Charles Rex | Page 5

of a shower--a
storm--of confetti. His mood changed in a second. He would show her
what to expect! Without an instant's pause he turned upon his assailants,
caught the one nearest to him, snatching her off her feet; and, gripping
her without mercy, he kissed her fierily and shamelessly till she gasped
with delicious fright; then dropped her and seized another.
The girls of Valrosa spoke of the ugly Englishman with bated breath
and shining eyes long after Saltash had gone his unheeding way, for the
blood was hot in his veins before the game was over. If the magic had
been slow to work, its spell was all the more compelling when it
gripped him. Characteristically, he tossed aside all considerations
beyond the gratification of the moment's desire. The sinking fire of
youth blazed up afresh. He would get the utmost out of this last night of
revelry. Wherever he went, a spirit of wild daring, of fevered gaiety,
surrounded him. He was no longer alone, whichever way he turned.
Once in his mad progress he met Sheila Melrose face to face, and she
drew back from him in open disgust. He laughed at her maliciously,

mockingly, as his royal forefather might have laughed long ago, and
passed on with the throng.
Hours later, when the _fête_ was over and the shore quite silent under
the stars, he came alone along the quay, moving with his own peculiar
arrogance of bearing, a cigarette between his lips, a deep gleam in his
eyes. It had been an amusing night after all.
Crossing the gangway to his yacht--_The Night Moth_--that rocked
softly on the glimmering ripples, he paused for a moment and turned
his face as if in farewell towards the little town that lay sleeping among
its cypress-trees. So standing, he heard again the tinkle of a lute from
some hidden garden of delight. It was as if the magic were still calling
to him, luring him, reaching out white arms to hold him. He made a
brief bow towards the sound.
"Adieu, most exquisite and most wicked!" he said. "I return--no more!"
The cigarette fell from his lips into the dark water and there came a
faint sound like the hiss of a serpent in the stillness. He laughed as he
heard it, and pursued his way aboard the yacht.
He found a young sailor, evidently posted to await his coming, snoring
in a corner, and shook him awake.
The man blundered up with a confused apology, and Saltash laughed at
him derisively.
"Wasting the magic hours in sleep, Parker? Well, I suppose dreams are
better than nothing. Were they--good dreams?"
"I don't know, my lord," said Parker, grinning foolishly.
Saltash clapped him on the shoulder and turned away. "Well, I'm ready
for the open sea now," he said. "We'll leave our dreams behind."
He was always on easy terms with his sailors who worshipped him to a
man.

He whistled a careless air as he went below. The magic of Valrosa had
loosed its hold, and he was thinking of the wide ocean and buffeting
waves that awaited him. He turned on the lights of the saloon and
stopped there for another cigarette and a drink, first walking to and fro,
finally flinging himself on a crimson velvet settee and surrendering
himself luxuriously to a repose for which he had not felt the need until
that moment.
So lying, he heard the stir and tramp of feet above him, the voices of
men, the lifting of the gangway; and presently the yacht began to throb
as though suddenly endowed with life. He felt the heave of the sea as
she left her moorings, and the rush of water pouring past her keel as she
drew away from the quay.
He stretched himself with lazy enjoyment. It was good to come and go
as he listed, good to have no ties to bind him. He supposed he would
always be a wanderer on the face of the earth, and after all wandering
suited him best. True, there were occasions on which the thought of
home allured him. The idea of marriage with some woman who loved
him would spring like a beacon out of the night in moments of
depression. Other men found a permanent abiding-place and were
content therewith; why not he? But he only played with the notion. It
did not seriously attract him. He was not a marrying man, and, as he
had said to Larpent, the woman did not exist who could hold him. The
bare thought of Sheila Melrose sent a mocking smile to his lips. Did
she think--did she really think--that she possessed the necessary
qualifications to capture a man of his experience? He dismissed her
with a snap of the fingers. Sheila had practically