Evening Star Newspaper, March 3, 1935, Page 72

2 ENERAL BESSERLEY — bland, genial, and dignified as usual — sat at his favorite table in the Hotel de Paris bar at Monte Carlo enjoying with a_ friend his pre-luncheon cocktail. He was a man of fixed habits enjoying the aftermath of a life of action. He had won distinction with the American forces during the early stages of their participation in the war, and made him- self exceedingly useful afterwards in the Intelligence Department at Washington. After his retirement he had made the small Principality of Monaco his home and had earned for himself there a somewhat unique popularity. He was rich and generous with hnmoneyasmthhnsadee He possessed a curious gift for detecting an intrigue, seeing through an impostor or dealing with a mmmal.agxftwhlchheusedonlyuponme occasions. No man in the Principality was held in greater esteem by his friends. Besserley had for company this morning a visitor from the great steamer which lay off the Casino. From below came booming through the open window the warning siren. General heard it with regret. He had en- ;oyulhndntmththnumpectedvm yoummtmkmgalongumy, Mr. Blun,” Besserley said. “My misfortune,” the other replied. “Be- fore I go, General, I am asking a favor of you.n “Go ahead,” was the courteous rejoinder. “] want you to drive with me in one of those two-horse carriages down to the dock. It’s a queer sort of request, I know, but I would be glad to have you come. I've sig- naled to that coachman to draw up his team.” Besserley called for his hat and rose to his feet. The two men took their places in one of the well-kept open soitures for which Monte mfamous They drove off with much of the whip. Mr. Smamund Blun towards his companion. He was a -Jooking lawyer, as his letter of intro- hadanmmncedhxm,oolorles, tight- , with keen eyes well B ié‘éi The Black Muzzle of Besserley’s Gun Pointed at Bonton’s Heart THIS WEEK GIANTS 1n the ( OUNTING HOUSE First in a New Series of Adventures of General Besserley, Genial Sleuth of Monte (arlo and Most Lovable (Character Ever (reated by E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM a pair of tortoise-shell rimmed spectacles. “Did you ever hear of the Bonton broth- ers?” he asked. “Vaguely,” Besserley replied. I don't read that sort of stuff much on this side.” “‘Well, let me tell you this,” his companion went on. ‘“‘There have been some tough guys in New York during the last fifteen years but nothing more dangerous than the three Bonton brothers, although not one of them has ever been in a police court. “That sounds interesting.” “Headquarters would give their souls to round them up,” the lawyer continued. *I should say that they have committed a dozen cold-blooded murders, besides the men they have shot in self-defence or in quarrels. They're the cleverest criminals the New York pohce have ever had to deal with.” “Why are you telling me about them,” Besserley inquired, ‘“and why this vehicular pilgrimage? Remember, we shall be on the wharf in a few moments.” “I know all about you, Besserley, from Washington of course,”’ his companion volun- teered, ‘‘and I know you have done a little of the old work over here. I want to give you a word of warning. One of that Bonton gang is in Monte Carlo and if he gets busy, you keep out of it. Néver mind if it’s your dearest friend in trouble — take a trip to Paris or London. Those Bonton boys are just hell. 1 wanted to tell you this, but I could not afford to take a chance of being overheard, so I reckoned this was the safest way of getting a private word with you.” “This is very good of you,"” Besserley ac- knowledged. ‘‘Tell me, where did you see this man Bonton?"’ The lawyer looked around cautiously. “There was a chap, in a tweed coat and very well-cut flannel trousers, with the man you said was the tennis secretary,” Mr. Sigismund Blun confided, as the driver brought his horse to a standstill. *‘That was Guy Bonton. Don't you get in his way." “A pleasant cruise to you and thanks,' Besserley called out, as his new acquaintance sped up the gangway on to the tug. Besserley drove back to the Hotel de Paris conscious of a sense of agreeable exhilaration. Of course this Bonton might have come to try his luck at the tables, he thought. If not, who was there at the present in the place worthy of his sinister attention? Besserley paid off the cocher and, mounting the steps into the bar, came face to face with a possible answer to his speculation. A tall, elderly man, clean-shaven, with a long, distinguished- looking face came through the swing doors, leaning upon the arm of the most beautiful woman Beuu'ley had ever seen. “Good morning, sir,” Besserley said. ‘Glad to see that you are getting about again 2 Prince Adrien Martinoff, who in his day had been a great figure in the Principality, returned the greeting courteously. “] am quite re- covered, thank you, General Besserley,” he acknowledged. “You will allow me to present you to the Baroness von Ruhl, who has just arrived from New York. The Baroness is one of my, alas, distant con- nections who only condescends to re- mind me of her existence at far too long intervals.” ‘The woman laughed pleasantly. Her hazel brown eyes met Bes- serley's with interest. ous accent in which there remained a slight suggestion of .the American, ‘‘gimply because he is always so courteous. He leaves us all alone for years—not a letter, not a line — then one makes a timid appearance only to be received with reproaches! I scarcely ventured to send even my wire- less, as I was travel- ing on an excursion steamer."” “‘A very admirable way of traveling,” the Prince declared. “I myself feel that I miss much in the world through my habits of solitude. General, will you do me the pleasure of dining with me one night early next week? Shall we say March 3, 1935 Tuesday night? As you know, I only entertain on a very small scale. My physician insists that too many agreeable people excite me. I have a young American coming, however, who I think would interest you, and if you are able to join us, it would give me great pleasure.” I should be delighted,”’ Besserley assented. He passed on into the bar, which was still crowded, resumed his seat at his favorite table and, after giving the matter due con- sideration, ordered another cocktail. A friend who joined him glanced down the room. ““That's a good-looking young fellow talking to Merton, the tennis secretary,”” he re- marked. “Know who he is?"’ “I believe,” Besserley replied, “that his name is Bonton — Guy Bonton.” “Looks like a polo player. It seems to me that there was a Bonton at Meadowbrook." “I don't know much about him,"” Besserley observed, “‘but I believe that he is supposed to be something of a sportsman." As a matter of fact, Besserley was soon to find out. The tennis secretary rose and, fol- lowed by his companion, came to the table. “Mr. Bonton here has brought me some letters over from New York,"’ he announced. “From what he says, I gather that he is not a serious tennis player, but he likes a game or two every day when he is on holiday. Have you any time to spare, General?" Besserley looked at the man who was con- fronting him with a slightly expectant smile upon his lips. Bonton was not quite so young as he had seemed at a distance, but he carried himself well, and his features were excellent, although his mouth was a trifle grim. “I am afraid you would be too good for me,"” Besserley remarked. ““We might try,” the other suggested. ““This afternoon at four?”’ There was something about the tennis that afternoon which Besserley never altogether forgot. The first two sets were played in sound but restrained fashion — good second-class stuff with each giving his opponent the idea that he was keeping a little up his sleeve. In the third set Besserley, from the first, had the best of the luck. Suddenly Bonton seemed to recognize the fact that he was in danger of defeat. Besserley, who was enjoying the game without attributing any particular importance to it, could not fail to notice the change in the man. Those brilliant, almost overkeen eyes seemed to become .points of fire. His jaw stiffened, his mouth became a straight line. He had changed into a Robot-like athlete from whom all humanity had departed. He swept Besserley's returns into impossible places, served like a man consumed with a silent fury, balls which, it seemed to Besserley, no known player could have dealt with. Grad- ually the game became level, passing to forty- thirty in Bonton's favor and was finished off by a serve which was practically unplayable. “You have given me all the exercise I want for one day, General,” Bonton remarked, when he had won. Besserley smiled as they strolled off towards the bar together. “Very good game,” was his laconic com- ment. Twice before Besserley had dined at the somewhat appropriately named Chdleau des Nuages, built some thousand years ago by the Seigneur of Peille. Nothing seemed to be changed. There was the same magnificent dining-room, the same gold plate, priceless glass, Sévres china and profusion of drooping orchids. The tapestries which hung upon the walls might have been there for a hundred years. The servants who waited at table, pale-faced and deft-handed, were clad in the livery of the Middle Ages. Prince Martinoff himself wore his usual black velvet coat and black opal links. The food and wine were. as United cho"d‘“ lm,asfimb' e AR R AN