CHAPTER THREE
THERE are still restaurants in Paris where a well chosen dinner delightsthe chef who is called upon to cook it and the waiters who serve. Andalthough it is true that most of the diners of to-day know little ofthat art which is now disappearing, it happened that Steven Denby wasone who delighted the heart of the Ambassadeurs' chef.
Monty was a happy soul who had never been compelled to consult hispocketbook in a choice of restaurants, and Mrs. Michael Harrington wasmarried to a gourmand who well distinguished the difference between thatand the indefensible fault of gluttony. Thus both of Denby's guests werein a sense critical. They admitted that they had dined with one whoagreed with Dumas' dictum that a dinner is a daily and capital actionthat can only worthily be accomplished by _gens d'esprit_.
There are few places in Paris where a dinner in summer can be morepleasantly eaten than the balcony at the Ambassadeurs, among slimpillars of palest green and banks of pink roses. In the distance--nottoo near to be disturbed by the performers unless they chose--the threeAmericans saw that idol of the place, the great Polin at his best.French waiters do not bring courses on quickly with the idea of usingthe table a second time during the dining-hour. The financial genius whocalculates _l'addition_ knows a trick worth two of that.
Still a little anxious that Denby might not be able to stand theexpense, Monty fell to thinking of the charges that Parisianrestaurateurs can make. "They soaked me six francs for a peach hereonce," he said for the second time that day.
"That's nothing to what Bignon used to charge," Alice Harringtonreturned. "Once when Michael's father was dining there he was chargedfifteen francs. When he said they must be very scarce in Paris, Bignonsaid it wasn't the peaches that were scarce, it was the Harringtons."
"Good old Michael," said Monty, "I wish he were here. Why isn't he?"
"Something is being reorganized and the other people want his advice."She laughed. "I suppose he is really good at that sort of thing, but hegets so hopelessly muddled over small accounts that I can't believe it.He was fearfully sorry not to have seen his colt run at Deauville. Ishall have to tell him all about it."
"I read the account," said Denby. "St. Mervyn was the name, wasn't it?"
She nodded. "He won by a short head. Michael always likes to beat Frenchhorses. I'm afraid he isn't as fond of the country as I am. The onlything he really likes here is the _heure de l'aperitif_. He declares itlasts from four-thirty till seven." She laughed. "He has carried thehabit home with him."
"Did you win anything?" Denby asked.
"Enough to buy some presents at Cartier's," she returned. "I've boughtsomething very sweet for Nora Rutledge," she said, turning to Monty."Aren't you curious to know what? It's a pearl la valliere."
"Then for Heaven's sake, declare it!" Monty cried.
"Oh, no," she said, "I'll pay if it's found, but it's a sporting risk totake and you can't make me believe smuggling's wrong. Michael says it'sa Democratic device to rob Republican women."
"Ask Mr. Denby," Monty retorted. "He knows."
"And what do you know, Mr. Denby?" she demanded.
"That the customs people and the state department see no humor in thatsort of a joke any longer. You read surely that society women even havebeen imprisoned for taking sporting risks?"
"Milliners who make a practice of getting things through on their annualtrip," she said lightly. "Of course one wouldn't make a business of it,but I've always smuggled little things through and I always shall."
"Well, I wouldn't if I were you," said Monty. "Mr. Denby has frightenedme."
Alice Harrington looked at him curiously.
"Have you been caught?" she asked with a smile.
"I've seen others caught," he returned, "and if any sister of mine hadto suffer as they did by the publicity and the investigation the customspeople are empowered and required to make, I should feel ratheruncomfortable."
"What a depressing person you are," she laughed. "I had already decidedwhere to hide the things. I think I shall do it after all. It's been allright before, so why not now?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "It may be the new brooms are sweeping cleanor it may be the state department has said smuggling shall no longer becondoned. I only know that things are done very differently now."
Monty looked at him in amazement. His expression plainly meant that heconsidered his friend the proprietor of an unusually large supply ofsheer gall.
"I heard about that," she said, "but one can't believe it. There's amythical being known only by his initials who is investigating for thestate department. Even Michael warned me, so he may have some insidetip. Have you heard of him, Mr. Denby?"
"I was thinking of him," he answered. "I think they call him R. B. or R.D. or some non-committal thing like that."
"And you believe in him?" she asked sceptically.
"I'm afraid I do," he returned.
"The deuce you do!" Monty cried, aggrieved. He had been happy for thelast few hours in the belief that his friend was too well armed to getdetected, and here he was admitting, in a manner that plainly showedapprehension, that this initialed power might be even on his track.
"You never smuggle," Alice Harrington said, smiling. "You haven't thenerve, Monty, so you need not take it to heart."
"But I do nevertheless," he retorted.
"Monty," she cried, "I believe you're planning to smuggle somethingyourself! We'll conspire together and defeat that abominable law."
"If you must," Denby said, still gravely, "don't advertise the fact.Paris has many spies who reap the reward of overhearing just suchconfidences."
"Spies!" She laughed. "How melodramatic, Mr. Denby."
"But I mean it," he insisted. "Not highly paid government agents, butperhaps such people as chambermaids in your hotel, or servants to whomyou pay no attention whatsoever. How do you and I know for example thatMonty isn't high up in the secret service?"
"Me?" cried Monty. "Well, I certainly admire your brand of nerve,Steve!"
"That's no answer," his friend returned. "You say you have been twoyears here studying Continental banking systems. I'll bet you didn'teven know that the Banque de France issued a ten thousand franc note!"
"Of course I did," Monty cried, a little nettled.
Denby turned to Mrs. Harrington with an air of triumph.
"That settles it, Monty is a spy."
"I don't see how that proves it," she answered.
"The Banque de France has no ten thousand franc note," he returned; "itshighest value is five thousand francs. In two years Montague Vaughan hasnot found that out. The ordinary tourist who passes a week here andspends nothing to speak of might be excused, but not a serious studentlike Monty."
"I will vouch for him," Mrs. Harrington said. "I've known him for yearsand I don't think it's a life suited to him at all, is it, Monty?"
"Oh, I don't know," said he airily. "I may be leading a double life." Helooked at her not without an expression of triumph. Little did she knowin what a conspiracy he was already enlisted. After an excellent repastand a judicious indulgence in some rare wine Monty felt he wasextraordinarily well fitted for delicate intrigue, preferably of aninternational character. He stroked his budding moustache with the airof a gentleman adventurer.
Alice Harrington smiled. She was a good judge of character and Monty wastoo well known to her to lend color to any such notion.
"It won't do," she averred, "but Mr. Denby has every earmark of it.There's that piercing look of his and the obsequious way waiters attendon him."
Monty laughed heartily. He was in possession of a secret that made suchan idea wholly preposterous. Here was a man with a million-franc pearlnecklace in his pocket, a treasure he calmly proposed to smuggle inagainst the laws of his country, being taken for a spy.
"Alice," he said still laughing, "I'll go bail on Steve for any amountyou care to name. I am also willing to back him against all comers forbrazen nerve and sheer gall."
Denby interrupted him a litt
le hastily.
"As we two men are free from suspicion, only Mrs. Harrington remainsuncleared."
"This is all crazy talk," Monty asserted.
"I know one woman, well known in New York, who goes over each year andmore than once has made her expenses by tipping off the authorities tothings other women were trying to get through without declaration."
"You speak with feeling," Mrs. Harrington said, and wondered if thisfriend of Monty's had not been betrayed by some such confidence.
"Are you going to take warning?" Denby asked.
She shook her head. "I don't think so. You've been reading the Americanpapers and are deceived by the annual warnings to intending Europeantourists. I'm a hardened and successful criminal." She leaned forward tolook at a dancer on the stage below them and Denby knew that hismonitions had left her unmoved.
"When were you last at home?" she demanded presently of Denby.
"About six months ago," he answered. "I shall be there a week fromto-morrow if I live."
The last three words vaguely disturbed Monty. Why, he wondered crossly,was Denby always reminding him of danger? There was no doubt that whathis friend really should have said was: "If I am not murdered bycriminals for the two hundred thousand dollars' worth of valuables theyprobably know I carry with me."
"Have you booked your passage yet?" she asked.
It occurred to her that it would be pleasant to have a second man on thevoyage. Like all women of her world, she was used to the attentions ofmen and found life deplorably dull without them, although she was not aflirt and was still in love with her husband.
"Not yet," he answered, "but La Provence goes from Havre to-morrow."
"Come with us," she insisted. "The Mauretania sails a couple of dayslater but gets you in on the same morning as the other." She turned toMonty. "Isn't that a brilliant idea?"
"It's so brilliant I'm blinded by it," he retorted, gazing at his friendwith a look of respect. Not many hours ago Steven had asserted that heand Monty must sail together on the fastest of ships, and now he hadapparently decided to forsake the Compagnie Transatlantique only onaccount of Alice Harrington's invitation.
"I shall be charmed," was all he had said.
Monty felt that he was a co-conspirator of one who was not likely to beupset by trifles. He sighed. A day or so ago he had imagined himselfill-used by Fate because no unusual excitement had come his way, and nowhis prayers had been answered too abundantly. The phrase "If I live"remained in his memory with unpleasant insistency.
"We ought to cross the Channel by the afternoon boat to-morrow," Alicesaid. "There are one or two things I want to get for Michael in London."
"It will be a much nicer voyage for me than if I had gone alone on LaProvence," Denby said gratefully, while Monty continued to meditate onthe duplicity of his sex.
When they had taken Mrs. Harrington to her hotel Monty burst out withwhat he had been compelled to keep secret all the evening.
"What in thunder makes you so careful about people smuggling?" hedemanded.
"About other people smuggling, you mean," Denby corrected.
"It's the same thing," Monty asserted.
"Far from it," his friend made answer. "If Mrs. Harrington is suspectedand undeclared stuff found on her, you and I as her companions will bemore or less under suspicion too. It is not unusual for women to asktheir men friends to put some little package in their pockets till thecustoms have been passed. The inspectors may have an idea that she hasdone this with us. Personally I don't relish a very exhaustive search."
"You bet you don't," his friend returned. "I shall probably be the onlyhonest man aboard."
"Mrs. Harrington may ask you to hold some small parcel till she's beenthrough the ordeal," Denby reminded him. "If she does, Monty, you'll becaught for a certainty."
"Damn it all!" Monty cried petulantly, "why can't you people do theright thing and declare what you bring in, just as I do?"
"What is your income?" Denby inquired. "Your father was always liberalwith you."
"You mean I have no temptation?" Monty answered. "I forgot that part ofit. I don't know what I'd do if there wasn't always a convenient payingteller who passed me out all the currency I wanted."
He looked at his friend curiously, wondering just what this act ofsmuggling meant to him. Perhaps Denby sensed this.
"You probably wondered why I wrung that invitation out of Mrs.Harrington instead of being honest and saying I, too, was going by theCunard line. I can't tell you now, Monty, old man, but I hope some dayif I'm successful that I can. I tell you this much, though, that itseems so much to me that no little conventionalities are going to standin my way."
Monty, pondering on this later when he was in his hotel room, called tomind the rumor he had heard years ago that Steven's father had dieddeeply in debt. It was for this reason that the boy was suddenlywithdrawn from Groton. It might be that his struggles to make a livinghad driven him into regarding the laws against smuggling as arbitraryand inequitable just as Alice Harrington and dozens of other people heknew did. Denby, he argued, had paid good money for the pearls and theybelonged to him absolutely; and if by his skill he could evade thepayment of duty upon them and sell them at a profit, why shouldn't he?Before slumber sealed his eyes, Montague Vaughan had decided thatsmuggling was as legitimate a sport as fly-fishing. That these viewswould shock his father he knew. But his father always prided himselfupon a traditional conservatism.
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