The fascination of Monte Carlo is not to be described; it must be seen. Vice shall be attractive, says the Mother of Satan. At Monte Carlo it is more than attractive; it is compelling. A subtle hypnotism prevails. One scarce realizes that this lovely spot is at the same time the basest. What passions have stormed this cliff! What rage and despair have beaten their hands against these bastions of pleasure! How few who plunge into this maelstrom of chance ever rise again! The lure of gold, there is nothing stronger save death. Fool and rogue, saint and sinner, here they meet and mingle and change. To those who give Monte Carlo but a trifling glance, toss a coin or two on the tables, and leave by the morrow's train, it has no real significance; it is simply one of the sights of Europe.

To this latter class belonged the two young men. They had no fortunes to retrieve, no dishonesty to hide, no restitutions to make, no dancers to clothe and house. It was but a mild flirtation. They saw the silken gown outside rather than the rags beneath; they saw the smile rather than the tortured mind behind it.

They dined sumptuously at the cafÉ de Paris. They wandered about the splendid terraces on the sea-front, smoking. They had grown accustomed to the many beautiful women, always alone, always with roving eyes. Frequently Merrihew longed to chat with this one or that; and sometimes he rebelled against his inability to speak the maddening tongue. To-night, though the dinner had been excellent and the chambertin all that could be desired, the two were inclined to be moody. So far fortune had not smiled, she had frowned persistently. They found a vacant bench and sat down.

"Ho-hum!" said Merrihew, dangling his monocle to which he had attached a string.

"Heigh-ho!" replied Hillard.

"Curse those cigars!"

"With all my heart!"

They had searched Nice, and Monaco, and Mentone, but the women they sought were not to be found. They decided, therefore, that the women had gone on to Paris, and that there was now no hope of seeing them this side of the Atlantic. They had not entered the Casino during the day; they had been too busy quizzing hotel porters and concierges along the Riviera.

"My system needs a tonic," said Merrihew.

"We'll hold the funeral after to-night's play. Of all the damfool games, it's roulette."

"And I can prove it," Merrihew replied. "I have just fifty dollars left." He took out the gold and toyed with it. "Can't you hear it?" he asked.

"Hear what?"

"The swan-song of these tender napoleons!"

Merrihew had played the numbers, the dozens, the columns, the colors, odd and even. Sometimes he would win a little, but a moment later the relentless rake would drag it back to the bank. His chance to play the good Samaritan to the derelicts of the American Comic Opera Company was fast approaching the dim horizon of lost opportunities. Presently he screwed the monocle into his eye and squinted at the sea, the palaces on the promontory, the yachts in the harbor, all tranquil in shadowy moonlight.

"Nature has done this very prettily. Quite clever with her colors, don't you know," he drawled, plucking the down on his upper lip, for he was trying to raise a mustache, convinced that two waxed points of hair at each corner of his mouth would impress the hotel waiters and other facchini—baseborn.

"Don't be a jackass!" Hillard was out of sorts.

"You agreed with me that I was one. Why not let me make a finished product?" good-humoredly.

"You will have your joke."

"Yes, even at the expense of being blind in one eye; for I can't see through this glass; positive stove-lid. Every time I focus you, you grow as big as a house. No, I'd never be happy as a lord. Well, let us have our last fling. You might as well let me have my letter of credit now."

"You will not set eyes upon it till we return to Genoa. That's final. I know you, my boy, and I know Monte Carlo. Even with your fifty, a watch and a ring, I'm afraid to trust you out of sight."

"I can see that you will never forgive nor forget—those cigars. Come on. We'll take a look at our Italian friend. He's a bad loser. I have seen him lose his temper, too. It's my opinion that he's a desperate man."

"They usually are when they come to Monte Carlo."

So they walked round to the entrance to the gaming halls, where the lights, the gowns, the jewels, the sparkling eyes, the natural beauty and the beauty of enamel, the vague perfumes, the low murmur of voices, the soft rustle of silks, the music of ringing gold, all combine to produce a picture and ensemble as beautiful as a mirage and as false. Nothing is real in Monte Carlo but the little pieces of gold and the passion to win them. The two renewed their tickets of admission and passed on into the famous atrium, stared a while at the news bulletin, whereon all the important events of the day are briefly set forth, and gazed musingly at the bats darting across the ceiling, real bats, a sinister omen such as one sees in imaginative paintings of the Door of Hades. At nine they joined the never-ending procession which passes in and out of the swinging doors day after day, year after year.

The faces one sees in the Hall of Roulette! Here and there one which will haunt the onlooker through the rest of his days. Packed about the long tables were young faces flushed with hope or grey with despair; middle-aged faces which expressed excitement or indifference; old, old faces, scarred and lined and seamed, where avarice, selfishness, cruelty, dishonesty crossed and recrossed till human semblance was literally blotted out. Light-o'-loves, gay and careless; hideous old crones, who watched the unwary and stole the unwary's bets; old women in black, who figured and figured imaginary winnings and never risked anything but their nerves. And there were beautiful women, beautifully gowned, beautifully gemmed, some of them good, some of them indifferent, and some of them bad. Invariably Hillard found himself speculating on the history of this woman or that; the more gems, the more history. Here the half-world of Europe finds its kingdom and rules it madly. The fortunes these women have poured into this whirligig of chance will never be computed. And there was the gentlemanly blackleg, the ticket-of-leave man, and outcasts and thieves; but all of them were well dressed, and, for the time being, well behaved.

Occasionally Merrihew caught some daring beauty's eye, and usually there followed a conversation, familiar to all ages and to all peoples, confined to the eyebrow, the eyelid, and the merry little wrinkles in the corner. When any spoke to him, however, and many did, for his face was fresh and pleasing, he would reply in English that he spoke no French, regretfully.

"There's the chap with the scar. He is a handsome beggar," Hillard admitted. "I wonder what sort of blackleg he is? He's no ordinary one, I'm certain. I begin to recognize the face of the man with him. He's a distinguished diplomat, and he would not associate with a man who was thoroughly bad, according to law, leaving out the moral side of it. Let us watch them."

The Italian played like an old hand; a number once in a while, but making it a point to stake on the colors. Red began to repeat itself. He doubled and doubled. On the sixth consecutive turn he played the maximum of twelve thousand francs, and won. The diplomat touched him on the arm significantly, but the player shook his head. Ten minutes later he had won forty thousand francs. Again he refused to leave his chair.

"If he stays now," said Hillard, "he will lose it all. His friend is right."

"Forty thousand francs, eight thousand dollars!" murmured Merrihew sadly. Why couldn't he have luck like this?

Hillard was a true prophet. There came a change in the smile of fortune. The game jumped from color to color, seldom repeating, with zero making itself conspicuous. The man with the scar played on, but he began to lose, small sums at first, then larger, till finally he was down to his original stake. The scar grew livid. He waited five turns of the wheel, then placed his stake on the second dozen. He lost. He rose from his chair, scowling. His eye chanced to meet Hillard's, and their glances held for a moment.

"Fool!" said Merrihew in an undertone, as the man strolled leisurely past them. "Eight thousand, and not content to quit!"

"My boy, a man who needs a hundred thousand and wins but eight is seldom content." Hillard followed the Italian with his eyes as he approached one of the lounges. There the loser was joined by his friend, and the two of them fell to gesticulating wildly, after the manner of their race. Hillard understood this pantomime; the diplomat had been a share-holder. "Start your play, Dan. I'll find plenty of amusement at the other tables. My watching your game hasn't brought you any luck up to the present. Go in and give 'em a beating."

Merrihew hastened over to the north table. This was, according to report, the table which had no suicide's chair; and Merrihew had his private superstitions like the rest of us. At eleven o'clock the banks closed, so he had but two hours in which to win a fortune. It was not possible for him to lose one; in this the gods were with him.

Meanwhile the trolleys from Nice and Mentone had poured into Monte Carlo their usual burdens of pleasure seekers. On one of the cars from Nice there had arrived two women, both veiled and simply gowned. The conductor had seen them before, but never at night. They seldom addressed each other, and never spoke to any one else. He picked them up at Villefranche. Doubtless they were some sober married women out for a lark. Upon leaving the car they did not at once go into the Casino, but directed their steps toward the terraces, for the band was playing. They sat in the shadow of the statue of Massenet, and near-by the rasp of a cricket broke in upon the music. When the music stopped they linked arms and sauntered up and down the wide sweep of stone, mutually interested in the crowds, the color, and the lights. Once, as they passed behind a bench, the better to view the palaces of the prince, they heard the voices of two men.

"Ho-hum!"

"Heigh-ho!"

As they went on, the women heard something about cigars. The men were Americans, evidently. It was only an inconsequent incident, and a moment later both had forgotten it. By and by they proceeded to the Casino. Rarely women wear veils at Monte Carlo. On the contrary, they go there (most of them) to be seen, admired and envied. Thus, these two were fully aware of the interest they excited. At frequent intervals royalty—the feminine side of the family—steals into Monte Carlo, often unattended. When one's yacht is in the harbor below, it does not entail much danger. There is a superstition regarding veils; but no attendant requested the women to remove them. They dared not, for fear of affronting royalty. It was a delicate situation, so far as the attendants were concerned.

"At which table shall I make the stake, Kitty?"

"The center; there is always a crush there, and we shall not be noticed."

"I do not agree with you there. However, it shall be the center table. What would you do, Kitty, if I should break the bank?"

"Die of excitement!" truthfully.

"You will live through this event, then." With a light careless laugh, La Signorina pressed her way to the table.

The play here was in full swing, and in some cases very high. She opened her purse and took out a handful of gold. These napoleons were all that remained of the capital intrusted her. She hesitated for some time, then placed a coin on the number twenty-five, her age. The ivory ball spun round and round, till it lost some of its force and slanted, struck one of the little silver obstacles, and bounded into one of the compartments. It was the number twenty-five: thirty-five napoleons for one, a hundred and forty dollars! Kitty uttered an ejaculation of delight. Many looked enviously at the winner as the neat little stack of gold was pushed toward her. She took the gold and placed it on black. Again she won. Then fortune packed up and went elsewhere. She lost steadily, winning but one bet in every ten. She gave no sign, however, that her forces were in full retreat from the enemy. She played on, and the hand which placed the bets was steady. She was a thoroughbred. And when the gold was all gone, she opened her empty hands expressively and shrugged. She was beaten. Behind the chair of the banker, opposite, stood the Italian. The scowl still marred his forehead. When the woman in the veil spread out her hands, he started. There was something familiar to his mind in that gesture. And then the woman saw him. For the briefest moment her form stiffened and the shape of her chin was molded in the veil. Slight as this sign was, the Italian observed it. But he was puzzled.

"Kitty," La Signorina whispered, "let us go out to the atrium. I am tired."

They left the hall leisurely and found a vacant settle in the atrium.

"I have a horror of bats," said La Signorina.

"How cold your hands are!" exclaimed Kitty. "Never mind about the money. They will understand."

"Kitty, I am a fool, a fool! I have unwittingly put my head in the lion's mouth. If I had not reached this seat in time, I should have fallen. I would willingly give all my rings if, at this moment, I could run across the hall and out into the open!"

"Merciful Heaven! Why, what is the matter? What has happened?" Kitty was all in a flutter.

"I can not explain to you."

"Was it some one you saw in there?"

"Silence; and sit perfectly still!"

The swinging doors opened and closed. A man in evening dress came out into the atrium, lighting a cigarette. At the sight of him both women were startled. Their emotions, however, were varied and unlike.

"It is Mr. Hillard, Mr. Merrihew's friend!" Kitty would have risen, but the other's strong hand restrained her.

"Kitty, remember your promise."

"Is he the man?"

"No, no! Only, I have said that we must not meet him. It might do him incalculable harm. Harm!" La Signorina repeated; "do you understand?"

"But—"

"Silence, I command you!"

The tone had the power to subdue Kitty. The indignant protest died on her lips. She sat perfectly still, but she would have liked to cry. To let Mr. Hillard pass by in this manner, without a sign of friendliness or recognition! It was intolerable. And he could tell where Merrihew was (as indeed he could!) and what he was doing. She choked and crushed the ends of her veil.

Hillard blew outward a few pale rings of smoke and circled the atrium with an indolent glance which stopped as it rested upon the two veiled women sitting alone. Besides being bored and wanting amusement, a certain curiosity impelled him toward them, and he sank on the settle beside them, with perhaps half a dozen spans of the hand between. He smoked till the cigarette scorched his fingers, then he dropped it, extinguishing the coal with the toe of his pump. He observed the women frankly. Not a single wisp of hair escaped the veils, not a line of any feature could be traced, and yet the tint of flesh shone dimly behind the silken bands of crape; and the eyes sparkled. He nodded.

"A wonderful scene in there," indicating the swinging doors. "Puck was right. What fools these mortals be! Something for nothing will always lure us."

The veils did not move so much as the breadth of a hair.

"Fortune favors the brave, but rarely the foolish."

There was no response, but the small shoe of the woman nearest began to beat the floor ever so lightly. Hillard was chagrined. To be rebuffed the very first time he spoke to a woman in the Casino!

"Perhaps madame does not understand?" he said in French.

One of the women stirred restlessly; that was all.

He repeated the question in Italian, at the same time feeling like a pedant airing his accomplishments.

Nothing.

"I beg your pardon," he said, getting upon his feet. "I see that you do not wish to talk."

Thereupon he bowed, sought another seat, and lighted a fresh cigarette. But not for a moment did his eye leave these two mysterious women. Their absolute silence confused him. Usually a woman gives some sign of disapproval when addressed by a stranger. These two sat as if they neither saw nor heard him. He shook the ash from his cigarette, and when he looked up again, the women were hurrying across the floor to the lobby. He would have given them no further thought had not the Italian with the scar appeared upon the scene, eyed the retreating figures doubtfully, and then started after them. That he did not know them Hillard was reasonably certain. He assumed that the Italian saw a possible flirtation. He rose quickly and followed. If these two women desired to be left alone, he might be of assistance.

The four departed from the Casino and crossed toward the Hotel de Paris, the women in the lead. As yet they had not observed that they were being followed. The car stops at this turn. As the women came to a stand, one of them saw the approaching men. Instantly she fled up the street, swift as a hare. The other hesitated for a second, then pursued her companion frantically. Whatever doubts the Italian might have entertained, this unexpected flight dissipated them. He knew now; he knew, he knew! With a sharp cry of exultation he broke into a run. So did Hillard. He was no longer bored. This promised to be interesting. People turned and stared, but none sought to intercept any of the runners. In Monte Carlo there are many strange scenes, and the knight-errant often finds that his bump of caution has suddenly developed. In other words, it is none of his affair. To look was one thing, to follow, to precipitate one's head into the unknown, was another. And there were no police about; they were on the Casino terraces, or strolling through the gardens, or patrolling the railway station.

Past the park the quartet ran, and took the first turn to the left for a block or more. Then came a stretch of darkness, between one electric lamp and another. And then, as if whisked away by magic, the foremost woman disappeared. The other halted, breathless and wondering. She started again, but a moment too late. The Italian caught her roughly by the arm and with a quick movement tore aside the veil.

"Kitty Killigrew!" Hillard cried.

He sprang forward, grasped the Italian by the shoulders and whirled him round in no gentle manner. The Italian struck out savagely and fearlessly, but Hillard seized his arm and held it firmly. There was a short tableau. Each man could hear the breathing of the other, quick and deep. The devil gleamed in the Italian's eyes, but there was a menace Hillard's equally strong.

"You meddling figure of a dog!"

"Take care lest the dog bite, signore."

"Release my arm and stand aside!"

"Presently. Now, that way is yours," said Hillard, pointing in the direction of the way they had come.

"Are you certain?" The Italian regulated his breathing, forcing down the beat of his heart.

"So certain that if you do not obey me, I shall call the police and let you explain to them."

"I should like nothing better," replied the Italian, with a coolness which dumfounded Hillard.

"Do you know these ladies?"

"Do you?" insolently.

"My knowing them does not matter. But it is any gentleman's concern when a man gives pursuit to a lady who does not wish to meet him, even in Monte Carlo."

"A lady? Grace of Mary, that is droll!"

Hillard released the imprisoned arm, consciously chilled by the tone. There was a patent raillery, a quizzical insolence, which convinced Hillard that the Italian had not given chase out of an idle purpose. While this idea was forming in his mind, the Italian inspected his cuff, brushed his sleeve, and then recalled that he was bareheaded. He laughed shortly.

"We shall meet again," he said softly.

"I hope not," replied Hillard frankly, at the same time placing himself so as to block any sudden attempt to take up the chase. "However, you may find me at the Hotel de Londres."

The Italian laughed again. "You understand the language well," debatingly.

"And the people, too." Hillard had no desire to pass the time of day with his opponent.

"Well, I have said that we shall meet again, and it must be so."

"And your hat, as well as mine, is still in the Casino. The night is cold."

The Italian tugged impatiently at his mustache and permitted his glance to wander over Hillard critically. No, a struggle, much as he longed for it, would not be wise. He swung round on his heel and walked rapidly down the street, much to Hillard's relief. Presently the Italian took the corner, and Hillard turned to reassure Kitty.

But Kitty had vanished!