Marie Belloc Lowndes - The Chink in the Armour

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"This is our dining-room," she said proudly. "Walk in, Madame. It is 'ere
we had better 'ave tea, perhaps."

Sylvia followed her. How dark, and how very hot it was in here! She could
see absolutely nothing for some moments, for she was blinded by the
sudden change from the bright light of the hall to the dim twilight of
the closely-shuttered room.

Then gradually she began to see everything--or rather the little there
was to be seen--and she felt surprised, and a little disappointed.

The dining-room was more than plainly furnished; it was positively ugly.

The furniture consisted of a round table standing on an unpolished
parquet floor, of six cane chairs set against the wall, and of a
walnut-wood buffet, on the shelves of which stood no plates, or ornaments
of any description. The walls were distempered a reddish-pink colour, and
here and there the colour had run in streaky patches.

"Is it not charming?" exclaimed Madame Wachner. "And now I will show you
our pretty little salon!"

Sylvia followed her out into the hall, and so to the left into the short
passage which ran down the centre of the tiny house.

The drawing-room of the Chalet des Muguets was a little larger than
the dining-room, but it was equally bare of anything pretty or even
convenient. There was a small sofa, covered with cheap tapestry, and four
uncomfortable-looking chairs to match; on the sham marble mantelpiece
stood a gilt and glass clock and two chandeliers. There was not a book,
not a paper, not a flower.

Both rooms gave Sylvia a strange impression that they were very little
lived in. But then, of course, the Wachners were very little at home.

"And now I will get tea," said Madame Wachner triumphantly.

"Will you not let me help you?" asked Sylvia, timidly. "I love making
tea--every Englishwoman loves making tea." She had no wish to be left in
this dull, ugly little drawing-room by herself.

"Oh, but your pretty dress! Would it not get 'urt in the kitchen?" cried
Madame Wachner deprecatingly.

But she allowed Sylvia to follow her into the bright, clean little
kitchen, of which the door was just opposite the drawing-room.

"What a charming little _cuisine_!" cried Sylvia smiling. She was glad to
find something that she could honestly praise, and the kitchen was, in
truth, the pleasantest place in the house, exquisitely neat, with the
brass _batterie de cuisine_ shining and bright. "Your day servant must be
an exceptionally clean woman."

"Yes," said Madame Wachner, in a rather dissatisfied tone, "she is well
enough. But, oh, those French people, how eager they are for money! Do
you suppose that woman ever stays one minute beyond her time? No,
indeed!"

Even as she spoke she was pouring water into a little kettle, and
lighting a spirit lamp. Then, going to a cupboard, she took out two cups
and a cracked china teapot.

Sylvia did her part by cutting some bread and butter, and, as she stood
at the white table opposite the kitchen window, she saw that beyond the
small piece of garden which lay at the back of the house was a dense
chestnut wood, only separated from the Chalet des Muguets by a straggling
hedge.

"Does the wood belong to you, too?" she asked.

Madame Wachner shook her head.

"Oh! no," she said, "that is for sale!"

"You must find it very lonely here at night," said Sylvia, musingly, "you
do not seem to have any neighbours either to the right or left."

"There is a villa a little way down the road," said Madame Wachner
quickly. "But we are not nervous people--and then we 'ave nothing it
would be worth anybody's while to steal."

Sylvia reminded herself that the Wachners must surely have a good deal of
money in the house if they gambled as much as Anna Wolsky said they did.
Her hostess could not keep it all in the little bag which she always
carried hung on her wrist.

And then, as if Madame Wachner had seen straight into her mind, the old
woman said significantly. "As to our money, I will show you where we keep
it. Come into my bed-room; perhaps you will take off your hat there; then
we shall be what English people call 'cosy.'"

Madame Wachner led the way again into the short passage, and so into a
large bed-room, which looked, like the kitchen, on to the back garden.

After the kitchen, this bed-room struck Sylvia as being the pleasantest
room in the Chalet des Muguets, and that although, like the dining-room
and drawing-room, it was extraordinarily bare.

There was no chest of drawers, no dressing-table, no cupboard to be seen.
Madame Wachner's clothes hung on pegs behind the door, and there was a
large brass-bound trunk in a corner of the room.

But the broad, low bed looked very comfortable, and there was a bath-room
next door.

Madame Wachner showed her guest the bath-room with great pride.

"This is the 'English comfortable,'" she said, using the quaint phrase
the French have invented to express the acme of domestic luxury. "My
'usband will never allow me to take a 'ouse that has no bath-room. 'E is
very clean about 'imself"--she spoke as if it was a fact to be proud of,
and Sylvia could not help smiling.

"I suppose there are still many French houses without a bath-room," she
said.

"Yes," said Madame Wachner quickly, "the French are not a clean
people,"--she shook her head scornfully.

"I suppose you keep your money in that box?" said Sylvia, looking at the
brass-bound trunk.

"No, indeed! _This_ is where I keep it!"

Madame Wachner suddenly lifted her thin alpaca skirt, and Sylvia, with
astonishment, saw that hung round her capacious waist were a number of
little wash-leather bags. "My money is all 'ere!" exclaimed Madame
Wachner, laughing heartily. "It rests--oh, so cosily--against my
petticoat."

They went back into the kitchen. The water was boiling, and Sylvia made
the tea, Madame Wachner looking on with eager interest.

"La! La! it will be strong! I only put a pinch for ourselves. And now go
into the dining-room, and I will bring the teapot there to you, Madame!"

"No, no," said Sylvia laughing, "why should we not drink our tea here, in
this pretty kitchen?"

The other looked at her doubtfully. "Shall we?"

"Yes, of course!" cried Sylvia.

They drew up two rush-bottomed chairs to the table and sat down.

Sylvia thoroughly enjoyed this first taste of Madame Wachner's
hospitality. The drive and the great heat had made her feel tired and
languid, and the tea did her good.

"I will go and see if the carriage is there," said Madame Wachner at
last.

While her hostess was away, Sylvia looked round her with some curiosity.

What an extraordinary mode of life these people had chosen for
themselves! If the Wachners were rich enough to gamble, surely they had
enough money to live more comfortably than they were now doing? It was
clear that they hardly used the dining-room and drawing-room of the
little villa at all. When Sylvia had been looking for the butter, she had
not been able to help seeing that in the tiny larder there was only a
small piece of cheese, a little cold meat, and a couple of eggs on a
plate. No wonder Monsieur Wachner had heartily enjoyed the copious, if
rather roughly-prepared, meal at the Pension Malfait.

"Yes, the carriage is there," said Madame Wachner bustling back. "And now
we must be quick, or L'Ami Fritz will be cross! Do you know that absurd
man actually still thinks 'e is master, and yet we 'ave been married--oh,
I do not know 'ow many years! But he always loves seeing me even after we
'ave been separated but two hours or so!"

Together they went out, Madame Wachner carefully locking the door and
hiding the key where she had found it, under the mat outside.

Sylvia could not help laughing.

"I really wonder you do that," she observed. "Just think how easy it
would be for anyone to get into the house!"

"Yes, that is true, but there is nothing to steal. As I tell you, we
always carry our money about with us," said Madame Wachner. She added in
a serious tone, "and I should advise you to do so too, my dear young
friend."

CHAPTER IX

A quarter of an hour's sharp driving brought Sylvia and Madame Wachner to
the door of the Casino. They found Madame Wolsky in the hall waiting for
them.

"I couldn't think what had happened to you!" she exclaimed in an anxious
tone. "But here is your membership card, Sylvia. Now you are free of the
Baccarat tables!"

Monsieur Wachner met his wife with a frowning face. He might be pleased
to see Madame Wachner, but he showed his pleasure in an odd manner. Soon,
however, the secret of his angry look was revealed, for Madame Wachner
opened the leather bag hanging from her wrist and took out of it a
hundred francs.

"Here, Fritz," she cried, gaily. "You can now begin your play!"

Sylvia Bailey felt very much amused. So poor "Ami Fritz" was not allowed
to gamble unless his wife were there to see that he did not go too far.
No wonder he had looked impatient and eager, as well as cross! He had
been engaged--that was clear--in putting down the turns of the game, and
in working out what were no doubt abstruse calculations connected with
his system.

The Club was very full, and it was a little difficult at that hour of the
late afternoon to get near enough to a table to play comfortably; but a
stranger had kindly kept Anna Wolsky's place for her.

"I have been quite lucky," she whispered to Sylvia. "I have made three
hundred francs, and now I think I will rest a bit! Slip in here, dear,
and I will stand behind you. I do not advise you to risk more than twenty
francs the first time; on the other hand, if you feel _en veine_, if the
luck seems persistent--it sometimes is when one first plays with
gold--then be bold, and do not hesitate!"

Sylvia, feeling rather bewildered, slipped into her friend's place, and
Anna kept close behind her.

With a hand that trembled a little, she put a twenty-franc piece down on
the green table. After doing so she looked up, and saw that the Comte de
Virieu was standing nearly opposite to her, on the other side of the
table.

His eyes were fixed on her, and there was a very kind and indulgent, if
sad, smile on his face. As their glances met he leant forward and also
put a twenty-franc piece on the green cloth close to where Sylvia's money
lay.

The traditional words rang out: "_Faites vos jeux, Messieurs, Mesdames!
Le jeu est fait! Rien ne va plus!_"

And then Sylvia saw her stake and that of the Count doubled. There were
now four gold pieces where two had been.

"Leave your money on, and see what happens," whispered Anna. "After all
you are only risking twenty francs!"

And Sylvia obediently followed the advice.

Again there came a little pause; once more the words which she had not
yet learnt to understand rang out in the croupier's monotonous voice.

She looked round her; there was anxiety and watchful suspense on all the
eager faces. The Comte de Virieu alone looked indifferent.

A moment later four gold pieces were added to the four already there.

"You had better take up your winnings, or someone may claim them,"
muttered Anna anxiously.

"Oh, but I don't like to do that," said Sylvia.

"Of course you must!"

She put out her hand and took up her four gold pieces, leaving those of
the Count on the table. Then suddenly she put back the eighty francs on
the cloth, and smiled up at him; it was a gay little shame-faced smile.
"Please don't be cross with me, kind friend,"--that is what Sylvia's
smile seemed to say to Paul de Virieu--"but this is so _very_ exciting!"

He felt stirred to the heart. How sweet, how confidingly simple she
looked! And--and how very beautiful. He at once loved and hated to see
her there, his new little "_amie Anglaise_!"

"Are you going to leave the whole of it on this time?" whispered Anna.

"Yes, I think I will. It's rather fun. After all, I'm only risking twenty
francs!" whispered back Sylvia.

And once more she won.

"What a pity you didn't start playing with a hundred francs! Think of how
rich you would be now," said Anna, with the true gambler's instinct. "But
it is clear, child, that you are going to do well this evening, and I
shall follow your luck! Take the money off now, however."

Sylvia waited to see what the Count would do. Their eyes asked and
answered the same question. He gave an imperceptible nod, and she took up
her winnings--eight gold pieces!

It was well that she had done so, for the next deal of the cards favoured
the banker.

Then something very surprising happened to Sylvia.

Someone--she thought it was Monsieur Wachner--addressed the croupier
whose duty it was to deal out the cards, and said imperiously, "_A Madame
la main!_"

Hardly knowing what she was doing, Sylvia took up the cards which had
been pushed towards her. A murmur of satisfaction ran round the table,
for there lay what even she had learnt by now was the winning number,
a nine of hearts, and the second card was the king of clubs.

Again and again, she turned up winning numbers--the eight and the ace,
the five and the four, the six and the three--every combination which
brought luck to the table and confusion to the banker.

Eyes full of adoring admiration, aye and gratitude, were turned on the
young Englishwoman. Paul de Virieu alone did not look at her. But he
followed her play.

"Now put on a hundred francs," said Anna, authoritatively.

Sylvia looked at her, rather surprised by the advice, but she obeyed it.
And still the Comte de Virieu followed her lead.

That made her feel dreadfully nervous and excited--it would be so
terrible to make him lose too!

Neither of them lost. On the contrary, ten napoleons were added to the
double pile of gold.

And then, after that, it seemed as if the whole table were following
Sylvia's game.

"That pretty Englishwoman is playing for the first time!"--so the word
went round. And they all began backing her luck with feverish haste.

The banker, a good-looking young Frenchman, stared at Sylvia ruefully.
Thanks to her, he was being badly punished. Fortunately, he could afford
it.

At the end of half an hour, feeling tired and bewildered by her good
fortune, Mrs. Bailey got up and moved away from the table, the possessor
of L92. The Comte Virieu had won exactly the same amount.

Now everybody looked pleased except the banker. For the first time a
smile irradiated Monsieur Wachner's long face.

As for Madame Wachner, she was overjoyed. Catching Sylvia by the hand,
she exclaimed, in her curious, woolly French, "I would like to embrace
you! But I know that English ladies do not like kissing in public. It is
splendid--splendid! Look at all the people you have made happy."

"But how about the poor banker?" asked Sylvia, blushing.

"Oh, 'e is all right. 'E is very rich."

Madame Wolsky, like the Count, had exactly followed her friend's play,
but not as soon as he had done. Still, she also had made over L80.

"Two thousand francs!" she cried, joyfully. "That is very good for a
beginning. And you?" she turned to Monsieur Wachner.

He hesitated, and looked at his wife deprecatingly.

"L'Ami Fritz," said Madame Wachner, "_will_ play 'is system, Mesdames.
However, I am glad to say that to-day he soon gave it up in honour of our
friend here. What 'ave you made?" she asked him.

"Only eight hundred francs," he said, his face clouding over. "If you had
given me more than that hundred francs, Sophie, I might have made five
thousand in the time."

"Bah!" she said. "That does not matter. We must not risk more than a
hundred francs a day--you know how often I've told you that, Fritz." She
was now speaking in French, very quickly and angrily.

But Sylvia hardly heard. She could not help wondering why the Count had
not come up and congratulated her. The thought that she had brought him
luck was very pleasant to her.

He had left off playing, and was standing back, near one of the windows.
He had not even glanced across to the place where she stood. This
aloofness gave Sylvia a curious little feeling of discomfiture. Why,
several strangers had come up and cordially thanked her for bringing them
such luck.

"Let us come out of this place and 'ave some ices," exclaimed Madame
Wachner, suddenly. "When l'Ami Fritz 'as a stroke of luck 'e often treats
'is old wife to an ice."

The four went out of the Casino and across the way to an hotel, which,
as Madame Wachner explained to her two new friends, contained the best
restaurant in Lacville. The sun was sinking, and, though it was still
very hot, there was a pleasant breeze coming up from the lake.

Sylvia felt excited and happy. How wonderful--how marvellous--to make
nearly L100 out of a twenty-franc piece! That was what she had done this
afternoon.

And then, rather to her surprise, after they had all enjoyed ices and
cakes at Madame Wachner's expense, Anna Wolsky and l'Ami Fritz declared
they were going back to the Casino.

"I don't mean to play again to-night," said Sylvia, firmly. "I feel
dreadfully tired," and the excitement had indeed worn her out. She
longed to go back to the Hotel du Lac.

Still, she accompanied the others to the Club, and together with Madame
Wachner, she sat down some way from the tables. In a very few minutes
they were joined by the other two, who had by now lost quite enough gold
pieces to make them both feel angry with themselves, and, what was indeed
unfair, with poor Sylvia.

"I'm sure that if you had played again, and if we had followed your play,
we should have added to our winnings instead of losing, as we have done,"
said Anna crossly.

"I'm so sorry," and Sylvia felt really distressed. Anna had never spoken
crossly to her before.

"Forgive me!" cried the Polish woman, suddenly softening. "I ought not to
have said that to you, dear little friend. No doubt we should all have
lost just the same. You know that fortune-teller told me that I should
make plenty of money--well, even now I have had a splendid day!"

"Do come back with me and have dinner at the Villa du Lac," said Sylvia
eagerly.

They shook hands with the Wachners, and as they walked the short distance
from the Casino to the villa, Sylvia told Anna all about her visit to the
Chalet des Muguets.

"They seem nice homely people," she said, "and Madame Wachner was really
very kind."

"Yes, no doubt; but she is a very strict wife," answered Anna smiling.
"The poor man had not one penny piece till she came in, and he got so
angry and impatient waiting for her! I really felt inclined to lend him
a little money; but I have made it a rule never to lend money in a
Casino; it only leads to unpleasantness afterwards."

In the hall of the Villa du Lac the Comte de Virieu was standing reading
a paper. He was dressed for dinner, and he bowed distantly as the two
ladies came in.

"Why, there is the Comte de Virieu!" exclaimed Anna, in a low, and far
from a pleased tone. "I had no idea he was staying here."

"Yes, he is staying here," said Sylvia, blushing uneasily, and quickly
she led the way upstairs. It wanted a few minutes to seven.

Anna Wolsky waited till the door of Sylvia's room was shut, and then,

"I cannot help being sorry that you are staying in the same hotel as that
man," she said, seriously. "Do not get to know him too well, dear Sylvia.
The Count is a worthless individual; he has gambled away two fortunes.
And now, instead of working, he is content to live on an allowance made
to him by his sister's husband, the Duc d'Eglemont. If I were you,
I should keep on very distant terms with him. He is, no doubt, always
looking out for a nice rich woman to marry."

Sylvia made no answer. She felt she could not trust herself to speak; and
there came over her a feeling of intense satisfaction that Anna Wolsky
was not staying here with her at the Villa du Lac.

She also made up her mind that next time she entertained Anna she would
do so at the restaurant of which the cooking had been so highly commended
by Madame Wachner.

The fact that Madame Wolsky thought so ill of the Comte de Virieu made
Sylvia feel uncomfortable all through dinner. But the Count, though he
again bowed when the two friends came into the dining-room, did not come
over and speak to them, as Sylvia had felt sure he would do this evening.

After dinner he disappeared, and Sylvia took Anna out into the garden.
But she did not show her the _potager_. The old kitchen-garden already
held for her associations which she did not wish to spoil or even to
disturb.

Madame Wolsky, sipping M. Polperro's excellent coffee, again mentioned
the Count.

"I am exceedingly surprised to see him here at Lacville," she said in a
musing voice, "I should have expected him to go to a more _chic_ place.
He always plays in the winter at Monte Carlo."

Sylvia summoned up courage to protest.

"But, Anna," she exclaimed, "surely the Comte de Virieu is only doing
what a great many other people do!"

Anna laughed good-humouredly.

"I see what you mean," she said. "You think it is a case of 'the pot
calling the kettle black.' How excellent are your English proverbs, dear
Sylvia! But no, it is quite different. Take me. I have an income, and
choose to spend it in gambling. I might prefer to have a big house, or
perhaps I should say a small house, for I am not a very rich woman. But
no, I like play, and I am free to spend my money as I like. The Comte de
Virieu is very differently situated! He is, so I've been told, a clever,
cultivated man. He ought to be working--doing something for his country's
good. And then he is so disagreeable! He makes no friends, no
acquaintances. He always looks as if he was doing something of which
he was ashamed. He never appears gay or satisfied, not even when he
is winning--"

"He does not look as cross as Monsieur Wachner," said Sylvia, smiling.

"Monsieur Wachner is like me," said Anna calmly. "He probably made a
fortune in business, and now he and his wife enjoy risking a little money
at play. Why should they not?"

"Madame Wachner told me to-day all about their poor friend who was
drowned," said Sylvia irrelevantly.

"Ah, yes, that was a sad affair! They were very foolish to become so
intimate with him. Why, they actually had him staying with them at the
time! You see, they had a villa close to the lake-side. And this young
Russian, it appears, was very fond of boating. It was a mysterious
affair, because, oddly enough, he had not been out in the town, or even
to the Casino, for four days before the accident happened. There was a
notion among some people that he had committed suicide, but that, I
fancy, was not so. He had won a large sum of money. Some thought the gold
weighed down his body in the water--. But that is absurd. It must have
been the weeds."

"Madame Wachner told me that quite a lot of money was found in his room,"
said Sylvia quickly.

"No, that is not true. About four hundred francs were found in his
bed-room. That was all. I fancy the police made themselves rather
unpleasant to Monsieur Wachner. The Russian Embassy made inquiries, and
it seemed so odd to the French authorities that the poor fellow could not
be identified. They found no passport, no papers of any sort--"

"Have you a passport?" asked Sylvia. "Madame Wachner asked me if I had
one. But I've never even seen a passport!"

"No," said Anna, "I have not got a passport now. I once had one, but I
lost it. One does not require such a thing in a civilised country! But a
Russian must always have a passport, it is an absolute law in Russia. And
the disappearance of that young man's passport was certainly strange--in
fact, the whole affair was mysterious."

"It must have been terrible for Monsieur and Madame Wachner," said Sylvia
thoughtfully.

"Oh yes, very disagreeable indeed! Luckily he is entirely absorbed in his
absurd systems, and she is a very cheerful woman."

"Yes, indeed she is!" Sylvia could not help smiling. "I am glad we have
got to know them, Anna. It is rather mournful when one knows no one at
all in a place of this kind."

And Anna agreed, indifferently.

CHAPTER X

And then there began a series of long cloudless days for Sylvia Bailey.
For the first time she felt as if she was seeing life, and such seeing
was very pleasant to her.

Not in her wildest dreams, during the placid days of her girlhood
and brief married life, had she conceived of so interesting and so
exhilarating an existence as that which she was now leading! And this
was perhaps owing in a measure to the fact that there is, if one may so
express it, a spice of naughtiness in life as led at Lacville.

In a mild, a very mild, way Sylvia Bailey had fallen a victim to the
Goddess of Play. She soon learned to look forward to the hours she and
Anna Wolsky spent each day at the baccarat tables. But, unlike Anna,
Sylvia was never tempted to risk a greater sum on that dangerous green
cloth than she could comfortably afford to lose, and perhaps just because
this was so, on the whole she won money rather than lost it.

A certain change had come over the relations of the two women. They still
met daily, if only at the Casino, and they occasionally took a walk or a
drive together, but Madame Wolsky--and Sylvia Bailey felt uneasy and
growing concern that it was so--now lived for play, and play alone.

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