She shook her head. “You must have patience.”
“But, Helena, suppose something happens....”
“Don’t question me further now, darling,” she interrupted. “You will soon know everything I have done for you. You may expect me here every day. But if I should not be able to come, do not think I’ve forgotten you. You must have faith in me, dear.”
“I will, my Helena.”
She was smiling when she left, but I felt that there was something in the wind. Why couldn’t I be as calm as Helena? I would go to the Cambridge and have dinner with Gorshman this evening, listen to his rhapsodies about Helena, then see her again in the morning. Life wasn’t so bad, after all. Two months ago I was miserably wretched, almost penniless. Now I had money. And every morning I saw in the flesh the woman of whom I was always dreaming. What more could one ask?
When I joined Gorshman at his table, he looked dejected.
“What’s the matter, things not going well?” I asked.
He went on to explain that although he had seen Helena yesterday as well as the night before, and had looked at her, hungry for one of her smiles, she didn’t even seem to be aware of his existence.
“Oh, women, women!” sighed little Gorshman stupidly. “Why didn’t she leave me alone in the beginning? Why did she ever smile at me at all? She did smile, didn’t she? You saw her yourself, didn’t you? Why did she? Why?”
“Don’t be silly. She’s probably afraid her husband will see her.”
“No, that’s no reason. Even if she was afraid to smile she could at least have looked my way. But she seemed to ignore me purposely.”
“Maybe to-night?”
“No, they have left.”
“What, she’s gone? Are you sure? Who told you?” Gorshman was so absorbed in his own gloomy thoughts that my surprise did not arouse his suspicions.
“I asked the head waiter. He told me they left this afternoon about three o’clock for Deauville by automobile. Their servants followed by train with the baggage.”
I pulled myself together. I managed to say quite calmly:
“If I were you I’d go down to Deauville. I’d like to go myself. Easy enough to find out at what hotel they are staying; we’ll go there too. You’ll be able to be nearer to her than in Paris — what with the beach and the Casino. Come on; you’ll only keep on fretting if you stay here. I know how you feel. I, too, have suffered the same way.”
Gorshman looked at me pityingly. “If it had been this kind of woman, you wouldn’t be here now — you’d be in your grave. I’ll die if this keeps up.”
“Well, then, let’s go to Deauville — to-morrow.”
“That’s a good idea. I don’t mind suffering, if only I can suffer near her. To suffer without seeing her would be hell.”
So it was decided. Even if Gorshman didn’t go, I’d go. What was going on down there? Why the sudden flight? All my old distrust seized me again. “Have faith,” Helena had said to me only to-day. And I had said I had, when in reality I hadn’t the least bit.
Was she going to leave me again? Whether I loved her or hated her, I didn’t know. I only knew I couldn’t get along without her; and no matter what happened I’d never leave her... even if to the scaffold we’d go together.
We left for Deauville.... Gorshman overcome by his love, I ready to commit any folly for her.
I knew that Helena usually stopped at the Hôtel Royal; she used to go there when she was Lady Skarlett — and as Lady Sherfield she would command all attention and respect. Of course, she would also have her table at the Ambassadeur. But no one would recognize me. I was Mr. Hooker with the ruddy complexion of an Englishman. Now I would be Mr. Antonin Rose, the young lawyer who had fallen heir to considerable money and was having a good time spending it in the company of Mr. Joseph Gorshman.
* * * * * *
I was right! There she was at the very table over which she presided last year. Sir Douglas Sherfield — that crook — was seated opposite her. With them were four or five guests, among them Harry, European correspondent for several American newspapers.
Our table was not far away. Probably she saw us, but she didn’t blink; she went right on talking with her guests. No doubt her husband saw us too. But, of course, such a distinguished gentleman could not recognize two modest lawyers like us.
Gorshman could not talk of anything but Helena and his passion. He never was a particularly interesting person, but now he bored me to death. Didn’t I have troubles of my own to think about?... I ran the risk of being arrested at any moment. There was a certain Victor, a former hairdresser, and now Sir Philip’s chauffeur....
But I had nothing to complain of — in fact, I was in a better position than Durin. He was obliged to disguise himself, to take an assumed name, to perpetually play a part. I was myself, Mr. Antonin Rose. Durin has been caught a score of times, but I must admit he always got out of his scrapes very successfully. Antonin Rose had never been charged with any crime. Durin was in greater peril than I. He had me in his clutch. Yes, but I had him in mine too. Perhaps it was that good brand of champagne that Gorshman found on the wine-card that made me feel equal to any situation at that moment. I’d just been asking myself why I’d followed Helena down here. What had I to fear? Victor? After all, he was only a servant. He had been an accomplice of Mr. Flow when Mr. Flow was Durin. It was our crimes that gave us control over each other.
And so I went on, weighing the situation, vacillating from one extreme to the other... here at Deauville, where all the world meets to enjoy life.
“Are you going to take a chance at baccarat, Gorshman?”
“No, I always lose.”
But my proverb, “Unlucky in love, lucky at cards,” intrigued him.
The moment he entered the room he was another man. He watched avidly, then tossed 2,000 francs on the green; he won; he won again; then took down his original stake, risked all his winnings, doubled it, gathered it in and started to walk away. But the gambling fever had him now; he turned back. At the end of an hour, by a happy combination of shrewdness and boldness, he walked out with 200,000 francs.
Generously he gave me half. He was so overcome by his triumph that he had completely forgotten Helena. He regarded himself as the Baccarat King, and when back in the hotel, explained to me that his heavy winning was due to shrewdness.
I bade him good night.
Before going to sleep I had time to reflect. Why had I come to Deauville? Wasn’t it quite natural that Helena, like all society women, should spend a month here? Hadn’t I put myself in a rather ridiculous position by following her? No good could come of it. Durin would get angry. She would get bored. I should have used better judgment. But the moment she was out of my sight I was unable to think. What would she say? Wouldn’t she be angry because I had no confidence in her? I would leave... it would seem that I just stepped off while passing through... that would be better taste.... Yes, I would leave to-morrow.
Having made that resolution, I fell asleep.
And, strange to say, I was of the same mind when I woke up. I would leave this evening. One more lunch with Gorshman, during which I would break the news to him. He no longer needed me. There was a good train about five o’clock.
What was that little noise in the bedroom hallway? Oh yes, the maid slipping the mail in the box. Mail? But no one knew I was here.
Fine stationery... the long, angular handwriting was unfamiliar. I opened the note.
An invitation to dine this evening at the Ambassadeur!
I had to read it several times....
“Sir Douglas and Lady Helena Sherfield have the honour..
What! Helena and Durin, or rather Durin and Helena were asking me to a very small dinner this evening... very informal... the words were underlined several times — very informal. I had had a number of surprises in the last two weeks... a lady, whose husband I had just blackjacked, throwing herself into my arms; Gorshman overwhelmed by his love for Helena... Helena weeping in my
room; Clotilde in her garden, on the arm of Sir Philip Skarlett! I ought not to be surprised at anything. But really, this letter was the most surprising of all. Durin, whom I must watch so closely — Durin asking me to dinner! What did they think I was? Was! Helena’s lover or no? Durin’s enemy or not? Didn’t he know I was Helena’s lover? And didn’t she know I was Durin’s enemy? What were they up to now? Another trap... but I’d not fall into it.
I had nothing to say to Durin; what had he to say to me... why the invitation? Why?
An invitation this morning for this evening! That certainly meant very informal — twice underlined!
Moreover, what possible excuse could I give Gorshman? He would never understand. “So you know these people, then, do you? You’ve been laughing at me all along, have you?”
I would send a line to the “English nobleman,” expressing my regrets.
Just then Gorshman entered with a telegram in his hand.
“I have to return by the noon train. My uncle is very ill.”
There was a stroke of luck. If I was going to accept Durin’s invitation, I didn’t want to be annoyed by explaining anything to Gorshman. Nor did I want him to know how relieved I felt.
“Who sent you the telegram?”
“My brother. Fortunately I had left him my address. I must hurry back to Paris... so, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave at once... that is, of course, unless you care to go with me.”
“I think I’ll stay here a few days longer.... But let me know how you find your uncle.... I hope you’ll find everything all right.”
“If it’s serious I’ll wire you... otherwise I’ll write.”
And he left.
Now I was free to dine at the Ambassadeur. I sat down and wrote on my card:
“Accept with pleasure the kind invitation of...”
All afternoon I thought about the kind invitation until it was time to dress for dinner. I took especial care, so that Helena need not blush at what she sometimes called my “ridiculous little costume.” I wanted to look as well as Durin, even though he was made up to look like a distinguished Englishman.
Sir Douglas Sherfield and Lady Helena were awaiting me in a private dining-room.
“I’m so pleased that you could accept an invitation for this evening, Mr. Rose,” Helena said. “My husband has been anxious to meet you ever since I told him about your defending Achilles last year.”
What did she mean? Achilles, that was Durin, the very man I was facing now. I did defend him, and he knew it. What was their game?
I would match wits with them.
“Oh, Madame, no credit is due me. That case was won even before the trial. That Durin, that Achilles, did not need my help... his stupidity alone would have saved him. He was a confirmed crook, but such an ordinary one that you felt sorry for him. I’d like to know what’s become of him, that Durin. After the trial I had occasion to meet him again at Black Rooks where you did me the honour of inviting me. And then the tragedy happened, and to this day I don’t know the sequel.”
“Oh, Achilles lost his head. He loved Sir Archibald — especially because he came to his aid at the trial. The Black Rooks murder crazed him. For two weeks he roamed the country around the castle in rags and tatters. What a sight he was! Then he disappeared — I always thought he threw himself into the lake. Poor Achilles! When I saw you in the restaurant yesterday, Mr. Rose, I thought immediately of poor Achilles. But he wasn’t the scoundrel you say he was. No, no, Achilles wasn’t a scoundrel. Mr. Hooker certainly was a scoundrel, but Achilles, no, no. He was only a boy who lost his head for a moment.”
For whose benefit was Helena speaking? Was it possible someone, unseen, was listening? And was she counting on me to play a part in a difficult scene? I must be clever and discreet, and, in order not to make any faux pas, I must read between the lines.
“Madame, when I said this Durin was a scoundrel, it was because to my mind there is nothing more loathsome than stealing. A murderer may have his great moments; a thief is only repulsive.” Taking refuge in these generalities, I cited instances; I referred to specific cases; I blamed modern education; and I could see that I was making an impression. Lady Helena listened attentively; Sir Douglas nodded his approval, but was silent. Evidently he expected Helena to do the talking.
“Oh, yes, you are right in general,” she said, “but you are too hard on Achilles, Mr. Rose. Bear in mind that while he had an opportunity to make a big haul, he took only a little tie-pin to give to a chambermaid.”
“Who steals an egg, steals an ox.”
This proverb charmed her. She laughed heartily, indeed quite loud. Either the partition was very solid, or the listeners were not very near.... Yes, I was now convinced we must be talking for the benefit of the diners in the next private room.
“The most serious accusation you recall, Madame, was Sir Philip’s evidence....”
At these words Helena grew a little pale, and under the table I felt her foot pressing mine. Just a minute now, steady. I was on dangerous ground; suppose I tease them a little!... “Sir Philip’s evidence. At one point in the case I wondered if I wasn’t about to become lawyer in a world-famous case — whether my fame would not fly to the four corners of the earth? Don’t you understand that in defending the insignificant Durin I might suddenly have found myself defending Mr. Flow?”
Here Sir Douglas broke in.
“Mr. Flow is a fool,” he said, with the characteristic accent of the Canadian. “Only recently he tried to steal Lady Sherfield’s necklace, and all he got was the imitation. Well, if you say that Durin also is a fool, perhaps, then, Durin is Mr. Flow.”
“Oh, Douglas,” Helena exclaimed, “you say such strange things at times.”
Then she tried to explain to her dear Douglas that Durin could not be Mr. Flow, because while Durin was in jail, Mr. Flow was committing burglary after burglary in Rouen, Paris and Deauville.
But she could not make Douglas understand. She was about to start all over again, but I didn’t intend to be interrupted. Were they afraid to hear me mention Sir Philip? Didn’t they want to have what I would say about Sir Philip heard on the other side of the partition? I was not going to lose my one opportunity to frighten them; so I began again in the low, measured voice of the lawyer.
“Sir Philip impressed one as being a perfect gentleman.”
At that they both seemed relieved. Good. I went on:
“Only..
Once more Helena looked anxious.
“Only, he was mistaken.”
Durin understood my trick. He smiled. “Only...”
“Only... he was mistaken. I judged from what Detective Petit-Jean told me later that Sir Philip was duped by a fellow who knew Mr. Flow and pretended he would put him in Sir Philip’s power only that he might better shield him.”
“Oh,” said Sir Douglas, “these stories are so involved I don’t understand them at all.” And he smiled.
“Now then,” I said, “I’ll try to make it clear, Sir Douglas. That fellow, whose name Petit-Jean didn’t tell me, was an accomplice of Mr. Flow, or of Mr. Hooker, if you like that better. He wanted to save his master, whose identity Sir Philip would doubtless have discovered. So he went to Sir Philip and accused a false Mr. Flow to throw him off the trail.”
“Oh,” said Sir Douglas, “now I understand.”
“And Sir Philip believed him. Petit-Jean didn’t tell me all the details. The fact is that an accomplice of Mr. Flow took advantage of Sir Philip’s noble character — a proof of which I shall now give you.”
Helena was no longer troubled. A smile played on her lips and she looked at me admiringly.
I lowered my voice and went on. “In Paris I still lived in a miserable attic room, where I had some hard days before I inherited a small legacy. On the same floor lived two fine and beautiful girls. The older worked in an office to earn money for the education of her younger sister. I can’t tell you how greatly I admired them.... Not far from here they had a rough bungalo
w, which they called their ‘villa’ and where last year I spent several of the happiest days of my life. One night this summer, soon after their arrival, a yacht was shipwrecked nearby. The yacht belonged to Sir Philip. They did everything they could for him. Like me, he admired their beauty and their character. He has just married one of them. Was I wrong when I said he had a fine, noble soul?”
“How do you know all this?” asked Helena.
I knew by the way she pressed my foot that she wanted me to continue.
“Ah, Madame,” I said, somewhat sentimentally, “it wasn’t the young girl who told me of her marriage. But I will tell you in confidence how I know. I had come to love one of my young neighbours. But I could offer her nothing but my poverty. I took the train for Lion-by-the-Sea and rushed to their ‘villa.’ I found it surrounded by an iron fence. Over the gateway the initial of the youngest girl was intertwined with that of Sir Philip, It was then that I learned about the marriage. Disappointed as I was at my own loss, I was happy that such a splendid girl had been rewarded by a fortune and a distinguished name. I know Sir Philip will make her happy. He will be happy, too. If she has married him it is because she loved him.”
A silence fell on the party, broken only by the noise of the departure of the guests in the adjoining room.
We were all quiet and looked at each other. Durin bit his lower lip. His eyes, riveted on me, reflected a certain admiration. And I, with half-closed eyes, seemed to say to him:
“What are you thinking now about the stupid little Frenchman?”
As for Helena, her cheeks trembled slightly; then she said:
“He’s very intelligent.”
And I thought that this time I saw love in her eyes. Not passion, mind you, but love.
Durin, silent, looked at me a moment. Then he laughed.
“Well, my dear master, they did wrong not to let you plead the case.... I was frightened until I saw that you were deliberately trying to frighten me. Congratulations. You understood at once. Oh, yes, it was a part I was playing.... There was the possibility that to-morrow morning we three might have been in difficulty.”
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 484