Mission to Monte Carlo

CHAPTER ONE-1

CHAPTER ONEThe carriage drew up outside the Foreign Office and a tall man got out and walked in through the massive pillared door.

As soon as he appeared, and before his servant could speak, a young man in a frock coat came hurrying forward.

“Mr. Vandervelt?”

The newcomer nodded.

“The Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs is waiting for you, sir.”

“Thank you,” Craig Vandervelt replied.

He was escorted along the high-ceilinged, rather gloomy corridors until his escort opened a door into a large impressive office.

Seated at a desk in front of a window, which overlooked a small garden at the rear of the building, was the Marquis of Lansdowne.

A very good looking man, already going grey, he rose to his feet as Craig Vandervelt was announced and held out his hand.

“I only heard yesterday, Craig,” he said, “that you were in London. I am delighted to see you.”

“How are you, my Lord? I am on my way to Monte Carlo,” Craig Vandervelt replied.

There was something almost defensive in his tone, as though he was warning the Marquis that he was only passing through England.

As if he understood the Secretary of State said,

“Sit down. I have a lot to tell you.”

Craig Vandervelt laughed.

“That is what I was afraid of!”

He seated himself, however, in a comfortable chair, crossed his legs and seemed very much at his ease.

The Marquis sat down opposite him thinking that, as a great many women had thought before him, it would be hard to find a better-looking, more attractive young man anywhere in the world.

It was not surprising.

Craig Vandervelt’s father came from Texas and it was his astute and brilliant brain that had turned what had been the Vandervelt misfortune into one of the greatest fortunes in America.

His mother, a daughter of the Duke of Newcastle, had been one of the great beauties of her generation. It was therefore not surprising that their only son would not only be extremely good-looking and irresistibly attractive, but also, although not many people were aware of it, blessed with a brain that matched his father’s.

Because he had no inclination to add to the enormous wealth his family had already accumulated, Craig had, from the world’s point of view, become a ‘playboy’.

He travelled extensively, enjoyed himself not only in the great Capitals, which catered for rich young men, but also in more obscure, unknown parts of the earth, where a man had to prove his manhood rather than rely entirely on his pocketbook.

“I was thinking about you only a few days ago,” the Marquis said, “and then, almost as if my prayers were answered, I was told you were actually here and I was wondering how I could get in touch with you.”

“I am staying with my cousin in Park Lane.”

“I realise that now,” the Marquis said, “but I had some anxious hours trying other places before I ran you to ground.”

“You are making me feel rather like a fox,” Craig protested, “and I have already told you, my Lord, I am on my way to Monte Carlo.”

“That is what I might have expected,” the Marquis said with a smile, “I am told that the Season there is gayer than it has ever been and the beauties of the Monde and the Demi-Monde glittering with jewels and covered in ospreys are dazzling!”

Craig threw back his head and laughed.

“I sense a note of envy in your voice, my Lord. You should accompany me to Monte Carlo.”

“There is nothing I would enjoy more,” the Marquis replied. “Unfortunately, I have to be here at the moment, although doubtless you will find the Prince of Wales amongst other Royal visitors at the green tables.”

Craig smiled as if it was only to be expected and the Marquis carried on,

“As it happens, if you had not been going to Monte Carlo, that is where I was going to ask you to go and to cancel any other plans you had made.”

There was a little silence.

Then Craig said with a different look in his dark eyes,

“You speak as if there is something urgent.”

“It is very urgent,” the Marquis replied quietly, “and I believe that only you can help me.”

Craig did not answer.

He knew the Marquis would not speak in such a way unless what he required of him was something of international importance.

In fact the Marquis of Lansdowne, before he became Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, had enlisted Craig Vandervelt’s help in ways which would have confounded, if they had known about it, those who looked on the American millionaire as an incessant seeker of pleasure.

It was the Marquis who had sensed that Craig was becoming bored with the role that had been thrust upon him and was growing cynical about his success with the women who flocked around him like bees round a honeypot.

The Marquis therefore enlisted his help in a small but important mission that concerned the German ambition for supremacy in Europe.

Craig had played his part so brilliantly that he had been thanked for what he did not only by the Prime Minister but also by the Queen.

The Marquis had continued to enlist the young American’s assistance in one way or another again and again.

Because it was so secret and so very different in every way from his other pursuits, Craig had found himself intrigued and amused by what became at times a very dangerous pastime.

Twice he had missed being shot by a hair’s breadth and once an assailant’s knife had been diverted by a split second of good timing.

The thrill of it and the excitement of what he thought of as ‘dicing with death’, was something which had become a part of his life, and he knew now that whatever the Marquis asked of him, he would agree to do it.

The Marquis, however, seemed to have a little difficulty in choosing the words in which to explain the task that lay ahead.

As if he knew Craig was waiting almost impatiently, he said,

“Forgive me if I seem hesitant. It is not because I am keeping secrets from you, but finding it difficult to explain how very little I know of the brief I should have prepared before you arrived.”

“The first thing to do,” Craig said with an amused smile, “is to tell me what is the name of the enemy this time.”

He thought as he spoke that this was extremely important because on one occasion when he was helping the Marquis he had been misinformed, or rather not told specifically, who was against him.

Only his intuition and his sixth sense had saved him from walking into a skilfully prepared trap from which it would have been impossible to extricate himself.

“The difficulty is,” the Marquis said in reply to his question, “that as yet I have only suspicions rather than facts to justify my conviction that you are desperately needed in Monte Carlo at this particular moment.”

“Then let me hear your suspicions,” Craig suggested. “I am quite certain, my Lord, that I shall find them fully justified when the time comes, by something more lethal than a bow and arrow.”

The Marquis laughed, but there was not much amusement in the sound.

“The trouble is, Craig,” he said, “I am very apprehensive about what I am letting you in for. Our own agents so far have come up with very little and, quite frankly, the men we have in Monte Carlo at the moment are unable to move in the right circles, where I believe they are needed.”

“That, at any rate, should present no difficulty!” Craig remarked dryly.

No one knew better than he did that because he was so rich he was welcome wherever he went.

Yet at twenty-nine years of age it was a pity that when crowned Kings linked their arms with his and Queens held out their soft hands in welcome, he inevitably wondered whether their enthusiasm for him was a response to his charm or to his unlimited bank balance.

As if the Marquis knew what he was thinking, he said,

“You are popular everywhere you go, Craig, and that is your great advantage from my professional point of view.”

He lowered his voice instinctively as he added,

“I believe and hope that nobody has the slightest idea outside these walls that your connection with me is anything other than that through your mother and we are related. And they assume that it is only your search for amusement which takes you to strange places.”

“I hope you are right, my Lord,” Craig replied. “If it were not so, in some of the situations in which I have been involved I would not have been likely to last long.”

The Marquis frowned.

“Perhaps I am wrong, Craig, in asking so much of you,” he said, “but I need hardly tell you how useful you have been and how grateful we are.”

His voice deepened as he continued,

“No one else, and I mean no one else, could have obtained the information which you have given us and saved us from being involved in disastrous circumstances that might have had far reaching consequences for the peace of the world.”

“Thank you,” Craig said quietly, “and now suppose you tell me exactly what you want this time.”

“I wish I knew,” the Marquis replied, “but let me give you an outline.”

Craig listened attentively as he began,

“As you understand, because you have helped us before, our position in India appears to be threatened by Russian advances in Central Asia.”

Craig nodded and the Marquis continued,

“Because Russia extends her Sovereignty towards Afghanistan, we have pushed the Frontiers of India further to the West and the North-West.”

This was so well known to Craig that he did not even trouble to murmur agreement and the Marquis continued,

“Tibet, once dominated by China, is still independent and very hostile to outsiders, but we are worried.”

Now Craig bent forward.

“Why?”

The Marquis dropped his voice even lower, almost as if he suspected that the walls had ears.

“A coded message from the Viceroy has told us that he believes a secret Treaty exists between Russia and China giving the former special rights in Tibet.”

“It seems almost impossible,” Craig murmured.

“I agree with you,” the Marquis answered, “but Lord Curzon is sure that Russia has sent arms to Tibet and he suspects that there will soon be trouble induced by Russia on India’s Tibetan border.”

The Marquis was silent and after a moment Craig said,

“But I thought you wanted me to go to Monte Carlo?”

“I do,” the Marquis agreed, “because I have learned that Randall Sare arrived there three weeks ago without our being aware of it.”

Craig looked up in surprise.

“Randall Sare? I don’t believe it! I never thought he would come home. When I last saw him in India, he said he intended to live the rest of his life in Tibet.”

“So you told me at the time,” the Marquis said, “but obviously he has changed his mind and, since he arrived in Monte Carlo without getting in touch with us in any way, I can only think the explanation is that he is in hiding because of the information he carries in his mind.”

“But why Monte Carlo?” Craig asked. “Why did he not come straight back to England?”

“That is something I do not know,” the Marquis answered. “I agree with you it seems a strange place to stop and I never thought that Sare was a likely person to be addicted to gambling.”

“No, that would be impossible,” Craig agreed.

He sat back again in his chair and there was a frown between his eyes as he concentrated.

“I can only think,” he said after a moment, “that he had some particular reason for disembarking at Villefranche, where whatever ship he was travelling in would have stopped. But if he got as far as that, did he then go on to Monte Carlo?”

“It is too difficult for me to answer,” the Marquis said, “and that is why I am asking you – no, I am begging you, Craig – to go to Monte Carlo as quickly as you can and find Randall Sare.”

“You mean your people have not been in touch with him?”

“No, they saw him, I think in a street, then lost sight of him before they could make contact.”

“It seems incredible,” Craig murmured, “and very inefficient.”

“You must not blame our men too harshly,” the Marquis said. “As the one I interviewed explained, he was told never to intrude on anybody of Randall Sare’s importance without being quite sure he would not be detected doing so, or that Sare would welcome the contact.”

“That I can understand,” Craig said. “But if, as you suspect, he is bringing back information of such importance, he may have gone into hiding until he can shake off his pursuers.”