CHAPTER XVI
A BARGAIN WITH JEAN COULOIS
Selingman drew out his watch and held it underneath the electric lightset in the back of the automobile.
"Good!" he declared. "It is not yet half-past eleven."
"Too early for the Austria," Draconmeyer murmured, a little absently.
Selingman returned the watch to his pocket.
"By no means," he objected. "Mademoiselle is doubtless amusing herselfwell enough, but if I go now and leave in an hour, she will be peevish.She might want to accompany us. To-night it would not be convenient.Tell your chauffeur, Draconmeyer, to take us direct to the rendezvous.We can at least watch the people there. One is always amused. We willforget our nervous friend. These little touches, Draconmeyer, my man,they mark the man of genius, mind you. Did you notice how his eyes litup when I whispered that one word 'Egypt'? It is a great game when youbait your hook with men and fish for empires!"
Draconmeyer gave an instruction to his chauffeur and leaned back.
"If we succeed,--" he began.
"Succeed?" Selingman interrupted. "Why, man alive, he is on our hooksalready! Be at rest, my friend. The affair is half arranged. It remainsonly with us to deal with one man."
Draconmeyer's eyes sparkled beneath his spectacles. A slow smile creptover his white face.
"You are right," he agreed. "That man is best out of the way. If he andDouaille should meet--"
"They shall not meet," Selingman thundered. "I, Selingman, declare it.We are here already. Good! The aspect of the place pleases me."
The two men, arriving so early, received the distinguished considerationof a bowing maitre d'hotel as they entered the Austria. They wereushered at once to a round table in a favourable position. Selingmansurrendered his hat and coat to the obsequious vestiaire, pulled downhis waistcoat with a familiar gesture, spread his pudgy hands upon thetable and looked around him with a smile of benevolent approval.
"I shall amuse myself here," he declared confidently. "Pass the menu tome, Draconmeyer. You have no more idea how to eat than a rabbit. That iswhy you suffer from indigestion. At this hour--why, it is not midnightyet--one needs sustenance--sustenance, mark you, intelligently selected,something nourishing yet not heavy. A sheet of paper, waiter. You see, Ilike to write out my dishes. It saves trouble and there are nodisappointments, nothing is forgotten. As to the wine, show me thevintage champagnes.... So! You need not hurry with the meal. We shallspend some time here."
Draconmeyer arrested the much impressed maitre d'hotel as he washurrying away.
"Is there dancing here to-night?" he enquired.
"But certainly, monsieur," the man replied. "A Spanish lady, altogetherravishing, the equal of Otero at her best--Signorina Melita."
"She dances alone?"
"By no means. There is the young Frenchman, Jean Coulois, who is engagedfor the season. A wonderful pair, indeed! When May comes, they go to themusic-halls in Paris and London."
Draconmeyer nodded approval.
"Coulois was the name," he whispered to Selingman, as the man movedaway.
The place filled up slowly. Presently the supper was served. Selingmanate with appetite, Draconmeyer only sparingly. The latter, however,drank more freely than usual. The wine had, nevertheless, curiouslylittle effect upon him, save for a slight additional brightness of theeyes. His cheeks remained pale, his manner distrait. He watched thepeople enter and pass to their places, without any apparent interest.Selingman, on the other hand, easily absorbed the spirit of hissurroundings. As the night wore on he drank healths with his neighbours,beamed upon the pretty little Frenchwoman who was selling flowers, ateand drank what was set before him with obvious enjoyment. Both men,however, showed at least an equal interest when Mademoiselle Melita, inSpanish costume, accompanied by a slim, dark-visaged man, began todance. Draconmeyer was no longer restless. He sat with folded arms,watching the performance with a strangely absorbed air. One thing,however, was singular. Although Selingman was confessedly a ladies' man,his eyes, after her first few movements, scarcely rested for a momentupon the girl. Both Draconmeyer and he watched her companionsteadfastly. When the dance was over they applauded with spirit.Selingman sat up in his place, a champagne bottle in his hand. Hebeckoned to the man, who, with a little deprecating shrug of theshoulders, swaggered up to their table with some show of condescension.
"A chair for Monsieur Jean Coulois, the great dancer," Selingmanordered, "a glass, and another bottle of wine. Monsieur Jean, mycongratulations! But a word in your ear. Her steps do not match yours.It is you who make the dance. She has no initiative. She can do nothingbut imitate," he added.
The dancer looked at his host a little curiously. He was slightly builtand without an atom of colour. His black hair was closely cropped, hiseyes of sombre darkness, his demeanour almost sullen. At Selingman'swords, however, he nodded rapidly and seated himself more firmly uponhis chair. It was apparent that although his face remainedexpressionless, he was gratified.
"They notice nothing, these others," he remarked, with a little wave ofthe hand. "It is always the woman who counts. You are right, monsieur.She dances like a stick. She has good calves and she rolls her eyes. The_canaille_ applaud. It is always like that. Your health, monsieur!"
He drank his wine without apparent enjoyment, but he drank it likewater. Selingman leaned across the table.
"Coulois," he whispered, "the wolves bay loudest at night, is it notso?"
The man sat quite still. If such a thing had been possible, he mighthave grown a shade paler. His eyes glittered. He looked steadfastly atSelingman.
"Who are you?" he muttered.
"The wolves sleep in the daytime," Selingman replied.
The dancer shrugged his shoulders. He held out his glass to bereplenished. The double password had reassured him.
"Pardon, monsieur," he said, "these have been anxious hours."
"The little affair at La Turbie?" Selingman suggested.
Coulois set down his glass for the first time half finished. His mouthhad taken an evil turn. He leaned across the table.
"See you," he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, "what happened, happenedjustly! Martin is responsible. The whole thing was conducted in thespirit of a pantomime, a great joke. Who are we, the Wolves, to brandishempty firearms, to shrink from letting a little blood! Bah!"
He finished his wine. Selingman nodded approvingly as he refilled hisglass.
"My friend and I," he confided, "were amongst those who were held up.Imagine it! We stood against the wall like a row of dummies. Suchtreasure as I have never before seen was poured into that sack. Jewels,my friend, such as only the women of Monte Carlo wear! Packet afterpacket of mille notes! Wealth immeasurable! Oh, Coulois, Coulois, it wasan opportunity lost!"
"Lost!" the dancer echoed fiercely. "It was thrown into the gutter! Itwas madness! It was hellish, such ill-fortune! Yet what could I do? If Ihad been absent from here--I, Coulois, whom men know of--even the policewould have had no excuse. So it was Martin who must lead. Our armouryhad never been fuller. There were revolvers for every one, ammunitionfor a thousand.... Pardon, monsieur, but I cannot talk of this affair.The anger rises so hot in my heart that I fear to betray myself to thosewho may be listening. And besides, you have not come here to talk withme of it."
"It is true," Selingman confessed.
There was a brief silence. The dancer was studying them both. There wasuneasiness in his expression.
"I do not understand," he enquired hoarsely, "how you came by thepasswords?"
"Make yourself wholly at ease, my young friend," Selingman begged himreassuringly. "We are men of the world, my friend and I. We seek our ownends in life and we have often to make use of the nearest and the bestmeans for the purpose of securing them. Martin has served me before. Aweek ago I should have gone to him. To-night, as you know, he lies inprison."
"Martin, indeed!" the dancer jeered. "You would have gone, then, to aman of sawdust, a chicken-livered bungler! What is it t
hat you wantdone? Speak to me. I am a man."
The leader of the orchestra was essaying upon his violin the tentativestrains of a popular air. The girl had reappeared and was poisingherself upon her toes. The leader of the orchestra summoned Coulois.
"I must dance," he announced. "Afterwards I will return."
He leapt lightly to his feet and swung into the room with extended arms.Draconmeyer looked down at his plate.
"It is a risk, this, we are running," he muttered. "I do not see,Selingman, why you could not have hired this fellow through Allen or oneof the others."
Selingman shook his head.
"See here, Draconmeyer," he explained, "this is one of the cases whereagents are dangerous. For Allen to have been seen with Jean Coulois herewould have been the same as though I had been seen with him myself. Icannot, alas! in this place, with my personality, keep my identityconcealed. They know that I am Selingman. They know well that wherever Imove, I have with me men of my Secret Service. I cannot use them againstHunterleys. Too many are in the know. Here we are simply two visitorswho talk to a dancer. We depart. We do not see him again untilafterwards. Besides, this is where fate is with us. What more naturalthan that the Wolves should revenge themselves upon the man who capturedone of their leaders? It was the young American, Richard Lane, whoreally started the debacle, but it was Hunterleys who seized Martin.What more natural than revenge? These fellows hang by one anotheralways."
Draconmeyer nodded with grim approval.
"It was devilish work he did in Sofia," he said softly. "But for him,much of this would have been unnecessary."
The dance was over. Both men joined enthusiastically in the applause.Coulois, with an insolent nod to his admirers, returned to his seat. Hethrew himself back in his chair, crossed his legs and held out his emptyglass. Though he had been dancing furiously, there was not a single beadof perspiration upon his forehead.
"You are in good condition, my friend," Selingman observed admiringly.
"I need to be for my work," Coulois replied. "Let us get to business.There is no need to mince words. What do you want with me? Who is thequarry?"
"The man who ruined your little affair at La Turbie and captured yourcomrade Martin," Selingman whispered. "You see, you have everyprovocation to start with."
Coulois' eyes glittered.
"He was an Englishman," he muttered.
"Quite true," Selingman assented. "His name is Hunterleys--Sir HenryHunterleys. He lives at the Hotel de Paris. His room is number 189. Hespends his time upon the Terrace, at the Cafe de Paris, and in theSporting Club. Every morning he goes to the English Bank for hisletters, deals with them in his room, calls at the post-office and takesa walk, often up into the hills."
"Come, come, this is not so bad!" Coulois exclaimed. "They laugh at usin the cafes and down in the wine shops of Monaco, those who know," hewent on, frowning. "They say that the Wolves have become sheep. We shallsee! It is an affair, this, worth considering. What do you pay, Monsieurle Gros, and for how long do you wish him out of the way?"
"The pay," Selingman announced, "is two hundred louis, and the man mustbe in hospital for at least a fortnight."
Draconmeyer leaned suddenly forward. His eyes were bright, his handsgripped the table.
"Listen!" he whispered in Coulois' ear. "Are the Wolves sheep, indeed,that they can do no more than twist ankles and break heads? That twohundred shall be five hundred, Jean Coulois, but it must be a cemeteryto which they take him, and not a hospital!"
"That two hundred shall be five hundred, but it must be acemetery to which they take him!"]
There was a moment's silence. Selingman sat back in his place. He wasstaring at his companion with wide-open eyes. Jean Coulois wasmoistening his lips with his tongue, his eyes were brilliant.
"Five hundred louis!" he repeated under his breath.
"Is it not enough?" Draconmeyer asked coldly. "I do not believe in halfmeasures. The man who is wounded may be well before he is welcome. Iffive hundred louis is not enough, name your price, but let there be nodoubt. Let me see what the Wolves can do when it is their leader whohandles the knife!"
The face of the dancer was curiously impassive. He lifted his glass anddrained it.
"An affair of death!" he exclaimed softly. "We Wolves--we bite, wewound, we rob. But death--ugh! There are ugly things to be thought of."
"And pleasant ones," Draconmeyer reminded him. "Five hundred louis isnot enough. It shall be six hundred. A man may do much with six hundredgolden louis."
Selingman sat forward once more in his place.
"Look here," he intervened, "you go too far, my friend. You never spoketo me of this. What have you against Hunterleys?"
"His nationality," Draconmeyer answered coolly. "I hate all Englishmen!"
The gaiety had left Selingman's face. He gazed at his companion with acurious expression.
"My friend," he murmured, "I fear that you are vindictive."
"Perhaps," Draconmeyer replied quietly. "In these matters I like to beon the safe side."
Jean Coulois struck the table lightly with his small, feminine hand. Heshowed all his teeth as though he had been listening to an excellentjoke.
"It is to be done," he decided. "There is no more to be said."
Some visitors had taken the next table. Coulois drew his chair a littlecloser to Draconmeyer.
"I accept the engagement," he continued. "We will talk no more. Monsieurdesires my address? It is here,"--scribbling on a piece of paper. "Butmonsieur may be warned," he added, with a lightning-like flash in hiseyes as he became conscious of the observation of some passers-by. "Iwill not dance in England. I will not leave Monte Carlo before May. Halfthat sum--three hundred louis, mind--must come to me on trust; the otherthree hundred afterwards. Never fear but that I will give satisfaction.Keep your part of the bargain," he added, under his breath, "and theWolves' fangs are already in this man's throat."
He danced again. The two men watched him. Draconmeyer's face was asstill and colourless as ever. In Selingman's there was a shade ofsomething almost like repulsion. He poured himself out a glass ofchampagne.
"Draconmeyer," he exclaimed, "you are a cold-blooded fish, indeed! Youcan sit there without blinking and think of this thing which we havedone. Now as for me, I have a heart. I can never see the passing out ofthe game of even a bitter opponent, without a shiver. Talk philosophy tome, Draconmeyer. My nerves are shaken."
Draconmeyer turned his head. He, too, raised his wine to his lips anddrank deliberately.
"My friend," he said, "there is no philosophy save one. A child criesfor the star he may not have; the weak man comforts himself in privationby repeating to himself the dry-as-dust axioms conceived in an alienbrain, and weaving from them the miserable comfort of empty words. Theman who knows life and has found wisdom, pays the price for the thing hedesires, and obtains it!"