The Mystery Road

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 250, 22 October 1928, Page 16

The Mystery Road

V By J \ E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

CHAPTER XVI. The Man Who Broke the Bank. Gerald found Pauline waiting for him at the accustomed spot after luncheon that afternoon. As he slowed down his car to pick her up he was conscious of a return of that feeling of irritation which had been growing stronger with him, day by day—an irritation based upon her obvious desire to escape recognition when with him, and to keep their acquaintance as far as possible a secret. She was waiting in the shadow of a great magnolia shrub, dressed in inconspicuous grey, with a veil thicker even than the exigencies of motoring necessitated. In the background was the same black-gowned maid who always attended her as far as the avenue, and took her silent leave at his approach. Pauline stepped lightly into the place by his side without, waiting for him to vacate his seat.

Turn round, please," she directed. ""We will go the other way. I do not choose to pass through the town."

Gerald obeyed, although her request only added fuel to the smouldering fire of his resentment. He turned away towards the mountain road and maintained a silence which was not without its significance. His companion, after a few minutes, glanced towards him indifferently. He was leaning back in his place, his left hand firmly grasping the steering wheel. The humorous twitch, however, had gone from his mouth. There was a distinct frown upon his forehead.

"You are perhaps weary to-day?" she suggested. "You would like to shorten our drive?"

Gerald turned and looked at her. "1 am not weary," he replied. "I am puzzled. I hate mysteries." "The old complaint," she yawned. "With a new reading," he retorted. "I have shown myself ready, as you must know," he went on, "to study your rather peculiar whims in every way, but when it comes to meeting you face to face at the club and receiving nothing but the stoniest of stares, I must admit that the situation grows beyond me. You could surely find a hundred reasonable excuses for the most formal sort of recognition. I am not—well, I am not a disreputable acquaintance, am I?" She laughed quietly. "Not in the least. You belong to what they call in England the middleclass aristocracy, do you not—two or three centuries old, with a damp house in a park and an armful of undistinguished titles? I suppose that sort of thing counted for something before your tradespeople, and lawyers and bankers were all admitted into that magic circle?" "Are you a socialist?" Gerald inquired, a little taken aback.

all," she replied, curtlv. "I am an aristocrat." "Are you afraid to present me to Madame de Poniere?" he asked, after a moment's pause.

"Terrified," she admitted, frankly. "Because my quarterings are insufficient ? I might remark that my fath.r is the ninth earl, and that I am his only son."

"It is not that at all," she assured him, indifferently. "There is really no reason why we should ngt meet in a place like this on equal terms, but my aunt is a woman with only one idea in her head, and for the successful development of that idea it is advisable that we make no acquaintances whatever here. There, my lord, have I not been kind to you? I would see more of you if I could, because in a place like this the escort of a man is an advantage. As it is, I can assure you that I risk a good deal in taking these afternoon rides."

"You have explained nothing," he insisted, a little doggedly. ' I still do not see why I may not be recognised in public, why it would not be in order for my siser o call and invite you to tennis, why you and your aunt should not allow me to entertain you to dinner. lam jult as far from understanding you as ever I was." She sighed. "Well, do not be cross with me, please," she beggid. "If you knew how wearisome my life was, and how grateful I really am to you for these few hours of escape, you would feel more kindly towards me. See, I give you mv hand. Let us be friends." It was the first time during all acquaintance that she had accorded him the slightest mark of favour. The touch of her fingers thrilled and surprised I him. He held her hand unresistingly i for several moments. Then she drew it quietly but firmly away. "\Nell, ihat is settled",' she said. "Now talk to me about other things. Is there no news at the Rooms? Has no one been breaking the bank?" "There was something I was going to tell you," Gerald replied, with a sudden flash of recollection. "I sat next a man at dinner last night in Ciro's Grill who, they say, broke the bank several times during the afternoon. I believe thev said that he was a Russian. I suppose i you know all about him. however." "I?" she exclaimed. "Why should I?" "Because, between the courses of hii dinner, he wrote a letter and sent it off by messenger. He was at the next table, an<f it was impossible for me to avoid seeing the envelope. It was addressed to Madame de Poniere." She looked at him amazed. "To my aunt?" she repeated. "Brt we received no letter from anyone last night." "I saw it sent off about twenty minutes to ten," Gerald assured her. "We left for the club at halfpast I nine," Pauline reflected, "but I am quite sure that there was no note waiting for us when we got back. What was this man like?" "They said that he was a fcissian and that his name was Zubin," Gerahl replied. "They also said that he had won two million francs in the afternoon." "Zubin!" she exclaimed, with a little start. "Describe him at once, if you please." | "That is easy," Gerald acquiesced. "He must have been at least six feet three or four, and he had tremendous shoulders. He was one of the most powerfullooking men I have ever seen in my life. He had a sallow complexion, a lined face, black eyes, and a mass of black and grey hair." She put her hand upon his. "Stop the car, please," she begged. •"Turn round as quickly as you can. I must go home." Gerald ran on to an adjacent widening of the road, reversed the car, aad headed back for Moat* Onk

"If I had known that my news was going to shorten our drive," he grumbled, "I shouldn't have mentioned the fellow at all."

"My friend," she said earnestly, "what you have told me may be of immense benefit for me to know." "You recognise the man, then?" "He is probably my aunt's steward," she confided, after a moment's hesitation. "There, jou see, lam telling you secrets. Do you know whether he played last night!"

"I was only at the club," Gerald replied. "He did not come tliere. Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to go and look for him?" "Yes, you might do that," she said, thoughtfully. "When you have dropped me, drive to the Rooms. If you find him there, touch him on the shoulder. Say that Madame de Poniere wants him. You will not forget this?" "I'll drive there at once," Gerald promised. He set Pauline down, as usual, at the gates of her villa. She scarcely stayed to say good-bye, but her smile was more gracious and her manner a little kinder. It was obvious, however, that she was disturbed by his information. Gerald, curious though he was at most times, felt a growing interest in his mission.

Arrived at the Rooms, he walked straight through to the Cercle Prive, visited each roulette and trente et quarante table, and strolled round the baccarat room. There was no sign here of the_man of whom he was in search. He was already on his way out to the Sporting Club when it occured to him that the Russian might be playing at one of the ordinary tables at the Casino. He turned back and visited them one by one. Towards the end of his qnest he was rewarded. Seated next to the croupier, at the most remote table, with a little crowd of people behind his chair, and with a great pile of notes before him, sat Monsieur Zubin.

The Russian was betting in maximums, apparently on some system, and with varying success. To all appearances he had not changed his clothes, bathed, or shaved since the evening before. There was an untidy growth of beard upon his chin, a bloodshot streak in his eyes; his collar and tie were crumpled; his hair, over-luxuriant at the best of times, was unkept and disordered. He had a card in his hand, upon which he marked the numbers as they came up, and from which his attention never wandered until the final word of the croupier was spoken, when he turned his attention to the board. Gerald leaned towards the attendant seated behind the croupier's chair, under pretence of handing him a small stake. "Monsieur gambles ?" Gerald remarked, with an inclination of his head towards the man who was the centre of interest.

The attendant turned round with an expressive little nod. "Yesterday he broke the bank many time," he whispered. "To-day he can do nothing right." "He is losing then?" The man's grimace was significant. Gerald watched his own stake swept away and crossed to a place behind the Russian's chair. In one of the intervals he leaned over touched him on the shoulder. The man took no notice. Gerald whispered in his ear: "Madame de Poniere awaits you at the villa." Znbin for a moment remained perfectly still. When at last he turned round his face was ghastly. With his strong arm he pushed back someone who intervened.

"Who are yon?" he demanded. "I am merely a messenger," Gerald replied. "I know no more than that I was asked to give you that word if I saw you at the Casino." "You sat next to me last night at Ciro's Grill," he said. "Quite true," Gerald assented. "You have been spying on me.* "That is, on the other hand, a falsehood," Gerald replied, coldly. "It is through you that Madame knows I am in Monte Carlo."

"On the contrary," Gerald reminded him, "you yourself wrote a note to her and dispatched it by messenger from Ciro's."

"The note was brought back—Madame was out," the man declared. "It was an accursed accident, that."

"One gathers that you have not been fortunate to-day," Gerald remarked, after a brief silence.

"That is mv own affair," was the grim reply. "What I desire to know is how you became acquainted with these ladies to such an extent that they should appoint you as the messenger." "I do not recognise your right to ask me questions," Gerald asserted, "but as a matter of fact my knowledge of them is of the slightest. Actually, I do not know them at all. I happened to have a few minutes' conversation with mademoiselle, and I mentioned your winnings. You will remember that I saw a letter from you to Madame last night." Monsieur Zubin sat for a moment deep in thought. "Are you charged to deliver a reply to this message?" he demanded. "Certainly not," Gerald answered. "I have not the privilege of visiting at the villa." *"1 should think not," the other growled. "I wondered only whether you had been told to take a message to the back door." "You are a very impertinent fellow," Gerald told him calmly. "You appear to have come from a country where manners have ceased to exist." The man laughed brutally. "One puts off manners when one deals with spies and meddlers." he declared. "Get on about your business." He walked back and took his place at the table. Gerald gazed after him i n blank astonishment. Then he heard a little murmur of laughter from the couch behind, and, turning around, found seated there the girl who had been the Russian's other neighbour on the previous night. "Monsieur grows no more amiable," she remarked, moving her head towards where Zubin had reseated himself. "Today, one perhaps excuses. Last night he was like all his countrymen—savage, drunken with the lust of gambling." "And to-day?" Gerald observed. "To-day he loses all the time " the girl replied. "Sometimes he leaves the tabic and comes back here and mutters to himself. Then he makes calculations and returns. One wonders sometimes whether he is playing with his own money."