After luncheon on the following day I called at Beaulieu and picked up both ladies, who expressed a wish for a run along the coast as far as San Remo.

Therefore I took them across the frontier at Ventimiglia into Italy. We had tea at the Savoy at San Remo, and ran home in the glorious sundown.

Like all other old ladies who have never ridden in a car, she was fidgety about her bonnet, and clung on to it, much to Pierrette’s amusement. Nevertheless, Madame seemed to enjoy her ride, for just as we slipped down the hill into Beaulieu she suggested that we should go on to Nice and there dine.

“Oh yes!” cried Pierrette, with delight. “That will be lovely. I’ll pay for a nice dinner out of my winnings of yesterday. I’ve heard that the London House is the place to dine.”

“You could not do better, mademoiselle,” I said, turning back to her, my eyes still on the road, rendered dangerous by the electric trams and great traffic of cars in both directions. It struck me as curious that I, the Count’s chauffeur, should be treated as one of themselves. I wondered, indeed, if they really intended to invite me to dinner.

But I was not disappointed, for having put the car into that garage opposite the well-known restaurant, Pierrette insisted that I should wash my hands and accompany them.

The ordering of the dinner she left in my hands, and we spent a very merry hour at table, even Madame of the yellow teeth brightening up under the influence of a glass of champagne, though Pierrette only drank Evian.

The Riviera was in Carnival. You who know Nice, know what that means—plenty of fun and frolic in the streets, on the JetÉe Promenade, and in the Casino Municipal. Therefore, after dinner, Pierrette decided to walk out upon the pier, or jetÉe, as it is called, and watch the milk-and-water gambling for francs that is permitted there.

The night was glorious, with a full moon shining upon the calm sea, while the myriad coloured lamps everywhere rendered the scene enchanting. A smart, well-dressed crowd were promenading to and fro, enjoying the magnificent balmy night, and as we walked towards the big Casino at the end of the pier a man in a pierrot’s dress of pale-green and mauve silk, and apparently half intoxicated, for his mauve felt hat was at the back of his head, came reeling in our direction. A Parisian and a boulevardier evidently, for he was singing gaily to himself that song of Aristide Bruant’s, “La Noire,” the well-known song of the 113th Regiment of the Line—

The reveller carried in his hand a wand with jingling bells, and was no doubt on his way to the ball that was to take place later that night at the Casino Municipal—the first bal masquÉ of Carnival.

He almost fell against me, and straightening himself suddenly, I saw that he was about thirty, and rather good-looking—a thin, narrow face, typically Parisian.

“Pardon, m’sieur!” he exclaimed, bowing, then suddenly glancing at Pierrette at my side he stood for a few seconds, glaring at her as though utterly dumbfounded. “Nom d’un chien!” he gasped. “P’tite Pier’tte!—Wouf!”

And next second he placed his hand over his mouth, turned, and was lost in the crowd.

The girl at my side seemed confused, and it struck me that Madame also recognised him.

“Who was he?” I wondered.

The incident was, no doubt, a disconcerting one for them both, because from that moment their manner changed. The gambling within the big rotunda had no interest for either of them, and a quarter of an hour later Madame, with her peculiar rasping voice, said—

“Pierrette, ma chÈre, it is time we returned,” to which the girl acquiesced without comment.

Therefore I took them along to Beaulieu and deposited them at the door of their hotel.

Having seen them safely inside, I turned the car round and went back to Nice.

It was then about ten o’clock, but on the night of a Carnival ball the shops in the Avenue de la Gare are all open, and the dresses necessary for the ball are still displayed. Therefore, having put the car into the garage again, I purchased a pierrot’s kit similar to that worn by the reveller, a black velvet loup, or mask, put them on in the shop, and then walked along to the Casino.

I need not tell you of the ball, of the wild antics of the revellers of both sexes, of the games of leap-frog played by the men, of the great rings of dancers, joining hand in hand, or of the beautiful effect of the two shades of colour seen everywhere. It has been described a hundred times. Moreover, I had not gone there to dance, I was there to watch, and if possible to speak with the man who had so gaily sung “La Noire” among the smart, aristocratic crowd on the JetÉe.

But in that great crowd, with nearly everyone wearing their masks, it was impossible to recognise him. The only part I recollected that was peculiar about him was that he had a white ruffle around his neck, instead of a mauve or green one, and it occurred to me that on entering the masters of the ceremonies would compel him to remove it as being against the rules to wear anything but the colours laid down by the committee.

I was looking for a pierrot without a ruffle, and my search was long and in vain.

Till near midnight I went among that mad crowd, but could not recognise him. He might, I reflected, be by that hour in such a state of intoxication as to be unable to come to the ball at all.

Suddenly, however, as I was brushing past two masked dancers who were standing chatting at one of the doors leading from the Casino into the theatre where the ball was in progress, one of them exclaimed with a French accent—

“Hulloa, Ewart!”

“Hulloa!” I replied, for I had removed my mask for a few moments because of the heat. “Who are you?”

“‘The President,’” he responded in a low voice, and I knew that it was Henri Regnier.

“You’re the very man I want to see. Come over here, and let’s talk.”

Both of us moved away into a corner of the Casino where it was comparatively quiet, and Regnier removed his mask, declaring that the heat was stifling.

“Look here,” he said in a tone of confidence, “I want to know—I’m very interested to know—how you became acquainted with little Pierrette Dumont. I hear you’ve been about with her all day.”

“How did you know?” I asked.

“I was told,” he laughed. “I find out things I want to know.”

“Then her name is really Dumont?” I asked quickly.

“I suppose so. That will do as well as any other—eh?” and he laughed.

“But last night you were not open with me, my dear Henri,” I replied; “therefore why should I be open with you?”

“Well—for your own sake.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this,” said Regnier, with a glance at his silent friend, who still retained his mask, and to whom he had not introduced me. “You’re putting your head into a noose by going about with her. You should avoid her.”

“Why? She’s most charming.”

“I admit that. But for your own sake you should exercise the greatest care. I follow the same profession as you and your people do—and I merely warn you,” he said very seriously.

The man standing by him exclaimed in French—

“Phew! What an atmosphere!” and removed his velvet mask.

It was the gay boulevardier whom I had seen on the JetÉe Promenade.

“Why do you warn me?” I inquired, surprised at the reveller’s grave face, so different from what it had been when he had shaken his bells and sung the merry chorus of “La Noire.”

“Because you’re acting the fool, Ewart,” Regnier replied.

“I’m merely taking them about on the car.”

“But how did you first come across them?” he repeated.

“That’s my own affair, mon cher,” I responded, with a laugh; for I could not quite see why he took such an interest in us both, or why he should have been watching us.

“Oh, very well,” he answered in a tone of slight annoyance. “Only tell your people to be careful. And don’t say I didn’t warn you. I know her—and you don’t.”

“Yes,” interposed his companion. “We both know her, Henri, don’t we—to our cost, eh?”

“She recognised you this evening,” I said.

“I know. I was amazed to find her here, in Nice—and with the old woman, too!”

“But who is she? Tell me the truth,” I urged.

“She’s somebody you ought not to know, Ewart,” replied “The President.” “She can do you no good—only harm.”

“How?”

“Well, I tell you this much, that I wouldn’t care to run the risk of taking her about as you are doing.”

“You’re talking in riddles. Why not?” I queried.

“Because, as I’ve already told you, it’s dangerous—very dangerous.”

“You mean that she knows who and what we are?”

“She knows more than you think. I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could see her. Would you, Raoul?” he asked his companion.

“But surely she hasn’t long been out of the schoolroom.”

“Schoolroom!” echoed Regnier. And both men burst out laughing.

“Look here, Ewart,” he said, “you’d better get on that demon automobile of yours and run back to your own London. You’re far too innocent to be here, on the CÔte d’Azur, in Carnival time.”

“And yet I fancy I know the Riviera and its ways as well as most men,” I remarked.

“Well, however much you know, you’re evidently deceived in Pierrette.”

“She’d deceive the very devil himself,” remarked the man whom my friend had addressed as Raoul. “Did she mention me after I had passed?”

“No. But she seemed somewhat upset at the encounter.”

“No doubt,” he laughed. “No doubt. Perhaps she’ll express a sudden desire to return to Paris to-morrow! I shouldn’t wonder.”

“But tell me, Regnier,” I urged, “why should I drop her?”

“I suppose Bindo has placed her in your hands, eh? He’s left the Riviera, and left you to look after her!”

“Well, and what of that? Do you object? We’re not interfering with any of your plans, are we?”

The pair exchanged glances. In the countenances of both was a curious look, one which aroused my suspicion.

“Oh, my dear fellow, not at all!” laughed Regnier. “I’m only telling you for your own good.”

“Then you imply that she might betray us to the police, eh?”

“No, not that at all.”

“Well, what?”

The pair looked at each other a second time, and then Regnier said—

“Unfortunately, Ewart, you don’t know Pierrette—or her friend.”

“Friend! Is it a male friend?”

“Yes.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know. He’s a mystery.”

“Well,” I declared, “I don’t fear this Mister Mystery. Why should I?”

“Then I tell you this—if you continue to dance attendance on her as you are doing you’ll one night get a knife in your back. And you wouldn’t be the first fellow who’s received a stab in the dark through acquaintanceship with the pretty Pierrette, I can tell you that!”

“Then this mysterious person is jealous!” I laughed. “Well, let him be. I find Pierrette amusing, and she adores motoring. Your advice, mon cher Regnier, is well meant, but I don’t see any reason to discard my little charge.”

“Then you won’t take my advice?” he asked in an irritated tone.

“Certainly not. I thank you for it, but I repeat that I’m quite well able to look after myself in case of a ‘scrap’—and further, that I don’t fear the jealous lover in the least degree.”

“Then, if you don’t heed,” he said, “you must take the consequences.”

And the pair, turning on their heels, walked off without any further words.