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Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo

W >> William Le Queux >> Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo




Dorise soon detached herself from her mother and strolled up the Rooms
with Hugh, Lady Ranscomb and Brock following.

None of them intended to play, but they were strolling prior to going to
the opera which was beneath the same roof, and for which Lady Ranscomb
had tickets.

Suddenly Dorise exclaimed:

"Look over there--at that table in the corner. There's that remarkable
woman they call 'Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo'!"

Hugh started, and glancing in the direction she indicated saw
the handsome woman seated at the table staking her counters quite
unconcernedly and entirely absorbed in the game. She was wearing a dead
black dress cut slightly low in the neck, but half-bare shoulders, with
a string of magnificent Chinese jade beads of that pale apple green so
prized by connoisseurs.

Her eyes were fixed upon the revolving wheel, for upon the number
sixteen she had just thrown a couple of thousand franc counters. The
ball dropped with a sudden click, the croupier announced that number
five had won, and at once raked in the two thousand francs among others.

Mademoiselle shrugged her shoulders and smiled faintly. Yvonne Ferad
was a born gambler. To her losses came as easily as gains. The
Administration knew that--and they also knew how at the little
pigeon-hole where counters were exchanged for cheques she came often and
handed over big sums in exchange for drafts upon certain banks, both in
Paris and in London.

Yet they never worried. Her lucky play attracted others who usually
lost. Once, a year before, a Frenchman who occupied a seat next to her
daily for a month lost over a quarter of a million sterling, and one
night threw himself under the Paris _rapide_ at the long bridge over
the Var. But on hearing of it the next day from a croupier Mademoiselle
merely shrugged her shoulders, and said:

"I warned him to return to Paris. The fool! It is only what I expected."

Hugh looked only once across at the mysterious woman whom Dorise
had indicated, and then drew her away. As a matter of fact he had no
intention that mademoiselle should notice him.

"What do you know of her?" he asked in a casual way when they were on
the other side of the great saloon.

"Well, a Frenchman I met in the hotel the day before yesterday told
me all sorts of queer stories about her," replied the girl. "She's
apparently a most weird person, and she has uncanny good luck at the
tables. He said that she had won a large fortune during the last couple
of years or so."

Hugh made no remark as to the reason of his visit to the Riviera, for,
indeed, he had arrived only the day previously, and she had welcomed him
joyously. Little did she dream that her lover had come out from London
to see that woman who was declared to be so notorious.

"I noticed her playing this afternoon," Hugh said a moment later in
a quiet reflective tone. "What do the gossips really say about her,
Dorise? All this is interesting. But there are so many interesting
people here."

"Well, the man who told me about her was sitting with me outside the
Cafe de Paris when she passed across the Place to the Casino. That
caused him to make the remarks. He said that her past was obscure. Some
people say that she was a Danish opera singer, others declare that
she was the daughter of a humble tobacconist in Marseilles, and others
assert that she is English. But all agree that she is a clever and very
dangerous woman."

"Why dangerous?" inquired Hugh in surprise.

"Ah! That I don't know. The man who told me merely hinted at her past
career, and added that she was quite a respectable person nowadays in
her affluence. But--well----" added the girl with a laugh, "I suppose
people gossip about everyone in this place."

"Who was your informant?" asked her lover, much interested.

"His name is Courtin. I believe he is an official of one of the
departments of the Ministry of Justice in Paris. At least somebody said
so yesterday."

"Ah! Then he probably knew more about her than he told you, I expect."

"No doubt, for he warned my mother and myself against making her
acquaintance," said the girl. "He said she was a most undesirable
person."

At that moment Lady Ranscomb and Walter Brock joined them, whereupon the
former exclaimed to her daughter:

"Did you see that woman over there?--still playing--the woman in black
and the jade beads, against whom Monsieur Courtin warned us?"

"Yes, mother, I noticed her. I've just been telling Hugh about her."

"A mysterious person--eh?" laughed Hugh with well-affected indifference.
"But one never knows who's who in Monte Carlo."

"Well, Mademoiselle is apparently something of a mystery," remarked
Brock. "I've seen her here before several times. Once, about two years
ago, I heard that she was mixed up in a very celebrated criminal case,
but exactly what it was the man who told me could not recollect. She is,
however, one of the handsomest women in the Rooms."

"And one of the wealthiest--if report be true," said Lady Ranscomb.

"She fascinates me," Dorise declared. "If Monsieur Courtin had not
warned us I should most probably have spoken to her."

"Oh, my dear, you must do no such thing!" cried her mother, horrified.
"It was extremely kind of monsieur to give us the hint. He has probably
seen how unconventional you are, Dorise."

And then, as they strolled on into the farther room, the conversation
dropped.

"So they've heard about Mademoiselle, it seems!" remarked Brock to his
friend as they walked back to the Palmiers together in the moonlight
after having seen Lady Ranscomb and her daughter to their hotel.

"Yes," growled the other. "I wish we could get hold of that Monsieur
Courtin. He might tell us a bit about her."

"I doubt if he would. These French officials are always close as
oysters."

"At any rate, I will try and make his acquaintance at the Metropole
to-morrow," Hugh said. "There's no harm in trying."

Next morning he called again at the Metropole before the ladies were
about, but to his chagrin, he learnt from the blue-and-gold concierge
that Monsieur Courtin, of the Ministry of Justice, had left at
ten-fifteen o'clock on the previous night by the _rapide_ for Paris. He
had been recalled urgently, and a special _coupe-lit_ had been reserved
for him from Ventimiglia.

That day Hugh Henfrey wandered about the well-kept palm-lined gardens
with their great beds of geraniums, carnations and roses. Brock had
accepted the invitation of a bald-headed London stock-broker he knew to
motor over to lunch and tennis at the Beau Site, at Cannes, while Dorise
and her mother had gone with some people to lunch at the Reserve at
Beaulieu, one of the best and yet least pretentious restaurants in all
Europe, only equalled perhaps by Capsa's, in Bucharest.

"Ah! If she would only tell!" Hugh muttered fiercely to himself as he
walked alone and self-absorbed. His footsteps led him out of Monte Carlo
and up the winding road which runs to La Turbie, above the beautiful
bay. Ever and anon powerful cars climbing the hill smothered him in
white dust, yet he heeded them not. He was too full of thought.

"Ah!" he kept on repeating to himself. "If she would only tell the
truth--if she would only tell!"

Hugh Henfrey had not travelled to Monte Carlo without much careful
reflection and many hours of wakefulness. He intended to clear up the
mystery of his father's death--and more, the reason of that strange
incomprehensible will which was intended to wed him to Louise.

At four o'clock that afternoon he entered the Rooms to gain another
surreptitious look at Mademoiselle. Yes! She was there, still playing
on as imperturbably as ever, with that half-suppressed sinister smile
always upon her full red lips.

Sight of her aroused his fury. Was that smile really intended for
himself? People said she was a sphinx, but he drew his breath, and when
outside the Casino again in the warm sunshine he halted upon the broad
red-carpeted steps and beneath his breath said in a hard, determined
tone:

"Gad! She shall tell me! She shall! I'll compel her to speak--to tell me
the truth--or--or----!"

That evening he wrote a note to Dorise explaining to her that he was not
feeling very well and excusing himself from going round to the hotel.
This he sent by hand to the Metropole.

Brock did not turn up at dinner. Indeed, he did not expect his friend
back till late. So he ate his meal alone, and then went out to the
Cafe de Paris, where for an hour he sat upon the _terrasse_ smoking and
listening to the weird music of the red-coated orchestra of Roumanian
gipsies.

All the evening, indeed, he idled, chatting with men and women he knew.
_Carmen_ was being given at the Opera opposite, but though he loved
music he had no heart to go. The one thought obsessing him was of the
handsome and fascinating woman who was such a mystery to all.

At eleven o'clock he returned to the cafe and took a seat on the
_terrasse_ in a dark corner, in such a position that he could see anyone
who entered or left the Casino. For half an hour he watched the people
passing to and fro. At last, in a long jade-green coat, Mademoiselle
emerged alone, and, crossing the gardens, made her way leisurely home
on foot, as was her habit. Monte Carlo is not a large place, therefore
there is little use for taxis.

When she was out of sight, he called the waiter to bring him a liqueur
of old cognac, which he sipped, and then lit another cigarette. When he
had finished it he drained the little glass, and rising, strolled in the
direction the woman of mystery had taken.

A walk of ten minutes brought him to the iron gates of a great white
villa, over the high walls of which climbing roses and geraniums and
jasmine ran riot. The night air was heavy with their perfume. He opened
the side gate and walked up the gravelled drive to the terrace
whereon stood the house, commanding a wonderful view of the moon-lit
Mediterranean and the far-off mountains of Italy.

His ring at the door was answered by a staid elderly Italian manservant.

"I believe Mademoiselle is at home," Hugh said in French. "I desire to
see her, and also to apologize for the lateness of the hour. My visit is
one of urgency."

"Mademoiselle sees nobody except by appointment," was the man's polite
but firm reply.

"I think she will see me if you give her this card," answered Hugh in a
strained, unusual voice.

The man took it hesitatingly, glanced at it, placed it upon a silver
salver, and, leaving the visitor standing on the mat, passed through the
glass swing-doors into the house.

For some moments the servant did not reappear.

Hugh, standing there, entertained just a faint suspicion that he heard a
woman's shrill exclamation of surprise. And that sound emboldened him.

At last, after an age it seemed, the man returned, saying:

"Mademoiselle will see you, Monsieur. Please come this way."

He left his hat and stick and followed the man along a corridor richly
carpeted in red to a door on the opposite side of the house, which the
servant threw open and announced the visitor.

Mademoiselle had risen to receive him. Her countenance was, Hugh saw,
blanched almost to the lips. Her black dress caused her pallor to be
more apparent.

"Well, sir? Pray what do you mean by resorting to this ruse in order to
see me? Who are you?" she demanded.

Hugh was silent for a moment. Then in a hard voice he said:

"I am the son of the dead man whose card is in your hands, Mademoiselle!
And I am here to ask you a few questions!"

The handsome woman smiled sarcastically and shrugged her half-bare
shoulders, her fingers trembling with her jade beads.

"Oh! Your father is dead--is he?" she asked with an air of indifference.

"Yes. _He is dead_," Hugh said meaningly, as he glanced around the
luxurious little room with its soft rose-shaded lights and pale-blue
and gold decorations. On her right as she stood were long French windows
which opened on to a balcony. One of the windows stood ajar, and it was
apparent that when he had called she had been seated in the long wicker
chair outside enjoying the balmy moonlight after the stifling atmosphere
of the Rooms.

"And, Mademoiselle," he went on, "I happen to be aware that you knew
my father, and--that you are cognizant of certain facts concerning his
mysterious end."

"I!" she cried, raising her voice in sudden indignation. "What on earth
do you mean?" She spoke in perfect English, though he had hitherto
spoken in French.

"I mean, Mademoiselle, that I intend to know the truth," said Hugh,
fixing his eyes determinedly upon hers. "I am here to learn it from your
lips."

"You must be mad!" cried the woman. "I know nothing of the affair. You
are mistaken!"

"Do you, then, deny that you have ever met a man named Charles Benton?"
demanded the young fellow, raising his voice. "Perhaps, however, that is
a bitter memory, Mademoiselle--eh?"

The strikingly handsome woman pursed her lips. There was a strange look
in her eyes. For several moments she did not speak. It was clear that
the sudden appearance of the dead man's son had utterly unnerved her.
What could he know concerning Charles Benton? How much of the affair did
he suspect?

"I have met many people, Mr.--er--Mr. Henfrey," she replied quietly at
last. "I may have met somebody named Benton."

"Ah! I see," the young man said. "It is a memory that you do not wish to
recall any more than that of my dead father."

"Your father was a good man. Benton was not."

"Ah! Then you admit knowing both of them, Mademoiselle," cried Hugh
quickly.

"Yes. I--well--I may as well admit it! Why, indeed, should I seek to
hide the truth--_from you_," she said in a changed voice. "Pardon me. I
was very upset at receiving the card. Pardon me--will you not?"

"I will not, unless you tell me the truth concerning my father's death
and his iniquitous will left concerning myself. I am here to ascertain
that, Mademoiselle," he said in a hard voice.

"And if I tell you--what then?" she asked with knit brows.

"If you tell me, then I am prepared to promise you on oath secrecy
concerning yourself--provided you allow me to punish those who are
responsible. Remember, my father died by foul means. _And you know it!_"

The woman faced him boldly, but she was very pale.

"So that is a promise?" she asked. "You will protect me--you will be
silent regarding me--you swear to be so--if--if I tell you something.
I repeat that your father was a good man. I held him in the highest
esteem, and--and--after all--it is but right that you, his son, should
know the truth."

"Thank you Mademoiselle. I will protect you if you will only reveal to
me the devilish plot which resulted in his untimely end," Hugh assured
her.

Again she knit her brows and reflected for a few moments. Then in a low,
intense, unnatural voice she said:

"Listen, Mr. Henfrey. I feel that, after all, my conscience would be
relieved if I revealed to you the truth. First--well, it is no use
denying the fact that your father was not exactly the man you and his
friends believed him to be. He led a strange dual existence, and I will
disclose to you one or two facts concerning his untimely end which will
show you how cleverly devised and how cunning was the plot--how----"

At that instant Hugh was startled by a bright flash outside the
half-open window, a loud report, followed by a woman's shrill shriek of
pain.

Then, next moment, ere he could rush forward to save her, Mademoiselle,
with the truth upon her lips unuttered, staggered and fell back heavily
upon the carpet!




THIRD CHAPTER

IN THE NIGHT

Hugh Henfrey, startled by the sudden shot, shouted for assistance, and
then threw himself upon his knees beside the prostrate woman.

From a bullet wound over the right ear blood was slowly oozing and
trickling over her white cheek.

"Help! Help!" he shouted loudly. "Mademoiselle has been shot from
outside! _Help!_"

In a few seconds the elderly manservant burst into the room in a state
of intense excitement.

"Quick!" cried Hugh. "Telephone for a doctor at once. I fear your
mistress is dying!"

Henfrey had placed his hand upon Mademoiselle's heart, but could detect
no movement. While the servant dashed to the telephone, he listened
for her breathing, but could hear nothing. From the wall he tore down
a small circular mirror and held it against her mouth. There was no
clouding.

There was every apparent sign that the small blue wound had proved
fatal.

"Inform the police also!" Hugh shouted to the elderly Italian who was at
the telephone in the adjoining room. "The murderer must be found!"

By this time four female servants had entered the room where their
mistress was lying huddled and motionless. All of them were in
_deshabille_. Then all became excitement and confusion. Hugh left them
to unloosen her clothing and hastened out upon the veranda whereon the
assassin must have stood when firing the shot.

Outside in the brilliant Riviera moonlight the scent of a wealth of
flowers greeted his nostrils. It was almost bright as day. From the
veranda spread a wide, fairy-like view of the many lights of Monte Carlo
and La Condamine, with the sea beyond shimmering in the moonlight.

The veranda, he saw, led by several steps down into the beautiful
garden, while beyond, a distance of a hundred yards, was the main gate
leading to the roadway. The assassin, after taking careful aim and
firing, had, no doubt, slipped along, and out of the gate.

But why had Mademoiselle been shot just at the moment when she was about
to reveal the secret of his lamented father's death?

He descended to the garden, where he examined the bushes which cast
their dark shadows. But all was silence. The assassin had escaped!

Then he hurried out into the road, but again all was silence. The only
hope of discovering the identity of the criminal was by means of the
police vigilance. Truth to tell, however, the police of Monte Carlo are
never over anxious to arrest a criminal, because Monte Carlo attracts
the higher criminal class of both sexes from all over Europe. If the
police of the Principality were constantly making arrests it would be
bad advertisement for the Rooms. Hence, though the Monte Carlo police
are extremely vigilant and an expert body of officers, they prefer
to watch and to give information to the bureaux of police of other
countries, so that arrests invariably take place beyond the frontiers of
the Principality of Monaco.

It was not long before Doctor Leneveu, a short, stout, bald-headed
little man, well known to habitues of the Rooms, among whom he had a
large practice, entered the house of Mademoiselle and was greeted by
Hugh. The latter briefly explained the tragic circumstances, whereupon
the little doctor at once became fussy and excited.

Having ordered everyone out of the room except Henfrey, he bent and made
an examination of the prostrate woman.

"Ah! m'sieur," he said, "the unfortunate lady has certainly been shot at
close quarters. The wound is, I tell you at once, extremely dangerous,"
he added, after a searching investigation. "But she is still alive," he
declared. "Yes--she is still breathing."

"Still alive!" gasped Henfrey. "That's excellent! I--I feared that she
was dead!"

"No. She still breathes," the doctor replied. "But, tell me exactly what
has occurred. First, however, we will get them to remove her upstairs.
I will telephone to my colleague Duponteil, and we will endeavour to
extract the bullet."

"But will she recover, doctor?" asked Hugh eagerly in French. "What do
you think?"

The little man became serious and shook his head gravely.

"Ah! m'sieur, that I cannot say," was his reply. "She is in a very grave
state--very! And the brain may be affected."

Hugh held his breath. _Surely Yvonne Ferad was not to die with the
secret upon her lips!_

At the doctor's orders the servants were about to remove their mistress
to her room when two well-dressed men of official aspect entered. They
were officers of the Bureau of Police.

"Stop!" cried the elder, who was the one in authority, a tall,
lantern-jawed man with a dark brown beard and yellow teeth. "Do not
touch that lady! What has happened here?"

Hugh came forward, and in his best French explained the circumstances
of the tragedy--how Mademoiselle had been shot in his presence by an
unknown hand.

"The assassin, whoever he was, stood out yonder--upon the veranda--but
I never saw him," he added. "It was all over in a second--and he has
escaped!"

"And pray who are you?" demanded the police officer bluntly. "Please
explain."

Hugh was rather nonplussed. The question required explanation, no doubt.
It would, he saw, appear very curious that he should visit Mademoiselle
of Monte Carlo at that late hour.

"I--well, I called upon Mademoiselle because I wished to obtain some
important information from her."

"What information? Rather late for a call, surely?"

The young Englishman hesitated. Then, with true British grit, he assumed
an attitude of boldness, and asked:

"Am I compelled to answer that question?"

"I am Charles Ogier, chief inspector of the Surete of Monaco, and I
press for a reply," answered the other firmly.

"And I, Hugh Henfrey, a British subject, at present decline to satisfy
you," was the young man's bold response.

"Is the lady still alive?" inquired the inspector of Doctor Leneveu.

"Yes. I have ordered her to be taken up to her room--of course, when
m'sieur the inspector gives permission."

Ogier looked at the deathly countenance with the closed eyes, and noted
that the wound in the skull had been bound up with a cotton handkerchief
belonging to one of the maids. Mademoiselle's dark well-dressed hair had
become unbound and was straying across her face, while her handsome gown
had been torn in the attempt to unloosen her corsets.

"Yes," said the police officer; "they had better take her upstairs. We
will remain here and make inquiries. This is a very queer affair--to say
the least," he added, glancing suspiciously at Henfrey.

While the servants carried their unconscious mistress tenderly upstairs,
the fussy little doctor went to the telephone to call Doctor Duponteil,
the principal surgeon of Monaco. He had hesitated whether to take the
victim to the hospital, but had decided that the operation could be done
just as effectively upstairs. So, after speaking to Duponteil, he also
spoke to the sister at the hospital, asking her to send up two nurses
immediately to the Villa Amette.

In the meantime Inspector Ogier was closely questioning the young
Englishman.

Like everyone in Monte Carlo he knew the mysterious Mademoiselle by
sight. More than once the suspicions of the police had been aroused
against her. Indeed, in the archives of the Prefecture there reposed a
bulky dossier containing reports of her doings and those of her friends.
Yet there had never been anything which would warrant the authorities to
forbid her from remaining in the Principality.

This tragedy, therefore, greatly interested Ogier and his colleague.
Both of them had spent many years in the service of the Paris Surete
under the great Goron before being appointed to the responsible
positions in the detective service of Monaco.

"Then you knew the lady?" Ogier asked of the young man who was naturally
much upset over the startling affair, and the more so because the secret
of his father's mysterious death had been filched from him by the hand
of some unknown assassin.

"No, I did not know her personally," Henfrey replied somewhat lamely. "I
came to call upon her, and she received me."

"Why did you call at this hour? Could you not have called in the
daytime?"

"Mademoiselle was in the Rooms until late," he said.

"Ah! Then you followed her home--eh?"

"Yes," he admitted.

The police officer pursed his lips and raised his eyes significantly at
his colleague.

"And what was actually happening when the shot was fired? Describe it to
me, please," he demanded.

"I was standing just here"--and he crossed the room and stood upon the
spot where he had been--"Mademoiselle was over there beside the window.
I had my back to the window. She was about to tell me something--to
answer a question I had put to her--when someone from outside shot her
through the open glass door."

"And you did not see her assailant?"

"I saw nothing. The shot startled me, and, seeing her staggering,
I rushed to her. In the meantime the assailant--whoever he
was--disappeared!"

The brown-bearded man smiled dubiously. As he stood beneath the electric
light Hugh saw doubt written largely upon his countenance. He instantly
realized that Ogier disbelieved his story.

After all it was a very lame one. He would not fully admit the reason of
his visit.

"But tell me, m'sieur," exclaimed the police officer. "It seems
extraordinary that any person should creep along this veranda." And he
walked out and looked about in the moonlight. "If the culprit wished to
shoot Mademoiselle in secret, then he would surely not have done so in
your presence. He might easily have shot her as she was on her way home.
The road is lonely up here."

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