The Mysterious Mr. Quin

"It was then, messieurs, that he came South. His lungs had been affected by the gas, they said he must find work in the South. I will not weary you with all the things he did. Suffice it to say that he ended up as a croupier, and there-- there in the Casino one evening, he saw her again--the woman who had ruined his life. She did not recognise him, but he recognised her. She appeared to be rich and to lack for nothing--but, messieurs, the eyes of a croupier are sharp. There came an evening when she placed her last stake in the world on the table. Ask me not how I know--I do know-- one feels these things. Others might not believe. She still had rich clothes--why not pawn them, one would say? But to do that--pah! your credit is gone at once. Her jewels? Ah no! Was I not a jeweller in.my time? Long ago the real jewels have gone. The pearls of a King are sold one by one, are replaced with false. And meantime one must eat and pay one's hotel bill. Yes, and the rich men--well, they have seen one about for many years. Bah! they say--she is over fifty. A younger chicken for my money."

A long shuddering sigh came out of the windows where the Countess leant back

"Yes. It was a great moment, that. Two nights I have watched her. Lose, lose, and lose again. And now the end. She put all on one number. Beside her, an English milord stakes the maximum also--on the next number. The ball rolls... The moment has come, she has lost...

"Her eyes meet mine. What do I do? I jeopardise my place in the Casino. I rob the English milord. 'A Madame' I say, and pay over the money."

"Ah! "There was a crash, as the Countess sprang to her feet and leant across the table, sweeping her glass on to the floor.

"Why? "she cried. "That's what I want to know, why did you do it?"

There was a long pause, a pause that seemed interminable, and still those two facing each other across the table looked and looked... It was like a duel.

A mean little smile crept across Pierre Vaucher's face. He raised his hands.

"Madame," he said, "there is such a thing as pity.. ,"

"Ah!"

She sank down again.

"I see."

She was calm, smiling, herself again.

"An interesting story, M. Vaucher, is it not? Permit me to give you a light for your cigarette."

She deftly rolled up a spill, and lighted it at the candle and held it towards him. He leaned forward till the flame caught the tip of the cigarette he held between his lips. Then she rose unexpectedly to her feet. "And now I must leave you all. Please--I need no one to escort me."

Before one could realise it she was gone. Mr. Satterthwaite would have hurried out after her, but he was arrested by a startled oath from the Frenchman.

"A thousand thunders?"

He was staring at the half-burned spill which the Countess had dropped on the table. He unrolled it.

"Mon Dieu!" he muttered." A fifty thousand franc bank note. You understand? Her winnings Tonight. All that she had in the world. And she lighted my cigarette with it! Because she was too proud to accept--pity. Ah! proud, she was always proud as the Devil. She is unique--wonderful."

He sprang up from his seat and darted out. Mr. Satterthwaite and Mr. Quin had also risen. The waiter approached Franklin Rudge.

"La note, monsieur," he observed unemotionally.

Mr. Quin rescued it from him quickly.

"I feel kind of lonesome, Elizabeth, "remarked Franklin Rudge. "These foreigners--they beat the band! I don't understand them. What's it all mean, anyhow?"

He looked across at her.

"Gee, it's good to look at anything so hundred per cent American as you. " is voice took on the plaintive note of a small child. "These foreigners are so odd."

They thanked Mr. Quin and went out into the night together. Mr. Quin picked up his change and smiled across at Mr. Satterthwaite, who was preening himself like a contented bird.

"Well," said the latter. "That's all gone off splendidly. Our pair of love birds will be all right now."

"Which ones?" asked Mr. Quin.

"Oh!" said Mr. Satterthwaite, taken aback.

"Oh! Yes, I suppose you are right, allowing for the Latin point of view and all that------"

He looked dubious.

Mr. Quin smiled, and a stained glass panel behind him invested him for just a moment in a motley garment of coloured light.

CHAPTER SIX

THE MAN FROM THE SEA

MR. SATTERTHWAITE was feeling old. That might not have been surprising since in the estimation of many people he was old. Careless youths said to their partners--"Old Satterthwaite? Oh! he must be a hundred--or at any rate about eighty." And even the kindest of girls said indulgently, "Oh! Satterthwaite. Yes, he's quite old. He must be sixty. "Which was almost worse, since he was sixty-nine."