CHAPTER XIV
Table of Contents
At the sound of the stroke of the hour of three, a metallic yet somehow significant chime, from the chapel hidden in the lighthouse woods. Mermillon rose slowly to his feet and leaned over the side of the boat. The Baron, in his pyjamas and dressing-gown, had already taken his place there. The seconds passed without a word between the two men. The commander of the French gunboat was evidently qualifying for promotion. The play of the searchlights had ceased some five minutes before. Black darkness enveloped the small bay. The long slanting beam from the Antibes lighthouse passed over the top of the woods, searched the far seas, but it did nothing to illumine the sombre obscurity below. Mermillon drew a little nearer to his companion. A very rare emotion trembled in his voice.
“If Chicotin succeeds,” he said, “It will be within the next five minutes.”
“A long time to wait,” the Baron growled. Mermillon leaned speechless over the side. His face had lost its calm satirical expression, and he was like a man stretched upon the rack. He stood slightly turned away so that not even his companion could see the agony through which he was passing. Neither of the two men seemed to be able to preserve the sense of time, but when the quarter chimed from the chapel in the woods, though even the seconds had seemed intolerably long, Mermillon gave vent to a groan of surprise.
“Chicotin has failed,” he muttered.
“Name of heaven, what was that?” the Baron exclaimed with a start.
Whatever the sound denoted, it came, alas, from the far distance. A low rumbling first, as though of thunder, then a crash, an opening of the black skies over westward as though to let out a flood of summer lightning. Then silence—darkness and silence more profound than ever.
The commander of the gunboat heard it, sprang from his bunk, and hurried up on deck also to gaze around at nothing. Perissol heard it and leaned over from his balcony, straining his eyes and striving to penetrate the darkness of the near horizon. Tanya, who had been dealing a hand in Juan Casino, heard it a great deal more distinctly, and almost dropped the cards from her bejewelled fingers. The little company of eight seated at the table stared at one another without any inclination to move. Tanya, whose bank now amounted to a good many mille, and who had just had banco called against her, was the first to recover herself. Perhaps because she understood. She showed no sign of the relief which had set her wicked little heart dancing with joy.
“Whatever has happened,” she exclaimed, “it is not for our harm. Let us finish the hand.”
She gave the card which had been demanded—ten—and triumphantly, with her amazing finger nails, pointed to the six which she had already shown upon the table. The man who had gone banco, with a shrug of the shoulders, opened his pocket book and counted out the money. Tanya leaned back in her chair humming a little tune. Poor Chicotin! His boasts, then, had not been idle ones.
“Un banco de quatorze mille,” the croupier announced.
This time no one paid any attention. The little company had recovered from then stupor and everyone except Tanya had rushed to the doors.
“La main passe,” Tanya declared, stretching out her hand and clutching her winnings. Everything had happened according to plan.
The Baron was a few minutes late in the morning for his petit dejeuner, which he made a rule of sharing with his host in a pleasant corner of the deck. He found Mermillon with the Eclaireur gripped in his hand. He had evidently just finished reading something of interest.
“Eh bien, mon ami?” de Brett exclaimed inquiringly.
Mermillon laid down his paper.
“It is the old story,” he confided. “God and men make plans and women destroy them. I knew that vain little fool of a Chicotin was playing the Don Juan. I ought to have confined him to the ship until his work was done.”
“What then has happened?” the Baron demanded.
“One has to guess. We, I think, can gill in the blanks better than anyone. A block of flats newly built in Juan-les-Pins, only one of which was occupied, has been blown to pieces—wrecked completely and absolutely soon after 3 o’clock this morning. The owner of the flat was playing chemin-de-fer at the Casino. All that this journal professes to know about her is that she came from Marseilles and that she had a lover—apparently wealthy—who was with her earlier in the evening. According to this paper the two dined at the Provençal Hotel and were seen soon after midnight to enter the flat—the man carrying a small despatch case. The girl, however, took her accustomed place at her favourite chemin-de-fer table at the Casino shortly after 2. At a quarter-past 3 came the explosion.”
“Did we not hear it?” the Baron muttered. “The adjectives used by these French journalists in trying to describe its effect,” Mermillon continued, stirring his coffee, “suggest that Chicotin told us the truth. The flat and its contents have gone up into thin air. There is not even an indication as to whether any human being was in the building. Not an article of furniture or clothing of any description remains. It stood, fortunately, upon an empty space, but every window in the neighbourhood was shattered and several small buildings forty yards away were wrecked. A small saloon car standing at the entrance was scattered in morsels of metal and upholstery right across the road. Enfin, mon cher Baron, we have lost our dear Chicotin.”
The Baron plucked up his spirits.
“Under the circumstances, I think,” he remarked cheerfully, as he buttered himself a piece of toast, “it is perhaps the best thing that could have happened. Alive, whether successful or unsuccessful, he would have been a terrible nuisance.”
Mermillon sighed as he glanced to where the Bird of Paradise was swaying gracefully at her moorings.
“It is now my turn,” de Brett went on, “to disclose some news. In a few weeks’ time the Bird of Paradise will have changed hands.”
Mermillon’s eyebrows were faintly uplifted. His guest continued.
“There has been, as you may be aware, something in the nature of a flirtation between Hamer Wildburn, the owner of the Bird of Paradise, and Mademoiselle Lucienne de Montelimar I dined last night, as you know, at the château. Madame took me into her confidence. A marriage, it seems, is on the tapis between the two young people.”
“This sounds interesting,” Mermillon observed.
“It becomes more and more so,” de Brett proceeded “As I have already told you, I have intimated to the Marquise our desire to acquire the boat. She has used all her influence with her daughter and the young man has promised Lucienne that she shall have it for a wedding gift.”
Mermillon leaned back from the table and lit a cigarette.
“How does that strike you, Baron?” he asked. “The Bird of Paradise in the hands of the girl, eh? It doesn’t strike me that our position will be greatly improved. He will probably make it a condition that she does not dispose of it.”
De Brett smiled, and his smile had none of the attractive qualities that his companion’s possessed. His lips were pudgy and his eyes beadlike.
“The mother and I are old friends,” he confided. “We have talked of this matter seriously, and I believe that we shall at any rate have facilities—through a third person if necessary—to gain at least temporary possession of the boat. The affairs of one’s youth sometimes turn out to one’s advantage in later years.” he added with a little chuckle. “The Marquise at one time did me the honour to accept me as her cavalier. She has every reason to afford me now what assistance is in her power.”
Mermillon turned away from his companion as though to study once more the outline the “Bird of Paradise.” His real intention was to mask the slight expression of disgust which came so often into his face during his conversations with his guest.
“You are an amazing man, Albert,” he murmured. “You have influence everywhere.”
De Brett chuckled once more.
“I say only this of myself,” he declared.
“Other men submit to having their schemes wrecked and their future ruin
ed for the sake of a woman. I, too, love women, but I make them serve my purpose.”
Mermillon rose as though to stretch himself and walked to the rail of the yacht. For a moment or two he remained standing upright gazing steadily seawards. There were those amongst his contemporaries who criticised him sometimes as a dreamer. This might have been one of those moments which justified such an idea, for the thoughts of Edouard Mermillon, premier Minister of France, were far away in an island in the Pacific, where the sole intrigues were amongst the natives in their bargaining for fish or coral or wives, where wealth was useless, and ambition ineffective. The island belonged to him—his by right of purchase and charter. He looked across the sea with gleaming eyes and it was not for any human being to know the longing in his heart. He heard his guest’s slippered feet approach. The light went out from his face. A stony calm took its place.
“In the meantime,” the Baron observed, rubbing his hands, “I am a man of action. I commence the affair. I have despatched a messenger already to Mademoiselle Lucienne, begging her to bring the young man over here this afternoon, and take tea or an aperitif with us. I have done well—yes?”
“Prompt action is certainly your forte, my friend,” Mermillon conceded.
CHAPTER XV
Table of Contents
Commander Berard, who had been invited by signal to join the small afternoon party on board the Aigle Noir, arrived half an hour later than expected towing behind his launch a small dinghy.
“Brought you back some ship’s property, I think, sir,” he observed, as he shook hands with Mermillon.
The latter strolled to the side of the yacht with his visitor, who pointed downwards. Mermillon signalled for the captain, who promptly joined them.
“That’s our dinghy, sir, all right,” was the unhesitating decision. “It was reported missing to me when I made my morning rounds. Might one ask, sir, where you picked it up?”
“We didn’t pick it up exactly,” the commander explained. “One of my men on leave was taking a promenade and found it underneath those overhanging bushes.”
“How do you account for that, Captain?” Mermillon asked.
The former shook his head.
“How can one account for an incident so extraordinary?” he replied. “No one is allowed to take out a boat or even one of the smaller dinghies without express permission. Monsieur Chicotin is the only one who has occasionally taken a liberty.”
“It appears to me,” the, commander volunteered, “as though one of your crew had helped himself to a little extra leave during the night time and had hidden that boat with the idea of getting back at any hour in the morning.”
“A very plausible suggestion,” Mermillon decided. “After all, this is a pleasure yacht and a too rigid discipline is scarcely called for. From the decks here my men can often hear the music being played at Juan-les-Pins. I expect now and then some of the gay minded ones find it too much for them. The matter is not of any particular importance.”
“I thought at first it might have been someone intending to pay you a visit,” the commander remarked to Wildburn. “It was nearer your boat than anyone’s.”
“Sorry to have missed a visitor,” the latter observed. “It might have been another bidder for the boat.”
“The boat,” Lucienne reminded him sternly, “is not for sale. It is pledged to me. You have perhaps heard,” she went on, smiling at Mermillon, “the Bird of Paradise is to be my wedding present from Hamer.”
“I am out of luck,” Mermillon complained ruefully. “I tried so hard to buy that small yacht, but Mr, Wildburn was adamant.”
“I don’t think he liked parting with her even to me,” Lucienne confided. “He was very sweet about it, though.”
Her host dismissed the subject with a little wave of the hand.
“My nephew, at any rate, is not hard to please,” he said. “So long as it is a boat and has sails and something in the way of a engine she is his natural home. I never asked de Brett what he discovered about your engines, by-the-by. Mr. Wildburn.”
“Twin Diesel,” the Baron reported. “Quite enough for her size. I never believe in overpowering a boat.”
They went back to their interrupted tea, which was served in the most approved English fashion. Afterwards they were shown over the yacht, and Lucienne, especially, was loud in her praises.
“When the Bird of Paradise belongs to me Monsieur Mermillon,” she said, “I shall perhaps make you a generous offer. Hamer permits I shall propose that we exchange boats!”
“I expect you will find me perfectly willing,” he replied. “My nephew would find a ship of this size entirely a white elephant. It costs more than I can afford to keep it in condition. To tell you the truth, one reason why I asked the Baron to cruise with me as my guest was the hope that some evening after we had discussed a bottle of his favourite wine together I might sell it to him!”
“Dismiss the idea, my friend,” de Brett advised. “In Brussels we are all as poor as church rats. Besides which, we are not yachtsmen. We spend our money on horses and racing cars.”
“Has anyone,” Berard asked, “been in to Juan to see the scene of the explosion?”
“I have,” Hamer Wildburn replied.
“And I,” the Baron echoed. “I have never seen a thing so extraordinary.”
“The police and the firemen together are, I am informed, confounded,” Mermillon declared. “They have wired to Paris for two scientists to come down from a Government laboratory. It seems that some new explosive of terrific power must have been used, for there are literally no remains, A house and furniture, and possibly human beings, have never been known to disappear in such a fashion before. Nothing remains but dust and ashes.”
“Of course, the usual stories are going about,” the Baron observed. “I lunched at the Provençal, and they are full of it. Two or three people declare that they positively saw an aeroplane of German make pass over last night a few minutes before the explosion. They think that it was just an experiment, and that they had observers in the vicinity.”
“The most arrant sensationalism, I should imagine,” Mermillon pronounced. “I hear that there were no lives lost at all. A wild looking young Jewish danseuse, Mademoiselle Tanya, who was the only known tenant, is reported as having been seen about during the evening with a man, but she declares that they parted long before she entered the Casino, and that he did not even enter her apartment. She herself was safely seated at the chemin-de-fer table an hour before the explosion.”
“Is it the same Mademoiselle Tanya, I wonder,” Lucienne asked, “who was dancing at a café up in one of those hill villages a week or two ago? We were getting up a party to go and see her, but we were told that she had left.”
“I should doubt it very much,” the Baron replied. “The performances you are speaking of were of a much move artistic nature. I have seen Tanya in the Casino at Juan. She has a somewhat wild appearance, but she is beautifully dressed, and she has jewellery. One is told that she has received large salaries in Paris in well-known places of amusement. The Folies Bergère, even, was mentioned.”
Wildburn leaned forward in his place.
“Nevertheless, I believe her to be the same,” he declared. “I saw her dance at a very ordinary café indeed just at the back of Garoupe. She was shabbily dressed and, so far as I could see, she wore no jewellery. That may have been done to keep up the part of the female apache which she was representing. I have seen her since at the Casino at Juan, and, as the Baron told us, she made a very different appearance.”
“This is distressing news,” Lucienne observed, “I pictured you, my dear Hamer, spending your nights writing that book or your articles for the paper. When have you found time to disport yourself at Juan?”
“I have been in too great a state of mental disturbance during the last few weeks,” the young man confessed with a grin, “to settle down to any serious work. If you care to see the young woman I will take you to Juan, any night you
like. Unless she is scared back to Paris by having had her flat blown up we are certain to find her playing chemin.”
“I will dine with you this evening at the Casino,” Lucienne suggested. “Mother is going over to Monte Carlo. See what you have let yourself in for!”
“A very pleasant evening, it seems to me,”’ the young man exclaimed, with a proper amount of enthusiasm. “I will call for you at about nine o’clock. They dine pretty late there, I believe. I suppose, Monsieur Mermillon,” he went on, turning a little diffidently towards his distinguished host, “it would not be possible for you to discover anything about the person who helped himself to your dinghy last night? I have noticed a very suspicious-looking fellow hanging around in a small boat for several evenings lately.”
“Well, I was rather leaving that to my captain,” Mermillon replied courteously. “Matters of discipline amongst the crew scarcely enter into my activities You are interested?”
“Only because the dinghy was hidden some forty or fifty yards from my own boat,” Wildburn pointed out. “It might almost seem, as the commander indicated, that someone had intended to pay me a nocturnal visit.”
“Mademoiselle Tanya, perhaps!” Lucienne suggested. “I scarcely expected to be honoured so far as that,” he replied. “Still, between ourselves,” he added, looking round, “there his been a certain mysterious interest in my little craft, and I have already received at least one unwelcome visitor. I have not a thing on board worth stealing, but apparently there are people about who think that I have. I should really like to know who hid the dinghy under those bushes and for what purpose.”
“I will speak to the captain myself,” Mermillon promised graciously. “Every effort shall be made to clear the matter up. I am inclined to suspect my wireless operator. He is rather a gay young Lothario and a wizard with those small boats. He can paddle without making a sound. He is off duty just now, I am afraid, but later on I will have a word or two with him myself.”
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