speech. A rocket went hissing into the skies from the heights on the other side of the harbour. The manager turned rapidly away.
“There is some sort of trouble,” he muttered, as he hastened towards the door. “One must make preparations—”
Play was completely suspended in the room. Every one was struggling to find a place near the windows.
“It is the revolution at last,” the shock-headed Monegasque shouted from the bar. ”Vive la révolution!”
The croupiers, who were nearly all Monegasques, were gathered together in a corner of the room, whispering uneasily. For five hundred years the discharge of a single rocket had been a signal of alarm. There was, without a doubt, trouble up at the Palace, but what sort of trouble? They talked and gesticulated wildly. The discontent amongst the people was notorious. That a revolution had been threatened was well known, but that it should have come in this fashion seemed incredible. There were men there, the chef with the grey beard, for instance, who belonged to the secret council of the Monegasques and who would certainly have been called into consultation if the time had really arrived. Everything outside was once more dark and peaceful, except that at intervals a voiture filled with eager sightseers went by at full speed. The lights in the Palace were still in evidence and the streets were free from any sign of commotion.
“What can it mean?” Jeannine asked, clinging to Roger’s arm.
“I have not the slightest idea,” Roger confessed frankly. “We shall know directly. Here comes Monsieur Rignaud and he has the air of one with news.”
Monsieur Rignaud, the controller of the Sporting Club, rushed into the room, his face bathed in perspiration. He mounted a chair and curiosity produced immediate silence.
“My friends,” he called out, “there is no cause for alarm. What has happened is that there has been a serious robbery at the Palace. The alarm gun was fired and a rocket discharged to call back such of the gendarmerie as were on leave this evening. A robbery of jewels. There is nothing more. All croupiers will at once return to their places.”
He descended from his chair. The buzz of voices recommenced, but the sense of drama seemed to have passed. A jewel robbery, after all, was an everyday happening. Thornton came up and touched Roger on the shoulder.
“Can you spare me a minute at once?” he begged.
Lord Dalmorres, chuckling with pleasure, passed his arm through Jeannine’s and led her to a roulette table. Roger followed Thornton into a retired portion of the corridor.
“Sloane,” he whispered, looking at him keenly out of his cold grey eyes, “I suppose you, like me, have had ideas about the doings down here which it seemed only ridiculous to put into words?”
“Sure,” Roger agreed. “I’ll say that I have.”
“Very well, then,” Thornton continued. “It might be interesting to find out who is in the Club to-night and who are absentees. You take the ‘chemie’ room and I’ll start with the bar and work up from the far end of the trente-et-quarante and roulette until we meet.”
They came together again in a quarter of an hour. Roger frankly confessed himself disappointed. Three men whom he had always vaguely distrusted—two English bookmakers and a notorious Belgian gambler—were all there in evidence at the tables. Thornton had had very little better luck. Pierre Viotti, with a half bottle of champagne before him, was seated upon a stool at the bar, talking eagerly to a Niçois friend. In his eyes was the usual expression of sly hate as he turned around to find Roger close at hand.
“Was Prince Savonarilda playing trente-et-quarante, did you notice?” Roger asked.
Thornton shook his head as he poured some Perrier into his whisky.
“I didn’t see him anywhere,” he acknowledged. “But look—that’s odd.”
Roger followed the direction of his companion’s gaze. Savonarilda, looking tired and blasé as usual, was glancing languidly around the room. He nodded to the two men and lounged off down the passage.
“One must not miss any chance,” Roger said cautiously, as they emerged from the last lift some five minutes later and made their way into the lounge of the hotel. “Can you see Savonarilda anywhere here?”
“Not a sign of him,” Thornton confessed. “What do you want him for?”
Roger made no reply. He turned around and approached the concierge’s desk.
“Is Prince Savonarilda in his room, do you know?” he enquired.
“Just gone up, sir,” the man replied. “He took his key from me not a minute ago.”
Roger walked towards the lift and rang the bell. Thornton looked at his companion curiously.
“What’s in your mind about Savonarilda?” he persisted.
“I haven’t anything in my mind,” Roger confessed. “I am trying to be like Jeannine and act upon inspiration. What is Prince Savonarilda’s number?” he asked the liftman, as they stepped in.
“One hundred and ninety-seven, sir,” the man replied. “The Prince has just gone up.”
They mounted to the second floor, walked along the corridor and Roger knocked briskly at the door of Number one hundred and ninety-seven. There was a brief delay, then Savonarilda presented himself.
“Hello!” he exclaimed, “Anything wrong?”
“Nothing at all,” Roger assured him. “I tried to stop you downstairs at the lift but I was just too late. Lady Julia wants to know whether you can dine to-morrow night—just a small party? I ought to have asked you before, but I’m afraid it slipped my memory.”
Savonarilda shook his head.
“Sorry,” he regretted. “I always like to go to Lady Julia’s parties but I’m afraid to-morrow it can’t be done. I’m dining with some one or other—I forget whom.”
“Bad luck! Sorry I disturbed you.”
“Any news about the jewel robbery?”
“We haven’t heard a thing yet. I expect in half an hour’s time or so the whole story will be out.”
“Ridiculous fuss about a potty lot of ornaments. There are a dozen women in this hotel whose jewels are worth a great deal more.”
“Having an early night, aren’t you?” Roger remarked.
“Got to, sometimes,” was the languid reply. “Goodnight.”
“Well, I don’t see that we got much out of that,” Thornton remarked, as they rang for the lift.
Roger smiled cryptically.
“I’ve developed a fancy for secrecy to-night,” he confided, “because I want to see later on if things shape themselves the same way to you. I’ll say this, though; I think before many days have passed, we’re either going to bring something off or get it in the neck ourselves.”
“Any facts?” Thornton asked. “Or are you still adopting Mademoiselle Jeannine’s flair for inspiration?”
Roger grinned.
“I wouldn’t call it that,” he confessed. “One queer incomprehensible fact and a damned big guess.”
Roger found Jeannine struggling to be polite to her temporary escort, but boring herself very much with roulette. He carried her off at once to dance at the Knickerbocker, regardless of Dalmorres’ protests.
“You young engaged men are the most selfish devils on the face of the earth,” the latter declared. “You seem to think because you have had the good luck to annex a most attractive young woman that for the future no one else may come near her. I think I will come to this place with you. I can at least pay the bill.”
“I am in a