Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo. E. Phillips Oppenheim

V

       Table of Contents

"WHO IS MR. GREX?"

       Table of Contents

      Lady Weybourne insisted, after a reasonable amount of time spent over their coffee, that her brother should pay the bill and leave the restaurant. They walked slowly across the square.

      "What are you going to do about it?" he asked.

      "There is only one thing to be done," she replied. "I shall speak to every one I meet this afternoon—I shall be, in fact, most sociable—and sooner or later in our conversation I shall ask every one if they know Mr. Grex and his daughter. When I arrive at some one who does, that will be the first step, won't it?"

      "I wonder whether we shall see some one soon!" he grumbled, looking around. "Where are all the people to-day!"

      She laughed softly.

      "Just a little impetuous, aren't you?"

      "I should say so," he admitted. "I'd like to be introduced to her before four o'clock, propose to her this evening, and—and—"

      "And what?"

      "Never mind," he concluded, marching on with his head turned towards the clouds. "Let's go and sit down upon the Terrace and talk about her."

      "But, my dear Dicky," his sister protested, "I don't want to sit upon the Terrace. I am going to my dressmaker's across the way there, and afterwards to Lucie's to try on some hats. Then I am going back to the hotel for an hour's rest and to prink, and afterwards into the Sporting Club at four o'clock. That's my programme. I shall be doing what I can the whole of the time. I shall make discreet enquiries of my dressmaker, who knows everybody, and I sha'n't let a single acquaintance go by. You will have to amuse yourself till four o'clock, at any rate. There's Sir Henry Hunterleys over there, having coffee. Go and talk to him. He may put you out of your misery. Thanks ever so much for my luncheon, and au revoir!"

      She turned away with a little nod. Her brother, after a moment's hesitation, approached the table where Hunterleys was sitting alone.

      "How do you do, Sir Henry?"

      Hunterleys returned his greeting, a little blankly at first. Then he remembered the young man and held out his hand.

      "Of course! You are Richard Lane, aren't you? Sit down and have some coffee. What are you doing here?"

      "I've got a little boat in the harbour," Richard replied, as he drew up a chair. "I've been at Algiers for a time with some friends, and I've brought them on here. Just been lunching with my sister. Are you alone?"

      Hunterleys hesitated.

      "Yes, I am alone."

      "Wonderful place," the young man went on. "Wonderful crowd of people here, too. I suppose you know everybody?" he added, warming up as he approached his subject.

      "On the contrary," Hunterleys answered, "I am almost a stranger here. I have been staying further down the coast."

      "Happen to know any one of the name of Grex?" Lane asked, with elaborate carelessness.

      Hunterleys made no immediate reply. He seemed to be considering the name.

      "Grex," he repeated, knocking the ash from his cigarette. "Rather an uncommon name, isn't it? Why do you ask?"

      "Oh, I've seen an elderly man and a young lady about once or twice," Lane explained. "Very interesting-looking people. Some one told me that their name was Grex."

      "There is a person living under that name, I think," Hunterleys said, "who has taken the Villa Mimosa for the season."

      "Do you know him personally?" the young man asked eagerly.

      "Personally? No, I can scarcely say that I do."

      Richard Lane sighed. It was disappointment number one. For some reason or other, too, Hunterleys seemed disposed to change the conversation.

      "The young lady who is always with him," Richard persisted, "would that be his daughter?"

      Hunterleys turned a little in his seat and surveyed his questioner. He had met Lane once or twice and rather liked him.

      "Look here, young fellow," he said, good humouredly, "let me ask you a question for a change. What is the nature of these enquiries of yours?"

      Lane hesitated. Something in Hunterleys' face and manner induced him to tell the truth.

      "I have fallen head over heels in love with the young lady," he confessed. "Don't think I am a confounded jackass. I am not in the habit of doing such things. I'm twenty-seven and I have never gone out of my way to meet a girl yet. This is something—different. I want to find out about them and get an introduction."

      Hunterleys shook his head regretfully.

      "I am afraid," he said, "that I can be of no use to you—no practical use, that is. I can only give you one little piece of advice."

      "Well, what is it?" Richard asked eagerly.

      "If you are in earnest," Hunterleys continued, "and I will do you the credit to believe that you are, you had better pack up your things, return to your yacht and take a cruise somewhere."

      "Take a cruise somewhere!"

      Hunterleys nodded.

      "Get out of Monte Carlo as quickly as you can, and, above all, don't think anything more of that young lady. Get the idea out of your head as quickly as you can."

      The young man was sitting upright in his chair. His manner was half minatory.

      "Say, what do you mean by this?" he demanded.

      "Exactly what I said just now," Hunterleys rejoined. "If you are in earnest, and I have no doubt that you are, I should clear out."

      "What is it you are trying to make me understand?" Richard asked bluntly.

      "That you have about as much chance with that young lady," Hunterleys assured him, "as with that very graceful statue in the square yonder."

      Richard sat for a moment with knitted brows.

      "Then you know who she is, any way?"

      "Whether I do or whether I do not," the older man said gravely, "so far as I am concerned, the subject is exhausted. I have given you the best advice you ever had in your life. It's up to you to follow it."

      Richard looked at him blankly.

      "Well, you've got me puzzled," he confessed.

      Hunterleys rose to his feet, and, summoning a waiter, paid his bill.

      "You'll excuse me, won't you?" he begged. "I have an appointment in a few minutes. If you are wise, young man," he added, patting him on the shoulder as he turned to go, "you will take my advice."

      Left to himself, Richard Lane strolled around the place towards the Terrace. He had no fancy for the Rooms and he found a seat as far removed as possible from the Tir du Pigeons. He sat there with folded arms, looking out across the sun-dappled sea. His matter-of-fact brain offered him but one explanation as to the meaning of Hunterleys' words, and against that explanation his whole being was in passionate revolt. He represented a type of young man who possesses morals by reason of a certain unsuspected idealism, mingled with perfect physical sanity. It seemed to him, as he sat there, that he had been waiting for this day for years. The old nights in New York and Paris and London floated before his memory. He pushed them on one side with a shiver, and yet with a curious feeling of exultation. He recalled a certain sensation which had been drawn through his life like a thin golden thread, a sensation which had a habit of especially asserting itself in the midst of these youthful