EIGHTH CHAPTER
THE WHITE CAVALIER
While Hugh Henfrey was travelling along that winding road over highheadlands and down steep gradients to the sea which stretched the wholelength of the Italian Riviera, Dorise Ranscomb in a white silk dominoand black velvet mask was pretending to enjoy herself amid the madgaiety at the Casino in Nice.
The great _bal blanc_ is always one of the most important events of theNice season, and everyone of note wintering on the Riviera was there,yet all carefully masked, both men and women.
"I wonder what prevented Hugh from coming with us, mother?" the girlremarked as she sat with Lady Ranscomb watching the merriment and thethrowing of serpentines and confetti.
"I don't know. He certainly ought to have let me know, and not have keptme waiting nearly half an hour, as he did," her mother snapped.
The girl did not reply. The truth was that while her mother and theCount had been waiting for Hugh's appearance, she had gone to thetelephone and inquired for Mr. Henfrey. Walter Brock had spoken to her.
"I'm awfully sorry, Miss Ranscomb," he had replied. "But I don't knowwhere Hugh can be. I've just been up to his room, but his fancy dress isthere, flung down as though he had suddenly discarded it and gone out.Nobody noticed him leave. The page at the door is certain that he didnot go out. So he must have left by the staff entrance."
"That's very curious, isn't it?" Dorise remarked.
"Very. I can't understand it."
"But he promised to go with us to the ball at Nice to-night!"
"Well, Miss Ranscomb, all I can think is that something--something veryimportant must have detained him somewhere."
Walter knew that his friend was suspected by the police, but dared nottell her the truth. Hugh's disappearance had caused him considerableanxiety because, for aught he knew, he might already be arrested.
So Dorise, much perplexed, but resolving not to say to her mother thatshe had telephoned to the Palmiers, rejoined the Count in the hotellounge, where they waited a further ten minutes. Then they entered thecar and drove along to Nice.
There are few merrier gatherings in all Europe than the _bal blanc_. TheMunicipal Casino, at all times the center of revelry, of mild gambling,smart dresses and gay suppers, is on that night an amazing spectacle ofblack and white. The carnival colours--the two shades of colour chosenyearly by the International Fetes Committee--are abandoned, and onlywhite is worn.
When the trio entered the fun was already in full swing. The gay crowddisguised by their masks and fancy costumes were revelling as happilyas school children. A party of girls dressed as clowns were playingleap-frog. Another party were dancing in a great and ever-wideningring. Girls armed with jesters' bladders were being carried high on theshoulders of their male acquaintances, and striking all and sundry asthey passed, staid, elderly folk were performing grotesque anticsfor persons of their age. The very air of the Riviera seems to beexhilarating to both old and young, and the constant church-goersat home quickly become infected by the spirit of gaiety, and conductthemselves on the Continental Sabbath in a manner which would horriblydisgust their particular vicar.
"Hugh must have been detained by something very unexpected, mother,"Dorise said. "He never disappoints us."
"Oh, yes, he does. One night we were going to the Embassy Club--don'tyou recollect it--and he never turned up."
"Oh, well, mother. It was really excusable. His cousin arrived from NewYork quite unexpectedly upon some family business. He phoned to you andexplained," said the girl.
"Well, what about that night when I asked him to dinner at the Ritz tomeet the Courtenays and he rang up to say he was not well? Yet I saw himhale and hearty next day at a matinee at the Comedy."
"He may have been indisposed, mother," Dorise said. "Really I think youjudge him just a little too harshly."
"I don't. I take people as I find them. Your father always said that,and he was no fool, my dear. He made a fortune by his cleverness, and wenow enjoy it. Never associate with unsuccessful persons. It's fatal!"
"That's just what old Sir Dudley Ash, the steel millionaire, told me theother day when we were over at Cannes, mother. Never associate with theunlucky. Bad luck, he says, is a contagious malady."
"And I believe it--I firmly believe it," declared Lady Ranscomb. "Yourpoor father pointed it out to me long ago, and I find that what he saidis too true."
"But we can't all be lucky, mother," said the girl, watching the revelrybefore her blankly as she reflected upon the mystery of Hugh's absence.
"No. But we can, nevertheless, be rich, if we look always to themain chance and make the best of our opportunities," her mother saidmeaningly.
At that moment the Count d'Autun approached them. He was dressed as apierrot, but being masked was only recognizable by the fine ruby ringupon his finger.
"Will mademoiselle do me the honour?" he said in French, bowingelegantly. "They are dancing in the theatre. Will you come, MademoiselleDorise?"
"Delighted," she said, with an inward sigh, for the dressed-up Parisianalways bored her. She rose quickly, and promising her mother to be backsoon, she linked her arm to that of the notorious gambler and passedthrough the great palm-court into the theatre.
Then, a few moments later, she found herself carried around amid themad crowd of revellers, who laughed merrily as the coloured serpentinesthrown from the boxes fell upon them.
To lift one's _loup_ was a breach of etiquette. Everyone was closelymasked. British members of Parliament, French senators, Italian membersof the Camera, Spanish grandees and Russian princes, all with theirwomenfolk, hob-nobbed with cocottes, _escrocs_, and the mostnotorious adventurers and adventuresses in all Europe. Truly, it was anever-to-be-forgotten scene of cosmopolitan fun.
The Count, who was a bad dancer, collided with a slim, well-dressedFrench girl, but did not apologize.
"Oh! la la!" cried the girl to her partner, a stout figure inMephistophelian garb. "An exquisitely polite gentleman that, mon cherAlphonse! I believe he must really be the Pork King from Chicago--eh?"
The Count heard it, and was furious. Dorise, however, said nothing. Shewas thinking of Hugh's strange disappearance, and how he had broken hisword to her.
Meanwhile, Lady Ranscomb, secretly very glad that Hugh had beenprevented from accompanying them, and centring all her hopes upon herdaughter's marriage with George Sherrard, sat chattering with a Mrs.Down, the fat wife of a war-profiteer, whose acquaintance she had madein Paris six months before.
Dorise made pretense of enjoying the dance though eager to get backagain to Monte Carlo in order to learn the reason of her lover'sabsence. She was devoted to Hugh. He was all in all to her.
She danced with several partners, having first made a rendezvous withher mother at midnight at a certain spot under one of the great palmsin the promenade. At masked balls the chaperon is useless, and everyone,being masked, looks so much alike that mistakes are easy.
About half-past one o'clock a big motor-car drew up in the Place beforethe Casino, and a tall man in a white fancy dress of a cavalier, withwide-brimmed hat and staggering plume, stepped from it and, presentinghis ticket, passed at once into the crowded ball-room. For a full tenminutes he stood watching the crowd of revellers intently, eyeing eachof them keenly, though the expression on his countenance was hidden bythe strip of black velvet.
His eyes, shining through the slits in the mask, were, however, darkand brilliant. In them could be seen alertness and eagerness, for it wasapparent that he had come there hot-foot in search of someone. In anycase he had a difficult task, for in the whirling, laughing, chatteringcrowd each person resembled the other save for their feet and theirstature.
It was the feet of the dancers that the tall masked man was watching. Hestood in the crowd near the doorway with his hand upon his sword-hilt,a striking figure remarked by many. His large eyes were fixed upon theshoes of the dancers, until, of a sudden, he seemed to discover thatfor which he was in search, and made his way quickly after a p
air who,having finished a dance, were walking in the direction of the greathall.
The stranger never took his eyes off the pair. The man was slightlytaller than the woman, and the latter wore upon her white kid shoes apair of old paste buckles. It was for those buckles that he had beensearching.
"Yes," he muttered in English beneath his breath. "That's she--without adoubt!"
He drew back to near where the pair had halted and were laughingtogether. The girl with the glittering buckles upon her shoes was DoriseRanscomb. The man with her was the Count d'Autun.
The white cavalier pretended to take no interest in them, but was,nevertheless, watching intently. At last he saw the girl's partner bow,and leaving her, he crossed to greet a stout Frenchwoman in a plaindomino. In a moment the cavalier was at the girl's side.
"Please do not betray surprise, Miss Ranscomb," he said in a low,refined voice. "We may be watched. But I have a message for you."
"For me?" she asked, peering through her mask at the man in the plumedhat.
"Yes. But I cannot speak to you here. It is too public. Besides, yourmother yonder may notice us."
"Who are you?" asked the girl, naturally curious.
"Do not let us talk here. See, right over yonder in the corner behindwhere they are dancing in a ring--under the balcony. Let us meet thereat once. _Au revoir_."
And he left her.
Three minutes later they met again out of sight of Lady Ranscomb, whowas still sitting at one of the little wicker tables talking to threeother women.
"Tell me, who are you?" Dorise inquired.
The white cavalier laughed.
"I'm Mr. X," was his reply.
"Mr. X? Who's that?"
"Myself. But my name matters nothing, Miss Ranscomb," he said. "I havecome here to give you a confidential message."
"Why confidential--and from whom?" she asked, standing against the walland surveying the mysterious masker.
"From a gentleman friend of yours--Mr. Henfrey."
"From Hugh?" she gasped. "Do you know him?"
"Yes."
"I expected him to come with us to-night, but he has vanished from hishotel."
"I know. That is why I am here," was the reply.
There was a note in the stranger's voice which struck her as somehowfamiliar, but she failed to recognize the individual. She was as quickat remembering voices as she was at recollecting faces. Who could he be,she wondered?
"You said you had a message for me," she remarked.
"Yes," he replied. "I am here to tell you that a serious contretemps hasoccurred, and that Mr. Henfrey has escaped from France."
"Escaped!" she echoed. "Why?"
"Because the police suspect him of a crime."
"Crime! What crime? Surely he is innocent?" she cried.
"He certainly is. His friends know that. Therefore, Miss Ranscomb, I begof you to betray no undue anxiety even if you do not hear from him formany weeks."
"But will he write to me?" she asked in despair. "Surely he will notkeep me in suspense?"
"He will not if he can avoid it. But as soon as the Frenchpolice realize that he has got away a watch will be kept upon hiscorrespondence." Then, lowering his voice, he urged her to move away,as he thought that an idling masker was trying to overhear theirconversation.
"You see," he went on a few moments later, "it might be dangerous if hewere to write to you."
Dorise was thinking of what her mother would say when the truth reachedher ears. Hugh was a _fugitive_!
"Of what crime is he suspected?" asked the girl.
"I--well, I don't exactly know," was the stranger's faltering response."I was told by a friend of his that it was a serious one, and thathe might find it extremely difficult to prove himself innocent. Thecircumstantial evidence against him is very strong."
"Do you know where he is now?"
"Not in the least. All I know is that he is safely across the frontierinto Italy," was the reply of the tall white cavalier.
"I wish I could see your face," declared Dorise frankly.
"And I might express a similar desire, Miss Ranscomb. But for thepresent it is best as it is. I have sought you here to tell you thetruth in secret, and to urge you to remain calm and patient."
"Is that a message from Hugh?"
"No--not exactly. It is a message from one who is his friend."
"You are very mysterious," she declared. "If you do not know where he isat the moment, perhaps you know where we can find him later."
"Yes. He is making his way to Brussels. A letter addressed to Mr.Godfrey Brown, Poste Restante, Brussels, will eventually find him.Recollect the name," he added. "Disguise your handwriting on theenvelope, and when you post it see that you are not observed. Recollectthat his safety lies in your hands."
"Trust me," she said. "But do let me know your name," she implored.
"Any old name is good enough for me," he replied. "Call me Mr. X."
"Don't mystify me further, please."
"Well, call me Smith, Jones, Robinson--whatever you like."
"Then you refuse to satisfy my curiosity--eh?"
"I regret that I am compelled to do so--for certain reasons."
"Are you a detective?" Dorise suddenly inquired.
The stranger laughed.
"If I were a police officer I should scarcely act as an intermediarybetween Mr. Henfrey and yourself, Miss Ranscomb."
"But you say he is innocent. Are you certain of that? May I set my mindat rest that he never committed this crime of which the police suspecthim?" she asked eagerly.
"Yes. I repeat that he is entirely innocent," was the earnest response."But I would advise you to affect ignorance. The police may questionyou. If they do, you know nothing, remember--absolutely nothing. If youwrite to Mr. Henfrey, take every precaution that nobody sees you postthe letter. Give him a secret address in London, or anywhere in England,so that he can write to you there."
"But how long will it be before I can see him again?"
"Ah! That I cannot tell. There is a mystery underlying it all that evenI cannot fathom, Miss Ranscomb."
"What kind of mystery?"
The white cavalier shrugged his shoulders.
"You must ask Mr. Henfrey. Or perhaps his friend Brock knows. Yet if hedoes, I do not suppose he would disclose anything his friend may havetold him in confidence."
"I am bewildered!" the girl declared. "It is all so verymysterious--Hugh a fugitive from justice! I--I really cannot believe it!What can the mystery be?"
"Of that I have no means of ascertaining, Miss Ranscomb. I am heremerely to tell you what has happened and to give you in secret the nameand address to which to send a letter to him," the masked man saidvery politely. "And now I think we must part. Perhaps if ever we meetagain--which is scarcely probable--you will recognize my voice. Andalways recollect that should you or Mr. Henfrey ever receive a messagefrom 'Silverado' it will be from myself." And he spelt the name.
"Silverado. Yes, I shall not forget you, my mysterious friend."
"_Au revoir_!" he said as, bowing gracefully, he turned and left her.
The sun was rising from the sea when Dorise entered her bedroom at thehotel. Her maid had retired, so she undressed herself, and putting on adressing-gown, she pulled up the blinds and sat down to write a letterto Hugh.
She could not sleep before she had sent him a reassuring message.
In the frenzy of her despair she wrote one letter and addressed it, buthaving done so she changed her mind. It was not sufficiently reassuring,she decided. It contained an element of doubt. Therefore she tore it upand wrote a second one which she locked safely in her jewel case, andthen pulled the blinds and retired.
It was nearly noon next day before she left her room, yet almost as soonas she had descended in the lift the head _femme de chambre_, a stoutFrenchwoman in a frilled cap, entered the room, and walking straight tothe waste-paper basket gathered up the contents into her apron and wentback along the corridor with an expres
sion of satisfaction upon her fullround face.