THE CASCADE OF GOLD.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XL, Issue 12, 21 March 1908, Page 51

THE CASCADE OF GOLD.

A SECRET OF MONTE CARLO.

(By

WILLIAM LE QUEX.)

IWAS sitting one bright afternoon on tlie terrace outside the Cafe de Paris, idling over a cigarette and a mazagran. It is my favourite resort at or about four o’clock,

for while skimming the “Figaro” I can, if I choose, watch each person who ascends or descends the Casino steps, while very often the cosmopolitan chatter at the tables in my vicinity is of unusual interest to me.

On such occasions I present, outwardly, the appearance of a well-to-do Parisian, and, although the professional gamblers and the staff are well aware who and what I am, the hundreds of thousands of strangers moving through the Principality have no idea of my true position, As is usual on a sunny afternoon, the tables about me were crowded, the red-coated Hungarian band was playing some pretty waltzes, the British section of the crowd sipped tea, while the French allowed absinthe to dribble into their glasses. The place was bright with flowers, and beneath the trees hundreds of people were sitting, enjoying that sweet, calm hour before the chill wind comes up from the sea, and the Italian coast beyond San Remo grows purple in the dying day. Within the hot, stifling rooms the perspiring crowds were losing and winning, struggling gleefully to snatch up their gains, or sighing as they saw their stakes raked in to swell the bank; while outside in the balmy air, sweet with the seent of flowers, all was so pleasant and restful—so beautiful, indeed, that.it seemed impossible that such a spot should be the centre of all the evil passions which dominate the W'orld. It is a vivid contrast, the Monte Carlo without and the Monte Carlo within. How much of human life one sees at those tables; what a strange, evil world it is, that fevered world of rouge et noir, passing daily across those polished floors and vainly striving to win fortune! Even the colours of the roulette-wheel possess an obvious signification—the red for blood, and me black for crime.

As I sat in lady attitude, my thoughts far from my surroundings, some words uttered in a man’s voice at a table behind me caught my ear, and brought me back to a consciousness of where I was.

The words were unexpected, and spoken in a curious, squeaking voice, the owner of which I knew, without turning to look at him. He was an old man named Pasquale, an inveterate player, who had been known in the Rooms for many years. He lived in Nice, and regularly, twice of thrice a week, the whole year round, he came over and played throughout the afternoon, always with great care and precision. One of his eccentricities was that, when in the Rooms, he carried in his hand a huge, bag-like purse, worked in coloured beads of the style of a century ago; and legend had it that he believed this 'bag brought him good fortune, he having used it on one celebrated occasion when, nearly twenty years before, he had made an unusually large coup. This bead-purse was often remarked upon by his fellowplayers, who smiled at the old fellow’s eccentricity, halLinclined to pity his seeming senile imbecility. He was, however, no fool. Indeed, few shrewder men frequented the Rooms than Francesco Pasquale, for when lie played his eyes were everywhere, and as he stood behind the croupier, handing him his pieces, and giving him instructions in a low halfwhisper—as though he were acting in oontravention of sonic rule—he certainly

presented a mysterious figure, yet he was one of the most clear-headed gamesters I have ever known.

I have seen him lose ten, and even fifteen thousand francs in an hour with perfect sangfroid, and I have, on the other hand, watched him win similar amounts, and then malk back down the steps to the station without even affording himself the luxury of a demitasse or a boek. He hated what we always term “the small change crowd,” namely, the people who, after collecting a few oifd five-franc pieces, come to Monte Carlo expecting to gain a fortune, and he never failed to vent his sarcasm upon them.

The words he had uttered were, however, puzzling. I kept my ears open in the hope of something further, but the old fellow maintained a discreet silence. His companion laughed, and when I gave a furtive glance in their direction I saw tnat the man sitting opposite him was an ugly hunchback, small of stature, with a pale face and drawn, black hair, and a thin, scraggy beard. One of the features of Monte Carlo is its hunchbacks. By many players the sight of them is supposed to portend good fortune. Perhaps nowhere else on the Continent is there such an infinite variety of the deformed as you may see in the Rooms. “Of course, the thing is quite easy,” the elder man observed at length, slowly puffing at his cigarette, for the gambler never indulges in cigars until after play is over. When he goes out to the cafe to “change his luck,” and slake that terrible thirst one develops in those crowded roomsfi he whiffs his Laurens and quaffs the grateful bock. “Would a very large capital be required?” the hunchback inquired, in a tone of affected carelessness. “I don’t think so. Fifty thousand francs, the sum you mention, would be quite sufficient,” the old man responded. “But, of course, there’s a risk—a terrible risk. A single blunder would be disastrous.” The deformed man laughed. “To blunder would be quite out of the question,” he said. “To effect such a coup the arrangements must be perfect. But isn’t it unwise to discuss the matter here?” he added in a lower tone. “Someone might overhear, you know.” Pasquale agreed, and both rose and crossed to the Casino again. Later that day, owing to instructions I gave the door-keeper, I discovered that the hunchback’s name was Paul Remenyi, of Vienna, and that he was staying at the Grand Hotel. My suspicions being aroused, I accidentally lounged into the hairdresser’s in the Rue de la Scala, next morning, and, while waiting, discovered the hunchback there. He spoke enthusiastically of the beauties of the Principality, the attractions of the play, the excellence of the music, and, as far as I could judge, was a highly educated and refined man. No, he had not lost yesterday. He had won two zeros at roulette, staking a louis each time. He did not intend to play very much; he had come solely for the air and the music. In the clubs of Vienna there was a good deal of high play, and he confessed he was never lucky. These and other things he told me as we sat in the barber’s saloon; then, after submitting ourselves to the attendant, we departed. Nearly a fortnight elapsed, and I saw nothing of Pasquale. I had many affairs on hand, for during the season the Rooms are always crowded, and our surveillance is, consequently, more strict.

Yet I could not get out of my head those strange words which the old gambler had uttered. That some combination existed between the two men was certain, but are many pairs of professional gamblers who arc partners, and many who are excellent fellows withal. Among the professional crowd which frequents Monte Carlo daily, year in and year out, are men of all nationalities and all grades of life, some the very scum of Europe, others thorough sportsmen, goodhumored, open-handed, ami ever ready’ to do their less fortunate brethren a good turn. Indeed, I must confess that .more than onee have I received very valuable hints from one or- other of these men whom the public are so fond of denouncing. Their methods, to say the least,

are more honest than those of the Hebrew usurers who haunt the place, ever ready to fleece the youngster or advance sums upon property at exorbitant interest. On the night of the Battle of Confetti, at Nice, having another matter in hand, I found it necessary to go to the redoute or bal masque, on the Jetee Promenade, that pier-like structure which is the most prominent feature of the esplanade. I chose a pierrot’s dress of the Carnival colours, mauve and vert d’eau, and entered the theatre about eleven o’clock, just as .dancing was in full swing. Only those, who have spent a Carnival at Nice and attended the balls know the wildness of the dancing and tne mad frolic there. Perhaps the company is not very seiect, but, at any rate, the fun is always furious, the costumes vie with each other in quaintness of design, and the mystery of the mask always leads to amusing complications, wild jealousies, striking situations and unusual hilarity. This occasion was no exception. The theatre was crowded until there was but little space for dancing, the Oriental rooms were filled with those who did not t-are for the constant whirl and rather rough horseplay, while in the restaurant one heard constant calls foi’ Marennes and Pommery. Masked, like all the others, I made my way with difficulty through cue throng in search of the man upon whom I had for several days been keeping observation, a young Russian who was wanted by the Moscow police, but of whose identity I was not sufficiently certain. But, though I searched through room alter room, I could not find him, and concluded that he had been prevented from coming. From the theatre, where the dancing had opened with a quadrille by four wellknown dancers from the Moulin Rouge, and where paper Confetti and serpentines were being showered upon all and sundry by the occupants of the logos, a dooi- opened into the cafe, and, passing in, I paused there for a drink. For fully half an hour I wandered about, dancing now and then with unknown partners, until suddenly, in the fine Moorish room used ordinarily as read-ing-room, I saw a dwarfed figure in a dress representing the English Punch. He was seated in a corner with a lady dressed as a clown in alack satin, studded with silver moons, whom, from the lowerpart of her face and the plump whiteness of her dimpled hands, I judged to be young and attractive. He spoke, and in an instant I recognised the voice of the hunchback Remenyi. Just then a lady, passing me, laughed merrily in my face, ami, eager for any excuse to remain in that room, I invited her to dance with me. “M’sieur is very kind.” answered a well-modulated voice in French, which, however, was not quite perfect in its

accent. “But for the moment I prefer to remain here. It 4s too hot and crowded in the theatre.” I noticed she was looking across at the lady in the down’s dress. “A pretty dress that, is it not?” I remarked. '“Yes,” she replied. “And, if I mis-' take not, Its wearer is even prettier.” "You know her?” I inquired eagerly. “Yes, if she’s the lady I mean. Her name is Madame ■ de Gourieff, and she comes from Petersburg.” “And you, madame, are Russian also; —eh ?” I inquired. “What makes you think that?” she asked with a low laugh. “Only a Russian can pronounce the word ’Petersburg’ as you have just pronounced it,” I answered. “M’sieur is shrewd,” she observed, in ratner a strange tone, as if annoyed that she should thus involuntarily betray her nationality. “I am interested in that lady,” I said. “Tell me more of her. Were you acquainted with her in Petersburg?” “No,” she answered, rather evasively. “I have, however, seen her there many times.” “Is she a lady?” “She belongs to a very good family, I believe.” “And her companion—what of him?” “Ah! I know nothing,” she answered, with an expressive gesture of the hands. At that instant I noticed that, at her throat, beneath her domino of mauve satin, she wore a brooch with a tiny watch enamelled in blue and set with diamonds. It was a beautiful little ornament, and I marked its appearance well. At her suggestion, we strolled at last into the theatre. She was an excellent dancer, and seemed thoroughly to enjoy the wild, uproarious fun. We were covered with paper confetti, but, heedless of all, whirled op around the theatre, laughing merrily the while. At last, however, a tall masker playing the role of Mephistopheles approached us, and claimed her as his partner; therefore, with a polite adieu, I bowed and left Her, returning at onee, to the Moorish room. But the dwarf had gone. In vain I searched, but both he and his companion had vanished. I returned to Monte Carlo by the early morning train, baffled and <V (appointed. Some days later, however, I met the hunchback in the roulette room. He was accompanied by a young, dark-eyed, pale-faced lady, whom I judged to be about the same stature as his companion at the ball; but I could not tell with any degree of accuracy, because I had only seen her seated. She was not more than twenty-five, and her face was very pretty, with a grave, intense expression, which added to its attractiveness. Her dress of dark-grey stuff’ was not exactly of that elegance usually seen at Monte Carlo, yet it fitted well, and suited her admirably. Together they walked over to one of the roulette tables, where the dwarf touched on the shoulder a man who sat there. He turned. It was Pasquale. The old fellow, with his bead-purse before him, recognising the newcomers, greeted them affably, while the pair walked over to the trente-et-quarante, and there risked a few louis without success. As 1 stood watching, the pretty young woman took off one of her gloves the more easily to handle her louis, thereby; revealing io me a white hand with dim-

pled knuckles, the same as I had noticed at the ball. By this one fact alone I was convinced that she was Madame de Gourieff, and a few moments later my interest in her was increased by a dumb motion which she made to a tall, floridfaecd, fair-haired man, who was sitting at "the opposite side of the table. It was as if she desired him to remain patient. In return, he smiled cynically, as if tired of waiting, and resting both his elbows upon the green cloth, consulted the register-card before him. Suddenly he rose, and, as he passed her closely without stopping to speak, she whispered to him: “You’re a fool. Be patient. You know what a single blunder would mean! ” “I’m sick of the whole thing,” he replied, half turning toward her. “Very well,” she answered. “You have the remedy in your own hands.” lie shrugged his shoulders with a careless air, and passed on down the room. All except Pasquale left the Casino soon afterward; but, as the old gamester knew me so well, I hesitated to speak to him yet, fearing lest by doing so it might prevent the truth becoming known. That there was some mysterious system about to be worked against the bank I felt assured, but of what nature I could only discover by vigilant observation. Several days went by, and I saw them not. One morning 1 noticed Remenyi lounging in one of the wicker chairs in the entranee of me Grand Hotel, smoking and reading a pajier, but he did not enter the Rooms. The fair-haired man apparently lived in Nice,’ and, in order to find out wnat I could, I went over there one morning and took a turn in the sunshine along the Pomenades des Anglais. The magnificent esplanade is the gayest, brightest, happiest spot in all Europe on a February morning; a spot where society suns itself, and where the gamesters of Monte Carlo breathe the fresh, pure air after the heat and excitement of the previous night. All is colour, movement, life and laughter as the' crowd of promenaders, in summer costumes, the men in straw hats, or those grey felt ones peculiar to the Riviera, and the women with sunshades, stroll leisurely the whole length of the clean, cemented footway. Among this merry throng I lounged along, with wary eye, examining every passer-by, nodding acquaintance with one or two regular habitues of the Rooms, men and women who take their airing ‘each morning along the promenade, and spend the remainder of the day at the tapis vert, wrestling with the hazard. Suddenly, an object caught my eye as it passed, flashing for an instant in the sunlight. I turned and glanced a second time at it to make certain. Y r es, it was the little jewelled watch which the fair masker had worn at the ball on the Jetce. It now hung openly on the smart white serge coat of its owner, a welldressed, young and rather handsome woman, wild was walking alone in the direction of the Quai Massena. She had passed ere I had time to glance at her, therefore I could only catch sight of her profile. But in an instant I made a resolve, and turning, followed her. That she knew more of the mysterious Nina de Gourieff than she had told me was evident, and I intended to make a strenuous endeavour to discover all I could. As I got level with her I raised my hat and claimed acquaintance. At first she was inclined to repudiate having met me, but when I explained by what means I had discovered her identity she laughed heartily, and we began to chat as we walked along together. With infinite care I led up the conversation to the woman de Gourieff, but in an instant her mouth closed, and she glanced at me with a quick look of suspicion. In the course of our careless gossip the, however, let drop the fact that she niended going over to Monte Carlo that afternoon; therefore, resolving to meet her again there, as if by accident, I fished her au revoir, opposite the Hotel des Anglais, and we parted.’ About three o’clock that same afternoon I was in the bureau of the Administration when my fair acquaintance entered and, to obtain her card of admission, presented her passport, l>ound up in one of those neat little gilt-edged books which the better-class Russians carry. Unobserved, I glanced at it as it lay •pea in her hand, and saw upon tho

grey paper, headed with the Russian arms, u vise, which caused me a start of surprise. Her name, it stated, was Vera Severine, and when, a quarter of an hourlater, I encountered her in the Rooms and addressed her by that name she looked at me quickly, with mingled annoyance and surprise, “Madame has no necessity to disguise her identity from me,” I exclaimed meaningly in a low voice. “I am chief of the Surveillance here. My name is Martin —Antoine Martin.” She laughed rather nervously, and admitted that she had heard of me. “I noticed the vise on madame’s passport,” I exclaimed. “It bears the special stamp of the Ministry, which shows madame to be an agent of the Secret Police. In such circumstances there is assuredly no need for secrets between us. If I can aid you, command me. As you know, I am in weekly communication with your central bureau in St. Petersburg. I presume that the person who interests you is this Madame de Gourieff, eh?” “You have guessed aright,” she admitted, as we strolled down the Rooms together. “She is a revolutionist—president of the Zurich Council of Twenty.” “The president I ” I exclaimed. “Then, she’s a nihilist. And your orders?” “To watch her closely. Aided by my husband, I have been keeping observation upon her for these last three months. She has no money, and has come to Monte Carlo to replenish her funds.”

“And this Austrian, Remenyi, what of him ?” “She has only lately made his acquaintance. From what I have observed, there is some compact between them. She is to meet him here this afternoon.” Scarcely had this handsome woman, whose passport gave her immunity from arrest throughout the Czar’s empire, uttered these words when we saw the pair approaching, and moved away to escape observation.

They walked on to the right-hand trente-et-quarante table, where Pasquale was already seated, and stood for some time intently watching the game. Madame Severine left me to wander aoout alone, having agreed that we would both keep the pair under observation. I saw her later on seated at the old Italian’s side, playing quite as eagerly as any other gambler. But her manner was perfect. She had been trained in that excellent school over which the Russian Minister of the Interior presides. A woman, being quicker of perception, always makes a better secret agent than a man —a fact which the Russian Government has long ago taken advantage.

A seat at last becoming vacant, next to Cruzel, the tailleur, the ugly little Austrian in an instant “marked” it by flinging down a louis. Then, leisurely seating himself, with his companion standing behind his chair, he commenced playing with precision and care. Suddenly, just as two blustering men —one of whom was the fair-haired player, who had previously expressed impatience—demanded gold in exchange for notes, Madame de Gourieff drew from her pocket a paper containing about a thousand francs in gold, and, in her haste to stake a louis upon the table, the paper broke, and the gold fell to the floor in a perfect cascade, the louis rolling away beneath the feet of the players,

under the chairs and under the table. This created hopeless confusion, for nearly everybody rose in. order that the attendants might collect the fallen money, while madame, red and confused, uttered a thousand pardons. Even the chef de partie descended from his high chair and glanced around to seek the missing coin. The hunchback uttered a word of apology to Cruzel that his fair com 1 panion should have caused any such interruption in the game; but soon afterward all settled again, and there sounded the well-known invitation: “Messieurs, faites vos jeux.” Nina de Gourieff, with a gambler's fear lest her gold, once fallen, should bring her ill-luck, took some notes from her pocket and placed twelve, the maximum, on the noire, while, strangely enough, the deformed man acted in a similar manner.

“Ricn ne va plus!” cried the tailleur, and he dealt Che cards swiftly in two ranges.

“Deux, six, rouge perd et couleur gagno!” Cruzel exclaimed loudly a moment later, raking iu the stakes upon tho red. > —

Both the man and the woman had won the maximum, and were paid with the swiftness and precision which characterises the fulfilment of the obligations of the bank.

Again came the invitation to play, and both staked upon the black, while Pasquale, noticing his friend’s good fortune, also threw twelve thousand francs upon the couleur. “Quatre, cinq, rouge perd et couleur gagne!” was Cruzel’s announcement a few seconds later, the excitement at the table becoming intense when it was noticed that all tnree had won the maximum. Cruzel was playing swiftly, when Madame Severine approached me hastily, saying: “There is some mystery .here. Have those cards counted! ” I glanced at the chef de partie, whom I saw puzzled because all the high cards were black, and waited. Again the game was made, and a third time the trio won; then, as the chef bent over to Cruzel, Madame de Gourieff rose quickly, gathered up her winnings, and left. Noticing this, I whispered a word to the chef de partie, who stopped the game, and ordered me to conduct Cruzel to the Bureau, which I at once did. The cards were at once counted, and it was discovered that there were thirty cards in addition to those supplied to the table that morning! According to Madame Serevine’s statement it appeared that the conspiracy had been very carefully worked out, and that Nina de Gourieff and her two confederates, having created a confusion, Remenyi had at that instant slipped unnoticed into Cruzel’s hand a pack of

prepared cards. Then, when all became again tranquil, the players had placed down the maximum, confident of success.

The hunchback was arrested down in the candamine half an hour later, and both were, in due course, tried before the Tribunal at Monaco, sentences of two years’ imprisonment being passed upon them. Against Pasquale nothing conclusive could be proved; while Nina de Gourieff, ingenious always, succeeded in getting clear away with her winnings, together with the two loud-voiced men who had demanded change for a thousand francs at the instant she had allowed her gold to tumble from her hand.

Six months afterward, however, I received a letter from Madame Severine, dated from St. Petersburg, stating that the woman who had so cleverly planned tne fraud had been arrested in a suburb of Moscow, and had been banished to Nerchinsk, in Siberia, as a dangerous nihilist.

Prior to this incident the cards used at trente-et-quarante could be purchased at the stationer’s in the Gallerie Charles 111., but ever since care has been exercised in order to render similar fraud impossible. Each night the used cards are counted, verified, rearranged in their original packs, and placed in envelopes bearing the date on which they were used, and the signatures of the tailleur and chief of the service. For five years they are preserved, and afterward burned. Many have been the attempts made from time to time upon - the bank, but certainly none was more daring than that signalled by Nina de Gourieff’s cascade of gold. (The End.)