reminded himsoftly.

"If we didn't break through them sometimes," he pointed out,"we should be just as noticeable."

"Let us go outside and look at the bathers," she suggested."Out through the door there. The wind's getting up, and there, atany rate, we shall be alone. The echoes in this room areawful."

They made their way on to the terraced front and leaned overthe wall. Within the last few minutes the weather had changed.There were whitecaps all over the sea and the rafts below werebeginning to dance about like corks. The bathers had all gonein.

"There are all sorts of stories flying about," Caroline toldhim. "I take it that nothing serious has happened, or you wouldnot be here."

"There has been a raid upon his lordship's treasures," theCommodore confided.

"The watchman was killed, I understand," she observed.

He nodded gravely.

"The fortune of war. He might have shot first."

"If it were true," she laughed, "there would be an element ofhumour in the whole situation. Fancy you beingburgled!"

He smiled.

"The element of humour remains," he assured her. "We wereburgled—a clumsy attempt. But I don't mind confessing toyou—"

"Please do not confess anything to me," she interrupted.

"Nothing to confess in the way you mean," he continued. "Weactually were burgled. Two of them. They broke in, shot thewatchman, and found the key to the vault. As they locked it upagain and apparently took the key away with them, however, no oneknows what is missing."

"Except perhaps you," she murmured.

"Except perhaps me," he assented.

She sighed.

"I am a lady of fortune now," she remarked, "and I am not atall sure that I like to be on friendly terms with any one in yourprofession."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Are you quitting it altogether?" he asked.

"Unless something very special, and very safe, and almostmoral, comes along," she replied. "I saw that Jake Arnott was outon the board—a very subtle gesture, I thought, yours thismorning. I knew from the moment I saw you indulging in yourinnocent little recreation that you were in this last piece oftrouble. We must not stay here any longer. I have a friend comingto lunch."

"Yes," the Commodore admitted, brushing back his white hair,which the wind had disarranged, and replacing his yachting cap."We are in it, but we shall get out of it. I am not sure that itwill not be one of the neatest affairs we have ever handled."

She shook her head.

"The three shots into the body," she objected, "was rather amistake. Only American gangsters do that sort of thing."

The Commodore raised his cap as they parted and his smile offarewell was both genial and affectionate.

"I like to make sure," he said.

* * * * *

THERE followed days of tragical rumours. Astream of gendarmes and their superiors seemed to be all the timein and out of the Château. Commodore Jasen kept out of itas much as he could. He gave a great luncheon party at the EdenRoc, with Caroline his guest of honour, and his health was drunkto the strains of music before the gathering broke up. Hispopularity amongst the guests of the hotel and in theneighbourhood increased daily. On all sides his friends andacquaintances deplored his ill luck. First of all, his summer hadbeen half spoilt by the loss of his aquaplane passenger, NedLoyd, and now, under his own roof, a burglary in his temporaryabode and a man shot to pieces. Hard luck indeed, every oneagreed, that these two tragedies should have happened to aharmless, genial little person who had paid an immense rent for afew months' sunshine and bathing and repose. So they stood up anddrank his health, and drank it again, and Commodore Jasen thankedthem with tears in his eyes, and declared that, for the firsttime for weeks, he felt a human being again. He made his wayhomeward on foot and alone, for Jake Arnott had not attended theluncheon, but remained—the eternal sentry—watchingthe servants, watching for the newcomers, guarding against anynew and untoward happening. The Commodore knew the short cuts andvery soon arrived upon his own beach. There, on the edge of thesea, with his head, as usual, bent downwards, stood theinevitable figure of the Commissaire. Jasen paused and looked athim. How he was beginning to hate the man! How joyfully his firstfinger could pull the trigger of any gun that might consign himto perdition. Nevertheless, there were no signs of thesesentiments, as he picked his way over the pebbles to withinhailing distance.

"Hello, mon ami!"

The Commissaire turned round. There was no start or surprisein his manner. He might even have been conscious of theCommodore's approach. He made his way quietly towards him.

"Nothing fresh?" the latter enquired.

"Nothing," was the dreary reply. "The business presents greatdifficulties."

"Is any part of the mystery to be solved, do you think,"Commodore Jasen asked lightly, "by standing here and gazingacross at Antibes? You had the air of one very deep inthought."

The police functionary shook his head gravely.

"It was you yourself," he said, "who initiated me into thefiner arts of reconstruction. I came down from the househurriedly. I stood here, from where the two men must have wadedto the boat, for they had no dinghy. I wondered what they woulddo if they had something they wanted to dispose of hurriedly. Ihave been looking around to see if I could find any traces ofthat object."

"What is it precisely that you are looking for?" Jasenasked.

"The key. You remember, the key has never been found. Mr.Crowhurst, the agent, has opened the door of the chamber with hisduplicate."

"I had forgotten about the key," Jasen observed. "So that isthe reason we have two gendarmes on guard before the door."

"How did you know that?" the other asked.

"Servants' gossip. When you come to think of it," theCommodore went on, "it seems strange that the revolver, which isso much more important a piece of evidence than anything else,should have been thrown carelessly away down the corridors of thecellars themselves, where it was certain to be found, and thekey, the further use of which is scarcely apparent, should havedisappeared."

"There are more curious things still," the Commissaireremarked, pushing back a long wisp of black hair from his eyes,"concerning this affair. Four times now I have questioned thosetwo men, and not even I, who have some skill, have had fortune.Their story is always the same. They failed to find the key afterchloroforming the watchman, one of them came to your room insearch of it, he was surprised there by your friend, Mr. Arnott,who had already knocked the other one senseless. With that theywere turned out of the house, they embarked in their boat andsailed for Antibes."

Commodore Jasen smiled in mild approval.

"Why should they change such a story? It is the only onepossible," he pointed out. "I imagine that, according to them,they left the watchman alive and the door of the treasure chamberunopened."

"That is their story," the Commissaire admitted.

"Another improbable part about it," Jasen continued, "is thatthey did not attempt to explain who killed the watchman orcommitted the robbery, if—as gossip tells us—arobbery was committed. Perhaps their idea is to suggest thatthere was another set of criminals at work at the same time?"

The Commissaire was walking slowly towards the house, hishands behind his back. His head was uplifted towards the skies,that faint twist of the mouth—an unpleasant gesture inwhich he frequently indulged—was displaying hisunattractive teeth.

"They are very frightened," he ruminated. "They do not talksensibly."

"And Mr. Crowhurst, the agent," the Commodore asked, "has hecompleted his inventory? I do not wish to seem inquisitive, but Ithink I am entitled to your confidence as regards the details ofthis affair."

The Commissaire nodded gravely.

"The result," he confided, "is bad. It is very bad. There arejewels missing valued at an enormous amount."

The Commodore's equanimity seemed at last to be disturbed.

"That means," he rejoined irritably, "that there will be noend to these investigations. They will be going on the whole ofthe time. I must have a talk with Mr. Crowhurst. I think I shallcancel my agreement and move to the hotel."

"To the hotel," the Commissaire mused.

"Yes. Why not? I am sorry for Lord Wyndham's loss, of course,but he should not keep such treasures in a house he lets out forsix months at a time. The tenants have a right to someconsideration. Crowhurst is still in the house, I suppose?"

"He is still there. I begged him to wait. We have a favour toask of you, Monsieur. I thought I should like him to bepresent."

"A favour?" the Commodore repeated. "You won't find me in avery amiable mood for granting favours."

"This one, I think, will appeal to your sense of fairness,"the other declared.

They made their way into the library, where the agent—avery worried-looking man—was writing out cables to hisemployer. He greeted the Commodore with the respect andempressem*nt due to his position as a valuable client.

"You have heard the news, sir?" he groaned.

The Commodore nodded.

"Damn' bad news for all of us," he said, with some trace ofhis former irritation still lingering in his tone. "What do yousuppose the value of the missing jewels is?"

"I have only his lordship's private valuation," the agentconfided. "That amounts to something like half a million poundssterling."

"Which means, I suppose," Jasen observed bitterly, "that thishouse is to be invaded now by detectives from Paris, detectivesfrom Lyons, insurance men, private enquiry agents, and God knowswhat! I have just told our friend of the police here that I shallmove up to the hotel. You will have to make some arrangements asregards my tenancy, Mr. Crowhurst."

"Don't, for heaven's sake, suggest any more complications!"the agent begged, holding his head. "We'll see how things workout. I'll undertake that you're not worried in anyway—"

"Except for just that one little matter," the Commissaireintervened.

The agent nodded uncomfortably.

"I am sure, sir," he said, "that you will forgive me, underthe circ*mstances, if I make a very unusual request. I promisedthe Commissaire that I would put the matter to you. He finds yourFrench is as near as possible perfect, but he thought thatperhaps I would be able to explain the matter better."

"Go on," the Commodore directed.

"It is the matter of the revolver. The man who tells the storyof having visited you in your room swears passionately that youtook it away from him and that he never used it against themurdered man. The law demands that such evidence as is possibleshould be taken—even though his statement is improbable.The Commissaire wishes the fingerprints of every person in thehouse taken and compared with the fingerprints on the revolver.He thinks that it would make the matter so much easier if youwould consent to having your own taken first. No one then wouldfeel that they were under suspicion."

The Commodore stroked his white moustache. His blue eyes werefixed upon the agent. He glanced towards the Commissaire. All thetime his mind was fixed upon a brief period—some fewseconds—during which his fingers, stretched downwards, hadhalted and he had wrapped the blue coat of his pyjamas around hishand. Perhaps he might have been forgiven for thinking that hewalked hand in hand with Fate.

"The request seems a little unusual," he remarked mildly, "butI see the point. Certainly—I consent. You had better callthe servants up, so that they can see me submit myself to thisordeal. You have your man here, I suppose?" he added.

The Commissaire agreed. There was perhaps a shadow ofdisappointment in his tone as he rang the bell.

"He is waiting outside with his apparatus," he said. "If youwill be so good as to order your servants in, the matter canproceed."

* * * * *

THE tenant of the Château d'Antibes,seated in his favourite sunny corner on the following morning,reading his Eclaireur and enjoying one of his excellentcigars, looked up to greet the Commissaire.

"What, you here again!" he exclaimed, with an air of wearygood humour.

The visitor nodded.

"I am here again," he admitted. "I thought you would wish toknow the result of the fingerprints examination."

"I knew it beforehand," was the indifferent reply. "None of mypeople were down in the cellars that night."

"That would appear to be the case," the Commissaire reported."The fingerprints are very blurred, but the only ones which it ispossible to trace at all are the fingerprints of the older of thetwo men whom we were holding."

"Whom you were holding?" the Commodore repeated. "Doyou mean that you have let them go?"

The Commissaire sighed.

"It is most unfortunate," he said. "The two men were confinedin a reasonably guarded room in the prison, which, as you know,is overlooking the harbour. We dared not put them in the cellsuntil the examining magistrate had made his report. Last nightthey managed to crawl out of the window and on to a coping, andfrom that they both dived into the harbour."

"Do you mean that they escaped?" the Commodore asked.

The police official shrugged his shoulders.

"A poor sort of escape," he confided. "They are both drowned.The bodies were recovered just before I started for here."

The Commodore laid down his paper.

"God bless my soul," he murmured. "Drowned! What about thejewels?"

The Commissaire sighed once more.

"They had a matter of six hours before they were arrested inwhich to conceal them. We shall commence at once a systematicsearch. It is possible that, having gone further than theyintended and actually murdered the watchman, they may have thrownthe jewels—in a panic—into the sea. The search hasalready commenced, however. We have hope."

The Commodore rose suddenly to his feet, walked to the edge ofthe terrace and picked up a pair of field glasses. He lookedthrough them for several moments. His companion presently joinedhim.

"Mon ami, an idea!" the Commodore exclaimed.

"Your ideas are always good," was the eager comment.

"Across from the landing place to the port—look. Thereare one, two, three, four, five lobster pots. If one of thoseshould have belonged to either of the two men—what awonderful hiding place!"

"And two of them did!" the Commissaire cried in muchexcitement.

Jasen smiled triumphantly.

"I shall not expect a reward," he observed, "as I amunfortunately already classed amongst the millionaires, but ifyou discover the jewels, I shall certainly expect to bedecorated!"

* * * * *

THERE was no red ribbon for Commodore Jasen.

V.—THE OBSTINATEDUKE

Published in Pall Mall Magazine, Jun 1932
Reprinted as "If The Duke Should Die" in The SaintDetective Magazine (UK), Aug 1958

VAN DEYL, naked as the day he was born, stood inthe centre of the Eden Roc dressing room—six foot two ofsymmetric young manhood—and looked around him with adiscontented frown.

"Say, what's happened to this place, anyway?" he demanded."The first thing I hear when I arrive is that Ned Loyd—oneof the best—good old Ned!—has been drownedaquaplaning, then there has been a murder and a great robbery upat the Château, and now I can't find my panties. Somethingsinister in all this."

The valet, who had been assisting in the search, appeared witha very abbreviated pair of knickerbockers, which Van Deylaccepted and buckled on with a grunt of thanks. A friend turnedround from the wash-basin.

"It does seem as though there was something queer about theplace this season, George," he remarked, rubbing his tousled hairvigorously with a towel. "There was a murder too up at St. Paul,at that jolly little restaurant, one night. Beastly affair.Still, there's plenty of fun going. I'm not sure that the paceisn't even hotter than last year. My little crowd got in at seveno'clock this morning."

"Call that a holiday," his friend grunted.

"You'll be doing the same yourself in a day or two," was thecheery comment. "There's something about sitting up late herewhich seems part of the life. Lighter drinks perhaps."

George Van Deyl stretched himself, left the room, crossed thepassage and made his way through the crowded bar towards thediving boards. Halfway to his destination he came face to facewith Ralph Joslin, peignoir-clad and dry from a sunbath. Theformer paused irresolutely.

"Hello, Joslin!" he greeted him.

"Hello, George!" the other replied.

There was a moment's awkwardness, as sometimes happens whenmen engaged in the secret business of the world come face to facein a public place.

"Your first visit, isn't it?" Joslin enquired.

Van Deyl nodded.

"I'm a Biarritz man," he confided. "Uncertain weather, butglorious sea when you can get into it."

Joslin glanced around. No one appeared to be taking any noticeof them.

"Still at the old shop?" he asked.

Van Deyl was mildly surprised.

"I should say not," he replied. "I quit two years after theWar. Shouldn't have stayed that long except that there were oneor two matters I wanted to clear up. I'm in Wall Street now andin the soup with all the rest of them."

"Bad luck!" Joslin commiserated, showing signs of movingon.

"I'd like to have a few minutes with you after I've had aswim," Van Deyl remarked.

"I shall be about," Joslin answered, without any particularenthusiasm.

Van Deyl strolled thoughtfully out into the sunshine, shieldedhis eyes for a moment with his hand, then descended the stonesteps and walked to the end of one of the springboards. Hehesitated for a moment, stretched himself, and then made anunostentatious dive. His last thought as he fell through spaceinto the salt water was of the man he had just left.

* * * * *

CAROLINE LOYD, very elegant in her greenpyjamas, tightly fitting green cap and cape, waved to Joslin ashe climbed the stairs and looked around the Eden Roc restaurant.He crossed the floor at once to the table where Caroline wasawaiting him.

"Hope I have not kept you waiting," he apologised. "I saw VanDeyl downstairs."

"George Van Deyl?" Caroline asked.

"The same."

There was a moment's silence, followed by a discussion aboutlunch.

"I am afraid," Joslin went on, as soon as they had given theirorder, "that our habit of occasionally interfering in otherpeople's business has developed in me the vice of curiosity."

"It is a very amiable failing," Caroline sighed. "It gives oneso many interests in life."

There was a brief pause. The maître d'hôtelhad stopped in passing to offer his respectful greetings. Thewine man had appeared for his customary order. Both men presentlyfaded away.

"Is it George Van Deyl who has stimulated your curiosity?"Caroline enquired. "You were in X.D.O. with him, weren'tyou?"

"For one year only, during the war," Joslin confided. "I wentback as soon as I was fit again into active service. Van Deylcouldn't. Some of us thought he was going to be an invalid forlife about that time, but he pulled himself together somehow orother. Says he is in Wall Street now."

Caroline smiled.

"You appear to be rather incredulous."

"I am," he admitted. "I happen to know that he is second incommand to-day at X.D.O., and the best man they have got forforeign missions. If you will believe me—he is staying herewith the most abominable little specimen of a man you eversaw."

"That sounds queer," Caroline commented. "George Van Deylalways used to be very particular about his company."

"Well, you wouldn't be seen in the same party with thisfellow," Joslin declared. "He is a slimy-looking, bumptiouslittle bounder of the worst possible type. But—he is amultimillionaire," Joslin added. "I cannot help thinking thatGeorge is not here with him for nothing. They have something on.I am going to hang around after lunch and see if there isanything to be picked up. Where can I find you later in theday?"

"In my sitting room at seven o'clock," Caroline replied. "Ialways try to get an hour's rest before I change. Don't get towork too soon unless it is urgent. I have a date for dinner."

"That's the worst of a woman," Joslin grumbled. "Alwayspleasure before business."

Caroline laughed.

"Show me the business," she challenged.

* * * * *

FOR one of the finest châteaux in theAlpes-Maritimes, the room in which George Van Deyl and Mr. ReubenC. Essenheim were invited to attend the pleasure of the man whomthey had come to visit certainly lacked any suggestions ofhospitality. It was approached by a long corridor leading fromthe very magnificent hall, and was a plain square apartment withstone walls and a stone floor, in the exact centre of whichreposed one priceless rug. The walls were undecorated, offurniture there was none except six high-backed but supremelyuncomfortable Provençal chairs of the best period, whichstood primly on one side of the room, and a further six opposite.Between them was a round table. The windows were small and highand protected by bars. The room, but for the choiceness of itsscanty furniture, might well have been the waiting room of aprison or some public institution.

"Say, that young man would need to get a push on if he weresecretary to an American," Mr. Essenheim remarked, glancing athis watch. "Another ten minutes in this morgue of a room and thesalt tears will stand in my eyes. Do you reckon he knows that Iam Essenheim, Chairman of the Grand Prudential Trust?"

Van Deyl yawned.

"I don't suppose he's ever heard of the Grand PrudentialTrust," he replied.

His companion gazed at him, open-mouthed.

"Say, young fellow, are you trying to put one over on me?" hedemanded. "This Prince, whom we've come to visit, is amillionaire, isn't he?"

"He's a very rich man," Van Deyl acknowledged.

"Then you're not going to tell me that he's not heard of theGrand Prudential Trust," Essenheim scoffed. "Where there's moneythe folks know about the Grand Prudential Trust."

"Maybe," was the curt comment. "Here comes the secretary,anyway."

There were footsteps in the long passage outside, then thedoor was quietly opened. The young man who had taken theirmessage reappeared. He was tall and good-looking in a studioussort of way. His manners were exceedingly good. It was ominousthat he held in his hand the card which Mr. Essenheim had pressedupon him. He laid it unostentatiously upon the table.

"I am very sorry, gentlemen," he announced. "His Highnessdeclines to break his rule. He has no longer any interest inoutside affairs. They are all arranged for him."

"Do you mean to say that he refuses to see me?" Mr. Essenheimexclaimed angrily. "You showed him my card? He understands who Iam and whom I represent?"

"I daresay he does not understand that," the secretaryadmitted, "because he has no interest at all in financialmatters. On the other hand, he wished me to say to you, Mr. VanDeyl, that he is anxious to show every courtesy to arepresentative of your Government, but he scarcely sees in whatway he can be of service to you."

"Naturally he can't understand that before I have had anopportunity of explaining," the young man declared eagerly. "Ifhe will see us for five minutes I shall deliver to him personallya message from an official in Washington with whom he has someacquaintance, and I feel sure he will then understand ourintrusion."

"Very well, Mr. Van Deyl," the secretary acquiesced. "If youwill undertake not to be with him more than five minutes, I am toconduct you to him."

He turned towards the door. Essenheim followed the twomen.

"I beg your pardon," the secretary observed, turning round. "Ifear I did not make myself quite clear. The Prince will only seeMr. Van Deyl, out of compliment to his official position. No oneelse."

"Do you mean to say that I am to sit here and wait?" Mr.Essenheim spluttered.

"You can walk in the garden, if you please," the young manpointed out. "I can assure you that it will not be a matter ofmore than a few minutes."

Mr. Essenheim, who probably had never been so angry in hislife, was speechless. They left him there, however, crossed oncemore that magnificent hall, and passed into a very beautifulapartment upon the ground floor. Van Deyl, although he had scantopportunity to look around, had the impression of having foundhis way into a palace. His companion ushered him towards thespacious writing table at which a tall, grey-haired man wasseated. In front of the latter were three or four photographs ofpre-Rafaelite pictures, some books of reference and a smallpriceless Old Master, which scarcely needed the magic scrawl ofFra Filippo Lippi in the corner. A little to the left, throughthe open window, was a stretch of beautiful country, a gleam ofblue sea, between the trees the Esterels—dim violetmonsters traced against the distant sky.

"Your Highness," his secretary said quietly, "this is Mr. VanDeyl—the young American gentleman who wishes to seeyou."

The Prince, who had been writing laboriously on a large sheetof foolscap, turned round, the black ebony pen with its goldclasps still in his hand. He had a short, pointed grey beard aswell as a mass of grey hair, and his eyes were the eyes of adreamer.

"Mr. Van Deyl," he said, with stiff courtesy, "you announceyourself as an official representative of a certain branch of theUnited States administration; otherwise, as is well known, I donot receive callers. What does the American Government requirefrom me?"

Van Deyl was somewhat taken aback. He met the questionfrankly, however.

"The American Government is not directly concerned in mymission," he acknowledged, "but Mr. Essenheim, my companion, hasa scheme for the purchase of an almost defunct railway whichoperates close to the frontier of a foreign country. For certainreasons it has been decided at Washington that it would be agreat advantage to us to have that railway linereëstablished. Officially we can do nothing, but we areprepared to support, to a certain extent, any private enterprise.Part of our support is my presence here and this explanationwhich I am asked to give you officially."

"And my interest in the matter?" the Prince enquired.

"You are the registered holder of a large number of theshares," Van Deyl explained. "Why you bought them, or how theycame into your possession, no one knows, but they are registeredin your name, and dividends—in the days when there wereany—have been received by you. Mr. Essenheim cannotcomplete any scheme for the reorganisation of the railway withoutacquiring control, and whoever desires control must possess yourshares. He is, therefore, over here with a proposition to you tobuy them."

"Then, the sooner Mr. Essenheim—or whatever hiseuphonious name may be—gets back to where he came from,"the Prince replied, "the better. In these days my life isdedicated to one object. I have a man of affairs who sees aftersuch matters as those to which you have alluded."

"Let us, if you please," Van Deyl begged, "get into touch withhim. We have no wish to trouble you personally. Let us put thematter before him and he can then ask for your instructions.Money is doubtless not of much object to you," the young manadded, "but you will certainly be a great deal better off if youlisten to what Mr. Essenheim has to say."

"The only thing in the world of which I have too much," thePrince replied coldly, "is money. I should refuse to listen toany scheme increasing my income."

Van Deyl was staggered. It was very hard indeed to adoptordinary business methods and modes of persuasion with any oneholding such views.

"Your shares are absolutely valueless," he pointed outdesperately, "under present conditions. They are not quoted onthe Stock Exchange, they are producing no dividends, they willnever be of any value unless the railway is reorganised. Mr.Essenheim is the man to do that and this is the moment."

"My chief inspiration concerning this particular moment," thePrince said gently, "is that it is an opportune one for you totake your leave. Your request is refused. Please do not troubleme again in the matter."

He swung round in his chair. Already his eyes were searchingfor the place in the manuscript where he had broken off.

"Will you at least tell me the name of your man of affairs?"Van Deyl implored.

"Certainly not," was the cool refusal. "I should regard anyfurther move on your part in this matter as an impertinence.Charles," he added, turning to his secretary, "show thisgentleman and his friend out."

Van Deyl made his way back to where Essenheim was waiting andMr. Reuben C. Essenheim had a great deal to say. Nevertheless, itwas perfectly ineffectual. The secretary, though his mannersremained pleasant, with a couple of servants in the background,was an omnipotent force. The two ambassadors were politely, butignominiously, shown off the premises. As they stepped into theircar on the other side of the great iron gates, Mr. Essenheim wasstill talking furiously. A young man who was making someadjustments to his motor bicycle, which was leaning against thewall, watched them with curious eyes as they left.

* * * * *

THE next stage in the proceedings connected withthe inauspicious mission of George Van Deyl and Mr. Reuben C.Essenheim was marked by the following letter from an eminent firmof American lawyers established in Paris. It was addressed to theancient house of Lafardière and Fils of Nice, and ran asfollows:

Dear Sirs,

We understand that you act as agents in theaffairs of the Duc de Sousponnier, resident at the Châteaude Sousponnier, and sometimes known as Prince Maurice of St.Saëns. We are the European representatives of the GrandPrudential Trust, the President of which—Mr. Reuben C.Essenheim—is in this country at the present moment. Actingupon his instructions, we are venturing to approach you withregard to our client's desire to acquire a block of shares,namely, 4390, in the Great Eastern Railway Company of Texas.

We should like to say, for your information,that the railway is at present inoperative. The shares of the parvalue of $100 are unquoted, and no dividend of any sort has beenpaid for the last seven years. These facts can easily beconfirmed. Furthermore, a recent bankers' estimate of the valueof the shares under present conditions was $12½, and weventure to think that at that price there would be few likelypurchasers. Our client, however, who has been exceedinglysuccessful in various reorganisations, has outlined a scheme torebuild and reëstablish the railway under entirely freshauspices. To do so it is necessary for him to own control of theshares. He is a very large holder already, and has bought severalconsiderable blocks at from $12½ to $15 a share. He wishesto acquire the holding of your client, the Duc de Sousponnier,and for that purpose he will be glad to know at what price theDuc would be prepared to sell his holdings for cash. We are notasking you, of course, to accept our word for the fact which wehave stated, but we should be glad if you would make thenecessary enquiries through your bankers, and communicate with usas speedily as possible, as our client is anxious to return tothe States.

Faithfully yours,

Bland & Henshaw.

The reply to this letter was received within a fewdays.

Dear Sirs,

We have received your communication respectingyour client's suggested purchase of the shares in the GreatEastern Railway Company of Texas, held by our client the Duc deSousponnier. We regret, however, to inform you that His Highnessis not disposed to make any offer of the shares in question.

Faithfully yours,

Lafardière & Fils.

On receipt of this letter Van Deyl had hard work to keep hisfriend Mr. Reuben C. Essenheim from precipitating himself intothe sea. For twenty-four hours he shook with fury. At the end ofthat time he was himself again, and in due course another letterfrom Messrs. Bland and Henshaw reached the firm ofLafardière and Fils.

Dear Sirs [it said],

We are in receipt of your letter of the 17th,and regret very much that your client will not state the price atwhich he is prepared to sell his holding in the Great EasternRailway Company of Texas. The acquisition of his shares isfrankly necessary before the reconstruction of the company can beattempted. We cannot believe that your client would deliberatelyblock the development of a great industrial enterprise, and wetrust that you will take an opportunity of explaining the matterfully to him. If the company continues moribund, the shares whichyou hold on your client's behalf will decline in value until theysimply become wastepaper. Not only your client, but many otherstockholders throughout the country will suffer. We areinstructed to offer you in cash, payable at the CréditLyonnais within twenty-four hours of your agreement to sell, thesum of $50 a share for your 4390 shares, amounting to $219,500,or at to-day's rate of exchange Frs. 5,487,500. We may add thatthis offer is one which can never be repeated, and which is atleast five times in excess of the present value of theshares.

Faithfully yours,

Bland & Henshaw.

The reply to this was prompt and brief.

Dear Sirs,

In reply to your offer for our client the Ducde Sousponnier's holding in the Great Eastern Railway Company ofTexas, our client wishes us to state positively that he does notintend to sell such holding at any price, and he desires nofurther communication upon the subject.

Faithfully yours,

Lafardière & Fils.

Mr. Reuben C. Essenheim was a man who had never known a day'sillness in his life, but on receipt of the translation of thisletter he took to his bed for two days and refused to speak toany one. Van Deyl, passing his time rather warily down at thebathing club and in the Casino, came face to face with Joslin onemorning.

"What's become of your little pet?" the latter asked.

Van Deyl indulged in a grimace.

"Sulking," he announced. "He's been so used to having his ownway ever since he became prosperous, that he can't understandlife over here, or the mental outlook of people who do not thinkalong the same lines. For the first time in his career, I think,he is beaten, and it's going hard with him."

"The worst of these little men who don't drink," Joslinobserved, "is that they have no other way of getting rid of theirgall, so they go to bed and very often turn sick."

"I'm the fellow who ought to be sick," Van Deyl remarkedgloomily. "I have given up my holiday to this job, I've had tocart the little bounder around for two months with just myexpenses paid, and I was to have got fifty thousand dollars ifthe thing had come off."

"Tough luck!" Joslin murmured sympathetically. "When are youback to New York?"

"Very soon, I expect. Unless I stay on here, as I think Ishall, and take a short holiday. I know exactly what will happento my charming companion. In another day, or perhaps two, he willget up in the morning with either some new scheme in his mind,all cut and dried, in which probably I sha'n't be interested, orwith his passage booked and reservations made for home."

"Can't think how you came to be mixed up with him," Joslinobserved.

Van Deyl shrugged his shoulders.

"He was wished on me by the Department," he confided. "Costainhimself was very keen upon his success over here, and I fancy hethought I might be helpful. But I've not been a damn' bit of goodto anybody."

"Come and have a swim," Joslin suggested. "A bite of luncheonafterwards, if you like."

"I'm with you," the other acquiesced.

* * * * *

WHEN at last Van Deyl left the raft and swamlazily towards shore with pleasant thoughts of a co*cktail andlunch in front of him, he saw a familiar little figure waiting atthe top of the steps—a small commonplace looking mandressed in expensive clothes, utterly out of touch with hissurroundings—an object of curiosity to every one. Van Deylabandoned the brief sunbath he had proposed for himself andhurried on.

"Glad to see you are better, sir," he remarked. "Had a goodrest?"

Mr. Essenheim's thin lips curled in a peculiar smile.

"I do not rest," he said. "Since the time I saw you last Ihave had forty-seven cables, twenty or thirty local telegrams,the visit of a police Commissaire, a private detective and one ofour own Wilberforce men. I have now made my plans."

Van Deyl stared at him, speechless.

"You take my breath away, sir," he said at last.

"You are not of the type which understands rapid action," Mr.Reuben C. Essenheim declared. "I have no complaint to make ofyou. You did what you were expected to do. It failed. It was notyour fault. Here," he announced, drawing an envelope from hispocket, "you will find dollar bills for all that I owe you, andwhat I consider a fair amount over for expenses."

Van Deyl held the envelope in his salt wet fingers.

"And you," he asked curiously, "what are you going to do?Return to America?"

Mr. Essenheim gravely removed his horn-rimmed spectacles. Heblinked for a moment and looked up at his questioner in blanksurprise.

"Go back to America?" he repeated. "Without the Great Easternshares? Do you imagine that I made my millions, young man, bygiving up things?"

"You have a nerve, sir," Van Deyl acknowledged. "If you getthose shares, I'll take off my hat every time I hear yourname."

Essenheim smiled queerly. He was watching the approach of amotor boat rounding the point.

"There are more roads than one to success," he said. "Aurevoir, Mr. Van Deyl. I am going with my friend Commodore Jasento lunch at his château. I see he has come for me."

The little man in his business suit, so out of place in suchan environment, descended the stone steps with pompousbearing—an object of amazement to every one. He steppedinto a dinghy and was rowed out to the motor boat which washovering round....

Joslin strolled up to Van Deyl and the two men stood together,the sun blazing down unheeded upon their bare heads and theseashine of their bodies.

"So the great Mr. Essenheim is a friend of Commodore Jasen's,"Joslin said curiously.

"First I knew of it," Van Deyl replied.

* * * * *

MR. REUBEN C. ESSENHEIM selected the mostsheltered spot in the motor boat and established himself in itwith some care.

"I am obliged to you, Commodore," he said, "for yourinvitation to lunch, but I only eat once a day and I drinknothing whatever. I have had three biscuits and a glass ofPerrier with a teaspoonful of brandy in it. That will last meuntil evening. I wish to speak to you alone. Here we are alone.What could be better? We talk for ten minutes, afterwards you goback to your château and send me back to my hotel."

"Just as you wish," the Commodore replied, a little shattered."I can make you a co*cktail here if you like."

"I never touch them," Mr. Essenheim protested. "Now,Commodore, I came over to Europe for one reason and with oneintent. I wish to purchase, preferably at my price, otherwise athis, four thousand three hundred and ninety shares in an AmericanRailway from a man who calls himself the Duke of Sousponnier. Heis so greedy about titles that occasionally he is known as thePrince of St. Saëns."

"I know him," the Commodore admitted. "I should never havelooked upon him as a likely owner of American Railway stock."

"He holds those shares," Mr. Essenheim went on, "and hedeclines to part with them. He declines even to see me. I haveapproached him at his château. Our lawyers have approachedhim with what must seem to be a ridiculous offer. We have offeredhim fifty dollars a share for shares that on the market would notfetch twelve dollars. He simply refuses to do business."

"A most unreasonable man," the Commodore murmured. "A man inconstant ill-health, though. Before long you will probably findthose shares upon the market. If his is a French will, as Idaresay you know, every foreign share must be sold."

"Quite so," Mr. Essenheim agreed. "But the questionis—how long will he live? To me the question presentsitself—how long should a man of such obstinacy be allowedto live?"

Into Commodore Jasen's blue eyes there suddenly flashed alight of apprehension. For many hours he had been wondering whatthis millionaire financier could be wanting with him.

"I am not a man," Essenheim continued, "who accepts failure. Ihave agents everywhere—friends in other worlds who havesometimes been useful to me. I am in touch even with the privatedetective forces and Police Headquarters in my own country. Thewires have been buzzing round the Hôtel du Cap d'Antibeswhile I have been lying in my room. One of the first things Ilearnt, Commodore, was that a portion, at any rate, of the famousLebworthy Gang were supposed to be hovering around theseparts."

Still the Commodore made no remark. He tapped a cigarette uponthe hard seat and lit it.

"The Duke of Sousponnier," Mr. Reuben C. Essenheim went on,"has offended me mortally. He refused to receive me. He left mein a waiting room. I have never found, in the course of my life,that it pays to allow men who have offended you to continueunchallenged. He is a sick man, they tell me. Verywell—earlier or later, what does it matter? There is athird point—he stands in the way of a great enterprise.With antediluvian pig-headedness he blocks progress. A man likethat should go."

"You spoke of the Lebworthy Gang," Commodore Jasen ruminated."Have you any real reason to imagine that any of that desperatecrowd are in this locality?"

"Not the slightest," was the emphatic response. "If they werehere, I should never know it, but I have taken out a mentalpolicy upon the life of the Duke of Sousponnier, and it would beworth a hundred thousand dollars to the beneficiary."

"One hundred and fifty thousand dollars, I think," CommodoreJasen murmured.

His companion sighed.

"Say, isn't that rather a tall order?" he asked.

"Not at all," the Commodore assured him. "First of all, itwould be exceedingly difficult to get into touch with any ofthese desperate fellows and secondly, well—we are not inChicago, are we?"

Mr. Reuben C. Essenheim took out a cheque-book from his pocketand very carefully he made out a draft to self for a hundred andfifty thousand dollars and endorsed it. He dated it a weekahead.

"In a week," he observed, as he tore it out and passed it tohis companion, "I shall stop payment of this in Paris, but if byany chance I should be owing that amount to the beneficiary ofthat life insurance—well, the cheque could be cashed at anytime at the Paris branch of the Grand Prudential."

Commodore Jasen thrust it carefully into his waistcoat pocket.His guest pointed to the shore.

"If you can land me," he said, "I should be glad. I havedecided to move to Nice and I have ordered my car for twoo'clock. Bad news travels fast enough through the press,Commodore. I shall not leave you my address."

* * * * *

VAN DEYL was a cheerful and welcome addition toCaroline's luncheon table at the Cap. He made no secret of hisadmiration for Caroline and talked over old times withJoslin.

"Tell me, what has become of your strange little friend?"Caroline enquired.

Van Deyl smiled.

"He really isn't a bad sort. I was sent over from Washingtonto help, if I could, in a scheme of his. I have not been able tomake good and he has given me the sack. Never mind, he did itvery graciously."

Both Caroline and Joslin were interested.

"Is he going home?" the former asked. "Has he really given uphis enterprise here, whatever it may have been?"

"He didn't tell me anything about his plans," Van Deyladmitted. "He simply wished me to understand that I had had mychance and failed and that he was going to carry on alone. Withthat he left me. He embarked on that wonderful fast motor boatwith the nautical-looking gentleman with the white moustache, whoplays around here sometimes."

There was a moment's silence. Caroline shot one swift glanceacross at Joslin and then looked out to sea.

"Commodore Jasen," the latter murmured.

"Yes, that is his name," Van Deyl observed carelessly. "Nice-looking old duffer, but I don't see quite what use he is going tobe to my little friend."

Caroline was her old bewitching self as she leaned across thetable, her chin resting upon her clasped hands.

"It is your own fault, Mr. Van Deyl," she said, "if you havemade us curious. Of course, one knows what you have done duringthe war, and your Washington work, and everything to do withSecret Service is so fascinating, but when you come to connectwith a man like Essenheim—well, it does seem inexplicable,doesn't it?"

"Money," Van Deyl remarked thoughtfully, "is perhaps rather anuninspiring power, but in our country, at any rate, it is amighty one. Essenheim is worth, I should think, forty millions.For that he is, in his own circle, a kind of emperor. He commandshis friends. I am not sure whether he does not command the law. Idon't know," the young man reflected, "that there is anyparticular secret about our mission here—certainly notabout my part in it. Essenheim has a great scheme forreorganising a defunct railway. What's at the bottom of that isthe only secret in the matter, and that I can't tell you. Forcertain reasons, the Government approve warmly of his scheme andwould very much like it carried out. That's why I came over tohelp him."

"And you have failed?" Caroline asked sympathetically.

"We came across a man unlike any I have ever met before," VanDeyl admitted frankly. "He holds four thousand three hundred andninety shares of the Great Eastern of Texas which we want, whichare certainly not worth more than ten dollars a share, if that,and yielding him no dividends. He refused to sell them to-day atfifty dollars!"

"Who on earth is this imbecile?" Caroline asked, trying tokeep the intense curiosity from her tone.

Van Deyl hesitated. After all, was there any secret about thematter? He imagined not.

"A man calling himself the Duc de Sousponnier," he confided,"also the Prince de St. Saëns. He is already enormouslywealthy and he declines to either buy or sell a share of anysort. He is writing a book and appears to think of nothingelse."

Caroline leaned back in her place. The excitement of the lastfew minutes had been a strain on her nerves. She began now to seedaylight.

"What a lucky man you are, Mr. Van Deyl," she murmured, "to bemixed up with such interesting affairs."

He made a grimace.

"Well, I've had to pay for it," he reminded her. "Essenheimisn't every one's choice of a day-by-day companion."

"What do you suppose," she asked indifferently, "Mr.Essenheim's new scheme is?"

Van Deyl shook his head.

"I can't imagine," he said. "The Duke is supposed to be invery bad health, so I advised Essenheim to shelve the wholething. If the Duke were to die, the shares would come on themarket automatically. On the other hand, I don't think he hastaken my advice. He would not have entered into all thiscorrespondence and cabling without some object."

"It seems rather a queer anticlimax, doesn't it," Carolinemused, gazing out seawards, "that after all these exhaustiveefforts, he should spend the morning going out to lunch with aharmless old gentleman like Commodore Jasen?"

"If I were still interested," Van Deyl remarked, as he rosewith the others regretfully to his feet, "I should want to knowsomething more about Commodore Jasen."

* * * * *

CAROLINE, that afternoon, picked her way througha mass of débris and avoided with difficulty beingentangled with a crowd of workpeople, who were dealing with thereconstruction of the Château de St. Véran. Shefound the Marquis, or Armand, as she now occasionally called him,talking to an architect and his foreman. He abandoned themprecipitately, however, and hastened towards her.

"You are so welcome, dear Mees Caroline," he said, as he bentover her hand. "For the renovations you come early. There is muchto be done before we can even commence."

"But you," she asked—"you are feeling someinterest?"

He smiled his assent. He was well and carefully dressed incountry clothes and he seemed once more a young man.

"It has come, that interest," he admitted. "You have awakenedit. I wish now, more than anything in the world, to make my homeonce more like the Château of my fathers. Tell me, there issomething I can do for you perhaps, or you permit that we go insearch of Madame, and insist upon some English tea?"

She laughed at his somewhat anxious glance of enquiry.

"Of course you guess that I have come here for something. Youare quite right. Tell me, who is the Duc de Sousponnier who livesat the marvellous château on the other side of thevalley?"

"Who is he?" the Marquis repeated. "Well, my uncle for onething, a great scholar for another, a very rich man for athird."

"Do you ever see him?"

"Every week. He is passionately absorbed in a book he iswriting—on the Renaissance, I think—but,nevertheless, he always receives any one of the family. I go topay my respects generally on Friday evenings. I always leavefeeling that he has remembered me quite wonderfully in histestament, but up till lately I have wished, oh, so much, that hewould hand out a few hundred francs on account!"

She laughed.

"Well, you are past all that now."

"Thanks to you," he murmured.

"To-day is Friday," she reminded him.

He nodded.

"I shall probably go and see him this evening."

"Will you do something for me?" she begged.

"Why, of course I will. But do you mean with my uncle?"

"Naturally," she replied. "You know how fond I am of meddlingin other people's affairs!"

"Your interference in mine was the most fortunate thing thatever happened," he rejoined.

"Well, then, have confidence in me," she said. "I want to buyfour thousand three hundred and ninety shares which your uncleholds in an American Railway."

"Dear me!" the Marquis murmured. "Are they very goodshares?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I can only tell youthis—that if he were to get a report upon them to-day hewould be told that they were worth about twelve dollars. I wouldlike to give him twenty dollars. If you wish, I will divide anyprofit I make with you cinquante-cinquante!"

"Feefty-feefty," he exclaimed with delight. "Are you serious,Miss Caroline? My uncle is an impossible man with strangers butto us of his family he is sometimes amenable."

"Buy me those shares, Armand," she wheedled, "and I will comeup and help you every other day with your decorations."

"I shall buy them," the Marquis declared. "I shall approach myuncle with talk, but if necessary I shall use force. I will buythem. Have no fear. You will have to find a good deal ofmoney."

"I have a good deal of money," she assured him.

The Marquis glanced at his watch.

"Wait for me a short time here," he begged, "and you shallaccompany me. Alas, I cannot promise that my uncle will receiveyou. I must leave you in the car. But you will have early news ofmy effort, and—Mees Caroline—"

"Well?"

"If I could go feefty-feefty with you—"

"In this matter of the shares?"

"No. In yourself."

The architect blundered in, but that wistful look in her eyes,the faint pressure of her fingers, was something.

* * * * *

AN hour later the Marquis came down the broadpaved way from the entrance to the Château de Sousponnierand passed through the wide-flung gates. Caroline had beenleaning back in the corner of the limousine, but she steppedlightly out at his gesture.

"My uncle," he announced, "would be glad to have the honour ofreceiving you. He is not in one of his best moods, I fear, but heis at least gracious."

"I shall come now?" she asked.

"At once."

They went into the château, escorted by bowing servants,passed without entering the dreary waiting room, which had somuch fretted Reuben Essenheim, and into the very beautifullibrary where the Duke worked. He had left his seat at the deskand was in an easy-chair, from which he rose at once at theirentrance. There was a smell of spring flowers about the place, ofviolets, carnations and early roses, which haunted her for longafterwards. The Duke himself looked old and ill.

"This is the young lady, Uncle," the Marquis announced. "Youpermit, Mees Caroline, that I present my uncle, the Duc deSousponnier—Mees Caroline Loyd."

The Duke raised her fingers to his lips.

"You are the young lady whom, indirectly, my nephew has tothank for the restoration of his family fortunes," heremarked.

"Very indirectly, I am afraid," she replied. "Still, it hasbeen a great pleasure to me. It was wonderful coming across thatold document."

"I myself had heard of it," the Duke admitted. "We should havesearched. But there—we are not a business family. We arerather by way of being fools, Miss Loyd, except sometimes alittle knowledge of art, perhaps, in the old days some skill ofsoldiering. By-the-by, what is this my nephew tells me? You areso much of this modern world—that you, a young lady of yourage, you wish to buy some shares?"

She smiled.

"I do indeed," she told him. "I want to buy them for yoursake, too, as well as mine," she went on. "I think that so longas you hold them, your life will be in danger."

The Duke looked at her curiously. This was a strange thing tohear.

"My life!" he exclaimed. "How is danger to my life connectedwith my holding these shares?"

"Perhaps I should not have gone so far as that," sheexplained. "The only thing is, you see, that there are somepeople who are desperately anxious to have them, who would payalmost any price, and if you refuse to sell—well, nothingbut your death would bring them into the market."

"I see," he remarked. "You believe, then, that some one mightattempt my life?"

"I should not be surprised," she assured him.

He touched a bell.

"Charles," he asked his secretary, who hastened in from theanteroom, "what shares were they that those strange people triedto buy?"

"Four thousand three hundred and ninety Great Eastern Railwayof Texas," the young man replied. "They were bought at fifty.They are now valued at anything between five and fifteen. Thecompany appears to be moribund."

"We have the documents themselves?" the Duke asked. "What isit you call them—share certificates?"

"We have them in our own vault."

"Make up a parcel of them and present them to this younglady," the Duke enjoined, a little wearily. "That will save mybeing bothered about them any more."

"But we have not yet agreed about the price," Carolineprotested, a flash of triumph in her eyes.

"The price?" the Duke repeated. "I do not sell any of mybelongings, even my shares, Mademoiselle. They are yours withgreat pleasure. Keep them, or do what you like with them, as aslight memento of the services you were able to render to mynephew. Are other documents necessary, Charles?"

"The transfer, which I will draw up, is all, Your Highness,"the secretary replied. "They happen to be bearer bonds of an old-fashioned type."

The Duke glanced over at his writing table.

"I shall see you on Sunday as usual, Armand," he said to hisnephew. "Mademoiselle, your visit has been a great pleasure."

He bent over her hand. Before Caroline quite realised what hadhappened, she was in a small room with the secretary, who wasdrawing up some papers and making out a sale sheet of the bonds.He hurried out for a moment to obtain the Duke's signature. Whenhe returned, he handed her the packet.

"But it's impossible," Caroline declared. "I must give anundertaking to pay a certain price for them."

The young man shook his head.

"It would not be wise to insist," he said. "The Duke would beangry and very likely take them back again. Money means nothingto him and he hates all form of barter. You need not hesitate,Mademoiselle," he added. "If it were necessary at any time torealise the Duke's belongings, he would be one of the richest menin France."

"Will you do this for me?" she begged, as they walked acrossthe courtyard together towards the automobile. "I know that thereare some very desperate people in this country, who are soanxious to obtain possession of these shares, or to see them uponthe market, that they might go to any lengths. Watch the Dukeclosely to-night and to-morrow night."

The young man smiled.

"That sounds almost melodramatic," he observed.

"Never mind what it sounds like. Do it, please," sheimplored.

"The young lady is of a sagacity most astounding," the Marquisdeclared. "When she speaks of a thing she has knowledge."

Maurice inclined his head.

"Every precaution shall be taken," he promised, bowing theminto the automobile....

"Well, what do you think of my uncle?" the Marquis asked, asthey drove away.

"You are both utterly and entirely ridiculous," she told him,smiling. "You have lost touch with the world. You are survivals,but you are adorable."

The Marquis leaned towards her. Caroline had laid her handgently upon his and he was very happy.

* * * * *

COMMODORE JASEN was the soul of courtesy, as herose to receive his visitor. He moved a chair for her close tohis own upon the terrace and he knocked out the ashes from thepipe which he had been smoking. Nevertheless, in his placid blueeyes there was a sudden steely light. Commodore Jasen was on hisguard.

"My friend," Caroline began, "few words are best. Besides,there is need for haste. Mr. Reuben C. Essenheim, I have no doubtin the most indirect way possible, has yet placed a certainproposition before you within the last few days."

"Mr. Essenheim?" Commodore Jasen repeated thoughtfully. "Thelittle man who lunched with me."

"Cut it out," Caroline enjoined sternly, with a touch of themanner which she had outlived. "You know I'm not squeamish. Iwould not interfere in any of your schemes to save a man's lifeor his money, but you don't want to run risks for nothing, doyou? Mr. Essenheim wants the shares in the Great Eastern RailwayCompany of Texas brought upon the market. Well, they are on themarket already. They don't belong to the Duc de Sousponnier anylonger; therefore, if by any chance a high-class burglary, withaccessories, were perpetrated to-night or any other night at theChâteau de Sousponnier, it would simply be a washout. Theshares have been transferred to my name and they are in thesafety vault of the Bank in Juan-les-Pins where I have anaccount."

The Commodore was impressed. There were many things for whichhe hated Caroline, and there were a few for which he loved her,but he knew very well that there was no one in the world lesslikely to tell a falsehood.

"Now, Commodore," she went on, "you have not had the best ofluck out here. You are always complaining of me. I tell you I amsick of the ordinary sort of adventure and I am thinking ofbacking out. I shall hate you all my life for what you did toNed, and yet I know that what you did, you did according to thecode. Therefore, I forget it. Stop anything you may have startedagainst the Duke, and I will let you in upon this deal, fifty-fifty."

Commodore Jasen's slowly breaking smile was the pleasantgesture of a great and benevolent man.

"You are yourself again, Caroline," he declared. "Later in theday we will make our plans. It will take me a good many hours tostop what has been started."

"I must know before eight o'clock that it has been stopped,"she insisted, "or I will fill the Château de Sousponnierwith police."

"If I fail to stop it," the Commodore promised her earnestly,"I will be there myself to prevent trouble."

Then there were many hours of strenuous search. The purlieusof Nice and Beausoleil were carefully combed. Furious effortswere made to pick up the trail which had been purposely dropped.It was not until after ten o'clock that success was assured. Afast motor boat came smoothly into the harbour at Nice and threewell-dressed but dangerous-looking young men stepped into awaiting car and were driven to a small hotel close at hand. Theyentered the dimly lit lounge to be confronted by a small group ofmen who had the appearance of commercial travellers. There was amoment of uncertainty, the glitter of dull electric light on dullmetal, as the foremost of the three newcomers took note ofvarious unexpected things. The sound of a familiar voice,however, changed all that. Bottles of wine were brought andemptied. A raid upon the dancing cabarets of Nice was planned. Itwas disappointing, but all the same, a night of gaiety was wellenough in its way. The Château de Sousponnier and itsoccupants remained undisturbed.

* * * * *

MR. REUBEN C. ESSENHEIM left for New York threeweeks later with the missing shares in his despatch box, and hisgreat money-making scheme for the reorganisation of the GreatEastern Railway of Texas already launched. Nevertheless, he hadmet with new experiences and he was far from happy. He had met aman who had refused to do business with him, a woman who was ashard as himself in a deal, and he had been forced to leave behinda million good American dollars, when he had expected to spendfifty thousand. The fact that the little colony at theChâteau d'Antibes were lighter-hearted and happier for hisbrief visit failed entirely to alleviate his gloom, nor would ithave afforded him the slightest satisfaction if he had known thatthe "feefty-feefty" negotiations between Caroline Loyd and theMarquis had advanced a step further on his account.

Caroline and Armand de St. Véran lay side by side uponthe rocks at the Cap d'Antibes. The shine of the sea was upontheir bodies and the exhilaration and joy of it in their hearts.The Marquis was sometimes a little shy when he found himselfalone with this sweet but masterful young woman. To-day he foundcourage.

"Miss Caroline," he said, "you have now so much money, andsoon, when the winter comes, I shall have a home which I dareoffer even to you if you do not want any moreadventures—no?"

She laid her hand upon his. Such small endearments were quitein order at Eden Roc.

"Dear Armand," she said, "I am almost sure. Will you waituntil the summer is past?"

He turned round a little and his eyes watched the sunshine inher hair.

"When I look at you," he murmured, "a day seems too long, butwhen the summer is over, the Château will be finished, so Iwill wait."

VI.—THE SEVEN TAVERNS OFMARSEILLES

Published in Pall Mall Magazine, Aug 1932

"STOP!"

The single word, quivering through the pine-scented air,sounded more like a hysterical command than an appeal. The terrorunderlying it, however, and the sight of the slim, swaying figureat the side of the road were enough for Commodore Jasen. He wasstartled into no amateur indiscretions. To check a car travellingat a hundred kilometres an hour, even along that perfectBrignolles road, is a matter which needs unflurried nerves andgentle manipulation. His foot depressed the foot brake butgradually, his fingers drew the hand brake slowly but smoothlytowards him. The big Hispano rocked slightly, but within fiftymetres she was quivering stationary upon the road. A second ortwo later she was in reverse and crawling backwards.

The girl who had hailed it, in dust-smothered motoringclothes, with a streak of blood on one side of her face,staggered forward from the roadside, and, with her hands claspingthe door of the car, leaned towards its driver. As she lookedinto his face, her pale lips parted and closed again. Her eyesgrew larger—distended pools of shining light into which anew and more poignant horror had crept. For, following swiftlyupon this crash into the darkness—this physicaldébâcle—came the shock of recognition and ofugly memory.... Commodore Jasen was remembering too. An uglybusiness, this remembering! He thrust it back. The affair of themoment pressed. He spoke to her as one wayfarer to another.

"What's wrong. Where's your car?"

She stood on one side and pointed downwards. The tree-borderedroad sloped almost perpendicularly some thirty feet into a fieldof rough grass and bushes. At the bottom something was lying,vast and chaotic in the darkness, a shapeless, impressive bulksomehow whispering of tragedy. Commodore Jasen took from the caseby his side an electric torch, and, leaning over the closed doorof the car, flashed it downwards and around. The wholecatastrophe seemed to leap into being. There was the torn-upfragment of the road, the barked tree, the broken saplings, theoverturned car—a grotesque sight, the nose of its bonnethard up against a splintered pine. On the ground, half hidden bythe coach-work, as though he had sprung out and missed hisfooting, was the sprawling body of a man lying very still.

"He is dead," she whispered, finding speech at last.

"How do you know?" Jasen demanded.

"I felt his heart and his pulse. His neck is broken and hefell on his face. He jumped too late."

"And you?"

"I fell out when we struck the tree. I was on the near side,driving. Afterwards the car crashed down there."

"Is it—who is he?"

"Go and see. Make sure for yourself that he is dead."

With the effort of speech and memory, the blood began to ebbonce more from her cheeks. She was a wild-looking sight in thesemi-darkness, her almost black eyes burning from their blanchedsetting, her hair breaking loose on both sides from under herbéret. Commodore Jasen slipped from his place and liftedher into the vacant seat by his side. He wiped the blood from hercheeks with his handkerchief and just in time he forced thenozzle of his flask of brandy between her lips. The spiritgurgled in her throat. She lay back in her place, her armsclasping the leather case which she had been carrying....

Her rescuer stumbled down the precipitous slope. Behind him,on the hard road above, several cars thundered by, and each time,as he heard their warning hoot, he extinguished his torch. Hereached the scene of the final disaster and bent over the body ofthe dead man. He dropped on one knee by his side and, althoughthe few who knew Commodore Jasen spoke of him as a callous andbrutal person, his touch now was soft and gentle as a woman's. Heturned the body slightly and felt the heart—silent, as herealised at once, for ever. Slowly his torch travelled up anddown. A bulky, ill-shaped man, flashily dressed in light tweeds,with gold wrist watch, a diamond ring and other jewellery. Thenight insects came and burred against the strange point ofintruding light, an owl called weirdly from the lower part of thebrushwood, but Commodore Jasen pursued his task and gratified hiscuriosity without undue haste. He even seemed unperturbed when,after the exercise of a slight effort, he succeeded in turningthe body a little on one side, and caught a glimpse at last ofthe dead man's battered face....

Either Commodore Jasen was not so inured as he imagined tohorrible sights, or the climb back to the main road was probablya little more severe than he had anticipated, for halfway up thebank he paused and, raising his hand to his forehead, found thatunaccustomed sweat was pouring from his forehead down his cheeks.He mopped his face carefully, corrected a slight giddiness whichhad caused him to swerve from the path, and, in the act ofrecovering his equilibrium, kicked some hard substance in theundergrowth. A stone, without a doubt, he fancied. But,nevertheless, it was a night of strange happenings. He flashedhis torch downwards—not on to the dull grey of a fallenflint, but on to the brilliant, highly polished steel of a small,almost a dainty, but at the same time a villainous-lookingrevolver. He stooped and picked it up, turning it over almostmechanically in his fingers, with the air of one well-used tosuch trifles. It was a beautiful weapon and it bore the name of afamous New York maker. He opened the breech and stared. Therewere five cartridges duly in their places and one empty barrel,and from that empty barrel came the faint sour odour of recentlyexploded gunpowder....

"Please!"

It was the girl's cry again from the highroad. Commodore Jasenanswered it firmly and, with the weapon safely bestowed in hiscoat pocket, scrambled up the remainder of the precipitous ledge.The girl, once more a human being, leaned towards him from thecar. The questioning monosyllable broke from her lips.

"Well?"

"He's dead enough," was the grim response. "I should say therenever was a neck more completely broken."

The moon, although it had not yet altogether made itsappearance, was obscured now by only a thin film of misty cloud.The intense darkness had passed, and, in the mysterious light, hecould see her face more clearly. He took note of the anguishedquestioning of her pitiful eyes, but he made no further comment.He took his place by her side and pressed the startingbutton.

"What had I better do?" she asked.

"You seem to have done very well so far without advice," hereplied, and there was something more sinister than thechurlishness of the words themselves lurking underneath his silkytone. She shivered, but his apparent unfriendliness seemed to beno surprise to her. She sat rigidly in her place, whilst theysped on through the darkness of the tree-tunnelled road. Once,though the night was hot, she shook as though with cold, and heturned towards her.

"Would you like a wrap?" he enquired.

She shook her head.

"I want nothing," she said in a low tone. "I should shiver ifI sat before a furnace."

"You have cause to fear," was his calm reply.

They drove on into Brignolles. Commodore Jasen pulled up infront of a garage where he appeared to be known. The managerhurried out to greet him.

"There has been a serious accident," the former confided,"within a few yards of the seventeen-kilometre borne fromhere. You must take a crane and a camion. You will find anoverturned car about twenty feet down in the field, with luggageand a man—quite dead."

The garage man was voluble in his exclamations and questions,but Commodore Jasen cut him short.

"I will go myself to the Gendarmerie," he continued. "All youhave to do is to salvage the car and bring the luggage to thehotel. The police will see about removing the body of theman."

Commodore Jasen drove on to the Gendarmerie. He entered aloneand remained absent for some twenty minutes. As the time passedby, the girl's nervousness returned. At the sound of every motorhorn she turned fearfully around, her still terrified eyesfastened on the approaching car, until it had arrived withinrecognisable distance, in some cases even until it had passed.Her companion, upon his return, watched her for a moment from thepavement. He made no remark, however, as he took his place in thedriving seat.

"They asked—many questions?" she demanded.

"The questions will come afterwards," he told her.

"Afterwards? That doesn't mean that I shall have to stayhere?"

"It certainly does," he assured her, as they glided down thestreet. "The Commissaire insisted upon it and I gave my word thatyou should. There is a good hotel just outside the town. One candine there and that is something."

"How far are we from Marseilles?" she asked.

"About eighty kilometres," he replied.

She gripped his arm.

"Take me back there," she begged.

He turned skilfully in at the wide-open gates of the hotelgardens.

"That is quite impossible," he told her. "I have a friend tomeet here, and, apart from that, I have a few questions to askyou myself."

* * * * *

THE place presented an almost gala appearance.At least a dozen tables upon the lawn were occupied by festivegroups of diners. There was popping of corks and laughter,hurrying waiters, strings of fairy lamps enclosing the garden,and softly shaded electric lights upon every table.

"This is terrible," the girl shuddered, leaning back in herplace. "I cannot bear the sight of all these people."

"Aren't you overdoing that stuff a little?" her companionasked coldly. "I've seen you in Delaney's cellar, tuning amandolin, I think you were, and smoking a cigarette, with threemen stretched out, whom you knew slightly better, I fancy, thanyour late passenger."

The girl made use of a violent French epithet.

"I had drugs then," she muttered. "I wish to the good God Ihad now."

The car drew up before the door. The proprietor hastened outand welcomed his guests with a respectful bow. Commodore Jasen,it appeared, was well known.

"This young lady has been involved in a motor accident," herescort explained. "We may have to remain here for the night, inwhich case we shall require two rooms with baths. In themeantime, we will have that table under the trees fordinner—what you will, but a poulet de maison and abottle of Chambertin '11—in an hour. The young lady, I amsure, would like to mount to her room and be quiet for atime."

"Excellent, Monsieur," the patron murmured, with a bow."The rooms are at your disposal and my wife will look after theyoung lady. The wine I shall decant with my own hands."

"I will send you some of my toilet requisites when I haveparked my car," Commodore Jasen promised, turning to the girl."We will meet in an hour's time."

She turned in silence to follow the landlord upstairs. On thefirst landing she paused and, her fingers gripping thewindowsill, she looked with strained eyes out on to the RouteNationale. Whilst she watched, no car turned in at the gate. Sheremained there, however, without any sign of movement.

"Mademoiselle," her conductor ventured at last.

She started and turned reluctantly away from the window.

"I come," she muttered.

* * * * *

WHEN he descended into the lounge, CommodoreJasen stared at his prospective dinner companion in amazement. Hesaw a slip of a girl, sixteen or seventeen years old she seemedat the most, as thin as a lath, with dead white face, large be-ringed eyes and a short black fringe. She sprang from her chairas he entered and took his arm.

"Even though you are angry with me," she said, "even thoughyou are my enemy, I am glad you have come. I hate to be alone.Can we go into the garden? I have seen your table. It is quitehidden. I want to go there."

They threaded their way amongst the festive company, acrossthe lawn to the retired table which she had found so attractive.A soft wind had blown away the clouds and the moon now rose highin the sky. She drew her chair around so that her back wastowards the entrance. The palms of her hands framed her cheeks,her elbows rested upon the table, her eyes shone into his.

"Dear Master-in-chief of our noble profession," she murmured,"my faith is in you. I have lost my fear. You shall be myprotector."

Commodore Jasen scrutinised the hors d'oeuvres with amildly dissatisfied expression.

"Some of that excellent jambon de Parme which I sawwhen I came in," he told the waiter, "and also thepâté maison. We will take one glass of dryChablis with the fish—the Chablis '21—and theChambertin with the chicken."

The man departed with an appreciative bow. Like all Frenchmaîtres d'hôtel, he admired a client who wasinterested in his food. The girl pouted.

"I was inviting you to become my protector," she complained,"and you occupy yourself with your wine."

"My dear Jenny," he replied in his soft, measured tone, "I amnot sure whether I am a candidate for the post of your protector.You are a very charming young lady and it may be that you havesome claims upon my protection, but you are undisciplined anddisobedient. Is it not so? Besides, you have pulled down thelightnings during the last few hours. Your protector of to-daywill need all his brain and all his courage—"

"You have both," she declared, "and you have the greatadvantage—you have never been found out. You are thepopular Commodore Jasen of the Château d'Antibes, whomevery one knows and every one visits. I am the poor littlegamin of New York and Paris and Marseilles. Still, ourprofession is the same, and it is right that you should protectme. And, after all," she added, with a wicked little gleam in hereyes, "you are not so old, nor am I so young."

Commodore Jasen was very much unmoved. He indulged in a littlebow, however, as he raised his glass to his lips.

"There will be serious matters for our discussion afterdinner," he observed. "In the meantime, I suggest that we abandonall unpleasant thoughts. They interfere with digestion, which,for a person of my age and habits, is an importantconsideration."

Jenny shrugged her shoulders and chatted airily away,sometimes patting her companion's hand, often laughing into hisface. To the scattered little groups of diners the two presentedan amusing problem. The elderly, benevolent-looking gentleman,with the aristocratic white moustache, the sunburned kindly face,and his—what? His niece perhaps. Scarcely hisdaughter—the types were too different. Or was it perhaps atardy excursion of bored respectability into the world offlapperdom? The girl had a wicked grace of her own. More than oneof the diners hoped that the pleasant-looking elderly gentlemanwould take care of himself....

One by one the tables were vacated and the lightsextinguished. In the course of time Commodore Jasen and hiscompanion were the only two diners left. With the passing of on-lookers that benevolent expression and the kindly light in hiseyes faded from the former's face. He seemed like a transformedbeing. With steady fingers he turned out the electric lamp whichwas burning on the table. The moonlight, coming only in patchesthrough the boughs of the tree under which they sat, was now theonly illumination. The faces of the two gleamed white in thesemi-darkness. The girl, lighting a cigarette, laughed at himacross the table. After the choicely cooked dinner, the rare oldwine and the Armagnac brandy she had drunk with her coffee, shehad regained her courage.

"You should regard far more kindly your little Jenny, monvieux," she remonstrated. "Once I was altogether in yourservice. You were different then—in New York, parexemple."

He ignored her protest completely.

"Whilst you were attending to your very effective toilet," heconfided deliberately, "the gendarmes came here."

She withdrew the long cigarette holder from between herlips.

"Why not?" she observed. "It is their business."

"Naturally," he agreed. "They wished, of course, to questionyou. I explained that you were in a very nervous and incoherentstate and begged them to give you an hour or so in which torecover yourself."

"I have nothing to tell them beyond what you know," sheasserted sharply. "Why could you not have told them so and gotrid of them?"

"Unfortunately they wished to hear the story from your ownlips," he said. "They may be here at any moment. Before theycome, I have a word or two to say."

"Say it with words of love, cher maître," shebegged, caressing his hand, and leaning with her slim, subtlebody a little farther across the table.

The flash of her glorious eyes left him unmoved.

"It is the business of men like myself and girls likeyourself, I presume, to watch for fools," he said. "We fulfil thenatural law of the world—the strong prey upon theweak."

"Is it not that you are being long-winded?" she yawned. "Ishould like a glass of water."

"Presently," he replied. "You will probably need it. Talkingabout the weak—you know, I daresay, that Steven Cotes wasone of my men."

"Surprising," she murmured. "I cannot understand how you couldput up for even a month with such a loose-mouthed, boastingimbecile. Even after to-day, even thinking of him as I saw himlast, I can feel no pity for him."

"Let me tell you a story, or perhaps I should say, refreshyour memory, about Steven Cotes," he begged.

She was true to her disposition. She turned upon him like aflash, her lips were quivering, her eyes angry.

"Why trouble? I hate your smooth ways. You are like a cat,sitting there purring, but waiting to pounce on me. I know allabout Steven Cotes. He was the braggart who swore, upon thesteamer coming over to Europe, that he would visit alone theseven taverns of Marseilles—one a night for sevennights—with the whole of his fortune in his pocket,and—what do you say?—get away with it. Well, hevisited six of them all right. After the seventh he got what wascoming to him."

"You are remarkably, quite remarkably well-informed," Jasenadmitted.

"Shut up," the girl enjoined feverishly. "I am well-informedbecause I was there—and you know it."

"You make my task easier," he confided. "You make it almostpleasant. Let me indulge in a brief effort ofreconstruction."

The girl was becoming a bundle of nerves again. She was whiteand shivering. She swung her chair round so as to command a viewof the entrance gates and she herself gave the single waiter leftan order. Her companion shook his head.

"Very unwise to lose control of yourself," he murmured."Remember that the Commissaire of Police will be here before longto question you."

"What is there in that which I should fear?" she exclaimedangrily. "All that I have to confess is that I went to sleepdriving the car. I had too much wine, I suppose. I got more andmore sleepy. I spoke to him. He did not answer. He too wasasleep. I told him that I must stop, that he must drive. Still hedid not answer, and so I drove on, and I found myself rocking inthe seat, and I went to sleep. It was terrible, but it was not acrime."

"No, to go to sleep was not a crime," he acknowledged. "Youhave nothing to fear on that account, of course. Sometimes,however, the police ask strange questions."

"What questions could they ask?" she demanded, with stealthilyinterrogating eyes.

He ignored her for the moment, leaning further back in hischair, and gazing dreamily through the starkly motionless boughsof the tree beneath which they were seated, to the deep bluesky.

"Reconstructions always fascinate me," he confessed. "I cansee the tawdry disorder of that seventh café down thehalf-made street by the canal. Two or three men had been drunkand there had been a fight. I am afraid Steven himself had helpedto make what he called a rough house. A strong man, Steven, andmuch too clever with his fists.... He paid his bill and swaggeredout into the watery twilight. Can't you see him grinning tohimself? He had won his wager. This was the seventh tavern ofMarseilles in which he had spent a night, drank and danced atwill, carrying all the time with him, sewn up in his clothes, aquarter of a million dollars, and two revolvers, neither of whichhe had been called upon to use. He had won his wager. Twentythousand dollars to come to him from the boys! He strode alongthe narrow street, cautious even in that moment of his triumph.He knew perfectly well that he was being followed—it hadhappened nearly every night—but his hand was resting uponhis hip pocket, and the night birds of Marseilles prefer tosettle their little affairs at closer quarters. There would beplenty of time if that slouching figure drew near enough to himfor a spring."

"Who was he—the man who followed?" she demandedbreathlessly.

"One of my legion—a clumsy fellow—but it was hisduty not to let Steven out of his sight. Steven was too cleverfor him, though. Almost a pity he isn't here now with you, isn'tit, Jenny, counting over his fortune?"

She shuddered.

"Will you finish with this ghastliness?" she begged. "It leadsto nowhere that I can see, and I do not find it amusing."

Her companion's eyebrows were slightly raised. Then suddenlyhe abandoned his deprecating air, his tone of faint banter. Hespoke seriously.

"Steven mounted the hill towards the boulevard which, if hehad ever reached it, would have meant safety. As he passed asmall, disreputable café, from which was straggling outthe last of its clients, a girl, very chic, very attractive inappearance, richly dressed, such a girl as he had not seen in hisseven nights' wanderings, emerged from the door. She crossed thepavement, she was in the act of entering a waiting taxicab, whenshe saw Steven within a few yards of her. She swung round, herhand upon her hip, the light of scrutiny in her eyes, perhaps theghost of a smile upon her lips. Steven was a fine fellow, even atthe end of a wild night, and she approved of him. She stood awayfrom the open door of the taxicab and extended her hand towardsits interior in a gesture of invitation.

"'If Monsieur will please to pay for the taxi,' she suggested,'I will drive him to his hotel. For myself, I am short of thelittle money.'"

"Daylight had come, his wager was won, this meeting certainlyhad the appearance of being entirely accidental. Steven raisedhis hat gallantly and followed this extraordinarily attractiveyoung woman. The taxicab drove off. Where to? Who knows? You,without a doubt, but who else? In a sense, I suppose, Steven hadwon his wager, but he will never seek payment."

"See here," she said. "You talk a great deal. Now it is myturn. Steven Cotes made this foolish bet in the smokeroom of thesteamer and in very dangerous company. From the moment he hadmade it, he became the mark of all of us. Steven Cotes was onceyour man, it is true, and you resented it. You were in the hunt.You had a man in Marseilles—"

"I had a man upon that boat," Commodore Jasen interruptedsoftly. "It was he who suggested the bet. I placed him there,because I knew that Steven had never paid up his share of thelast enterprise we had together. He had a little more money thanwas good for him."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"You have told the story very fairly," she admitted, "but witheverything in your favour you failed and I succeeded.Voilà tout!"

"Not quite all," her companion protested, shaking his head."It is true that you succeeded. It may be true that Ifailed—but here I am. What is your proposal?"

Her eyes flashed.

"I have none," she declared. "That is final. You failed. Isucceeded. You must make the best of it."

The Commodore sighed.

"Alas, dear Jenny!" he said almost tenderly. "You misapprehendthe situation. In a few minutes at the most the Commissaire willbe here. You will be questioned again about the accident."

"What does it matter?" she demanded. "Again I say that it isno crime to fall asleep."

Then the Commodore thrust his hand into his trousers pocket,and, with great deliberation, produced that small, that elegant,but very deadly-looking revolver.

"Five chambers loaded, you see," he remarked, "and one empty.The bullet from that one is somewhere in Steven Cotes' head."

"Where did you find that?" she gasped.

"In the long grass amongst the bushes, about twenty yards fromthe car. An inadequate hiding place, my dear young lady."

In the dim light she seemed to have lost all her beauty. Herpale face was drawn and twisted as though with pain. Only hereyes, contracted though they were, still glowed, and in thoseeyes was the barely concealed light of murder.

"What made you notice?" she asked in a low tone. "I thought,after that awful fall—"

"I know," he interrupted quickly. "It was the singeing of hisbeard made me look. Then I found the small hole."

"Don't!" she stopped him.

There was a brief silence. For a moment all life seemed tohave gone out of her.

"What is it that you propose?" she asked at length.

Commodore Jasen lit another cigar with great care andreflected for several moments.

"In that shabby little despatch case," he remarked at last,waving his hand towards it, "which you are very wise not to letout of your sight, you have fifty notes of five thousand dollarseach."

"But no," she interrupted sharply. "Steven changed one atMarseilles."

"Forty-nine then," he conceded. "I think it would be agraceful act on my part to accept forty-eight and to leave youfive thousand dollars as a memento of this interestingadventure."

For an instant she seemed about to spring upon him, her fistsclenched, her bosom heaving. With a great effort she restrainedherself.

"I will consent to an equal partition," she announced.

He smiled in pitying fashion. The lights of a rapidly drivencar flashed along the avenue and drew up in front of the hotelwith a grinding of brakes and a rain of small pebbles against themudguard. Its single occupant descended and came rapidly acrossthe lawn.

"It is the Commissaire," Jasen said quietly. "Ten thousand foryou—otherwise the truth."

She passed the shabby despatch case to him underneath thetable.

* * * * *

THE newcomer, a tall, spare man in a black suitand a bowler hat, came hurriedly to the table.

"Pardon—it is the young lady who was concerned in thecatastrophe on the Route Nationale? I introduce myself—I amthe Commissaire of Police of Brignolles."

"We have been expecting you, Monsieur le Commissaire,"Commodore Jasen replied. "This is the young lady of whom you arein search. She is more composed now and will be able to furnishyou with an account of the accident."

"A little later," was the breathless reply. "For the momenttime presses. I come in great haste. The man whom we believed tobe dead was in a critical state, and is without a doubt dying,but he has unexpectedly recovered consciousness."

"What?" the Commodore gasped. "Alive?"

"You are telling us that he is alive?" the girl screamed.

"A life that hangs upon a thread," the other explained. "He isabout to make a statement, but he asks always for his despatchcase. Ah, forgive me—"

He stopped and picked up the brown wallet leaning against theCommodore's chair, turned it over and tucked it under hisarm.

"The doctor fancied that it might quieten him to see it," hecontinued, "although he certainly will not be able to examine itscontents. My opinion is that he is dead by now, in which event Iwill bring the case back, when I come to hear Mademoiselle'sstory. I will promise not to detain you for longer than half anhour, but Monsieur and Mademoiselle will be so good as to awaitmy return?"

They murmured acquiescence. The Commissaire saluted stifflyand hurried off to his waiting car. For once in his life,Commodore Jasen appeared to be overcome with surprise. The girlwas paralysed with fear. Steven Cotes alive! Even at that momenthe might be accusing her of murder.

"I have heard of miracles and I have seen strange things inthe hospital," the Commodore said at last, "but never have Iheard of a man in Steven Cotes' condition coming back tolife!"

The girl was speechless. Her mind had wandered back throughthe hours. She saw the flying milestones whilst she sat by hisside, her concealed hand grasping the butt of her deadly littleweapon. Under the beard where no one would see! That was theplace. She remembered the very second when she had finally foundher courage. Even then she would have drawn back, as she had doneseveral times before, but this time she would have been too late.He had caught some faint apprehension of her sinister movement.His head was turning, his foot slackening upon the accelerator.He had time to grunt—a hideous sound it was—as hefelt the cold steel upon his throat. Then she had pulled thetrigger.... Ugh!—A statement! Perhaps it was made by thistime. She began to shiver violently.

Her companion had summoned a waiter and was paying his bill.He tipped the man generously and enlarged upon the excellence ofthe dinner. Smiles and compliments were exchanged, for CommodoreJasen was well known as a generous, although infrequent, visitor.The man took reluctant leave and Jasen felt the girl's icyfingers gripping his wrist. Her panic-stricken eyes pleaded withhis.

"Take me away," she begged. "Take me to Marseilles. I can hidethere."

Commodore Jasen sighed drearily as he rose to his feet.

"Forty-seven grands gone west," he lamented. "If only youwomen would leave off trying to do men's jobs!"

"Take me away," she implored, clinging to his arm. "It must beto Marseilles. I am safe there from all the police in France. Ishall live there like a sewer rat, but they will never findme."

"Very well," he assented. "I will do my best for you, Jenny.Wait here while I fetch the car."

He took a single step towards the avenue and stopped short onthe edge of the grass. It was partly Jenny's stifled cry of agonywhich brought him to a standstill, partly the sight of the carturning in at the avenue, the lights flashing upon the uniformsof the two gendarmes behind. He turned and caught Jenny by thearm.

"Pull yourself together," he enjoyed sternly. "Remember, anyone living our life must be prepared to face a crisis like thisnow and then. I will be responsible for the pistol. From what Iremember of the man's condition, they will never be able to swearto that pistol shot."

The girl nodded. In the presence of real danger she was adifferent person. They moved forward, entered the hotel andawaited their visitors in the lounge. One only of the three menwho had been in the car presented himself. The gendarmes remainedoutside.

"Mademoiselle and Monsieur," the former began gravely, "I mustbeg for a few minutes of your time over this very serious andimportant affair."

"Mademoiselle is only too anxious to offer you all theinformation possible," Commodore Jasen assured him. "I myselfhave little to tell you, for I did not arrive upon the sceneuntil after the accident. First of all, though, relieve ourminds—the condition of the unfortunate man? There is stillhope perhaps?"

The newcomer was apparently puzzled. His stiff figure wasdrawn upright, his black eyes flashed enquiringly from one to theother.

"I regret, Monsieur," he said. "I fail to understand. Hope ofwhat?"

"That the man may live," Commodore Jasen explained.

"The man who was in the motor accident?"

"But naturally."

The other shook his head gravely.

"The man was dead when we found him," he pronounced. "His neckwas broken and he was suffering from terrible wounds in the head.I do not understand how Monsieur or Mademoiselle could haveentertained any hopes of his recovery."

The girl seemed quicker of understanding than her companion.Already she was pacing the room with the fury of a caged tiger.The Commodore appeared to be groping his way towards thetruth.

"You are, I presume, the doctor?" he ventured. "Why do youcome instead of the Commissaire?"

The little man stared at the speaker.

"I," he announced, "am the Commissaire of Police of thisdistrict."

Then Commodore Jasen too had the air of one upon whom anunpleasant truth is slowly dawning.

"Barely a quarter of an hour ago," he confided, "a man arrivedhere in a motor car, assuring us that he was the Commissaire ofthe district. He took from Mademoiselle a despatch box belongingto the unfortunate man who, he declared, was still alive andwished to make a statement."

The Commissaire touched his short moustache with a scornfulgesture.

"Monsieur has been deceived," he said. "I am the onlyCommissaire of Police in Brignolles, and the man who met with themotor accident was as dead as Julius Caesar when my gendarmefound him. And since, Monsieur," he continued, "dead men do notmake statements, it follows that your visitor was a liar."

"And we," Commodore Jasen groaned, "are simpletons."

"That is as it may be," the little man observed. "In themeantime, as a matter of form, I will ask Mademoiselle a fewquestions concerning the accident. The affair is so simple that Ishall not detain her long."

* * * * *

IT was a very depressed Jenny who parted fromCommodore Jasen the next morning outside the door of theSplendide Hôtel at Marseilles. The latter, however, enteredthe place with all his accustomed briskness and good humour. Hewas warmly welcomed by the concierge and shook hands with thereception clerk. He was obviously well known and liked—aclient who, on his not infrequent visits, chose the mostexpensive rooms and tipped well and graciously. In reply to hisenquiry he was conducted at once to a salon on the first floor.Its single occupant—a tall, well-dressed young man of sparefigure—rose to his feet at once. Commodore Jasen greetedhim cheerfully and made sure about the door.

"All serene?" he enquired, without overmuch interest, for theplans of Commodore Jasen very seldom went wrong.

"Perfectly," the young man, who bore a striking resemblance tothe pseudo-Commissaire of Brignolles, announced. "The money ishere. The bag and the rest of its contents are destroyed."

Commodore Jasen counted the money, selected two notes of fivethousand dollars each, pushed them across the table to hiscompanion and pocketed the rest.

"We will drink a bottle of wine together, George," he said."Afterwards, I shall ask you to have the goodness to see thatthose two notes are handed to Mademoiselle Jenny with mycompliments."

VII.—COMMODORE JASENWATCHES HIS STEP

Published in Pall Mall Magazine, Sep 1932

A PAGE BOY in resplendent livery paused beforeCommodore Jasen of the Château d'Antibes, who wasentertaining a couple of promising acquaintances in the newreception room of the Hôtel de Paris.

"One demands Monsieur le Commodore upon the telephone," heannounced.

Jasen rose unwillingly to his feet.

"What name?" he enquired.

"Madame gave no name," the boy replied. "The call, shedeclared, was urgent."

"Where was it from?" was the impatient query.

"L'Hôtel du Cap d'Antibes."

The Commodore hesitated no longer, but excused himself to hisfriends and was shepherded to the box just outside the door. Hepicked up the receiver and announced himself.

"Commodore Jasen speaking," he said. "Who is it, please?"

"Caroline Loyd," was the prompt reply. "Can you hear me?"

The change in the Commodore's tone was amazing. All hisindifference and irritability seemed to have faded away. He spokewith the utmost empressem*nt.

"My dear Caroline," he exclaimed, "what a pleasure! I heardthat you were in Paris."

"Listen," the voice at the other end replied. "I wish to seeyou, and they told me at the Château that you were at MonteCarlo. I am coming in to a special performance at the Opera Houseto-night and I will be in the lounge of the hotel at a quarterpast seven. It must be at that time because I dine early with afriend."

There was a bitter look for a moment in Jasen's face but noreflection of it in his suave and eager tone.

"I shall be there," he agreed....

Commodore Jasen returned to the task of cementing hisacquaintance with two swarthy-faced, glossy-haired Argentines ofreputed wealth but with undue gambling propensities. They hadmade very few friends in the Principality, and had been somewhatflattered by the attentions of this American millionaire ofbenevolent appearance, who was evidently a well-known and highlyrespected personage. They hailed his return with acclamation, andthe senior of the two—Señor José deSantador—played their trump card in the game of achievingpopularity. He indicated a very attractive young woman of thedistinctly Spanish type who had just joined them, a young womanof very elegant appearance with her tightly fitting black dress,her ivory white skin, her dark expressive eyes and judiciouslybecarmined lips, which were already smiling at the newcomer.

"You permit that I present you to my sister?" he begged. "TheCommodore Jasen—Miss Juanita de Santador."

Commodore Jasen, who, when it did not interfere with the moreserious things of life, was a fine and critical judge of theother sex, bowed over the girl's fingers, returned smile forsmile, and decided that, should his acquaintance with these twoyoung men develop in the matters of which they had spoken, thewhole business would be a great deal more agreeable for MissJuanita's association with it. A dangerous trio, the acute andsuspicious man of the world might have remarked of José deSantador, Rodriguez de Santador and their beautiful sister. ButCommodore Jasen himself was no lambkin.

"You will do us the great pleasure of joining us?" the latterbegged, Juanita's hand still in his.

The invitation was cordially and gracefully accepted.

* * * * *

AT a quarter past seven precisely, CarolineLoyd, looking very beautiful indeed, followed by her devotedfriend, the Marquis de St. Véran, descended from a car andpassed through the entrance doors of the Hôtel de Parisinto the spacious and handsome lounge. Commodore Jasen, who hadbeen awaiting the arrival of the former, rose at once to hisfeet, a trim and agreeable figure in his well-cut dinner clothes.His black silk tie was a trifle larger than the fashion of themoment decreed, but admirably arranged and impressive. His blackopal studs and links, his general air of benign good-naturecompleted a most attractive tout ensemble. To the casualobserver, his smile, as he raised the girl's hand to his lips,was gentle and gracious. The girl, however, knew him well, andshe had seen with a pang of dread the swift, rapidly veiled gleamof anger in his eyes as he had recognised her companion. It wasgone in a second. Nothing could have been more courteous andfriendly than his greetings.

"Delighted to see the Marquis," he said cordially. "One hearsamazing things of the progress they are making with thereconstruction of your château."

"My architect is a marvel," the other replied graciously. "Itrust that some day you will accompany Miss Loyd on a tour ofinspection."

"It would give me a great pleasure," the Commodoredeclared.

"If Mademoiselle permits," the Marquis suggested, "I will,whilst she exchanges a few words with you, occupy myself inordering dinner. It is a somewhat barbarous hour to dine, butwith music before us one forgives."

"A very light dinner, please," Caroline begged.

He smiled.

"Mademoiselle shall be obeyed."

He left them, with a courteous little gesture of farewell, tomeet the maîtres d'hôtel who were alreadyhovering in the background. Caroline looked after him with asmile at the corner of her lips and a faint sense of personalpride in his complete reëstablishment. Commodore Jasen alsolooked after him, but with eyes of hate.

"The Marquis is a very changed man," the latter observedquietly.

"Who would not be?" she agreed. "I did not bring you here,however, to discuss his affairs."

"You have a proposition?" he asked eagerly.

"Certainly not," she replied. "To be frank, I doubt whether Ishall ever have another or the will to listen to one. I am notambitious for great wealth and I think that the love ofadventure, as I used to understand adventure, is leaving me."

"Then to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I asked you to meet me here in order to warn you," sheconfided.

He raised his eyebrows.

"That sounds mysterious," he observed.

"Please do not be sarcastic," she begged. "I know that you areas clever as Satan, but there's one thing that I don't think youdo know."

"Well?"

"I do not think you know that Lavalon, the French detective,who became so famous last year and is now head of his service,and Brant, the New York man who nearly got poor Jim, are at thepresent moment in the bar of this hotel."

The face of Commodore Jasen became like the face of a sphinx.No one could have told whether it was fear or indifference whichhad chilled the blood in his cheeks. It would have been hardindeed for any one to guess whether his companion's disclosurewas news to him.

"How do you know this?" he demanded.

She smiled. It was one of those small moments of triumph whichnowadays meant nothing to her.

"There are times," she observed, "when my secret service isbetter than yours. It was Dick Ferber, the last of my staffexcept Ralph, who had word from Marseilles. He is in Italy bythis time. He was up against Brant in that Springfield bankaffair, and Brant knows him."

"Why are you so certain that they are in the bar at thepresent moment?"

"I saw them as we passed by. The windows were all open. Ofcourse, I should not have noticed them had I not known they werein Monte Carlo. Now let me tell you the rest. There are someArgentines here—two men and a girl. Brant and Lavalon areinterested in them."

Commodore Jasen leant towards his companion. There was a lightin his eyes which might almost have been described as dreamy. Hismanner, if not exactly paternal, might well have been describedas avuncular.

"You are a young woman of brains, Caroline," he said. "Youhave sometimes soared up above the possibilities of dull greymatter—you have displayed inspiration. You have set me apuzzling problem. What do you make of it yourself?"

"I have not even attempted to study it," she confessed. "I amsimply passing on to you facts which have become known tome."

"I have already clicked with the Argentines," Jasen meditated,"but up till now I am uncertain whether they are useful fish formy net, or whether they are fancying that a genial—andpossibly susceptible—American millionaire has not been sentby Providence to enlarge their own banking account."

"The girl is attractive?" Caroline asked.

"I only met her this afternoon," Jasen confided, "but I shouldsay amazingly so."

"That," Caroline suggested, with a glance towards therestaurant, "should make the situation more intriguing foryou."

"The personal side of it is scarcely worth considering,"Commodore Jasen pronounced. "Not, at any rate, until one has theaffair focussed. In the background we have the more sinisterfigures of Lavalon and Brant. Who are they after? Do theyrealise, I wonder, that they are at last almost in touch with themost famous criminal who has never yet entered the dock orcrossed the threshold of a prison? If they do, the Argentinesmight well be their decoy. On the other hand, the Argentinesmight be well worth looking after for their own sakes. It is apretty problem."

Caroline, conscious of her escort waiting patiently in thebackground, rose to her feet.

"I have set the pieces," she said, with a nod of farewell. "Itis you who must play the game."

* * * * *

SO Commodore Jasen sat down at the board and avery perplexing affair he found it. He invited Mr. José deSantador, Mr. Rodriguez de Santador and Miss Juanita, theirsister, to dinner, but at their earnest protest he yielded thepoint and allowed himself to become their guest. Joséproved that he knew how to order food and wine, and the wholetrio displayed the decorum and excellent manners of well-bredpeople. Juanita, who had, it appeared, been educated at a world-famous English boarding school, attracted a great deal of notice,not only on account of her beauty but because of the perfectionof her clothes and the splendour of her jewels. All through theservice of the meal she was gay, and with her guest—to whomshe devoted herself—discreetly flirtatious. The latternoticed, however, that the conversation very seldom concerned theintimate life of his hosts or their recent doings. Only onceJosé volunteered information of any practical interestconcerning themselves. He informed their guest that, havinglittle confidence in the immediate future of their country, theyhad realised their property, so far as possible, and wereproposing to settle down in Europe. Their present predilectionsleaned towards the Riviera. Juanita alone had elected forEngland.

"And why England?" Commodore Jasen enquired.

She leant towards him and lowered her tone.

"Because there are no casinos there," she whispered.

"You are not fond of gambling then?"

She shook her head wearily.

"I hate it. It is my brothers for whom I fear. At home, evenwhen the opportunity has come, I have never seen them play. Hereit is like madness. We are rich—but I am afraid. You willtalk to them perhaps? You almost live out here and you must knowhow hopeless a business it is. Will you do that for me, my kindfriend?"

"Do you think that I know them well enough?" he asked, atrifle dubiously.

"But we are not going away. You will see much of us, I hope.We shall become, shall we not, great friends?"

He sighed.

"I hope so," he acknowledged. "But I wonder whether it wouldbe wise. I am very susceptible—for an elderlyperson—Miss Juanita."

She openly patted his hand. He was conscious of the furtivetouch of her knee under the table. The message conveyed to him byher eyes the most modest of men could not have misconstrued.

"Tant mieux," she murmured. "I hope that you are assusceptible as I would wish you to be...."

Yet she had her restraints. He took her from the Casino, whereshe pronounced herself bored and unhappy, to a supper restaurantwhere one danced, and her single caress vouchsafed on the way wasmore tender than alluring. Her whispered speech too, after theyhad taken their places and before they began to dance,was—considering its recipient—almost pathetic.

"I am glad you live here. I hope that you will go on beingkind to me. You are so human."

The saxophone, or some other instrument of devilish import,wandered off in search of a new discord, and the result mighthave been the chuckle which nearly escaped Commodore Jasen'slips.

* * * * *

IT was one o'clock before the Santador brothersarrived. They brought with them a young compatriot, anacquaintance, with whom Juanita danced tangoes without pausing,until José recalled her to the table. He whispered in herear and she shrugged her shoulders.

"Commodore Jasen does not dance the tango," she said, with anote of anger in her tone.

"This is a waltz," her brother reminded her coldly. "It wasour new friend who brought you here. You should stay withhim."

She dismissed her partner and resumed her intimateconversation with the Commodore.

"The tango is like madness to us," she whispered. "I dance iteven with professionals and forget. As for the youngman—José's friend—I would not cross the roadto pick up his heart, yet you could ask me nothing that I couldrefuse. My friend—you are my friend?"

"I hope so."

"I become desperate. This place is a hell. Again they havelost. And I—I who do not even amuse myself—it is mymoney too which disappears. Soon they will tell me, I suppose,that I must be a typist, or a danseuse, or walk the streets, forthe money they have squandered."

"They seem to have the worst of luck," Jasen reflected. "Butwhy have you not your own money under your own control?"

"Over here we were going to make a trust, if that is what youcall it," she explained. "We were going to realise everything wehave and divide it into three portions. An avocat was toarrive from Paris. When he comes there will be nothing left."

Commodore Jasen murmured a few puzzled words of sympathy andpresently called for the bill. Juanita insisted on driving in hiscar to the hotel. When they arrived there and she slipped out ofhis arms, he wished them all good night.

"But you stay here?" José exclaimed, in muchsurprise.

"You don't leave us!" Juanita cried, seizing his arm.

The Commodore explained that he lived at Antibes and was onlyover for the evening. The disappointment upon their faces wasflattering but, to a man of Jasen's somewhat suspicious nature, alittle suggestive.

"Perhaps," he proposed, "I could induce you all to come overto-morrow and spend the week-end with me. I have rather a famouscountry place on the shore. If you care about bathing and thatsort of thing, I can give you as much as you want all day."

Juanita's thanks were expressed in a very torrent ofgratitude. The two young men were polite, but they glanced acrossat the Casino and hesitated—a fact which puzzled theirwould-be host very much.

"It is very kind," José said doubtfully. "The troublewith us is that we feel that there is a great deal of our moneyover there waiting to come back to us."

Juanita was furious. She stamped her shapely foot upon thepavement.

"Very well," she cried. "I accept Commodore Jasen'sinvitation. I shall go in any case. You, my brothers, can pleaseyourselves. I only beg that you leave me a little of my ownmoney."

José pulled himself together. He rebuked Juanitasternly and turned to their proposed host.

"Do not take my sister too seriously, I beg of you," he said."Naturally, if she wishes to go, we accompany her. We accept yourinvitation with pleasure, sir."

Juanita bade him a rapturous good night, and Commodore Jasen,although he was a very inhuman man, was conscious of a notunpleasant tingling of the senses as he stepped back into hisautomobile. The sensation lasted, however, only for a matter ofseconds. Even before his chauffeur had had time to press thestarting button, he found himself intrigued by a somewhatsingular coincidence. Lavalon, the French detective, was leaningout of the bar window, apparently watching the people coming outfrom the Casino, but obviously listening to every word which hadpassed between Commodore Jasen and his new friends.

The car glided off, swung presently to the right and climbedwith effortless ease into the Middle Corniche. Its occupant lit acigar and, leaning back amongst the cushions, set himself tostudy the problem presented by the extreme friendliness of theArgentines, the presence in Monte Carlo of the two famousdetectives, and Caroline Loyd's warning. He askedhimself—

First—were his Argentine friends swindlers and Juanitaan adventuress, and he their hoped-for prey, or were they merelyjust what they seemed to be—a trio of rich youngpeople—the two brothers inveterate gamblers, and anxious tokeep friendly with him, in the hope that with Juanita's influencethey might, if necessary, have some one to borrow money from?

Secondly—were Lavalon and Brant here on theiraccount or his? Though the presence of the American meant thelatter probably, and, although he was full of confidence, he byno means minimised the danger.

Thirdly—was it possible that the Argentines were,consciously or unconsciously, being made use of by the detectivesto induce him to make a faux pas which would bring himunder their jurisdiction? There were subtleties in this theorywhich Jasen was well able to appreciate.

He went over every little incident of the evening, with almostmeticulous care. There were arguments in favour of eachproposition. In the end he reached Antibes with his problemunsolved.

* * * * *

VERY much to their host's surprise, his guestsarrived on the following morning at exactly the agreed-upon hour,namely midday. Juanita was already prepared for bathing.Rodriguez changed and joined them down on the portion of shorewhich belonged to the Château, but José, who wasclumsier of build and stouter than his brother, preferred tocruise round in the motor boat. To all appearance the three ofthem enjoyed a simple and wholesome day—mostly spent in thewater. Afterwards they motored round to Cagnes and Juan, wherecrowds of people of all nationalities were gathered, andCommodore Jasen bespoke his favourite table on the terrace fordinner that night. Throughout the whole of the day not a singleword was spoken, or incident occurred, which was in any waysuspicious. It was not until they sat down to dinner at Juan, andCommodore Jasen discovered Lavalon and Brant at the next tablebut one, that he felt any qualm of uneasiness. Not that heflinched for a single moment. His blue eyes travelled over thetwo men with the usual gleam of benevolent interest, which heapparently displayed in all his fellow creatures. In his heart hewas not afraid. Others might make mistakes and leave loose endsfor clever men to pull, but not he. He considered now thepossibility, almost the probability, that they were in theseparts on his account. He felt not the slightest disquietude. Letthem suspect what they liked. He was a murderer? Yes. A greatrobber? Certainly. But what living man could raise his voice andtestify against him? Not one. There never would be one. That wasthe advantage of being a killer. He tested Juanita suddenly.

"Is not that Lavalon, the great French detective, sitting overthere?" he asked.

Her eyes flashed, but it was with genuine interest. She leanttowards him.

"Where? Do show me. I have never seen a real detective."

Commodore Jasen pointed out the man with discretion. Juanitapassed the information to her brothers, who accepted it withcuriosity, but certainly no signs of fore-knowledge or fear. Therencontre at least gave him an opportunity of moving oneof his pieces upon the board. It seemed impossible that there wasany connection between his guests and the two detectives. Themove, which he duly established in his mind, left him morepuzzled than ever.

* * * * *

JUAN was at its best that night. There was nogala and the music was mercifully subdued. A few yards behindthem the sea came falling upon the sand with a soft swirl oftoneless melody, a mysterious element in the darkness which thegaily illuminated restaurant failed to pierce, until the moonslid up from behind the Esterels and left a glittering pathwayacross the bay.

"There is no other place in which to live," Juanita sighed."Oh, my dear host, you are so clever! Find me a potion to curethese brothers of mine of gambling, and another," she added in alower tone, with all the sweetness of her eyes seeking for his,"to make you feel something of what you say, to turn you from acourtier into a lover."

He smiled at her tolerantly.

"Are you trying to turn the head of a respectable elderlygentleman?" he asked.

"I do not feel that you are elderly," she assured him, "and Iwould not wish to feel that you were respectable."

José, who had been whispering with his brother, leanedacross the table and intervened a little abruptly.

"One needs an introduction to play in the Casino here?" heenquired.

His host looked at him in mock severity.

"I thought you were coming out to me for a rest from that sortof thing."

"So we are," the young man agreed. "But one must have a lookat the Casino."

"And I made them promise that they would bring no money withthem," Juanita observed ruefully.

"I suppose they will cash a cheque here," Joséventured. "I kept my promise, anyway. I only brought a fewthousand francs."

Commodore Jasen was not encouraging.

"They are not very accommodating with strangers," heremarked.

"But we are your guests," the younger brother protested. "Thatwill surely be sufficient."

Commodore Jasen gave no sign, but inwardly he was filled witha vast contempt. This was the opportunity for which he had beenwaiting. Very soon he would be able to move another piece acrossthe board. Meanwhile he shook his head gravely.

"You forget," he pointed out, "that, although I am delightedto consider you all—especially your charmingsister—my dear friends, as a matter of fact, fromthe point of view of any third person, we are nothing but casualacquaintances. There is, I should explain, an etiquette in thesematters on the Riviera. I cannot vouch for you anywhere until Iknow something of your means."

José patted his stomach and inclined his headgravely.

"We are rich," he confided.

Commodore Jasen coughed—a perfectly polite butsignificant gesture.

"One requires for these Casinos proof," he challenged.

"Of course," Juanita murmured. "Why not tell the Commodoreeverything? He is our friend," she went on, holding his hand,"whether he wants to be or not."

"I agree," Rodriguez echoed.

José shrugged his shoulders.

"Very good," he assented. "Commodore, you appear to be aperson of influence here—can you arrange for a few minutesthe entrée to a private room?"

"Certainly," his host assented. "As soon as we have finisheddinner, I will take you to the directors' salon. Not that we arelikely to be overheard here," he added, glancing around.

"A private room would be better," José insisted.

* * * * *

COMMODORE JASEN had the shock of his life aboutan hour later when, with the door of the directors' room lockedbehind them, José divested himself of his coat andwaistcoat. Not only was the young man wearing the most ingeniousand wonderful belt it was possible to conceive, but every slotcontained a Brazilian diamond of the purest and most marvellousquality. One after another he produced them, until the table helda little pyramid of flaming stones. Jasen stopped him atlast.

"It is sufficient," he begged earnestly. "Tell me first ofall—where did you have that belt made?"

"It was my father's design," the young man confided. "He wasthe largest diamond merchant in South America. You see, thefastening is secured with a catch. The belt is undone and openedin a moment, but no one can undo it without knowing thesecret."

Commodore Jasen examined the catch and marvelled. He felt theremainder of the slots. They were still packed with diamonds.José thrust his hand into the pocket of his coat andproduced a letter of credit. The original amount indicated wasfifty thousand pounds sterling, and twenty-two thousand only hadbeen drawn.

"You can vouch for us financially now?" he asked, smiling."The diamonds are undervalued at a million pounds, and twenty-eight thousand remain upon the letter of credit."

"With the greatest pleasure," his host assented. "Come with meto the cashier."

On the way there, they passed Lavalon and his companion, andCommodore Jasen smiled.

* * * * *

A QUARTER of an hour to the Château, tenminutes with Jake, a quarter of an hour back again. Even thenJuanita was in despair. She was wandering dejectedly up and downin the gambling rooms, when at last Commodore Jasen foundher.

"The heavens be praised!" he exclaimed, as he linked his armin hers.

"But where have you been?" she cried, half inclined to bepetulant. "I have searched the Casino for you in vain and here Ifind that the men are terrible. Very soon I should have permittedmyself to have been what you call 'picked up' in self-preservation."

Jasen made satisfactory explanations. He had been told she wasdancing: been told that she was at the Boule tables:everywhere he had pursued a false scent: and now—there wasa little dancing garden opposite, with good music and the lightripple of wind in the trees! So they went there and danced, andJuanita was happy because she loved to sip iced drinks from talltumblers, and dance. After all, she was young, and one well-mannered man was as good as another. And how could she tell thatthe particular man who was whispering affectionate things intoher ear was thinking a great deal more about a belt of diamondsthan of her? At three o'clock they visited the Casino. NeitherJosé nor Rodriguez was willing to move. They had lost, asusual, it is true, but a young Englishman had elected to take abank at baccarat, and they fancied their chances against him.They would follow on presently, which was exactly according toplan.

So Commodore Jasen and Juanita went home alone and sat on thebroad terrace, drinking cold squashes, and flirting with more orless discretion, until the sky over Antibes was flecked withpink, till a strange automobile rolled up and two ghastly figuresarrived to tell a terrible story of highway robbery, comparedwith which all their losses at baccarat and chemin de ferwere as a snap of the fingers.

"A million pounds!" José sobbed. "The fortune of all ofus. Commodore, you can vouch for it. You have seen the diamonds.Where is the telephone? How does one arrive at the police?"

Their host calmed them down. The theft was absurd. No onecould get away with such a quantity of diamonds. At night thetelephone was disconnected. They must rest for an hour or two,and when the morning was properly advanced, the police would besent for. Still dazed with the chloroform to which they had beensubjected, they were easily induced to collapse into a coma-likestate of slumber. The Commodore himself took them to their rooms.Afterwards he descended in search of Juanita.

* * * * *

THE inmates of the Château d'Antibes werenot the only people in the neighbourhood who had spent the nightwithout rest. It was nearly seven o'clock when the famous Frenchdetective and his friend, Brant, descended from a closed car atthe Provençal Hôtel and mounted a little wearily totheir rooms.

"Two hours I think we may give ourselves," Lavalonsuggested.

"One hour," the American insisted.

"I have twenty-five men posted round the Château,"Lavalon reminded his colleague.

Brant's face, grey with fatigue, was set like granite.

"You don't quite realise what this is to me, Lavalon," he saidearnestly. "For seven years they have had it against us at PoliceHeadquarters that we have never once come into actual touch withthe head of the Lebworthy Gang. I have built up a case againstJasen of the Château there by suppositions, by guesses, byluck. Gradually it has become cemented into a whole. If we onceget our hands on him, get him back to New York, get him arrestedon one definite charge, the rest will be easy. I cannot run anyrisk. There are others of them in hiding there. I am sure ofthat. I grudge taking my own eyes off the Château for amoment. I shall take a bath and a cup of strong coffee and getover there."

"Just as you like," Lavalon agreed. "I will be with you. I amnot a man to shirk in a business like this."

The two men departed to their rooms. In an hour's time, Brantwas slipping the cartridges into his automatic as they drove backagain along the road to Antibes.

"There will be just one weak point in our evidence," Lavalonremarked, "and that will be to associate Jasen directly with therobbery."

Brant laughed scornfully.

"Dear colleague," he said, "listen. I find you down here withinstructions to enquire into the past of these Argentines. Youfind everything about them satisfactory and that they are justlyin possession of a large quantity of diamonds. Very good. Wemeet. We speak of this and then—the man whom I have beentrailing—Jasen—makes friends with them. He invitesthem to his Château. Why?"

"There is that very attractive young woman," the Frenchmanreflected.

Brant scoffed.

"Sam Lebworthy never looked at a woman unless she could helphim," he said. "Anyhow, here they are together. José deSantador and Jasen go off to a private room at Juan. What for? Iknow. José shows him the diamonds. For Jasen goes straightfrom that room, and instructs the cashier to give these youngArgentines credit for a very large amount, on his guarantee ifnecessary. That is proof that he had satisfied himself. It wasalso a bluff. What does he do then? The Argentines go in to play.Jasen slips out to his car and is driven furiously back to theChâteau. He spends a short time there in earnestconversation with his butler, who, I am convinced, was one of hisgang in America. Back he goes and takes care that the Santadorsmake no movement towards leaving. He brings the girl home andwaits. Your own men saw the car containing the two Argentinesheld up, saw the elder one thrown to the ground, and his beltremoved."

"It will be hard to explain," Lavalon murmured, "why they didnot intervene."

"It should not be," Brant replied. "The robbery was carriedout by myrmidons. It is the arch-criminal we want—the wholeworld wants. We have him now. The diamonds will be found at theChâteau, for there is no chance for any one to leave it.Within a week I shall be on my way back to New York with the mostagreeable travelling companion I have ever had in my life."

"There is no joy in life," Lavalon said fervently, "for one inour profession to compare with an exploit such as this."

* * * * *

COMMODORE JASEN, with Juanita by his side, andJosé and Rodriguez opposite, was seated at the former'swriting table in his study, when Broadman threw open the door andannounced the two visitors of fate. By agreement, it was theFrenchman who opened the proceedings.

"I believe that I am speaking to Commodore Jasen," he said,addressing the latter.

"Quite so," was the unruffled reply.

"My name is Lavalon of the French police," the detectivecontinued. "I believe that you," he went on, bowing to them inturn, "are Monsieur José de Santador, Monsieur Rodriguezde Santador, and Mademoiselle Juanita de Santador?"

They all assented. It seemed to Lavalon himself that there wasa slight lack of enthusiasm in their reception of him.

"I understand," he continued, "that you—MonsieurSantador—have been robbed of a large quantity of diamondson the road between Juan and here last night?"

"Early this morning," José corrected him. "Quitetrue."

"The police here," Commodore Jasen intervened, leaning back,"certainly merit our congratulations. The news has reached themquickly."

"I should like," Lavalon observed, "to have a word with yourbutler, Commodore Jasen, upon this matter."

The latter touched a bell which stood upon his desk.

"With pleasure," he assented.

In due course Broadman made his appearance. It was Lavalon whointerrogated him.

"Your name is Michael Broadman?"

The man seemed surprised.

"That is so," he admitted.

"What were you doing between five and six o'clock thismorning?" Lavalon asked.

"I was out on the road between here and Juan," the butlerreplied coolly.

"What were you doing there?"

"I was carrying out a little commission for my master."

Brant swung round towards Jasen.

"You hear that?" he said. "You admit that your servant wasacting under your instructions?"

"Certainly," Commodore Jasen agreed. "My butler was scarcelylikely to be wandering about the road at that hour of the morningwithout my instructions or permission."

"I suppose you know," Lavalon said, moving nearer to the door,as though to cut off any possibility of Broadman's escape, whilstat the same time Brant edged towards the Commodore—"Isuppose you know that a very serious robbery took place upon thestretch of road you spoke of, at precisely that hour thismorning?"

"Certainly, I know, sir," the butler replied civilly. "I wasthere. In fact, I was the thief."

"No, no, Broadman," the Commodore protested, "scarcely that,my man. You were acting under my instructions."

Brant's eyes flashed.

"You admit that?" he demanded, leaning across the tabletowards the Commodore.

"Of course I admit it," was the prompt reply.

Lavalon moved towards the open window and raised a whistle tohis lips. Commodore Jasen looked over his shoulder. Half a dozengendarmes were climbing the grassy bank which led on to theterrace communicating with the rooms. Commodore Jasen frowned.For the first time, his composure seemed threatened.

"Confound those fellows," he exclaimed. "They're breaking downall my geraniums—and what are they doing here, anyway?"

"You will soon find out," Brant jeered.

"What is all this about?" José de Santador asked. "Ihave been robbed. That is quite true. But I have not invoked theassistance of the police. I have not even telephoned to thepolice station."

"I fancy," Commodore Jasen said calmly, "that these twogentlemen belong more to the detective of fiction than of fact.They do not wait for an appeal. They discover a crime before itis committed. Would you be so kind, Monsieur Lavalon, as toinstruct your gendarmes there to wait upon the terrace? I do notwish their muddy feet upon my Turkey carpet."

"A bluff like this is not going to help you, Lebworthy," Brantsaid fiercely. "You're for it, and the sooner you realise that,the better."

"Lebworthy does not happen to be my name," Commodore Jasenobjected, "nor have I any acquaintance with any one who has aclaim to it. You seem to have blundered in upon this littleaffair on your own initiative. However, there are, no doubt,excuses for you. Perhaps your minds will be more at rest if thediamonds are produced. Juanita, would you mind? You will findthem in that drawer."

She patted the Commodore on the cheek, crossed the room, andreturned with the belt of diamonds. The two detectives stared atit in blank amazement.

"These are the facts," Commodore Jasen went on, leaning backin his chair, the tips of his fingers pressed together. "I metthese young people a short time ago and took some interest inthem. I believe—José and Rodriguez—you willnot be offended if I say that I found you behaving not onlycruelly to your sister but most unwisely in your owninterests."

"It is the truth," José admitted.

"Our two young friends were, in short," the Commodore confidedto the two men, "gambling in very large sums. They would soonhave come to the end of their letter of credit and begun upon thediamonds. I must confess to feeling a great interest in MissJuanita here," he went on, caressing for a moment the hand whichwas stealing round his neck, "and chiefly for her sake, I invitedthem out here with the sole intention of teaching them a lesson.Broadman robbed them of their diamonds on my instigation, andafter they had had a few hours' fright, I have induced them tosign this paper, in consideration of which the diamonds are oncemore in their possession. Let me read you this paper."

Commodore Jasen adjusted his seldom used monocle, and readout.

I, JOSÉ DE SANTADOR, and I, RODRIGUEZ DESANTADOR, hereby pledge my word of honour to Commodore Jasen thatI will not enter a casino or engage in any game of chance untilthe diamonds which are the joint property of ourselves and oursister are realised and the amount distributed between us inthree equal portions. And I further pledge my word that afterthis has been done I will not at any time risk the loss of morethan a thousand pounds in any two months. In consideration ofthese promises Commodore Jasen returns to us the diamonds inquestion.

Signed,
José de Santador
Rodriguez de Santador.

Commodore Jasen laid down the document and, with Juanita's armstill around his neck, looked reproachfully at his twovisitors.

"If you would kindly instruct your gendarmes to keep to thepath when they leave," he begged, "I should be glad. I do notlike my flowers broken down and I do not care to be addressed bya name to which I have no claim. Otherwise, we are much obligedby your visit, and I think my young friends here must appreciateyour watchfulness on their behalf."

José was scarcely grateful.

"Quite unnecessary," he said curtly. "My brother and I areperfectly well able to look after ourselves and ourpossessions."

"And in any case," Juanita added, with a flash in her eyes, asshe looked across at the two detectives, "we would be perfectlysafe anywhere, with a friend like Commodore Jasen."

VIII.—THE GHOSTS OFSUICIDE CORNER

No record of magazine publication in this form found.
Presumably apeared in Pall Mall Magazine in 1932.
Reprinted in The Saint Mystery Magazine, Sep 1959

THE leader of the orchestra, who was a person ofmuch imagination, always declared that the descent upon theCafé de Paris, during the sacred dinner hour, of thatstrange flight of phantom birds, was heralded by portents of anunusual and dramatic nature. First of all, the wind, which, asthough exhausted after a week of mistral, had shaken neither leafnor bough of any tree from dawn till twilight, woke, and, asthough in a hurry, brought a scurry of leaves underneath thetables of the café proper on to the dancing floor of therestaurant, where they lay like dead things until swept away.Afterwards, two of the roosting pigeons of the square, who mightwell have been sentinels of their dozing fellows, flew suddenlydown from their shelter amongst the façades and spuriousornamentation of the Casino front, and drifted solemnly over theheads of the diners, uttering hoarse cries, as though theyscented danger. Waiters paused in their hurrying to and fro, andstood with dishes in their hands, watching the curiously circlingbirds. A wine waiter, who had been serving some pricelessBurgundy, went on pouring it until the wine was trickling in alittle stream across the table-cloth on to the floor. Suddenlythe pigeons disappeared, not with any effort of slow and gracefulflight, but apparently in a wild and panic-stricken swoop. Therewas a disturbed murmur amongst the crowd of diners.

"Never in my life," the manager declared, as he stood with hishands behind his back, gazing across the strip of garden, "have Iseen those pigeons stir after they have once been to roost, tillmorning."

Nevertheless, the incident—although unusual—wouldspeedily have been forgotten, except for what followed. Circlingaround the square, without formation, in ones and twos, flyingwearily and giving the impression of immense fatigue, came aflock of birds strange to Monte Carlo. They were, or seemed to beat some distance, jet-black. They crossed the corner of thegrotesque building, spread out over the small tables where theloungers of the place were taking their coffee, and finallyfloated over the dancing floor of the space allotted to thedinner tables of the outdoor restaurant. For a moment every onewas dazed. Then a woman shrieked, picked up her wrap and ran forthe indoor portion of the building. Meanwhile, the birds, withincredible voracity, lit almost upon the dining tables, grubbedeverywhere about the floor, scavenging, tearing to pieces withtheir yellow beaks everything that seemed like food. Two or threemore women followed the first one, and the whole place seemed onthe verge of a panic, when an old resident, who was beingentertained by a Princess of the neighbourhood, rose in hisplace.

"The birds are harmless," he called out. "They are the hoodedcrows of Corsica."

"Crows are not migratory birds," some one objected.

"Neither are these," was the prompt response. "They wereprobably blown out to sea by the gale and landed upon a smallsteamer. There was one entering the harbour as I came up thehill."

The explanation satisfied the intelligence of every one. Theystarted feeding the birds, and their male kind went in search ofthe deserting women. But it seemed as though intelligence was notthe only one of the sensibilities which needed assuaging. Therewere perhaps sixty or seventy people dining in scattered groupsand, amongst the majority at least, there remained something, ifnot of alarm, of superstitious depression. The birds strutted andhopped here and there, differing very slightly from the ordinaryblack crow of the fields, but carrying with them an atmosphere ofthe unusual. It was as though they diffused everywhere a sense ofuneasiness, against which the mind was powerless to cope.

Commodore Jasen, who was dining alone with Zoë, was oneof the few who regarded the incident with indifference. He pattedher hand when he became aware of her distress.

"My dear girl," he protested, "drink a glass of your wine. Ourfriend over there has given us what, I am convinced, is thecorrect explanation of the arrival of those birds."

A wild-looking young man at the next table was shouting to hiscompanions. He was half in jest and half in earnest, but therewere drops of unusual perspiration on his forehead.

"They came over Suicide Corner," he declared. "Look at theface of that old one there. If you look long enough, you can seeit bent over the roulette tables. I'm off!"

He threw a note upon the table and rushed away without waitingfor his hat or coat. It is hard to tell what might have followed,had the manager not saved the situation. He strode into themiddle of the dancing floor, with the saxophone player on oneside and the drummer on the other. Together the two musiciansbent to their task. With a curious rustling of the wings, asthough they rose lazily and unwillingly, the whole flock flewaway almost within reach of the hands of the crowd over whom theypassed. They made one circle and then flew steadily for theharbour.

"Gone to book their return passage," one humouristsuggested.

"Thank God, they have gone!" Zoë declared fervently.

And there were a good many others who felt the samerelief.

* * * * *

THE evening, after a fashion, wasreëstablished. From most tables a demand went out for morewine. The orchestra started one of their most popular dancetunes. Soon the floor was crowded. Commodore Jasen rose to hisfeet.

"We will dance this," he said to his companion. "Afterwards Ishall be fatigued. I shall then send for our young friend and youwill open up the business upon which we came."

The girl indulged in a characteristic grimace.

"I will do my best," she said, "only I wish that this had nothappened. I am afraid."

"What is there in life to fear?" her companion asked, as theypassed into the throng.

"It is not life of which I was thinking," she answered.

The orchestra played with furious spirit. Never had theyworked so hard. They had almost the air of revivalist musicians,as they sank exhausted over their instruments when the end came,and for a time they were indifferent to the vigorous clapping ofhands. Commodore Jasen led his partner to her seat. He fannedhimself with his handkerchief.

"A trifle too vigorous for me," he observed, as he recoveredhis breath. "Ah, I see one of the young professionals over thereis free."

He beckoned to a pale-faced young man who was seated in adistant corner alone, and who, only a few minutes previously, hadbeen one of the most alarmed of the spectators. Perhaps he hadnot yet fully recovered from the nervous shock, for he rosealmost unwillingly to his feet and crossed the room towards hisprospective clients. He bowed to Zoë and to the Commodore asto strangers and they accepted his greeting in like fashion.

"My niece would like to dance," the Commodore told him. "I ammyself a little fatigued."

Zoë surrendered herself to the young man's automaticgesture. Commodore Jasen lit a cigar and, leaning back in hischair, watched the dancing with benevolent interest. The encorewas not a long one, and on its conclusion the dancer brought hiscompanion back to the table. Commodore Jasen fingered hispocketbook tentatively.

"You will be able to dance again with my niece, I hope," hedemanded.

The young man hesitated.

"I am really engaged for the evening," he explained nervously,"to the lady who has been my patroness for the season. I venturedto dance with Mademoiselle, as she has scarcely commenced herdinner. She is with Princess Ostreville."

"I see," the Commodore murmured. "Nevertheless, I think if youmake an effort—say in half an hour—your patronesswill spare you for a few minutes—just a few minutes for onemore dance," he went on, "and perhaps a glass of wine."

His cold blue eyes were fixed, indifferently enough to allappearance, upon the young man's. The latter had the air of onereceiving sentence of death.

"I will explain to Madame," he said. "In half anhour—yes—I will return."

He bowed and hurried away. Commodore Jasen watched himthoughtfully. There was something furtive about the young man'sprogress. He seemed in a great hurry to return unmolested to hissolitary table in his solitary corner.

"I sometimes ask myself," Commodore Jasen observed, almostunder his breath, "why Michael was ever accepted, even in ourlowest class. In New York he seemed to have plenty of nerve,though. Late hours, I suppose: lack of real employment and thispuppy-dog life have had their effect."

"What do you call lack of real employment for a professionaldancer?" the girl asked him. "There is no one on the Riviera inmore demand than Michael. They say that this Mrs. Hammond has hadto pay high indeed for the right to control his movements."

Commodore Jasen stroked his moustache.

"When I said 'lack of work,'" he explained indulgently, "Imeant work. Nothing to do, that, you know, with theavocation of a professional dancer. By real work I mean somethingentirely different."

"Has Michael ever done any 'real work' for you?" she enquired."He does not seem to me to have the courage."

"He performed one mission in New York quite successfully," hercompanion told her. "He also carried out some very easy enquirywork here with success. At present, I admit, he seems aninefficient sort of person. Different kinds of enterprises,however, demand different qualities."

The girl toyed with a peach for several moments. She had theair of one very far from being at her ease.

"There is something you still wish to say to me?" theCommodore continued presently.

"If I might dare," she admitted. "You are dissatisfied withMichael, I know. So far he has failed in his project, and, as youoften tell us, you have no place for failures. Even bearing thatin mind, I think I would not press him too hard to-night."

"And why not?" was the smoothly asked question.

"Because," the girl confided, "ridiculous as it may seem toyou, that poor young man is in a terrible state of nerves. Isuppose it was seeing us here, and guessing that you have come totalk to him, and then—those birds...."

"Ah," Commodore Jasen murmured. "Those birds!"

"I know that things like that mean nothing to you," she wenton, "but I expect that he lives an altogether unhealthy life. Icould feel his body tremble when he was dancing and, although heseemed all out of condition, his hands were as cold as ice. Youcan force a man into anything, of course, but I am not sure thatanything he attempted to-night would be well done."

The Commodore looked at his companion speculatively.

"You have common sense," he approved. "You speak well enoughfrom your point of view. The trouble is that you do not knowmine. He does, and he knows that when he fails he disappears.Wonderful steadying effect that has upon any sort of a creaturewith a spark of life still there! I ask myself why sometimes,"Jasen went on with the air of one considering an abstrusepoint—"I ask myself why the ordinary human being clings sotenaciously to life. I have never found a satisfactory answer tothe question and I daresay I never shall. But I think that tosave his life, even that young man might get the better of a fitof nerves. You will take some coffee?"

"I will take some coffee," the girl agreed.

Presently Michael received a gracious signal from hispatroness, and a few minutes later he was escorting on to thedancing floor a rather fat, elderly woman with a mass of too fairhair, a wickedly disported Chanel frock and a gorgeous diamondnecklace. Zoë watched her curiously.

"I wonder you don't make him go for the necklace," sheobserved.

"Too obvious, my dear," her companion sighed. "The loss ofsuch a necklace would make even a woman like Mrs. Hammondvituperative. Besides, who else but a gigolo could stealjewellery from a woman like that? They would put him in prisonbefore they began to look for it, and Michael in prison, withfour walls safely around him, would be rather a dangerousproposition."

"He may very well find his way into prison on the presentscheme," the girl reflected.

Commodore Jasen smiled.

"Not if I know anything of Mrs. Hammond," he said.

* * * * *

IN about half-an-hour's time Mrs. Hammond,flushed and happy with dancing, and delighted with her dinnerparty, was in the humour to grant almost any request her cavaliercould make to her. She listened to what he had to say as he heldher chair, glanced across at the Commodore and Zoë, andnodded her consent. The young dancer returned to his table, wherehe helped himself liberally to the contents of a bottle in frontof him, and when the music for the next dance commenced, hecrossed the floor towards the table where Zoë and her escortwere sitting.

"Not too long a dance," the Commodore enjoined, as theyprepared to leave him. "Let us have time for a littleconversation."

The young man shivered slightly and, as many other people haddone that evening, he glanced towards the particular corner overthe café from which those birds had first made theirappearance.

"We will dance the first part only," he promised.

"Dance the second part," Jasen suddenly proposed. "I havefriends here with whom I might talk later. Sit down.Maître d'hôtel, another glass. Good. Now makeyour report."

The dreaded moment had come. Michael had not the least desireto drink, but he swallowed a glass of the wine which had beenpoured out.

"Everything has been done," he announced at last. "I havefollowed instructions carefully. But, Commodore," he went on,leaning over the table, "I do not think—I honestly do notthink that the scheme will work."

"And just why not?" was the cold demand.

"You do not understand Mrs. Hammond, sir," the young mancontinued eagerly. "I know she is fond of me up to a certainpoint. She would have been fond of any young man who danced withher and flattered her and played the rôle I have had tofill. But she has not a great deal of heart, really, and it isnot a personal affection. It is just the getting what she wants.When it comes to my disgrace, or parting with a large sum ofmoney, she will only laugh. She loves her money, sir."

"I have ascertained," the Commodore observed, "that she isworth a million pounds—that is fifty thousand a year. Shemay love her money, Michael, but she loves you a little, too.Yes?"

The world who saw that smile upon Jasen's lips might havethought it a pleasant gesture, but Zoë and the young manseated within a few feet of him knew better.

"Because she is rich," the latter went on, "it does not followthat she is not sometimes terribly mean. If we take a taxi, shewon't let me give the man a reasonable tip. The servants at thehotel hate her. She gives nothing to the croupiers, however muchshe wins. Sometimes I am ashamed to pay the bills at therestaurants and I slip something of my own in with thechange."

"What an unpleasant old lady!" the Commodore sighed. "However,it all fits in with my idea of her psychology. You often find aperson who is mean in small things is a spendthrift in largeones. We are not trying her too high. We shall ask for only halfa million. You should be worth that to her, Michael. You youngmen, unless you have some one of intelligence behind you, neverknow how to make use of your opportunities."

There was something hopeless about Commodore Jasen'stone—a note half of irony and yet with a background ofunshakable determination. Michael recognised it, as many othersin life had done before him.

"I think you are wrong, sir," he said, "but you are themaster."

"The mistakes I have made in life," Jasen said, "have beenvery few. In this case, you need have no fear. I have watchedMrs. Hammond. She is a foolish woman. She may need skilfulhandling, but I have the skill. I think I may say withoutboasting," he wound up, his voice seeming to wander out in littlesilver threads from his partially closed mouth, "that I havenever failed to kill my man when killing has been necessary, andI have never failed to receive all that I asked in any case ofbarter."

The young man rose to his feet. He fingered his tie nervouslyand afterwards held out his arms. Zoë and he floated awayamongst the throng. Commodore Jasen watched the lady whom theyhad been discussing.

"A common enough type out here," he reflected. "Wealthy,without social gifts or position—an easy prey for anyadventurer."

He caught a glimpse of her sideways, as she leaned over tospeak to her hostess, and for the first time he realised the onestrong feature of her face—her jaw. Michael probably earnedhis money, he decided. For the young man's sake he ratherregretted that jaw.

Zoë and her partner returned at the end of the encore.The latter accepted a glass of wine and sat with his back to thedancing floor. Very reluctantly he drew from his pocket twofolded slips of paper and passed them across the table. CommodoreJasen studied them carefully and transferred them with dexterousfingers to his waistcoat pocket.

"Ridiculously easy," he murmured. "Your distressed appearance,my young friend," he went on, glancing at him keenly, "is perhapsso much to the good. Keep it up, but don't overdo it."

"When are you going to see Mrs. Hammond?" Michael askedfearfully.

"To-morrow evening."

"I am supposed to be dining here with her—a quietdinner," Michael volunteered. "I don't suppose she will come. Iam more likely to receive a visit from the gendarmes."

Jasen smiled scornfully.

"There will be no gendarmes," he assured the dancer. "She maybe angry, but you will probably know how to console her. An extraglass or two of champagne, your vows for the future, a littlemore empressem*nt during the dance! There is nothing, I amsure, which I can teach you."

"You taught me something in New York I wish I had neverlearnt," was the bitter rejoinder. "You taught me to bedishonest."

The Commodore shook his head.

"My dear young man," he said, "you needed no lessons. Yourenvironment here, your profession—well, they would neitherof them entitle you to membership of the Y.M.C.A., would they?Now, try and throw away that woebegone air for a time. Rememberthat you have a hundred thousand francs coming to you. My men donot work for nothing, as you know."

Michael rose to his feet. Curiously enough, he, like so manyothers that evening, glanced for the second or third time towardsthat corner of the café round which the flight of birdshad circled.

"Still superstitious?" Jasen asked with faint sarcasm.

The young man shivered.

"I am not the only one who was scared to-night," he answered,as, with a bow to Zoë, he took his leave.

Mrs. Hammond received her visitor on the following eveningaffably and even with enthusiasm. She cut short his openingwords.

"I know all about you, Commodore," she said. "You have thatbeautiful château at Antibes which belongs to LordSomebody-or-other. I have seen you out there, bathing. I haveseen you here too, often," she added, with a slight smile. "Oncewith that beautiful girl from the Cap, who was at the Opera theother night with the Marquis de St. Véran, and lastnight—with a very pretty little lady last night!"

The Commodore smiled.

"When one gets on in years as I, alas, have done," heconfided, "one feels that one must take hold of one'sopportunities. You are a widow, I believe, Mrs. Hammond. When youhave reached my years of—indiscretion, I suppose you wouldsay—you will realise that."

"No one would ever accuse you of not making the best ofthings," she declared. "Do make yourself comfortable in thateasy-chair. The Princess was talking to me a great deal about youlast night. She complains that you do not go to her parties asoften as you used to. What about ringing for a waiter? It isalmost co*cktail time, isn't it?"

"You are very kind," the Commodore replied, "but I think not,if you will excuse me just at present. The fact of it is, Mrs.Hammond," he went on, "I am charmed with this opportunity ofmaking your acquaintance, but I ought to tell you at once that myvisit to you is not altogether on a pleasant subject."

"Hoity-toity!" the lady exclaimed. "What's all this about?What unpleasant subject can there be for us to discuss?"

"At any rate," her caller remarked, with a smile, "if thesubject does turn out to be unpleasant—perhaps itwon't—I may be completely mistaken—we will at leastcontrive to discuss it amiably."

"My dear man," the lady begged, "don't talk in riddles anylonger for the sake of being polite. I know who you are. I amvery pleased to see you here and to add you to my list ofacquaintances. I shall listen to everything you have to say withthe utmost respect, because every one has such a high opinion ofyou. Let's get it over—the unpleasant part at anyrate."

"The unpleasant part," Commodore Jasen admitted, "is connectedwith a young man who goes by the name of Michael, I believe. Hisname is really Michael Brennan. Mikkie he used to be called."

"Michael, my dancer at the Café de Paris!" Mrs. Hammondexclaimed. "The young man who was dancing with me last night andwhom I saw at your table?"

"Precisely."

"What on earth can you have to say disagreeable about him?"she asked, with slightly heightened colour.

"About him personally—nothing," the Commodore replied."I have known him for some years. I knew him in New York. He hasalways struck me as being a very well-behaved and well-brought-upyoung man. I have taken, in fact, quite an interest in him. Idaresay though, even you—although a woman very seldom hearsof these things—have an idea that he has been ratherfoolish lately?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," the lady rejoined."I thought he seemed very queer last night, but he has Irishblood in him and those beastly birds had got on his nerves. Irishpeople are always superstitious, aren't they?"

"He was certainly upset," the Commodore agreed, "but I do notthink it was altogether the birds. I understand that you and hehave been quite friends, Mrs. Hammond. Why not? A very well-brought-up and well-behaved young man. Still, I should havethought that, seeing so much of him, you would have gathered thathe has been in trouble lately."

"I know that he has been hard up," Mrs. Hammond admitted. "Hetold me so. He has had to sell his little car. I don't mindtelling you, Commodore—you are a man of the world and agood sort—I gave him a cheque for fifty thousand francs tobuy a new one.

"It is a good deal to give a dancer, I know," Mrs. Hammondwent on. "But I believe in paying for the things you get in life.A woman in my position cannot go traipsing about into restaurantsand dancing places by herself. I just send for Michael and gowhere I please and when I please. I have been thinking often thatI really don't pay him enough. I ought to give him a salary. If Itook a stuck-up young woman companion, who would not be a bit ofuse to me, I would probably have to give her four or five hundreda year, and that young man—who is jolly useful—I paygenerously, of course, but it is practically only his dancingfees he gets from me."

"I am glad to hear you talk like this, Mrs. Hammond," hervisitor said. "It shows me that I have to do with a sensiblewoman. I am afraid that what I have to say, however, will be ashock to you."

"Well, get on with it and don't talk so much, then," she saidirritably. "Oh, I know you are trying to be very polite and niceand all that, but you are getting me worked up. If Michael's doneanything wrong, I want to hear what it is."

"I am very much afraid," the Commodore told her, "that Michaelhas forged your name to a cheque for a much larger amount thanfifty thousand francs."

"God bless my soul!" she gasped. "You don't mean that?"

"I do indeed," was the grave assent.

Mrs. Hammond, who had been lounging skittishly on the end ofthe sofa with a cigarette in her mouth, collapsed on to a chairand threw the cigarette into an ash tray. Some of her high colourhad faded.

"Forged my name!" she repeated. "Michael! I cannot believe it.How do you come to be concerned in this, Commodore?"

"In this way," the latter explained. "As I told you, I knewthe lad in New York, and I see him here every now and then. I amnot like a great many people with a prejudice againstprofessional dancers. I have always looked upon him as a decentyoung chap and I have had him over to swim and lunch and play afew sets of tennis more than once."

"Very nice of you too," the lady murmured. "I think I know agentleman when I see one and I am not ashamed to take Michaelanywhere."

"Quite right of you," Jasen approved warmly. "Well, when hewas over about a week ago, he showed me this cheque of yours forthe car and asked me if I would kindly cash it."

"Why didn't he take it to the bank himself?" Mrs. Hammonddemanded.

"Simply because," the other explained, "he is a littlesensitive about money affairs, as you know. He banks at the samebank and they know that he is a professional dancer. I do notthink he wanted to pay in a cheque from a client for that amount.He asked me if I would put it through my Paris bank—which Iwas very pleased to do."

"And you gave him the money?"

"And I gave him the money. But naturally that is not thetransaction I have come to see you about."

"There is another cheque, you say? Forged? Tell me aboutthat."

"You must prepare yourself for something of a shock," theCommodore went on. "As I told you, I thought the young man lookedvery depressed last night. This morning, before ten o'clock, hewas over at my place in a taxicab. He looked upon me as theoldest friend he had and he made—up to a certainpoint—a clean breast of it. He has been gambling, Mrs.Hammond. Evenings when you have not been dancing or wanted him,he has gone into Nice and stayed there, playing all night. He hasbeen playing up at Beausoleil here too, and the fact of thematter is that he has lost a great deal of money. He has borrowedfrom every friend he has. The amount he owes me has nothing to dowith the matter and I will not refer to it. I would have let itstand over as long as he had wished, but he is also in the handsof a lawyer money-lender in Nice, who threatens to sue him andsend him to prison unless he pays. The long and short of it isthat he brought me a cheque this morning—a cheque ofyours—for five hundred thousand francs, and asked me tochange it in the same way as I had done the other."

"A cheque of mine for five hundred thousand francs," the ladyrepeated in a stunned tone.

Commodore Jasen opened his pocketbook and produced it. Sheread it over, word by word, and gazed at her own signature asthough stupefied.

"Amazing," she muttered. "I should have sworn that was mywriting. I should never have believed that any one—muchless Michael—could have imitated it like that."

She unlocked a drawer in a cupboard and drew out a chequebook. She looked back through the counterfoils.

"Yes," she admitted. "There was a loose cheque. I remember Itook it with me to Juan-les-Pins the other night, in case I wasshort, and as I did not use it, I put it back in the cheque book.Go on, please."

"I went to my bank at Juan," the Commodore continued, "and Idrew out five hundred thousand francs and gave them to Michael,who was with me. I took him back to lunch at the Châteauand I cross-questioned him closely about your cheque. I cannotsay I have ever had a single suspicion about the boy, but I didnot feel like paying that cheque in, and as I happened to haveplenty of money there, I didn't. As you see, I have kept it,although I have given him the money for it. After lunch, we wenttogether to Nice, and I personally saw him pay off the amounts heowed. Then I brought him on to Monte Carlo, although I did notintend to come in again so soon, and on the way he broke down. Itried to cheer him up, but it could not be done. 'You ought to bethankful,' I told him, 'that you have such a wonderful friend,and that now you owe nobody in the world anything except her.' Ican assure you, Mrs. Hammond, although I am a hard man, I wassorry for him that moment. He burst into tears.

"'Yes,' he confessed, 'Mrs. Hammond has been the best friend Iever had.'

"He even went so far as to tell me that he cared for you morethan any one else in the world; and then he took my breath away.He confessed that he had forged your name to the cheque."

"That cheque which you have in your pocketbook?" shefaltered.

The Commodore nodded.

"I know what you are thinking," he sighed. "I have parted withmy five hundred thousand francs and all I have is this forgedcheque."

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"There is only one thing I can do," he replied. "I am awealthy man in a way, but I cannot possibly afford to lose fivehundred thousand francs. I shall present the cheque in the hopethat he has taken sudden leave of his senses and that you reallydid give it to him. If the bank refuses to pay it, Michael musttake the consequences. I am fond of the lad, but I am not aphilanthropist to that extent."

Mrs. Hammond sat quite quiet for several minutes and,something of a physiognomist as he certainly was, Commodore Jasencould only speculate as to the nature of her thoughts. Presentlyshe looked across at him. Her manner had lost something of itsdecision and her jaw was less prominent.

"You were telling me what he said to you about me," she beganhesitatingly.

"To me that makes the situation even sadder," the Commodorereplied, with a very convincing sigh. "The lad is evidentlyterribly attached to you. He seems to have had no other affairswhatever. Every penny of his money has gone in gambling. There isno doubt whatever about his affection for you."

Mrs. Hammond rose abruptly to her feet.

"I see that you have already changed for dinner, Commodore,"she said. "Will you do me a kindness? Wait here for me half anhour whilst my maid puts my things on, and escort me to theCafé de Paris, where I promised to meet Michael. I willmake up my mind what I shall do before I come down and we can seehim together."

"I will wait for you with pleasure," the Commodorepromised.

* * * * *

AT ten minutes to eight Mrs. Hammond reappeared.She was dressed in black and was followed by a maid, carrying theusual collection of trifles. She dismissed the latter at once andopened her bag.

"Commodore Jasen," she said, "you wish to save Michael, Isuppose?"

"I certainly do, so far as I am concerned," he assuredher.

"Very well, then," she decided. "I have made up my mind toforgive him. If you will hand me over that cheque," she went on,bringing out a great bundle of notes from her case, "I will giveyou three hundred thousand francs in bank notes, and a draft onNew York payable to me, and which I have endorsed, for fivethousand dollars. I shall still owe you a little money, and assoon as you can work out how much it is, I will give you acheque. Is that satisfactory to you?"

"Absolutely," the Commodore assented.

He drew the cheque from his pocketbook and passed it over tohis companion. She occupied herself tearing it into small pieces,whilst the Commodore filled his pockets with the notes.

"Come along," she invited. "We will walk over to theCafé de Paris. The sooner we let Michael know thateverything is well the better."

The Commodore was a graceful and willing cavalier. As theycrossed the square he touched her arm.

"Mrs. Hammond," he said, "I offer you my congratulations. Youhave done a very fine thing in a very fine way. You havecertainly made the young man your slave for ever."

She was a woman in whose face there was seldom any markedexpression, but at that moment it seemed to him that her lipstwitched and there was certainly a very soft light in her eyes.She quickened her pace. Just as they began to pass through thelittle network of tables, however, their way was blocked. Peoplewere all rising to their feet and gazing to the far end of thecafé, exactly as they had peered the night before. Theblack crows of Corsica were once more in evidence. They passedover the heads of Mrs. Hammond and Commodore Jasen, and once morethey found a scattered resting place amongst the tables of theoutdoor restaurant and on the dancing floor. Mrs. Hammondshivered as she heard the fluttering of their wings.

"How I hate those birds!" she exclaimed. "There was oneactually sat for a moment on our table last night and looked atus. I felt as though what that man was saying was thetruth—that they had come from Suicide Corner and were allthe black spirits of the place. What was that?"

"Some one dropped something, I think," the Commodore repliednonchalantly.

His companion quickened her pace. They reached the enclosurebut there was no welcoming maître d'hôtel togreet them. Every one seemed to be crowding round the table whereMichael usually sat. By chance the crowd parted for a moment.They saw the young man sprawling forward, his hands hanginghelplessly by his side, the revolver still smoking two feet awayupon the pavement. On the table in front of him, undisturbed evenby the report, one of the oldest and wickedest-looking of thebirds had alighted, and was perched, with his beak half open, andthe light of all the evil in the world shining out of his angryeyes.

* * * * *

"HE was afraid," the lady sobbed, as CommodoreJasen escorted her back to the hotel half an hour later, "that Ishould never forgive him! If only he had waited!"

"At any rate," her companion reminded her piously, as he felthis pockets, "it would be, I am sure, some consolation to him toknow that his debts are all paid."

IX.—LORD DRATTEN'S LANDDEAL

No record of magazine publication in this form found.
Presumably appeared in Pall Mall Magazine in 1932.

A modified version of this story appeared as
"Give a Man Rope Enough" in Holly Leaves, 26 Nov 1932.

LORD DRATTEN began to lose just a little of hisrobust assurance as his Rolls Royce glided up the ascent fromVillefranche, and the white villas of Beaulieu became visible onthe hillside. It was an enterprise indeed, this to which he wascommitted! Never had he known his companion more charming, neverhad she seemed to him more utterly desirable. That she wasbeautiful he, in common with the rest of the crowd at the Capd'Antibes, had always known. That she had charm, the whole worldrecognised, a charm which even he, a coarse-fibred person, hadfelt from the first moment he had ever spoken to her. But thismorning it seemed to him that he had discovered a new attraction.The courtesy which she owed him as her prospective host hadseemed to him tinged with a delightful savour of coquetry, apersonal and wholly inspiring thing. There had been timespreviously when her aloofness had damped his ardour. This morninghis confidence was in a measure reëstablished. Yet, as theyslackened speed, and the car swung through the tall, iron gatesleading down to the Réserve, he was conscious once more ofa most unaccustomed quiver of nervousness. He had justsensibility enough to realise that there was something about hiscompanion which placed her quite apart from the women whom he hadknown and trifled with. He had to recall an old club aphorism torestore his confidence. "All women are alike au fond"! Ofcourse they were!

Caroline gave a little cry of delight as she caught sight ofthe low, picturesque restaurant, with its setting of brilliantlyhued flowers, quaint statuary, well-trimmed trees and shrubs.Through the windows were opaque visions of the sea, flawlesslyblue.

"How delightful!" she exclaimed, "I never saw such anenchanting place in my life. How good of you to bring me!"

Lord Dratten smiled,—a smile which somehow gave theimpression that he believed himself to be the only man in theworld who would have thought of taking her to the Réserveat Beaulieu, and the only man in the world generous enough toinvite a guest there. He was a fine fellow in his way. Six footthree, with bulky shoulders, large body, head with a mass ofbrown hair, features not perhaps so good. There had been some ofthe young set at Antibes who had called him "a bumptious oldass," and there were certainly one or two who, in spite of hisfinancial success, had found him stupid. Caroline herself,notwithstanding her good manners, had been wondering half thetime during their drive why she had accepted his invitation. Thecar came to a standstill in the gardens, but some distance fromthe restaurant. A smiling commissionaire in brilliant scarletlivery threw open the door of the vehicle with a flourish, andLord Dratten swung his large and somewhat clumsy body out on tothe avenue. Caroline accepted his hand and alightedgracefully.

"Why do we stop here?" she asked, as soon as her escort hadfinished giving directions to the chauffeur.

Lord Dratten was not at his best. Caroline's question was sodirect, her innocence so transparent. He coughed and glanced atthe commissionaire, who stepped on one side, as though invitingthem to enter.

"The fact of it is, my dear Miss Caroline," he confided, in apompous whisper, "the best class of people—er—don'tfrequent the restaurant.... I wondered whether you would not bemore comfortable—er—over here. Very pleasantrooms—all to ourselves, you know! Good service! None ofthat beastly music!"

Caroline had already removed her foot from the threshold ofthe hotel. She was genuinely taken by surprise, but sheunderstood. Yet, neither by word nor by any change in herexpression did she betray the fact.

"Oh, I don't think so," she exclaimed. "It seems so dull inhere and I think the restaurant looks most attractive. I love themusic too. Do you mind?"

She was beckoning him to follow her, already a yard or twoaway on the avenue, and apparently fascinated by the pool inwhich a small shoal of melancholy fish were endeavouring toforget their predestined end. Lord Dratten did mind verymuch indeed, for he had made a special journey over to be sure ofgetting his favourite suite, had whispered a word into the ear ofhis accustomed waiter, and had, in short, made all hisarrangements with the care and completeness of the accomplishedboulevardier. Apart from his own natural disappointment,he was conscious of the covertly smiling faces of thecommissionaire and the maître d'hôtel. Hisvanity was hurt. Caroline, however, was already on her cheerfulway to the restaurant and affected not to notice hisdiscomfiture.

"I am dying for a co*cktail," she confided, "and the bar lookstoo divine. How kind of you to bring me to such a charmingplace!"

Lord Dratten made his last effort, when the restaurantmaître d'hôtel had temporarily deserted themat the bar, to enquire whether a sufficient number of thesucculent mesdemoiselles of Beaulieu could be collectedfor the luncheon of two hungry people. He leaned towards hiscompanion in his best Lothario-like manner.

"Stuffy-looking lot of people down here, don't you think?" hewhispered disparagingly.

"Oh, I think everything here is delightful," Caroline declaredwith enthusiasm. "And what a view!"

"Better from the little room I had chosen," he insinuated,with a wave of the hand backwards. "All to ourselves, too! Justthe same luncheon. Shall I tell them to serve it there?"

Caroline remained extraordinarily dense.

"Sweet of you to think of it," she rejoined, "but I adore thisroom, and the chef d'orchestre and I are great friends. Iknow I shall enjoy the music."

The maître d'hôtel brought good newsconcerning the mesdemoiselles of Beaulieu and Carolinefollowed him to the table. Lord Dratten tried to console himselfwith the obvious fact that he was entertaining the best-lookingand most chic young woman in the place, and was consequently themost envied man there. The fact soothed his vanity, but nothingcould have made him other than a dull companion. He talked in aloud voice, mostly about himself and his doings, and complainedwithout cause when he dared. By the time the large bottle ofbrandy arrived, he had almost recovered his good humour and wasprepared to play his trump card.

"By the by," he said, leaning confidentially across the table,"you won't mind having just a look at Monte Carlo after luncheon?I want to see my bankers there and we might have an hour at thetables afterwards. I keep a dinner suit at theParis—sometimes stay the night there. Bit of a change. Whatdo you say?"

Caroline sighed and shook her head.

"I am so sorry," she told him. "I have a dressmaker comingover from Cannes at four o'clock and an early co*cktail party.Besides, I was at Monte yesterday and I am going again to-morrow.One can have too much of a good thing, can't one?... May I haveanother cup of this delicious coffee?"

This time Lord Dratten failed to hide his annoyance. He wasdistinctly angry. The girl had no right—it seemed almost asthough she were trifling with him!

"Sorry," he persisted gruffly, "I am afraid I shall have tocall there for an hour or so. I thought you understood that."

Her amiability was unruffled.

"But what does it matter?" she protested. "Maîtred'hôtel," she went on, addressing one of the headwaiters who had scarcely left her elbow, "can you get me ataxicab to go to Antibes?"

"Mais parfaitement, Madame," the man replied promptly."There is one who waits now. I go to secure him."

He bustled off.

Lord Dratten, who understood no French, leaned across thetable with frowning face.

"What's all that about?" he demanded.

"Everything is arranged," she assured him. "My taxicab iswaiting now. So I think, dear Lord Dratten, if you will excuseme," she went on, closing her vanity case and rising to her feet,"I had better take advantage of its being here. Such a deliciousluncheon, and so many thanks. Now I insist upon it thatyou do not get up. You must finish your brandy comfortably. Weshall meet again this evening. Au revoir."

She was gone with a little wave of the hand, profuselyescorted by the patron, the chef d'orchestre andtwo or three maîtres d'hôtel. She was alreadythrough the door at the further end of the room and stepping intothe taxicab before Lord Dratten had fully recovered himself. Heexpressed his feelings in two different ways: he helped himselfto a double liqueur brandy from the big bottle, held his glasscritically in front of him, and he uttered one single butheartfelt expletive—

"Damn!"

* * * * *

LORD DRATTEN'S waistcoat was joyously uplifted,for the food and wine at Caroline's return luncheon party about aweek later had both been of the best. There was a flush upon hischeeks, a moistness in his eyes. More than ever he regretted thathis little escapade with her had not been a complete success. Fewwomen whom he knew could have ordered a luncheon or wines likethat. She was so excellent a hostess that she ventured to call toorder two of her guests.

"Commodore," she remonstrated, "you and Mr. Crowhurst aretalking business far too much. Lord Dratten and I, and Zoëtoo," she added, with a glance at the girl who was seated on hisother side, "are feeling neglected."

The Commodore broke off abruptly in his conversation. A pieceof paper, upon which he had been making figures, he thrust intohis pocket.

"My profound apologies, dear hostess," he said. "I am afraidthat for a minute or two I got led away upon my hobby."

Caroline nodded her forgiveness.

"Commodore Jasen," she explained to her guest of honour,"although he is a very wealthy man, is like all Americans. Money-making is his sport. He cannot keep away from it."

"Do you follow the market out here?" Lord Dratten asked.

The Commodore looked shocked.

"I never gamble," he said.

"The Commodore," Mr. Crowhurst intervened, "has been one of mybest clients, and one of my most successful ones in buying landout here."

"As to being successful," Jasen observed, "I am afraid no onecould claim any credit for that during the last two years.Whatever odd bit of land you bought you made money on."

"Seems like a fairy tale," Crowhurst observed, toying with hispencil. "I have one client—sha'n't mention hisname—who settled down here with a pension. Quite hard up hewas. Couldn't even play his little game of chemin de fer,and owned a motor bicycle and sidecar. Some one left him fiftythousand francs. That's every penny he had when he came into myoffice about eighteen months ago. He was a shrewd fellow, I mustsay that for him, but apart from that, he acted nearly the wholeof the time upon our advice. To-day he is worth at least fivemillions, he has built himself a beautiful villa and he drives aLancia car. If he had held on to his properties, he would havebeen worth to-day at least twice as much, in three years' timethree times as much."

Lord Dratten was sitting up in his chair. There was a curiouslight in his eyes, which were no longer moist. He was listeningintently to every word.

"A wonderful boom down here, must have been," he observed,with clumsily affected indifference. "All over now, I suppose,though?"

The land agent smiled in superior fashion.

"That's how I like to hear people talk," he admitted. "Keepsthe prices from soaring too much. As this is not a gathering ofbusiness people, I don't mind telling you what my real opinionis. There's a hundred per cent. rise to be looked for inpractically every plot of land from Fréjus to Nice, and inthis immediate vicinity I would venture to put it at two hundredper cent. The figures of the last two years' transactions wouldpretty near send any one crazy, and to-day, if any one comes tous for land, or what we call a Number One class villa, we havescarcely a thing to show to them."

"After all, I am not sure that it is to be wondered at," theCommodore reflected. "Where in the world could you find a climatelike this, so many beautiful casinos, golf clubs, bathingspots—everything for a man's enjoyment—so muchcivilisation and such an environment? It was just a question offinding out what the summer was really like here, one or two ofthe hotels keeping open, and the man at the back of Juan Casinohaving the foresight to see what was coming. My dear Caroline,"he added, rising to his feet, "I am afraid I must excuse myself.My architect is coming to see me this afternoon. I happen to knowthat the builder made half a million francs out of the villas onthe last plot of land I sold him, so I am thinking of turninggreedy and building myself, this time. After all, it is ratheramusing, and one must have some occupation."

"What about the Everett property?" Crowhurst asked.

The Commodore hesitated.

"I am more than half inclined to go for it," he admitted. "Iknow the money's there. It isn't that at all. I don't likeoptions, though. I'd be more willing to give the four millionsstraight out if your client really wants to deal."

"You will get it for that in the long run," the otherargued.

The Commodore stood irresolute.

"Courage," Caroline called out.

"What are four millions?" Zoë exclaimed, with a shrug ofthe shoulders. "Think what you have made!"

For a moment it seemed as though the Commodore had made up hismind. Then apparently he changed it.

"I will let you know in a day or two, Crowhurst," he promised."After all, I must not be greedy. I made several enemies, I amafraid, by buying the Michael's property. A wonderful luncheon,Miss Loyd, and—as usual—a perfect hostess!"

He took his leave. The others resumed their seats for a fewmoments. Lord Dratten's eyes, although they seemed to have becomesmaller, were certainly brighter. He thrust his hands into histrousers pockets.

"Reminds me of old days," he remarked. "I have been in a fewland booms in my time. Done some wonderful deals, too. Bought abit of land in the city once. When I bid, I never reckoned outwhat it would come to—it was some thirty pounds a foot.Bought it unexpectedly one day after lunch and had to find fourhundred thousand pounds the next day."

"Wonderful!" Caroline murmured.

"It is very romantic," Zoë declared. "I like to hear howrich, clever men make money."

Lord Dratten helped himself to another cigar. He leaned backin his chair.

"Well," he said, "that is one thing that women have not takenaway from us yet. They may write books and paint pictures and gointo the House of Commons, but they have not yet learned how toput a big business deal through. They have not even found theirway on to the Stock Exchange," he added, with a chuckle.... "Sothere has been a lot of money made round here, Mr.Crowhurst?"

"A great deal," the latter agreed, "and there will be a greatdeal more. Five years ago my father and I and an office boy ranour place. To-day we have nine clerks, our own salariedarchitect, three typists, and two men with motor cars continuallygoing up and down the coast, and even now we are short-handed."

"What are your business hours—your own, I mean?" LordDratten asked, with well-assumed carelessness. "Supposing Iwanted to come in about renting a villa or something, when shouldI be likely to find you?"

"The only certainty," was the dubious reply, "would be betweennine and ten in the morning, and five and six at night. I am runoff my legs most of the rest of the time. As regards a villa,though, we have an excellent staff who might be able to fix youup."

"I prefer to deal with principals," Lord Dratten boomed. "As arule, when I buy or sell or hire, there is big business init."

"Ring up and make an appointment," Mr. Crowhurst suggested, ashe bent over his hostess' hand. "A wonderful luncheon, Miss Loyd.I have enjoyed it thoroughly. I should not hurry awayeither—I am just as well out of the office thesedays—but my wife wants the boat. Come across you again, Ihope, Lord Dratten."

The latter nodded.

"I might decide to have a flutter in land," he saidthoughtfully. "If so I will look you up."

Jonathan Crowhurst knew his man, and he was not surprisedwhen, at a quarter to ten the following morning, Lord Dratten wasshown into his office.

"What can I do for your lordship?" he asked briskly. "I cansee we are in for a busy day. Hear those telephones ringing? Onewould think half the inhabitants of the United States had made uptheir minds to leave their own markets alone for a bit and do alittle solid speculation!"

Lord Dratten accepted a cigarette.

"Well," he said, "I am a wealthy man, you know, Mr. Crowhurst.No one likes to have too much idle money. I have some just now.Have you anything to suggest?"

Mr. Crowhurst did not appear to be enthusiastic.

"In a week or two's time I may have," he said. "I believe theBiot lands will be on the market then, and we can commence doingbusiness. Just at present I should scarcely know what to put youon to. Of course there are heaps of small propositions."

"No good to me," Lord Dratten interrupted. "I am a bigman—in every sense of the word," he laughed, patting hisstomach, "and I like big business. What about this estate theCommodore was speaking of yesterday?"

Crowhurst shook his head.

"I think he means having that. He would have come to termsbefore now, but he likes to do business his own way, and I mustadmit that the old lady who owns the estate is one of thecrankiest women I ever knew."

"It's still open, is it, then?"

"Yes, it is still open," the agent admitted, withoutenthusiasm. "The only thing is, even if I felt at liberty todiscuss it with you, you would probably feel the same as I doabout it."

"Let us hear the crab," Lord Dratten begged. "You don't commityourself to anything by talking about it."

"That's right," Crowhurst agreed. "Well, it's a matter of thatlarge property between Eden Roc and the Château. It isreally the finest piece of land on the coast and might be worthanything. The owner wants to sell one day, and then she changesher mind. All that she will do is to grant an option, provided aprice can be agreed on."

"I don't quite follow you," Lord Dratten observed.

"You would not," the other said. "It's an old-fashioned way ofdoing business. She has still got valuers on the place, you see,and she professes that she has not made up her mind exactly whatshe wants for it. Well, she will let you have an optionfor—say a hundred thousand francs. That means we can't sellthe estate to any one else if you are willing to give the pricethat she ultimately decides upon. Her last price was two million,seven hundred thousand francs. Very well. We had an American fromNice who paid the hundred thousand francs and hoped to get theproperty. The valuers, however, persuaded Madame that the pricewas too low, and the man got the hundred thousand francs back afew days ago. The only advantage to him was, of course, that shecould not sell it to any one else while he held the option."

"It seems a one-sided sort of arrangement," Lord Drattenreflected.

"I don't know that it is, really," Crowhurst rejoined. "Sheknows perfectly well there are half a dozen people who would buyit to-morrow. It has not been in her hands for more than a monthor two and there never has been a correct valuation. It will bedecided upon the first of the month. Very well—supposingto-day she were willing to sell you what she calls an option at ahundred and fifty thousand francs, on the first of next month shewill tell you what she wants for the property. If you are willingto buy it at that or any lower price that might be agreed upon,your hundred and fifty thousand francs comes off the purchaseprice. If you say it is too dear, we give you back the money, andall that you lose is your first chance of purchase."

"Supposing you take me over and show me the property," LordDratten suggested.

The agent smiled uncomfortably.

"I am afraid I could scarcely do that," he objected. "You see,we have done some very large deals with the Commodore, and,although he hates this option business, I honestly believe hewould pay to-morrow what the final valuation would come out at. Idon't mind telling you, Lord Dratten, that one of the valuers isa friend of mine, and they are not putting it too high. They wantthe land sold and cleared out of the way. I don't believe thefinal valuation will be a penny more than three million, sevenhundred thousand francs, and it is worth—mind you, I knowwhat I am talking about, Lord Dratten—it is worth fivemillions of any one's money!"

"Well, the Commodore's had his whack," Lord Dratten persisted."It would do no harm to take me out and show it to me. I don'twant a valuer—not at this stage of the proceedings, anyway.I will take your word—your written word, ofcourse—for the number of hectares involved. You show me theland and, if I think it is good enough, I will give you my chequefor the amount of the option straight away."

Mr. Crowhurst seemed terribly perplexed.

"I'd sooner do anything than offend the Commodore," heremarked.

"Well, you can think about that after we have been over," LordDratten pointed out. "There's no harm in my seeing the property,anyway. I will pay you a fee for showing it to me."

Jonathan Crowhurst closed his Derby desk with a littleslam.

"All right," he said. "Come on. I feel like a little fresh airthis morning, anyway."

* * * * *

LORD DRATTEN was at any rate a hard worker. Hewalked from one end to the other of the great stone wall whichdivided the estate he had come to visit from the sea—a verysolidly built affair without gate or outlet of any sort. Hetramped over the kitchen gardens, which were in a moderate stateof cultivation, he walked through the pine woods, he studied thesomewhat depressed-looking flower gardens. He paid particularattention to the small farm and the accommodation for the outsideservants. The house itself he went over, but dismissed with agrunt.

"Worth what it will fetch to a housebreaker," was his onlycomment.

It was twelve o'clock before he had finished hisinvestigations, by which time Mr. Crowhurst was hoarse withanswering questions and thoroughly exhausted. They stood on thebroad terrace and looked out across the Mediterranean.

"A fine sea view," Lord Dratten observed.

The agent flinched a little but said nothing. He was busywiping the perspiration from his forehead.

"We have gone quite as far as we need for the day," LordDratten decided. "Step into my car, Mr. Crowhurst. We will driveto the hotel."

"I should like," Mr. Crowhurst admitted fervently, "to gosomewhere where we can get a drink!"

"I sympathise with you entirety," the other replied. "Mymotto, though, always is 'Business First.' We will split a ginand ginger in my room."

They drove off to the hotel, where Lord Dratten led the way tohis sitting room. He gave an order to the waiter and producedpen, ink and paper.

"Now, Mr. Crowhurst," he said, "I have inspected thisproperty. I gather that you are only prepared to talk business onthe very strange terms insisted upon by your client?"

"I ought not to talk business at all," the agent replieduneasily. "I ought, at any rate, to ring up the Commodorefirst."

"No necessity to do anything of the sort," Lord Drattenrejoined sharply. "One man's money is as good as another's, Isuppose, and the Commodore had his chance. You cannot name aprice for the property, so I will consider it on your own terms.What amount do you suggest for what you call the option? It isnot, of course, an ordinary option at all."

"One hundred and fifty thousand francs," Mr. Crowhurst saidunwillingly.

"Very well," Lord Dratten proceeded, "I take it that this isthe understanding. I give you here a cheque for a hundred andfifty thousand francs. If the price which your principals putforward to me within the next week or ten days is acceptable tome, and I buy the property, that hundred and fifty thousandfrancs is deducted from the purchase price. If they ask me such asum that I do not buy, the matter is at an end and the hundredand fifty thousand francs is returned to me. Have I got itrightly?"

"Quite correct," the agent admitted.

Lord Dratten wrote out the cheque and handed it across thetable. He then wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper and passedit over to the agent.

"The rest is up to you, Mr. Crowhurst," he said. "Sign the fewlines I have written—you see there exactly your ownproposition—give me a receipt for the cheque, finish thatbilious-looking drink, and we will go down to Eden Roc and have aswim."

Mr. Crowhurst did everything that he was bidden withoutenthusiasm.

"I feel you have rather had your own way with me, LordDratten," he remarked, as he pocketed the cheque. "Youare—if you don't mind my saying so—a forceful man. Ididn't mean to do this. How I shall face the Commodore, I don'tknow."

Lord Dratten stretched himself out. He was certainly a finefigure of a man.

"We have our own way of doing business in the City of London,"he told the agent.

* * * * *

IT was the same little company who met togetherfor lunch at the Eden Roc some ten days later. This time it wasLord Dratten who was the host. He sat at the head of thetable—magnificent in white flannels and white silk shirtopen at the throat. He was a dominant, if not altogether apleasing figure. On one side of him sat Caroline, on the otherZoë. Both—to all appearance—sufficientlyimpressed. Commodore Jasen and Mr. Crowhurst completed theparty.

"Any more land speculations, Commodore?" his host asked him,during the progress of the meal.

The Commodore shook his head.

"I have been gardening instead," he confided. "Unselfish workI call it that—toiling in another man's vineyard. The onlydeal I was rather anxious to bring to a head was the Everettestate, and my friend Crowhurst here seems to have kept off thesubject for the last week. What about it, Crowhurst? Have youbeen able to persuade that old woman out of her ridiculous optionscheme?"

The agent drank half a glass of wine and summoned up hiscourage.

"There was no need to do that, Commodore. Plenty of otherpeople willing to humour her."

"Do you mean that you have been doing business with some oneelse for that estate?" the Commodore asked with upliftedeyebrows.

"My dear fellow, I couldn't help it," Crowhurst replied. "Theold lady refused to consider any other method of doing business.She wanted to keep the thing going as long as she could, beforeshe named a definite price. You hung fire at the option, so I hadno alternative but to look elsewhere. Some one else would havechipped in if I had not."

"Perhaps it would be as well," Lord Dratten said, in hisresonant bass voice from the head of the table, "to take theCommodore into our confidence. I have purchased an option,Commodore, upon the Everett Estates for a hundred and fiftythousand francs."

"The devil you have!" the Commodore exclaimed. "I beg yourpardon, Miss Caroline," he went on. "You must forgive me. I was alittle startled. I had no idea that the property was beingoffered elsewhere."

Mr. Crowhurst plucked up a little courage.

"I regret the necessity, Commodore," he said, "but it had tobe done. Madame Everett would deal on that basis. You would notmake up your mind. Every agent on the Riviera is yapping roundher villa all day. I had to go ahead."

Commodore Jasen sipped his wine and for a moment or two lookedvery depressed. Then he shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know anything about business, Commodore," Carolinesaid gently, "but I do not think you ought to blame Mr. Crowhurstor Lord Dratten. You had the first chance. Mr. Crowhurst ran therisk of losing the business altogether if he did not act and weknow what sort of a man Lord Dratten is."

The Commodore sighed.

"I suppose you are right," he admitted. "Lord Dratten, youhave—as we say in America—put one over on me! I wishyou luck!"

Lord Dratten's smile was maddening. Caroline deliberatelylooked away.

"I have made a fortune by my business habits and methods,"Lord Dratten declared. "Every one in the city of London knowsthat when I am interested, there is something doing. No one cansay that I have ever been guilty of anything like sharp practice,or that I have taken advantage of a friend, but on the other handI do not think you would find any one able to boast that he gotthe better of me in a business deal."

"You have certainly nipped in on me this time," the Commodoreconfessed. "When is the old lady going to make up her mind,Crowhurst?"

"She made up her mind yesterday evening," the latter replied."She fixed the price at three millions eight hundred thousand,and at that price Lord Dratten pronounced—'I havebought.'"

Caroline looked at him breathlessly.

"You have bought the Everett Estates?" she exclaimed.

"I have bought them for three millions, eight hundred thousandfrancs," Lord Dratten replied pompously, "less one hundred andfifty thousand francs which I have already paid as deposit, andless a certain amount of commission," he added, with a smile, "toour friend Mr. Crowhurst here. Just a holiday deal, I look uponit as. Nothing tremendous. Just something to keep one's hand in.As soon as the papers are made out, I shall pay over my chequeand decide what to do with the property. I may build a villa formyself. I have often thought of it. For a million or a millionand a half, one could build a very tidy little place on thepresent site. I should have the advantage, Commodore Jasen," hereflected, "of having you for a neighbour."

Commodore Jasen filled his glass and pushed the bottle acrossthe table.

"To show that there is no ill feeling, I will drink to thehealth of our new neighbour."

They all drank to him. Lord Dratten was gracious andimpressive.

"If I decide to come and live here," he said, "I am sure Ishall be very happy with such nice people around me. On the otherhand," he added, "money talks. I have an idea that if I put theproperty into the market, I might get even as much as fivemillions. I was looking around early this morning—went outin a motor boat—there is not a property along the coastwith such a sea frontage."

There was a silence which any one else might have thoughtcurious. Caroline was watching a speed boat passing the rafts.Zoë was bending close over the fig which she was peeling.The Commodore was gazing up at the ceiling. Crowhurst wasfidgeting uneasily in his chair. Lord Dratten refilled his glass.He drank the Commodore's health.

"No ill feeling, I hope, Commodore?" he said. "This optionbusiness is not so bad after all, eh?"

"You seem to have got what you deserved out of it, anyway,"was the Commodore's gloomy reply.

* * * * *

CAROLINE came in from her second bathe thefollowing morning with shining eyes and glowing cheeks. Sheascended the stone steps gracefully as usual, but with many apause to exchange greetings with friends and acquaintances. Atthe entrance to the bar she closed her light green parasol andwrapped her peignoir of the same colour a little more closelyaround her. She was the cynosure of a good many admiring glances,but there was one man, who had been walking up and down theplace, who had other things in his eyes. He stopped her on theway to the dressing rooms.

"Can I have a word with you, Miss Loyd?" he asked a littlebrusquely.

She looked at him with upraised eyebrows.

"Certainly you can presently, Lord Dratten," she said. "Youdon't expect me to sit down like this, do you? I shall only beabout ten minutes or a quarter of an hour."

She passed on into the dressing rooms. Lord Dratten drunk aco*cktail and looked as though it had violently disagreed withhim. He sat down at a remote table near a window and awaited hercoming with such patience as he could. It was fully twentyminutes before she emerged from the dressing rooms, immaculate inwide white silk pyjamas, her eyes and cheeks still aglow. Shepaused to speak to some friends at the counter, then she made herway to the table before which Lord Dratten was standing.

"You want to give me a co*cktail?" she asked sweetly. "Thankyou so much. I would rather have tomato juice—may I?"

He muttered an order. She looked at him in some surprise.

"Is it my fancy, or are you a little disturbed this morning?"she asked.

"I am disturbed," he replied. "I do not understand thesetricks."

"Tell me all about it," she begged. "Only don't look sofurious."

"It is about this Everett Estates deal, of course," he said,"and I don't see why not one of you had anything to say about itat luncheon time. I drove down with my architect this morning andyoung Crowhurst's head man. I went straight to the sea wall todecide what entrances I would have on to the beach and where tobuild my harbourage."

"Oh, but you can't have any entrances on to the beach,"Caroline exclaimed. "You can't build a harbourage either.Whatever made you think you could?"

He was silent for a moment. There were a good many words whichhe contrived to choke back.

"If a man buys an estate in an ordinary way," he said, "heexpects that the sea frontage attached to it belongs also to him.It seems that there is some underhand work about here. We did ourbusiness quickly, I admit, and all verification of the plans wasnaturally to come when I paid the deposit for the purchase money.But only buying an option, I just looked around and took thingsas they stood or seemed to stand. This morning I have seen theoriginal plans. The sea wall seems to bound the property. Someone else," he went on, "who owns a wretched little villa on theright-hand side of that dirty little road by the side of myproperty, owns the frontage all the way down to the other end ofmy wall."

"Didn't you know that?" Caroline asked.

Again Lord Dratten opened his lips and again he struggled witha stream of profanity.

"Do you suppose," he asked, "that I should have been such adamn' fool as to buy even an option on the property, if I had?What I must confess did surprise me was to hear that you, MissLoyd, own that miserable little villa and its ridiculous rightsof frontage."

Caroline nodded brightly.

"I bought it two months ago," she admitted. "I knew the villawas not worth much, but it seemed to me that the frontage wasworth quite a great deal of money. Every one has been doing sowell in property here, I thought this was my chance."

"What price do you want for the sea frontage?" Lord Drattenasked brusquely.

"My dear man," she remonstrated, "are these London ways ofdoing business? Can't you ask me a little more civilly?"

"I find it rather hard to be civil with you," heconfessed.

Caroline's thoughts travelled suddenly backwards and shelaughed in her chair. Lord Dratten met her eyes and clenched hisfists. He knew very well what she was laughing at.

"Of course I shall go to law about this," he said, "but in themeantime perhaps you would quote your own price."

She sipped the tomato juice which the waiter had just brought.She was looking down the coast with reminiscent eyes.

"Forgive me, Lord Dratten," she said. "I was just thinking howwonderful the restaurant at Beaulieu must be looking to-day. Whatwas it you asked me?"

"I asked you to name your price for the sea-frontage rights tothe Everett Estates," he said grimly.

She shook her head, finished her tomato juice and rose.

"My dear man," she said, "they are not for sale."

X.—THE COMMODORE'S LASTCIGAR

No record of magazine publication in this form found.
Presumably appeared in Pall Mall Magazine in 1932.

MR. JONATHAN CROWHURST looked regretfully at hiswatch and rose to his feet a fine figure of a man, thoughinclined to be thin in the flank and shoulders. He had dinedexceedingly well. His collar was a little crumpled, his tiedisarranged, and there was cigar ash over his trousers.

"Awfully good of you, Commodore," he declared, holding out hishand towards his host, "to make my visit so pleasant. I am totake it that yours is a firm offer?"

"You have it in writing," Jasen reminded him. "I will give youseven and a half millions for the house, grounds and the whole ofthe land. As regards the furniture, I won't take a stick of it.That must all be removed within six months of the transactionbeing concluded."

"Don't know that I blame you," Crowhurst said, smiling. "It'sa mouldy lot."

"I cannot imagine why Lord Wyndham, when he is as near asMarseilles, does not come down here and collect his owntreasures," the Commodore observed. "We might have had a talk andsettled the matter up, then and there."

"His lordship is peculiar," the agent replied. "TheChâteau being occupied, he would certainly stay nowhereelse in the vicinity. Besides, when he is once on a P. & O.he likes to stay there. I shall see him to-morrow morning abouteight, hand over the things I have come to fetch, and we shallhave plenty of time to talk your offer over then. I shall be backat night and I promise that I shall endeavour to bring you adefinite reply."

Commodore Jasen knocked the ash from his cigar, rose to hisfeet, and touched the bell.

"I should like to know one way or another," he said. "I havepromised to go over the Mougins Château, if nothing comesof my offer to you. Sure you won't have another glass of thebrandy?"

"Not now, thanks. I will do my business down in the cellarsfirst. Then, if I may, I will look in and say good-bye toyou."

"Are you motoring to Marseilles?" the Commodore asked.

Jonathan Crowhurst shook his head.

"No, I am motoring as far as Cagnes," he said. "I shall get onthe eleven-five train there. I have arranged to leave the caroutside and the garage man is going to fetch it."

Commodore Jasen turned to the butler who had opened thedoor.

"Broadman," he explained, "Mr. Crowhurst is going down to thecellars. Turn on the lights and if he needs any assistance seethat he has it."

"Very good, sir," the man replied.

"I sha'n't want anything, thanks," Crowhurst said, as hefollowed the man out. "I will look in and say good night to youwhen I have packed up my little lot."

He swaggered out, and there was a slight smile upon CommodoreJasen's face, as he turned round in his chair and filled hisglass with choice old Burgundy. He sniffed the wineappreciatively and sipped it. He knew very well that, unlessmiracles happened, he had said his last good night to Mr.Jonathan Crowhurst.

* * * * *

LIKE many of the almost perfect enterprises inwhich Commodore Jasen and his friends had, from time to time intheir adventurous career, been engaged, the present one was notan affair to be hurried through. Time was of no particularconsideration, but absolute thoroughness was a necessity. It wasthree quarters of an hour before the door of the dining roomopened and the house agent made apparent reappearance. The cigarash was still upon his tweed trousers, his cravat was still ill-arranged, and his face flushed with the generous wine he had beendrinking. He was wearing a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles,however, which slightly altered his appearance. The Commodore'seyes flashed over him critically.

"Not bad," he commented. "You'll do. Especially in this light.Don't forget the swagger. Any trouble?"

"None at all," was the prompt reply. "You were right. It wasthe rest of the emeralds he was after. I've got them and theRajah's diamonds."

"You put him out easily?"

"Not the flicker of an eyelid, not a sound," was the confidentreply. "He is on his way down the tunnel now to the boat."

Commodore Jasen glanced at his watch.

"You had better be getting off," he observed. "Don'tforget—call in at the Majestic for a whisky. Crowhurstalways drinks it with water. Tell the barman that you arecatching the train to Marseilles—Jim his name is—nodto any one who looks as though he may know you. Take any messageyou can collect for his lordship."

"That's all right, Commodore. Don't you worry about me. Ispent a fortnight watching that fellow Crowhurst. I know hisruns, I know his slang, I know his mannerisms. It will be twomonths before you hear from me—if that oil tank ever doesget to the Persian Gulf."

"We will possess our souls in patience," the Commodoreobserved. "Our last words have already been spoken. You hadbetter be getting into the car. Drive slowly through Juan anddon't forget to wave your hand to any one who looks as thoughthey knew you."

"Like to have a look at the emeralds?"

"I will see them in Columbo," the Commodore replied.

* * * * *

THE Chef de la Sûreté ofMarseilles, having welcomed warmly his dear friend PierreLavalon, the celebrated detective from Paris, permitted himselfto indulge in an outburst of irritation.

"It is unfair, my friend," he declared. "Marseilles is noworse than other great cities, except that we happen to be aseaport and therefore we have perhaps more criminals coming andgoing. But if there's a tragedy, an accident, a disappearance,you all come to Marseilles! You swoop down upon me. Half thecrimes that are committed in France are supposed to be committedin my neighbourhood. It sounds well to say 'the missing man waslast seen in Marseilles,' or 'a body fished up in the harbour ofMarseilles is awaiting identification.'"

Monsieur Lavalon smiled sympathetically as he rolled and lit acigarette.

"My friend," he admitted, "you have some reason. Yet, when youconsider this matter, you must agree that there are grounds formy visit here. This unfortunate Jonathan Crowhurst, the Englishhouse and land agent of Cagnes—Well, let us take theevidence. He dined with a Commodore Jasen at the Châteaud'Antibes, where he had business for his master, Lord Wyndham,the owner of the place. He departs, bearing valuables, drivinghis own car. Very well. He is seen driving through Juan, hespeaks to acquaintances in the Majestic Bar at Cagnes, he is seento board the train for Marseilles, and his car is left outsidethe station, according to a previous arrangement, and garaged bya friend. He arrives at the Hôtel Splendide in Marseilles,where he is known. He engages a room and leaves orders that he isto be called an hour before the Narkunda from London dockssails. He follows the very bad habit which so many travellershave of dining at a restaurant in Marseilles, instead of in thehotel, and there I think he makes a great mistake. He has a largequantity of valuable jewellery with him to deliver to LordWyndham on the Narkunda the following morning, yet hechooses to go out to spend the evening in Marseilles, andapparently takes the jewellery with him. He is seen to enter ataxicab at eight o'clock, and he asks to be driven to the CintraBar. He pays the man off there and disappears. I cannot believe,my friend, that your very astute detectives have not been able tocollect some further information of the man who entered theCintra Bar, at ten minutes past eight last Friday week, and hasnot been heard of since."

"Nevertheless, it is so," the Chef de la Sûretéannounced. "My best men are on the case. We are inundated withfalse information but nothing leads us to the truth. If I were topresume to offer my advice, Monsieur Lavalon, to a man of yourgenius and distinction, it would sound strangely, but I shalloffer it none the less."

"I shall listen with respect," Monsieur Lavalon promised.

"You can do no good here," the Chef de la Sûretésaid bluntly. "My local men have hold of every possible clue. IfCrowhurst let himself be decoyed into any of the worst of ournight haunts here, then the jewels are probably lost andCrowhurst no longer lives, but a thing like that is not so easy.If I were you, Monsieur Lavalon, seeing the impasse we havearrived at here, I would start at the other end."

"The other end?" Lavalon repeated.

The Chef de la Sûreté twirled his moustachefiercely.

"I would start at the place and the hour," he declared, "whenJonathan Crowhurst left his offices in the Rue du Cannot atCagnes, with his dressing case and despatch box, in his two-seater Chrysler, and drove out to the Château d'Antibes todine with Lord Wyndham's tenant, and execute his mission."

"And what good would that do?" Lavalon demanded.

The Chef de la Sûreté shrugged his shoulders.

"One might have as much chance of discovering the truth," hesaid, "as by playing about in the noisome places ofMarseilles."

* * * * *

"I AM very honoured," Commodore Jasen said, ashe stepped off his motor launch, one afternoon about a fortnightafter the disappearance of Jonathan Crowhurst, and found Carolinewaiting at his private dock. "You are in garden-party attire, Isee, or I would invite you to cruise for an hour with me."

She shook her head.

"I should love it," she assured him, "but my clothes are toothin. Besides, your engines are too noisy for conversation and Iwant to talk to you."

"I am flattered," he murmured.

"I am not sure that you will be," she confided.

They climbed the broad but winding path that led to theChâteau. On the lawn before the terrace Caroline pointed totwo very comfortable wicker chairs.

"We will sit here," she proposed. "I don't like the interiorof your house very much or your servants. Your butler—JakeArnott, all remind me of the things I want to forget. By-the-by,where is Jake Arnott?"

"He has gone to England to visit some relatives," theCommodore replied.

"You have seen the papers this morning?" she asked.

"I have glanced at them," he admitted. "I see that one younglady admits to having spent the evening with our missingfriend."

Caroline nodded gravely.

"That may be true," she remarked. "I hope it is."

"Why should it not be?"

Caroline made no reply.

"I came here to tell you something," she continued. "I amgoing to marry."

"You are going to marry me?"

"Is there any girl in the world," she asked scornfully, "whowould marry the man who deliberately murdered her brother?"

The Commodore tapped a cigarette upon the arm of his wickerchair.

"The vocabulary of you women needs amending," he complained."That word 'murder,' for instance. How absurd! Ned knew very wellthat if he came into my territory, the only question was whichgot the other first. I got him and that was the end of it. Heknew the rules of the game and he chose to take his risk. I didnot want to quarrel with him. I would rather we had all workedtogether. I hope you don't altogether forget, Caroline, thatnight at the Ambassadeurs when I asked you to be my wife? Youhave never given me an answer."

"You have it now, then," she pronounced. "The answer isNO."

Commodore Jasen smoked on in silence for several moments. Hemight have received the blow of his life, but he gave no sign ofit.

"It is your intention, I gather," he observed, "to cross theline."

"I have never really left my side of it," she told him. "I amgoing to marry amongst my own people."

He flicked the ash from his cigarette.

"When I left New York," he said, "I was worth a milliondollars. I have made that into a million pounds sterling. Takingevery one of my adventures, probing it, analysing it, regardingit from every point of view, it has been artistically perfect.Not one of them contains a flaw. I shared a bottle of wine withtwo of Headquarters' most famous detectives when I embarked forMonaco. They knew me as Commodore Jasen and nobody else has everknown me for any one else. Even little Brant here, though he hasbeen tortured with suspicions, has never been able to connect mein the slightest degree with any one of my exploits. I am safenow, as I shall be safe for the rest of my life. I am wealthy andI have made an offer to purchase this Château. You know allmy weaknesses as well as my better qualities. You know very wellthat women have never attracted me in the least. You are the onlywoman I have ever asked to marry me. I ask you now once again.You can live where you like and how you like, and the book of thepast is closed. I am content with my rôle as CommodoreJasen. It may seem to the world that I grow a little younger, forI have tried to look like fifty-eight when I am really onlyforty-eight. That will be the only change in me."

She shook her head.

"You are a very remarkable man," she admitted, "but to me youmean nothing. There was a period—a few years of mylife—when I thought such adventures as you and Ned used totalk of were marvellous. That time has passed. I loathe the verythought of it."

"You are going to marry the Marquis de St. Véran?" heasked.

"I am," she assented. "And I warn you that many things willhappen if you attempt to interfere."

"A threat?" he murmured.

"Only a threat in case of a threat," she rejoined.

He remained silent for so long that she rose at last to herfeet. He followed suit.

"You walked over here?" he asked.

"I walked," she told him. "It is a very short distance acrossthe rocks."

"You will permit me to order a car or to send you back by theboat?" he suggested.

She shook her head.

"Armand is fishing on the rocks," she explained. "Perfectlyridiculous, but it amuses him. You have nothing to say tome?"

"It will keep," he answered.

Even then she hesitated, and before she spoke her last words,she looked cautiously around as though she feared listeners.

"This afternoon," she told him, "Lavalon, the Frenchdetective, arrived here from Marseilles. Brant and the localCommissaire met him. They are all together in the hotel now."

"A whimsical fellow, Lavalon," he murmured, as he held openthe gate.

The Marquis abandoned his fishing enterprise with alacrity onCaroline's arrival. He was inclined to be peevish.

"There has been a small man," hecomplained—"American—not a pleasant man. Heinterfered with my fishing to ask questions about CommodoreJasen. He even mentioned your name. I showed him over which rocksto escape. He annoyed me."

"What sort of questions did he ask?"

"Whether you had known Commodore Jasen in New York. Where youhad met him."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I tell him to mind his own affairs. I show him the way overthe rocks. I should have helped him, but he hurried."

Caroline laughed.

"A newspaper man, I expect," she observed. "They are ratherwearisome people."

Nevertheless, she wondered.

* * * * *

CAROLINE and Armand de St. Véran dinedalone that night, in Paradise—or what was so near to itthat it really did not matter. Their table at the Eden Rocoverhung the deep diving pool, in the waters of which thesearchlight, arranged by amateur fishermen, disclosed white-bellied fish, loup and mostelle, darting eagerly towards theunusual illumination. In the distance was the black, whalelikeshape of the island. The near hills were dotted with the lightsof the villas, ugly enough by day, the possible habitation offairies by night. Palm Beach had its little frieze of golden pinpricks and its mystic summons. Only twenty minutes across thebay, and such a welcome at the long, squat Casino for the visitorwith the thin cheque book or the fat portemonnaie. Andbehind, brooding over the world of vanities and night-livedpassions, the curses and joys of the gaming rooms, the slumbersof the just in those hillside villas, and the fierce unrest ofthe gamblers in the crowded gaming rooms, the marvellousEsterels, blue and grey against a violet background, the zigzagoutline cutting into the eternal sweetness beyond....

"This is a foretaste of heaven," the Marquis murmured.

"Except that I hope the music will be different," Carolinesighed. "I think I shall prefer the harp and cymbal to thesaxophone."

"And I," her companion declared, "would welcome any form ofangel at the next table rather than the little—how is it,you call him?—bounder who was asking impertinent questionsof me this afternoon."

"Is he here?" Caroline enquired quickly.

"Next—to your left. Alone naturally. He disports a toosmall black tie and a shirt which leaps from his waistcoat. Hedoes not please me at all, that little man. He has the face of ahungry ferret."

Caroline turned her head. Her premonition had been correct. Itwas Brant, the American detective.

"You know who he is?"

She nodded.

"I will tell you presently."

Then a uniformed page boy paused at the table. He addressedCaroline.

"One desires Mademoiselle on the telephone," he announced.

"Down here?"

"The connection is made, Mademoiselle."

The Marquis rose gallantly to his feet. Caroline crossed thefloor, followed by many greetings from friends and acquaintances,and many admiring glances. She took up the receiver. Theattendant closed the door.

"This is Caroline Loyd speaking," she said.

The answer came at once. Commodore Jasen's voice, but barelyrecognisable.

"Jasen speaking. Are you alone?"

"Yes."

"You have heard the news?"

"No."

"Body of Jonathan Crowhurst—the missing man, youknow—has been found."

"At Marseilles?"

"Washed up at Golfe Juan. Miracles, it seems, happen in theMediterranean. That fellow Brant thinks he has it over me now.The place is surrounded. Brant is on the terrace at the presentmoment, waiting for the bell to be answered."

"What can I do?" Caroline asked.

"Bring a car by the Antibes shore road to the Garoupe by-way.You can reach the dock from there. I can come down theunderground passage and will meet you. If your friend, theMarquis, is there, bring him along. I shall need help."

"You are really leaving?"

"If I can get to the boat."

"Listen," she insisted. "You tell me that Brant is there onthe terrace."

"He has just rung the bell himself. He has been about here allthe evening."

"That seems queer," Caroline remarked calmly.

"Why?"

"Because he is at the present moment dining at the next tableto mine. I left him there, when I came to answer the telephone.He seems to have been dividing his attention for the last hourbetween his dinner, my companion and myself."

There was a blank silence. Then Jasen's voice—not by anymeans a pleasant sound to listen to.

"What am I to say to such an unforeseen piece of bad luck?Perhaps it is better to say nothing. As I cannot induce you thento come to me, I must come to you."

"But what do you want?" she demanded. "All that can usefullybe said is said."

"Then, believe me, there is a postscript," the Commodoremocked,—"a very important postscript. Àbientôt!"

There was once more blankness. The Commodore had rung off.Caroline crossed the floor of the restaurant with unseeing eyes.Fear had come to her. Not only for herself. The Marquis leanedacross the table towards her.

"Nothing disconcerting, I hope?" he asked anxiously. "You havelost your colour, dear Caroline."

Her eyes met his, those rather deep-set grey-blue eyes whichlooked out upon life now so steadily, and which seemed always tocarry for her the one entrancing message.

"Yes," she admitted, "my message was very disconcerting."

"May I share your disquietude, or relieve it?" he begged.

"You shall share it, at any rate," she promised. "I told youthat there was one person whom I dreaded telling of my intentionto marry you."

"Something you did say like that," he acknowledged. "But youtold me other things which were all I wanted to know, and indeed,dearest," he went on, his voice sinking almost to a whisper, "ifyou had not been able to tell me those other things, I shouldstill have been content, because whatever was in your life beforeis as nothing."

Every one flirted openly at Eden Roc and there was nothing atall unusual in the touch of their fingers. Only a good manypeople envied her, for Armand de St. Véran in these dayswas a gallant figure of a man.

"There is a seal upon my lips," she confided, "as to certainthings, but that seal means nothing dishonourable. I can tellyou, however, the name of the man I fear, because I am convincedthat, unless we are sensible and leave this country, you willsoon know. It is Commodore Jasen."

He looked at her in amazement.

"Why, that nice benevolent-looking gentleman over at theChâteau!" he exclaimed. "I thought he was your friend. Iwas looking forward to his congratulations."

"Commodore Jasen," she said, "is no man's friend. The personalthings between us are slight. He once asked me to marry him. Iperhaps lingered for a long time before I gave him my reply. WhenI gave it to him it was 'no.' Since then I have learned whatmanner of man he is. What I half admired once as courage I havelearned to be ferocity. What I took for firmness I know now to becruelty. You speak of him as benevolent. Armand, he is a devil.Just now he did his best to trick me—you too—up tothe Château. I found out that he was not telling the truth.He only laughed and he is on his way here now."

"It may be as well," Armand de St. Véran remarked. "Heshall be given to understand, if he has annoyed or threatenedyou, that you have a protector."

"He is outside that sort of thing," she sighed. "Armand, ifyou and I value very highly our lives, we should be wise indeedif we left the table now—if you brought your car out of thegarage, and if we rode on till morning—never mindwhere—north, east, south or west—anywhere out ofreach of that man!"

"My dear, you are hysterical!" he declared. "One man is onlyone man. I am not a stripling."

"Oh, you are brave enough, I know that," she admitted. "Butyou don't understand fighting as Jasen understands it. A snap ofthe fingers, the flash of a torch and a bullet. He does not waitfor the other man. He is not a fighter. He is a killer."

"That sounds very unpleasant," the Marquis said gravely. "Inthat case, one must make sure that it is he who is killed."

"How can you do that?" she asked feverishly. "You are not likethese devils of men. You have no ugly pocket with a loaded weaponready to your fingers."

He smiled.

"I have not," he acknowledged. "But this is scarcely the scenefor exploits such as you describe. I do not think that our mild-looking little friend will prance in here, dealing out murder andsudden death. You are too pale, dear Caroline. All through dinnertime I have been dying to dance with you in that amazing rose-coloured frock. I think that our time has come. It is awaltz."

They danced under the tented roof, in a darkness relieved onlyby a few shaded lamps and the long pathway of moonlight upon thewater—not so clearly defined now, for in the backgrounddark clouds were rolling up and a storm was brewing. Andsometimes Caroline forgot and was curiously happy, and sometimesthere was a little stab at her heart, and fear came into her eyesas she watched the stairway. Yet when the man whom she fearedarrived, he arrived unnoticed. She heard his voice talking to agroup of friends and, but for her partner's protecting arm, wouldhave fallen.

"Shall we sit down now?" she begged.

He smiled at her indulgently, but acquiesced, leading her backtowards the table. His smile now might seem to have beenjustified, for nothing in the atmosphere of any part of the roomeven dimly suggested the imminence of tragedy. The Commodore hadbeen detained by a group of gay diners a few yards away. Neverhad his smile been more benevolent, his laughter more infectious.The fingers of one lady were pressed audaciously to his lips,whilst he whispered what appeared to be a very amusing story inthe ears of another. He waved his hand to Caroline as she passed,but made no immediate move. The Marquis smiled as he drew out herchair.

"You see for yourself, my dear," he began—

Then he broke off in his speech. The Commodore had a habit ofmoving noiselessly, of turning up in unexpected places. A momentago his soft laugh, his lowered voice were clearly audible asthey had passed within a few feet of him. They looked up andthere he was, leaning almost between them at the end of theirtable, a speechless—a strangely dumb person. As a lastdesperate resource, Caroline turned her head towards where thelittle man had been seated. The table was deserted, the napkinthrown down. Brant had finished his meal and departed.

"Won't you sit down, sir?" the Marquis invitedcourteously.

"I fear to intrude," was the quiet reply. "Besides, in affairssuch as the one I am about to deal with, I am more at my easestanding up."

The Marquis raised his eyebrows. Certainly this man talkedstrangely. There were no signs either of the geniality and goodhumour which had been flowing from his lips during his progressthrough the room. His face was hard and set. The long upper lipseemed to have escaped the concealment of the moustache and to bedrawn tightly down.

"We should like to ask you to have a glass of wine with us,"de St. Véran ventured politely.

"To drink wine out of the same bottle," Commodore Jasenobserved, "is supposed to indicate a certain amount of good-feeling and good-fellowship. Between you and me nothing of thatsort can possibly exist. In fact, within the next fewminutes—or seconds perhaps—I propose to killyou."

The Marquis set down the glass which he had been in the act ofraising to his lips. After all, then, Caroline was right. Thisman was either mad or a desperate criminal. The position wasequally unpleasant in either case.

"This seems to me to be rather a poor joke," he said coldly."Can't you see that you are alarming Miss Loyd?"

"Miss Loyd is alarmed," the Commodore confided, "because sheknows that I always keep my word. You are wondering, perhaps, howI am going to do it. You see my right hand?"

The Marquis nodded. He saw the fingers moving, but he showedno signs of trepidation. Nevertheless, he seemed to be takinginto account his chances. His eyes measured the distance betweenthe Commodore and himself. Jasen smiled.

"No hope," he observed. "Perhaps if I had sat down—youhave long arms, I see—but very wisely I preferred to remainwhere I am. You see that my right hand is holding something in myjacket pocket? It is holding the butt of a small weapon withwhich I have never missed in my life. I prefer to shoot in thisway. I have your heart covered to within an inch. A move on yourpart would be unfortunate."

"Don't move," Caroline whispered frantically. "He tells thetruth. He never misses."

"But why does he want to kill me?" the Marquis demanded. "If Iam to fight a duel for you, I am agreeable, but murder! Surelymurder does not enter into any possible scheme of things."

"An ugly word," Jasen objected. "Killing is the logicalresource of any man, when something stands in his way which canonly be removed by extinction. Killing is the weapon which hasfreed countries from slavery all over the world."

"Do sit down and let me order another bottle of wine, if youare going to be didactic," the Marquis said coolly. "We can doour killing later."

Commodore Jasen turned his hard, set eyes upon thespeaker.

"Your attitude pleases me," he said. "It is a pity we did notmeet earlier in life. You would have been a welcome addition tomy little band of helpers."

"Can you say anything to bring this man to his senses?" de St.Véran asked across the table.

Caroline shook her head. During the last few minutes shadowshad formed under her eyes. She was ghastly pale. Her fingerstrembled. She was almost beginning to long for even the worst tohappen. Anything was better than this cold duel of words betweenthe man who, she knew, meant murder, and his victim. Suddenly shefelt a rush of courage. The Marquis's complete nonchalance, thekindly light in his enquiring eyes, his questioning smileinspired her. The thing couldn't happen. That silly little bulgein the Commodore's pocket might mean anything, but not that.

"For the first time in his life," she said, "Commodore Jasenis talking like a fool. He loves adventure, and he has beenutterly spoilt in life because he has been always successful, andhe has generally had his own way. This time he cannot have hisown way. If he does what he threatens, he knows perfectly wellwhat will happen to him. He is boxed in here like a rat in acorner."

"Common sense, my dear," the Commodore admitted. "That's why Itried to get you to come down on to the dock to me. Things wouldhave been much easier then. This may possibly turn out to be moredramatic. The end is the same, anyhow. You are both going todie."

"But what about yourself afterwards?" Caroline asked, lookingappealingly at him, struggling frantically to keep the new lightof hope from her eyes, to command and restrain this new set ofemotions. "What about you? You won't be able to escape."

The Commodore sighed.

"I might," he reflected. "On the other hand, you are probablyright. I may have to—disappear. You would not believe,however," he went on, "how calmly I can face the worst, when Ithink that you two will precede my passage into eternity by a fewseconds."

"Listen," she begged frantically.

"I have always been willing to listen to you," Commodore Jasensaid reproachfully, "but you are trying me high. Some one mightcome up and join in our conversation."

"I will keep them away," she whispered. "There is something Imust say: something to which you must listen. It might—makea difference."

Then she spoke appalling words.

"Supposing I gave up Armand?"

The Commodore affected to consider the situation. The bulge inhis jacket pocket, however, did not diminish. He was enjoyingthese last few minutes on earth. He must be careful, though, hetold himself, not to delay too long.

"I am afraid," he began regretfully—

Events during the next few seconds seemed to happen withoutsequence or continuity. The little man whose behaviour, in theshadows of the room, Caroline had been watching with mingled hopeand amazement, until she dared look no longer, suddenly lifted apile of plates over his head and sent them crashing to the floor,barely a yard behind their table. Commodore Jasen's nerves werefairly impervious to this sort of thing, but his left hand for asingle second lost its tensity. He pulled the trigger of hisrevolver, all right, but his arm was already jerked upwards frombehind by one of the tall figures who had been waiting forBrant's signal. Two bullets travelled harmlessly out into thedarkness, just as Caroline practically threw herself upon him,and her companion's fist crashed into his face. Commodore Jasen,fighting like a wild-cat, went crashing into the nexttable—one of his arms, which he had managed to free,striking flail-like and terrible blows at every one within reach.Once he very nearly reached the Marquis, who stood waiting forhim. Then there was a sudden rush from the other end of the room,a medley of confused, angry and questioning cries.

"What the mischief are they doing to the old Commodore?" MajorDarnell, the leader of the young set, called out. "Come on,lads."

In less than a minute the whole place was in worse confusionthan ever. The women ran screaming to a distant corner. Brant wasa prisoner in the arms of half-a-dozen assailants. Three or fourmen were on their knees, bending over a tangled heap ofstruggling humanity in the middle of the place. Brant at lastmade himself heard.

"Listen, you fools!" he cried. "Your Commodore Jasen is amurderer, an international criminal—the murderer ofJonathan Crowhurst not ten days ago. We are detectives. Don't lethim go."

There was a slackening in the struggle, but a good deal ofdisbelief.

"Don't talk rot," Darnell shouted. "Old Jasen! He's one of thebest sorts going. Where are you, sir?"

He might well ask. One or two of them thought they saw a mancrouching low, running with flying footsteps down into the bar,but no one was sure. By degrees every one had stumbled to theirfeet. One of the gendarmes had a broken leg. Brant himself wasbleeding freely from a cut on the cheek. The young men, most ofthem Englishmen, who had led the assault, were beginning to looksomewhat foolish. Brant dashed towards the stairway.

"Come on, any of you who can stand up," he cried.

They went streaming down into the bar lounge. At the far end,the doorkeeper lay groaning on the ground.

"He's mad," he faltered. "It was the Commodore, running like amadman. He shot me through the shoulder when I tried to stophim."

"Where is he now?" some one cried out.

"Gone down to the beach," the man gasped, and rolled over.

From the small harbourage given over to fishing craft, therecame the beating of a powerful engine. Commodore Jasen's famousmotor boat shot out from the shadows. Caroline, clingingdesperately to her lover's arm, leaned over the side of thebalustrade jutting out from the restaurant. She pointed to thebay.

"He's got away from them all," she cried. "The man is adevil."

The motor boat, with roaring engines, rushed into full sight.People, recovering a little from their alarm, leaned from everypoint of vantage to watch it. Already motor cars were on the wayto the Château, but it appeared that Commodore Jasen had noidea of returning home. He shot past the point of the Mosquewithout wavering. Just then the moon temporarily escaped from thebanks of dark clouds which had risen during the last half hourand threw a faint illumination upon the scene. They could see theman at the wheel leaning forwards, the bow well out of the water,a huge wake of churned-up sea in the rear. Jasen was momentarilyinvisible, apparently stooping down. Presently they saw him riseand throw himself backwards into one of the most comfortableeasy-chairs. The boat was heading straight for a bank of blackclouds.

"He's going right into the storm," some one muttered.

The sheet lightning showed both men in their places, themechanic bending lower still, to avoid the sting of the flyingspray. Commodore Jasen, however, had the air of one who was atpeace with the world. He was lying back amongst the cushions, acigar in his mouth, embarked on that brief voyage towardseternity, looking very much the same as when he had escorted aparty of ladies to picnic upon the islands.

THE END