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Princess Galva, The

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<h3> CHAPTER X </h3> <h4> THREE HANDS AT POKER </h4> "I remember seeing in a Club I visited last year in Buda, some framed hands of cards—remarkable hands that had occurred in the play there. It is a pretty custom. I have often since wished to start a similar collection. Permit me." And Se�or Gabriel Dasso screwed a monocle into a cold and calculating eye and crossed over to the card table. "May I take them?—thanks. Most extraordinary. And how much did you win, Lieutenant Mozara, on your four kings?" The young officer addressed nicked the ash from his cigarette and glanced carelessly over the pile of notes and gold before him. "Oh, about four hundred crowns—thereabouts," he answered carelessly. "Then the fair Julie of the Casino has a rosy future before her for—shall we say nearly a week?" At this a laugh came from the Lieutenant's two opponents, and Dasso continued, gathering up the cards as he spoke— "You're sure, gentlemen, you don't mind. I'll have them framed with a little brass plate with all the particulars. Let me see, Count, you, was it not, who held the full house, aces high too—and you, Captain Olalla, the flush—am I right?" He went over to where a handsome inlaid writing table stood near the window and returned with three envelopes. The players watched idly whilst he put five cards into each; afterwards placing the three in a larger envelope, which latter he stuck down. Then, taking a tiny fountain pen from the pocket of his white vest, he wrote:— Three hands at Poker, held by Count Petola, Captain Olalla, and Lieutenant Mozara—Friday the fifteenth of January 1908. "Many thanks, gentlemen, and a thousand apologies for interrupting your game." Se�or Dasso returned to his position by the fire, one arm resting on the high mantleboard and letting his monocle fall with a little tinkle against his shirt front. The men at the table tore open another pack of cards and resumed their game. But it was late, and the play became desultory. Following such an exciting hand, the cards ran badly, and after the next "jackpot" the Count and Captain Olalla took their leave. Lieutenant Mozara carried his glass over and joined Dasso, who still maintained his position by the fireplace. He made way for the younger man, and— "A good evening's play, eh, Mozara?" "So so, but I say, Dasso, was it hardly playing the game to drag Julie into it? I don't like being laughed at." "Oh, a little chaff is the least one has to pay for one's gallantries." "I expect you did the same, at my age." Se�or Dasso turned and contemplated his handsome face with its iron-grey imperial in the pier-glass before replying. "Worse, my dear boy, far worse. San Pietro was not then what it is now, but Paris was—Paris—and so was Vienna." There was silence for a moment, and it was Mozara who first broke it. "Rather childish isn't it—to keep those cards? They weren't so wonderful, after all; you'll see better at the Club almost any night." "Possibly—but not so interesting." Something in the elder man's voice made the other look up sharply. His eyes narrowed in his head. "What do you mean, Dasso—more interesting?" For answer, Se�or Dasso drew up a little table in front of the fire, and taking the envelope from his pocket, handed his fountain pen to the Lieutenant. "I don't understand this, Se�or." "It means, my dear lieutenant, that the record I have written is not yet complete. You will finish it to my dictation." "If this is a joke, Se�or——" "Pardon me, it is no joke. You will write at my dictation." "I'm damned if I will—you forget, Se�or Dasso, that you——" "I forget nothing. I know that I am a guest in your uncle's house. Se�or Luazo is the soul of honour, and his sister's child should—but never mind. Again I say you will write at my dictation—or you will blow out your brains here and now—Oh, no, you don't." For with a snarling sound the young man had made a dash at the packet, but before it could reach the flames a hand closed like steel over his wrist. "You understand me now—eh?" "Yes, damn you, I understand that you, a guest of my uncle's, dares to spy upon me. I understand that." "Is there, then, so little difference between a spy and—a cheat?" Lieutenant Mozara sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands for a moment, then he reached out for the pen. "What is it you want me to write?" The other thought for a moment, drumming his fingers upon the polished surface of the little table. "How does it end—yes—'on the fifteenth of January 1908,' now add—'The hands were dealt by me, Gaspar Mozara. The cards were provided by me—and I won four hundred crowns. God be merciful to me a sinner.'" With an oath the young man rose, throwing over the table in his agitation. "I'll see you in he——" He stopped and gave a little cry as he saw the shining barrel of a small revolver pointed at him. "You—you would murder me, then?" "Morally, yes, but not physically unless you drive me to it. I would say you shot yourself at being found out. This," and he tapped the little package, "would prove everything; marked cards are the finest of evidence." Then the boy—he was hardly more—was on his knees. "Why are you doing this, Se�or Dasso?" he pleaded. "Before God it's the first time. You knew my mother—I've never harmed you. I will return the money to-morrow. I—I—wanted it for Julie." "Yes, I know that, bless her. It isn't the first time that a woman has played my game for me. There is no mercy in ambition, and I want you. I can make use of you. Oh, your secret is safe with me, provided you write as I say." "And place my honour and my life in your hands for ever." "Precisely, that is all I want." Tremblingly the boy looked past the muzzle to the steady hand and up to the cruel, thin face. Then he righted the table, and whilst Dasso held the package he wrote. "And your seal," said his tormentor, when the lieutenant had signed his name, and he fetched a stick of black wax from the writing table. Then after Mozara had sealed it with his signet ring, Dasso placed the envelope in his pocket and leant back with a half smile. "And now, my dear lieutenant, for my motive. Believe me I like you, and I have no personal objection to your method of playing poker. I can be frank with you now that I have this," and he tapped the pocket over the cards. "You know what they say here in Corbo, that it was I who engineered the affair of fifteen years ago. They even hint that I took an active part in the doings at the palace on that night. Well, they are not far wrong. It was I who did the majority of the work, seeing that my followers faltered at the last moment. I had too much at stake to risk failure. I had worked hard, believing that the choice of the people would fall on me, failing a direct heir. It did; I was made Dictator, and for a few brief weeks I tasted the fruits of power. "But Spain was stronger than I, and my crime—my political crime—went for nothing. Enrico was placed where I would sit, and now he is at last paying the penalty of his licentious and foolish mode of life. The King is dying." For a moment the lieutenant was interested in spite of himself. "But his nephew will——" Se�or Dasso rose and snapped his fingers. "That for him. What do the people think or even know of him, a man who has hardly been seen by them, a man who hates San Pietro and all in it—including his uncle? I understand he is in Africa shooting lions at this present moment. When he hears of his uncle's death it will be too late." "But Spain?" "Spain has her own troubles now, and I have information that a little diplomacy is all that is needed. It is my hour and I will want help—I will want dirty work done. To-night I saw my chance when I noticed that your cards were marked. I took it, as I take all chances." "What is it you want of me?" "There will be many things. First I want you to watch and tell me all about these English people, Miss Bax—Baxendale and her Mr. Sydney. I want you to——" "I will not play the spy in my uncle's house—he has been a father to me—more than a father." "But you play—in your uncle's house—how you play is known only to you and me—so far. It's not much I'm asking of you, but much or little you'll have to do it. They visit here a great deal, and your task will be easy—and I'll help you with Julie. Half-past one; I'll go now—you'll remember." Gabriel Dasso descended the broad stairway of Se�or Luazo's mansion, and was helped into his sable overcoat by the sleepy man-servant at the door. In the courtyard his motor was waiting, but instructing the chauffeur to keep him in sight Dasso turned up the collar of his coat and stepped out briskly. It was a lovely night, and the Bay of Lucana gleamed silver beneath the moon. The boulevard that terraced above the beach lay white under the cold glare of the arc lamps which threw a delicate tracery of shadow from the acacia trees. The town of Corbo was built on a cliff, or rather a series of little cliffs that rose in terraces, upon the highest of which stood the royal palace. Under the gay reign of Enrico I, Corbo had prospered exceedingly, and there was but little remaining of the old and quaint town of a decade ago. Modern hotels, rivalling the palace in splendour and far exceeding it in comfort, lined the lower boulevard, and the Casino lying back in its palm gardens had been erected by a syndicate of Russian Jews and had cost a fabulous amount of money. The lights were still blazing from its myriad windows as Se�or Dasso made his way along the broad pavement, followed at a respectful distance by his car. There was a slight wind off-shore and little bursts of melody came to him at intervals, of a popular waltz played by a string band. For perhaps half-an-hour the man continued to walk up and down, his chin sunk deep in his collar, then he raised his hand and the watching chauffeur slid noiselessly up to him. Leaving the lighted thoroughfare the car made its way to the eastern end of the town, which lay in darkness. It was here, in a part that still contained some of the buildings of the old town, that Dasso's home lay. It was a large medi�val-looking structure, more of a castle than a house. When first it had been erected it stood alone, but with the growth of the town it had been surrounded, and portions of its grounds taken in till now it had the appearance of a giant being elbowed and crowded out by pigmies. Before the massive old gateway the car drew up, and at the sound of the brakes the oak doors opened. Se�or Dasso passed in between the two footmen, one of whom relieved him of his coat and hat, whilst the other shot home the great bolts behind him. "I'll want nothing more," he said shortly, and crossing the hall entered a room on the left. On the table stood a decanter and a syphon. He mixed himself a drink, then selecting a key from the bunch on his chain inserted it in the lock of a small but massive safe that was let into the wall by the fireplace. He took from it a portfolio of black leather, and, seating himself near the lights of a branch candelabra, unfastened the little strap. It contained a varied assortment of papers, and Dasso ran through them hurriedly until he came to a card bearing a photograph. This he held close to the light and scanned narrowly. He saw an old silver print of a young and beautiful woman in royal robes. Tall, and of a commanding carriage that savoured somewhat of arrogance, the late Queen of San Pietro looked out from the faded picture. For some minutes Se�or Dasso gazed at the eyes, looking away now and again as though conjuring up some picture to his mind. Then he spoke murmuringly to himself, his eyes fixed on the portrait he held in his hand. "I who knew you better than the others—I who saw you last of all—can perhaps see more than the others now. Yes, Queen Elene, your eyes have looked at me again to-night—in the flesh"—he laughed shortly—"but I did not flinch, Elene; the nerves of Gabriel Dasso are as firm to-day as they were fifteen years ago." For a little while longer he looked, a half smile curling his cruel mouth, then he replaced the photograph in the portfolio, putting with it the three poker hands of Lieutenant Mozara, and again locked it in the safe. Then taking the candelabra, he ascended the wide oak staircase to his chamber. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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