The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1909-08-23
A WOMAN'S { ENCHANTMENT} 2 By William Le Queux ,
 Copyright, 1909, by
 William Le Queux J
CHAPTER I.


 lI~~~~~~~~A CHAPTER l.
 The Man and the Mystery.
 "come, dear old chap, cheer upl It surely isn't so bad as all that!"
 Bad? It couldn't be worse! I'm ruined! But I'm not thinking so much 'T know. old fellow. You're thinking of her." I said in low voice, deeply sympathizing with the man who sat | there broken and dejected before me. But how did it all happen? You're usually so very smart"
 'rYes," replied Cough, bitterly; "1 know I can be-too smart, perhaps. to suit some people. But I thought that fellow a gentleman, and trusted him?' An! few men are gentlemen when it comes to the obtaining of a con- cession which means a fortune" re- marked. "Garshore was no exception. it seems"
 "He calls himself one," my friend said in a strained voice. Fortunately I have never set myself up on a ped estal I'm what the world calls by a hard name-an adventurer. I live by my wits. Phil," he went on, bitterly. the past I've lived well, and have had nothing to complain about."f My dear old chap" I said, "you are no more of an adventurer than | any OlASI puSIloSS Ildu WuO SpSu0S his life abroad looking after conces- sions and openings for the employ | ment of British capital in industrial l enterprises Half the millionaires in Park Lane are: at heart, adventurers, if the truth be told"
 ''Oh, yes, know all about that!" he exclaimed, impatiently. You're al- | ways trying to whitewash me Why? | Because, Phil, you're my best friend. If get hard up for a pound I come to you"
 ''WelEand you've always paid me
 back. haven't you?'
 'Yes. But you. in your position. may | one day find it bit awkward when it
 friends. Supposing I was arrested one day?.
 Well. hope you won't be. Granny. | It won't come to that-I feel sure" l My friend shrugged his shoulders and tossed off his glass of liqueur
 brandy at gulp.
 1 '.who knows?" he exclaimed. "rm | broke now, Ralston, and I've lost Myra- Therefore let the future cake none-none."
 l "Rubbish." I calculated with more force than politeness. "Myra you | loves you still. If you are just little
 bit hippeds what does it matter? All l mark me. And if you want a few pounds to get along with, you know whom to ask, don't your" Granville Cough tossed away the end of his "Bogdanoff," his pet brand of Russian cigarette. without one of | which he was scarcely ever seen, and stared straight before him across the great noisy well lit foreign cafe, the din and chatter of which almost drown ed our conversation.
 To the world he was a mystery. How he lived. or where he lived, nobody knew. About thirty-five. stout, broad shouldered. good-looking. with fair hair which had an inclination to curl, pair of big. merry blue eyes. and a big, clean-shaven face full of good humor and bonhomie Granny" Cough was known in every capital of Europe His full name was Gerald Granville Cough. hence his intimates called him Granny" No man in the whole of Europe was more of cosmopolitan, and surely no man. more popular among certain set-a rather go- ahead set, freely admit In the bar of the Catham in Paris where Johnnie so ably Dresides; in that of the Grand at Stockholm, at the Angletree at Copenhagen, the Palast at Hamburg. the Hungaria at Budapest, the Grand at Belgrade, the Pera Palace at Constantinople, the Boulevard at Bucharest. or the Cecil in London, one had only to mention the name of Granny Cough to call forth chorus of inquiries: "fWhere is
 
 besti A bit of a crook, perhaps. but, by love, he never did a shady action toward woman or a pali'
 His confession to me, which I have just related, took place one evening about eighteen months ago in a cafe in the little known Roumanian capital Bucharest, where quite unexpectedly I had come across him again the smart but extremely expensive Hotel du Boulevard.
 As fellow-cosmopo1ita we had been friends for quite a number of years. Our first meeting. I remember, was in Brussels, at the Grand, long ago. He played a first-class game at billiards, and wondered what could be his na- tionality. He spoke French, German, Norwegian and Italian with equal flu ency, while his English had just the slightest tinge of American accent. A born cosmopolitan evidently, his smart ness In dress was undeniably English, for only an Englishman can dress properly. Yet there was something about him that I put down as Scandi- navian. Why, cannot tell.
 My first friendship with him arose from a. curious circumstance. A cock ney tourist accused him of cheating at cards. I was sitting at the table while they were playing, and on the accusa- ton being made I defended Cough, with whom had never until that mo- ment spoken word.
 A quarrel ensued-a serious ,fracas indeed. The police intervened, but I took the part of the unknown and per- haps rather shady Englishman. I de- clared that he had not been guilty of cheating, and his friends and the po- lice believed me. k4r
 Next day he called at my hotel, grip ped my hand warmly, thanked me and added:
 .I don't know you, sir Perhaps you don't want to know me. But like to meet a white man like yourself. You know nothing about me, and yet you were unprejudicedi Now it's over, I'll tell you the truth. didn't cheat, but one of those CUTS did-the Frenchman. spotted him and held my tongue"
 "Why?"
 Because that young Londoner had talked so big an hour before, I thought it would teach him a 1esson," he re- piled. ''But," he went on please un- derstand that I don't put myself down as very straight. I get my money where I can-you understand? And