CHAPTER XXII
BY THE MEDITERRANEAN
It was February--not the foggy, muddy February of dear, damp OldEngland, but winter beside the bright blue Mediterranean, the winter ofthe Cote d'Azur.
At the Villa Heyburn--that big, square, white house with the greensun-shutters, surrounded by its great garden full of spreading palms,sweet-smelling mimosa, orange-trees laden with golden fruit, and brightgeraniums, up on the Berigo at San Remo--Lady Heyburn had that afternoongiven a big luncheon-party. The smartest people wintering in that mostsheltered nook of the Italian Riviera had eaten and gossiped andflirted, and gone back to their villas and hotels. Dull persons found noplace in Lady Heyburn's circle. Most of the people were those she knewin London or in Paris, including a sprinkling of cosmopolitans, aRussian prince notorious for his losses over at the new _cercle_ atCannes, a divorced Austrian Archduchess, and two or three well-knowndiplomats.
"Dear old Henry" remained, of course, at Glencardine, as he always did.Lady Heyburn looked upon her winter visit to that beautiful villaoverlooking the calm sapphire sea as her annual emancipation. Henry wasa dear old fellow, she openly confided to her friends, but hisaffliction made him terribly trying.
But Jimmy Flockart, the good-looking, amusing, well-dressed idler, wasliving down at the "Savoy," and was daily in her company, driving,motoring, picnicking, making excursions in the mountains, or takingtrips over to "Monte" by the _train-de-luxe_. He had left the villaearly in the afternoon, returned to his hotel, changed his smartflannels for a tweed suit, and, taking a stout stick, had set off alonefor his daily constitutional along the sea-road in the direction of thatpretty but half-deserted little watering-place, Ospedaletti.
Straight before him, into the unruffled, tideless sea, the sun wassinking in all its blood-red glory as he went at swinging pace along thewhite, dusty road, past the _octroi_ barrier, and out into the countrywhere, on the left, the waves lazily lapped the grey rocks, while uponthe right the fertile slopes were covered with carnations and violetsgrowing for the markets of Paris and London. In the air was a delightfulperfume, the freshness of the sea in combination with the sweetness ofthe flowers.
A big red motor-car dashed suddenly round a corner, raising a cloud ofdust. An American party were on their way from Genoa to the frontieralong the Corniche, one of the most picturesque routes in all the world.
James Flockart had no eyes for beauty. He was too occupied by certaingrave apprehensions. That morning he had walked in the garden with LadyHeyburn, and had a long chat with her. Her attitude had been peculiar.He could not make her out. She had begged him to promise to leave SanRemo, and when asked to tell the reason of this sudden demand she hadfirmly refused.
"You must leave here, Jimmy," she had said quite calmly. "Go down toRome, to Palermo, to Ragusa, or somewhere where you can put in a monthor so in comfort. The Villa Igiea at Palermo would suit you quitewell--lots of smart people, and very decent cooking."
"Well," he laughed, "as far as hotels go, nothing could be worse thanthis place. I'd never put my nose into this hole if it were not for thefact that you come here. There isn't a hotel worth the name. When onegoes to Monte, or Cannes, or even decaying Nice, one can get decentcooking. But here--ugh!" and he shrugged his shoulders. "Price higherthan the 'Ritz' in Paris, food fourth-rate, rooms cheaply decorated, anda dullness unequalled."
"My dear Jimmy," laughed her ladyship, "you're such a cosmopolitan thatyou're incorrigible. I know you don't like this place. You've been heresix weeks, so go."
"You've had a letter from the old man, eh?"
"Yes, I have," she replied, and he saw that her countenance changed; butshe would say nothing more. She had decided that he must leave San Remo,and would hear no argument to the contrary.
The southern sun sank slowly into the sea, now grey but waveless. On thehorizon lay the long smoke-trail of a passing steamer eastward bound. Hehad rounded the steep, rocky headland, and in the hollow before himnestled the little village of Ospedaletti, with its closed casino, itsrows of small villas, and its palm-lined _passeggiata_.
A hundred yards farther on he saw the figure of a rather shabby,middle-aged man, in a faded grey overcoat and grey soft felt-hat of themode usual on the Riviera, but discoloured by long wear, leaning uponthe low sea-wall and smoking a cigarette. No other person was in thevicinity, and it was quickly evident from the manner in which thewayfarer recognised him and came forward to meet him with outstretchedhand that they had met by appointment. Short of stature as he was, withfair hair, colourless eyes, and a fair moustache, his slouchingappearance was that of one who had seen better days, even though therestill remained about him a vestige of dandyism. The close observerwould, however, detect that his clothes, shabby though they were, wereof foreign cut, and that his greeting was of that demonstrativecharacter that betrayed his foreign birth.
"Well, my dear Krail," exclaimed Flockart, after they had shaken handsand stood together leaning upon the sea-wall, "you got my wire inHuntingdon? I was uncertain whether you were at the 'George' or at the'Fountain,' so I sent a message to both."
"I was at the 'George,' and left an hour after receipt of your wire."
"Well, tell me what has happened. How are things up at Glencardine?"
"Goslin is with the old fellow. He has taken the girl's place as hisconfidential secretary," was the shabby man's reply, speaking with aforeign accent. "Walter Murie was at home for Christmas, but went toCairo."
"And how are matters in Paris?"
"They are working hard, but it's an uphill pull. The old man is a craftyold bird. Those papers you got from the safe had been cunningly preparedfor anybody who sought to obtain information. The consequence is thatwe've shown our hand, and heavily handicapped ourselves thereby."
"You told me all that when you were down here a month ago," Flockartsaid impatiently.
"You didn't believe me then. You do now, I suppose?"
"I've never denied it," Flockart declared, offering the stranger aRussian cigarette from his gold case. "I was completely misled, and bythe girl also."
"The girl's influence with her father is happily quite at an end,"remarked the shabby man. "I saw her last week in Woodnewton. The changefrom Glencardine to an eight-roomed cottage in a village street must berather severe."
"Only what she deserves," snapped Flockart. "She defied us."
"Granted. But I cannot help thinking that we haven't played a very fairgame," said the man. "Remember, she's only a girl."
"But dangerous to us and to our plans, my dear Krail. She knows a lot."
"Because--well, forgive me for saying so, my dear Flockart--becauseyou've been a fool, and have allowed her to know."
"It wasn't I; it was the woman."
"Lady Heyburn! Why, I always believed her to be the soul of discretion."
"She's been too defiant of consequences. A dozen times I've warned her;but she will not heed."
"Then she'll land herself in a deep hole if she isn't careful," repliedthe foreigner, speaking very fair English. "Does she know I'm here?"
"Of course not. If we're to play the game she must know nothing. She'salready inclined to throw prudence to the winds, and to confess all toher husband."
"Confess!" gasped the stranger, paling beneath his rather sallow skin."_Per Bacco!_ she's not going to be such an idiot, surely?"
"We were run so close, and so narrowly escaped discovery after I got atthose papers at Glencardine, that she seems to have lost heart,"Flockart remarked.
"But if she acted the fool and told Sir Henry, it would mean ruin forus, and that would also mean----"
"It would mean exposure for Gabrielle," interrupted Flockart. "The oldman dare not lift his voice for his daughter's sake."
"Ah," exclaimed Krail, "that's just where you've acted injudiciously!You've set him against her; therefore he wouldn't spare her."
"It was imperative. I couldn't afford to be found prying into the oldman's papers, could I? I got impressions of his key while walki
ng in thepark one day. He's never suspected it."
"Of course not. He believes in you," laughed his friend, "as one of thefew upright men who are his friends! But," he added, "you've done wrong,my dear fellow, to trust a woman with a secret. Depend upon it, herladyship will let you down."
"Well, if she does," remarked Flockart, with a shrug of the shoulders,"she'll have to suffer with me. You know where we should all findourselves."
The man pulled a wry face and puffed at his cigarette in silence.
"What does the girl do?" asked Flockart a few moments later.
"Well, she seems to have a pretty dull time with the old lady. I stayedat the 'Cardigan Arms' at Woodnewton for two days--a miserable littleplace--and watched her pretty closely. She's out a good deal, ramblingalone across the country with a collie belonging to a neighbouringfarmer. She's the very picture of sadness, poor little girl!"
"You seem to sympathise with her, Krail. Why, does she not stand betweenus and fortune?"
"She'll stand between us and a court of assize if that woman acts thefool!" declared the shabby stranger, who moved so rapidly and whosevigilance seemed unequalled.
"If we go, she shall go also," Flockart declared in a threatening voice.
"But you must prevent such a _contretemps_," Krail urged.
"Ah, it's all very well to talk like that! But you know enough of herladyship to be aware that she acts on her own initiative."
"That shows that she's no fool," remarked the foreigner quickly. "Youwho hold her in the hollow of your hand must prevent her from opening upto her husband. The whole future lies with you."
"And what is the future without money? We want a few thousands forimmediate necessities, both of us. The woman's allowance from herhusband is nowadays a mere bagatelle."
"Because he probably knows that some of her money has gone into yourpockets, my dear boy."
"No; he's completely in ignorance of that. How, indeed, could he know?She takes very good care there's no possibility of his finding out."
"Well," remarked the stranger, "that's what I fear has happened, or mayone day happen. The fact is, _caro mio_, we are in a quandary at thepresent moment. You were a bit too confident in dealing with thosedocuments you found at Glencardine. You should have taken her ladyshipinto your confidence and got her to pump her husband concerning them. Ifyou had, we shouldn't have made the mess of it that we have done."
"I must admit, Krail, that what you say is true," declared thewell-dressed man. "You are such a philosopher always! I asked you tocome here in secret to explain the exact position."
"It is one of peril. We are checkmated. Goslin holds the whole positionin his hands, and will keep it."
"Very fortunately for you he doesn't, though we were very near exposurewhen I went out to Athens and made a fool of myself upon the reportfurnished by you."
"I believed it to be a genuine one. I had no idea that the old man wasso crafty."
"Exactly. And if he displayed such clever ingenuity and forethought inlaying a trap for the inquisitive, is it not more than likely that theremay be other traps baited with equal craft and cunning?"
"Then how are we to make the _coup_?" Flockart asked, looking into thecolourless eyes of his friend.
"We shall, I fear, never make it, unless----"
"Unless what?" he asked.
"Unless the old man meets with an accident," replied the other, in alow, distinct voice. "_Blind men sometimes do, you know!_"