Free Mediterranean Nights by Dennis Wheatley

solid roll of bank-notes that was hers. What a perfect darling that young man was—how wonderful of him to have made her leave the table at just the right moment. If she had stayed she would be certain to have lost it all again; but when she came out of the cloakroom, that marvellous young man was no longer there.
    For a few minutes Sally waited patiently, thinking that perhaps he was in the other cloakroom, but as he did not appear she described him to an attendant and asked him if he had seen her friend.
    â€˜No, no one like that has gone in.’ She hurried back to the Salle des Jeux, he was not there. She tried the bar-—perhaps he was having a drink; no, it was nearly empty. She was frightened now. Just supposing that nice young man was not all he seemed to be! She had always heard that Monte Carlo was full of swindlers attracted by the large sums of money constantly changing hands; but he was much too nice—it simply couldn’t be that he had gone off with her money! She bit her lip as she scanned the faces of the people in therooms and corridors—with angry eyes she hastened to the
caisse
.
    Almost before she had made her complaint she was surrounded by polite officials. The system of the Casino is very highly organised—there are strange stories of secret passages in the walls, through which the body of a suicide can be carried within a moment of the tragedy. Certain it is that on the smallest sign of trouble from a demented loser, a little group of men in evening dress gather unostentatiously around him, and hurry him away.
    Almost before she was aware of it, a private door had been opened, and Sally found herself in an office. A bearded man questioned her quietly, others were sent for: the croupiers from the three tables at which she had played—the man at the
caisse
—the waiter at the bar.
    Sally had to admit that she had been cleaned out earlier in the evening—that she did not know the man who had spoken to her—that he had cashed a
mille
note and handed her the plaques with which to resume play—that she had left the table at his order—that he had cashed her winnings and put the money in his pocket—and finally that she did not even know his name.
    The bearded man shook his head. ‘It is with his money that you were playing, Mademoiselle. It is, of course, at the discretion of a lady if she chooses to speak with a gentleman she does not know, but such a practice is dangerous. I learn now that this monsieur left the Casino immediately he parted from you—I fear that there is nothing which we can do. May we place an automobile at your disposal to take you to your hotel?’
    â€˜No,’ said Sally furiously, ‘I will walk.’
    â€˜As Mademoiselle pleases—a most unfortunate affair.’ He escorted her to the doorstep of the Casino.
    She shivered as she walked the short distance to the hotel through the deserted streets. What an utter fool she had been! He had offered her the notes quite casually, why hadn’t she taken them and given him back his thousand francs—or ten thousand if he had wanted them? Gone now was the cottage with the pretty little garden—only Aged Aunt remained, or the alternative of going every day to some stuffy office and living in a poky flat in London.
    A sleepy night-porter took her up in the lift to her room. She felt terribly tired and disheartened; abandoning her usual care, she flung off her clothes hurriedly, brushed her white teeth, and tumbled into bed.
    Sally woke early after a night of fitful dreams. She dressed at once; there was just a chance that she might catch that man, and it was not her way to accept defeat without a struggle. She set out to make a tour of the hotels.
    At each one she described him to the commissionaire, or rather endeavoured to do so—but all she could say was that she was looking for a gentleman of medium height—dark hair parted in the