THE GREAT NIGHT—DINNER AT THE “HÔTEL DE PARIS”—A LAST LOOK ROUND—THE SACK AND ITS INCIDENTS—FLIGHT
By five o’clock of that same afternoon—Friday, January 17th—we and our luggage were all safe on board the Amaranth.
Our luggage stowed away and our cabin arrangements made (rather a tight fit we found it), I took Lucy on shore to show her round, or give her a walk rather, as it was nearly dark; for now that Bailey Thompson was well out at sea, there was no danger of her being met and recognized. For the night, our plan of action briefly was, that at a quarter to eight we were all to dine together at the “Hôtel de Paris,” the ladies afterwards to return on board the yacht. At ten we gentlemen, with the six sailors, were to be in the rooms; at half-past, precisely, the start was to be made.
At ten-twenty the boats, two of them, were to leave the yacht and be ready at the spot I have indicated. They were not to start a minute earlier, for fear of exciting suspicions among any of the firemen or police who might be about on the terrace. For them, on Brentin’s suggestion, we had arranged a small pyrotechnic display—what he called “fire-crackers”—on the terrace not far from the band-stand. Parsons had purchased a “Devil among the Tailors” over at Mentone, and Jarvis, one of the sailors—the same, by-the-way, who had first accosted us on the pier at Ryde—was to light it one minute before the half-hour. We calculated it would explode and draw the firemen away, just about the time when they would otherwise be in demand to stop us in our rush down the terrace steps, and through the rickety gate on to the railway line.
Our dinner at the “Hôtel de Paris” was a very expensive and merry one. It was lucky, by-the-way, as it turned out, that I ate and drank a good deal more than usual, for it was almost four-and-twenty hours before I got anything approaching a proper meal again; through that idiot Teddy Parsons’ fault, as presently will plainly enough appear.
Soon after half-past nine we sent the ladies off in a carriage down to the Condamine to go on board the yacht. It was a solemn moment, for it was quite on the cards I might never see any of them again, and one was my sweetheart and one my sister. Indeed, so affected was I, that I bent into the carriage and kissed Miss Rybot by mistake, which made everybody but Arthur Masters laugh. I knew I had made the mistake directly my lips touched her cheek, for hers was hard and cold as an apple off wet grass, whereas dear Lucy’s was ever soft and warm as a sunny peach.
Then they drove away, laughing and kissing their hands; Lucy particularly merry, for she still knew nothing of what we were almost immediately going to do, and was quite gay at the thought of leaving Monte Carlo so soon—to which unhallowed spot, as most good and sensitive women, she had taken the supremest dislike.
We gentlemen sat a little time smoking, in somewhat perturbed silence, and just before ten we had a glass of old brandy each, paid our bill, and left. The others went on into the rooms, while Brentin and I walked down on to the terrace to have a last look at the gate, and see it was still open; or, rather, would open to a slight push.
The night was singularly mild, dark, and heavy; the terrace absolutely deserted. There was not a star in the dense, low sky; they all seemed fallen on shore, outlining the Condamine and heights of Monaco in the many regular pin-pricks of the gas-lamps. From the “Café de Paris” came the swirl of the Hungarian band; from the Casino concert-room, the high notes of Madame Eames singing in the new opera; from the Condamine, the jingle of the omnibus bells. Not another sound of life from earth or heaven; but mainly the persistent jangle of those omnibus bells, as though sadly shaken by some dyspeptic Folly. The Mediterranean, as ever, was absolutely still.
I could have stayed there a long time, but—