E Phillips Oppenheim

Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo E Phillips Oppenheim

The eyes of the man who had looked in upon a scene inordinately, fantastically brilliant, underwent, after those first few moments of comparative indifference, a curioustransformation. He was contemplating one of the sights of the world. Crowded around thetwo roulette tables, promenading or lounging on the heavily cushioned divans against thewall, he took note of a conglomeration of people representing, perhaps, every grade ofsociety, every nationality of importance, yet with a curious common likeness by reason oftheir tribute paid to fashion. He glanced unmoved at a beautiful Englishwoman who was aduchess but looked otherwise; at an equally beautiful Frenchwoman, who looked like aduchess but was-otherwise. On every side of him were women gowned by the greatartists of the day, women like flowers, all perfume and softness and colour. His eyes passedthem over almost carelessly. A little tired with many weeks' travel in countries where theluxuries of life were few, his senses were dulled to the magnificence of the scene, his pulsesas yet had not responded to its charm and wonder. And then the change came. He saw awoman standing almost exactly opposite to him at the nearest roulette table, and he gave anoticeable start. For a moment his pale, expressionless face was transformed, his secretwas at any one's mercy. That, however, was the affair of an instant only. He was used toshocks and he survived this one. He moved a little on one side from his prominent place inthe centre of the wide-flung doorway. He stood by one of the divans and watched