“Yes,” she cried, pointing to the Casino, “they ruined him, the dirty rascals. They got all his money and now they’ve thrown him into prison. A mutilé of the war; a man who has given his leg for freedom, thrown into prison like a criminal. But I’ll have justice. I’ll stand here till they release him. Look at his innocent children, without food, without shelter.”
At this the three little girls, aged seven, five and three, began to weep and cling to her. Only the baby in the arms of June Emslie was unmoved, laughing and chuckling at the world.
June explained to Hugh what the trouble was. Major Fitzoswald, it seemed, was expecting money from England and had issued a cheque against it for the rent of his apartment. Unfortunately the money was delayed and the cheque was refused. The landlord appealed to the authorities, who decided to make an example of the major. There had been similar cases and they felt that the citizens must be protected. So two very gorgeous gendarmes had driven Major Fitzoswald to the Rock of Monaco and presumably thrown him into its deepest dungeon. Meanwhile the landlord had put his wife and children on the street.
The English and American colony had been scandalized; it was equivalent to a national insult. They had offered to pay the amount of the cheque ten times over, but the authorities were adamant.
“No,” they had said pompously; “the law must take its course.”
Both the English and American Consuls had been appealed to and had done their best to get the Major released but without result. Public opinion was aroused; prominent men had interviewed the administration, but all to no purpose. The one-legged Major continued to languish in his cell.
Then it was that Mrs. Fitz had come into action and, planting herself with her brood in front of the grand entrance, she cried her woes to the world. A sympathetic crowd gathered, black looks were thrown at the temple of chance, and its all-powerful administration were objurgated. Every one was competing to aid the unfortunate victims. Hugh saw Mr. Fetterstein, the multi-millionaire, descend the steps of the Hotel de Paris, and, to the scandal of the flunkeys, take back with him the whole bedraggled family for luncheon.
As Hugh entered the Casino he found Mr. Gimp in his usual place between the two pillars at the entrance of the atrium.
“Darned shame,” said Mr. Gimp. “Darned fine little woman. Nice kids. I took ’em all to Quinto’s for dinner last night. The whole thing’s a mistake. The Major’s a gallant gentleman, but that bunch of Dago scalawags that run this place are down on British and Americans. They like our money, but that’s all. There’s no law. The Casino gang runs the government. The whole population live on the Casino like lice on a shark. The Prince with his tin-pot army is in their pay. It’s mediæval, fantastic, rotten. And you ask me, then, why do I stay here? I can’t tell you. I just stay.”
Mr. Gimp inhaled his home-made cigarette and snorted out a cloud of disgust.