Slyne skirted a flower-bed cautiously and, approaching the shadowy background by a flank movement, found a stout1 individual in a voluminous coat kneeling on the grass there, with some white, metallic2 object in one trembling hand lifted in the direction of his own left eyelid3. A second Click! startled Slyne disproportionately, and he spoke4 at that, in a very querulous voice. "Hey! you fool," he said, "you're wasting your time. Wait till I show you how.
"Good Lord! is that you, Jobling?"
Mr. Jobling suddenly cast a revolver from him, with a wailing5 execration6, and, attempting to rise, sank down beside it, blubbering, entirely7 unstrung after the agonising strain of the past few seconds. Slyne, eyeing him with exasperated8 contempt, picked the weapon up and fingered it for an instant.
"A damned rotten make!" he commented morosely9. "But it'll do the job for you all right now. You can't shoot it off, you know, with the safety catch set."
The miserable10 man on the grass held out his hand for it, humbly11. But Slyne was not at all prepared to take any risks on his account—for suicide and murder are often very difficult to distinguish, in their results—and made up his mind to keep it, in the meantime at any rate.
"Get up," he ordered in his sharpest tone, "and come away out of this. If you could only see yourself, you wouldn't want to sit there and whimper."
Under the spur of that insult Mr. Jobling seemed to recall some stray shred12 of his forfeited13 self-respect. He got on to his knees, with an effort, and thence by degrees to his feet.
"I think you might show a little more decent feeling," he sobbed14 brokenly, "when—"
"And I think you might show a vast deal more sense," snapped Slyne. "Button up your coat, and come away out of this. You can kill yourself just as easily—a good deal more so, in fact, since I've shown you how—in half an hour, after I'm in a safer position to prove an alibi15 if any inconvenient16 questions are asked about it afterwards. Come on, now."
His whilom acquaintance followed him meekly17, muttering, to a secluded18 corner where there was a seat.
"What's the trouble?" demanded Slyne magisterially19, sitting down at one end of the bench and motioning him to the other. "But I suppose I need scarcely ask. Trust funds mysteriously melted away—the usual childish attempt to recover them by sheer chance, and with all the odds20 against you!—the dread21 of exposure and disgrace—which never worry a dead man. You've been a bit of a wolf in sheep's clothing, eh, my respectable friend? And you'd rather die in the dark than face the world in broad daylight without your immaculate fleece."
Mr. Jobling groaned22.
"But why, after all, finish playing the knave23 by playing the fool? If you were the man of the world you fancy yourself, you'd know that sheep are very seldom successful in real life. It's all very well to pose in a sheep-skin, but it isn't everything. A wolf undisguised can do very well for himself, so long as his teeth are sufficiently24 sharp. And, when he becomes a big millionaire, he can buy himself, among other things, a nice new merino coat."
His parable25 amused himself, but his auditor26 did not seem possessed27 of a sufficient sense of humour to appreciate its personal application.
"You're labouring under a misapprehension," said that gentleman, who had meantime regained28 some grip on himself, in accents anything but properly grateful. "I may, perhaps, have been unfortunate with—er—a few small investments for clients, but your inference that I have—er—er—You're positively29 insulting, sir!"
Slyne laughed, in better humour. "Bah!" said he. "What's the use of bluffing30? You weren't going to blow out your brains—if any—because you had been too honest, were you?"
"I'm a desperate man," declared Mr. Jobling, thus rudely reminded of the matter in hand. "Life isn't worth living, now that I've lost—" He gulped31 and gasped32, once more on the verge33 of tears, but a furtive34 glance at Slyne's impassive features, dimly visible in the glow of a half-smoked cigar, showed him he need not expect any excess of sympathy from that quarter. It also seemed to suggest to him, in the midst of his anguish35 of mind, an idea. He looked round at Slyne again.
"You're a man of wealth," he said in a husky voice whose suddenly inspired eagerness he could not conceal36, and some spark of hope perhaps sprang up in his fainting heart again since Slyne did not deny that erroneous suggestion. Slyne was waiting to hear what more he might have to say, though not with any intention of helping37 him.
"I wonder—" the stout solicitor38 muttered. "It might interest you to—Two heads are better than one, and—Some sort of partnership39—"
"I can only spare you five minutes more," said Slyne crisply. "As soon as I've finished my cigar, I'm going across to Ciro's for supper. The Marquis of Ingoldsby is expecting me."
"Do you know his lordship?" breathed Mr. Jobling, his new-born hope no doubt gaining strength and his respect for his chance companion obviously increased. "Then you'll understand me when I tell you that I've ruined myself—ab-so-lutely ruined myself over the Jura succession."
"I haven't the least idea what the devil you're talking about," said Slyne.
Mr. Jobling groaned again. He was most grievously disappointed.
"I thought every one had heard of the case," he went on. "A couple of millions in cash—"
"Millions of what?" demanded Slyne with a little more lively interest.
"Pounds sterling," the London lawyer explained, rather testily40. "A couple of millions in cash and forty or fifty thousand a year going a-begging may not seem a very important matter to a moneyed man like you, but I've thought of nothing else, night and day, for the past five years, and—"
"I've been all over the world for the past five years," mentioned Slyne loftily, but impatient now, "and the latest news of the parish pump has probably failed to reach me. Get on with your story, anyhow. If there's anything in it—I don't know but that I may be disposed to lend you a hand—if there's anything in it." And, having lighted a fresh cigar, he composed himself to listen. His time was his own. The chance of catching41 Lord Ingoldsby alone at Ciro's was too remote to be worth more than the passing thought. A story with so much money in it might prove at least as entertaining as a solitary42 supper.
Mr. Jobling gazed with glistening43 eyes at his providential acquaintance. "I've told you what there is in it," said he in a tremulous tone. "A couple of millions in cash and forty or fifty thousand a year that will all ultimately fall to the Crown—unless I can find that girl, or—"
"What girl?" Slyne demanded irritably44.
"The late Earl of Jura's daughter. You'll no doubt remember—But if you've been abroad for so long, I'd better repeat—" And, having got over his nervous prolixity45, he became much more explicit46.
"The late earl's first wife, as you must recall, sir, was Lady Eulalie Orlebarre. But she did not survive the birth of their only child, a son, in 1876.
"The earl married again, in '94. His second wife was Josceline Beljambes, the famous dancer. A daughter was born to them. But they separated, by mutual47 agreement, only a year or two later, and the countess retained custody48 of her daughter. The earl was a good deal older than she.
"She was a very restless, erratic49 woman, and fond of travel. In '99 she disappeared most mysteriously, somewhere abroad, and has never been heard of since.
"The following year, Lord St. Just, the earl's son by his first wife and, of course, his heir, was found dead one day at the foot of the cliffs near Loquhariot, the family seat in Scotland. He had grown up a very headstrong, troublesome lad, I have heard. There was some suspicion of foul50 play on the part of one of the gamekeepers on the estate—some scandalous story about a girl in the village—but the coroner's jury returned an open verdict.
"The earl himself died in 1906, a little more than five years ago. The estates fell into Chancery. And ever since I've been trying to trace his second wife—or their child; for, failing an heir-male, the female line of succession maintains in the family.
"The Court of Chancery is quite prepared to presume the mother dead, and I have evidence sufficient to prove that assumption a certainty. So that now, you see, if I could only find—"
He hesitated, to scrutinise his companion's inscrutable face.
"I was a consummate51 fool, of course, ever to have come to Monte Carlo," he went off at a tangent. "Though I had a good enough reason for coming," he went on, defending himself to himself. "I didn't dare trust anyone in London. And I—I thought that I might find here—" He balked52 again.
"It was merely to pass the time that I first tried my luck at the tables—and look at me now! I haven't even money to pay my hotel bill. For want of a few thousand francs I must lose my chance of the fortune on which I've staked every penny I could scrape together and—and five years of my good time, and—" He started to one side as Slyne cut him short.
"I'm not going to waste five seconds of my good time," said Slyne with concentrated bitterness, "in telling you how many different sorts of a damned fool you are." His expensive cigar had gone out, unheeded. But his keen, close-set eyes were aglow54. He was finding it extremely difficult to contain himself.
"Are you sure of your facts?" he demanded, in the same acid, embittered55 voice.
"From first to last," affirmed Mr. Jobling, so peevishly56 that Slyne was satisfied. "Haven't I told you that I've spent five years of my life and every penny I could—er—every penny I possessed, in sifting57 them out, and that I'm a Chancery practitioner58? I have most of the papers with me at the Métropole. There's only the one link lacking to complete the long chain I've forged. And—" He lowered his voice to a whisper after looking about him furtively59, and, at last, under the decent screen of the darkness, completely demoralised by the events of the day, confided60 in the Heaven-sent stranger beside him his chief ambition in coming to Monte Carlo. "And even a good enough imitation might serve—"
"No imitation would stand the strain," Slyne interrupted him hoarsely61. "And you'll very soon find yourself inside the four walls of a cell, my friend, if you try any forgery62 of that sort. You can take my word for that, because—I'm the real rivet63, and without me all the rest of your precious chain isn't worth a snap of my fingers."
Mr. Jobling subsided64 into a heap, and was staring at him, open-mouthed. But Slyne said no more for a moment or two. Outwardly quite calm and matter-of-fact, his mind was in a seething65 turmoil66. If all the inept67 rogue68 beside him had said were true—He could scarcely restrain an impulse to get to his feet and shout for joy.
The lawyer seemed to have nothing more to say, either. And Slyne, having somewhat recovered command of himself, at length rose, tossing his cold cigar away with an angry oath. "It makes my blood boil," said he, "to think—But for the sheerest accident you'd be a dead man by now—and where would I have been then! You don't deserve such stupendous luck, and, by the Lord Harry69! if I find you playing the fool again—You're going to put yourself into my hands from now on, d'ye hear? And, in the first place, I must see those papers you spoke of; if they're in order, I'll see the thing through. We can't work without each other, unfortunately for me, or—"
"You're going too fast," intervened Mr. Jobling, still seated, and with some faint show of spirit. "You're taking too much for granted, sir. I don't even know who you are, and—we must come to terms of some sort before—"
He shrank aside as Slyne stepped forward with twitching70 fingers and eyes aflame.
"You'll take whatever terms you get—and be precious thankful," hissed71 Slyne, stooping over him. "You'll do exactly what you're told, no more, and no less. And—you won't forget again, will you, that you've met your master in me?"
Mr. Jobling, gazing, aghast, into the muzzle72 of the cheap revolver which had proved so ineffective in his own hands, at last regained voice enough to subscribe73 solemnly to these stipulations, and from that moment went uncomfortably, in fear for the life he himself had been trying to take not an hour before. That was probably the first time he had ever been threatened with personal violence, and a life spent chiefly in Chancery Lane does not always foster an excess of that calculating courage needed to deal with one of Slyne's dangerous sort.
"Come on, then," said Slyne, and Mr. Jobling got shakily up from the bench. "You needn't be afraid that I won't deal fair—generously with you, but this is no time to be haggling74 here. We haven't a moment to spare. I must see those papers at once. Step out!"
The hall-porter at the Métropole raised his eyebrows75 over Mr. Jobling's somewhat dishevelled appearance, but promptly76 lowered them again in response to a look from Slyne.
"Tell them to send up your bill," said Slyne to the lawyer. "If everything's all right, I'll settle it and put you up at the Paris."
And Mr. Jobling very meekly did as he was bidden. He could not well help himself, just then. But his expression was not at all properly grateful as he ushered77 Slyne into the room he himself had never expected to see again, and there proceeded to display to that masterful adventurer the mass of papers on which their further partnership was to depend.
Slyne picked out the more important of these with an acumen78 which would have done Mr. Jobling himself every credit; and for a busy hour they two sat poring over one dog's-eared document after another, Slyne's mask of indifference79 deserting him by degrees as he grasped point after point of the case, till he threw the last down with a smile of triumph, and, rising from the table, paced to and fro for a moment, rubbing his hands in an ecstasy80 of exultation81.
"Everything's all right," he announced confidently. "My—our fortune's as good as made; and I'll tell you what, Jobling,—you shall have ten per cent. of the immediate82 cash for your share. How does that strike you, eh? I don't say that you deserve any such consideration from me, but—I'm ready to let bygones be bygones, and I want you to work for me with a will."
His self-assurance was contagious83. Mr. Jobling, after the merest moment of hesitation84, rose in his turn, holding out a hand, which Slyne grasped affectionately. And thus they came to an amicable85 understanding, without more words.
"Pack up now," commanded Slyne, pleasantly peremptory86, "and we'll run across to the Paris. I've any amount to do yet, before I can snatch a sleep."
"I'll be very thankful to get into my bed," said Mr. Jobling, already busy among his belongings87, and more than a little dazed by the march of events. "I've had a most trying day."
It did not take long to have his baggage transferred to the other hotel, and there Slyne put him under confidential88 charge of the manager, with very strict orders that he was not, on any pretext89 whatever, to be allowed to decamp pending90 Slyne's return. Whereafter that active man of affairs sent to the garage for his car, with word that his chauffeur91 need not be disturbed and, having deposited his still uncounted winnings with the cashier, started eastward92 again in such haste that he would not even wait to change his thin evening clothes.
Slyne was, in fact, fiercely excited. His particular Providence93 seemed to be holding out to him such a chance in life as he could scarcely have conceived himself in his wildest dreams. And he was in such frantic94 haste to grasp that chance—which involved so much more than the mere53 money—that he had quite forgotten his recent fear of M. Dubois.
"I think I've got you this time, my girl!" said he to himself gleefully, as he once more slowed down to stop at the Italian frontier. And that was the burden of all his thoughts as he raced madly along the Corniche Road in his high-powered car. In the darkness before the dawn, his eyes intent on the long white ribbon of highway endlessly slipping toward his head-lights, he saw only roseate visions of what the future now held for him. As the sun rose to burnish95 the bare, brown mountains before him, he nodded happily to himself, and his lips moved again to the glad refrain, "I think I've got you quite safe this time, my girl!"
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2
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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3
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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4
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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5
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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6
execration
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| n.诅咒，念咒，憎恶 | |
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7
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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8
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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9
morosely
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| adv.愁眉苦脸地，忧郁地 | |
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10
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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12
shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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13
forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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15
alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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16
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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18
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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magisterially
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| adv.威严地 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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22
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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auditor
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| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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28
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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bluffing
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| n. 威吓，唬人 动词bluff的现在分词形式 | |
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31
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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32
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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41
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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42
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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43
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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44
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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45
prolixity
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| n.冗长，罗嗦 | |
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46
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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47
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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48
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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49
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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50
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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51
consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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52
balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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53
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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54
aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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55
embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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57
sifting
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| n.筛，过滤v.筛( sift的现在分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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58
practitioner
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| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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59
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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60
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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61
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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62
forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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63
rivet
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| n.铆钉；vt.铆接，铆牢；集中(目光或注意力) | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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inept
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| adj.不恰当的，荒谬的，拙劣的 | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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72
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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haggling
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| v.讨价还价( haggle的现在分词 ) | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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acumen
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| n.敏锐，聪明 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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amicable
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| adj.和平的，友好的；友善的 | |
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peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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burnish
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| v.磨光；使光滑 | |
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