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"Yes."
"To Baden-Baden, or the next casino, where you will employ your skills until you draw the suspicions of the house."
"You are a clever boy, Michel. It is clear you have seen much of the world."
"I have not. I have seen much of Monte Carlo. And much of the world now comes to Monte Carlo."
"Much of the world that has money comes to Monte Carlo. But there is much of the world that does not have money. And there is much of the world that remains shrouded in great mystery."
"How much of this mysterious world have you seen, Elliott?"
It appeared as if Elliott had suddenly been captured by memories so vivid they took his mind far from this beautiful hotel suite with its commanding view of the sea. Now Michel felt as if he were merely a screen Elliott was gazing through, and this wounded him more deeply than he wanted it to. It was a cruel reminder that they would soon part. That soon the Earl of Rutherford would become just another traveler whose generosity and attentions he had known for only a moment.
"My dear Michel," Elliott finally whispered. He had clearly forgotten himself and the words that came from him now were unbidden. "I have of late seen things in this world that defy all explanation. Things which have led me to question everything I once believed about life and death. All thanks to a king."
A king? But he said nothing. To do so would be to shatter the man's sudden, hypnotic candor. But Elliott remembered himself almost instantly. A fearful expression passed over his face. He sought to conceal it with a sudden, warm smile, but he was a second too late.
"Wash, and then we shall sit on the balcony and enjoy the view."
The temperature seemed to drop several degrees the second Elliott's weight left the mattress. It had felt like a dismissal, but at least the Earl of Rutherford had not asked him to leave. Michel was not being hurried from the room. Not yet, anyway. And so he washed, just as the man instructed.
When he emerged into the bedroom, Elliott was seated on the balcony outside. The smoke from his cigarette rose in a serpentine curl next to his head.
There was a letter on the dresser next to Michel's wallet, and even though he had no need of his wallet in this moment, for some reason, their proximity seemed like an excuse to steal a peek at the few pages of handwritten cursive.
Knowing that this blissful evening would soon be at an end, that these words were perhaps the only real glimpse he'd get inside the man responsible, Michel scanned the letter with what felt like desperate hunger.
The author was the man's son, an Alex Savarell.
He was grateful Elliott had finally cabled to give the date of his arrival in Monte Carlo. The sums of money Elliott had wired home for his family were much appreciated. As a result, their estate in Yorkshire had been reopened and they had added staff to it once again. It was there that they would host a betrothal party for a woman named Julie Stratford and her new fiance, a Mr. Reginald Ramsey.
On additional pages, he spotted repeated pleas for Elliott to return home. But there were no mentions of what exactly connected this Julie Stratford and Reginald Ramsey to the Earl of Rutherford and his son. References to a "grand, calamitous adventure through Egypt" but no other details, aside from the implication that Elliott was traveling, in part, to escape the implications of this "adventure."
A scrape of metal outside startled him.
He dropped the letter, stepped back from the dresser.
Elliott had simply braced one foot against the balcony rail so he could tip his chair back onto its hind legs.
His spying had gone unnoticed. Or had it? The man seemed to have a supernatural ability to read the gambling tables. Could he now detect Michel's furtive actions a few feet away?
He made a noisy show of sliding into his trousers.
When he stepped out onto the balcony, Elliott greeted him with a smile and gestured to the empty chair next to his.
The harbor below sparkled.
There were so many questions he wanted to ask the earl, Elliott of the beautiful blue eyes, so much he wanted to know, but he feared the effort would be the same as reaching too quickly for a falling balloon; a simple touch would send it floating away with sudden speed.
Things which have led me to question everything I once believed about life and death. All thanks to a king.
What could these words possibly mean?
And why was Elliott smiling at him now?
He knows, Michel thought, he knows I read the letter. He could sense it the same way he could sense what cards the croupier might deal next.
"You are young," Elliott finally said.
