A Mysterious Disappearance

“And now, monsieur,” cried the clerk, “we shall see what we shall see.”

The missive was addressed to the mysterious Sydney H. Corbett, and had been forwarded by the Sloane Square Post-Office.

With a clang the door of the lift swung open and Mensmore hastened out. Bruce had to decide instantly between the chance of seeing Corbett with his own eyes and pursuing the fanciful errand he had mapped out in imagination with reference to the stranger who so interested him.

“Thank you,” he said to the clerk. “I am going to the Casino for an hour; you will greatly oblige me by keeping a sharp lookout for any one who claims the letter.”

“Monsieur, it shall have my utmost regard.”

The barrister had not erred in his surmise as to Mensmore’s destination. The young man walked straight across the square and entered the grounds of the famous Casino.

Indoors, an excellent band was playing a selection from “The Geisha.” The spacious foyer was fast filling with a fashionable throng; without, the silver radiance of the moon, lighting up gardens, rocks, buildings, and sea, might well have added the last link to the pleasant bondage that would keep any one from the gambling saloon that night; but Mensmore heeded none of these things.

He passed the barrier, closely followed by Bruce, crossed the foyer, and disappeared through the baize doors that guard the magnificent room in which roulette is played.

Round several of the tables a fairly considerable crowd had gathered already. The more, the merrier, is the rule of the Casino. There is something curiously fascinating for the gambler in the presence of others. It would seem to be an almost ridiculous thing for a man to stalk solemnly up to a deserted board and stake his money on the chances of the game merely for the edification of the officials in charge.

Bruce entered the room soon after Mensmore, and saw the latter elbowing his way to a seat about to be vacated by a stout Spanish lady, who had rapidly lost the sum she allowed herself to stake each day.

She was one of those numerous players who bring to the Casino a certain amount daily, and systematically stop playing when they have either lost their money or won a previously determined maximum.

This method, in fact, when combined with a careful system, is the only one whereby even a rich individual can indulge in a costly pastime, and, at the same time, escape speedy ruin. With a fair share of luck it may be made to pay; with continuous bad fortune the loss is spread over such a period that common sense has some opportunity to rescue the victim before it is too late.

Claude took up a position from which he could note the actions of the stranger in whom he was so interested. At first, Mensmore staked nothing. He placed a small pile of gold in front of him; he seemed to listen expectantly to the croupier’s monotonous cry – “Vingt-sept, rouge, impair, passe,” or “Dixhuit, noir, pair, manque,” and so on, while the little ivory ball whirred around the disc, and the long rakes, with unerring skill, drew in or pushed forward the sums lost or won.

The dominant expression of Mensmore’s face as he sat and listened was one of disappointment. Something for which he waited did not happen. At last, with a tightening of his lips and a gathering sternness in his eyes, he placed five louis on the red, the number previously called being thirteen.

Black won.

For the next three attempts, each time with a five louis stake on the board, Mensmore backed the red, but still black won.

Next to him, an Italian, betting in notes of a thousand francs each, had quadrupled his first bet by backing the black.

Both men rose simultaneously, the Italian grinning delightedly at a smart Parisienne, who joyously nodded her congratulations, the Englishman quiet, utterly unmoved, but slightly pallid.

He passed out into the foyer and stopped to light a cigarette. Bruce noticed that his hand was steady, and that all the air of excitement had gone.

These were ill signs. There is no man so calm as he who has deliberately resolved to take his own life. That Mensmore was ruined, that he was hopelessly in love with a woman whom he could not marry, and that he was about to commit suicide, Bruce was as certain as though the facts had been proved by a coroner.

But this thing should not happen if he could prevent it.

The band was now playing one of Waldteufel’s waltzes. Mensmore listened to the fascinating melody for a moment. He hesitated at the door of the writing-room; but he went out, puffing furiously at his cigarette. A guard looked at him as he turned to the right of the entrance, and made for the shaded terraces overlooking the sea.

“A silent Englishman,” thought the man; and he caught sight of Bruce, also smoking, preoccupied, and solitary.

“Another silent Englishman. Mon Dieu! What miserable lives these English lead!”

And so the two vanished into the blackness of the foliage, while, within the brilliantly lighted building, the frou-frou of silk mingled with soft laughter and the sweet strains of music.

If it be true that extremes meet, then this was a night for a tragedy.

CHAPTER IX

BREAKING THE BANK

There were not many people in this part of the Casino gardens. A few love-making couples and a handful of others who preferred the chilly quietude of Nature to the throng of the interior promenade, made up the occupants of the winding paths that cover the seaward slope.

At last Mensmore halted. There was no one in front, and he turned to look if the terrace were clear behind him. He caught sight of Bruce, but did not recognize him, and leant against a low wall, ostensibly to gaze at the sea until the other had passed.

Claude came up to him and cried cheerily:

“Hello! Is that you, Mr. Mensmore? Isn’t it a lovely night?”

Mensmore, startled at being thus unexpectedly addressed by name, wheeled about, stared at the new-comer, and said, very stiffly:

“Yes; but I felt rather seedy in the Casino, so I came here to be alone.”

“Of course,” answered the barrister. “You look a little out of sorts. Perhaps got a chill, eh? It is dangerous weather here, particularly on these heavenly evenings. Come back with me to the hotel, and have a stiff brandy and soda. It will brace you up.”

Mensmore flushed a little at this persistence.

“I tell you,” he growled, “that I only require to be left in peace, and I shall soon recover from my indisposition. I am awfully obliged to you, but – ”

“But you wish me to walk on and mind my own business?”

“Not exactly that, old chap. Please don’t think me rude. I am very sorry, but I can’t talk much to-night.”

“So I understand. That is why I think it is best for you to have company, even such disagreeable companionship as my own.”

“Confound it, man,” cried the other, now thoroughly irritated; “tell me which way you are going and I will take the other. Why on earth cannot you take a polite hint, and leave me to myself?”

“It is precisely because I am good at taking a hint that I positively refuse to leave you until you are safely landed at your hotel. Indeed, I may stick to you then for some hours.”

“The devil take you! What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I say.”

“If you don’t quit this instant I will punch your head for you.”

“Ah! You are recovering already. But before you start active exercise take your overcoat off. That revolver in the breast pocket might go off accidentally, you know. Besides, as I shall hit back, I might fetch my knuckles against it, and that would be hardly fair. Otherwise, I can do as much in the punching line as you can, any day.”

This reply utterly disconcerted Mensmore.

“Look here,” he said, avoiding Bruce’s steadfast gaze, “what are you talking about? What has it got to do with you, anyhow?”

“Oh, a great deal. My business principally consists in looking after other people’s affairs. Just now it is my definite intention to prevent you from blowing out your brains, or what passes for them.”

“Then all I can say is that I wish you were in Jericho. It is your own fault if you get into trouble over this matter. Had you gone about your business I would have waited. As it is – ”