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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo + +Author: William Le Queux + +Release Date: April 13, 2006 [EBook #4694] +Last Updated: November 18, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADEMOISELLE OF MONTE CARLO *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + MADEMOISELLE OF MONTE CARLO + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By William Le Queux <br /> <br /> 1921 + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td></td> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>MADEMOISELLE OF MONTE CARLO</b></big> + </a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> FIRST CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + THE SUICIDE’S CHAIR + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> SECOND CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + CONCERNS A GUILTY SECRET + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THIRD CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + IN THE NIGHT + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> FOURTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + WHAT THE DOSSIER CONTAINED + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> FIFTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + ON THE HOG’S BACK + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> SIXTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + FACING THE UNKNOWN + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> SEVENTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + FROM DARK TO DAWN + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> EIGHTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + THE WHITE CAVALIER + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> NINTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + CONCERNS THE SPARROW + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> TENTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + A LESSON IN ARGOT + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> ELEVENTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + MORE ABOUT THE SPARROW + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> TWELFTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + THE STRANGER IN BOND STREET + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THIRTEENTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + POISONED LIPS + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> FOURTEENTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + RED DAWN + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> FIFTEENTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + THE NAMELESS MAN + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> SIXTEENTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + THE ESCROCS OF LONDON + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> SEVENTEENTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + ON THE SURREY HILLS + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + THE MAN WITH THE BLACK GLOVE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> NINETEENTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + THE SPARROW + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> TWENTIETH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + THE MAN WHO KNEW + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> TWENTY-FIRST CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + THE MAN WITH MANY NAMES + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> TWENTY-SECOND CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + CLOSING THE NET + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> TWENTY-THIRD CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + WHAT LISETTE KNEW + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> TWENTY-FOURTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + FRIEND OR ENEMY? + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> TWENTY-FIFTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + THE MAN CATALDI + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> TWENTY-SIXTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + LISETTE’S DISCLOSURES + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> TWENTY-SEVENTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + THE INQUISITIVE MR. SHRIMPTON + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> TWENTY-EIGHTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + THE SPARROW’S NEST + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> TWENTY-NINTH CHAPTER </a> + </td> + <td> + THE STORY OF MADEMOISELLE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_CONC"> CONCLUSION </a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + MADEMOISELLE OF MONTE CARLO + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FIRST CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + THE SUICIDE’S CHAIR + </h3> + <p> + “Yes! I’m not mistaken at all! <i>It’s the same woman!</i>” + whispered the tall, good-looking young Englishman in a well-cut navy suit + as he stood with his friend, a man some ten years older than himself, at + one of the roulette tables at Monte Carlo, the first on the right on + entering the room—that one known to habitual gamblers as “The + Suicide’s Table.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite certain?” asked his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Positive. I should know her again anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s very handsome. And look, too, by Jove!—how she is + winning!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But let’s get away. She might recognize me,” + exclaimed the younger man anxiously. “Ah! If I could only induce her + to disclose what she knows about my poor father’s mysterious end + then we might clear up the mystery.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid, if all we hear is true about her, Mademoiselle of + Monte Carlo will never do that,” was the other’s reply as they + moved away together down the long saloon towards the trente-et-quarante + room. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Messieurs! Faites vos jeux</i>,” the croupiers were crying + in their strident, monotonous voices, inviting players to stake their + counters of cent-sous, their louis, or their hundred or five hundred franc + notes upon the spin of the red and black wheel. It was the month of March, + the height of the Riviera season, the fetes of Mi-Careme were in full + swing. That afternoon the rooms were overcrowded, and the tense atmosphere + of gambling was laden with the combined odours of perspiration and + perfume. + </p> + <p> + Around each table were crowds four or five deep behind those fortunate + enough to obtain seats, all eager and anxious to try their fortune upon + the rouge or noir, or upon one of the thirty-six numbers, the columns, or + the transversales. There was but little chatter. The hundreds of + well-dressed idlers escaping the winter were too intent upon the game. But + above the click of the plaques, blue and red of different sizes, as they + were raked into the bank by the croupiers, and the clatter of counters as + the lucky players were paid with deft hands, there rose ever and anon: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Messieurs! Faites vos jeux!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Here English duchesses rubbed shoulders with the most notorious women in + Europe, and men who at home in England were good churchmen and exemplary + fathers of families, laughed merrily with the most gorgeously attired + cocottes from Paris, or the stars of the film world or the variety stage. + Upon that wide polished floor of the splendidly decorated Rooms, with + their beautiful mural paintings and heavy gilt ornamentation, the world + and the half-world were upon equal footing. + </p> + <p> + Into that stifling atmosphere—for the Administration of the Bains de + Mer of Monaco seem as afraid of fresh air as of purity propaganda—the + glorious afternoon sunlight struggled through the curtained windows, while + over each table, in addition to the electric light, oil-lamps shaded green + with a billiard-table effect cast a dull, ghastly illumination upon the + eager countenances of the players. Most of those who go to Monte Carlo + wonder at the antiquated mode of illumination. It is, however, in + consequence of an attempted raid upon the tables one night, when some + adventurers cut the electric-light main, and in the darkness grabbed all + they could get from the bank. + </p> + <p> + The two English visitors, both men of refinement and culture, who had + watched the tall, very handsome woman in black, to whom the older man had + referred as Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo, wandered through the + trente-et-quarante rooms where all was silence, and counters, representing + gold, were being staked with a twelve-thousand franc maximum. + </p> + <p> + Those rooms beyond are the haunt of the professional gambler, the man or + woman who has been seized by the demon of speculation, just as others have + been seized by that of drugs or drink. Curiously enough women are more + prone to gamble than men, and the Administration of the Etablissement will + tell you that when a woman of any nationality starts to gamble she will + become reckless until her last throw with the devil. + </p> + <p> + Those who know Monte Carlo, those who have been habitues for twenty years—as + the present writer has been—know too well, and have seen too often, + the deadly influence of the tables upon the lighter side of woman’s + nature. The smart woman from Paris, Vienna, or Rome never loses her head. + She gambles always discreetly. The fashionable cocottes seldom lose much. + They gamble at the tables discreetly and make eyes at men if they win, or + if they lose. If the latter they generally obtain a “loan” + from somebody. What matter? When one is at “Monty” one is not + in a Wesleyan chapel. English men and women when they go to the Riviera + leave their morals at home with their silk hats and Sunday gowns. And it + is strange to see the perfectly respectable Englishwoman admiring the same + daring costumes of the French pseudo-“countesses” at which + they have held up their hands in horror when they have seen them pictured + in the papers wearing those latest “creations” of the Place + Vendome. + </p> + <p> + Yes. It is a hypocritical world, and nowhere is canting hypocrisy more + apparent than inside the Casino at Monte Carlo. + </p> + <p> + While the two Englishmen were strolling over the polished parquet of the + elegant world-famous <i>salles-de-jeu</i> “Mademoiselle of Monte + Carlo” was experiencing quite an extraordinary run of luck. + </p> + <p> + But “Mademoiselle,” as the croupiers always called her, was + usually lucky. She was an experienced, and therefore a careful player. + When she staked a maximum it was not without very careful calculation upon + the chances. Mademoiselle was well known to the Administration. Often her + winnings were sensational, hence she served as an advertisement to the + Casino, for her success always induced the uninitiated and unwary to stake + heavily, and usually with disastrous results. + </p> + <p> + The green-covered gaming table, at which she was sitting next to the end + croupier on the left-hand side, was crowded. She sat in what is known at + Monte as “the Suicide’s Chair,” for during the past + eight years ten men and women had sat in that fatal chair and had + afterwards ended their lives abruptly, and been buried in secret in the + Suicide’s Cemetery. + </p> + <p> + The croupiers at that table are ever watchful of the visitor who, all + unawares, occupies that fatal chair. But Mademoiselle, who knew of it, + always laughed the superstition to scorn. She habitually sat in that chair—and + won. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, that afternoon she was winning—and very considerably too. + She had won four maximums <i>en plein</i> within the last half-hour, and + the crowd around the table noting her good fortune were now following her. + </p> + <p> + It was easy for any novice in the Rooms to see that the handsome, + dark-eyed woman was a practised player. Time after time she let the coups + pass. The croupiers’ invitation to play did not interest her. She + simply toyed with her big gold-chain purse, or fingered her dozen piles or + so of plaques in a manner quite disinterested. + </p> + <p> + She heard the croupier announce the winning number and saw the rakes at + work dragging in the stakes to swell the bank. But she only smiled, and + now and then shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + Whether she won or lost, or whether she did not risk a stake, she simply + smiled and elevated her shoulders, muttering something to herself. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo was, truth to tell, a sphinx to the staff of + the Casino. She looked about thirty, but probably she was older. For five + years she had been there each season and gambled heavily with unvarying + success. Always well but quietly dressed, her nationality was as obscure + as her past. To the staff she was always polite, and she pressed + hundred-franc notes into many a palm in the Rooms. But who she was or what + were her antecedents nobody in the Principality of Monaco could ever tell. + </p> + <p> + The whole Cote d’Azur from Hyeres to Ventimiglia knew of her. She + was one of the famous characters of Monte Carlo, just as famous, indeed, + as old Mr. Drewett, the Englishman who lost his big fortune at the tables, + and who was pensioned off by the Administration on condition that he never + gamble at the Casino again. For fifteen years he lived in Nice upon the + meagre pittance until suddenly another fortune was left him, whereupon he + promptly paid up the whole of his pension and started at the tables again. + In a month, however, he had lost his second fortune. Such is gambling in + the little country ruled over by Prince Rouge-et-Noir. + </p> + <p> + As the two Englishmen slipped past the end table unseen on their way out + into the big atrium with its many columns—the hall in which players + go out to cool themselves, or collect their determination for a final + flutter—Mademoiselle had just won the maximum upon the number four, + as well as the column, and the croupier was in the act of pushing towards + her a big pile of counters each representing a thousand francs. + </p> + <p> + The eager excited throng around the table looked across at her with envy. + But her handsome countenance was quite expressionless. She simply thrust + the counters into the big gold-chain purse at her side, glanced at the + white-gloved fingers which were soiled by handling the counters, and then + counting out twenty-five, each representing a louis, gave them to the + croupier, exclaiming: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Zero-trois!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Next moment a dozen persons followed her play, staking their cent-sous and + louis upon the spot where she had asked the croupier at the end of the + table to place her stake. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Messieurs! Faites vos jeux!</i>” came the strident cry + again. + </p> + <p> + Then a few seconds later the croupier cried: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Rien ne vas plus!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The red and black wheel was already spinning, and the little ivory ball + sent by the croupier’s hand in the opposite direction was clicking + quickly over the numbered spaces. + </p> + <p> + Six hundred or more eyes of men and women, fevered by the gambling mania, + watched the result. Slowly it lost its impetus, and after spinning about + unevenly it made a final jump and fell with a loud click. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Zer-r-o!</i>” cried the croupier. + </p> + <p> + And a moment later Mademoiselle had pushed before her at the end of the + croupier’s rake another pile of counters, while all those who had + followed the remarkable woman’s play were also paid. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle is in good form to-day,” remarked one ugly old + Frenchwoman who had been a well-known figure at the tables for the past + ten years, and who played carefully and lived by gambling. She was one of + those queer, mysterious old creatures who enter the Rooms each morning as + soon as they are open, secure the best seats, occupy them all the luncheon + hour pretending to play, and then sell them to wealthy gamblers for a + consideration—two or three louis—perhaps—and then at + once go to their ease in their own obscure abode. + </p> + <p> + The public who go to Monte know little of its strange mysteries, or of the + odd people who pick up livings there in all sorts of queer ways. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” exclaimed a man who overheard her. “Mademoiselle + has wonderful luck! She won seventy-five thousand francs at the <i>Cercle + Prive</i> last night. She won <i>en plein</i> five times running. <i>Dieu!</i> + Such luck! And it never causes her the slightest excitement.” + </p> + <p> + “The lady must be very rich!” remarked an American woman + sitting next to the old Frenchwoman, and who knew French well. + </p> + <p> + “Rich! Of course! She must have won several million francs from the + Administration. They don’t like to see her here. But I suppose her + success attracts others to play. The gambling fever is as infectious as + the influenza,” declared the old Frenchwoman. “Everyone tries + to discover who she is, and where she came from five years ago. But nobody + has yet found out. Even Monsieur Bernard, the chief of the Surveillance, + does not know,” she went on in a whisper. “He is a friend of + mine, and I asked him one day. She came from Paris, he told me. She may be + American, she may be Belgian, or she may be English. She speaks English + and French so well that nobody can tell her true nationality.” + </p> + <p> + “And she makes money at the tables,” said the American woman + in the well-cut coat and skirt and small hat. She came from Chelsea, + Mass., and it was her first visit to what her pious father had always + referred to as the plague spot of Europe. + </p> + <p> + “Money!” exclaimed the old woman. “Money! <i>Dieu!</i> + She has losses, it is true, but oh!—what she wins! I only wish I had + ten per cent of it. I should then be rich. Mine is a poor game, madame—waiting + for someone to buy my seat instead of standing the whole afternoon. You + see, there is only one row of chairs all around. So if a smart woman wants + to play, some man always buys her a chair—and that is how I live. + Ah! madame, life is a great game here in the Principality.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile young Hugh Henfrey, who had travelled from London to the Riviera + and identified the mysterious mademoiselle, had passed with his friend, + Walter Brock, through the atrium and out into the afternoon sunshine. + </p> + <p> + As they turned upon the broad gravelled terrace in front of the great + white facade of the Casino amid the palms, the giant geraniums and mimosa, + the sapphire Mediterranean stretched before them. Below, beyond the + railway line which is the one blemish to the picturesque scene, out upon + the point in the sea the constant pop-pop showed that the tir-aux-pigeons + was in progress; while up and down the terrace, enjoying the quiet silence + of the warm winter sunshine with the blue hills of the Italian coast to + the left, strolled a gay, irresponsible crowd—the cosmopolitans of + the world: politicians, financiers, merchants, princes, authors, and + artists—the crowd which puts off its morals as easily as it discards + its fur coats and its silk hats, and which lives only for gaiety and + without thought of the morrow. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s sit down,” suggested Hugh wearily. “I’m + sure that she’s the same woman—absolutely certain!” + </p> + <p> + “You are quite confident you have made no mistake—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite, my dear Walter. I’d know that woman among ten + thousand. I only know that her surname is Ferad. Her Christian name I do + not know.” + </p> + <p> + “And you suspect that she knows the secret of your father’s + death?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m confident that she does,” replied the good-looking + young Englishman. “But it is a secret she will, I fear, never + reveal, unless—unless I compel her.” + </p> + <p> + “And how can you compel her?” asked the elder of the two men, + whose dark hair was slightly tinged with grey. “It is difficult to + compel a woman to do anything,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “I mean to know the truth!” cried Hugh Henfrey fiercely, a + look of determination in his eyes. “That woman knows the true story + of my father’s death, and I’ll make her reveal it. By gad—I + will! I mean it!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be rash, Hugh,” urged the other. + </p> + <p> + “Rash!” he cried. “It’s true that when my father + died so suddenly I had an amazing surprise. My father was a very curious + man. I always thought him to be on the verge of bankruptcy and that the + Manor and the land might be sold up any day. When old Charman, the + solicitor, read the will, I found that my father had a quarter of a + million lying at the bank, and that he had left it all to me—provided + I married Louise!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why not marry her?” queried Brock lazily. “You’re + always so mysterious, my dear Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + “Why!—because I love Dorise Ranscomb. But Louise interests me, + and I’m worried on her account because of that infernal fellow + Charles Benton. Louise poses as his adopted daughter. Benton is a bachelor + of forty-five, and, according to his story, he adopted Louise when she was + a child and put her to school. Her parentage is a mystery. After leaving + school she at first went to live with a Mrs. Sheldon, a young widow, in an + expensive suite in Queen Anne’s Mansions, Westminster. After that + she has travelled about with friends and has, I believe, been abroad quite + a lot. I’ve nothing against Louise, except—well, except for + the strange uncanny influence which that man Benton has over her. I hate + the fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “I see! And as you cannot yet reach Woodthorpe and your father’s + fortune, except by marrying Louise—which you don’t intend to + do—what are you going to do now?” + </p> + <p> + “First, I intend that this woman they call ‘Mademoiselle of + Monte Carlo,’ the lucky woman who is a decoy of the Administration + of the Bains de Mer, shall tell me the true circumstance of my father’s + death. If I know them—then my hand will be strengthened.” + </p> + <p> + “Meanwhile you love Lady Ranscomb’s daughter, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I love Dorise with all my heart. She, of course, knows nothing + of the conditions of the will.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence of some moments, interrupted only by the pop-pop of + the pigeon-shots below. + </p> + <p> + Away across the white balustrade of the broad magnificent terrace the calm + sapphire sea was deepening as the winter afternoon drew in. An engine + whistled—that of the flower train which daily travels express from + Cannes to Boulogne faster than the passenger train-deluxe, and bearing + mimosa, carnations, and violets from the Cote d’Azur to Covent + Garden, and to the florists’ shops in England. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve never told me the exact circumstances of your father’s + death, Hugh,” remarked Brock at last. + </p> + <p> + “Exact circumstances? Ah! That’s what I want to know. Only + that woman knows the secret,” answered the young man. “All I + know is that the poor old guv’-nor was called up to London by an + urgent letter. We had a shooting party at Woodthorpe and he left me in + charge, saying that he had some business in London and might return on the + following night—or he might be away a week. Days passed and he did + not return. Several letters came for him which I kept in the library. I + was surprised that he neither wrote nor returned, when, suddenly, ten days + later, we had a telegram from the London police informing me that my + father was lying in St. George’s Hospital. I dashed up to town, but + when I arrived I found him dead. At the inquest, evidence was given to + show that at half-past two in the morning a constable going along + Albemarle Street found him in evening dress lying huddled up in a doorway. + Thinking him intoxicated, he tried to rouse him, but could not. A doctor + who was called pronounced that he was suffering from some sort of + poisoning. He was taken to St. George’s Hospital in an ambulance, + but he never recovered. The post-mortem investigation showed a small + scratch on the palm of the hand. That scratch had been produced by a pin + or a needle which had been infected by one of the newly discovered poisons + which, administered secretly, give a post-mortem appearance of death from + heart disease.” + </p> + <p> + “Then your father was murdered—eh?” exclaimed the elder + man. + </p> + <p> + “Most certainly he was. And that woman is aware of the whole + circumstances and of the identity of the assassin.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “By a letter I afterwards opened—one that had been addressed + to him at Woodthorpe in his absence. It was anonymous, written in bad + English, in an illiterate hand, warning him to ‘beware of that woman + you know—Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo.’ It bore the French + stamp and the postmark of Tours.” + </p> + <p> + “I never knew all this,” Brock said. “You are quite + right, Hugh! The whole affair is a tangled mystery. But the first point we + must establish before we commence to investigate is—who is + Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SECOND CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + CONCERNS A GUILTY SECRET + </h3> + <p> + Just after seven o’clock that same evening young Henfrey and his + friend Brock met in the small lounge of the Hotel des Palmiers, a rather + obscure little establishment in the Avenue de la Costa, behind the + Gardens, much frequented by the habitues of the Rooms who know Monte Carlo + and prefer the little place to life at the Paris, the Hermitage, and the + Riviera Palace, or the Gallia, up at Beausoleil. + </p> + <p> + The Palmiers was a place where one met a merry cosmopolitan crowd, but + where the cocotte in her bright plumage was absent—an advantage + which only the male habitue of Monte Carlo can fully realize. The eternal + feminine is always so very much in evidence around the Casino, and the + most smartly dressed woman whom one might easily take for the wife of an + eminent politician or financier will deplore her bad luck and beg for + “a little loan.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Hugh as his friend came down from his room to the + lounge, “I suppose we ought to be going—eh? Dorise said + half-past seven, and we’ll just get across to the Metropole in time. + Lady Ranscomb is always awfully punctual at home, and I expect she carries + out her time-table here.” + </p> + <p> + The two men put on light overcoats over their dinner-jackets and strolled + in the warm dusk across the Gardens and up the Galerie, with its expensive + little shops, past the original Ciro’s to the Metropole. + </p> + <p> + In the big hall they were greeted by a well-preserved, grey-haired + Englishwoman, Lady Ranscomb, the widow of old Sir Richard Ranscomb, who + had been one of the greatest engineers and contractors of modern times. He + had begun life as a small jerry-builder at Golder’s Green, and had + ended it a millionaire and a knight. Lady Ranscomb was seated at a little + wicker table with her daughter Dorise, a dainty, fair-haired girl with + intense blue eyes, who was wearing a rather daring jazzing gown of + pale-blue, the scantiness of which a year or two before would have been + voted quite beyond the pale for a lady, and yet in our broad-minded + to-day, the day of undressing on the stage and in the home, it was nothing + more than “smart.” + </p> + <p> + Mother and daughter greeted the two men enthusiastically, and at Lady + Ranscomb’s orders the waiter brought them small glasses of an + aperitif. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve been all day motoring up to the Col di Tenda. Sospel is + lovely!” declared Dorise’s mother. “Have you ever been + there?” she asked of Brock, who was an habitue of the Riviera. + </p> + <p> + “Once and only once. I motored from Nice across to Turin,” was + his reply. “Yes. It is truly a lovely run there. The Alps are + gorgeous. I like San Dalmazzo and the chestnut groves there,” he + added. “But the frontiers are annoying. All those restrictions. + Nevertheless, the run to Turin is one of the finest I know.” + </p> + <p> + Presently they rose, and all four walked into the crowded <i>salle-a-manger</i>, + where the chatter was in every European language, and the gay crowd were + gossiping mostly of their luck or their bad fortune at the <i>tapis vert</i>. + At Monte Carlo the talk is always of the run of sequences, the many times + the zero-trois has turned up, and of how little one ever wins <i>en plein</i> + on thirty-six. + </p> + <p> + To those who visit “Charley’s Mount” for the first time + all this is as Yiddish, but soon he or she, when initiated into the games + of roulette and trente-et-quarante, quickly gets bitten by the fever and + enters into the spirit of the discussions. They produce their “records”—printed + cards in red and black numbers with which they have carefully pricked off + the winning numbers with a pin as they have turned up. + </p> + <p> + The quartette enjoyed a costly but exquisite dinner, chatting and laughing + the while. + </p> + <p> + Both men were friends of Lady Ranscomb and frequent visitors to her fine + house in Mount Street. Hugh’s father, a country landowner, had known + Sir Richard for many years, while Walter Brock had made the acquaintance + of Lady Ranscomb a couple of years ago in connexion with some charity in + which she had been interested. + </p> + <p> + Both were also good friends of Dorise. Both were excellent dancers, and + Lady Ranscomb often allowed them to take her daughter to the Grafton, Ciro’s, + or the Embassy. Lady Ranscomb was Hugh’s old friend, and he and + Dorise having been thrown together a good deal ever since the girl + returned from Versailles after finishing her education, it was hardly + surprising that the pair should have fallen in love with each other. + </p> + <p> + As they sat opposite each other that night, the young fellow gazed into + her wonderful blue eyes, yet, alas! with a sinking heart. How could they + ever marry? + </p> + <p> + He had about six hundred a year—only just sufficient to live upon in + these days. His father had never put him to anything since he left + Brasenose, and now on his death he had found that, in order to recover the + estate, it was necessary for him to marry Louise Lambert, a girl for whom + he had never had a spark of affection. Louise was good-looking, it was + true, but could he sacrifice his happiness; could he ever cut himself + adrift from Dorise for mercenary motives—in order to get back what + was surely by right his inheritance? + </p> + <p> + Yet, after all, as he again met Dorise’s calm, wide-open eyes, the + grim truth arose in his mind, as it ever did, that Lady Ranscomb, even + though she had been so kind to him, would never allow her only daughter to + marry a man who was not rich. Had not Dorise told him of the sly hints her + mother had recently given her regarding a certain very wealthy man named + George Sherrard, an eligible bachelor who lived in one of the most + expensive flats in Park Lane, and who was being generally sought after by + mothers with marriageable daughters. In many cases mothers—and + especially young, good-looking widows with daughters “on their hands”—are + too prone to try and get rid of them “because my daughter makes me + look so old,” as they whisper to their intimates of their own age. + </p> + <p> + After dinner all four strolled across to the Casino, presenting their + yellow cards of admission—the monthly cards granted to those who are + approved by the smug-looking, black-coated committee of inspection, who + judge by one’s appearance whether one had money to lose. + </p> + <p> + Dorise soon detached herself from her mother and strolled up the Rooms + with Hugh, Lady Ranscomb and Brock following. + </p> + <p> + None of them intended to play, but they were strolling prior to going to + the opera which was beneath the same roof, and for which Lady Ranscomb had + tickets. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Dorise exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Look over there—at that table in the corner. There’s + that remarkable woman they call ‘Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo’!” + </p> + <p> + Hugh started, and glancing in the direction she indicated saw the handsome + woman seated at the table staking her counters quite unconcernedly and + entirely absorbed in the game. She was wearing a dead black dress cut + slightly low in the neck, but half-bare shoulders, with a string of + magnificent Chinese jade beads of that pale apple green so prized by + connoisseurs. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were fixed upon the revolving wheel, for upon the number sixteen + she had just thrown a couple of thousand franc counters. The ball dropped + with a sudden click, the croupier announced that number five had won, and + at once raked in the two thousand francs among others. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle shrugged her shoulders and smiled faintly. Yvonne Ferad was a + born gambler. To her losses came as easily as gains. The Administration + knew that—and they also knew how at the little pigeon-hole where + counters were exchanged for cheques she came often and handed over big + sums in exchange for drafts upon certain banks, both in Paris and in + London. + </p> + <p> + Yet they never worried. Her lucky play attracted others who usually lost. + Once, a year before, a Frenchman who occupied a seat next to her daily for + a month lost over a quarter of a million sterling, and one night threw + himself under the Paris <i>rapide</i> at the long bridge over the Var. But + on hearing of it the next day from a croupier Mademoiselle merely shrugged + her shoulders, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I warned him to return to Paris. The fool! It is only what I + expected.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh looked only once across at the mysterious woman whom Dorise had + indicated, and then drew her away. As a matter of fact he had no intention + that mademoiselle should notice him. + </p> + <p> + “What do you know of her?” he asked in a casual way when they + were on the other side of the great saloon. + </p> + <p> + “Well, a Frenchman I met in the hotel the day before yesterday told + me all sorts of queer stories about her,” replied the girl. “She’s + apparently a most weird person, and she has uncanny good luck at the + tables. He said that she had won a large fortune during the last couple of + years or so.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh made no remark as to the reason of his visit to the Riviera, for, + indeed, he had arrived only the day previously, and she had welcomed him + joyously. Little did she dream that her lover had come out from London to + see that woman who was declared to be so notorious. + </p> + <p> + “I noticed her playing this afternoon,” Hugh said a moment + later in a quiet reflective tone. “What do the gossips really say + about her, Dorise? All this is interesting. But there are so many + interesting people here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the man who told me about her was sitting with me outside the + Cafe de Paris when she passed across the Place to the Casino. That caused + him to make the remarks. He said that her past was obscure. Some people + say that she was a Danish opera singer, others declare that she was the + daughter of a humble tobacconist in Marseilles, and others assert that she + is English. But all agree that she is a clever and very dangerous woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Why dangerous?” inquired Hugh in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! That I don’t know. The man who told me merely hinted at + her past career, and added that she was quite a respectable person + nowadays in her affluence. But—well——” added the + girl with a laugh, “I suppose people gossip about everyone in this + place.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was your informant?” asked her lover, much interested. + </p> + <p> + “His name is Courtin. I believe he is an official of one of the + departments of the Ministry of Justice in Paris. At least somebody said so + yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Then he probably knew more about her than he told you, I + expect.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt, for he warned my mother and myself against making her + acquaintance,” said the girl. “He said she was a most + undesirable person.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment Lady Ranscomb and Walter Brock joined them, whereupon the + former exclaimed to her daughter: + </p> + <p> + “Did you see that woman over there?—still playing—the + woman in black and the jade beads, against whom Monsieur Courtin warned + us?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mother, I noticed her. I’ve just been telling Hugh about + her.” + </p> + <p> + “A mysterious person—eh?” laughed Hugh with + well-affected indifference. “But one never knows who’s who in + Monte Carlo.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mademoiselle is apparently something of a mystery,” + remarked Brock. “I’ve seen her here before several times. + Once, about two years ago, I heard that she was mixed up in a very + celebrated criminal case, but exactly what it was the man who told me + could not recollect. She is, however, one of the handsomest women in the + Rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “And one of the wealthiest—if report be true,” said Lady + Ranscomb. + </p> + <p> + “She fascinates me,” Dorise declared. “If Monsieur + Courtin had not warned us I should most probably have spoken to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, you must do no such thing!” cried her mother, + horrified. “It was extremely kind of monsieur to give us the hint. + He has probably seen how unconventional you are, Dorise.” + </p> + <p> + And then, as they strolled on into the farther room, the conversation + dropped. + </p> + <p> + “So they’ve heard about Mademoiselle, it seems!” + remarked Brock to his friend as they walked back to the Palmiers together + in the moonlight after having seen Lady Ranscomb and her daughter to their + hotel. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” growled the other. “I wish we could get hold of + that Monsieur Courtin. He might tell us a bit about her.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt if he would. These French officials are always close as + oysters.” + </p> + <p> + “At any rate, I will try and make his acquaintance at the Metropole + to-morrow,” Hugh said. “There’s no harm in trying.” + </p> + <p> + Next morning he called again at the Metropole before the ladies were + about, but to his chagrin, he learnt from the blue-and-gold concierge that + Monsieur Courtin, of the Ministry of Justice, had left at ten-fifteen o’clock + on the previous night by the <i>rapide</i> for Paris. He had been recalled + urgently, and a special <i>coupe-lit</i> had been reserved for him from + Ventimiglia. + </p> + <p> + That day Hugh Henfrey wandered about the well-kept palm-lined gardens with + their great beds of geraniums, carnations and roses. Brock had accepted + the invitation of a bald-headed London stock-broker he knew to motor over + to lunch and tennis at the Beau Site, at Cannes, while Dorise and her + mother had gone with some people to lunch at the Reserve at Beaulieu, one + of the best and yet least pretentious restaurants in all Europe, only + equalled perhaps by Capsa’s, in Bucharest. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! If she would only tell!” Hugh muttered fiercely to + himself as he walked alone and self-absorbed. His footsteps led him out of + Monte Carlo and up the winding road which runs to La Turbie, above the + beautiful bay. Ever and anon powerful cars climbing the hill smothered him + in white dust, yet he heeded them not. He was too full of thought. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he kept on repeating to himself. “If she would + only tell the truth—if she would only tell!” + </p> + <p> + Hugh Henfrey had not travelled to Monte Carlo without much careful + reflection and many hours of wakefulness. He intended to clear up the + mystery of his father’s death—and more, the reason of that + strange incomprehensible will which was intended to wed him to Louise. + </p> + <p> + At four o’clock that afternoon he entered the Rooms to gain another + surreptitious look at Mademoiselle. Yes! She was there, still playing on + as imperturbably as ever, with that half-suppressed sinister smile always + upon her full red lips. + </p> + <p> + Sight of her aroused his fury. Was that smile really intended for himself? + People said she was a sphinx, but he drew his breath, and when outside the + Casino again in the warm sunshine he halted upon the broad red-carpeted + steps and beneath his breath said in a hard, determined tone: + </p> + <p> + “Gad! She shall tell me! She shall! I’ll compel her to speak—to + tell me the truth—or—or——!” + </p> + <p> + That evening he wrote a note to Dorise explaining to her that he was not + feeling very well and excusing himself from going round to the hotel. This + he sent by hand to the Metropole. + </p> + <p> + Brock did not turn up at dinner. Indeed, he did not expect his friend back + till late. So he ate his meal alone, and then went out to the Cafe de + Paris, where for an hour he sat upon the <i>terrasse</i> smoking and + listening to the weird music of the red-coated orchestra of Roumanian + gipsies. + </p> + <p> + All the evening, indeed, he idled, chatting with men and women he knew. <i>Carmen</i> + was being given at the Opera opposite, but though he loved music he had no + heart to go. The one thought obsessing him was of the handsome and + fascinating woman who was such a mystery to all. + </p> + <p> + At eleven o’clock he returned to the cafe and took a seat on the <i>terrasse</i> + in a dark corner, in such a position that he could see anyone who entered + or left the Casino. For half an hour he watched the people passing to and + fro. At last, in a long jade-green coat, Mademoiselle emerged alone, and, + crossing the gardens, made her way leisurely home on foot, as was her + habit. Monte Carlo is not a large place, therefore there is little use for + taxis. + </p> + <p> + When she was out of sight, he called the waiter to bring him a liqueur of + old cognac, which he sipped, and then lit another cigarette. When he had + finished it he drained the little glass, and rising, strolled in the + direction the woman of mystery had taken. + </p> + <p> + A walk of ten minutes brought him to the iron gates of a great white + villa, over the high walls of which climbing roses and geraniums and + jasmine ran riot. The night air was heavy with their perfume. He opened + the side gate and walked up the gravelled drive to the terrace whereon + stood the house, commanding a wonderful view of the moon-lit Mediterranean + and the far-off mountains of Italy. + </p> + <p> + His ring at the door was answered by a staid elderly Italian manservant. + </p> + <p> + “I believe Mademoiselle is at home,” Hugh said in French. + “I desire to see her, and also to apologize for the lateness of the + hour. My visit is one of urgency.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle sees nobody except by appointment,” was the man’s + polite but firm reply. + </p> + <p> + “I think she will see me if you give her this card,” answered + Hugh in a strained, unusual voice. + </p> + <p> + The man took it hesitatingly, glanced at it, placed it upon a silver + salver, and, leaving the visitor standing on the mat, passed through the + glass swing-doors into the house. + </p> + <p> + For some moments the servant did not reappear. + </p> + <p> + Hugh, standing there, entertained just a faint suspicion that he heard a + woman’s shrill exclamation of surprise. And that sound emboldened + him. + </p> + <p> + At last, after an age it seemed, the man returned, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle will see you, Monsieur. Please come this way.” + </p> + <p> + He left his hat and stick and followed the man along a corridor richly + carpeted in red to a door on the opposite side of the house, which the + servant threw open and announced the visitor. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle had risen to receive him. Her countenance was, Hugh saw, + blanched almost to the lips. Her black dress caused her pallor to be more + apparent. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir? Pray what do you mean by resorting to this ruse in order + to see me? Who are you?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + Hugh was silent for a moment. Then in a hard voice he said: + </p> + <p> + “I am the son of the dead man whose card is in your hands, + Mademoiselle! And I am here to ask you a few questions!” + </p> + <p> + The handsome woman smiled sarcastically and shrugged her half-bare + shoulders, her fingers trembling with her jade beads. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Your father is dead—is he?” she asked with an air + of indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. <i>He is dead</i>,” Hugh said meaningly, as he glanced + around the luxurious little room with its soft rose-shaded lights and + pale-blue and gold decorations. On her right as she stood were long French + windows which opened on to a balcony. One of the windows stood ajar, and + it was apparent that when he had called she had been seated in the long + wicker chair outside enjoying the balmy moonlight after the stifling + atmosphere of the Rooms. + </p> + <p> + “And, Mademoiselle,” he went on, “I happen to be aware + that you knew my father, and—that you are cognizant of certain facts + concerning his mysterious end.” + </p> + <p> + “I!” she cried, raising her voice in sudden indignation. + “What on earth do you mean?” She spoke in perfect English, + though he had hitherto spoken in French. + </p> + <p> + “I mean, Mademoiselle, that I intend to know the truth,” said + Hugh, fixing his eyes determinedly upon hers. “I am here to learn it + from your lips.” + </p> + <p> + “You must be mad!” cried the woman. “I know nothing of + the affair. You are mistaken!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you, then, deny that you have ever met a man named Charles + Benton?” demanded the young fellow, raising his voice. “Perhaps, + however, that is a bitter memory, Mademoiselle—eh?” + </p> + <p> + The strikingly handsome woman pursed her lips. There was a strange look in + her eyes. For several moments she did not speak. It was clear that the + sudden appearance of the dead man’s son had utterly unnerved her. + What could he know concerning Charles Benton? How much of the affair did + he suspect? + </p> + <p> + “I have met many people, Mr.—er—Mr. Henfrey,” she + replied quietly at last. “I may have met somebody named Benton.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I see,” the young man said. “It is a memory that + you do not wish to recall any more than that of my dead father.” + </p> + <p> + “Your father was a good man. Benton was not.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Then you admit knowing both of them, Mademoiselle,” cried + Hugh quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I—well—I may as well admit it! Why, indeed, should + I seek to hide the truth—<i>from you</i>,” she said in a + changed voice. “Pardon me. I was very upset at receiving the card. + Pardon me—will you not?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not, unless you tell me the truth concerning my father’s + death and his iniquitous will left concerning myself. I am here to + ascertain that, Mademoiselle,” he said in a hard voice. + </p> + <p> + “And if I tell you—what then?” she asked with knit + brows. + </p> + <p> + “If you tell me, then I am prepared to promise you on oath secrecy + concerning yourself—provided you allow me to punish those who are + responsible. Remember, my father died by foul means. <i>And you know it!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The woman faced him boldly, but she was very pale. + </p> + <p> + “So that is a promise?” she asked. “You will protect me—you + will be silent regarding me—you swear to be so—if—if I + tell you something. I repeat that your father was a good man. I held him + in the highest esteem, and—and—after all—it is but right + that you, his son, should know the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you Mademoiselle. I will protect you if you will only reveal + to me the devilish plot which resulted in his untimely end,” Hugh + assured her. + </p> + <p> + Again she knit her brows and reflected for a few moments. Then in a low, + intense, unnatural voice she said: + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Mr. Henfrey. I feel that, after all, my conscience would be + relieved if I revealed to you the truth. First—well, it is no use + denying the fact that your father was not exactly the man you and his + friends believed him to be. He led a strange dual existence, and I will + disclose to you one or two facts concerning his untimely end which will + show you how cleverly devised and how cunning was the plot—how——” + </p> + <p> + At that instant Hugh was startled by a bright flash outside the half-open + window, a loud report, followed by a woman’s shrill shriek of pain. + </p> + <p> + Then, next moment, ere he could rush forward to save her, Mademoiselle, + with the truth upon her lips unuttered, staggered and fell back heavily + upon the carpet! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THIRD CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + IN THE NIGHT + </h3> + <p> + Hugh Henfrey, startled by the sudden shot, shouted for assistance, and + then threw himself upon his knees beside the prostrate woman. + </p> + <p> + From a bullet wound over the right ear blood was slowly oozing and + trickling over her white cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Help! Help!” he shouted loudly. “Mademoiselle has been + shot from outside! <i>Help!</i>” + </p> + <p> + In a few seconds the elderly manservant burst into the room in a state of + intense excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Quick!” cried Hugh. “Telephone for a doctor at once. I + fear your mistress is dying!” + </p> + <p> + Henfrey had placed his hand upon Mademoiselle’s heart, but could + detect no movement. While the servant dashed to the telephone, he listened + for her breathing, but could hear nothing. From the wall he tore down a + small circular mirror and held it against her mouth. There was no + clouding. + </p> + <p> + There was every apparent sign that the small blue wound had proved fatal. + </p> + <p> + “Inform the police also!” Hugh shouted to the elderly Italian + who was at the telephone in the adjoining room. “The murderer must + be found!” + </p> + <p> + By this time four female servants had entered the room where their + mistress was lying huddled and motionless. All of them were in <i>deshabille</i>. + Then all became excitement and confusion. Hugh left them to unloosen her + clothing and hastened out upon the veranda whereon the assassin must have + stood when firing the shot. + </p> + <p> + Outside in the brilliant Riviera moonlight the scent of a wealth of + flowers greeted his nostrils. It was almost bright as day. From the + veranda spread a wide, fairy-like view of the many lights of Monte Carlo + and La Condamine, with the sea beyond shimmering in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + The veranda, he saw, led by several steps down into the beautiful garden, + while beyond, a distance of a hundred yards, was the main gate leading to + the roadway. The assassin, after taking careful aim and firing, had, no + doubt, slipped along, and out of the gate. + </p> + <p> + But why had Mademoiselle been shot just at the moment when she was about + to reveal the secret of his lamented father’s death? + </p> + <p> + He descended to the garden, where he examined the bushes which cast their + dark shadows. But all was silence. The assassin had escaped! + </p> + <p> + Then he hurried out into the road, but again all was silence. The only + hope of discovering the identity of the criminal was by means of the + police vigilance. Truth to tell, however, the police of Monte Carlo are + never over anxious to arrest a criminal, because Monte Carlo attracts the + higher criminal class of both sexes from all over Europe. If the police of + the Principality were constantly making arrests it would be bad + advertisement for the Rooms. Hence, though the Monte Carlo police are + extremely vigilant and an expert body of officers, they prefer to watch + and to give information to the bureaux of police of other countries, so + that arrests invariably take place beyond the frontiers of the + Principality of Monaco. + </p> + <p> + It was not long before Doctor Leneveu, a short, stout, bald-headed little + man, well known to habitues of the Rooms, among whom he had a large + practice, entered the house of Mademoiselle and was greeted by Hugh. The + latter briefly explained the tragic circumstances, whereupon the little + doctor at once became fussy and excited. + </p> + <p> + Having ordered everyone out of the room except Henfrey, he bent and made + an examination of the prostrate woman. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! m’sieur,” he said, “the unfortunate lady has + certainly been shot at close quarters. The wound is, I tell you at once, + extremely dangerous,” he added, after a searching investigation. + “But she is still alive,” he declared. “Yes—she is + still breathing.” + </p> + <p> + “Still alive!” gasped Henfrey. “That’s excellent! + I—I feared that she was dead!” + </p> + <p> + “No. She still breathes,” the doctor replied. “But, tell + me exactly what has occurred. First, however, we will get them to remove + her upstairs. I will telephone to my colleague Duponteil, and we will + endeavour to extract the bullet.” + </p> + <p> + “But will she recover, doctor?” asked Hugh eagerly in French. + “What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + The little man became serious and shook his head gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! m’sieur, that I cannot say,” was his reply. “She + is in a very grave state—very! And the brain may be affected.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh held his breath. <i>Surely Yvonne Ferad was not to die with the + secret upon her lips!</i> + </p> + <p> + At the doctor’s orders the servants were about to remove their + mistress to her room when two well-dressed men of official aspect entered. + They were officers of the Bureau of Police. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” cried the elder, who was the one in authority, a tall, + lantern-jawed man with a dark brown beard and yellow teeth. “Do not + touch that lady! What has happened here?” + </p> + <p> + Hugh came forward, and in his best French explained the circumstances of + the tragedy—how Mademoiselle had been shot in his presence by an + unknown hand. + </p> + <p> + “The assassin, whoever he was, stood out yonder—upon the + veranda—but I never saw him,” he added. “It was all over + in a second—and he has escaped!” + </p> + <p> + “And pray who are you?” demanded the police officer bluntly. + “Please explain.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh was rather nonplussed. The question required explanation, no doubt. + It would, he saw, appear very curious that he should visit Mademoiselle of + Monte Carlo at that late hour. + </p> + <p> + “I—well, I called upon Mademoiselle because I wished to obtain + some important information from her.” + </p> + <p> + “What information? Rather late for a call, surely?” + </p> + <p> + The young Englishman hesitated. Then, with true British grit, he assumed + an attitude of boldness, and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Am I compelled to answer that question?” + </p> + <p> + “I am Charles Ogier, chief inspector of the Surete of Monaco, and I + press for a reply,” answered the other firmly. + </p> + <p> + “And I, Hugh Henfrey, a British subject, at present decline to + satisfy you,” was the young man’s bold response. + </p> + <p> + “Is the lady still alive?” inquired the inspector of Doctor + Leneveu. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I have ordered her to be taken up to her room—of course, + when m’sieur the inspector gives permission.” + </p> + <p> + Ogier looked at the deathly countenance with the closed eyes, and noted + that the wound in the skull had been bound up with a cotton handkerchief + belonging to one of the maids. Mademoiselle’s dark well-dressed hair + had become unbound and was straying across her face, while her handsome + gown had been torn in the attempt to unloosen her corsets. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the police officer; “they had better take + her upstairs. We will remain here and make inquiries. This is a very queer + affair—to say the least,” he added, glancing suspiciously at + Henfrey. + </p> + <p> + While the servants carried their unconscious mistress tenderly upstairs, + the fussy little doctor went to the telephone to call Doctor Duponteil, + the principal surgeon of Monaco. He had hesitated whether to take the + victim to the hospital, but had decided that the operation could be done + just as effectively upstairs. So, after speaking to Duponteil, he also + spoke to the sister at the hospital, asking her to send up two nurses + immediately to the Villa Amette. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Inspector Ogier was closely questioning the young + Englishman. + </p> + <p> + Like everyone in Monte Carlo he knew the mysterious Mademoiselle by sight. + More than once the suspicions of the police had been aroused against her. + Indeed, in the archives of the Prefecture there reposed a bulky dossier + containing reports of her doings and those of her friends. Yet there had + never been anything which would warrant the authorities to forbid her from + remaining in the Principality. + </p> + <p> + This tragedy, therefore, greatly interested Ogier and his colleague. Both + of them had spent many years in the service of the Paris Surete under the + great Goron before being appointed to the responsible positions in the + detective service of Monaco. + </p> + <p> + “Then you knew the lady?” Ogier asked of the young man who was + naturally much upset over the startling affair, and the more so because + the secret of his father’s mysterious death had been filched from + him by the hand of some unknown assassin. + </p> + <p> + “No, I did not know her personally,” Henfrey replied somewhat + lamely. “I came to call upon her, and she received me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you call at this hour? Could you not have called in the + daytime?” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle was in the Rooms until late,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Then you followed her home—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + The police officer pursed his lips and raised his eyes significantly at + his colleague. + </p> + <p> + “And what was actually happening when the shot was fired? Describe + it to me, please,” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I was standing just here”—and he crossed the room and + stood upon the spot where he had been—“Mademoiselle was over + there beside the window. I had my back to the window. She was about to + tell me something—to answer a question I had put to her—when + someone from outside shot her through the open glass door.” + </p> + <p> + “And you did not see her assailant?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw nothing. The shot startled me, and, seeing her staggering, I + rushed to her. In the meantime the assailant—whoever he was—disappeared!” + </p> + <p> + The brown-bearded man smiled dubiously. As he stood beneath the electric + light Hugh saw doubt written largely upon his countenance. He instantly + realized that Ogier disbelieved his story. + </p> + <p> + After all it was a very lame one. He would not fully admit the reason of + his visit. + </p> + <p> + “But tell me, m’sieur,” exclaimed the police officer. + “It seems extraordinary that any person should creep along this + veranda.” And he walked out and looked about in the moonlight. + “If the culprit wished to shoot Mademoiselle in secret, then he + would surely not have done so in your presence. He might easily have shot + her as she was on her way home. The road is lonely up here.” + </p> + <p> + “I agree, monsieur,” replied the Englishman. “The whole + affair is, to me, a complete mystery. I saw nobody. But it was plain to me + that when I called Mademoiselle was seated out upon the veranda. Look at + her chair—and the cushions! It was very hot and close in the Rooms + to-night, and probably she was enjoying the moonlight before retiring to + bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite possibly,” he agreed. “But that does not alter + the fact that the assassin ran considerable risk in coming along the + veranda in the full moonlight and firing through the open door. Are you + quite certain that Mademoiselle’s assailant was outside—and + not inside?” he asked, with a queer expression upon his aquiline + face. + </p> + <p> + Hugh saw that he was hinting at his suspicion that he himself had shot + her! + </p> + <p> + “Quite certain,” he assured him. “Why do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “I have my own reasons,” replied the police officer with a + hard laugh. “Now, tell me what do you know about Mademoiselle Ferad?” + </p> + <p> + “Practically nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you call upon her?” + </p> + <p> + “I have told you. I desired some information, and she was about to + give it to me when the weapon was fired by an unknown hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Unknown—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Unknown to me. It might be known to Mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “And what was this information you so urgently desired?” + </p> + <p> + “Some important information. I travelled from London to Monte Carlo + in order to obtain it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Then you had a motive in coming here—some strong motive, + I take it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. A very strong motive. I wanted her to clear up certain + mysterious happenings in England.” + </p> + <p> + Ogier was instantly alert. + </p> + <p> + “What happenings?” he asked, for he recollected the big + dossier and the suspicions extending over four or five years concerning + the real identity and mode of life of the handsome, sphinx-like woman + Yvonne Ferad. + </p> + <p> + Hugh Henfrey was silent for a few moments. Then he said: + </p> + <p> + “Happenings in London that—well, that I do not wish to recall.” + </p> + <p> + Ogier again looked him straight in the face. + </p> + <p> + “I suggest, M’sieur Henfrey”—for Hugh had given + him his name—“I suggest that you have been attracted by + Mademoiselle as so many other men have been. She seems to exercise a fatal + influence upon some people.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” Hugh said. “I have heard lots of things about + her. Her success at the tables is constant and uncanny. Even the + Administration are interested in her winnings, and are often filled with + wonder.” + </p> + <p> + “True, m’sieur. She keeps herself apart. She is a mysterious + person—the most remarkable in all the Principality. We, at the + Bureau, have heard all sorts of curious stories concerning her—once + it was rumoured that she was the daughter of a reigning European + sovereign. Then we take all the reports with the proverbial grain of salt. + That Mademoiselle is a woman of outstanding intellect and courage, as well + as of great beauty, cannot be denied. Therefore I tell you that I am + intensely interested in this attempt upon her life.” + </p> + <p> + “And so am I,” Hugh said. “I have a strong reason to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Cannot you tell me that reason?” inquired the officer of the + Surete, still looking at him very shrewdly. “Why fence with me?” + </p> + <p> + Henfrey hesitated. Then he replied: + </p> + <p> + “It is a purely personal matter.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet, you have said that you were not acquainted with + Mademoiselle!” remarked Ogier suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “That is quite true. The first time I have spoken to her was this + evening, a few minutes before the attempt was made upon her life.” + </p> + <p> + “Then your theory is that while you stood in conversation with her + somebody crept along the veranda and shot her—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Ogier smiled sarcastically, and turning to his colleague, ordered him to + search the room. The inspector evidently suspected the young Englishman of + having shot Mademoiselle, and the search was in order to try and discover + the weapon. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the brown-bearded officer called the Italian manservant, who + gave his name as Giulio Cataldi, and who stated that he had been in + Mademoiselle Ferad’s service a little over five years. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever seen this Englishman before?” Ogier asked, + indicating Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “Never, until to-night, m’sieur,” was the reply. “He + called about twenty minutes after Mademoiselle’s return from the + Rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “Has Mademoiselle quarrelled with anybody of late?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to my knowledge, m’sieur. She is of a very quiet and even + disposition.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there anyone you know who might possess a motive to shoot her?” + asked Ogier. “The crime has not been committed with a motive of + robbery, but either out of jealousy or revenge.” + </p> + <p> + “I know of nobody,” declared the highly respectable Italian, + whose moustache was tinged with grey. He shrugged his shoulders and showed + his palms as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle arrived here two months ago, I believe?” queried + the police official. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, m’sieur. She spent the autumn in Paris, and during the + summer she was at Deauville. She also went to London for a brief time, I + believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she ever live in London?” asked Hugh eagerly, + interrupting Ogier’s interrogation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—once. She had a furnished house on the Cromwell Road for + about six months.” + </p> + <p> + “How long ago?” asked Henfrey. + </p> + <p> + “Please allow me to make my inquiries, monsieur!” exclaimed + the detective angrily. + </p> + <p> + “But the question I ask is of greatest importance to me in my own + inquiries,” Hugh persisted. + </p> + <p> + “I am here to discover the identity of Mademoiselle’s + assailant,” Ogier asserted. “And I will not brook your + interference.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle has been shot, and it is for you to discover who fired + at her,” snapped the young Englishman. “I consider that I have + just as much right to put a question to this man as you have, that is”—he + added with sarcasm—“that is, of course, if you don’t + suspect him of shooting his mistress.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I certainly do not suspect that,” the Frenchman said. + “But, to tell you candidly, your story of the affair strikes me as a + very improbable one.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” laughed Hugh, “I thought so! You suspect me—eh? + Very well. Where is the weapon?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you have hidden it,” suggested the other meaningly. + “We shall, no doubt, find it somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will, and that will lead to the arrest of the guilty + person,” Hugh laughed. Then he was about to put further questions to + the man Cataldi when Doctor Leneveu entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “How is she?” demanded Hugh breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + The countenance of the fussy little doctor fell. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he said in a low earnest voice, “I much fear + that Mademoiselle will not recover. My colleague Duponteil concurs with + that view. We have done our best, but neither of us entertain any hope + that she will live!” Then turning to Ogier, the doctor exclaimed: + “This is an amazing affair—especially in face of what is + whispered concerning the unfortunate lady. What do you make of it?” + </p> + <p> + The officer of the Surete knit his brows, and with frankness replied: + </p> + <p> + “At present I am entirely mystified—entirely mystified!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FOURTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + WHAT THE DOSSIER CONTAINED + </h3> + <p> + Walter Brock was awakened at four o’clock that morning by Hugh + touching him upon the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + He started up in bed and staring at his friend’s pale, haggard face + exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens!—why, what’s the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo has been shot!” the other replied + in a hard voice. + </p> + <p> + “Shot!” gasped Brock, startled. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Briefly Hugh who had only just entered the hotel, explained the curious + circumstances—how, just at the moment she had been about to reveal + the secret of his father’s death she was shot. + </p> + <p> + “Most extraordinary!” declared his friend. “Surely, we + have not been followed here by someone who is determined to prevent you + from knowing the truth!” + </p> + <p> + “It seems much like it, Walter,” replied the younger man very + seriously. “There must be some strong motive or no person would dare + to shoot her right before my eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed. Somebody who is concerned in your father’s death has + adopted this desperate measure in order to prevent Mademoiselle from + telling you the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s exactly my opinion, my dear Walter. If it was a crime + for gain, or through motives of either jealousy or revenge, Mademoiselle + would certainly have been attacked on her way home. The road is quite + deserted towards the crest of the hill.” + </p> + <p> + “What do the police say?” + </p> + <p> + “They do not appear to trouble to track Mademoiselle’s + assailant. They say they will wait until daylight before searching for + footprints on the gravel outside.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! They are not very fond of making arrests within the + Principality. It’s such a bad advertisement for the Rooms. The + Administration like to show a clean sheet as regards serious crime. Our + friends here leave it to the French or Italian police to deal with the + criminals so that the Principality shall prove itself the most honest + State in Europe,” Brock said. + </p> + <p> + “The police, I believe, suspect me of shooting her,” said Hugh + bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “That’s very awkward. Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—they don’t know the true reason I went to see her, + or they would never believe me to be guilty of a crime so much against my + own interests.” + </p> + <p> + Brock, who was still sitting up in bed in his pale blue silk pyjamas, + reflected a few moments. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Hugh,” he said at last, “after all it is only + natural that they should believe that you had a hand in the matter. Even + though she told you the truth, it is quite within reason that you should + have suddenly become incensed against her for the part she must have + played in your father’s mysterious death, and in a frenzy of anger + you shot her.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh drew a long breath, and his eyebrows narrowed. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove! I had never regarded it in that light before!” he + gasped. “But what about the weapon?” + </p> + <p> + “You might easily have hidden it before the arrival of the police. + You admit that you went out on the veranda. Therefore if they do chance to + find the weapon in the garden then their suspicions will, no doubt, be + considerably increased. It’s a pity, old man, that you didn’t + make a clean breast of the motive of your visit.” + </p> + <p> + “I now see my horrible mistake,” Henfrey admitted. “I + thought myself wise to preserve silence, to know nothing, and now I see + quite plainly that I have only brought suspicion unduly upon myself. The + police, however, know Yvonne Ferad to be a somewhat mysterious person.” + </p> + <p> + “Which renders the situation only worse,” Brock said. Then, + after a pause, he added: “Now that you have declined to tell the + police why you visited the Villa Amette and have, in a way, defied them, + it will be best to maintain that attitude. Tell them nothing, no matter + what happens.” + </p> + <p> + “I intend to pursue that course. But the worst of it is, Walter, + that the doctors hold out no hope of Mademoiselle’s recovery. I saw + Duponteil half an hour ago, and he told me that he could give me no + encouraging information. The bullet has been extracted, but she is + hovering between life and death. I suppose it will be in the papers + to-morrow, and Dorise and her mother will know of my nocturnal visit to + the house of a notorious woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let that worry you, my dear chap. Here, they keep the + news of all tragedies out of the papers, because shooting affairs may be + thought by the public to be due to losses at the Rooms. Recollect that of + all the suicides here—the dozens upon dozens of poor ruined + gamesters who are yearly laid to rest in the Suicides’ Cemetery—not + a single report has appeared in any newspaper. So I think you may remain + assured that Lady Ranscomb and her daughter will not learn anything.” + </p> + <p> + “I sincerely hope they won’t, otherwise it will go very hard + with me,” Hugh said in a low, intense voice. “Ah! What a night + it has been for me!” + </p> + <p> + “And if Mademoiselle dies the assailant, whoever he was, will be + guilty of wilful murder; while you, on your part, will never know the + truth concerning your father’s death,” remarked the elder man, + running his fingers through his hair. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That is the position of this moment. But further, I am + suspected of the crime!” + </p> + <p> + Brock dressed while his friend sat upon the edge of the bed, pale-faced + and agitated. Suppose that the assailant had flung his pistol into the + bushes, and the police eventually discovered it? Then, no doubt, he would + be put across the frontier to be arrested by the police of the Department + of the Alpes Maritimes. + </p> + <p> + Truly, the situation was most serious. + </p> + <p> + Together the two men strolled out into the early morning air and sat upon + a seat on the terrace of the Casino watching the sun as it rose over the + tideless sea. + </p> + <p> + For nearly an hour they sat discussing the affair; then they ascended the + white, dusty road to the beautiful Villa Amette, the home of the + mysterious Mademoiselle. + </p> + <p> + Old Giulio Cataldi opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Alas! m’sieur, Mademoiselle is just the same,” he + replied in response to Hugh’s eager inquiry. “The police have + gone, but Doctor Leneveu is still upstairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Have the police searched the garden?” inquired Hugh eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, m’sieur. They made a thorough examination, but have + discovered no marks of footprints except those of yourself, myself, and a + tradesman’s lad who brought up a parcel late last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they found no weapon?” asked the young Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “No, m’sieur. There is no clue whatever to the assailant.” + </p> + <p> + “Curious that there should be no footmarks,” remarked Brock. + “Yet they found yours, Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The man must surely have left some trace outside!” + </p> + <p> + “One would certainly have thought so,” Brock said. “I + wonder if we may go into the room where the tragedy happened?” he + asked of the servant. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, m’sieur,” was the courteous reply, and he + conducted them both into the apartment wherein Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo + had been shot down. + </p> + <p> + “Did you accompany Mademoiselle when she went to London, Giulio?” + asked young Henfrey of the old Italian, after he had described to Brock + exactly what had occurred. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, m’sieur,” he replied. “I was at Cromwell + Road for a short time. But I do not care for London, so Mademoiselle sent + me back here to look after the Villa because old Jean, the concierge, had + been taken to the hospital.” + </p> + <p> + “When in London you knew some of Mademoiselle’s friends, I + suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “A few—only a few,” was the Italian’s reply. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever know a certain Mr. Benton?” + </p> + <p> + The old fellow shook his head blankly. + </p> + <p> + “Not to my knowledge, m’sieur,” he replied. “Mademoiselle + had really very few friends in London. There was a Mrs. Matthews and her + husband, Americans whom she met here in Monte Carlo, and Sir George + Cave-Knight, who died a few weeks ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember an elderly gentleman named Henfrey calling?” + asked Hugh. + </p> + <p> + Old Cataldi reflected for a moment, and then answered: + </p> + <p> + “The name sounds familiar to me, m’sieur, but in what + connexion I cannot recollect. That is your name, is it not?” he + asked, remembering the card he had taken to his mistress. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Hugh replied. “I have reason to believe that my + late father was acquainted with your mistress, and that he called upon her + in London.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe that a gentleman named Henfrey did call, because when I + glanced at the card you gave me last night the name struck me as familiar,” + the servant said. “But whether he actually called, or whether + someone at table mentioned his name I really cannot recollect.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! That’s a pity,” exclaimed Hugh with a sigh. “As + a matter of fact it was in order to make certain inquiries regarding my + late father that I called upon Mademoiselle last night.” + </p> + <p> + Giulio Cataldi turned in pretence of rearranging a chair, but in reality + to avert his face from the young man’s gaze—a fact which Hugh + did not fail to notice. + </p> + <p> + Had he really told the truth when he declared that he could not recollect + his father calling? + </p> + <p> + “How long were you in London with Mademoiselle?” asked + Henfrey. + </p> + <p> + “About six weeks—not longer.” + </p> + <p> + Was it because of some untoward occurrence that the old Italian did not + like London, Hugh wondered. + </p> + <p> + “And you are quite sure that you do not recollect my father calling + upon your mistress?” + </p> + <p> + “As I have said, m’sieur, I do not remember. Yet I recall the + name, as it is a rather unusual one.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have never heard of Mr. Benton?” + </p> + <p> + Cataldi shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Hugh went on, “tell me whether you entertain any + suspicions of anyone who might be tempted to kill your mistress. + Mademoiselle has enemies, has she not?” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows?” exclaimed the man with the grey moustache and + small, black furtive eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Everyone has enemies of one sort or another,” Walter + remarked. “And no doubt Mademoiselle has. It is for us to discover + the enemy who shot her.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes, it is, m’sieur,” exclaimed the servant. + “The poor Signorina! I do hope that the police will discover who + tried to kill her.” + </p> + <p> + “For aught we know the attempt upon the lady’s life may prove + successful after all,” said Hugh despairingly. “The doctors + hold out no hope of her recovery.” + </p> + <p> + “None. A third doctor has been in consultation—Doctor Bazin, + from Beaulieu. He only left a quarter of an hour ago. He told me that the + poor Signorina cannot possibly live! Ah! messieurs, how terrible all this + is—<i>povera Signorina</i>! She was always so kind and considerate + to us all.” And the old man’s voice trembled with emotion. + </p> + <p> + Walter Brock gazed around the luxurious room and at the long open window + through which streamed the bright morning sun, with the perfume of the + flowers outside. What was the mystery concerning Mademoiselle Yvonne? What + foundation had the gossips for those constant whisperings which had + rendered the handsome woman so notorious? + </p> + <p> + True, the story of the death of Hugh’s father was an unusually + strange one, curious in every particular—and stranger still that the + secret was held by this beautiful, but mysterious, woman who lived in such + luxury, and who gambled so recklessly and with invariable good fortune. + </p> + <p> + As they walked back to the town Hugh’s heart sank within him. + </p> + <p> + “She will die,” he muttered bitterly to himself. “She’ll + die, and I shall never learn the truth of the poor guv’nor’s + sad end, or the reason why I am being forced to marry Louise Lambert.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s an iniquitous will, Hugh!” declared his friend. + “And it’s infernally hard on you that just at the very moment + when you could have learnt the truth that shot was fired.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think the woman had any hand in my father’s death?” + Hugh asked. “Do you think that she had repented, and was about to + try and atone for what she had done by confessing the whole affair?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That is just the view I take,” answered Brock. “Of + course, we have no idea what part she played in the business. But my idea + is that she alone knows the reason why this marriage with Louise is being + forced upon you.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, then, it seems more than likely that I’ve been + followed here to Monte Carlo, and my movements watched. But why has she + been shot? Why did not her enemies shoot me? They could have done so + twenty times during the past few days. Perhaps the shot which hit her was + really intended for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think so. There is a monetary motive behind your + marriage with Louise. If you died, your enemy would gain nothing. That + seems clear.” + </p> + <p> + “But who can be my secret enemy?” asked the young man in + dismay. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle alone knows that, and it was undoubtedly her intention + to warn you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But if she dies I shall remain in ignorance,” he + declared in a hard voice. “The whole affair is so tangled that I can + see nothing clearly—only that my refusal to marry Louise will mean + ruin to me—and I shall lose Dorise in the bargain!” + </p> + <p> + Walter Brock, older and more experienced, was equally mystified. The + pessimistic attitude of the three doctors who had attended the injured + woman was, indeed, far from reassuring. The injury to the head caused by + the assailant’s bullet was, they declared, most dangerous. Indeed, + the three medical men marvelled that she still lived. + </p> + <p> + The two men walked through the palm-lined garden, bright with flowers, + back to their hotel, wondering whether news of the tragedy had yet got + abroad. But they heard nothing of it, and it seemed true, as Walter Brock + had declared, that the police make haste to suppress any tragic happenings + in the Principality. + </p> + <p> + Though they were unconscious of it, a middle-aged, well-dressed Frenchman + had, during their absence from the hotel, been making diligent inquiries + regarding them of the night concierge and some of the staff. + </p> + <p> + The concierge had recognized the visitor as Armand Buisson, of the police + bureau at Nice. It seemed as though the French police were unduly + inquisitive concerning the well-conducted young Englishman and his + companion. + </p> + <p> + Now, as a matter of fact, half an hour after Hugh had left the Villa + Amette, Ogier had telegraphed to Buisson in Nice, and the latter had come + along the Corniche road in a fast car to make his own inquiries and + observations upon the pair of Englishmen. Ogier strongly suspected Henfrey + of firing the shot, but was, nevertheless, determined to remain inactive + and leave the matter to the Prefecture of the Department of Alpes + Maritimes. Hence the reason that the well-dressed Frenchman lounged in the + hall of the hotel pretending to read the “Phare du Littoral.” + </p> + <p> + Just before noon Hugh went to the telephone in the hotel and inquired of + Cataldi the progress of his mistress. + </p> + <p> + “She is just the same, m’sieur,” came the voice in + broken English. “<i>Santa Madonna!</i> How terrible it all is! + Doctor Leneveu has left, and Doctor Duponteil is now here.” + </p> + <p> + “Have the police been again?” + </p> + <p> + “No, m’sieur. Nobody has been,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + So Hugh rang off and crossed the hall, little dreaming that the + well-dressed Frenchman had been highly interested in his questions. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later he went along to the Metropole, where he had an + engagement to lunch with Dorise and her mother. + </p> + <p> + When they met, however, Lady Ranscomb exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Why, Hugh, you look very pale. What’s the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing,” he laughed forcedly. “I’m not very + bright to-day. I think it was the sirocco of yesterday that has upset me a + little, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + Then, while they were seated at table, Dorise suddenly exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! do you know, mother, that young French lady over yonder, Madame + Jacomet, has just told me something. There’s a whisper that the + mysterious woman, Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo, was shot during the night + by a discarded lover!” + </p> + <p> + “Shot!” exclaimed Lady Ranscomb. “Dear me! How very + dreadful. What really happened?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. Madame Jacomet was told by her husband, who + heard it in Ciro’s this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “How terrible!” remarked Hugh, striving to remain calm. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But women of her class invariably come to a bad end,” + remarked the widow. “How pleased I am, Dorise, that you never spoke + to her. She’s a most dreadful person, they say.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she evidently knows how to win money at the tables, mother,” + said the girl, lifting her clear blue eyes to those of her lover. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But I wonder what the scandal is all about?” said the + widow of the great engineer. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don’t trouble to inquire Lady Ranscomb,” Hugh + hastened to remark. “One hears scandal on every hand in Monte Carlo.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I suppose so,” replied the elder woman, and then the + subject was dropped. + </p> + <p> + So the ugly affair was being rumoured. It caused Hugh a good deal of + apprehension, for he feared that his name would be associated with that of + the mysterious Mademoiselle. Evidently one or other of the servants at the + Villa Amette had been indiscreet. + </p> + <p> + At that moment, in his private room at the bureau of police down in + Monaco, Superintendent Ogier was carefully perusing a dossier of official + papers which had been brought to him by the archivist. + </p> + <p> + Between his thin lips was a long, thin, Swiss cigar—his favorite + smoke—and with his gold-rimmed pince-nez poised upon his aquiline + nose he was reading a document which would certainly have been of + considerable interest to Hugh Henfrey and his friend Walter Brock could + they have seen it. + </p> + <p> + Upon the pale yellow paper were many lines of typewriting in French—a + carbon copy evidently. + </p> + <p> + It was headed: “Republique Francaise. Department of Herault. + Prefecture of Police. Bureau of the Director of Police. Reference Number + 20197.B.,” and was dated nearly a year before. + </p> + <p> + It commenced: + </p> + <p> + “Copy of an ‘information’ in the archives of the + Prefecture of the Department of Herault concerning the woman Marie Mignot, + or Leullier, now passing under the name of Yvonne Ferad and living at the + Villa Amette at Monte Carlo. + </p> + <p> + “The woman in question was born in 1884 at Number 45 Rue des Etuves, + in Montpellier, and was the daughter of one Doctor Rigaud, a noted + toxicologist of the Faculty of Medicine, and curator of the University + Library. At the age of seventeen, after her father’s death, she + became a school teacher at a small school in the Rue Morceau, and at + nineteen married Charles Leullier, a good-looking young scoundrel who + posed as being well off, but who was afterwards proved to be an expert + international thief, a member of a gang of dangerous thieves who committed + robberies in the European express trains. + </p> + <p> + “This fact was unknown to the girl, therefore at first all went + smoothly, until the wife discovered the truth and left him. She then + joined the chorus of a revue at the Jardin de Paris, where she met a + well-to-do Englishman named Bryant. The pair went to England, where she + married him, and they resided in the county of Northampton. Six months + later Bryant died, leaving her a large sum of money. In the meantime + Leullier had been arrested by the Italian police for a daring robbery with + violence in a train traveling between Milan and Turin and been sentenced + to ten years on the penal island of Gorgona. His wife, hearing of this + from an Englishman named Houghton, who, though she was unaware of it, was + following the same profession as her husband, returned to France. She + rented an apartment in Paris, and afterwards played at Monte Carlo, where + she won a considerable sum, with the proceeds of which she purchased the + Villa Amette, which she now occupies each season.” + </p> + <p> + “Extracts of reports concerning Marie Leullier, alias Yvonne Ferad, + are herewith appended: + </p> + <p> + “Criminal Investigation Department, New Scotland Yard, London—to + the Prefecture of Police, Paris. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Yvonne Ferad rented a furnished house at Hove, near + Brighton, in June, 1918. Afterwards moved to Worthing and to Exeter, and + later took a house in the Cromwell Road, London, in 1919. She was + accompanied by an Italian manservant named Cataldi. Her conduct was + suspicious, though she was undoubtedly possessed of considerable means. + She was often seen at the best restaurants with various male + acquaintances, more especially with a man named Kenworthy. Her association + with this person, and with another man named Percy Stendall, was curious, + as both men were habitual criminals and had served several terms of penal + servitude each. Certain suspicions were aroused, and observation was kept, + but nothing tangible was discovered. It is agreed, however, that some + mystery surrounds this woman in question. She left London quite suddenly, + but left no debts behind.” + </p> + <p> + “Information from the Borough Police Office, Worthing, to the + Prefecture of Police, Department of Herault. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Yvonne Ferad has been identified by the photograph + sent as having lived in Worthing in December, 1918. She rented a small + furnished house facing the sea, and was accompanied by an Italian + manservant and a French maid. Her movements were distinctly mysterious. A + serious fracas occurred at the house on the evening of December 18th, + 1918. A middle-aged gentleman, whose name is unknown, called there about + seven o’clock and a violent quarrel ensued between the lady and her + visitor, the latter being very seriously assaulted by the Italian. The + constable on duty was called in, but the visitor refused to prosecute, and + after having his injuries attended to by a doctor left for London. Three + days later Mademoiselle disappeared from Worthing. It is believed by the + Chief Constable that the woman is of the criminal class.” + </p> + <p> + Then Charles Ogier, inspector of the detective police of Monaco, smiled, + laid down his cigar, and took up another and even more interesting + document. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FIFTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + ON THE HOG’S BACK + </h3> + <p> + Three days later. On a cold afternoon just as the wintry light was fading + a tall, dark, middle-aged, rather handsome man with black hair and + moustache, and wearing a well-cut, dark-grey overcoat and green velour + hat, alighted from the train at the wayside station of Wanborough, in + Surrey, and inquired of the porter the way to Shapley Manor. + </p> + <p> + “Shapley, sir? Why, take the road there yonder up the hill till you + get to the main road which runs along the Hog’s Back from Guildford + to Farnborough. When you get on the main road, turn sharp to the left past + the old toll-gate, and you’ll find the Manor on the left in among a + big clump of trees.” + </p> + <p> + “How far?” + </p> + <p> + “About a mile, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger, the only passenger who had alighted, slipped sixpence into + the man’s hand, buttoned his coat, and started out to walk in the + direction indicated, breasting the keen east wind. + </p> + <p> + He was well-set-up, and of athletic bearing. He took long strides as with + swinging gait he went up the hill. As he did so, he muttered to himself: + </p> + <p> + “I was an infernal fool not to have come down in a car! I hate these + beastly muddy country roads. But Molly has the telephone—so I can + ring up for a car to fetch me—which is a consolation, after all.” + </p> + <p> + And with his keen eyes set before him, he pressed forward up the steep + incline to where, for ten miles, ran the straight broad highway over the + high ridge known as the Hog’s Back. The road is very popular with + motorists, for so high is it that on either side there stretches a wide + panorama of country, the view on the north being towards the Thames Valley + and London, while on the south Hindhead with the South Downs in the blue + distance show beyond. + </p> + <p> + Having reached the high road the stranger paused to take breath, and + incidentally to admire the magnificent view. Indeed, an expression of + admiration fell involuntarily from his lips. Then he went along for + another half-mile in the teeth of the cutting wind with the twilight + rapidly coming on, until he came to the clump of dark firs and presently + walked up a gravelled drive to a large, but somewhat inartistic, Georgian + house of red brick with long square windows. In parts the ivy was trying + to hide its terribly ugly architecture for around the deep porch it grew + thickly and spread around one corner of the building. + </p> + <p> + A ring at the door brought a young manservant whom the caller addressed as + Arthur, and, wishing him good afternoon, asked if Mrs. Bond were at home. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! good,” said the caller. “Just tell her I’m + here.” And he proceeded to remove his coat and to hang it up in the + great flagged hall with the air of one used to the house. + </p> + <p> + The Manor was a spacious, well-furnished place, full of good pictures and + much old oak furniture. + </p> + <p> + The servant passed along the corridor, and entering the drawing-room, + announced: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Benton is here, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Mr. Benton! Show him in,” cried his mistress + enthusiastically. “Show him in at once!” + </p> + <p> + Next moment the caller entered the fine, old-fashioned room, where a + well-preserved, fair-haired woman of about forty was taking her tea alone + and petting her Pekinese. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Charles? So you’ve discovered me here, eh?” she + exclaimed, jumping up and taking his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Molly. And you seem to have very comfortable quarters,” + laughed Benton as he threw himself unceremoniously into a chintz-covered + armchair. + </p> + <p> + “They are, I assure you.” + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose you’re quite a great lady in these parts—eh?—now + that you live at Shapley Manor. Where’s Louise?” + </p> + <p> + “She went up to town this morning. She won’t be back till + after dinner. She’s with her old school-fellow—that girl + Bertha Trench.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. Then we can have a chat. I’ve several things to consult + you about and ask your opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Have some tea first,” urged his good-looking hostess, pouring + him some into a Crown Derby cup. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he commenced. “I think you’ve done quite + well to take this place, as you’ve done, for three years. You are + now safely out of the way. The Paris Surete are making very diligent + inquiries, but the Surrey Constabulary will never identify you with the + lady of the Rue Racine. So you are quite safe here.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure of that, Charles?” she asked, fixing her big + grey eyes upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Certain. It was the wisest course to get back here to England, + although you had to take a very round-about journey.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I got to Switzerland, then to Italy, and from Genoa took an + Anchor Line steamer across to New York. After that I came over to + Liverpool, and in the meantime I had become Mrs. Bond. Louise, of course, + thought we were travelling for pleasure. I had to explain my change of + name by telling her that I did not wish my divorced husband to know that I + was back in England.” + </p> + <p> + “And the girl believed it, of course,” he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Of course. She believes anything I tell her,” said the + clever, unscrupulous woman for whom the Paris police were in active + search, whose real name was Molly Maxwell, and whose amazing career was + well known to the French police. + </p> + <p> + Only recently a sum of a quarter of a million francs had fallen into her + hands, and with it she now rented Shapley Manor and had set up as a + country lady. Benton gazed around the fine old room with its Adams ceiling + and its Georgian furniture, and reflected how different were Molly’s + present surroundings from that stuffy little flat <i>au troisieme</i> in + the Rue Racine. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “You had a very narrow escape, Molly. I + dared not come near you, but I knew that you’d look after the girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. I always look after her as though she were my own child.” + </p> + <p> + Benton’s lip curled as he sipped his China tea, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Because so much depends upon her—eh? I’m glad you view + the situation from a fair and proper stand-point. We’re now out for + a big thing, therefore we must not allow any little hitch to prevent us + from bringing it off successfully.” + </p> + <p> + “I quite agree, Charles. Our great asset is Louise. But she must be + innocent of it all. She must know absolutely nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “True. If she had an inkling that we were forcing her to marry Hugh + she would fiercely resent it. She’s a girl of spirit, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Charles, I know that,” laughed the woman. “Ever + since she came home from school I’ve noticed how independent she is. + She certainly has a will of her own. But she likes Hugh, and we must + encourage it. Recollect that a fortune is at stake.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not overlooked that,” the man said. “But of late + I’ve come to fear that we are treading upon thin ice. I don’t + like the look of affairs at the present moment. Young Henfrey is head over + ears in love with that girl Dorise Ranscomb, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! It’s only a flirtation, my dear Charles,” laughed + the woman. “When just a little pressure is put upon the boy, and a + sly hint to Lady Ranscomb, then the affair will soon be off, and he’ll + fall into Louise’s arms. She’s really very fond of him.” + </p> + <p> + “She may be, but he takes no notice of her. She told me so the other + day. He’s gone to the Riviera—followed Dorise, I suppose,” + Benton said. + </p> + <p> + “Yvonne wrote me a few days ago to say that he was there with a + friend of his named Walter Brock. Who’s he?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! a naval lieutenant-commander who served in the war and was + invalided out after the Battle of Jutland. He got the D.S.O. over the + Falklands affair, and has now some post at the Admiralty. He was in + command of a torpedo boat which sank a German cruiser, and was afterwards + blown up.” + </p> + <p> + “They are both out at Monte Carlo, Yvonne says. And Henfrey is with + Dorise daily,” remarked the woman. + </p> + <p> + “Yvonne is always apprehensive lest young Henfrey should learn the + secret of the old fellow’s end,” said Benton. “But I don’t + see how the truth of the—well, rather ugly affair can ever come out, + except by an indiscretion by one or other of us.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is scarcely likely, Charles, is it?” his hostess + laughed as she pushed across to him a big silver box of cigarettes and + then reclined lazily among her cushions. + </p> + <p> + “No. It would certainly be a very sensational affair if the + newspapers got hold of the facts, my dear Molly. But don’t let us + anticipate such a thing. Fortunately Louise, in her girlish innocence, + knows nothing. Old Henfrey left his money to his son upon certain + conditions, one of which is that Hugh shall marry Louise. And that + marriage must, at all hazards, take place. After that, we care for + nothing.” + </p> + <p> + The handsome woman who was rolling a cigarette between her well-manicured + fingers hesitated. Her countenance assumed a strange look as she + reflected. She was far too clever to express any off-hand opinion. She had + outwitted the police of Paris, Brussels, and Rome in turn. Her whole + career had been a criminal one, punctuated by periods of pretended high + respectability—while the funds to support it had lasted. And upon + her hands had been placed Louise Lambert, the child Charles Benton had + adopted ten years before. + </p> + <p> + “We shall have to exercise a good deal of discretion and caution in + regard to Louise,” she declared. “The affair is not at all so + plain sailing as I at first believed.” + </p> + <p> + “No. It is a serious contretemps that you had to leave Paris, Molly,” + agreed her well-dressed visitor. “The young American was a fool, of + course, but I think—” + </p> + <p> + “Paris was flooded by rich young men from the United States who came + over to fight the Boche and to spend their money like water when on leave + in Paris. Frank was only one of them.” + </p> + <p> + Benton was silent. The affair was a distinctly unsavoury one. Frank van + Geen, the son of the Dutch-American millionaire cocoa manufacturer of + Chicago, had, by reason of his association with Molly, found himself the + poorer by nearly a quarter of a million francs, and his body had been + found in the Seine between the Pont d’Auteuil and the Ile St. + Germain. At the inquiry some ugly disclosures were made, but already the + lady of the Rue Racine and her supposed niece had left Paris; and though + the affair was one of suicide, the police raised a hue and cry, and the + frontiers had been watched, but the pair had disappeared. + </p> + <p> + That was several months ago. And now Molly Maxwell the adventuress in + Paris had been transformed into the wealthy and highly respectable widow + Mrs. Bond, who having presented such excellent references had become + tenant of that well-furnished mansion, Shapley Manor, and the beautiful + grounds adjoining. For nearly two centuries it had been the home of the + Puttenhams, but Sir George Puttenham, Baronet, the present owner, had + found himself ruined by war-taxation, and as one of the new poor he had + been glad to let the place and live upon the rent obtained for it. His + case, indeed, was only one of thousands of others in England, where + adventurers and war-profiteers were ousting the landed gentry. + </p> + <p> + “Yvonne is evidently keeping a good watch upon young Hugh,” + remarked Benton presently, as he blew a ring of cigarette smoke towards + the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the woman, her eyes fixed out of the big window + which commanded a glorious view of Gibbet Hill, at Hindhead, and the blue + South Downs towards the English Channel. But all was dark and lowering in + the winter twilight, now fast darkening into night. + </p> + <p> + In old-world Guildford, the county town of Surrey, with its steep High + Street containing many seventeenth-century houses, its old inns, and its + balconied Guildhall—the scene of so many unseemly wrangles among the + robed and cocked-hatted borough councillors who are, <i>par excellence</i>, + outstanding illustrations of the provincial petty jealousies of bumbledom—Mrs. + Bond was welcomed by the trades-people who vied with each other to “serve + her.” Almost daily she went up and down the High Street in her fine + Rolls-Royce driven by Mead, an ex-soldier and a worthy fellow whom she had + engaged through an advertisement in the <i>Surrey Advertiser</i>. He had + been in the Queen’s West Surrey, and his home being in Guildford, + Molly knew that he would serve as a testimonial to her high + respectability. Molly Maxwell was an outstandingly clever woman. She never + let a chance slip by that might be taken advantageously. + </p> + <p> + Mead, who went on his “push-bike” every evening along the Hog’s + Back to Guildford, was never tired of singing the praises of his generous + mistress. + </p> + <p> + “She’s a real good sort,” he would tell his friends in + the bar of the Lion or the Angel. “She knows how to treat a man. She’s + a widow, and good-looking. I suppose she’ll marry again. Nearly all + the best people about here have called on her within the last week or two. + Magistrates and their wives, retired generals, and lots of the gentry. + Yes, my job isn’t to be sneezed at, I can tell you. It’s + better than driving a lorry outside Ypres!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bond treated Mead extremely well, and paid him well. She knew that by + so doing she would secure a good advertisement. She had done so before, + when four or five years ago she had lived at Keswick. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Charles,” she said presently, “I’m + really very apprehensive regarding the present situation. Yvonne is, no + doubt, keeping a watchful eye upon the young fellow. But what can she do + if he has followed the Ranscomb girl and is with her each day? Each day, + indeed, must bring the pair closer together, and—” + </p> + <p> + “That’s what we must prevent, my dear Molly!” exclaimed + the lady’s visitor. “Think of all it means to us. You are + quite safe here—as safe as I am to-day. But we can’t last out + without money—either of us. We must have cash-money—and + cash-money always.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That’s so. But Yvonne is wonderful—amazing.” + </p> + <p> + “She hasn’t the same stake in the affair as we have.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked the woman for whom the European police were + in search. + </p> + <p> + “Well, because she is rich—she’s won pots of money at + the tables—and we—well, both of us have only limited means. + Yours, Molly, are larger than mine—thanks to Frank. But I must have + money soon. My expenses in town are mounting up daily.” + </p> + <p> + “But your rooms don’t cost you very much! Old Mrs. Evans looks + after things as she has always done.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But everything is going up in price, and remember, I dare not + cross the Channel just now. At Calais, Boulogne, Cherbourg, and other + places, they have my photograph, and they are waiting for me to fall into + the trap. But the rat, once encaged, is shy! And I am very shy just now,” + he added with a light laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll stay and have dinner, won’t you?” urged + his hostess. + </p> + <p> + Benton hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “If I do Louise may return, and just now I don’t want to meet + her. It is better not.” + </p> + <p> + “But she won’t be back till the last train to Guildford. Mead + is meeting her. Yes—stay.” + </p> + <p> + “I must get a car to take me back to town. I have to go to Glasgow + by the early train in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we’re order one from one of the garages in Guildford. + You really must stay, Charles. There’s lots we have to talk over—a + lot of things that are of vital consequence to us both.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment there came a rap at the door and the young manservant + entered, saying: + </p> + <p> + “You’re wanted on the telephone, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bond rose from the settee and went to the telephone in the library, + where she heard the voice of a female telephone operator. + </p> + <p> + “Is that Shapley Manor?” she asked. “I have a telegram + for Mrs. Bond. Handed in at Nice at two twenty-five, received here at four + twenty-eight. ‘To Bond, Shapley Manor, near Guildford. Yvonne shot + by some unknown person while with Hugh. In grave danger.—S.’ + That is the message. Have you got it please?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bond held her breath. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she gasped. “Anything else?” + </p> + <p> + “No, madam,” replied the telephone operator at the Guildford + Post Office. “Nothing else. I will forward the duplicate by post.” + </p> + <p> + And she switched off. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SIXTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + FACING THE UNKNOWN + </h3> + <p> + That the police were convinced that Hugh Henfrey had shot Mademoiselle was + plain. + </p> + <p> + Wherever he went an agent of detective police followed him. At the Cafe de + Paris as he took his aperitif on the <i>terrasse</i> the man sat at a + table near, idly smoking a cigarette and glancing at an illustrated paper + on a wooden holder. In the gardens, in the Rooms, in the Galerie, + everywhere the same insignificant little man haunted him. + </p> + <p> + Soon after luncheon he met Dorise and her mother in the Rooms. With them + were the Comte d’Autun, an elegant young Frenchman, well known at + the tables, and Madame Tavera, a very chic person who was one of the most + admired visitors of that season. They were only idling and watching the + players at the end table, where a stout, bearded Russian was making some + sensational coups <i>en plein</i>. + </p> + <p> + Presently Hugh succeeded in getting Dorise alone. + </p> + <p> + “It’s awfully stuffy here,” he said. “Let’s + go outside—eh?” + </p> + <p> + Together they descended the red-carpeted steps and out into the palm-lined + Place, at that hour thronged by the smartest crowd in Europe. Indeed, the + war seemed to have led to increased extravagance and daring in the dress + of those gay Parisiennes, those butterflies of fashion who were everywhere + along the Cote d’Azur. + </p> + <p> + They turned the corner by the Palais des Beaux Arts into the Boulevard + Peirara. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s walk out of the town,” he suggested to the girl. + “I’m tired of the place.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I, Hugh,” Dorise admitted. “For the first + fortnight the unceasing round of gaiety and the novelty of the Rooms are + most fascinating, but, after that, one seems cooped up in an atmosphere of + vicious unreality. One longs for the open air and open country after this + enervating, exotic life.” + </p> + <p> + So when they arrived at the little church of Ste. Devote, the patron saint + of Monaco, that little building which everyone knows standing at the + entrance to that deep gorge the Vallon des Gaumates, they descended the + steep, narrow path which runs beside the mountain torrent and were soon + alone in the beautiful little valley where the grey-green olives overhang + the rippling stream. The little valley was delightfully quiet and rural + after the garish scenes in Monte Carlo, the cosmopolitan chatter, and the + vulgar display of the war-rich. The old habitue of pre-war days lifts his + hands as he watches the post-war life around the Casino and listens to the + loud uneducated chatter of the profiteer’s womenfolk. + </p> + <p> + As the pair went along in the welcome shadows, for the sun fell strong + upon the tumbling stream, Hugh was remarking upon it. + </p> + <p> + He had been at Monte Carlo with his father before the war, and realized + the change. + </p> + <p> + “I only wish mother would move on,” Dorise exclaimed as they + strolled slowly together. + </p> + <p> + She presented a dainty figure in cream gabardine and a broad-brimmed straw + hat which suited her admirably. Her clothes were made by a certain famous + <i>couturiere</i> in Hanover Square, for Lady Ranscomb had the art of + dressing her daughter as well as she did herself. Gowns make the lady + nowadays, or the fashionable dressmakers dare not make their exorbitant + charges. + </p> + <p> + “Then you also are tired of the place?” asked Hugh, as he + strolled slowly at her side in a dark-blue suit and straw hat. They made a + handsome pair, and were indeed well suited to each other. Lady Ranscomb + liked Hugh, but she had no idea that the young people had fallen so + violently in love with each other. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the girl. “Mother promised to spend Easter + in Florence. I’ve never been there and am looking forward to it so + much. The Marchesa Ruggeri, whom we met at Harrogate last summer, has a + villa there, and has invited us for Easter. But mother said this morning + that she preferred to remain here.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Somebody in the hotel has put her off. An old Englishwoman who + lives in Florence told her that there’s nothing to see beyond the + Galleries, and that the place is very catty.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh laughed and replied: + </p> + <p> + “All British colonies in Continental cities are catty, my dear + Dorise. They say that for scandal Florence takes the palm. I went there + for two seasons in succession before the war, and found the place + delightful.” + </p> + <p> + “The Marchesa is a charming woman. Her husband was an attache at the + Italian Embassy in Paris. But he has been transferred to Washington, so + she has gone back to Florence. I like her immensely, and I do so want to + visit her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you must persuade your mother to take you,” he said. + “She’ll be easily persuaded.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. She doesn’t like travelling in Italy. She + once had her dressing-case stolen from the train between Milan and Genoa, + so she’s always horribly bitter against all Italians.” + </p> + <p> + “There are thieves also on English railways, Dorise,” Hugh + remarked. “People are far too prone to exaggerate the shortcomings + of foreigners, and close their eyes to the faults of the British.” + </p> + <p> + “But everybody is not so cosmopolitan as you are, Hugh,” the + girl laughed, raising her eyes to those of her lover. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you sigh?” asked the girl, having noticed a change in + her companion ever since they had met in the Rooms. He seemed strangely + thoughtful and preoccupied. + </p> + <p> + “Did I?” he asked, suddenly pulling himself together. “I + didn’t know,” he added with a forced laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t look yourself to-day, Hugh,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been told that once before,” he replied. “The + weather—I think! Are you going over to the <i>bal blanc</i> at Nice + to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. And you are coming also. Hasn’t mother asked you?” + she inquired in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “How silly! She must have forgotten. She told me she intended to ask + you to have a seat in the car. The Comte d’Autun is coming with us.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! He admires you, Dorise, hence I don’t like him,” + Hugh blurted forth. + </p> + <p> + “But, surely, you’re not jealous, you dear old thing!” + laughed the girl, tantalizing him. Perhaps she would not have uttered + those words which cut deeply into his heart had she known the truth + concerning the tragedy at the Villa Amette. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like him because he seems to live by gambling,” + Hugh declared. “I know your mother likes him very much—of + course!” + </p> + <p> + “And she likes you, too, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “She may like me, but I fear she begins to suspect that we love each + other, dearest,” he said in a hard tone. “If she does, she + will take care in future to keep us apart, and I—I shall lose you, + Dorise!” + </p> + <p> + “No—no, you won’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! But I shall! Your mother will never allow you to marry a man + who has only just sufficient to rub along with, and who is already in debt + to his tailor. What hope is there that we can ever marry?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Hugh, you are awfully pessimistic to-day,” the girl + cried. “What is up with you? Have you lost heavily at the tables—or + what?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I have been thinking of the future,” he said in a hard + voice so very unusual to him. “I am thinking of your mother’s + choice of a husband for you—George Sherrard.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate him—the egotistical puppy!” exclaimed the girl, + her fine eyes flashing with anger. “I’ll never marry him—<i>never</i>!” + </p> + <p> + But Hugh Henfrey made no reply, and they went on together in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Cannot you trust me, Hugh?” asked the girl at last in a low + earnest tone. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dearest. I trust you, of course. But I feel certain that your + mother, when she knows our secret, will forbid your seeing me, and press + on your marriage with Sherrard. Remember, he’s a rich man, and your + mother adores the Golden Calf.” + </p> + <p> + “I know she does. If people have money she wants to know them. Her + first inquiry is whether they have money.” + </p> + <p> + It was on the tip of Hugh’s tongue to remark with sarcasm that such + ideals might well be expected of the wife of a jerry-builder in Golder’s + green. But he hesitated. Lady Ranscomb was always well disposed towards + him, and he had had many good times at her house and on the grouse moor + she rented in Scotland each year for the benefit of her intimate friends. + Though she had been the wife of a small builder and had commenced her + married life in an eight-roomed house on the fringe of Hampstead Heath, + yet she had picked up society manners marvellously well, being a woman of + quick intelligence and considerable wit. Nevertheless, she had no soul + above money, and gaiety was as life to her. She could not live without it. + Dorise had been given an excellent education, and after three years at + Versailles was now voted one of the prettiest and most charming girls in + London society. Hence mother and daughter were sought after everywhere, + and their doings were constantly being chronicled in the newspapers. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “Your mother has not asked me over to + Nice to-night because she believes you and I have been too much together + of late.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” declared Dorise. “I’m sure it’s not + that, Hugh—I’m quite sure! It’s simply an oversight. I’ll + see about it when we get back. We leave the hotel at half-past nine. It is + the great White Ball of the Nice season.” + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t mention it to her on any account, Dorise,” + Hugh urged. “If you did it would at once show her that you preferred + my company to that of the Count. Go with him. I shan’t be jealous! + Besides, in view of my financial circumstances, what right have I to be + jealous? You can’t marry a fellow like myself, Dorise. It wouldn’t + be fair to you.” + </p> + <p> + The girl halted. In her eyes shone the light of unshed tears. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh! What do you mean? What are you saying?” she asked in a + low, faltering voice. “Have I not told you that whatever happens I + shall never love another man but yourself?” + </p> + <p> + He drew a long breath, and without replying placed his strong arms around + her and, drawing her to him, kissed her passionately upon the lips. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my darling,” he murmured. “Thank you for + those words. They put into me a fresh hope, a fresh determination, and a + fearlessness—oh! you—you don’t know!” he added in + a low, earnest voice. + </p> + <p> + “All I know, Hugh, is that you love me,” was the simple + response as she reciprocated his fierce caress. + </p> + <p> + “Love you, darling!” he cried. “Yes. You are mine—mine!” + </p> + <p> + “True, Hugh. I love no other man. I hate that tailor’s dummy, + George Sherrard, and as for the Count—well, he’s an idiotic + Frenchman—the ‘hardy annual of Monte Carlo’ I heard him + called the other day. No, Hugh, I assure you that you have no cause for + jealousy.” + </p> + <p> + And she smiled sweetly into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + They were standing together beneath a twisted old olive tree through the + dark foliage of which the sun shone in patches, while by their feet the + mountain torrent from the high, snow-clad Alps rippled and splashed over + the great grey boulders towards the sea. + </p> + <p> + “I know it, darling! I know it,” Hugh said in a stifled voice. + He was thinking of the tragedy of that night, but dare not disclose to her + his connexion with it, because he knew the police suspected him of making + that murderous attack upon the famous “Mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, Hugh,” exclaimed the girl, still clasped in her + lover’s arms. “But somehow you don’t seem your old self + to-day. What is the matter? Can’t you tell me?” + </p> + <p> + He drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “No, darling. Excuse me. I—I’m a bit upset that’s + all.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m upset because for the last day or two I have begun to + realize that our secret must very soon come out, and then—well, your + mother will forbid me the house because I have no money. You know that she + worships Mammon always—just as your father did—forgive me for + my words.” + </p> + <p> + “I do forgive you because you speak the truth,” Dorise + replied. “I know that mother wants me to marry a rich man, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And she will compel you to do so, darling. I am convinced of that.” + </p> + <p> + “She won’t!” cried the girl. “I will never marry a + man I do not love!” + </p> + <p> + “Your mother, if she doesn’t suspect our compact, will soon do + so,” he said. “She’s a clever woman. She is on the + alert, because she intends you to marry soon, and to marry a rich man.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother is far too fond of society, I admit. She lives only for her + gay friends now that father is dead. She spends lavishly upon luncheons + and dinners at the Ritz, the Carlton, and Claridge’s; and by doing + so we get to know all the best people. But what does it matter to me? I + hate it all because——” + </p> + <p> + And she looked straight into his eyes as she broke off. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” she whispered, “because—because I love + you, Hugh!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! darling! You have never been so frank with me before,” he + said softly. “You do not know how much those words of yours mean to + me! You do not know how all my life, all my hopes, all my future, is + centred in your own dear self!” and clasping her again tightly in + his arms he pressed his lips fondly to hers in a long passionate embrace. + </p> + <p> + Yet within the stout heart of Hugh Henfrey, who was so straight, honest + and upright a young fellow as ever trod the Broad at Oxford, lay that + ghastly secret—indeed, a double secret—that of his revered + father’s mysterious end and the inexplicable attack upon Yvonne + Ferad at the very moment when he had been about to learn the truth. + </p> + <p> + They lingered there beside the mountain stream for a long time, until the + sun sank and the light began to fail. Again and again he told her of his + great love for her, but he said nothing of the strange clause in his + father’s will. She knew Louise Lambert, having met her once walking + in the park with her lover. Hugh had introduced them, and had afterwards + explained that the girl was the adopted daughter of a great friend of his + father. + </p> + <p> + Dorise little dreamed that if her lover married her he would inherit the + remainder of old Mr. Henfrey’s fortune. + </p> + <p> + “Do come over to the ball at Nice to-night,” the girl urged + presently as they stood with hands clasped gazing into each other’s + eyes. “It will be nothing without you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! darling, that’s very nice of you to say so, but I think + we ought to be discreet. Your mother has invited the Count to go with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate him!” Dorise declared. “He’s all elegance, + bows and flattery. He bores me to death.” + </p> + <p> + “I can quite understand that. But your mother is fond of his + society. She declares that he is so amusing, and in Paris he knows + everyone worth knowing.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. He gave us an awfully good time in Paris last season—took + us to Longchamps, and we afterwards went to Deauville with him. He wins + and loses big sums on the turf.” + </p> + <p> + “A born gambler. Everyone knows that. I heard a lot about him in the + Travellers’ Club, in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “But if mother telephones to you, you’ll come with us—won’t + you?” entreated the girl again. + </p> + <p> + The young man hesitated. His mind was full of the tragic affair of the + previous night. He was wondering whether the end had come—whether + Mademoiselle’s lips were already sealed by Death. + </p> + <p> + He gave an evasive reply, whereupon Dorise, taking his hand in hers, said: + </p> + <p> + “What is your objection to going out with us to-night, Hugh? Do tell + me. If you don’t wish me to go, I’ll make an excuse to mother + and she can take the Count.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not the slightest objection,” he declared at once. + “Go, dearest—only leave me out of it. The <i>bal blanc</i> is + always good fun.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not go if you refuse to go,” she said with a pout. + </p> + <p> + Therefore in order to please her he consented—providing Lady + Ranscomb invited him. + </p> + <p> + They had wandered a long way up the narrow, secluded valley, but had met + not a soul. All was delightful and picturesque, the profusion of wild + flowers, the huge grey moss-grown boulders, the overhanging ilexes and + olives, and the music of the tumbling current through a crooked course + worn deep by the waters of primeval ages. + </p> + <p> + It was seldom that in the whirl of society the pair could get a couple of + hours together without interruption. And under the blue Riviera sky they + were indeed fraught with bliss to both. + </p> + <p> + When they returned to the town the dusk was already falling, and the great + arc lamps along the terrace in front of the Casino were already lit. Hugh + took her as far as the entrance to the Metropole and then, after wishing + her au revoir and promising to go with her to Nice if invited, he hastily + retraced his steps to the Palmiers. Five minutes later he was speaking to + the old Italian at the Villa Amette. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle is still unconscious, m’sieur,” was the + servant’s reply to his eager inquiry. “The doctors have been + several times this afternoon, but they hold out no hope.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if I can be of any assistance?” Hugh asked in + French. + </p> + <p> + “I think not, m’sieur. What assistance can any of us give poor + Mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + Ah, what indeed, Hugh thought as he put down the receiver. + </p> + <p> + Yet while she lived, there was still a faint hope that he would be able to + learn the secret which he anticipated would place him in such a position + that he might defy those who had raised their hands against his father and + himself. + </p> + <p> + His marriage with Dorise, indeed his whole future, depended upon the + disclosure of the clever plot whereby Louise Lambert was to become his + wife. + </p> + <p> + His friend Brock was not in the hotel, so he went to his room to dress for + dinner. Ten minutes later a page brought a message from Lady Ranscomb + inviting him to go over to Nice to the ball. + </p> + <p> + He drew a long breath. He was in no mood for dancing that night, for he + was far too perturbed regarding the critical condition of the notorious + woman who had turned his friend. + </p> + <p> + On every hand there were whispers and wild reports concerning the tragedy + at the Villa Amette. He had heard about it from a dozen people, though not + a word was in the papers. Yet nobody dreamed that he, of all men, had been + present when the mysterious shot was fired, or that he was, indeed, the + cause of the secret attack. + </p> + <p> + He dressed slowly, and having done so, descended to the <i>salle a manger</i>. + The big white room was filled with a gay, reckless cosmopolitan crowd—the + crowd of well-dressed moths of both sexes which eternally flutters at + night at Monte Carlo, attracted by the candle held by the great god + Hazard. + </p> + <p> + Brock was not there, and he seated himself alone at their table near the + long-curtained window. He was surprised at his friend’s absence. + Perhaps, however, he had met friends and gone over to Beaulieu, Nice, or + Mentone with them. + </p> + <p> + He had but little appetite. He ate a small portion of langouste with an + exquisite salad, and drank a single glass of chablis. Then he rose and + quitted the chattering, laughing crowd of diners, whose gossip was mainly + upon a sensational run on the red at five o’clock that evening. One + woman, stout and of Hebrew type, sitting with three men, was wildly merry, + for she had won the equivalent to sixty thousand pounds. + </p> + <p> + All that recklessness jarred upon the young man’s nerves. He tried + to close his ears to it all, and ascended again to his room, where he sat + in silent despondency till it was time for him to go round to the + Metropole to join Lady Ranscomb and Dorise. + </p> + <p> + He had brushed his hair and rearranged his tie, and was about to put on + the pierrot’s costume of white satin with big buttons of black + velvet which he had worn at the <i>bal blanc</i> at Mentone about a week + before, when the page handed him another note. + </p> + <p> + Written in a distinctly foreign hand, it read: + </p> + <p> + “Instantly you receive this get into a travelling-suit and put what + money and valuables you have into your pockets. Then go to a dark-green + car which will await you by the reservoir in the Boulevard du Midi. Trust + the driver. You must get over the frontier into Italy at the earliest + moment. Every second’s delay is dangerous to you. Do not trouble to + find out who sends you this warning! <i>Bon voyage!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Hugh Henfrey read it and re-read it. The truth was plain. The police of + Monaco suspected him, and intended that he should be arrested on suspicion + of having committed the crime. + </p> + <p> + But who was his unknown friend? + </p> + <p> + He stood at the window reflecting. If he did not keep his appointment with + Dorise she would reproach him for breaking his word to her. On the other + hand, if he motored to Nice he would no doubt be arrested on the French + frontier a few miles along the Corniche road. + </p> + <p> + Inspector Ogier suspected him, hence discretion was the better part of + valour. So, after brief consideration, he threw off his dress clothes and + assumed a suit of dark tweed. He put his money and a few articles of + jewellry in his pockets, and getting into his overcoat he slipped out of + the hotel by the back entrance used by the staff. + </p> + <p> + Outside, he walked in the darkness along the Boulevard du Nord, past the + Turbie station, until he came to the long blank wall behind which lay the + reservoir. + </p> + <p> + At the kerb he saw the dim red rear-light of a car, and almost at the same + moment a rough-looking Italian chauffeur approached him. + </p> + <p> + “Quick, signore!” he whispered excitedly. “Every moment + is full of danger. There is a warrant out for your arrest! The police know + that you intended to go to Nice and they are watching for you on the + Corniche road. But we will try to get into Italy. You are an invalid, + remember! You’ll find in the car a few things with which you can + make up to look the part. You are an American subject and a cripple, who + cannot leave the car when the customs officers search it. Now, signore, + let’s be off and trust to our good fortune in getting away. I will + tell the officers of the <i>dogana</i> at Ventimiglia a good story—trust + me! I haven’t been smuggling backwards and forwards for ten years + without knowing the ropes!” + </p> + <p> + “But where are we going?” asked Hugh bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “You, signore, are going to prison if we fail on this venture, I + fear,” was the rough-looking driver’s reply. + </p> + <p> + So urged by him Hugh got into the car, and then they drove swiftly along + the sea-road of the littoral towards the rugged Italian frontier. + </p> + <p> + Hugh Henfrey was going forth to face the unknown. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SEVENTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + FROM DARK TO DAWN + </h3> + <p> + In the darkness the car went swiftly through Mentone and along the steep + winding road which leads around the rugged coast close to the sea—the + road over the yellow rocks which Napoleon made into Italy. + </p> + <p> + Presently they began to ascend a hill, a lonely, wind-swept highway with + the sea plashing deep below, when, after a sudden bend, some lights came + into view. It was the wayside Italian Customs House. + </p> + <p> + They had arrived at the frontier. + </p> + <p> + Hugh, by the aid of a flash-lamp, had put on a grey moustache and changed + his clothes, putting his own into the suit case wherein he had found the + suit already prepared for him. He had wrapped himself up in a heavy + travelling-rug, and by his side reposed a pair of crutches, so that when + they drew up before the little roadside office of the Italian <i>dogana</i> + he was reclining upon a cushion presenting quite a pathetic figure. + </p> + <p> + But who had made all these preparations for his flight? + </p> + <p> + He held his breath as the chauffeur sounded his horn to announce his + arrival. Then the door opened, shedding a long ray of light across the + white dusty road. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Buona sera, signore</i>!” cried the chauffeur merrily, as + a Customs officer in uniform came forward. “Here’s my driving + licence and papers for the car. And our two passports.” + </p> + <p> + The man took them, examined them by the light of his electric torch, and + told the chauffeur to go into the office for the visas. + </p> + <p> + “Have you anything to declare?” he added in Italian. + </p> + <p> + “Half a dozen very bad cigarettes,” replied the other, + laughing. “They’re French! And also I’ve got a very bad + cold! No duty on that, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + The officer laughed, and then turned his attention to the petrol tank, + into which he put his measuring iron to see how much it contained, while + the facetious chauffeur stood by. + </p> + <p> + During this operation two other men came out of the building, one an + Italian carabineer in epaulettes and cocked hat, while the other, tall and + shrewd-faced, was in mufti. The latter was the agent of French police who + inspects all travellers leaving France by road. + </p> + <p> + The chauffeur realized that the moment was a critical one. + </p> + <p> + He was rolling a cigarette unconcernedly, but bending to the Customs + officer, he said in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “My <i>padrone</i> is an <i>Americano</i>. An invalid, and a bit + eccentric. Lots of money. A long time ago he injured his spine and can + hardly move. He fell down a few days ago, and now I’ve got to take + him to Professor Landrini, in Turin. He’s pretty bad. We’ve + come from Hyeres. His doctor ordered me to take him to Turin at once. We + don’t want any delay. He told me to give you this,” and he + slipped a note for a hundred lire into the man’s hand. + </p> + <p> + The officer expressed surprise, but the merry chauffeur of the rich + American exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t worry. The <i>Americano</i> is very rich; I only wish + there were more of his sort about. He’s the great Headon, the + meat-canner of Chicago. You see his name on the tins.” + </p> + <p> + The man recognized the name, and at once desisted in his examination. + </p> + <p> + Then to the two police officers who came to his side, he explained: + </p> + <p> + “The American gentleman inside is an invalid, going to Turin to + Professor Landrini. He wants to get off at once, for he has a long journey + over the Alps.” + </p> + <p> + The French agent of police grunted suspiciously. Both the French and + Italian police are very astute, but money always talks. It is the same at + a far-remote frontier station as in any circle of society. + </p> + <p> + Here was a well-known American—the Customs officer had mentioned the + name of Headon, which both police officers recognized—an invalid + sent with all haste to the famous surgeon in Turin. It was not likely that + he would be carrying contraband, or be an escaping criminal. + </p> + <p> + Besides, the chauffeur, in full view of the two police agents, slipped a + second note into the hand of the Customs officer, and said: + </p> + <p> + “So all is well, isn’t it, signori? Just visa my papers, and + we’ll get along. It looks as though we’re to have a bad + thunderstorm, and, if so, we shall catch it up on the Col di Tenda!” + </p> + <p> + Thus impelled, the quartette went back to the well-lit little building, + where the beetle-browed driver again chaffed the police-agents, while the + Customs officer placed his rubber stamp upon the paper, scribbled his + initials and charged three-lire-twenty as fee. + </p> + <p> + All this was being watched with breathless anxiety by the supposed invalid + reclining against the cushion with his crutches at his side. + </p> + <p> + Again the mysterious chauffeur reappeared, and with him the French police + officer in plain clothes. + </p> + <p> + “We are keeping watch for a young Englishman from Monte Carlo who + has shot a woman,” remarked the latter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! But they arrested him to-night in Mentone,” replied the + driver. “I heard it half an hour ago as I came through.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they told me so at the Garage Grimaldi. He shot a woman known + as Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo—didn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s the man! But they have not informed us yet. I’ll + telephone to Mentone.” Then he added: “As a formality I’ll + just have a peep at your master.” + </p> + <p> + The chauffeur held his breath. + </p> + <p> + “He’s pretty bad, I think. I hope we shall be in Turin early + in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + Advancing to the car, the police officer opened the door and flashed his + torch upon the occupant. + </p> + <p> + He saw a pale, elderly man, with a grey moustache, wearing a golf cape and + reclining uneasily upon the pillow, with his leg propped up and wrapped + with a heavy travelling-rug. Upon the white countenance was an expression + of pain as he turned wearily, his eyes dazzled by the sudden light. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we?” he asked faintly in English. + </p> + <p> + “At the Italian <i>douane</i>, m’sieur,” was the police + officer’s reply, as for a few seconds he gazed upon the invalid’s + face, seconds that seemed hours to Hugh. He was, of course, unaware of the + cock-and-bull story which his strange chauffeur had told, and feared that + at any moment he might find himself under arrest. + </p> + <p> + While the door remained open there was danger. At last, however, the man + reclosed it. + </p> + <p> + Hugh’s heart gave a great bound. The chauffeur had restarted the + engine, and mounting to the wheel shouted a merry: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Buona notte, signori</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Then the car moved away along the winding road and Hugh knew that he was + on Italian soil—that he had happily escaped from France. + </p> + <p> + But why had he escaped, he reflected? He was innocent. Would not his + flight lend colour to the theory that Yvonne Ferad had been shot by his + hand? + </p> + <p> + Again, who was his unknown friend who had warned him of his peril and made + those elaborate arrangements for his escape? Besides, where was Walter? + </p> + <p> + His brain was awhirl. As they tore along in the darkness ever beside the + sea over that steep and dangerous road along the rock coast, Hugh Henfrey + fell to wondering what the motive of it all could be. Why had Yvonne been + shot just at that critical moment? It was evident that she had been + closely watched by someone to whom her silence meant a very great deal. + </p> + <p> + She had told him that his father had been a good man, and she was on the + point of disclosing to him the great secret when she had been struck down. + </p> + <p> + What was the mystery of it all? Ay, what indeed? + </p> + <p> + He recalled every incident of that fateful night, her indignation at his + presence in her house, and her curious softening of manner towards him, as + though repentant and ready to make amends. + </p> + <p> + Then he wondered what Dorise would think when he failed to put in an + appearance to go with her to the ball at Nice. He pictured the car waiting + outside the hotel, Lady Ranscomb fidgeting and annoyed, the count elegant + and all smiles and graces, and Dorise, anxious and eager, going to the + telephone and speaking to the concierge at the Palmiers. Then inquiry for + Monsieur Henfrey, and the discovery that he had left the hotel unseen. + </p> + <p> + So far Dorise knew nothing of Hugh’s part in the drama of the Villa + Amette, but suddenly he was horrified by the thought that the police, + finding he had escaped, would question her. They had been seen together + many times in Monte Carlo, and the eyes of the police of Monaco are always + very wide open. They know much, but are usually inactive. When one + recollects that all the <i>escrocs</i> of Europe gather at the <i>tapis + vert</i> in winter and spring, it is not surprising that they close their + eyes to such minor crimes as theft, blackmail and false pretences. + </p> + <p> + In his excited and unnerved state, he pictured Ogier calling upon Lady + Ranscomb and questioning her closely concerning her young English friend + who was so frequently seen with her daughter. That would, surely, end + their friendship! Lady Ranscomb would never allow her daughter to + associate further with a man accused of attempting to murder a notorious + woman after midnight! + </p> + <p> + The car presently descended the steep rocky road which wound up over the + promontory and back again down to the sea, until they passed through the + little frontier town of Ventimiglia. + </p> + <p> + It was late, and few people were about in the narrow, ill-lit streets. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, a couple of Italian carabineers stopped the car. + </p> + <p> + Hugh’s heart beat quickly. Had they at the <i>dogana</i> discovered + the trick and telephoned from the frontier? + </p> + <p> + Instantly the fugitive reassumed his role of invalid, and no sooner had he + settled himself than the second man in a cocked hat and heavy black cloak + opened the door and peered within. + </p> + <p> + Another lamp was flashed upon his face. + </p> + <p> + The carabineer asked in Italian: + </p> + <p> + “What is your name, signore?” + </p> + <p> + But Hugh, pretending that he did not understand the language, asked: + </p> + <p> + “Eh? What?” + </p> + <p> + “Here are our papers, signore,” interrupted the ever-ready + chauffeur, and he produced the papers for the officer’s inspection. + </p> + <p> + He looked at them, bending to read them by the light of the torch which + his companion held. + </p> + <p> + Then, after an officious gesture, he handed them back, saying: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Benissimo</i>! You may pass!” + </p> + <p> + Again Hugh was free! Yet he wondered if that examination had been + consequent upon the hue and cry set up now that he had escaped from + Monaco. + </p> + <p> + They passed out of the straggling town of Ventimiglia, but instead of + turning up the valley by that long road which winds up over the Alps until + it reaches the snow and then passes through the tunnel on the Col di Tenda + and on to Cuneo and Turin, the mysterious driver kept on by the sea-road + towards Bordighera. + </p> + <p> + Hugh realised that his guide’s intention was to go in the direction + of Genoa. + </p> + <p> + About two miles out of Ospedaletti, on the road to San Remo, Henfrey + rapped at the window, and the chauffeur, who was travelling at high speed, + pulled up. + </p> + <p> + Hugh got out and said in French: + </p> + <p> + “Well, so far we’ve been successful. I admire your ingenuity + and your pluck.” + </p> + <p> + The man laughed and thanked him. + </p> + <p> + “I have done what I was told to do,” he replied simply. + “Monsieur is, I understand, in a bit of a scrape, and it is for all + of us to assist each other—is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. But who told you to do all this?” Hugh inquired, + standing in the dark road beside the car. The pair could not see each + other’s faces, though the big head-lamps glared far ahead over the + white road. + </p> + <p> + “Well—a friend of yours, m’sieur.” + </p> + <p> + “What is his name?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, I am not allowed to say.” + </p> + <p> + “But all this is so very strange—so utterly mysterious!” + cried Hugh. “I have not committed any crime, and yet I am hunted by + the police! They are anxious to arrest me for an offence of which I am + entirely innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that, m’sieur,” was the fellow’s reply. + “At the <i>dogana</i>, however, we had a narrow escape. The man who + looked at you was Morain, the chief inspector of the Surete of the + Alpes-Maritimes, and he was at the outpost especially to stop you!” + </p> + <p> + “Again I admire your perfect nonchalance and ingenuity,” Hugh + said. “I owe my liberty entirely to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not liberty, m’sieur. We are not yet what you say in English + ‘out of the wood.’” + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going now?” + </p> + <p> + “To Genoa. We ought to be there by early morning,” was the + reply. “Morain has, no doubt, telephoned to Mentone and discovered + that my story is false. So if later, on, they suspect the American invalid + they will be looking out for him on the Col di Tenda, in Cuneo, and in + Turin.” + </p> + <p> + “And what shall we do in Genoa?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us get there first—and see.” + </p> + <p> + “But I wish you would tell me who you are—and why you take + such a keen interest in my welfare,” Hugh said. + </p> + <p> + The man gave vent to an irritating laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I am not permitted to disclose the identity of your friend,” + he answered. “All I know is that you are innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “Then perhaps you know the guilty person?” Hugh suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Let us talk of something else, signore,” was the + mysterious chauffeur’s reply. + </p> + <p> + “But I confess to you that I am bent upon solving the mystery of + Mademoiselle’s assailant. It means a very great deal to me.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” asked the man. + </p> + <p> + Hugh hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he replied. “If the culprit is found, then there + would no longer be any suspicion against myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably he never will be found,” the man said. + </p> + <p> + “But tell me, how did you know about the affair, and why are you + risking arrest by driving me to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “I have reasons,” was all he would say. “I obey the + demands of those who are your friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are they?” + </p> + <p> + “They desire to conceal their identity. There is a strong reason why + this should be done.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Are they not protecting one who is suspected of a serious crime? If + discovered they would be punished,” was the quiet response. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! There is some hidden motive behind all this!” declared + the young Englishman. “I rather regret that I did not remain and + face the music.” + </p> + <p> + “It would have been far too dangerous, signore. Your enemies would + have contrived to convict you of the crime.” + </p> + <p> + “My enemies—but who are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Of that, signore, I am ignorant. Only I have been told that you + have enemies, and very bitter ones.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have committed no crime, and yet I am a fugitive from + justice!” Hugh cried. + </p> + <p> + “You escaped in the very nick of time,” the man replied. + “But had we not better be moving again? We must be in Genoa by + daybreak.” + </p> + <p> + “But do, I beg of you, tell me more,” the young man implored. + “To whom do I owe my liberty?” + </p> + <p> + “As I have already told you, signore, you owe it to those who intend + to protect you from a false charge.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But there is a lady in the case,” Hugh said. “I + fear that if she hears that I am a fugitive she will misjudge me and + believe me to be guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably so. That is, I admit, unfortunate—but, alas! it + cannot be avoided. It was, however, better for you to get out of France.” + </p> + <p> + “But the French police, when they know that I have escaped, will + probably ask the Italian police to arrest me, and then apply for my + extradition.” + </p> + <p> + “If they did, I doubt whether you would be surrendered. The police + of my country are not too fond of assisting those of other countries. Thus + if an Italian commits murder in a foreign country and gets back to Italy, + our Government will refuse to give him up. There have been many such + cases, and the murderer goes scot free.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think I am safe in Italy?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, not by any means. You are not an Italian subject. No, you + must not be very long in Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “But what am I to do when we get to Genoa?” Hugh asked. + </p> + <p> + “The signore had better wait until we arrive there,” was the + driver’s enigmatical reply. + </p> + <p> + Then the supposed invalid re-entered the car and they continued on their + way along the bleak, storm-swept road beside the sea towards that + favourite resort of the English, San Remo. + </p> + <p> + The night had grown pitch dark, and rain had commenced to fall. Before the + car the great head-lamps threw long beams of white light against which + Hugh saw the silhouette of the muffled-up mysterious driver, with his keen + eyes fixed straight before him, and driving at such a pace that it was + apparent that he knew every inch of the dangerous road. + </p> + <p> + What could it all mean? What, indeed? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EIGHTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + THE WHITE CAVALIER + </h3> + <p> + While Hugh Henfrey was travelling along that winding road over high + headlands and down steep gradients to the sea which stretched the whole + length of the Italian Riviera, Dorise Ranscomb in a white silk domino and + black velvet mask was pretending to enjoy herself amid the mad gaiety at + the Casino in Nice. + </p> + <p> + The great <i>bal blanc</i> is always one of the most important events of + the Nice season, and everyone of note wintering on the Riviera was there, + yet all carefully masked, both men and women. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what prevented Hugh from coming with us, mother?” + the girl remarked as she sat with Lady Ranscomb watching the merriment and + the throwing of serpentines and confetti. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. He certainly ought to have let me know, and not + have kept me waiting nearly half an hour, as he did,” her mother + snapped. + </p> + <p> + The girl did not reply. The truth was that while her mother and the Count + had been waiting for Hugh’s appearance, she had gone to the + telephone and inquired for Mr. Henfrey. Walter Brock had spoken to her. + </p> + <p> + “I’m awfully sorry, Miss Ranscomb,” he had replied. + “But I don’t know where Hugh can be. I’ve just been up + to his room, but his fancy dress is there, flung down as though he had + suddenly discarded it and gone out. Nobody noticed him leave. The page at + the door is certain that he did not go out. So he must have left by the + staff entrance.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s very curious, isn’t it?” Dorise remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Very. I can’t understand it.” + </p> + <p> + “But he promised to go with us to the ball at Nice to-night!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Miss Ranscomb, all I can think is that something—something + very important must have detained him somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + Walter knew that his friend was suspected by the police, but dared not + tell her the truth. Hugh’s disappearance had caused him considerable + anxiety because, for aught he knew, he might already be arrested. + </p> + <p> + So Dorise, much perplexed, but resolving not to say to her mother that she + had telephoned to the Palmiers, rejoined the Count in the hotel lounge, + where they waited a further ten minutes. Then they entered the car and + drove along to Nice. + </p> + <p> + There are few merrier gatherings in all Europe than the <i>bal blanc</i>. + The Municipal Casino, at all times the center of revelry, of mild + gambling, smart dresses and gay suppers, is on that night an amazing + spectacle of black and white. The carnival colours—the two shades of + colour chosen yearly by the International Fetes Committee—are + abandoned, and only white is worn. + </p> + <p> + When the trio entered the fun was already in full swing. The gay crowd + disguised by their masks and fancy costumes were revelling as happily as + school children. A party of girls dressed as clowns were playing + leap-frog. Another party were dancing in a great and ever-widening ring. + Girls armed with jesters’ bladders were being carried high on the + shoulders of their male acquaintances, and striking all and sundry as they + passed, staid, elderly folk were performing grotesque antics for persons + of their age. The very air of the Riviera seems to be exhilarating to both + old and young, and the constant church-goers at home quickly become + infected by the spirit of gaiety, and conduct themselves on the + Continental Sabbath in a manner which would horribly disgust their + particular vicar. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh must have been detained by something very unexpected, mother,” + Dorise said. “He never disappoints us.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, he does. One night we were going to the Embassy Club—don’t + you recollect it—and he never turned up.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, mother. It was really excusable. His cousin arrived from + New York quite unexpectedly upon some family business. He phoned to you + and explained,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what about that night when I asked him to dinner at the Ritz + to meet the Courtenays and he rang up to say he was not well? Yet I saw + him hale and hearty next day at a matinee at the Comedy.” + </p> + <p> + “He may have been indisposed, mother,” Dorise said. “Really + I think you judge him just a little too harshly.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t. I take people as I find them. Your father always + said that, and he was no fool, my dear. He made a fortune by his + cleverness, and we now enjoy it. Never associate with unsuccessful + persons. It’s fatal!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just what old Sir Dudley Ash, the steel millionaire, + told me the other day when we were over at Cannes, mother. Never associate + with the unlucky. Bad luck, he says, is a contagious malady.” + </p> + <p> + “And I believe it—I firmly believe it,” declared Lady + Ranscomb. “Your poor father pointed it out to me long ago, and I + find that what he said is too true.” + </p> + <p> + “But we can’t all be lucky, mother,” said the girl, + watching the revelry before her blankly as she reflected upon the mystery + of Hugh’s absence. + </p> + <p> + “No. But we can, nevertheless, be rich, if we look always to the + main chance and make the best of our opportunities,” her mother said + meaningly. + </p> + <p> + At that moment the Count d’Autun approached them. He was dressed as + a pierrot, but being masked was only recognizable by the fine ruby ring + upon his finger. + </p> + <p> + “Will mademoiselle do me the honour?” he said in French, + bowing elegantly. “They are dancing in the theatre. Will you come, + Mademoiselle Dorise?” + </p> + <p> + “Delighted,” she said, with an inward sigh, for the dressed-up + Parisian always bored her. She rose quickly, and promising her mother to + be back soon, she linked her arm to that of the notorious gambler and + passed through the great palm-court into the theatre. + </p> + <p> + Then, a few moments later, she found herself carried around amid the mad + crowd of revellers, who laughed merrily as the coloured serpentines thrown + from the boxes fell upon them. + </p> + <p> + To lift one’s <i>loup</i> was a breach of etiquette. Everyone was + closely masked. British members of Parliament, French senators, Italian + members of the Camera, Spanish grandees and Russian princes, all with + their womenfolk, hob-nobbed with cocottes, <i>escrocs</i>, and the most + notorious adventurers and adventuresses in all Europe. Truly, it was a + never-to-be-forgotten scene of cosmopolitan fun. + </p> + <p> + The Count, who was a bad dancer, collided with a slim, well-dressed French + girl, but did not apologize. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! la la!” cried the girl to her partner, a stout figure in + Mephistophelian garb. “An exquisitely polite gentleman that, mon + cher Alphonse! I believe he must really be the Pork King from Chicago—eh?” + </p> + <p> + The Count heard it, and was furious. Dorise, however, said nothing. She + was thinking of Hugh’s strange disappearance, and how he had broken + his word to her. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Lady Ranscomb, secretly very glad that Hugh had been prevented + from accompanying them, and centring all her hopes upon her daughter’s + marriage with George Sherrard, sat chattering with a Mrs. Down, the fat + wife of a war-profiteer, whose acquaintance she had made in Paris six + months before. + </p> + <p> + Dorise made pretense of enjoying the dance though eager to get back again + to Monte Carlo in order to learn the reason of her lover’s absence. + She was devoted to Hugh. He was all in all to her. + </p> + <p> + She danced with several partners, having first made a rendezvous with her + mother at midnight at a certain spot under one of the great palms in the + promenade. At masked balls the chaperon is useless, and everyone, being + masked, looks so much alike that mistakes are easy. + </p> + <p> + About half-past one o’clock a big motor-car drew up in the Place + before the Casino, and a tall man in a white fancy dress of a cavalier, + with wide-brimmed hat and staggering plume, stepped from it and, + presenting his ticket, passed at once into the crowded ball-room. For a + full ten minutes he stood watching the crowd of revellers intently, eyeing + each of them keenly, though the expression on his countenance was hidden + by the strip of black velvet. + </p> + <p> + His eyes, shining through the slits in the mask, were, however, dark and + brilliant. In them could be seen alertness and eagerness, for it was + apparent that he had come there hot-foot in search of someone. In any case + he had a difficult task, for in the whirling, laughing, chattering crowd + each person resembled the other save for their feet and their stature. + </p> + <p> + It was the feet of the dancers that the tall masked man was watching. He + stood in the crowd near the doorway with his hand upon his sword-hilt, a + striking figure remarked by many. His large eyes were fixed upon the shoes + of the dancers, until, of a sudden, he seemed to discover that for which + he was in search, and made his way quickly after a pair who, having + finished a dance, were walking in the direction of the great hall. + </p> + <p> + The stranger never took his eyes off the pair. The man was slightly taller + than the woman, and the latter wore upon her white kid shoes a pair of old + paste buckles. It was for those buckles that he had been searching. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he muttered in English beneath his breath. “That’s + she—without a doubt!” + </p> + <p> + He drew back to near where the pair had halted and were laughing together. + The girl with the glittering buckles upon her shoes was Dorise Ranscomb. + The man with her was the Count d’Autun. + </p> + <p> + The white cavalier pretended to take no interest in them, but was, + nevertheless, watching intently. At last he saw the girl’s partner + bow, and leaving her, he crossed to greet a stout Frenchwoman in a plain + domino. In a moment the cavalier was at the girl’s side. + </p> + <p> + “Please do not betray surprise, Miss Ranscomb,” he said in a + low, refined voice. “We may be watched. But I have a message for + you.” + </p> + <p> + “For me?” she asked, peering through her mask at the man in + the plumed hat. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But I cannot speak to you here. It is too public. Besides, + your mother yonder may notice us.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” asked the girl, naturally curious. + </p> + <p> + “Do not let us talk here. See, right over yonder in the corner + behind where they are dancing in a ring—under the balcony. Let us + meet there at once. <i>Au revoir</i>.” + </p> + <p> + And he left her. + </p> + <p> + Three minutes later they met again out of sight of Lady Ranscomb, who was + still sitting at one of the little wicker tables talking to three other + women. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, who are you?” Dorise inquired. + </p> + <p> + The white cavalier laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I’m Mr. X,” was his reply. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. X? Who’s that?” + </p> + <p> + “Myself. But my name matters nothing, Miss Ranscomb,” he said. + “I have come here to give you a confidential message.” + </p> + <p> + “Why confidential—and from whom?” she asked, standing + against the wall and surveying the mysterious masker. + </p> + <p> + “From a gentleman friend of yours—Mr. Henfrey.” + </p> + <p> + “From Hugh?” she gasped. “Do you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I expected him to come with us to-night, but he has vanished from + his hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. That is why I am here,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + There was a note in the stranger’s voice which struck her as somehow + familiar, but she failed to recognize the individual. She was as quick at + remembering voices as she was at recollecting faces. Who could he be, she + wondered? + </p> + <p> + “You said you had a message for me,” she remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied. “I am here to tell you that a serious + contretemps has occurred, and that Mr. Henfrey has escaped from France.” + </p> + <p> + “Escaped!” she echoed. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the police suspect him of a crime.” + </p> + <p> + “Crime! What crime? Surely he is innocent?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “He certainly is. His friends know that. Therefore, Miss Ranscomb, I + beg of you to betray no undue anxiety even if you do not hear from him for + many weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “But will he write to me?” she asked in despair. “Surely + he will not keep me in suspense?” + </p> + <p> + “He will not if he can avoid it. But as soon as the French police + realize that he has got away a watch will be kept upon his correspondence.” + Then, lowering his voice, he urged her to move away, as he thought that an + idling masker was trying to overhear their conversation. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he went on a few moments later, “it might be + dangerous if he were to write to you.” + </p> + <p> + Dorise was thinking of what her mother would say when the truth reached + her ears. Hugh was a <i>fugitive</i>! + </p> + <p> + “Of what crime is he suspected?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I—well, I don’t exactly know,” was the stranger’s + faltering response. “I was told by a friend of his that it was a + serious one, and that he might find it extremely difficult to prove + himself innocent. The circumstantial evidence against him is very strong.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where he is now?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least. All I know is that he is safely across the + frontier into Italy,” was the reply of the tall white cavalier. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could see your face,” declared Dorise frankly. + </p> + <p> + “And I might express a similar desire, Miss Ranscomb. But for the + present it is best as it is. I have sought you here to tell you the truth + in secret, and to urge you to remain calm and patient.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that a message from Hugh?” + </p> + <p> + “No—not exactly. It is a message from one who is his friend.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very mysterious,” she declared. “If you do not + know where he is at the moment, perhaps you know where we can find him + later.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He is making his way to Brussels. A letter addressed to Mr. + Godfrey Brown, Poste Restante, Brussels, will eventually find him. + Recollect the name,” he added. “Disguise your handwriting on + the envelope, and when you post it see that you are not observed. + Recollect that his safety lies in your hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Trust me,” she said. “But do let me know your name,” + she implored. + </p> + <p> + “Any old name is good enough for me,” he replied. “Call + me Mr. X.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t mystify me further, please.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, call me Smith, Jones, Robinson—whatever you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you refuse to satisfy my curiosity—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I regret that I am compelled to do so—for certain reasons.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you a detective?” Dorise suddenly inquired. + </p> + <p> + The stranger laughed. + </p> + <p> + “If I were a police officer I should scarcely act as an intermediary + between Mr. Henfrey and yourself, Miss Ranscomb.” + </p> + <p> + “But you say he is innocent. Are you certain of that? May I set my + mind at rest that he never committed this crime of which the police + suspect him?” she asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I repeat that he is entirely innocent,” was the earnest + response. “But I would advise you to affect ignorance. The police + may question you. If they do, you know nothing, remember—absolutely + nothing. If you write to Mr. Henfrey, take every precaution that nobody + sees you post the letter. Give him a secret address in London, or anywhere + in England, so that he can write to you there.” + </p> + <p> + “But how long will it be before I can see him again?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! That I cannot tell. There is a mystery underlying it all that + even I cannot fathom, Miss Ranscomb.” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of mystery?” + </p> + <p> + The white cavalier shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “You must ask Mr. Henfrey. Or perhaps his friend Brock knows. Yet if + he does, I do not suppose he would disclose anything his friend may have + told him in confidence.” + </p> + <p> + “I am bewildered!” the girl declared. “It is all so very + mysterious—Hugh a fugitive from justice! I—I really cannot + believe it! What can the mystery be?” + </p> + <p> + “Of that I have no means of ascertaining, Miss Ranscomb. I am here + merely to tell you what has happened and to give you in secret the name + and address to which to send a letter to him,” the masked man said + very politely. “And now I think we must part. Perhaps if ever we + meet again—which is scarcely probable—you will recognize my + voice. And always recollect that should you or Mr. Henfrey ever receive a + message from ‘Silverado’ it will be from myself.” And he + spelt the name. + </p> + <p> + “Silverado. Yes, I shall not forget you, my mysterious friend.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Au revoir</i>!” he said as, bowing gracefully, he turned + and left her. + </p> + <p> + The sun was rising from the sea when Dorise entered her bedroom at the + hotel. Her maid had retired, so she undressed herself, and putting on a + dressing-gown, she pulled up the blinds and sat down to write a letter to + Hugh. + </p> + <p> + She could not sleep before she had sent him a reassuring message. + </p> + <p> + In the frenzy of her despair she wrote one letter and addressed it, but + having done so she changed her mind. It was not sufficiently reassuring, + she decided. It contained an element of doubt. Therefore she tore it up + and wrote a second one which she locked safely in her jewel case, and then + pulled the blinds and retired. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly noon next day before she left her room, yet almost as soon + as she had descended in the lift the head <i>femme de chambre</i>, a stout + Frenchwoman in a frilled cap, entered the room, and walking straight to + the waste-paper basket gathered up the contents into her apron and went + back along the corridor with an expression of satisfaction upon her full + round face. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NINTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + CONCERNS THE SPARROW + </h3> + <p> + With the rosy dawn rising behind them the big dusty car tore along over + the white road which led through Pegli and Cornigliano, with their wealth + of olives and palms, into the industrial suburbs of old-world Genoa. Then, + passing around by the port, the driver turned the car up past Palazzo + Doria and along that street of fifteenth-century palaces, the Via + Garibaldi, into the little piazza in front of the Annunziata Church. + </p> + <p> + There he pulled up after a run of two hours from the last of the many + railway crossings, most of which they had found closed. + </p> + <p> + When Hugh got out, the mysterious man, whose face was more forbidding in + the light of day, exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Here I must leave you very shortly, signore. But first I have + certain instructions to give you, namely, that you remain for the present + in a house in the Via della Maddalena to which I shall take you. The man + and the woman there you can trust. It will be as well not to walk about in + the daytime. Remain here for a fortnight, and then by the best means, + without, of course, re-entering France, you must get to Brussels. There + you will receive letters at the Poste Restante in the name of Godfrey + Brown. That, indeed, is the name you will use here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, all this is very strange!” remarked Hugh, utterly + bewildered as he glanced at the forbidding-looking chauffeur and the + dust-covered car. + </p> + <p> + “I agree, signore,” the man laughed. “But get in again + and I will drive to the Via della Maddalena.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later the car pulled up at the end of a narrow stuffy ancient + street of high houses with closed wooden shutters. From house to house + across the road household linen was flying in the wind, for the + neighbourhood was certainly a poverty-stricken one. + </p> + <p> + The place did not appeal to Hugh in the least. He, however, recollected + that he was about to hide from the police. Italians are early risers, and + though it was only just after dawn, Genoa was already agog with life and + movement. + </p> + <p> + Leaving the car, the mysterious chauffeur conduced the young Englishman + along the street, where women were calling to each other from the windows + of their apartments and exchanging salutations, until they came to an + entrance over which there was an old blue majolica Madonna. The house had + no outer door, but at the end of the passage was a flight of stone steps + leading up to the five storeys above. + </p> + <p> + At the third flight Hugh’s conductor paused, and finding a piece of + cord protruding from a hole in a door, pulled it. A slight tinkle was + heard within, and a few moments later the sound of wooden shoes was heard + upon the tiles inside. + </p> + <p> + The door opened, revealing an ugly old woman whose face was sallow and + wrinkled, and who wore a red kerchief tied over her white hair. + </p> + <p> + As soon as she saw the chauffeur she welcomed him, addressing him as + Paolo, and invited them in. + </p> + <p> + “This is the English signore,” explained the man. “He + has come to stay with you.” + </p> + <p> + “The signore is welcome,” replied the old woman as she + clattered into the narrow, cheaply furnished little sitting-room, which + was in half darkness owing to the <i>persiennes</i> being closed. + </p> + <p> + Truly, it was an uninviting place, which smelt of garlic and of the + paraffin oil with which the tiled floors had been rubbed. + </p> + <p> + “You will require another certificate of identity, signore,” + said the man, who admitted that he had been engaged in smuggling + contraband across the Alps. And delving into his pocket he produced an + American passport. It was blank, though the embossed stamp of the United + States Government was upon it. The places were ready for the photograph + and signature. With it the man handed him a large metal disc, saying: + </p> + <p> + “When you have your picture taken and affixed to it, all you have to + do is to damp the paper slightly and impress this stamp. It will then defy + detection.” + </p> + <p> + “Where on earth did you get this from?” asked Hugh, noticing + that it was a replica of the United States consular seal. + </p> + <p> + The man smiled, replying: + </p> + <p> + “They make passports of all countries in Spain. You pay for them, + and you can get them by the dozen. The embossing stamps are extra. There + is a big trade in them now owing to the passport restrictions. Besides, in + every country there are passport officers who are amenable to a little + baksheesh!” And he grinned. + </p> + <p> + What he said was true. At no period has it ever been more easy for a + criminal to escape than it is to-day, providing, of course, that he is a + cosmopolitan and has money. + </p> + <p> + Hugh took the passport and the disc, adding: + </p> + <p> + “How am I to repay you for all this?” + </p> + <p> + “I want no payment, signore. All I ask you is to conform to the + suggestions of the worthy Signore Ravecca and his good wife here. You are + not the first guest they have had for whom the police searched in vain.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” laughed the old woman. “Do you recollect the + syndic of Porticello, how we had him here for nearly three years, and then + he got safely away to Argentina and took the money, three million lire, + with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” was the man’s reply. “I recollect it, + signora. But the Signore Inglese must be very careful—very careful. + He must never go out in the daytime. You can buy him English papers and + books of Luccoli, in the Via Bosco. They will serve to while away the + time.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall, no doubt, pass the time very pleasantly,” laughed + Hugh, speaking in French. + </p> + <p> + Then the old crone left them and returned with two cups of excellent <i>cafe + nero</i>, that coffee which, roasted at home one can get only in Italy. + </p> + <p> + It was indeed refreshing after that long night drive. + </p> + <p> + Hugh stood there without luggage, and with only about thirty pounds in his + pocket. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the man who had driven him looked him curiously in the face, and + said: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I know you are wondering what your lady friend in Monte Carlo + will think. Well, I can tell you this. She already knows that you have + escaped, and she had been told to write to you in secret at the Poste + Restante at Brussels.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh started. + </p> + <p> + “Who has told her? Surely she knows nothing of the affair at the + Villa Amette?” + </p> + <p> + “She will not be told that. But she has been told that you are going + to Brussels, and that in future your name is Monsieur Godfrey Brown.” + </p> + <p> + “But why have all these elaborate arrangements been made for my + security?” Hugh demanded, more than ever nonplussed. + </p> + <p> + “It is useless to take one precaution unless the whole are taken,” + laughed the sphinx-like fellow whose cheerful banter had so successfully + passed them through the customs barrier. + </p> + <p> + Then, swallowing his coffee, he wished Hugh, “buon viaggio” + and was about to depart, when Hugh said: + </p> + <p> + “Look here. Is it quite impossible for you to give me any inkling + concerning this astounding affair? I know that some unknown friend, or + friends, are looking after my welfare. But why? To whom am I indebted for + all this? Who has warned Miss Ranscomb and told her of my alias and my + journey to Brussels?” + </p> + <p> + “A friend of hers and of yourself,” was the chauffeur’s + reply. “No, please do not question me, signore,” he added. + “I have done my best for you. And now my journey is at an end, while + yours is only beginning. Pardon me—but you have money with you, I + suppose? If you have not, these good people here will trust you.” + </p> + <p> + “But what is this house?” + </p> + <p> + The man laughed. Then he said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, really it is a bolt-hole used by those who wish to evade our + very astute police. If one conforms to the rules of Signora Ravecca and + her husband, then one is quite safe and most comfortable.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh realized that he was in a hiding-place used by thieves. A little + later he knew that the ugly old woman’s husband paid toll to a + certain <i>delegato</i> of police, hence their house was never searched. + While the criminal was in those shabby rooms he was immune from arrest. + The place was, indeed, one of many hundreds scattered over Europe, asylums + known to the international thief as places ever open so long as they can + pay for their board and lodging and their contribution towards the police + bribes. + </p> + <p> + A few moments later the ugly, uncouth man who had brought him from Monte + Carlo lit a cigarette, and wishing the old woman a merry “addio” + left and descended the stairs. + </p> + <p> + The signora then showed Hugh to his room, a small, dispiriting and not + overclean little chamber which looked out upon the backs of the adjoining + houses, all of which were high and inartistic. Above, however, was a + narrow strip of brilliantly blue sunlit sky. + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour later he made the acquaintance of the woman’s + husband, a brown-faced, sinister-looking individual whose black bushy + eyebrows met, and who greeted the young Englishman familiarly in atrocious + French, offering him a glass of red wine from a big rush-covered flask. + </p> + <p> + “We only had word of your coming late last night,” the man + said. “You had already started from Monte Carlo, and we wondered if + you would get past the frontier all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Hugh, sipping the wine out of courtesy. “We + got out of France quite safely. But tell me, who made all these + arrangements for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Il Passero, of course,” replied the man, whose wife + addressed him affectionately as Beppo. + </p> + <p> + “Who is Il Passero, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know him surely. Il Passero, or The Sparrow. We call him + so because he is always flitting about Europe, and always elusive.” + </p> + <p> + “The police want him, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “I should rather think they do. They have been searching for him for + these past five years, but he always dodges them, first in France, then + here, then in Spain, and then in England.” + </p> + <p> + “But what is this mysterious and unknown friend of mine?” + </p> + <p> + “Il Passero is the chief of the most daring of all the gangs of + international thieves. We all work at his direction.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did he know of my danger?” asked Hugh, mystified and + dismayed. + </p> + <p> + “Il Passero knows many strange things,” he replied with a + grin. “It is his business to know them. And besides, he has some + friends in the police—persons who never suspect him.” + </p> + <p> + “What nationality is he?” + </p> + <p> + The man Beppo shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “He is not Italian,” he replied. “Yet he speaks the <i>lingua + Toscano</i> perfectly and French and English and <i>Tedesco</i>. He might + be Belgian or German, or even English. Nobody knows his true nationality.” + </p> + <p> + “And the man who brought me here?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that was Paolo, Il Passero’s chauffeur—a merry + fellow—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Remarkable,” laughed Hugh. “But I cannot see why The + Sparrow has taken such a paternal interest in me,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “He no doubt has, for he has, apparently, arranged for your safe + return to England.” + </p> + <p> + “You know him, of course. What manner of man is he?” + </p> + <p> + “A signore—a great signore,” replied Beppo. “He is + rich, and is often on the Riviera in winter. He’s probably there + now. Nobody suspects him. He is often in England, too. I believe he has a + house in London. During the war he worked for the French Secret Service + under the name of Monsieur Franqueville, and the French Government never + suspected that they actually had in their employ the famous Passero for + whom the Surete were looking everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no idea where he lives in London?” + </p> + <p> + “I was once told that he had a big house somewhere in what you call + the West End—somewhere near Piccadilly. I have, however, only seen + him once. About eighteen months ago he was hard pressed by the police and + took refuge here for two nights, till Paolo called for him in his fine car + and he passed out of Italy as a Swiss hotel-proprietor.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he is head of a gang—is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” was the man’s reply. “He is marvellous, and + has indeed well earned his sobriquet ‘Il Passero.’” + </p> + <p> + A sudden thought flitted through Hugh’s mind. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he is a friend of Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, signore, I do not know. Il Passero had many friends. He is + rich, prosperous, well-dressed, and has influential friends in France, in + Italy and in England who never suspect him to be the notorious king of the + thieves.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, tell me,” urged young Henfrey. “What do you know + concerning Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo?” + </p> + <p> + The Italian looked at him strangely. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” he replied, still speaking bad French. + </p> + <p> + “You are not speaking the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I tell it to you? I do not know you!” was the + quick retort. + </p> + <p> + “But you are harbouring me.” + </p> + <p> + “At the orders of Il Passero.” + </p> + <p> + “You surely can tell me what you know of Mademoiselle,” Hugh + persisted after a brief pause. “We are mutually her friends. The + attempt to kill her is outrageous, and I, for one, intend to do all I can + to trace and punish the culprit.” + </p> + <p> + “They say that you shot her.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—you know that I did not,” Henfrey said. “Have + you yourself ever met Mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “I have seen her. She was living for a time at Santa Margherita last + year. I had a friend of hers living here with me and I went to her with a + message. She is a very charming lady.” + </p> + <p> + “And a friend of Il Passero?” + </p> + <p> + The Italian shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of ignorance. + </p> + <p> + Hugh Henfrey had certainly learned much that was curious. He had never + before heard of the interesting cosmopolitan thief known as The Sparrow, + but it seemed evident that the person in question had suddenly become + interested in him for some obscure and quite unaccountable reason. + </p> + <p> + As day followed day in that humble place of concealment, Beppo told him + many things concerning the famous criminal Il Passero, describing his + exploits in terms of admiration. Hugh learnt that it was The Sparrow who + had planned the great jewel robbery at Binet’s, in the Rue de la + Paix, when some famous diamonds belonging to the Shah of Persia, which had + been sent to Paris to be reset, were stolen. It was The Sparrow, too, who + had planned the burglary at the art gallery of Evans and Davies in Bond + Street and stolen Raphael’s famous Madonna. + </p> + <p> + During the daytime Hugh, anxious to get away to Brussels, but compelled to + obey the order of the mysterious Passero, spent the time in smoking and + reading books and newspapers with which Beppo’s wife provided him, + while at night he would take long walks through the silent city, with its + gloomy old palaces, the courtyards of which echoed to his footsteps. At + such times he was alone with his thoughts and would walk around the port + and out upon the hills which surrounded the bay, and then sit down and + gaze out to the twinkling lights across the sea and watch the long beams + of the great lighthouse searching in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + His host and hostess were undoubtedly criminals. Indeed, they did not hide + the fact. Both were paid by The Sparrow to conceal and provide for anyone + whom he sent there. + </p> + <p> + He had been there four weary, anxious days when one evening a pretty, + well-dressed young French girl called, and after a short chat with Beppo’s + wife became installed there as his fellow-guest. He did not know her name + and she did not tell him. + </p> + <p> + She was known to them as Lisette, and Hugh found her a most vivacious and + interesting companion. Truly, he had been thrown into very queer company, + and he often wondered what his friends would say if they knew that he was + guest in a hiding-place of thieves. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TENTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + A LESSON IN ARGOT + </h3> + <p> + Late one evening the dainty girl thief, Lisette, went out for a stroll + with Hugh, but in the Via Roma they met an agent of police. + </p> + <p> + “Look!” whispered the girl in French, “there’s a + <i>pince sans rire</i>! Be careful!” + </p> + <p> + She constantly used the argot of French thieves, which was often difficult + for the young Englishman to understand. And the dark-haired girl would + laugh, apologize, and explain the meaning of her strange expressions. + </p> + <p> + Outside the city they were soon upon the high road which wound up the deep + green valley of the Bisagno away into the mountains, ever ascending to the + little hill-town of Molassana. The scene was delightful in the moonlight + as they climbed the steep hill and then descended again into the valley, + Lisette all the time gossiping on in a manner which interested and amused + him. + </p> + <p> + Her arrival had put an end to his boredom, and, though he was longing to + get away from his surroundings, she certainly cheered him up. + </p> + <p> + They had walked for nearly an hour, when, declaring she felt tired, they + sat upon a rock to rest and eat the sandwiches with which they had + provided themselves. + </p> + <p> + Two carabineers in cloaks and cocked hats who met them on the road put + them down as lovers keeping a clandestine tryst. They never dreamed that + for both of them the police were in search. + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me something concerning yourself, mademoiselle,” + Hugh urged presently. + </p> + <p> + “Myself! Oh! la la!” she laughed. “What is there to + tell? I am just of <i>la haute pegre—a truqueuse</i>. Ah! you will + not know the expression. Well—I am a thief in high society. I give + indications where we can make a coup, and afterwards <i>bruler le pegriot</i>—efface + the trace of the affair.” + </p> + <p> + “And why are you here?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Malheureusement</i>! I was in Orleans and a <i>friquet</i> + nearly captured me. So Il Passero sent me here for a while.” + </p> + <p> + “You help Il Passero—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Very often. Ah! m’sieur, he is a most wonderful man—English, + I think. <i>Girofle</i> (genteel and amiable), like yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, mademoiselle,” Hugh protested, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “But I mean it. Il Passero is a real gentleman—but—<i>maquiller + son truc</i>, and he is marvellous. When he exercises his wonderful talent + and forms a plan it is always flawless.” + </p> + <p> + “Everyone seems to hold him in high esteem. I have never met him,” + Hugh remarked. + </p> + <p> + “He was in Genoa on the day that I arrived. Curious that he did not + call and see Beppo. I lunched with him at the Concordia, and he paid me + five thousand francs, which he owed me. He has gone to London now with his + <i>ecrache-tarte</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “His false passport. He has always a good supply of them for anyone + in need of one. They are printed secretly in Spain. But m’sieur,” + she added, “you are not of our world. You are in just a little + temporary trouble. Over what?” + </p> + <p> + In reply he was perfectly frank with her. He told her of the suspicion + against him because of the affair of the Villa Amette. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she replied, her manner changing, “I have heard + that Mademoiselle was shot, but I had no idea that you had any connexion + with that ugly business.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Unfortunately I have. Do you happen to know Yvonne Ferad?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Everyone knows her. She is very charming. Nobody knows + the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “What truth?” inquired Hugh quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Well—that she is a <i>marque de ce</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “A <i>marque de ce</i>—what is that?” asked Hugh + eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! <i>non</i>, m’sieur. I must not tell you anything against + her. You are her friend.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am endeavouring to find out something about her. To me she is + a mystery.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt. She is to everybody.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you mean by that expression?” he demanded. “Do + tell me. I am very anxious to know your opinion of her, and something + about her. I have a very earnest motive in trying to discover who and what + she really is.” + </p> + <p> + “If I told you I should offend Il Passero,” replied the girl + simply. “It is evident that he wishes you should remain in + ignorance.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely, you can tell me in confidence? I will divulge nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered the girl, whose face he could not see in the + shadow. “I am sorry, M’sieur Brown”—she had not + been told his Christian name—“but I am not permitted to tell + you anything concerning Mademoiselle Yvonne.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a very remarkable person—eh?” said Henfrey, + again defeated. + </p> + <p> + “Remarkable! Oh, yes. She is of the <i>grande monde</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that still your argot?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no. Mademoiselle Yvonne is a lady. Some say she is the daughter + of a rich Englishman. Others say she is just a common adventuress.” + </p> + <p> + “The latter is true, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not. She has <i>le clou</i> for the <i>eponge d’or</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not follow that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she laughed, “she has the attraction for those + who hold the golden sponge—the Ministers of State. Our argot is + difficult for you, m’sieur—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I see! Your expressions are a kind of cipher, unintelligible to the + ordinary person—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “That is so. If I exclaim, <i>par exemple, tarte</i>, it means + false; if I say <i>gilet de flanelle</i>, it is lemonade; if I say <i>frise</i>, + it means a Jew; or <i>casserole</i>, which is in our own tongue a police + officer. So you see it is a little difficult—is it not? To us <i>tire-jus</i> + is a handkerchief, and we call the ville de Paris <i>Pantruche</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh sat in wonder. It was certainly a strange experience to be on a + moonlight ramble with a girl thief who had, according to her own + confession, been born in Paris the daughter of a man who was still one of + Il Passero’s clever and desperate band. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, m’sieur,” she said a few moments later. “They + are all dangerous. They do not fear to use the knife or automatic pistol + when cornered. For myself, I simply move about Europe and make discoveries + as to where little affairs can be negotiated. I tell Il Passero, and he + then works out the plans. <i>Dieu</i>! But I had a narrow escape the other + day in Orleans!” + </p> + <p> + “Do tell me about Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo. I beg of you to tell + me something, Mademoiselle Lisette,” Hugh urged, turning to the girl + of many adventures who was seated at his side upon the big rock + overlooking the ravine down which the bright moon was shining. + </p> + <p> + “I would if I were permitted,” she replied. “Mademoiselle + Yvonne is charming. You know her, so I need say nothing, but——” + </p> + <p> + “Well—what?” + </p> + <p> + “She is clever—very clever,” said the girl. “As Il + Passero is clever, so is she.” + </p> + <p> + “Then she is actively associated with him—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She is cognizant of all his movements, and of all his plans. + While she moves in one sphere—often in a lower sphere, like myself—yet + in society she moves in the higher sphere, and she ‘indicates,’ + just as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “So she is one of The Sparrow’s associates?” Hugh said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” was the reply. “From what you have told me I + gather that Il Passero knew by one of his many secret sources of + information that you were in danger of arrest, and sent Paolo to rescue + you—which he did.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt that is so. But why should he take all this interest in + me? I don’t know and have never even met him.” + </p> + <p> + “Il Passero is always courteous. He assists the weak against the + strong. He is like your English bandit Claude Duval of the old days. He + always robs with exquisite courtesy, and impresses the same trait upon all + who are in his service. And I may add that all are well paid and all + devoted to their great master.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard that he has a house in London,” Hugh said. + “Do you know where it is situated?” + </p> + <p> + “Somewhere near Piccadilly. But I do not know exactly where it is. + He is always vague regarding his address. His letters he receives in + several names at a newspaper shop in Hammersmith and at the Poste Restante + at Charing Cross.” + </p> + <p> + “What names?” asked Hugh, highly interested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! a number. They are always being changed,” the French girl + replied. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you write when you want to communicate with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Generally to the Poste Restante in the Avenue de l’Opera, in + Paris. Letters received there are collected for him and forwarded every + day.” + </p> + <p> + “And so clever is he that nobody suspects him—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, m’sieur. His policy is always ‘<i>Rengraciez</i>!’ + and he cares not a single <i>rotin</i> for <i>La Reniffe</i>,” she + replied, dropping again into the slang of French thieves. + </p> + <p> + “Of course he is on friendly terms with Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo?” + Hugh remarked. “He may have been at Monte Carlo on the night of the + tragic affair.” + </p> + <p> + “He may have been. He was, no doubt, somewhere on the Riviera, and + he sent Paolo in one of the cars to rescue you from the police.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, he at least knows that I am innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And he probably knows the guilty person. That would account + for the interest he takes in you, though you do not know him,” said + Lisette. “I have known Il Passero perform many kindly acts to + persons in distress who have never dreamed that they have received money + from a notorious international thief.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, in my case he has, no doubt, done me signal service,” + young Henfrey replied. “But,” he added, “why cannot you + tell me something more concerning Mademoiselle? What did you mean by + saying that she was a <i>marque de ce</i>? I know it is your slang, but + won’t you explain what it means? You have explained most of your + other expressions.” + </p> + <p> + But the girl thief was obdurate. She was certainly a <i>chic</i> and + engaging little person, apparently well educated and refined, but she was + as sly as her notorious employer, whom she served so faithfully. She was, + she had already told Hugh, the daughter of a man who had made jewel thefts + his speciality and after many convictions was now serving ten years at the + convict prison at Toulon. She had been bred in the Montmartre, and trained + and educated to a criminal life. Il Passero had found her, and, after + several times successfully “indicating” where coups could be + made, she had been taken into his employment as a decoy, frequently + travelling on the international <i>wagon-lits</i> and restaurants, where + she succeeded in attracting the attention of men and holding them in + conversation with a mild flirtation while other members of the gang + investigated the contents of their valises. From one well-known diamond + dealer travelling between Paris and Amsterdam, she and the man working + with her had stolen a packet containing diamonds of the value of two + hundred thousand francs, while from an English business man travelling + from Boulogne to Paris, two days later, she had herself taken a wallet + containing nearly four thousand pounds in English bank-notes. It was her + share of the recent robbery that Il Passero had paid her three days before + at the Concordia Restaurant in the Via Garibaldi, in Genoa. + </p> + <p> + Hugh pressed her many times to tell him something concerning the + mysterious Mademoiselle, but he failed to elicit any further information + of interest. + </p> + <p> + “Her fortune at the Rooms is wonderful, they say,” Lisette + said. “She must be very rich.” + </p> + <p> + “But she is one of Il Passero’s assistants—eh?” + </p> + <p> + The girl laughed lightly. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” was her enigmatical reply. “Who knows? It is, + however, evident that Il Passero is seriously concerned at the tragic + affair at the Villa Amette.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever been there?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated a few moments, then said: “Yes, once.” + </p> + <p> + “And you know the old Italian servant Cataldi?” + </p> + <p> + She replied in the affirmative. Then she added: + </p> + <p> + “I know him, but I do not like him. She trusts him, but——” + </p> + <p> + “But what?” + </p> + <p> + “I would not. I should be afraid, for to my knowledge he is a <i>saigneur + a musique</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that?” + </p> + <p> + “An assassin.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” cried Henfrey. “Is he guilty of murder—and + Mademoiselle knows it?” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle may not know about it. She is probably in ignorance, + or she would not employ him.” + </p> + <p> + Her remark was of considerable interest, inasmuch as old Cataldi had + seemed to be most devoted to his mistress, and entirely trusted by her. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know the circumstances?” asked Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But it is not our habit to speak of another’s—well, + shortcomings,” was her reply. + </p> + <p> + “Surely, Mademoiselle should have been told the truth! Does not Il + Passero know?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + There flitted across his mind at that moment the recollection of Dorise. + What could she think of his disappearance? He longed to write to her, but + The Sparrow’s chauffeur had impressed upon him the serious danger he + would be running if he wrote to her while she was at Monte Carlo. + </p> + <p> + “I question whether he does know. But if he does he would say + nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” sighed Hugh. “Yours is indeed a queer world, + mademoiselle. And not without interest.” + </p> + <p> + “It is full of adventure and excitement, of ups and downs, of + constant travel and change, and of eternal apprehension of arrest,” + replied the girl, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would tell me something about Yvonne Ferad,” he + repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Alas! m’sieur, I am not permitted,” was her obdurate + reply. “I am truly sorry to hear of the dastardly attack upon her. + She once did me a very kind and friendly action at a moment when I was in + sore need of a friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Who could have fired the shot, do you think?” Henfrey asked. + “You know her friends. Perhaps you know her enemies?” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Lisette was silent for some moments. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied reflectively. “She has enemies, I + know. But who has not?” + </p> + <p> + “Is there any person who, to your knowledge, would have any motive + to kill her?” + </p> + <p> + Again she was silent. + </p> + <p> + “There are several people who hate her. One of them might have done + it out of revenge. You say you saw nobody?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you go and see her at that hour?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Because I wanted her to tell me something—something of + greatest importance to me.” + </p> + <p> + “And she refused, of course? She keeps her own secrets.” + </p> + <p> + “No. On the other hand, she was about to disclose to me the + information I sought when someone fired through the open window.” + </p> + <p> + “The shot might have been intended for you—eh?” + </p> + <p> + Hugh paused. + </p> + <p> + “It certainly might,” he admitted. “But with what + motive?” + </p> + <p> + “To prevent you from learning the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “She was on the point of telling me what I wanted to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. And what more likely than someone outside, realizing that + Mademoiselle was about to make a disclosure, fired at you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you said that Mademoiselle had enemies.” + </p> + <p> + “So she has. But I think my theory is the correct one,” + replied the girl. “What was it that you asked her to reveal to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he replied, after a brief hesitation, “my father + died mysteriously in London some time ago, and I have reason to believe + that she knows the truth concerning the sad affair.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did it happen?” + </p> + <p> + “My father was found in the early morning lying in a doorway in + Albemarle Street, close to Piccadilly. The only wound found was a slight + scratch in the palm of the hand. The police constable at first thought he + was intoxicated, but the doctor, on being called, declared that my father + was suffering from poison. He was at once taken to St. George’s + Hospital, but an hour later he died without recovering consciousness.” + </p> + <p> + “And what was your father’s name?” asked Lisette in a + strangely altered voice. + </p> + <p> + “Henfrey.” + </p> + <p> + “Henfrey!” gasped the girl, starting up at mention of the + name. “<i>Henfrey</i>! And—and are—you—<i>his son</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Hugh. “Why? You know about the affair, + mademoiselle! Tell me all you know,” he cried. “I—the + son of the dead man—have a right to demand the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Henfrey!” repeated the girl hoarsely in a state of intense + agitation. “Monsieur Henfrey! And—and to think that I am here—with + you—<i>his son</i>! Ah! forgive me!” she gasped. “I—I——Let + us return.” + </p> + <p> + “But you shall tell me the truth!” cried Hugh excitedly. + “You know it! You cannot deny that you know it!” + </p> + <p> + All, however, he could get from her were the words: + </p> + <p> + “You—Monsieur Henfrey’s son! <i>Surely Il Passero does + not know this</i>!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ELEVENTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + MORE ABOUT THE SPARROW + </h3> + <p> + A month of weary anxiety and nervous tension had gone by. + </p> + <p> + Yvonne Ferad had slowly struggled back to health, but the injury to the + brain had, alas! seriously upset the balance of her mind. Three of the + greatest French specialists upon mental diseases had seen her and + expressed little hope of her ever regaining her reason. + </p> + <p> + It was a sad affair which the police of Monaco had, by dint of much + bribery and the telling of many untruths, successfully kept out of the + newspapers. + </p> + <p> + The evening after Hugh’s disappearance, Monsieur Ogier had called + upon Dorise Ranscomb—her mother happily being away at the Rooms at + the time. In one of the sitting-rooms of the hotel the official of police + closely questioned the girl, but she, of course made pretense of complete + ignorance. Naturally Ogier was annoyed at being unable to obtain the + slightest information, and after being very rude, he told the girl the + charge against her lover and then left the hotel in undisguised anger. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ranscomb was very much mystified at Hugh’s disappearance, + though secretly she was very glad. She questioned Brock, but he, on his + part, expressed himself very much puzzled. A week later, however, Walter + returned to London, and on the following night Lady Ranscomb and her + daughter took the train-de-luxe for Boulogne, and duly arrived home. + </p> + <p> + As day followed day, Dorise grew more mystified and still more anxious + concerning Hugh. What was the truth? She had written to Brussels three + times, but her letters had elicited no response. He might be already under + arrest, for aught she knew. Besides, she could not rid herself of the + recollection of the white cavalier, that mysterious masker who had told + her of her lover’s escape. + </p> + <p> + In this state of keen anxiety and overstrung nerves she was compelled to + meet almost daily, and be civil to, her mother’s friend, the odious + George Sherrard. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ranscomb was for ever singing the man’s praises, and never + weary of expressing her surprise at Hugh’s unforgivable behaviour. + </p> + <p> + “He simply disappeared, and nobody has heard a word of him since!” + she remarked one day as they sat at breakfast. “I’m quite + certain he’s done something wrong. I’ve never liked him, + Dorise.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t like him, mother, because he hasn’t money,” + remarked the girl bitterly. “If he were rich and entertained you, + you would call him a delightful man!” + </p> + <p> + “Dorise! What are you saying? What’s the good of life without + money?” queried the widow of the great contractor. + </p> + <p> + “Everyone can’t be rich,” the girl averred simply. + “I think it’s positively hateful to judge people by their + pockets.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, has Hugh written to you?” snapped her mother. + </p> + <p> + Dorise replied in the negative, stifling a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “And he isn’t likely to. He’s probably hiding somewhere. + I wonder what he’s done?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. I’m sure of that!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m not so sure,” was her mother’s + response. “I was chatting about it to Mr. Sherrard last night, and + he’s promised to make inquiry.” + </p> + <p> + “Let Mr. Sherrard inquire as much as he likes,” cried the girl + angrily. “He’ll find nothing against Hugh, except that he’s + poor.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m! And he’s been far too much in your company of + late, Dorise. People were beginning to talk at Monte Carlo.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Let them talk, mother! I don’t care a scrap. I’m my + own mistress!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I tell you frankly that I’m very glad that we’ve + seen the last of the fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother! You are really horrid!” cried the girl, rising + abruptly and leaving the table. When out of the room she burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + Poor girl, her heart was indeed full. + </p> + <p> + Now it happened that early on that same morning Hugh Henfrey stepped from + a train which had brought him from Aix-la-Chapelle to the Gare du Nord, in + Brussels. He had spent three weeks with the Raveccas, in Genoa, whence he + had travelled to Milan and Bale, and on into Belgium by way of Germany. + </p> + <p> + From Lisette he had failed to elicit any further facts concerning his + father’s death, though it was apparent that she knew something about + it—something she dared not tell. + </p> + <p> + On the day following their midnight stroll, he had done all in his power + to induce her to reveal something at least of the affair, but, alas! to no + avail. Then, two days later, she had suddenly left—at orders of The + Sparrow, she said. + </p> + <p> + Before Hugh left Ravecca had given him eighty pounds in English notes, + saying that he acted at Il Passero’s orders, for Hugh would no doubt + need the money, and it would be most dangerous for him to write to his + bankers. + </p> + <p> + At first Henfrey protested, but, as his funds were nearly exhausted, he + had accepted the money. + </p> + <p> + As he left the station in Brussels on that bright spring morning and + crossed the busy Place, he was wondering to what hotel he should go. He + had left his scanty luggage in the <i>consigne</i>, intending to go out on + foot and search for some cheap and obscure hotel, there being many such in + the vicinity of the station. After half an hour he chose a small and + apparently clean little place in a narrow street off the Place de + Brouckere, and there, later on, he carried his handbag. Then, after a + wash, he set out for the Central Post Office in the Place de la Monnaie. + </p> + <p> + He had not gone far along the busy boulevard when he was startled to hear + his name uttered from behind, and, turning, encountered a short, thick-set + little man wearing a brown overcoat. + </p> + <p> + The man, noticing the effect his words had upon him, smiled reassuringly, + and said in broken English: “It is all right! I am not a police + officer, Monsieur Henfrey. Cross the road and walk down that street + yonder. I will follow in a few moments.” + </p> + <p> + And then the man walked on, leaving Hugh alone. + </p> + <p> + Much surprised, Hugh did as he was bid, and a few minutes later the + Belgian met him again. + </p> + <p> + “It is very dangerous for us to be seen together,” he said + quickly, scarcely pausing as he walked. “Do not go near the Post + Office, but go straight to 14 Rue Beyaert, first floor. I shall be there + awaiting you. I have a message for you from a friend. You will find the + street close to the Porte de Hal.” + </p> + <p> + And the man continued on his way, leaving Hugh in wonder. He had been on + the point of turning from the boulevard into the Place de la Monnaie to + obtain Dorise’s long looked for letter. Indeed, he had been + hastening his footsteps full of keen apprehension when the stranger had + accosted him. + </p> + <p> + But in accordance with the man’s suggestion, he turned back towards + the station, where he entered a taxi and drove across the city to the + corner of Rue Beyaert, a highly respectable thoroughfare. He experienced + no difficulty in finding the house indicated, and on ascending the stairs, + found the stranger awaiting him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he cried. “Come in! I am glad that I discovered + you! I have been awaiting your arrival from Italy for the past fortnight. + It is indeed fortunate that I found you in time to warn you not to go to + the Poste Restante.” He spoke in French, and had shown his visitor + into a small but well furnished room. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Hugh. “Is there danger in that quarter?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Monsieur Henfrey. The French police have, by some unknown + means, discovered that you were coming here, and a strict watch is being + kept for anyone calling for letters addressed to Godfrey Brown.” + </p> + <p> + “But how could they know?” asked Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! That is the mystery! Perhaps your lady friend has been + indiscreet. She was told in strict confidence, and was warned that your + safety was in her hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, Dorise would be most careful not to betray me!” cried + the young Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “Well, somebody undoubtedly has.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume you are one of Il Passero’s friends?” Hugh + said with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Hence I am your friend,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard of late how Mademoiselle Yvonne is progressing?” + </p> + <p> + The man, who told his visitor his name was Jules Vervoort, shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “She is no better. I heard last week that the doctors have said that + she will never recover her mental balance.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Is she demented?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The report I had was that she recognized nobody, except at + intervals she knows her Italian manservant and calls him by name. I was + ordered to tell you this.” + </p> + <p> + “Ordered by Il Passero—eh?” + </p> + <p> + The man Vervoort nodded in the affirmative. Then he went on to warn his + visitor that the Brussels police were on the eager watch for his arrival. + “It is fortunate that you were not recognized when you came this + morning,” he said. “I had secret warning and was at the + station, but I dared not approach you. You passed under the very nose of + two detectives, but luckily for you, their attention had been diverted to + a woman who is a well-known pickpocket. I followed you to your hotel and + then waited for you to go to the Poste Restante.” + </p> + <p> + “But I want my letters,” said Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “Naturally, but it is far too dangerous to go near there. You, of + course, want news of your lady friend. That you will have by special + messenger very soon. Therefore remain patient.” + </p> + <p> + “Why are all these precautions being taken to prevent my arrest?” + Hugh asked. “I confess I don’t understand it.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I. But when Il Passero commands we all obey.” + </p> + <p> + “You are, I presume, his agent in Brussels?” + </p> + <p> + “His friend—not his agent,” Vervoort replied with a + smile. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know Mademoiselle Lisette?” Hugh asked. “She was + with me in Genoa.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. We have met. A very clever little person. Il Passero thinks + very highly of her. She has been educated in the higher schools, and is + perhaps one of our cleverest decoys.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh Henfrey paused. + </p> + <p> + “Now look here, Monsieur Vervoort,” he exclaimed at last, + “I’m very much in the dark about all this curious business. + Lisette knows a lot concerning Mademoiselle Yvonne.” + </p> + <p> + “Admitted. She acted once as her maid, I believe, in some big + affair. But I don’t know much about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know what happened at the Villa Amette that night? Have + you any idea of the identity of the person who shot poor Mademoiselle—the + lady they call Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least,” was the reply. “All I know is that + Il Passero has some very keen and personal interest in the affair. He has + sent further orders to you. It is imperative, he says, that you should get + away from Brussels. The police are too keen here.” + </p> + <p> + “Where shall I go?” + </p> + <p> + “I suggest that you go at once to Malines. Go to Madame Maupoil, 208 + Rue de Stassart, opposite the Military Hospital. It is far too dangerous + for you to remain here in Brussels. I have already written that you are + coming. Her house is one of the sanctuaries of the friends of Il Passero. + Remember the name and address.” + </p> + <p> + “The Sparrow seems to be ubiquitous,” Hugh remarked. + </p> + <p> + “He is. No really great robbery can be accomplished unless he plans + and finances it.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot think why he takes so keen an interest in me.” + </p> + <p> + “He often does in persons who are quite ignorant of his existence.” + </p> + <p> + “That is my own case. I never heard of him until I was in Genoa, a + fugitive,” said Hugh. “But you told me I shall receive a + message from Miss Ranscomb by special messenger. When?” + </p> + <p> + “When you are in Malines.” + </p> + <p> + “But all this is very strange. Will the mysterious messenger call + upon Miss Ranscomb in London?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Il Passero has several messengers who travel to and fro + in secret. Mademoiselle Lisette was once one of them. She has travelled + many times the length and breadth of Europe. But nowadays she is an + indicator—and a very clever one indeed,” he added with a + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I had better get away to Malines without delay?” + Hugh remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Go to your hotel, pay them for your room and get your valise. + I shall be waiting for you at noon in a car in the Rue Gretry, close to + the Palais d’Ete. Then we can slip away to Malines. Have you + sufficient money? If not, I can give you some. Il Passero has ordered me + to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” replied Hugh. “I have enough for the present. + My only desire is to be back again in London.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I am afraid that is not possible for some time to come.” + </p> + <p> + “But I shall hear from Miss Ranscomb?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. The messenger will come to you in Malines.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is the messenger?” + </p> + <p> + “Of that I have no knowledge,” was Vervoort’s reply. He + seemed a very refined man, and was no doubt an extremely clever crook. He + said little of himself, but sufficient to cause Hugh to realize that his + was one of the master minds of underground Europe. + </p> + <p> + The young Englishman was naturally eager to further penetrate the veil of + mystery surrounding Mademoiselle Yvonne, but he learned little or nothing. + Vervoort either knew nothing, or else refused to disclose what he knew. + Which, Hugh could not exactly decide. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, in accordance with the Belgian’s instructions, he left + the house and at noon carried his valise to the Rue Gretry, where he found + his friend awaiting him in a closed car, which quickly moved off out of + the city by the Laeken road. Travelling by way of Vilvorde they were + within an hour in old-world Malines, famous for its magnificent cathedral + and its musical carillon. Crossing the Louvain Canal and entering by the + Porte de Bruxelles, they were soon in an inartistic cobbled street under + the shadow of St. Rombold, and a few minutes later Hugh was introduced to + a short, stout Belgian woman, Madame Maupoil. The place was meagrely + furnished, but scrupulously clean. The floor of the room to which Hugh was + shown shone with beeswax, and the walls were whitewashed. + </p> + <p> + “I hope monsieur will make himself quite comfortable,” madame + said, a broad smile of welcome upon her round face. + </p> + <p> + “You will be comfortable enough under madame’s care,” + Vervoort assured him. “She has had some well-known guests before + now.” + </p> + <p> + “True, monsieur. More than one of them have been world-famous and—well—believed + to be perfectly honest and upright.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” laughed Vervoort. “Do you remember the English + ex-member of Parliament?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! He was with me nearly four months when supposed to be in South + America. There was a warrant out for him on account of some great + financial frauds—all of which was, of course, hushed up. But he + stayed here in strict concealment and his friends managed to get the + warrant withdrawn. He was known to Il Passero, and the latter aided him—in + return for certain facilities regarding the English police.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of the English police, madame?” Hugh asked. + The fat woman grinned expressively and shrugged her broad shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Since the war they have been effete as regards serious crime. At + least, that is what Il Passero told me when he was here a month ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Someone is coming here to meet Monsieur Henfrey,” Vervoort + said. “Who is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I only received word of it the day before + yesterday. A messenger from London, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, each day I become more and more mystified,” Hugh + declared. “Why Il Passero, whom I do not know, should take all this + interest in me, I cannot imagine.” + </p> + <p> + “Il Passero very often assists those against whom a false charge is + laid,” the woman remarked. “There is no better friend when one + is in trouble, for so clever and ubiquitous is he, and so many friends in + high quarters does he possess, that he can usually work his will. His is + the master-mind, and we obey without question.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWELFTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + THE STRANGER IN BOND STREET + </h3> + <p> + As Dorise walked up Bond Street, smartly dressed, next afternoon, on her + way to her dressmaker’s, she was followed by a well-dressed young + girl in black, dark-eyed, with well-cut, refined features, and apparently + a lady. + </p> + <p> + From Piccadilly the stranger had followed Dorise unseen, until at the + corner of Maddox Street she overtook her, and smiling, uttered her name. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” responded Doris in surprise. “But I regret—you + have the advantage of me?” + </p> + <p> + “Probably,” replied the stranger. “Do you recollect the + <i>bal blanc</i> at Nice and a certain white cavalier? I have a message + from him to give you in secret.” + </p> + <p> + “Why in secret?” Dorise asked rather defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “Well—for certain reasons which I think you can guess,” + answered the girl in black, as she strolled at Dorise’s side. + </p> + <p> + “Why did not you call on me at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Because of your mother. She would probably have been a little + inquisitive. Let us go into some place—a tea-room—where we can + talk,” she suggested. “I have come to see you concerning Mr. + Henfrey.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” asked Dorise, in an instant anxious. + </p> + <p> + “Quite safe. He arrived in Malines yesterday—and is with + friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he had my letters?” + </p> + <p> + “Unfortunately, no. But do not let us talk here. Let’s go in + yonder,” and she indicated the Laurel Tea Rooms, which, the hour + being early, they found, to their satisfaction, practically deserted. + </p> + <p> + At a table in the far corner they resumed their conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Why has he not received my letters?” asked Dorise. “It + is nearly a month ago since I first wrote.” + </p> + <p> + “By some mysterious means the police got to know of your friend’s + intended visit to Brussels to obtain his letters. Therefore, it was too + dangerous for him to go to the Poste Restante, or even to send anyone + there. The Brussels police were watching constantly. How they have gained + their knowledge is a complete mystery.” + </p> + <p> + “Who sent you to me?” + </p> + <p> + “A friend of Mr. Henfrey. My instructions are to see you, and to + convey any message you may wish to send to Mr. Henfrey to him direct in + Malines.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure it’s awfully good of you,” Dorise + replied. “Does he know you are here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But I have not met him. I am simply a messenger. In fact, I + travel far and wide for those who employ me.” + </p> + <p> + “And who are they?” + </p> + <p> + “I regret, but they must remain nameless,” said the girl, with + a smile. + </p> + <p> + Dorise was puzzled as to how the French police could have gained any + knowledge of Hugh’s intentions. Then suddenly, she became horrified + as a forgotten fact flashed across her mind. She recollected how, early in + the grey morning, after her return from the ball at Nice, she had written + and addressed a letter to Hugh. On reflection, she had realized that it + was not sufficiently reassuring, so she had torn it up and thrown it into + the waste-paper basket instead of burning it. + </p> + <p> + She had, she remembered, addressed the envelope to Mr. Godfrey Brown, at + the Poste Restante in Brussels. + </p> + <p> + Was it possible that the torn fragments had fallen into the hands of the + police? She knew that they had been watching her closely. Her surmise was, + as a matter of fact, the correct one. Ogier had employed the head + chambermaid to give him the contents of Dorise’s waste-paper basket + from time to time, hence the knowledge he had gained. + </p> + <p> + “Are you actually going to Malines?” asked Dorise of the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. As your messenger,” the other replied with a smile. + “I am leaving to-night. If you care to write him a letter, I will + deliver it.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you come with me over to the Empress Club, and I will write + the letter there?” Dorise suggested, still entirely mystified. + </p> + <p> + To this the stranger agreed, and they left the tea-shop and walked + together to the well-known ladies’ club, where, while the mysterious + messenger sipped tea, Dorise sat down and wrote a long and affectionate + letter to her lover, urging him to exercise the greatest caution and to + get back to London as soon as he could. + </p> + <p> + When she had finished it, she placed it in an envelope. + </p> + <p> + “I would not address it,” remarked the other girl. “It + will be safer blank, for I shall give it into his hand.” + </p> + <p> + And ten minute later the mysterious girl departed, leaving Dorise to + reflect over the curious encounter. + </p> + <p> + So Hugh was in Malines. She went to the telephone, rang up Walter Brock, + and told him the reassuring news. + </p> + <p> + “In Malines?” he cried over the wire. “I wonder if I + dare go there to see him? What a dead-alive hole!” + </p> + <p> + Not until then did Dorise recollect that the girl had not given her Hugh’s + address. She had, perhaps, purposely withheld it. + </p> + <p> + This fact she told Hugh’s friend, who replied over the wire: + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is highly satisfactory news, in any case. We can only + wait, Miss Ranscomb. But this must relieve your mind, I feel sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it does,” admitted Dorise, and a few moments later she + rang off. + </p> + <p> + That evening Il Passero’s <i>chic</i> messenger crossed from Dover + to Ostend, and next morning she called at Madame Maupoil’s, in + Malines, where she delivered Dorise’s note into Hugh’s own + hand. She was an expert and hardened traveller. + </p> + <p> + Hugh eagerly devoured its contents, for it was the first communication he + had had from her since that fateful night at Monte Carlo. Then, having + thanked the girl again, and again, the latter said: + </p> + <p> + “If you wish to write back to Miss Ranscomb do so. I will address + the envelope, and as I am going to Cologne to-night I will post it on my + arrival.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh thanked her cordially, and while she sat chatting with Madame + Maupoil, sipping her <i>cafe au lait</i>, he sat down and wrote a long + letter to the girl he loved so deeply—a letter which reached its + destination four days later. + </p> + <p> + One morning about ten days afterwards, when the sun shone brightly upon + the fresh green of the Surrey hills, Mrs. Bond was sitting before a fire + in the pretty morning room at Shapley Manor, a room filled with antique + furniture and old blue china, reading an illustrated paper. At the long, + leaded window stood a tall, fair-faced girl in a smart navy-suit. She was + decidedly pretty, with large, soft grey eyes, dimpled cheeks, and a small, + well-formed mouth. She gazed abstractedly out of the window over the + beautiful panorama to where Hindhead rose abruptly in the blue distance. + The view from the moss-grown terrace at Shapley, high upon the Hog’s + back, was surely one of the finest within a couple of hundred miles of + London. + </p> + <p> + Since Mrs. Bond’s arrival there she had had many callers among the + <i>nouveau riche</i>, those persons who, having made money at the expense + of our gallant British soldiers, have now ousted half the county families + from their solid and responsible homes. Mrs. Bond, being wealthy, had + displayed her riches ostentatiously. She had subscribed lavishly to + charities both in Guildford and in Farnham, and hence, among her callers + there had been at least three magistrates and their flat-footed wives, as + well as a plethoric alderman, and half a dozen insignificant persons + possessing minor titles. + </p> + <p> + The display of wealth had always been one of Molly Maxwell’s games. + It always paid. She knew that to succeed one must spend, and now, with her + recently acquired “fortune,” she spent to a very considerable + tune. + </p> + <p> + “I do wish you’d go in the car to Guildford and exchange those + library books, Louise,” exclaimed the handsome woman, suddenly + looking up from her paper. “We’ve got those horrid Brailsfords + coming to lunch. I was bound to ask them back.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you come, too?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + “No. I expect Mr. Benton this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know he was back from Paris. I’m so glad he’s + coming,” replied the girl. “He’ll stay all the + afternoon, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so. Go at once and get back as soon as you can, dear. Choose + me some nice new books, won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + Louise Lambert, Benton’s adopted daughter, turned from the leaded + window. In the strong morning light she looked extremely charming, but + upon her countenance there was a deep, thoughtful expression, as though + she were entirely preoccupied. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been thinking of Hugh Henfrey,” the woman remarked + suddenly. “I wonder why he never writes to you?” she added, + watching the girl’s face. + </p> + <p> + Louise’s cheeks reddened slightly, as she replied with affected + carelessness: + </p> + <p> + “If he doesn’t care to write, I shall trouble no longer.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s still abroad, is he not? The last I heard of him was + that he was at Monte Carlo with that Ranscomb girl.” + </p> + <p> + Mention of Dorise Ranscomb caused the girl’s cheeks to colour more + deeply. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “I heard that also.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t seem to care very much, Louise,” remarked the + woman. “And yet, he’s such an awfully nice young fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve said that dozens of times before,” was Louise’s + abrupt reply. + </p> + <p> + “And I mean it. You could do a lot worse than to marry him, + remember, though he is a bit hard-up nowadays. But things with him will + right themselves before long.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you suggest that?” asked the girl resentfully. + </p> + <p> + “Well—because, my dear, I know that you are very fond of him,” + the woman laughed. “Now, you can’t deny it—can you?” + </p> + <p> + The girl, who had travelled so widely ever since she had left school, drew + a deep breath and, turning her head, gazed blankly out of the window + again. + </p> + <p> + What Mrs. Bond had said was her secret. She was very fond of Hugh. They + had not met very often, but he had attracted her—a fact of which + both Benton and his female accomplice were well aware. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t reply,” laughed the woman for whom the Paris + Surete was searching everywhere; “but your face betrays the truth, + my dear. Don’t worry,” she added in a tone of sympathy. + “No doubt he’ll write as soon as he is back in England. + Personally, I don’t believe he really cares a rap for the Ranscomb + girl. It’s only a matter of money—and Dorise has plenty.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t wish to hear anything about Mr. Henfrey’s love + affairs!” cried the girl petulantly. “I tell you that they do + not interest me.” + </p> + <p> + “Because you are piqued that he does not write, child. Ah, dear, I + know!” she laughed, as the girl left the room. + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour later Louise was seated in the car, while Mead drove + her along the broad highway over the Hog’s Back into Guildford. The + morning was delightful, the trees wore their spring green, and all along + in the fields, as they went over the high ridge, the larks were singing + gaily the music of a glad morning of the English spring, and the view + spread wide on either side. + </p> + <p> + Life in Surrey was, she found, much preferable to that on the Continent. + True, in the Rue Racine they had entertained a great deal, and she had, + during the war, met many very pleasant young English and American + officers; but the sudden journey to Switzerland, then on into Italy, and + across to New York, had been a whirl of excitement. Mrs. Maxwell had + changed her name several times, because she said that she did not want her + divorced husband, a ne’er-do-well, to know of her whereabouts. He + was for ever molesting her, she had told Louise, and for that reason she + had passed in different names. + </p> + <p> + The girl was in complete ignorance of the truth. She never dreamed that + the source of the woman’s wealth was highly suspicious, or that the + constant travelling was in order to evade the police. + </p> + <p> + As she was driven along, she sat back reflecting. Truth to tell, she was + much in love with Hugh. Benton had first introduced him one night at the + Spa in Scarborough, and after that they had met several times on the + Esplanade, then again in London, and once in Paris. Yet while she, on her + part, became filled with admiration, he was, apparently, quite unconscious + of it. + </p> + <p> + At last she had heard of Hugh’s infatuation for Dorise Ranscomb, the + daughter of the great engineer who had recently died, and indeed she had + met her once and been introduced to her. + </p> + <p> + Of the conditions of old Mr. Henfrey’s will she was, of course, in + ignorance. The girl had no idea of the great plot which had been formed by + her foster father and his clever female friend. + </p> + <p> + The world is a strange one beneath the surface of things. Those who passed + the imposing gates of the beautiful old English manor-house never dreamed + that it sheltered one of the most notorious female criminals in Europe. + And the worshipful magistrates and their wives who visited her would have + received a rude shock had they but known. But many modern adventuresses + have been able to bamboozle the mighty. Madame Humbert of Paris, in whose + imagination were “The Humbert Millions,” used to entertain + Ministers of State, aristocrats, financiers, and others of lower degree, + and show them the sealed-up safe in which she declared reposed millions’ + worth of negotiable securities which might not see the light of day until + a certain date. The avaricious, even shrewd, bankers advanced loans upon + things they had never seen, and the Humberts were the most sought-after + family in Paris until the bubble burst and they fled and were afterwards + arrested in Spain. + </p> + <p> + Molly Maxwell was a marvel of ingenuity, of criminal foresight, and of + amazing elusiveness. Louise, young and unsuspicious, looked upon her as a + mother. Benton she called “Uncle,” and was always grateful to + him for all he did for her. She understood that they were cousins, and + that Benton advised Mrs. Maxwell in her disastrous matrimonial affairs. + </p> + <p> + Yet the life she had led ever since leaving school had been a truly + adventurous one. She had been in half the watering places of Europe, and + in most of its capitals, leading, with the woman who now called herself + Mrs. Bond, a most extravagant life at hotels of the first order. + </p> + <p> + The car at last ran into the station yard at Guildford, and at the + bookstall Louise exchanged her books with the courteous manager. + </p> + <p> + She was passing through the booking-office back to the car, when a voice + behind her called: + </p> + <p> + “Hallo, Louise!” + </p> + <p> + Turning, she found her “uncle,” Charles Benton, who, wearing a + light overcoat and grey velour hat, grasped her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Well, dear,” he exclaimed. “This is fortunate. Mead is + here, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, uncle,” replied the girl, much gratified at meeting him. + </p> + <p> + “I was about to engage a taxi to take me up to the Manor, but now + you can take me there,” said the rather handsome man. “How is + Mrs. Bond?” he asked, calling her by her new name. + </p> + <p> + “Quite well. She’s expecting you to lunch. But she has some + impossible people there to-day—the Brailsfords, father, mother, and + son. He made his money in motor-cars during the war. They live over at + Dorking in a house with forty-nine bedrooms, and only fifteen years ago + Mrs. Brailsford used to do the housework herself. Now they’re + rolling in money, but can’t keep servants.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear, it’s the same everywhere,” said Benton as + he entered the car after her. “I’ve just got back from Madrid. + It is the same there. The world is changing. Crooks prosper while white + men starve. Honesty spells ruin in these days.” + </p> + <p> + They drove over the railway bridge and up the steep hill out of Guildford + seated side by side. Benton had been her “uncle” ever since + her childhood days, and a most kind and considerate one he had always + proved. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes when at school she did not see him for periods of a year or more + and she had no home to go to for holidays. Her foster-father was abroad. + Yet her school fees were paid regularly, her allowance had been ample, and + her clothes were always slightly better than those of the other girls. + Therefore, though she called him “uncle,” she looked upon + Benton as her father and obeyed all his commands. + </p> + <p> + Just about noon the car swung into the gates of Shapley, and soon they + were indoors. Benton threw off his coat, and in an abrupt manner said to + the servant: + </p> + <p> + “I want to see Mrs. Bond at once.” + </p> + <p> + Then, turning to Louise, he exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “I want to see Molly privately. I have some urgent business to + discuss with her before your profiteer friends arrive.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” replied the girl cheerily. “I’ll + leave you alone,” and she ascended the broad oak staircase, the + steps of which were worn thin by the tramp of many generations. + </p> + <p> + A few moments later Charles Benton stood in the morning-room, where Mrs. + Bond still sat before the welcome log fire. + </p> + <p> + “Back again, Charles!” she exclaimed, rising to greet him. + “Well, how goes it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not too well,” was his reply as he closed the door. “I + only got back last night. Five days ago I saw The Sparrow at the Palace + Hotel in Madrid. He’s doing all he can in young Henfrey’s + interests, but he is not too hopeful.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t make out,” said the man, apparently much + perturbed. “He wired me to go to Madrid, and I went. But it seems + that I’ve been on a fool’s errand.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s very unsatisfactory,” said the woman. + </p> + <p> + “It is, my dear Molly! From his attitude it seemed to me that he is + protecting Henfrey from some secret motive of his own—one that is + not at all in accordance with our plans.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is surely acting in our interests!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I’m not so sure about that.” + </p> + <p> + “You surprise me. He knows our intentions and approved of them!” + </p> + <p> + “His approval has, I think, been upset by the murderous attack upon + Yvonne.” + </p> + <p> + “But he surely will not act against us! If he does——” + </p> + <p> + “If he does—then we may as well throw up the sponge, Molly.” + </p> + <p> + “We could give it all away to the police,” remarked the woman. + </p> + <p> + “And by so doing give ourselves away!” answered Benton. + “The Sparrow has many friends in the police, recollect. Abroad, he + distributes a quantity of annual <i>douceurs</i>, and hence he is + practically immune from arrest.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish we were,” laughed the handsome adventuress. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. We have only to dance to his tune,” said he. “And + the tune just now is not one which is pleasing to us—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “You seem strangely apprehensive.” + </p> + <p> + “I am. I believe that The Sparrow, while making pretence of + supporting our little affair, is in favour of Hugh’s marriage with + Dorise Ranscomb.” + </p> + <p> + The woman looked him straight in the face. + </p> + <p> + “He could never go back on his word!” she declared. + </p> + <p> + “The Sparrow is a curious combination of the crook—chivalrous + and philanthropic—as you already know.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely, he wouldn’t let us down?” + </p> + <p> + Benton paused. He was thinking deeply. A certain fact had suddenly + occurred to him. + </p> + <p> + “If he does, then we must, I suppose, do our best to expose him. I + happen to know that he has quarrelled with Henri Michaux, the + under-secretary of the Surete in Paris, who has declared that his payment + is not sufficient. Michaux is anxious to get even with him. A word from us + would result in The Sparrow’s arrest.” + </p> + <p> + “Excellent!” exclaimed Molly. “If we fail we can, after + all, have our revenge. But,” she added, “would not he suspect + us both, and, in turn, give us away?” + </p> + <p> + “No. He will never suspect, my dear Molly. Leave it to me. Are we + not his dearest and most trusted friends?” and the man, who was as + keenly sought by the police of Europe, grinned sardonically and took a + cigarette from the big silver box on the little table at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THIRTEENTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + POISONED LIPS + </h3> + <p> + Week after week passed. + </p> + <p> + Spring was slowly developing into summer and the woods around Blairglas, + the fine estate in Perthshire which old Sir Richard Ranscomb had left to + his wife, were delightful. + </p> + <p> + Blairglas Castle, a grand old turreted pile, was perched on the edge of a + wooded glen through which flowed a picturesque burn well known to tourists + in Scotland. Once Blairglas Burn had been a mighty river which had, in the + bygone ages, worn its way deep through the grey granite down to the broad + Tay and onward to the sea. On the estate was some excellent + salmon-fishing, as well as grouse on Blairglas Moor, and trout in + Blairglas Loch. Here Lady Ranscomb entertained her wealthy Society + friends, and certainly she did so lavishly and well. Twice each year she + went up for the fishing and for the shooting. Old Sir Richard, + notwithstanding his gout, had been fond of sport, and for that reason he + had given a fabulous price for the place, which had belonged to a certain + Duke who, like others, had become impoverished by excessive taxation and + the death duties. + </p> + <p> + Built in the fifteenth century as a fortress, it was, for a time, the home + of James V. after his marriage with Mary of Guise. It was to Blairglas + that, after his defeat on Solway Moss, he retired, subsequently dying of a + broken heart. Twenty years later Darnley, the elegant husband of Mary + Stuart, had lived there, and on the level bowling green he used to indulge + in his favourite sport. + </p> + <p> + The grim old place, with its towers, its dimly-lit long stone corridors, + cyclopean ivy-clad walls, narrow windows, and great panelled chambers, + breathed an atmosphere of the long ago. So extensive was it that only one + wing—that which looked far down the glen to the blue distant + mountains—had been modernised; yet that, in itself, was sufficiently + spacious for the entertainment of large house-parties. + </p> + <p> + One morning, early in June, Dorise, in a rough tweed suit and a pearl-grey + suede tam-o’shanter, carrying a mackintosh across her shoulder, and + accompanied by a tall, dark-haired, clean-shaven man of thirty-two, with + rather thick lips and bushy eyebrows, walked down through the woods to the + river. The man, who was in fishing clothes, sauntered at her side, smoking + a cigarette; while behind them came old Sandy Murray, the grizzled, + fair-bearded head keeper, carrying the salmon rods, the gaff, creel, and + luncheon basket. + </p> + <p> + “The spate is excellent for us,” exclaimed George Sherrard. + “We ought to kill a salmon to-day, Dorise.” + </p> + <p> + “I sincerely hope so,” replied the girl; “but somehow I + never have any luck in these days.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you really don’t! But Marjorie killed a twelve-pounder + last week, your mother tells me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She went out with Murray every day for a whole fortnight, and + then on the day before she went back to town she landed a splendid fish.” + </p> + <p> + On arrival at the bank of the broad shallow Tay, Murray stepped forward, + and in his pleasant Perthshire accent suggested that a trial might be made + near the Ardcraig, a short walk to the left. + </p> + <p> + After fixing the rods and baiting them, the head keeper discreetly + withdrew, leaving the pair alone. In the servants’ hall at Blairglas + it was quite understood that Miss Dorise and Mr. Sherrard were to marry, + and that the announcement would be made in due course. + </p> + <p> + “What a lovely day—and what a silent, delightful spot,” + Sherrard remarked, as he filled his pipe preparatory to walking up-stream, + while the girl remained beside the dark pool where sport seemed likely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied, inwardly wishing to get rid of her + companion so as to be left alone with her own thoughts. “I’ll + remain here for a little and then go down-stream to the end of our water.” + </p> + <p> + “Right oh!” he replied cheerily as he moved away. + </p> + <p> + Dorise breathed more freely when he had gone. + </p> + <p> + George Sherrard had arrived from London quite unexpectedly at nine o’clock + on the previous morning. She had been alone with her mother after the last + guest of a gay house-party had departed, when, unknown to Dorise, Lady + Ranscomb had telegraphed to her friend George to “run up for a few + days’ fishing.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ranscomb’s scheme was to throw the pair into each other’s + society as much as possible. She petted George, flattered him, and in + every way tried to entertain him with one sole object, namely, to induce + him to propose to Dorise, and so get the girl “off her hands.” + </p> + <p> + On the contrary, the girl’s thoughts were for ever centred upon + Hugh, even though he remained under that dark cloud of suspicion. To her + the chief element in the affair was the mystery why her lover had gone on + that fateful night to the Villa Amette, the house of that notorious + Mademoiselle. What had really occurred? + </p> + <p> + Twice she had received letters from him brought to her by the mysterious + girl-messenger from Belgium. From them she knew how grey and dull was his + life, hiding there from those who were so intent upon his arrest. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, within her blouse she carried his last letter which she had + received three weeks before when in London—a letter in which he + implored her not to misjudge him, and in which he promised that, as soon + as he dared to leave his hiding-place and meet her, he would explain + everything. In return, she had again written to him, but though three + weary weeks had passed, she had received no word in reply. She could + neither write by post, nor could she telegraph. It was far too dangerous. + In addition, his address had been purposely withheld from her. + </p> + <p> + Walter Brock had tried to ascertain it. He had even seen the mysterious + messenger on her last visit to England, but she had refused point-blank, + declaring that she had been ordered to disclose nothing. She was merely a + messenger. + </p> + <p> + That her correspondence was still being watched by the police, Dorise was + quite well aware. Her maid, Duncan, had told her in confidence quite + recently that while crossing Berkeley Square one evening she had been + accosted by a good-looking young man who, having pressed his attentions + upon her, had prevailed upon her to meet him on the following evening. + </p> + <p> + He then took her to dinner to a restaurant in Soho, and to the pictures + afterwards. They had met half a dozen times, when he began to cleverly + question her concerning her mistress, asking whether she had letters from + her gentleman friends. At this Duncan had grown suspicious, and she had + not met the young fellow since. + </p> + <p> + That, in itself, showed her that the police were bent on discovering and + arresting Hugh. + </p> + <p> + The great mystery of it all was why Hugh should have gone deliberately and + clandestinely to the Villa Amette on the night of the tragic affair. + </p> + <p> + Dorise was really an expert in casting a fly; also she excelled in several + branches of sport. She was a splendid tennis-player, she rode well to + hounds, and was very fair at golf. But that morning she had no heart for + fishing, and especially in such company. She despised George Sherrard as a + prig, fond of boasting of his means, and, indeed, so terribly + self-conscious was he that in many circles he was declared impossible. Men + disliked him for his swagger and conceit, and women despised him for his + superior attitude towards them. + </p> + <p> + For a full hour Dorise continued making casts, but in vain. She changed + her flies once or twice, until at last, by a careless throw, she got her + tackle hooked high in a willow, with the result that, in endeavouring to + extricate it, she broke off the hook. Then with an exclamation of + impatience, she wound up her line and threw her rod upon the grass. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo, Dorise!” cried a voice. “No luck, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Sherrard had returned and had witnessed her outbreak of impatience. + </p> + <p> + “None!” she snapped, for the loss of her fly annoyed her. She + knew that she had been careless, because under old Murray’s careful + tuition she had become quite expert with the rod, both with trout and + salmon. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” he said, “I’ve had similar luck. I’ve + just got hooked up in a root and lost a fly. Let’s have lunch—shall + we?” + </p> + <p> + Dorise was in no mood to lunch with her mother’s visitor, but, + nevertheless, was compelled to be polite. + </p> + <p> + After washing their hands in the stream, they sat down together upon a + great, grey boulder that had been worn smooth by the action of the water, + and, taking out their sandwiches, began to eat them. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say!” exclaimed Sherrard suddenly, after they had been + gossiping for some time. “Have you heard from your friend Henfrey + lately?” + </p> + <p> + “Not lately,” replied the girl, a trifle resentful that he + should obtrude upon her private affairs. + </p> + <p> + “I only ask because—well, because there are some jolly queer + stories going about town of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Queer stories!” she echoed quickly. “What are they? + What do people say?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! They say lots of extraordinary things. I think your mother has + done very well to drop him.” + </p> + <p> + “Has mother dropped him?” asked the girl in pretence of + ignorance. + </p> + <p> + “She told me so last night, and I was extremely glad to hear it—though + he is your friend. It seems that he’s hardly the kind of fellow you + should know, Dorise.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say that?” his companion asked, her eyes flashing + instantly. + </p> + <p> + “What! Haven’t you heard?” + </p> + <p> + “Heard what?” + </p> + <p> + “The story that’s going round the clubs. He’s missing, + and has been so for quite a long time. You haven’t seen him—have + you?” + </p> + <p> + The girl was compelled to reply in the negative. + </p> + <p> + “But what do they say against him?” she demanded breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a lot of funny stories,” was Sherrard’s + reply. “They say he’s hiding from the police because he + attempted to murder a notorious woman called Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo. + Do you know about it?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a wicked lie!” blurted forth the girl. “Hugh + never attempted to kill the woman!” + </p> + <p> + Sherrard looked straight into her blue eyes, and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Then why was he in her room at midnight? They say the reason + Henfrey is hard-up is because he spent all he possessed upon the woman, + and on going there that night she laughed him to scorn and told him she + had grown fond of a rich Austrian banker. After mutual recriminations, + Henfrey, knowing the woman had ruined him, drew out a revolver and shot + her.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you it’s an abominable lie! Hugh is not an assassin!” + cried the girl fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “I merely repeat what I have heard on very good authority,” + replied the smug-faced man with the thick red lips. + </p> + <p> + “And you have of course told my mother that—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t think it was any secret,” he said. “Indeed, + I think it most fortunate we all know the truth. The police must get him + one day—before long.” + </p> + <p> + For a few moments Dorise remained silent, her eyes fixed across the broad + river to the opposite bank. + </p> + <p> + “And if they do, he will most certainly clear himself, Mr. Sherrard,” + she said coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You still have great faith in him,” he laughed airily. + “Well—we shall see,” and he grinned. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Sherrard. I still have faith in Mr. Henfrey. I know him + well enough to be certain that he is no assassin.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I ask you, Dorise, why is he hiding?” said her + companion. “If he is innocent, what can he fear?” + </p> + <p> + “I know he is innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. You must remain in that belief until he is found guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “You already condemn him!” the girl cried in anger. “By + what right do you do this, I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, common sense shows that he is in fear lest the truth should + come to light,” was Sherrard’s lame reply. “He escaped + very cleverly from Monte Carlo the moment he heard that the police + suspected him, but where is he now? Nobody knows. Haynes, of Scotland + Yard, who made the inquiries when my flat in Park Lane was broken into, + tells me they have had a description of him from the Paris police, and + that a general hue-and-cry has been circulated.” + </p> + <p> + “But the woman is still alive, is she not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She’s a hopeless idiot, Haynes tells me. She had + developed homicidal mania as a result of the bullet wound in the head, and + they have had to send her to a private asylum at Cannes. She’s there + in close confinement.” + </p> + <p> + Dorise paused. Her anger had risen, and her cheeks were flushed. The + sandwich she was eating choked her, so she cast it into the river. + </p> + <p> + Then she rose abruptly, and looking very straight into the man’s + eyes, said: + </p> + <p> + “I consider, Mr. Sherrard, that you are absolutely horrid. Mr. + Henfrey is a friend of mine, and whatever gossip there is concerning him I + will not believe until I hear his story from his own lips.” + </p> + <p> + “I merely tell you of the report from France to Scotland Yard,” + said Sherrard. + </p> + <p> + “You tell me this in order to prejudice me against Hugh—to—to——” + </p> + <p> + “Hugh! Whom you love—eh?” sneered Sherrard. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I <i>do</i> love him,” the girl blurted forth. “I + make no secret of it. And if you like you can tell my mother that! You are + very fond of acting as her factotum!” + </p> + <p> + “It is to be regretted, Dorise, that you have fallen in love with a + fellow who is wanted by the police,” he remarked with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “At any rate, I love a genuine man,” she retorted with bitter + sarcasm. “I know my mother’s intention is that I shall marry + you. But I tell you here frankly—as I stand here—I would + rather kill myself first!” + </p> + <p> + George Sherrard with his dark bushy brows and thick lips only laughed at + her indignation. This incensed her the more. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she went on. “You may be amused at my distress. + You have laughed at the distress of other women, Mr. Sherrard. Do not + think that I am blind. I have watched you, and I know more concerning your + love affairs of the past than you ever dream. So please leave Blairglas as + soon as you can with decency excuse yourself, and keep away from me in + future.” + </p> + <p> + “But really, Dorise——!” he cried, advancing + towards her. + </p> + <p> + “I mean exactly what I say. Let me get back. When I go fishing I + prefer to go alone,” the girl said. + </p> + <p> + “But what am I to say to Lady Ranscomb?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell her that I love Hugh,” laughed the girl defiantly. + “Tell her that I intend to defeat all her clever intrigues and sly + devices!” + </p> + <p> + His countenance now showed that he was angry. He and Lady Ranscomb + thoroughly understood each other. He admired the girl, and her mother had + assured him her affection for Hugh Henfrey was but a passing fancy. This + stubborn outburst was to him a complete revelation. + </p> + <p> + “I have no knowledge of any intrigue, Dorise,” he said in that + bland, superior manner which always irritated her. She knew that a dozen + mothers with eligible feminine encumbrances were trying to angle him, and + that Lady Ranscomb was greatly envied by them. But to be the wife of the + self-conscious ass—well, as she has already bluntly told him, she + would die rather than become Mrs. George Sherrard. + </p> + <p> + “Intrigue!” the girl retorted. “Why, from first to last + the whole thing is a plot between my mother and yourself. Please give me + credit for just a little intelligence. First, I despise you as a coward. + During the war you crept into a little clerkship in the Home Office in + order to save your precious skin, while Hugh went to the front and risked + his life flying a ‘bomber’ over the enemy’s lines. You + were a miserable stay-at-home, hiding in your little bolt-hole in + Whitehall when the Zepps came over, while Hugh Henfrey fought for his King + and for Britain. Now I am quite frank, Mr. Sherrard. That’s why I + despise you!” and the girl’s pale face showed two pink spots + in the centre of her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Really,” he said in that same superior tone which he so + constantly assumed. “I must say that you are the reverse of polite, + Miss Dorise,” and his colour heightened. + </p> + <p> + “I am! And I intend to be so!” she cried in a frenzy, for all + her affection for Hugh had in those moments been redoubled. Her lover was + accused and had no chance of self-defence. “Go back to my mother,” + she went on. “Tell her every word I have said and embroider it as + much as you like. Then you can both put your wits together a little + further. But, remember, I shall exert my own woman’s wits against + yours. And as soon as you feel it practicable, I hope you will leave + Blairglas. And further, if you have not left by noon to-morrow, I will + tell my maid, Duncan, the whole story of this sinister plot to part me + from Hugh. She will spread it, I assure you. Maids gossip—and to a + purpose when their mistresses will it so.” + </p> + <p> + “But Dorise—” + </p> + <p> + “Enough! Mr. Sherrard. I prefer to walk up to the Castle by myself. + Murray will bring up the rods. Please tell my mother what I say when you + get back,” she added. “The night train from Perth to London + leaves at nine-forty to-night,” she said with biting sarcasm. + </p> + <p> + Then turning, she began to ascend the steep path which led from the river + bank into a cornfield and through the wood, while the man stood and bit + his lip. + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” he growled beneath his breath. “We shall + see!—yes, we shall see!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FOURTEENTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + RED DAWN + </h3> + <p> + That night when Dorise, in a pretty, pale-blue evening gown, entered the + great, old panelled dining-room rather late for dinner, her mother + exclaimed petulantly: + </p> + <p> + “How late you are, dear! Mr. Sherrard has had a telegram recalling + him to London. He has to catch the nine-something train from Perth.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you?” she asked the man who was odious to her. “I’m + so sorry I’m late, but that Mackenzie girl called. They are getting + up a bazaar for the old people down in the village, and we have to help + it, I suppose. Oh! these bazaars, sales of work, and other little excuses + for extracting shillings from the pockets of everybody! They are most + wearying.” + </p> + <p> + “She called on me last week,” said Lady Ranscomb. “Newte + told her I was not at home.” + </p> + <p> + The old-fashioned butler, John Newte, a white-haired, rosy-faced man, who + had seen forty years’ service with the ducal owner of Blairglas, + served the dinner in his own stately style. Sir Richard had been a good + master, but things had never been the same since the castle had passed + into its new owner’s hands. + </p> + <p> + Dorise endeavoured to be quite affable to the smooth-haired man seated + before her, expressing regret that he was called away so suddenly, while + he, on his part, declared that it was “awful hard luck,” as he + had been looking forward to a week’s good sport on the river. + </p> + <p> + “Do come back, George,” Lady Ranscomb urged. “Get your + business over and get back here for the weekend.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll try,” was Sherrard’s half-hearted response, + whereat Newte entered to announce that the car was ready. + </p> + <p> + Then he bade mother and daughter adieu, and went out. + </p> + <p> + Dorise could see that her mother was considerably annoyed at her plans + being so abruptly frustrated. + </p> + <p> + “We must ask somebody else,” she said, as they lingered over + the dessert. “Whom shall we ask?” + </p> + <p> + “I really don’t care in the least, mother. I’m quite + happy here alone. It is a rest. We shall have to be back in town in a + fortnight, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “George could quite well have waited for a day or two,” Lady + Ranscomb declared. “I went out to see the Muirs, at Forteviot, and + when I got back he told me he had just had a telegram telling him that it + was imperative he should be in town to-morrow morning. I tried to persuade + him to stay, but he declared it to be impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “An appointment with a lady, perhaps,” laughed Dorise + mischievously. + </p> + <p> + “What next, my dear! You know he is over head and ears in love with + you!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! That’s quite enough, mother. You’ve told me that + lots of times before. But I tell you quite frankly his love leaves me + quite cold.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! dear. That reply is, after all, but natural. You, of course, + won’t confess the truth,” her mother laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I do, mother. I’m heartily glad the fellow has gone. I hate + his supercilious manner, his superior tone, and his unctuous bearing. He’s + simply odious! That’s my opinion.” + </p> + <p> + Her mother looked at her severely across the table. + </p> + <p> + “Please remember, Dorise, that George is my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “I never forget that,” said the girl meaningly, as she rose + and left the table. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later, when she entered her bedroom, she found Duncan, her + maid, awaiting her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I’ve been waiting to see you this half hour, miss,” + she said. “I couldn’t get you alone. Just before eight o’clock, + as I was about to enter the park by the side gate near Bervie Farm, a + gentleman approached me and asked if my name was Duncan. I told him it + was, and then he gave me this to give to you in secret. He also gave me a + pound note, miss, to say nothing about it.” And the prim lady’s + maid handed her young mistress a small white envelope upon which her name + was written. + </p> + <p> + Opening it, she found a plain visiting card which bore the words in a man’s + handwriting: + </p> + <p> + “Would it be possible for you to meet me to-night at ten at the spot + where I have given this to your maid? Urgent.—SILVERADO.” + </p> + <p> + Dorise held her breath. It was a message from the mysterious white + cavalier who had sought her out at the <i>bal blanc</i> at Nice, and told + her of Hugh’s peril! + </p> + <p> + Duncan was naturally curious owing to the effect the card had had upon her + mistress, but she was too well trained to make any comment. Instead, she + busied herself at the wardrobe, and a few moments afterwards left the + room. + </p> + <p> + Dorise stood before the long cheval glass, the card still in her hand. + </p> + <p> + What did it mean? Why was the mysterious white cavalier in Scotland? At + least she would now be able to see his face. It was past nine, and the + moon was already shining. She had still more than half an hour before she + went forth to meet the man of mystery. + </p> + <p> + She descended to the drawing-room, where her mother was reading, and after + playing over a couple of songs as a camouflage, she pretended to be tired + and announced her intention of retiring. + </p> + <p> + “We have to go into Edinburgh to-morrow morning,” her mother + remarked. “So we should start pretty early. I’ve ordered the + car for nine o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, mother. Good-night,” said the girl as she closed + the door. + </p> + <p> + Then hastening to her room she threw off her dinner gown, and putting on a + coat and skirt and the boots which she had worn when fishing that morning, + she went out by a door which led from the great old library, with its + thousands of brown-backed volumes, on to the broad terrace which + overlooked the glen, now a veritable fairyland beneath the light of the + moon. + </p> + <p> + Outside the silence was only broken by the ripple of the burn over its + pebbles deep below, and the cry of the night-bird upon the steep rock + whereon the historic old castle was built. By a path known to her she + descended swiftly, and away into the park by yet another path, used almost + exclusively by the servants and the postman, down to a gate which led out + into the high road to Perth by one of the farms on the estate, the one + known as the Bervie. + </p> + <p> + As she was about to pass through the small swing gate, she heard a voice + which she recognized exclaim: + </p> + <p> + “Miss Ranscomb! I have to apologize!” And from the dark shadow + a rather tall man emerged and barred her path. + </p> + <p> + “I daresay you will think this all very mysterious,” he went + on, laughing lightly. “But I do hope I have not inconvenienced you. + If so, pray accept my deepest apologies. Will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” the girl replied, though somewhat taken aback by + the suddenness of the encounter. The man spoke slowly and with evident + refinement. His voice was the same she had heard at Nice on that memorable + night of gaiety. She recognized it instantly. + </p> + <p> + As he stood before her, his countenance became revealed in the moonlight, + and she saw a well-moulded, strongly-marked face, with a pair of dark, + penetrating eyes, set a little too close perhaps, but denoting strong will + and keen intelligence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he laughed. “Look at me well, Miss Ranscomb. I am + the white cavalier whom you last saw disguised by a black velvet mask. + Look at me again, because perhaps you may wish to recognize me later on.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are still Mr. X—eh?” asked the girl, who had + halted, and was gazing upon his rather striking face. + </p> + <p> + “Still the same,” he said, smiling. “Or you may call me + Brown, Jones, or Robinson—or any of the other saints’ names if + you prefer.” + </p> + <p> + “You have been very kind to me. Surely I may know your real name?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Miss Ranscomb. For certain very important reasons I do not wish + to disclose it. Pardon me—will you not? I ask that favour of you.” + </p> + <p> + “But will you not satisfy my curiosity?” + </p> + <p> + “At my personal risk? No. I do not think you would wish me to do + that—eh?” he asked in a tone of mild reproof. + </p> + <p> + Then he went on: + </p> + <p> + “I’m awfully sorry I could not approach you openly. In London + I found out that you were up here, so I thought it best to see you in + secret. You know why I have come to you, Miss Ranscomb—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “On behalf of Mr. Henfrey.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He is still in hiding. It has been impossible—through + force of circumstances—for him to send you further messages.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he? I want to see him.” + </p> + <p> + “Have patience, Miss Ranscomb, and I will arrange a meeting between + you.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do the police still search for him?” + </p> + <p> + “Because of an unfortunate fact. The lady, Mademoiselle Ferad, is + now confined to a private asylum at Cannes, but all the time she raves + furiously about Monsieur Henfrey. Hence the French police are convinced + that he shot her—and they are determined upon his arrest.” + </p> + <p> + “But do you think he is guilty?” + </p> + <p> + “I know he is not. Yet by force of adverse circumstances, he is + compelled to conceal himself until such time that we can prove his + innocence.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! But shall we ever be in a position to prove that?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so. We must have patience—and still more patience,” + urged the mysterious man as he stood in the full light of the brilliant + moon. “I have here a letter for you which Mr. Henfrey wrote a week + ago. It only came into my hands yesterday.” And he gave her an + envelope. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me something about this woman, Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo. + Who is she?” asked Dorise excitedly. + </p> + <p> + “Well—she is a person who was notorious at the Rooms, as you + yourself know. You have seen her.” + </p> + <p> + “And tell me, why do you take such an interest in Hugh?” + inquired the girl, not without a note of suspicion in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “For reasons best known to myself, Miss Ranscomb. Reasons which are + personal.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s hardly a satisfactory reply.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear I can give few satisfactory replies until we succeed in + ascertaining the truth of what occurred at the Villa Amette,” he + said. “I must urge you, Miss Ranscomb, to remain patient, and—and + not to lose faith in the man who is wrongfully accused.” + </p> + <p> + “But when can I see him?” asked Dorise eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Soon. But you must be discreet—and you must ask no questions. + Just place yourself in my hands—that is, if you can trust me.” + </p> + <p> + “I do, even though I am ignorant of your name.” + </p> + <p> + “It is best that you remain in ignorance,” was his reply. + “Otherwise perhaps you would hesitate to trust me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + But the tall, good-looking man only laughed, and then he said: + </p> + <p> + “My name really doesn’t matter at present. Later, Miss + Ranscomb, you will no doubt know it. I am only acting in the interests of + Henfrey.” + </p> + <p> + Again she looked at him. His face was smiling, and yet was sphinx-like in + the moonlight. His voice was certainly that of the white cavalier which + she recollected so well, but his personality, so strongly marked, was a + little overbearing. + </p> + <p> + “I know you mistrust me,” he went on. “If I were in your + place I certainly should do so. A thousand pities it is that I cannot tell + you who I am. But—well—I tell you in confidence that I dare + not!” + </p> + <p> + “Dare not! Of what are you afraid?” inquired Dorise. The man + she had met under such romantic circumstances interested her keenly. He + was Hugh’s go-between. Poor Hugh! She knew he was suffering severely + in his loneliness, and his incapability to clear himself of the terrible + stigma upon him. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid of several things,” replied the white + cavalier. “The greatest fear I have is that you may not believe in + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I do believe in you,” declared the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Excellent!” he replied enthusiastically. “Then let us + get to business—pardon me for putting it so. But I am, after all, a + business man. I am interested in a lot of different businesses, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “Of what character?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Miss Ranscomb. That is another point upon which I regret that I + cannot satisfy your pardonable curiosity. Please allow your mind to rest + upon the one main point—that I am acting in the interests of the man + with—the man who is, I believe, your greatest and most intimate + friend.” + </p> + <p> + “I understood that when we met in Nice.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! Now I understand that your mother, Lady Ranscomb, is much + against your marriage with Hugh Henfrey. She has other views.” + </p> + <p> + “Really! Who told you that?” + </p> + <p> + “I have ascertained it in the course of my inquiry.” + </p> + <p> + Dorise paused, and then looking the man of mystery straight in the face, + asked: + </p> + <p> + “What do you really know about me?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he laughed lightly. “A good deal. Now tell me + when could you be free to get away from your mother for a whole day?” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know. Just tell me the date. When are you returning to + London?” + </p> + <p> + “On Saturday week. I could get away—say—on Tuesday week.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. You would have to leave London by an early train in the + morning—if I fail to send a car for you, which I hope to do. And be + back again late at night.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he echoed. “Because I have a reason.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you will take me to meet Hugh—eh? Ah! How good you + are!” cried the girl in deep emotion. “I shall never be able + to thank you sufficiently for all you are doing. I—I have been + longing all these weeks to see him again—to hear his explanation why + he went to the woman’s house at that hour—why——” + </p> + <p> + “He will tell you everything, no doubt,” said her mysterious + visitor. “He will tell you everything except one fact.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that?” she asked breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “One fact he will not tell you. But you will know it later. Hugh + Henfrey is a fine manly fellow, Miss Ranscomb. That is why I have done my + level best in his interest.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should you?” she asked. “You are, after all, a + stranger.” + </p> + <p> + “True. But you will know the truth some day. Meanwhile, leave + matters as they are. Do not prejudge him, even if the police are convinced + of his guilt. Could you be at King’s Cross station at ten o’clock + on the morning of Tuesday week? If so, I will meet you there.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied. “But where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + “At present I have no idea. When one is escaping from the police one’s + movements have to be ruled by circumstances from hour to hour. I will do + my best on that day to arrange a meeting between you,” he added. + </p> + <p> + She thanked him very sincerely. He was still a mystery, but his face and + his whole bearing attracted her. He was her friend. She recollected his + words amid that gay revelry at Nice—words of encouragement and + sympathy. And he had travelled there, far north into Perthshire, in order + to carry the letter which she had thrust into her pocket, yet still + holding it in her clenched hand. + </p> + <p> + “I do wish you would tell me the motive of your extreme kindness + towards us both,” Dorise urged. “I can’t make it out at + all. I am bewildered.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—so am I, Miss Ranscomb,” replied the tall, elegant + man who spoke with such refinement, and was so shrewd and alert. “There + are certain facts—facts of which I have no knowledge. The affair at + the Villa Amette is still, to me, a most profound mystery.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did Hugh go there at all? That is what I fail to understand,” + she declared. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t wonder any longer. He had, I know, an urgent and + distinct motive to call that night.” + </p> + <p> + “But the woman! I hear she is a notorious adventuress.” + </p> + <p> + “And the adventuress, Miss Ranscomb, often has, deep in her soul, + the heart of a pure woman,” he said. “One must never judge by + appearance or gossip. What people may think is the curse of many of our + lives. I hope you do not misjudge Mr. Henfrey.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not. But I am anxious to hear his explanation.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall—and before long, too,” he replied. “But + I want you, if you will, to answer a question. I do not put it from mere + idle curiosity, but it very closely concerns you both. Have you ever heard + him speak of a girl named Louise Lambert?” + </p> + <p> + “Louise Lambert? Why, yes! He introduced her to me once. She is, I + understand, the adopted daughter of a man named Benton, an intimate friend + of old Mr. Henfrey.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he ever told you anything concerning her?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing much. Why?” + </p> + <p> + “He has never told you the conditions of his father’s will?” + </p> + <p> + “Never—except that he has been left very poorly off, though + his father died in affluent circumstances. What are the conditions?” + </p> + <p> + The mysterious stranger paused for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Have you, of late, formed an acquaintance of a certain Mrs. Bond, a + widow?” + </p> + <p> + “I met her recently in South Kensington, at the house of a friend of + my mother, Mrs. Binyon. Why?” + </p> + <p> + “How many times have you met her?” + </p> + <p> + “Two—or I think three. She came to tea with us the day before + we came up here.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m! Your mother seems rather prone to make easy + acquaintanceships—eh? The Hardcastles were distinctly undesirable, + were they not?—and the Jameses also?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what do you know about them?” asked the girl, much + surprised, as they were two families who had been discovered to be not + what they represented. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he laughed. “I happen to be aware of your mother’s + charm—that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to know quite a bit about us,” she remarked. “How + is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I have made it my business to know, Miss Ranscomb,” + he replied. “Further, I would urge upon you to have nothing to do + with Mrs. Bond.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? We found her most pleasant. She is the widow of a wealthy + man who died abroad about two years ago, and she lives somewhere down in + Surrey.” + </p> + <p> + “I know all about that,” he answered in a curious tone. + “But I repeat my warning that Mrs. Bond is by no means a desirable + acquaintance. I tell you so for your own benefit.” + </p> + <p> + Inwardly he was angry that the woman should have so cleverly made the + acquaintance of the girl. It showed him plainly that Benton and she were + working on a set and desperate plan, while the girl before him was + entirely ignorant of the plot. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Miss Ranscomb,” he added, “I want you to please + make me a promise—namely, that you will say nothing to a single soul + of what I have said this evening—not even to your friend, Mr. + Henfrey. I have very strong reasons for this. Remember, I am acting in the + interests of you both, and secrecy is the essence of success.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand. But you really mystify me. I know you are my friend,” + she said, “but why are you doing all this for our benefit?” + </p> + <p> + “In order that Hugh Henfrey may return to your side, and that hand + in hand you may be able to defeat your enemies.” + </p> + <p> + “My enemies! Who are they?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + “One day, very soon, they must reveal themselves. When they do, and + you find yourself in difficulties, you have only to call upon me, and I + will further assist you. Advertise in the <i>Times</i> newspaper at any + time for an appointment with ‘Silverado.’ Give me seven days, + and I will keep it.” + </p> + <p> + “But do tell me your name!” she urged, as they moved together + from the pathway along the road in the direction of Perth. “I beg of + you to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “I have already begged a favour of you, Miss Ranscomb,” he + answered in a soft, refined voice. “I ask you not to press your + question. Suffice it that I am your sincere friend.” + </p> + <p> + “But when shall I see Hugh?” she cried, again halting. “I + cannot bear this terrible suspense any longer—indeed I can’t! + Can I go to him soon?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” cried a voice from the shadow of a bush close beside + them as a dark alert figure sprang forth into the light. “It is + needless. I am here, dearest!—<i>at last</i>!” + </p> + <p> + And next second she found herself clasped in her lover’s strong + embrace, while the stranger, utterly taken aback, stood looking on, + absolutely mystified. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FIFTEENTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + THE NAMELESS MAN + </h3> + <p> + “Who is this gentleman, Dorise?” asked Hugh, when a moment + later the girl and her companion had recovered from their surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot introduce you,” was her reply. “He refuses to + give his name.” + </p> + <p> + The tall man laughed, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I have already told you that my name is X.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh regarded the stranger with distinct suspicion. It was curious that he + should discover them together, yet he made but little comment. + </p> + <p> + “We were just speaking about you, Mr. Henfrey,” the tall man + went on. “I believed that you were still in Belgium.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know I was there?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!—well, information concerning your hiding-place reached + me,” was his enigmatical reply. “I am, however, glad you have + been able to return to England in safety. I was about to arrange a meeting + between you. But I advise you to be most careful.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to know a good deal concerning me,” Hugh remarked + resentfully, looking at the stern, rather handsome face in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + “This is the gentleman who sought me out in Nice, and first told me + of your peril, Hugh. I recognize his voice, and have to thank him for a + good deal,” the girl declared. + </p> + <p> + “Really, Miss Ranscomb, I require no thanks,” the polite + stranger assured her. “If I have been able to render Mr. Henfrey a + little service it has been a pleasure to me. And now that you are together + again I will leave you.” + </p> + <p> + “But who are you?” demanded Hugh, filled with curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “That matters not, now that you are back in England. Only I beseech + of you to be very careful,” said the tall man. Then he added: + “There are pitfalls into which you may very easily fall—traps + set by your enemies.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, I thank you sincerely for what you have done for Miss + Ranscomb during my absence,” said the young man, much mystified at + finding Dorise strolling at that hour with a man of whose name even she + was ignorant. “I know I have enemies, and I shall certainly heed + your warning.” + </p> + <p> + “Your enemies must not know you are in England. If they do, they + will most certainly inform the police.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall take care of that,” was Hugh’s reply. “I + shall be compelled to go into hiding again—but where, I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you must certainly continue to lie low for a time,” the + man urged. “I know how very dull it must have been for you through + all those weeks. But even that is better than the scandal of arrest and + trial.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I know of what you are accused, Hugh!” cried the girl. + “And I also know you are innocent!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Henfrey is innocent,” said the tall stranger. “But + there must be no publicity, hence his only chance of safety lies in strict + concealment.” + </p> + <p> + “It is difficult to conceal oneself in England,” replied Hugh. + </p> + <p> + The stranger laughed, as he slowly answered: + </p> + <p> + “There are certain places where no questions are asked—if you + know where to look for them. But first, I am very interested to know how + you got over here.” + </p> + <p> + “I went to Ostend, and for twenty pounds induced a Belgian fisherman + to put me ashore at night near Caister, in Norfolk. I went to London at + once, only to discover that Miss Ranscomb was at Blairglas—and here + I am. But I assure you it was an adventurous crossing, for the weather was + terrible—a gale blew nearly the whole time.” + </p> + <p> + “You are here, it is true, Mr. Henfrey. But you mustn’t remain + here,” the stranger declared. “Though I refuse to give you my + name, I will nevertheless try to render you further assistance. Go back to + London by the next train you can get, and then call upon Mrs. Mason, who + lives at a house called ‘Heathcote,’ in Abingdon Road, + Kensington. She is a friend of mine, and I will advise her by telegram + that she will have a visitor. Take apartments at her house, and remain + there in strict seclusion. Will you remember the address—shall I + write it down?” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks very much indeed,” Hugh replied. “I shall + remember it. Mrs. Mason, ‘Heathcote,’ Abingdon Road, + Kensington.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s it. Get there as soon as ever you can,” urged + the stranger. “Recollect that your enemies are still in active + search of you.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh looked his mysterious friend full in the face. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” he said, in a firm, hard voice. “Are you + known as Il Passero?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” answered the stranger. “I refuse to satisfy + your curiosity as to who I may be. I am your friend—that is all that + concerns you.” + </p> + <p> + “But the famous Passero—The Sparrow—is my unknown + friend,” he said, “and I have a suspicion that you and he are + identical!” + </p> + <p> + “I have a motive in not disclosing my identity,” was the man’s + reply in a curious tone. “Get to Mrs. Mason’s as quickly as + you can. Perhaps one day soon we may meet again. Till then, I wish both of + you the best of luck. <i>Au revoir</i>!” + </p> + <p> + And, raising his hat, he turned abruptly, and, leaving them, set off up + the high road which led to Perth. + </p> + <p> + “But, listen, sir—one moment!” cried Hugh, as he turned + away. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless the stranger heeded not, and a few seconds later his figure + was lost in the shadow of the high hedgerow. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Hugh, a few moments later, “all this is + most amazing. I feel certain that he is either the mysterious Sparrow + himself, or one of his chief accomplices.” + </p> + <p> + “The Sparrow? Who is he—dear?” asked Dorise, her hand + upon her lover’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s sit down somewhere, and I will tell you,” he + said. Then, re-entering the park by the small iron gate, Dorise led him to + a fallen tree where, as they sat together, he related all he had been told + concerning the notorious head of a criminal gang known to his + confederates, and the underworld of Europe generally, as Il Passero, or + The Sparrow. + </p> + <p> + “How very remarkable!” exclaimed Dorise, when he had finished, + and she, in turn, had told him of the encounter at the White Ball at Nice, + and the coming and going of the messenger from Malines. “I wonder if + he really is the notorious Sparrow?” + </p> + <p> + “I feel convinced he is,” declared Hugh. “He sent me a + message in secret to Malines a fortnight ago forbidding me to attempt to + leave Belgium, because he considered the danger too great. He was, no + doubt, much surprised to-night when he found me here.” + </p> + <p> + “He certainly was quite as surprised as myself,” the girl + replied, happy beyond expression that her lover was once again at her + side. + </p> + <p> + In his strong arms he held her in a long, tight embrace, kissing her upon + the lips in a frenzy of satisfaction—long, sweet kisses which she + reciprocated with a whole-heartedness that told him of her devotion. + There, in the shadow, he whispered to her his love, repeating what he had + told her in London, and again in Monte Carlo. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he put a question to her: + </p> + <p> + “Do you really believe I am innocent of the charge against me, + darling?” + </p> + <p> + “I do, Hugh,” she answered frankly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Thank you for those words,” he said, in a broken voice. + “I feared that you might think because of my flight that I was + guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you are not. Mother, of course, says all sorts of nasty + things—that you must have done something very wrong—and all + that.” + </p> + <p> + “My escape certainly gives colour to the belief that I am in fear of + arrest. And so I am. Yet I swear that I never attempted to harm the lady + at the Villa Amette.” + </p> + <p> + “But why did you go there at all, dear?” the girl asked. + “You surely knew the unenviable reputation borne by that woman!” + </p> + <p> + “I know it quite well,” he said. “I expected to meet an + adventuress—but, on the contrary, I met a real good woman!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you, Hugh,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No, darling. You, of course, cannot understand!” he + exclaimed. “I admit that I followed her home, and I demanded an + interview.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I was determined she should divulge to me a secret of her + own.” + </p> + <p> + “What secret?” + </p> + <p> + “One that concerns my whole future.” + </p> + <p> + “Cannot you tell me what it is?” she asked, looking into his + face, which in the moonlight she saw was much changed, for it was + unusually pale and haggard. + </p> + <p> + “I—well—at the present moment I am myself mystified, + darling. Hence I cannot explain the truth,” he replied. “Will + you trust me if I promise to tell you the whole facts as soon as I have + learnt them? One day I hope I shall know all, yet——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yet—what?” + </p> + <p> + He drew a deep breath. + </p> + <p> + “The poor unfortunate lady has lost her reason as the result of the + attempt upon her life. Therefore, after all, I may never be in a position + to know the truth which died upon her lips.” + </p> + <p> + For nearly two hours the pair remained together. Often she was locked in + her lover’s arms, heedless of everything save her unbounded joy at + his return, and of the fierce, passionate caresses he bestowed upon her. + Truly, that was a night of supreme delight as they held each other’s + hands, and their lips met time after time in ecstasy. + </p> + <p> + He inquired about George Sherrard, but she said little. She hesitated to + tell him of the incident while fishing that morning, but merely said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! He was up here for two or three days, but had to go back to + London on business. And I was very glad.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, dearest, your mother still presses you to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” laughed the girl. “But she will continue to + press. She’s constantly singing his praises until I’m utterly + sick of hearing of all his good qualities.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh sighed, and replied: + </p> + <p> + “All men who are rich are possessed of good qualities in the + estimation of the world. The poor and hard-up are the despised. But, after + all, Dorise,” he added, in a changed voice, “you have not + forgotten what you told me at Monte Carlo—that you love me?” + </p> + <p> + “I repeat it, Hugh!” declared the girl, deeply in earnest, her + hand stealing into his. “I love only you!—<i>you</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Then again he took her in his arms, and imprinted a fierce, passionate + kiss upon her ready lips. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose we must part again,” he sighed. “I am + compelled to keep away from you because no doubt a watch has been set upon + you, and upon your correspondence. Up to the present, I have been able, by + the good grace of unknown friends, to slip through the meshes of the net + spread for me. But how long this will continue, I know not.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! do be careful, Hugh, won’t you?” urged the girl, as + they sat side by side. The only sound was the rippling of the burn deep + down in the glen, and the distant barking of a shepherd’s dog. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I’ll get away into the wilds of Kensington—to + Abingdon Road. One is safer in a London suburb than in a desert, no doubt. + West London is a good hiding-place.” + </p> + <p> + “Recollect the name. Mason, wasn’t it? And she lives at + ‘Heathcote.’” + </p> + <p> + “That was it. But do not communicate with me, otherwise my place of + concealment will most certainly be discovered.” + </p> + <p> + “But can’t I see you, Hugh?” implored the girl. “Must + we again be parted?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It seems so, according to our mysterious friend, whom I + believe most firmly to be the notorious thief known by the Italian + sobriquet of Il Passero—The Sparrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he is a thief?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I am convinced that your friend is none other than the + picturesque and romantic criminal whose octopus hand is upon almost every + great theft in Europe, and whom the police always fail to catch, so + elusive and clever is he.” + </p> + <p> + She gave him further details of their first meeting at Nice. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. That is one of his methods—secrecy and generosity + are his two traits. He and his accomplices rob the wealthy, and assist + those wrongly accused. It must be he—or one of his assistants. + Otherwise he would not know of the secret hiding-place for those after + whom a hue-and-cry has been raised.” + </p> + <p> + He recollected at that moment the girl who had been his fellow-guest in + Genoa—the dainty mademoiselle who evidently had some secret + knowledge of his father’s death, and yet refused to divulge a single + word. + </p> + <p> + Ever since that memorable night at the Villa Amette, he had existed in a + mist of suspicion and uncertainty. Yet, after all, he cared little for + anything so long as Dorise still believed in his innocence, and she still + loved him. His one great object was to clear up the mystery of his father’s + tragic end, and thus defeat the clever plot of those whose intention it, + apparently, was to marry him to Louise Lambert. + </p> + <p> + On every hand there was mystification. The one woman—notorious as + she was—who knew the truth had been rendered mentally incompetent by + an assassin’s bullet, while he, himself, was accused of the crime. + </p> + <p> + Hugh Henfrey would have long ago confessed to Dorise the whole facts + concerning his father’s death, but his delicacy prevented him. He + honoured his dead father, and was averse to telling the girl he loved that + he had been found in a curious state in a West End street late at night. + He was loyal to his poor father’s memory, and, until he knew the + actual truth, he did not intend that Dorise should be in a position to + misconstrue the facts, or to misjudge. + </p> + <p> + On the face of it, his father’s death was exceedingly suspicious. He + had left his home in the country and gone to town upon pretence. Why? That + a woman was connected with his journey was now apparent. Hugh had + ascertained certain facts which he had resolved to withhold from + everybody. + </p> + <p> + But why should the notorious Sparrow, the King of the Underworld, interest + himself so actively on his behalf as to travel up there to Perthshire, + after making those secret, but elaborate, arrangements for safety? The + whole affair was a mystery, complete and insoluble. + </p> + <p> + It was early morning, after they had rambled for several hours in the + moonlight, when Hugh bade his well-beloved farewell. + </p> + <p> + They had returned through the park and were at a gate quite close to the + castle when they halted. It had crossed Hugh’s mind that they might + be seen by one of the keepers, and he had mentioned this to Dorise. + </p> + <p> + “What matter?” she replied. “They do not know you, and + probably will not recognize me.” + </p> + <p> + So after promising Hugh to remain discreet, she told him they were + returning to London in a few days. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” he said suddenly. “We must meet again very + soon, darling. I daresay I may venture out at night, therefore why not let + us make an appointment—say, for Tuesday week. Where shall we meet? + At midnight at the first seat on the right on entering the part at the + Marble Arch? You remember, we met there once before—about a year + ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I know the spot,” the girl replied. “I remember + what a cold, wet night it was, too!” and she laughed at the + recollection. “Very well. I will contrive to be there. That night we + are due at a dance at the Gordons’ in Grosvenor Gardens. But I’ll + manage to be there somehow—if only for five minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” he exclaimed, again kissing her fondly. “Now I + must make all speed to Kensington and there go once more into hiding. When—oh, + when will this wearying life be over!” + </p> + <p> + “You have a friend, as I have, in the mysterious white cavalier,” + she said. “I wonder who he really is?” + </p> + <p> + “The Sparrow—without a doubt—the famous ‘Il + Passero’ for whom the police of Europe are ever searching, the man + who at one moment lives in affluence and the highest respectability in a + house somewhere near Piccadilly, and at another is tearing over the + French, Spanish, or Italian roads in his powerful car directing all sorts + of crooked business. It’s a strange world in which I find myself, + Dorise, I assure you! Good-bye, darling—good-bye!” and he took + her in a final embrace. “Good-bye—till Tuesday week.” + </p> + <p> + Then stepping on to the grass, where his feet fell noiselessly, he + disappeared in the dark shadow of the great avenue of beeches. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SIXTEENTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + THE ESCROCS OF LONDON + </h3> + <p> + For ten weary days Hugh Henfrey had lived in the close, frowsy-smelling + house in Abingdon Road, Kensington, a small, old-fashioned place, once a + residence of well-to-do persons, but now sadly out of repair. + </p> + <p> + Its occupier was a worthy, and somewhat wizened, widow named Mason, who + was supposed to be the relict of an army surgeon who had been killed at + the Battle of the Marne. She was about sixty, and suffered badly from + asthma. Her house was too large for one maid, a stout, matronly person + called Emily, hence the place was not kept as clean as it ought to have + been, and the cuisine left much to be desired. + </p> + <p> + Still, it appeared to be a safe harbour of refuge for certain strange + persons who came there, men who looked more or less decent members of + society, but whose talk and whose slang was certainly that of crooks. That + house in the back street of old-world Kensington, a place built before + Victoria ascended the throne, was undoubtedly on a par with the flat of + the Reveccas in Genoa, and the thieves’ sanctuary in the shadow of + the cathedral at Malines. + </p> + <p> + Adversity brings with it queer company, and Hugh had found himself among a + mixed society of men who had been gentlemen and had taken up the criminal + life as an up-to-date profession. They all spoke of The Sparrow with awe; + and they all wondered what his next great coup would be. + </p> + <p> + Hugh became more than ever satisfied that Il Passero was one of the + greatest and most astute criminals who have graced the annals of our time. + </p> + <p> + Everyone sang his praise. The queer visitors who lodged there for a day, a + couple of days, or more; the guests who came suddenly, and who disappeared + just as quickly, were one and all loud in their admiration of Il Passero, + though Hugh could discover nobody who had actually seen the arch-thief in + the flesh. + </p> + <p> + On the Tuesday night Hugh had had a frugal and badly-cooked meal with + three mysterious men who had arrived as Mrs. Mason’s guests during + the day. After supper the widow rose and left the room, whereupon the + trio, all well-dressed men-about-town, began to chatter openly about a + little “deal” in diamonds in which they had been interested. + The “deal” in question had been reported in the newspapers on + the previous morning, namely, how a Dutch diamond dealer’s office in + Hatton Garden had been broken into, the safe cut open by the most + scientific means, and a very valuable parcel of stones extracted. + </p> + <p> + “Harry Austen has gone down to Surrey to stay with Molly.” + </p> + <p> + “Molly? Why, I thought she was in Paris!” + </p> + <p> + “She was—but she went to America for a trip and she finds it + more pleasant to live down in Surrey just now,” replied the other + with a grin. “She has Charlie’s girl living with her.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” grunted the third man. “Not quite the sort + of companion Charlie might choose for his daughter—eh?” + </p> + <p> + Hugh took but little notice of the conversation. It was drawing near the + time when he would go forth to meet Dorise at their trysting place. In + anxiety he went into the adjoining room, and there smoked alone until just + past eleven o’clock, when he put on his hat and went forth into the + dark, deserted street. + </p> + <p> + Opposite High Street Kensington Station he jumped upon a bus, and at five + minutes to midnight alighted at the Marble Arch. On entering the park he + quickly found the seat he had indicated as their meeting place, and sat + down to wait. + </p> + <p> + The home-going theatre traffic behind him in the Bayswater Road had nearly + ceased as the church clocks chimed the midnight hour. In the semi-darkness + of the park dark figures were moving, lovers with midnight trysts like his + own. In the long, well-lit road behind him motors full of gaily-dressed + women flashed homeward from suppers or theatres, while from the open + windows of a ballroom in a great mansion, the house of an iron magnate, + came the distant strains of waltz music. + </p> + <p> + Time dragged along. He strained his eyes down the dark pathway, but could + see no approaching figure. Had she at the last moment been prevented from + coming? He knew how difficult it was for her to slip away at night, for + Lady Ranscomb was always so full of engagements, and Dorise was compelled + to go everywhere with her. + </p> + <p> + At last he saw a female figure in the distance, as she turned into the + park from the Marble Arch, and springing to his feet, he went forward to + meet her. At first he was not certain that it was Dorise, but as he + approached nearer he recognized her gait. + </p> + <p> + A few seconds later he confronted her and grasped her warmly by the hand. + The black cloak she was wearing revealed a handsome jade-coloured evening + gown, while her shoes were not those one would wear for promenading in the + park. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome at last, darling!” he cried. “I was wondering + if you could get away, after all!” + </p> + <p> + “I had a little difficulty,” she laughed. “I’m at + a dance at the Gordons’ in Grosvenor Gardens, but I managed to slip + out, find a taxi, and run along here. I fear I can’t stay long, or + they will miss me.” + </p> + <p> + “Even five minutes with you is bliss to me, darling,” he said, + grasping her ungloved hand and raising it to his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Hugh. If you could only return to us, instead of living under + this awful cloud of suspicion!” the girl cried. “Every day, + and every night, I think of you, dear, and wonder how you are dragging out + your days in obscurity down in Kensington. Twice this week I drove along + the Earl’s Court Road, quite close to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! life is a bit dull, certainly,” he replied cheerfully. + “But I have papers and books—and I can look out of the window + on to the houses opposite.” + </p> + <p> + “But you go out for a ramble at night?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes,” he replied. “Last night I set out at one o’clock + and walked up to Hampstead Heath, as far as Jack Straw’s Castle and + back. The night was perfect. Really, Londoners who sleep heavily all night + lose the best part of their lives. London is only beautiful in the night + hours and at early dawn. I often watch the sun rise from the Thames + Embankment. I have a favourite seat—just beyond Scotland Yard. I’ve + become quite a night-bird these days. I sleep when the sun shines, and + with a sandwich box and a flask I go long tramps at night, just as others + do who, like myself, are concealing their identity.” + </p> + <p> + “But when will all this end?” queried the girl, as together + they strolled in the direction of Bayswater, passing many whispering + couples sitting on seats. London lovers enjoy the park at all hours of the + twenty-four. + </p> + <p> + “It will only end when I am able to discover the truth,” he + said vaguely. “Meanwhile I am not disheartened, darling, because—because + I know that you believe in me—that you still trust me.” + </p> + <p> + “That man whom I saw in Nice dressed as a cavalier, and who again + came to me in Scotland, is a mystery,” she said. “Do you + really believe he is the person you suspect?” + </p> + <p> + “I do. I still believe he is the notorious and defiant criminal + ‘Il Passero’—the most daring and ingenious thief of the + present century.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is evidently your friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That is the great mystery of it all. I cannot discern his + motive.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it a sinister one, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I do not believe so. I have heard of The Sparrow’s fame + from the lips of many criminals, but none has uttered a single word + against him. He is, I hear, fierce, bitter, and relentless towards those + who are his enemies. To his friends, however, he is staunchly loyal. That + is what is said of him.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Hugh, I wish you would be more frank with me,” the girl + said. “There are several things you are hiding from me.” + </p> + <p> + “I admit it, darling,” he blurted forth, holding her hand in + the darkness as they walked. The ecstasy and the bliss of that moment held + him almost without words. She was as life to him. He pursued that + soul-deadening evasion, and lived that grey, sordid life among men and + women escaping from justice solely for her sake. If he married Louise + Lambert and then cast off the matrimonial shackles he would recover his + patrimony and be well-off. + </p> + <p> + To many men the temptation would have proved too great. The inheritance of + his father’s fortune was so very easy. Louise was a pretty girl, + well educated, bright, vivacious, and thoroughly up to date. Yet somehow, + he always mistrusted Benton, though his father, perhaps blinded in his + years, had reckoned him his best and most sincere friend. There are many + unscrupulous men who pose as dear, devoted friends of those who they know + are doomed by disease to die—men who hope to be left executors with + attaching emoluments, and men who have some deep game to play either by + swindling the orphans, or by advancing one of their own kith and kin in + the social scale. + </p> + <p> + Old Mr. Henfrey, a genuine country landowner of the good old school, a man + who lived in tweeds and leggings, and who rode regularly to hounds and + enjoyed his days across the stubble, was one of the unsuspicious. Charles + Benton he had first met long ago in the Hotel de Russie in Rome while he + was wintering there. Benton was merry, and, apparently, a gentleman. He + talked of his days at Harrow, and afterwards at Cambridge, of being sent + down because of a big “rag” in the Gladstonian days, and of + his life since as a fairly well-off bachelor with rooms in London. + </p> + <p> + Thus a close intimacy had sprung up between them, and Hugh had naturally + regarded his father’s friend with entire confidence. + </p> + <p> + “You admit that you are not telling me the whole truth, Hugh,” + remarked the girl after a long pause. “It is hardly fair of you, is + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! darling, you do not know my position,” he hastened to + explain as he gripped her little hand more tightly in his own. “I + only wish I could learn the truth myself so as to make complete + explanation. But at present all is doubt and uncertainty. Won’t you + trust me, Dorise?” + </p> + <p> + “Trust you!” she echoed. “Why, of course I will! You + surely know that, Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + The young man was again silent for some moments. Then he exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Yet, after all, I can see no ray of hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Hope of our marriage, Dorise,” he said hoarsely. “How + can I, without money, ever hope to make you my wife?” + </p> + <p> + “But you will have your father’s estate in due course, won’t + you?” she asked quite innocently. “You always plead poverty. + You are so like a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Dorise, I am really poor. You don’t understand—<i>you + can’t</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “But I do,” she said. “You may have debts. Every man has + them—tailor’s bills, restaurant bills, betting debts, + jewellery debts. Oh! I know. I’ve heard all about these things from + another. Well, if you have them, you’ll be able to settle them out + of your father’s estate all in due course.” + </p> + <p> + “And if he has left me nothing?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!” exclaimed the handsome girl at his side. “What + do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Well——” he said very slowly. “At present I + have nothing—that’s all. That is why at Monte Carlo I + suggested that—that——” + </p> + <p> + He did not conclude the sentence. + </p> + <p> + “I remember. You said that I had better marry George Sherrard—that + thick-lipped ass. You said that because you are hard-up?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I am hard-up. Very hard-up. At present I am existing in an + obscure lodging practically upon the charity of a man upon whom, so far as + I can ascertain, I have no claim whatsoever.” + </p> + <p> + “The notorious thief?” + </p> + <p> + Hugh nodded, and said: + </p> + <p> + “That fact in itself mystifies me. I can see no motive. I am + entirely innocent of the crime attributed to me, and if Mademoiselle were + in her right mind she would instantly clear me of this terrible charge.” + </p> + <p> + “But why did you go to her home that night, Hugh?” + </p> + <p> + “As I have already told you, I went to demand a reply to a single + question I put to her,” he said. “But please do no let us + discuss the affair further. The whole circumstances are painful to me—more + painful than you can possibly imagine. One day—and I hope it will be + soon—you will fully realize what all this has cost me.” + </p> + <p> + The girl drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “I know, Hugh,” she said. “I know, dear—and I do + trust you.” + </p> + <p> + They halted, and he bent and impressed upon her lips a fierce caress. + </p> + <p> + So entirely absorbed in each other were the pair that they failed to + notice the slim figure of a man who had followed the girl at some + distance. Indeed, the individual in question had been lurking outside the + house in Grosvenor Gardens, and had watched Dorise leave. At the end of + the street a taxi was drawn up at the kerb awaiting him. Dorise had hailed + the man, but his reply was a surly “Engaged.” + </p> + <p> + Then, walking about a couple of hundred yards, she had found another, and + entering it, had driven to the Marble Arch. But the first taxi had + followed the second one, and in it was the well-set-up man who was + silently watching her in the park as she walked with her lover towards the + Victoria Gate. + </p> + <p> + “What can I say to you in reply to your words of hope, darling?” + exclaimed Hugh as he walked beside her. “I know full well how much + all this must puzzle you. Have you seen Brock?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes. I saw him two days ago. He called upon mother and had tea. + I managed to get five minutes alone with him, and I asked if he had heard + from you. He replied that he had not. He’s much worried about you.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he, dear old chap? I only wish I dared write to him, and give + him my address.” + </p> + <p> + “I told him that you were back in London. But I did not give him + your address. You told me to disclose nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right, Dorise,” he said. “If, as I hope one day + to do, I can ever clear myself and combat my secret enemies, then there + will be revealed to you a state of things of which you little dream. + To-day I confess I am under a cloud. In the to-morrow I hope and pray that + I may be able to expose the guilty and throw a new light upon those who + have conspired to secure my downfall.” + </p> + <p> + They had halted in the dark path, and again their lips met in fond caress. + Behind them was the silent watcher, the tall man who had followed Dorise + when she had made her secret exit from the house wherein the gay dance was + till in progress. + </p> + <p> + An empty seat was near, and with one accord the lovers sank upon it, Hugh + still holding the girl’s soft hand. + </p> + <p> + “I must really go,” she said. “Mother will miss me, no + doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “And George Sherrard, too?” asked her companion bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “He may, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Then he is with you to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Unfortunately, he is. Ah! Hugh! How I hate his exquisite and + superior manners. But he is such a close friend of mother’s that I + can never escape him.” + </p> + <p> + “And he still pesters you with his attentions, of course,” + remarked Hugh in a hard voice. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes, he is always pretending to be in love with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Love!” echoed Hugh. “Can such a man ever love a woman? + Never, Dorise. He does not love you as I love you—with my whole + heart and my whole soul.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course the fellow cannot,” she replied. “But, for + mother’s sake, I have to suffer his presence.” + </p> + <p> + “At least you are frank, darling,” he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I only tell you the truth, dear. Mother thinks she can induce me to + marry him because he is so rich, but I repeat that I have no intention + whatever of doing so. I love you, Hugh—and only you.” + </p> + <p> + Again he took her in his strong arms and pressed her to him, still being + watched by the mysterious individual who had followed Dorise. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my darling, these are, indeed, moments of supreme happiness,” + Hugh exclaimed as he held her tightly in his arms. “I wonder when we + dare meet again?” + </p> + <p> + “Soon, dear—very soon, I hope. Let us make another + appointment,” she said. “On Friday week mother is going to + spend the night with Mrs. Deane down at Ascot. I shall make excuse to stay + at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Right. Friday week at the same place and time,” he said + cheerily. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have to go now,” she said regretfully. “I + only wish I could stay longer, but I must get back at once. If mother + misses me she’ll have a fit.” + </p> + <p> + So he walked with her out of the Victoria Gate into the Bayswater Road and + put her into an empty taxi which was passing back to Oxford Street. + </p> + <p> + Then, when he had pressed her hand and wished her adieu, he continued, + towards Notting Hill Gate, and thence returned to Kensington. + </p> + <p> + But, though he was ignorant of the fact, the rather lank figure which had + been waiting outside the house in Grosvenor Gardens now followed him + almost as noiselessly as a shadow. Never once did the watcher lose sight + of him until he saw him enter the house in Abingdon Road with his + latchkey. + </p> + <p> + Then, when the door had closed, the mysterious watcher passed by and + scrutinized the number, after which he hastened back to Kensington High + Street, where he found a belated taxi in which he drove away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SEVENTEENTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + ON THE SURREY HILLS + </h3> + <p> + On the following morning, about twelve o’clock, Emily, Mrs. Mason’s + stout maid-of-all-work, showed a tall, well-dressed man into Hugh’s + frowsy little sitting-room where he sat reading. + </p> + <p> + He sprang to his feet when he recognized his visitor to be Charles Benton. + </p> + <p> + “Well my boy!” cried his visitor cheerily. “So I’ve + found you at last! We all thought you were on the Continent, lying low + somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “So I have been,” replied the young man faintly. “You’ve + heard of that affair at Monte Carlo?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. And you are suspected—wanted by the police? That’s + why I’m here,” Benton replied. “This place isn’t + safe for you. You must get away from it at once,” he added, lowering + his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Why isn’t it safe?” + </p> + <p> + “Because at Scotland Yard they know you are somewhere in Kensington, + and they’re hunting high and low for you.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Because Harpur, one of the assistant Commissioners of Police, + happened to be in the club yesterday, and we chatted. So I pumped him as + to the suspected person from Monte Carlo, and he declared that you were + known to be in this district, and your arrest was only a matter of time. + So you must clear out at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Where to?” asked Hugh blankly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there’s a lady you met once or twice with me, Mrs. + Bond. She will be delighted to put you up for a few weeks. She has a + charming house down in Surrey—a place called Shapley Manor.” + </p> + <p> + “She might learn the truth and give me away,” remarked Hugh + dubiously. + </p> + <p> + “She won’t. Recollect, Hugh, that I was your father’s + friend, and am yours. What advice I give you is for your own good. You can’t + stay here—it’s impossible.” + </p> + <p> + The name of The Sparrow was upon Hugh’s lips, and he was about to + tell Benton of that mysterious person’s efforts on his behalf, but, + on reflection, he saw that he had no right to expose The Sparrow’s + existence to others. The very house in which they were was one of the + bolt-holes of the wonderfully organized gang of crooks which Il Passero + controlled. + </p> + <p> + “How did you know that I was here?” asked Hugh suddenly in + curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “That I’m not at liberty to say. It was not a friend of yours, + but rather an enemy who told me—hence I tell you that you run the + gravest risk in remaining here a moment longer. As soon as I heard you + were here, I telephoned to Mrs. Bond, and she has very generously asked us + both to stay with her,” Benton went on. “If you agree, I’ll + get a car now, without delay, and we’ll run down into Surrey + together,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Hugh glanced at the tall, well-dressed man of whom his father had thought + so highly. Charles Benton, in spite of his hair tuning grey, was a + handsome man, and moved in a very good circle of society. Nobody knew his + source of income, and nobody cared. In these days clothes make the + gentleman, and a knighthood a lady. + </p> + <p> + Like many others, old Mr. Henfrey had been sadly deceived by Charles + Benton, and had taken him into his family as a friend. Other men had done + the same. His geniality, his handsome, open face, and his plausible + manner, proved the open sesame to many doors of the wealthy, and the + latter were robbed in various ways, yet never dreaming that Benton was the + instigator of it all. He never committed a theft himself. He gave the + information—and others did the dirty work. + </p> + <p> + “You recollect Mrs. Bond,” said Benton. “But I believe + Maxwell, her first husband, was alive then, wasn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + “I have a faint recollection of meeting a Mrs. Maxwell in Paris—at + lunch at the Pre Catalan—was it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course. About six years ago. That’s quite right!” + laughed Benton. “Well, Maxwell died and she married again—a + Colonel Bond. He was killed in Mesopotamia, and now she’s living up + on the Hog’s Back, beyond Guildford, on the road to Farnham.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh again reflected. He had come to Abingdon Road at the suggestion of + the mysterious White Cavalier. Ought he to leave the place without first + consulting him? Yet he had no knowledge of the whereabouts of the man of + mystery whom he firmly believed was none other than the elusive Sparrow. + Besides, was not Benton, his father’s closest friend, warning him of + his peril? + </p> + <p> + The latter thought decided him. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure it’s awfully good of Mrs. Bond whom I know so + slightly to invite me to stay with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, my dear boy. She’s a very old friend of mine. I once + did her a rather good turn when Maxwell was alive, and she’s never + forgotten it. She’s one of the best women in the world, I assure + you,” Benton declared. “I’ll run along to a garage I + know in Knightsbridge and get a car to take us down to Shapley. It’s + right out in the country, and as long as you keep clear of the town of + Guildford—where the police are unusually wary under one of the + shrewdest chief constables in England—then you needn’t have + much fear. Pack up your traps, Hugh, and I’ll call for you at the + end of the road in half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But I’ll want a dress suit and lots of other things if I’m + going to stay at a country house,” the young man demurred. + </p> + <p> + “Rot! You can get all you want in Aldershot, Farnham or Portsmouth. + Come just as you are. Mrs. Bond will make all allowances.” + </p> + <p> + “And probably have her suspicions aroused at the same time?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she won’t. This is a sudden trip into the country. I told + her you had been taken unwell—a nervous breakdown—and that the + doctor had ordered you complete rest at once.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had stayed in Monte Carlo and faced the charge against me,” + declared Hugh fervently. “Being hunted from pillar to post like this + is so absolutely nerve-racking.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you go to that woman’s house, Hugh?” Benton + asked. “What business had you that led you to call at that hour upon + such a notorious person?” + </p> + <p> + Hugh remained silent. He saw that to tell Benton the truth would be to + reopen the whole question of the will and of Louise. + </p> + <p> + So he merely shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you tell me what really happened at the Villa Amette, + Hugh?” asked the elder man persuasively. “I’ve seen + Brock, but he apparently knows nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he does not. I was alone,” was Hugh’s answer. + “The least said about that night of horror the better, Benton.” + </p> + <p> + So his father’s friend left the house, while Hugh sought Mrs. Mason, + settled his bill with her, packed his meagre wardrobe into a suit-case, + and half an hour later entered the heavy old limousine which he found at + the end of the road. + </p> + <p> + They took the main Portsmouth road, by way of Kingston, Cobham and Ripley, + until in the cold grey afternoon they descended the steep hill through + Guildford High Street, and crossing the bridge, instead of continuing + along the road to Portsmouth, bore to the right, past the station, and up + the steep wide road over that long hill, the Hog’s Back, whence a + great misty panorama was spread out on either side of the long, high-up + ridge which in the sunshine gives such a wonderful view to motorists on + their way out of London southward. + </p> + <p> + Presently the car turned into the gravelled drive, and Hugh found himself + at Shapley. + </p> + <p> + In the chintz-hung, old-world morning-room, lit by the last rays of the + declining sun, for the sky had suddenly cleared, Mrs. Bond entered, + loud-voiced and merry. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mr. Henfrey! I’m so awfully pleased to see you. Charles + telephoned to me that you were a bit out of sorts. So you must stay with + me for a little while—both of you. It’s very healthy up here + on the Surrey hills, and you’ll soon be quite right again.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure, Mrs. Bond, it is most hospitable of you,” + Hugh said. “London in these after the war days is quite impossible. + I always long for the country. Certainly your house is delightful,” + he added, looking round. + </p> + <p> + “It’s one of the nicest houses in the whole county of Surrey, + my boy,” Benton declared enthusiastically. “Mrs. Bond was + awfully lucky in securing it. The family are unfortunately ruined, as so + many others are by excessive taxation and high prices, and she just + stepped in at the psychological moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I really don’t know how to thank you sufficiently, Mrs. + Bond,” Hugh declared. “It is really extremely good of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember, Mr. Henfrey, we are not strangers,” exclaimed the + handsome woman. “Do you recollect when we met in Paris, and + afterwards in Biarritz, and then that night at the Carlton?” + </p> + <p> + “I recollect perfectly well. We met before the war, when one could + really enjoy oneself contentedly.” + </p> + <p> + “Since then I have been travelling a great deal,” said the + woman. “I’ve been in Italy, the South of Spain, the Azores, + and over to the States. I got back only a few months ago.” + </p> + <p> + And so after a chat Hugh was shown to his room, a pretty apartment, from + the diamond-paned windows of which spread out a lovely view across to + Godalming and Hindhead, with the South Downs in the blue far away. + </p> + <p> + “Now you must make yourselves at home, both of you,” the + handsome woman urged as they came down into the drawing-room after a wash. + </p> + <p> + Tea was served, and over it much chatter about people and places. Mrs. + Bond was, like her friend Benton, a thorough-going cosmopolitan. Hugh had + no idea of her real reputation, or of her remarkable adventures. Neither + had he any idea that Molly Maxwell was wanted by the Paris Surete, just as + he himself was wanted. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t this a charming place?” remarked Benton as, an + hour later, they strolled on the long terrace smoking cigarettes before + dinner. “Mrs. Bond was indeed fortunate in finding it.” + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful!” declared Hugh in genuine admiration. Since that + memorable night in Monte Carlo he had been living in frowsy surroundings, + concealed in thieves’ hiding-places, eating coarse food, and hearing + the slang of the underworld of Europe. + </p> + <p> + It had been exciting, yet he had been drawn into it against his will—just + because he had feared for Dorise’s sake, to face the music after + that mysterious shot had been fired at the Villa Amette. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bond was most courteous to her guests, and as Hugh and Benton + strolled up and down the terrace in the fast growing darkness, the elder + man remarked: + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be quite safe here, you know, Hugh. Don’t worry. + I’m truly sorry that you have landed yourself into this hole, but—well, + for the life of me I can’t see what led you to seek out that woman, + Yvonne Ferad. Why ever did you go there?” + </p> + <p> + Hugh paused. + </p> + <p> + “I—I had reasons—private reasons of my own,” he + replied. + </p> + <p> + “That’s vague enough. We all have private reasons for doing + silly things, and it seems that you did an exceptionally silly thing. I + hear that Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo, after the doctors operated upon her + brain, has now become a hopeless idiot.” + </p> + <p> + “So I’ve been told. It is all so very sad—so horrible. + Though people have denounced her as an adventuress, yet I know that at + heart she is a real good woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she? How do you know?” asked Benton quickly, for instantly + he was on the alert. + </p> + <p> + “I know. And that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “But tell me, Hugh—tell me in confidence, my boy—what + led you to seek her that night. You must have followed her from the Casino + and have seen her enter the Villa. Then you rang at the door and asked to + see her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I had my own reasons.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you tell them to me, Hugh?” asked the tall man in + a strange, low voice. “Remember, I am an old friend of your father. + And I am still your best friend.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh pursued his walk in silence. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said at last, “I prefer not to discuss the + affair. That night is one full of painful memories.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” answered Benton shortly. “If you don’t + want to tell me, Hugh, I quite understand. That’s enough. Have + another cigarette,” and he handed the young fellow his heavy gold + case. + </p> + <p> + A week passed. Hugh Henfrey and Charles Benton greatly enjoyed their stay + at Shapley Manor. With their hostess they motored almost daily to many + points of interest in the neighbourhood, never, by the way, descending + into the town of Guildford, where the police were so unusually alert and + shrewd. + </p> + <p> + More than once when alone with Benton, Hugh felt impelled to refer to the + mysterious death of his father, but it was a very painful subject. The + last time Hugh had referred to it, about a month before his visit to Monte + Carlo, Benton had been greatly upset, and had begged the young man not to + mention the tragic affair. + </p> + <p> + Constantly, however, Benton, on his part, would put cunning questions to + him concerning Yvonne Ferad, as to what he knew concerning her, and how he + had managed to escape over the frontier into Italy. + </p> + <p> + Late one night as they sat together in the billiard-room after their final + game, Benton, removing the cigar from his lips, exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I quite forgot to tell you, Mrs. Bond has been awfully good to + Louise. She took her from Paris with her and they went quite a long tour, + first to Spain and other places, and then to New York and back.” + </p> + <p> + “Has she?” exclaimed Hugh in surprise. Only once before had + Benton mentioned Louise’s name, then he had casually remarked that + she was on a visit to some friends in Yorkshire. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She’s making her home with Mrs. Bond for the present. + She returns here to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + As he said this, he watched the young man’s face. It was + sphinx-like. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! That’s jolly!” he replied, with well assumed + satisfaction. “It seems such an age since we last met—nearly a + year before my father’s death, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + In his heart he had no great liking for the girl, although she was bright, + vivacious and extremely good company. + </p> + <p> + Next afternoon the pair met in the hall after the car had brought her from + Guildford station. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo, Hugh!” she cried as she grasped his hand. “Uncle + wrote and told me you were here! How jolly, isn’t it? Why—you + seem to have grown older,” she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “And you younger,” he replied, bending over her hand + gallantly. “I hear you’ve been all over the world of late!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Wasn’t it awfully good of Mrs. Bond? I had a ripping + time. I enjoyed New York ever so much. I find this place a bit dull after + Paris though, so I’m often away with friends.” + </p> + <p> + And he followed her into the big morning-room where Mrs. Bond, alias Molly + Maxwell, was awaiting her. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon there had been several callers; a retired admiral and his + wife, and two county magistrates with their womenfolk, for since her + residence at Shapley Mrs. Bond had been received in a good many smart + houses, especially by the <i>nouveau riche</i> who abound in that + neighbourhood. But the callers had left and they were now alone. + </p> + <p> + As Louise sat opposite the woman who had taken her under her charge, Hugh + gazed at her furtively and saw that there was no comparison between her + and the girl he loved so deeply. + </p> + <p> + How strange it was, he thought. If he asked her to be his wife and they + married, he would at once become a wealthy man and inherit all his father’s + possessions. True, she was very sweet and possessed more than the ordinary + <i>chic</i> and good taste in dress. Yet he felt that he could never + fulfil his dead father’s curious desire. + </p> + <p> + He could never marry her—<i>never</i>! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + THE MAN WITH THE BLACK GLOVE + </h3> + <p> + On his way out of London, Hugh had made excuse and stopped the car at a + post office in Putney, whence he sent an express note to Dorise, telling + her his change of address. He though it wiser not to post it. + </p> + <p> + Hence it was on the morning following Louise’s arrival at Shapley, + he received a letter from Dorise, enclosing one she had received under + cover for him. He had told Dorise to address him as “Mr. Carlton + Symes.” + </p> + <p> + It was on dark-blue paper, such as is usually associated with the law or + officialdom. Written in a neat, educated hand, it read: + </p> + <p> + “DEAR MR. HENFREY,—I hear that you have left Abingdon Road, + and am greatly interested to know the reason. You will, no doubt, + recognize me as the friend who sent a car for you at Monte Carlo. Please + call at the above address at the earliest possible moment. Be careful that + you are not watched. Say nothing to anybody, wherever you may be. Better + call about ten-thirty P.M., and ask for me. Have no fear. I am still your + friend, + </p> + <p> + “GEORGE PETERS.” + </p> + <p> + The address given was 14, Ellerston Street, Mayfair. + </p> + <p> + Hugh knew the street, which turned off Curzon Street, a short + thoroughfare, but very exclusive. Some smart society folk lived there. + </p> + <p> + But who was George Peters? Was it not The Sparrow who had sent him the car + with the facetious chauffeur to that spot in Monte Carlo? Perhaps the + writer was the White Cavalier! + </p> + <p> + During the morning Hugh strolled down the hill and through the woods with + Louise. The latter was dressed in a neat country kit, a tweed suit, a + suede tam-o’-shanter, and carried a stout ash-plant as a + walking-stick. They were out together until luncheon time. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Benton sat with his hostess, and had a long confidential chat. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Molly,” he said, as he smoked lazily, “I + thought it an excellent plan to bring them together, and to let them have + an opportunity of really knowing each other. It’s no doubt true that + he’s over head and ears in love with the Ranscomb girl, but Lady + Ranscomb has set her mind on having Sherrard as her son-in-law. She’s + a clever woman, Lady Ranscomb, and of course, in her eyes, Hugh is for + ever beneath a cloud. That he went to the woman’s house at night is + quite sufficient.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I know anything of young men, Charles, I don’t think + you’ll ever induce that boy to marry Louise,” remarked the + handsome adventuress whom nobody suspected. + </p> + <p> + “Then if he doesn’t, we’ll just turn him over to + Scotland Yard. We haven’t any further use for him,” said + Benton savagely. “It’s the money we want.” + </p> + <p> + “And I fear we shall go on wanting it, my dear Charles,” + declared the woman, who was so well versed in the ways of men. “Louise + likes him. She has told me so. But he only tolerates her—that’s + all! He’s obsessed by the mystery of old Henfrey’s death.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if that was the reason he went that night to see Yvonne?” + exclaimed Benton in a changed voice, as the idea suddenly occurred to him. + “I wonder if—if he suspected something, and went boldly and + asked her?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I wonder!” echoed the woman. “But Yvonne would + surely tell him nothing. It would implicate her far too deeply if she did. + Yvonne is a very shrewd person. She isn’t likely to have told the + old man’s son very much.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you’re right, Molly,” replied the man. “You’re + quite right! I don’t think we have much to fear on that score. We’ve + got Hugh with us, and if he again turns antagonistic the end is quite easy—just + an anonymous line to the police.” + </p> + <p> + “We don’t want to do that if there is any other way,” + the woman said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see any other way,” replied the adventurer. + “If he won’t marry Louise, then the money passes out of our + reach.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like The Sparrow taking such a deep interest in his + welfare,” growled the woman beneath her breath. + </p> + <p> + “And I don’t like the fact that Yvonne is still alive. If she + were dead—then we should have nothing to fear—nothing!” + Benton said grimly. + </p> + <p> + “But who fired the shot if Hugh didn’t?” asked Mrs. + Bond. + </p> + <p> + “Personally, I think he did. He discovered something—something + we don’t yet know—and he went to the Villa Amette and shot her + in revenge for the old man’s death. That’s my firm belief.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why has The Sparrow taken all these elaborate precautions?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he’s afraid himself of the truth coming out,” + said Benton. “He certainly has looked after Hugh very well. I had + some trouble to persuade the lad to come down here, for he evidently + believes that The Sparrow is his best friend.” + </p> + <p> + “He may find him his enemy one day,” laughed the woman. And + then they rose and strolled out into the grounds, across the lawn down to + the great pond. + </p> + <p> + When at half-past seven they sat down to dinner, Hugh suddenly remarked + that he found it imperative to go to London that evening, and asked Mrs. + Bond if he might have the car. + </p> + <p> + Benton looked up at him quickly, but said nothing before Louise. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; Mead shall take you,” was the woman’s reply, + though she was greatly surprised at the sudden request. Both she and + Benton instantly foresaw that his intention was to visit Dorise in secret. + For what other reason could he wish to run the risk of returning to + London? + </p> + <p> + “When do you wish to start?” asked his hostess. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! about nine—if I may,” was the young man’s + reply. + </p> + <p> + “Will you be back to-night?” asked the girl who, in a pretty + pink dinner frock, sat opposite him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But it won’t be till late, I expect,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Remember, to-morrow we are going for a run to Bournemouth and back,” + said the girl. “Mrs. Bond has kindly arranged it, and I daresay she + will come, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know yet, dear,” replied Mrs. Bond. The truth + was that she intended that the young couple should spend the day alone + together. + </p> + <p> + Benton was filled with curiosity. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the meal was over, and the two ladies had left the room, he + poured out a glass of port and turning to the young fellow, remarked: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think it’s a bit dangerous to go to town, + Hugh?” + </p> + <p> + “It may be, but I must take the risk,” was the other’s + reply. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going up for?” asked Benton bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “To see somebody—important,” was his vague answer. And + though the elder man tried time after time to get something more definite + from him, he remained silent. Had not his unknown friend urged him to say + nothing to anybody wherever he might be? + </p> + <p> + So at nine Mead drove up the car to the door, and Hugh, slipping on his + light overcoat, bade his hostess good-night, thanked her for allowing him + the use of the limousine, and promised to be back soon after midnight. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Hugh!” cried Louise from the other end of the + fine old hall. And a moment later the car drove away in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + Along the Hog’s Back they went, and down into Guildford. Then up the + long steep High Street, past the ancient, overhanging clock at the + Guildhall, and out again on the long straight road to Ripley and London. + </p> + <p> + As soon as they were beyond Guildford, he knocked at the window, and + afterwards mounted beside Mead. He hated to be in a car alone, for he + himself was a good driver and used always to drive his father’s old + “‘bus.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go to the Berkeley Hotel,” he said to the man. + “Drop me there, and pick me up outside there at twelve, will you?” + </p> + <p> + The man promised to do so, and then they chatted as they continued on + their way to London. Mead, a Guildfordian, knew every inch of the road. + Before entering Mrs. Bond’s service he had, for a month, driven a + lorry for a local firm of builders, and went constantly to and from + London. + </p> + <p> + They arrived at the corner of St. James’s Street at half-past ten. + Hugh gave Mead five shillings to get his evening meal, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Be back here at midnight, Mead. I expect I’ll be through my + business long before that. But it’s a clear night, and we shall have + a splendid run home.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, sir. Thank you,” replied his hostess’s + chauffeur. + </p> + <p> + Hugh Henfrey, instead of entering the smart Society hotel, turned up the + street, and, walking quickly, found himself ten minutes later in Ellerston + Street before a spacious house, upon the pale-green door of which was + marked in Roman numerals the number fourteen. + </p> + <p> + By the light of the street lamp he saw it was an old Georgian town house. + In the ironwork were two-foot-scrapers, relics of a time long before + macadam or wood paving. + </p> + <p> + The house, high and inartistic, was a relic of the days of the dandies, + when country squires had their town houses, and before labour found itself + in London drawing-rooms. Consumed by curiosity, Hugh pressed the electric + button marked “visitors,” and a few moments later a smart + young footman opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. George Peters?” inquired Hugh. “I have an + appointment.” + </p> + <p> + “What name, sir?” the young, narrow-eyed man asked. + </p> + <p> + “Henfrey.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, sir! Mr. Peters is expecting you,” he said. And at + once he conducted him along the narrow hall to a room beyond. + </p> + <p> + The house was beautifully appointed. Everywhere was taste and luxury. Even + in the hall there were portraits by old Spanish masters and many rare + English sporting prints. + </p> + <p> + The room into which he was shown was a long apartment furnished in the + style of the Georgian era. The genuine Adams ceiling, mantelpiece, and + dead white walls, with the faintly faded carpet of old rose and + light-blue, were all in keeping. The lights, too, were shaded, and over + all was an old-world atmosphere of quiet and dignified repose. + </p> + <p> + The room was empty, and Hugh crossed to examine a beautiful little marble + statuette of a girl bather, with her arms raised and about to dive. It + was, no doubt, a gem of the art of sculpture, mounted upon a pedestal of + dark-green marble which revolved. + </p> + <p> + The whole conception was delightful, and the girl’s laughing face + was most perfect in its portraiture. + </p> + <p> + Of a sudden the door reopened, and he was met by a stout, rather wizened + old gentleman with white bristly hair and closely cropped moustache, a man + whose ruddy face showed good living, and who moved with the brisk + alertness of a man twenty years his junior. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! here you are, Mr. Henfrey!” he exclaimed warmly, as he + offered his visitor his hand. Upon the latter was a well-worn black glove—evidently + to hide either some disease or deformity. “I was wondering if you + received my letter safely?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Hugh, glancing at the shrewd little man whose + gloved right hand attracted him. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down,” the other said, as he closed the door. “I’m + very anxious to have a little chat with you.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh took the arm-chair which Mr. Peters indicated. Somehow he viewed the + man with suspicion. His eyes were small and piercing, and his face with + its broad brow and narrow chin was almost triangular. He was a man of + considerable personality, without a doubt. His voice was high pitched and + rather petulant. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said. “I was surprised to learn that you had + left your safe asylum in Kensington. Not only was I surprised—but I + confess, I was alarmed.” + </p> + <p> + “I take it that I have to thank you for making those arrangements + for my escape from Monte Carlo?” remarked Hugh, looking him straight + in the face. + </p> + <p> + “No thanks are needed, my dear Mr. Henfrey,” replied the elder + man. “So long as you are free, what matters? But I do not wish you + to deliberately run risks which are so easily avoided. Why did you leave + Abingdon Road?” + </p> + <p> + “I was advised to do so by a friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Not by Miss Ranscomb, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + “No, by a Mr. Benton, whom I know.” + </p> + <p> + The old man’s eyebrows narrowed for a second. + </p> + <p> + “Benton?” he echoed. “Charles Benton—is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. As he was a friend of my late father I naturally trust him.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Peters paused. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, naturally,” he said a second later. “But where are + you living now?” + </p> + <p> + Hugh told him that he was the guest of Mrs. Bond of Shapley Manor, + whereupon Mr. Peters sniffed sharply, and rising, obtained a box of good + cigars from a cupboard near the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “You went there at Benton’s suggestion?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Peters gave a grunt of undisguised dissatisfaction, as he curled + himself in his chair and examined carefully the young man before him. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Henfrey,” he said at last. “I am very sorry + for you. I happen to know something of your present position, and the + great difficulty in which you are to-day placed by the clever roguery of + others. Will you please describe to me accurately exactly what occurred on + that fateful night at the Villa Amette? If I am to assist you further it + is necessary for you to tell me everything—remember, <i>everything</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Hugh paused and looked the stranger straight in the face. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you knew all about it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I know a little—not all. I want to know everything. Why did + you venture there at all? You did not know the lady. It was surely a very + unusual hour to pay a call?” said the little man, his shrewd eyes + fixed upon his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Peters, the fact is that my father died in very + suspicious circumstances, and I was led to believe the Mademoiselle was + cognizant of the truth.” + </p> + <p> + The other man frowned slightly. + </p> + <p> + “And so you went there with the purpose of getting the truth from + her?” he remarked, with a grunt. + </p> + <p> + Hugh nodded in the affirmative. + </p> + <p> + “What did she tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. She was about to tell me something when the shot was fired + by someone on the veranda outside.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m! Then the natural surmise would be that you, suspecting + that woman of causing your father’s death, shot her because she + refused to tell you anything?” + </p> + <p> + “I repeat she was about to disclose the circumstances—to + divulge her secret, when she was struck down.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no suspicion of anyone? You don’t think that her + manservant—I forget the fellow’s name—fired the shot? + Remember, he was not in the room at the time!” + </p> + <p> + “I feel confident that he did not. He was far too distressed at the + terrible affair,” said Hugh. “The outrage must have been + committed by someone to whom the preservation of the secret of my father’s + end was of most vital importance.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed,” replied the man with the black glove. “The + problem we have to solve is who was responsible for your father’s + death.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hugh. “If that shot had not been fired I + should have known the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “You think, then, that Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo would have told + you the truth?” asked the bristly-haired man with a mysterious + smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She would.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Henfrey, I think I am not of your opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “You think possibly she would have implicated herself if she had + told me the truth?” + </p> + <p> + “I do. But the chief reason I asked you to call and see me to-night + is to learn for what reason you have been induced to go on a visit to this + Mrs. Bond.” + </p> + <p> + “Because Benton suggested it. He told me that Scotland Yard knew of + my presence in Kensington, making further residence there dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” And the man with the black glove paused again. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t like Benton, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no real reason to dislike him. He has always been very + friendly towards me—as he was to my late father. The only thing + which causes me to hold aloof from him as much as I can is the strange + clause in my father’s will.” + </p> + <p> + “Strange clause?” echoed the old man. “What clause?” + </p> + <p> + “My father, in his will, cut me off every benefit he could unless I + married Benton’s adopted daughter, Louise. If I marry her, then I + obtain a quarter of a million. I at first thought of disputing the will, + but Mr. Charman, our family solicitor, says that it is perfectly in order. + The will was made in Paris two years before his death. He went over there + on some financial business.” + </p> + <p> + “Was Benton with him?” asked Mr. Peters. + </p> + <p> + “No. Benton went to New York about two months before.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m! And how soon after your father’s return did he + come home?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it was about three months. He was in America five months + altogether, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + The old man, still curled in his chair, smoked his cigar in silence. + Apparently he was thinking deeply. + </p> + <p> + “So Benton has induced you to go down to Shapley in order that you + may be near his adopted daughter, in the hope that you will marry her! In + the meantime you are deeply in love with Lady Ranscomb’s daughter. I + know her—a truly charming girl. I congratulate you,” he added, + as though speaking to himself. “But the situation is indeed a very + complicated one.” + </p> + <p> + “For me it is terrible. I am living under a cloud, and in constant + fear of arrest. What can be done?” + </p> + <p> + “I fear nothing much can be done at present,” said the old + man, shaking his head gravely. “I quite realize that you are victim + of certain enemies who intend to get hold of your father’s fortune. + It is for us to combat them—if we can.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will continue to help me?” asked Hugh eagerly, + looking into the mysterious face of the old fellow who wore the black + glove. + </p> + <p> + “I promise you my aid,” he replied, putting out his gloved + hand as pledge. + </p> + <p> + Then, as Hugh took it, he looked straight into those keen eyes, and asked: + </p> + <p> + “You have asked me many questions, sir, and I have replied to them + all. May I ask one of you—my friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” replied the older man. + </p> + <p> + “Then am I correct in assuming that you are actually the person of + whom I have heard so much up and down Europe—the man of whom certain + men and women speak with admiration, and with bated breath—the man + known in certain circles as—as <i>Il Passero</i>?” + </p> + <p> + The countenance of the little man with the bristly white hair and the + black glove relaxed into a smile, as, still holding Hugh’s hand in + friendship, he replied: + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It is true. Some know me as ‘The Sparrow!’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NINETEENTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + THE SPARROW + </h3> + <p> + Hugh Henfrey was at last face to face with the most notorious criminal in + Europe! + </p> + <p> + The black-gloved hand of the wizened, bristly-haired old man was the hand + that controlled a great organization spread all over Europe—an + organization which only knew Il Passero by repute, but had never seen him + in the flesh. + </p> + <p> + Yet there he was, a discreet, rather petulant old gentleman, who lived at + ease in an exclusive West End street, and was entirely unsuspected! + </p> + <p> + When “Mr. Peters” admitted his identity, Hugh drew a long + breath. He was staggered. He was profuse in his thanks, but “The + Sparrow” merely smiled, saying: + </p> + <p> + “It is true that I and certain of my friends make war upon Society—and + more especially upon those who have profiteered upon those brave fellows + who laid down their lives for us in the war. Whatever you have heard + concerning me I hope you will forgive, Mr. Henfrey. At least I am the + friend of those who are in distress, or who are wrongly judged—as + you are to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard many strange things concerning you from those who have + never met you,” Hugh said frankly. “But nothing to your + detriment. Everyone speaks of you, sir, as a gallant sportsman, possessed + of an almost uncanny cleverness in outwitting the authorities.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” laughed the shrewd old man. “By the exercise + of a little wit, and the possession of a little knowledge of the <i>personnel</i> + of the police, one can usually outwit them. Curious as you may think it, a + very high official at Scotland Yard dined with me here only last night. As + I am known as a student of criminology, and reputed to be the author of a + book upon that subject, he discussed with me the latest crime problem with + which he had been called upon to deal—the mysterious murder of a + young girl upon the beach on the north-east coast. His frankness rather + amused me. It was, indeed, a quaint situation,” he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “But does he not recognize you, or suspect?” asked Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “Why should he? I have never been through the hands of the police in + my life. Hence I have never been photographed, nor have my finger prints + been taken. I merely organize—that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “Your organization is most wonderful, Mr.—er—Mr. Peters,” + declared the young man. “Since my flight I have had opportunity of + learning something concerning it. And frankly, I am utterly astounded.” + </p> + <p> + The old man’s face again relaxed into a sphinx-like smile. + </p> + <p> + “When I order, I am obeyed,” he said in a curious tone. + “I ordered your rescue from that ugly situation in Monte Carlo. You + and Miss Ranscomb no doubt believed the tall man who went to the ball at + Nice as a cavalier to be myself. He did not tell you anything to the + contrary, because I only reveal my identity to persons whom I can trust, + and then only in cases of extreme necessity.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I take it, sir, that you trust me, and that my case is one of + extreme necessity?” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” was The Sparrow’s reply. “At present I + can see no solution of the problem. It will be best, perhaps, for you to + remain where you are for the present,” he added. He did not tell the + young man of his knowledge of Benton and his hostess. + </p> + <p> + “But I am very desirous of seeing Miss Ranscomb,” Hugh said. + “Is there any way possible by which I can meet her without running + too great a risk?” + </p> + <p> + The Sparrow reflected in silence for some moments. + </p> + <p> + “To-day is Wednesday,” he remarked slowly at last. “Miss + Ranscomb is in London. That I happen to know. Well, go to the Bush Hotel, + in Farnham, on Friday afternoon and have tea. She will probably motor + there and take tea with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Will she?” cried Hugh eagerly. “Will you arrange it? + You are, indeed, a good Samaritan!” + </p> + <p> + The little old man smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I quite understand that this enforced parting under such + circumstances is most unfortunate for you both,” he said. “But + I have done, and will continue to do, all I can in your interest.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t quite make you out, Mr. Peters,” said the young + man. “Why should you evince such a paternal interest in me?” + </p> + <p> + The Sparrow did not at once reply. A strange expression played about his + lips. + </p> + <p> + “Have I not already answered that question twice?” he asked. + “Rest assured, Mr. Henfrey, that I have your interests very much at + heart.” + </p> + <p> + “You have some reason for that, I’m sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—yes, I have a reason—a reason which is my own + affair.” And he rose to wish his visitor “good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll not forget to let Miss Ranscomb know that you will be at + Farnham. She will, no doubt, manage to get her mother’s car for the + afternoon,” he said. “Good-night!” and with his gloved + fingers he took the young man’s outstretched hand. + </p> + <p> + The instant he heard the front door close he crossed to the telephone, and + asking for a number, told the person who answered it to come round and see + him without a moment’s delay. + </p> + <p> + Thus, while Hugh Henfrey was seated beside Mead as Mrs. Bond’s car + went swiftly towards Kensington, a thin, rather wiry-looking man of middle + age entered The Sparrow’s room. + </p> + <p> + The latter sprang to his feet quickly at sight of his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Howell! I’m glad you’ve come. Benton and Molly + Maxwell are deceiving us. They mean mischief!” + </p> + <p> + The man he addressed as Howell looked aghast. + </p> + <p> + “Mischief?” he echoed. “In what way?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve not yet arrived at a full conclusion. But we must be on + the alert and ready to act whenever the time is ripe. You know what they + did over that little affair in Marseilles not so very long ago? They’ll + repeat, if we’re not very careful. That girl of Benton’s they + are using as a decoy—and she’s a dangerous one.” + </p> + <p> + “For whom?” + </p> + <p> + “For old Henfrey’s son.” + </p> + <p> + The Sparrow’s visitor gave vent to a low whistle. + </p> + <p> + “They intend to get old Henfrey’s money?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and they will if we are not very wary,” declared + the little, bristly-haired old gentleman known as The Sparrow. “The + boy has been entirely entrapped. They made one <i>faux pas</i>, and it is + upon that we may—if we are careful—get the better of them. I + don’t like the situation at all. They have a distinctly evil design + against the boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Benton and Molly are a combination pretty hard to beat,” + remarked Mr. Howell. “But I thought they were friends of ours.” + </p> + <p> + “True. They were. But after the little affair in Marseilles I don’t + trust them,” replied The Sparrow. “When anyone makes a slip, + either by design or sheer carelessness, or perhaps by reason of inordinate + avarice, then I always have to safeguard myself. I suspect—and my + suspicion usually proves correct.” + </p> + <p> + His midnight visitor drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “What we all say of you is that The Sparrow is gifted with an extra + sense,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The little old man with the gloved hand smiled contentedly. + </p> + <p> + “I really don’t know why,” he said. “But I scent + danger long before others have any suspicion of it. If I did not, you + would, many of you who are my friends, have been in prison long ago.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have such a marvellous memory.” + </p> + <p> + “Memory!” he echoed. “Quite wrong. I keep everything + filed. I work yonder at my desk all day. See this old wardrobe,” and + he crossed to a long, genuine Jacobean wardrobe which stood in a corner + and, unlocking it, opened the carved doors. “There you see all my + plans arranged and docketed. I can tell you what has been attempted + to-night. Whether the coup is successful I do not yet know.” + </p> + <p> + Within were shelves containing many bundles of papers, each tied with pink + tape in legal fashion. He took out a small, black-covered index book and, + after consulting it, drew out a file of papers from the second shelf. + </p> + <p> + These he brought to his table, and opened. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes!” he said, knitting his brows as he read a document + beneath the green-shaded electric lamp. “You know Franklyn, don’t + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Harold Franklyn?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Well, he’s in the Tatra, in Hungary. He and Matthews are + with three Austrian friends of ours, and to-night they are at the Castle + of Szombat, belonging to Count Zsolcza, the millionaire banker of Vienna. + The Countess has some very valuable jewels, which were indicated to me + several months ago by her discharged lady’s maid—through + another channel, of course. I hope that before dawn the jewels will be no + longer at Szombat, for the Count is an old scoundrel who cornered the + people’s food in Austria just before the Armistice and is directly + responsible for an enormous amount of suffering. The Countess was a cafe + singer in Budapest. Her name was Anna Torna.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Howell sat open-mouthed. He was a crook and the bosom friend of the + great Passero. Like all others who knew him, he held the master criminal + in awe and admiration. The Sparrow, whatever he was, never did a mean + action and never took advantage of youth or inexperience. To his + finger-tips he was a sportsman, whose chief delight in life was to outwit + and puzzle the police of Europe. In the underworld he was believed to be + fabulously wealthy, as no doubt he was. To the outside world he was a very + rich old gentleman, who contributed generously to charities, kept two fine + cars, and, as well as his town house, had a pretty place down in + Gloucestershire, and usually rented a grouse moor in Scotland, where he + entertained Mr. Howell and several other of his intimate friends who were + in the same profitable profession as himself, and in whose “business” + he held a controlling interest. + </p> + <p> + In Paris, Rome, Madrid, or Brussels, he was well known as an idler who + stayed at the best hotels and patronized the most expensive restaurants, + while his villa on the Riviera he had purchased from a Roumanian prince + who had ruined himself by gambling. His gloved hand—gloved because + of a natural deformity—was the hand which controlled most of the + greater robberies, for his war upon society was constantly far-reaching. + </p> + <p> + “Is Franklyn coming straight back?” asked Howell. + </p> + <p> + “That is the plan. He should leave Vienna to-morrow night,” + said The Sparrow, again consulting the papers. “And he comes home + with all speed. But first he travels to Brussels, and afterwards to The + Hague, where he will hand over Anna Torna’s jewels to old Van Ort, + and they’ll be cut out of all recognition by the following day. + Franklyn will then cross from the Hook to Harwich. He will wire me his + departure from Vienna. He’s bought a car for the job, and will have + to abandon it somewhere outside of Vienna, for, as in most of our games, + time is the essence of the contract,” and the old fellow laughed + oddly. + </p> + <p> + “I thought Franklyn worked with Molly,” said Mr. Howell. + </p> + <p> + “So he does. I want him back, for I’ve a delicate mission for + him,” replied the sphinx-like man known as The Sparrow. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Howell, at the invitation of the arch-criminal, helped himself to a + drink. Then The Sparrow said: + </p> + <p> + “You are due to leave London the day after to-morrow on that little + business in Madrid. You must remain in town. I may want you.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. But Tresham is already there. I had a letter from him + from the Palace Hotel yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “I will recall him by wire to-morrow. Our plans are complete. The + Marquis’s picture will still hang in his house until we are ready + for it. It is the best specimen of Antonio del Rincon, and will fetch a + big price in New York—when we have time to go and get it,” he + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Is Franklyn to help the Maxwell woman again?” asked Mr. + Howell, who was known as an expert valuer of antiques and articles of + worth, and who had an office in St. James’s. He only dealt in + collectors’ pieces, and in the trade bore an unblemished reputation, + on account of his expert knowledge and his sound financial condition. He + bought old masters and pieces of antique silver now and then, but none + suspected that the genuine purchases at big prices were only made in order + to blind his friends as to the actual nature of his business. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, to his office came many an art gem stolen from its owner on the + Continent and smuggled over by devious ways known only to The Sparrow and + his associates. And just as ingeniously the stolen property was sent + across to America, so well camouflaged that the United States Customs + officers were deceived. With pictures it was their usual method to coat + the genuine picture with a certain varnish, over which one of the + organization, an old artist living in Chelsea, would paint a modern and + quite passable picture and add a new canvas back. + </p> + <p> + Then, on its arrival in America, the new picture was easily cleaned off, + the back removed, and lo! it was an old master once more ready for + purchase at a high price by American collectors. + </p> + <p> + Truly, the gloved hand of The Sparrow was a master hand. He had brought + well-financed and well-organized theft to a fine art. His “indicators,” + both male and female, were everywhere, and cosmopolitan as he was himself, + and a wealthy man, he was able to direct—and finance—all sorts + of coups, from a barefaced jewel theft to the forgery of American + banknotes. + </p> + <p> + And yet, so strange and mysterious a personality was he that not twenty + persons in the whole criminal world had ever met him in the flesh. The + tall, good-looking man whom Dorise knew as the White Cavalier was one of + four other men who posed in his stead when occasion arose. + </p> + <p> + Scotland Yard, the Surete in Paris, the Pubblica Sicurezza in Rome, and + the Detective Department of the New York police knew, quite naturally, of + the existence of the elusive Sparrow, but none of them had been able to + trace him. + </p> + <p> + Why? Because he was only the brains of the great, widespread criminal + organization. He remained in smug respectability, while others beneath his + hand carried out his orders—they were the servants, well-paid too, + and he was the master. + </p> + <p> + No more widespread nor more wonderful criminal combine had ever been + organized than that headed by The Sparrow, the little old man whom + Londoners believed to be Cockney, yet Italians believed to be pure-bred + Tuscan, while in Paris he was a true Parisian who could speak the argot of + the Montmartre without a trace of English accent. + </p> + <p> + As a politician, as a City man, as a professional man, The Sparrow, whose + real name was as obscure as his personality, would have made his mark. If + a lawyer, he would have secured the honour of a knighthood—or of a + baronetcy, and more than probable he would have entered Parliament. + </p> + <p> + The Sparrow was a philosopher, and a thorough-going Englishman to boot. + Though none knew it, he was able by his unique knowledge of the underworld + of Europe to give information—as he did anonymously to the War + Office—of certain trusted persons who were, at the moment of the + outbreak of war, betraying Britain’s secrets. + </p> + <p> + The Department of Military Operations was, by means of the anonymous + information, able to quash a gigantic German plot against us; but they had + been unable to discover either the true source of their information or the + identity of their informant. + </p> + <p> + “I’d better be off. It’s late!” said Mr. Howell, + after they had been in close conversation for nearly half an hour. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I suppose you must go,” The Sparrow remarked, rising. + “I must get Franklyn back. He must get to the bottom of this curious + affair. I fell that I am being bamboozled by Benton and Molly Maxwell. The + boy is innocent—he is their victim,” he added; “but if I + can save him, by gad! I will! Yet it will be difficult. There is much + trouble ahead, I anticipate, and it is up to us, Howell, to combat it!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Franklyn can assist us?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps. I shall not, however, know before he gets back here from + his adventures in Hungary. But I tell you, Howell, I am greatly concerned + about the lad. He has fallen into the hands of a bad crowd—a very + bad crowd indeed.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWENTIETH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + THE MAN WHO KNEW + </h3> + <p> + Late on Thursday night Dorise and her mother were driving home from Lady + Strathbayne’s, in Grosvenor Square, where they had been dining. It + was a bright starlight night, and the myriad lamps of the London traffic + flashed past the windows as Dorise sat back in silence. + </p> + <p> + She was tired. The dinner had been followed by a small dance, and she had + greatly enjoyed it. For once, George Sherrard, her mother’s friend, + had not accompanied them. As a matter of fact, Lady Strathbayne disliked + the man, hence he had not been invited. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Lady Ranscomb exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “I heard about Hugh Henfrey this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “From whom?” asked her daughter, instantly aroused. + </p> + <p> + “From that man who took me in to dinner. I think his name was + Bowden.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! That stout, red-faced man. I don’t know him.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I. He was, however, very pleasant, and seems to have + travelled a lot,” replied her mother. “He told me that your + precious friend, Henfrey, is back, and is staying down in Surrey as guest + of some woman named Bond.” + </p> + <p> + Dorise sat staggered. Then her lover’s secret was out! If his + whereabouts were known in Society, then the police would quickly get upon + his track! She felt she must warn him instantly of his peril. + </p> + <p> + “How did he know, I wonder?” she asked anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I suppose he’s heard. He seemed to know all about the + fellow. It appears that at last he’s become engaged.” + </p> + <p> + “Engaged? Hugh engaged?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to a girl named Louise Lambert. She’s the adopted + daughter of a man named Benton, who was, by the way, a great friend of old + Mr. Henfrey.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh engaged to Louise Lambert! Dorise sat bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t believe it!” she blurted forth at last. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear. You mean you don’t want to believe it—because + you are in love with him!” said her mother as the car rushed + homeward. “Now put all this silly girlish nonsense aside. The fellow + is under a cloud, and no good. I tell you frankly I will never have him as + my son-in-law. How he has escaped the police is a marvel; but if the man + Bowden knows where he is, Scotland Yard will, no doubt, soon hear.” + </p> + <p> + The girl remained silent. Could it be possible that, after all, Hugh had + asked Louise Lambert to be his wife? She had known of her, and had met her + with Hugh, but he had always assured her that they were merely friends. + Yet it appeared that he was now living in concealment under the same roof + as she! + </p> + <p> + Lady Ranscomb, clever woman of the world as she was, watched her daughter’s + face in the fleeting lights as they sped homeward, and saw what a crushing + blow the announcement had dealt her. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it,” the girl cried. + </p> + <p> + She had received word in secret—presumably from the White Cavalier—to + meet Hugh at the Bush Hotel at Farnham on the following afternoon, but + this secret news held her in doubt and despair. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ranscomb dropped the subject, and began to speak of other things—of + a visit to the flying-ground at Hendon on the following day, and of an + invitation they had received to spend the following week with a friend at + Cowes. + </p> + <p> + On arrival home Dorise went at once to her room, where her maid awaited + her. + </p> + <p> + After the distracted girl had thrown off her cloak, her maid unhooked her + dress, whereupon Dorise dismissed her to bed. + </p> + <p> + “I want to read, so go to bed,” she said in a petulant voice + which rather surprised the neat muslin-aproned maid. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, miss. Good-night,” the latter replied meekly. + </p> + <p> + But as soon as the door was closed Dorise flung herself upon the + chintz-covered couch and wept bitterly as though her heart would break. + </p> + <p> + She had met Louise Lambert—it was Hugh who had introduced them. + George Sherrard had several times told her of the friendship between the + pair, and one night at the Haymarket Theatre she had seen them together in + a box. On another occasion she had met them at Ciro’s, and they had + been together at the Embassy, at Ranelagh, and yet again she had seen them + lunching together one Sunday at the Metropole at Brighton. + </p> + <p> + All this had aroused suspicion and jealousy in her mind. It was all very + well for Hugh to disclaim anything further than pure friendship, but now + that Gossip was casting her hydra-headed venom upon their affairs, it was + surely time to act. + </p> + <p> + Hugh would be awaiting her at Farnham next afternoon. + </p> + <p> + She crossed to the window and looked at the bright stars. In war time she + used to see the long beams of searchlights playing to and fro. But now all + was peace in London, and the world-war half forgotten. + </p> + <p> + Within herself arose a great struggle. Hugh was accused of a crime—an + accusation of which he could not clear himself. He had been hunted across + Europe by the police and had, up to the present, been successful in + slipping through their fingers. + </p> + <p> + But why did he visit that notorious woman at that hour of the night? What + could have been the secret bond between them? + </p> + <p> + The woman had narrowly escaped death presumably on account of his + murderous attack upon her, while he had cleverly evaded arrest, until, at + the present moment, his whereabouts was known only to a dinner-table + gossip, and he was staying in the same house as the girl, love for whom he + had always so vehemently disclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Poor Dorise spent a sleepless night. She lay awake thinking—and yet + thinking! + </p> + <p> + At breakfast her mother looked at her and, with satisfaction, saw that she + had gained a point nearer her object. + </p> + <p> + Dorise went into Bond Street shopping at eleven o’clock, still + undecided whether to face Hugh or not. The shopping was a fiasco. She + bought only a bunch of flowers. + </p> + <p> + But in her walk she made a resolve not to make further excuse. She would + not ask her mother for the car, and Hugh, by waiting alone, should be left + guessing. + </p> + <p> + On returning home, her mother told her of George’s acceptance of an + invitation to lunch. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a matinee at the Lyric, and he’s taking us + there,” she added. “But, dear,” she went on, “you + look ever so pale! What is worrying you? I hope you are not fretting over + that good-for-nothing waster, Henfrey! Personally, I’m glad to be + rid of a fellow who is wanted by the police for a very serious crime. Do + brighten up, dear. This is not like you!” + </p> + <p> + “I—well, mother, I—I don’t know what to do,” + the girl confessed. + </p> + <p> + “Do! Take my advice, darling. Think no more of the fellow. He’s + no use to you—or to me.” + </p> + <p> + “But, mother dear—” + </p> + <p> + “No, Dorise, no more need be said!” interrupted Lady Ranscomb + severely. “You surely would not be so idiotic as to throw in your + lot with a man who is certainly a criminal.” + </p> + <p> + “A criminal! Why do you denounce him, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he stands self-condemned. He has been in hiding ever since + that night at Monte Carlo. If he were innocent, he would surely, for your + sake, come forward and clear himself. Are you mad, Dorise—or are you + blind?” + </p> + <p> + The girl remained silent. Her mother’s argument was certainly a very + sound one. Had Hugh deceived her? + </p> + <p> + Her lover’s attitude was certainly that of a guilty man. She could + not disguise from herself the fact that he was fleeing from justice, and + that he was unable to give an explanation why he went to the house of + Mademoiselle at all. + </p> + <p> + Yvonne Ferad, the only person who could tell the truth, was a hopeless + idiot because of the murderous attack. Hence, the onus of clearing himself + rested upon Hugh. + </p> + <p> + She loved him, but could she really trust him in face of the fact that he + was concealed comfortably beneath the same roof as Louise Lambert? + </p> + <p> + She recalled that once, when they had met at Newquay in Cornwall over a + tete-a-tete lunch, he had said, in reply to her banter, that Louise was a + darling! That he was awfully fond of her, that she had the most wonderful + eyes, and that she was always alert and full of a keen sense of humour. + </p> + <p> + Such a compliment Hugh had never paid to her. The recollection of it stung + her. + </p> + <p> + She wondered what sort of woman was the person named Bond. Then she + decided that she had acted wisely in not going to Farnham. Why should she? + If Hugh was with the girl he admired, then he might return with her. + </p> + <p> + Her only fear was lest he should be arrested. If his place of concealment + were spoken of over a West End dinner-table, then it could not be long + before detectives arrested him for the affair at the Villa Amette. + </p> + <p> + On that afternoon Hugh had borrowed Mrs. Bond’s car upon a rather + lame pretext, and had pulled up in the square, inartistic yard before the + Bush—the old coaching house, popular before the new road over the + Hog’s Back was made, and when the coaches had to ascend that steep + hill out of Guildford, now known as The Mount. For miles the old road is + now grass-grown and forms a most delightful walk, with magnificent views + from the Thames Valley to the South Downs. The days of the coaches have, + alas! passed, and the new road, with its tangle of telegraph wires, is + beloved by every motorist and motor-cyclist who spins westward in Surrey. + </p> + <p> + Hugh waited anxiously in the little lounge which overlooks the courtyard. + He went into the garden, and afterwards stood in impatience beneath the + archway from which the street is approached. Later, he strolled along the + road over which he knew Dorise must come. But all to no avail. + </p> + <p> + There was no sign of her. + </p> + <p> + Until six o’clock he waited, when, in blank despair, he mounted + beside Mead again and drove back to Shapley Manor. It was curious that + Dorise had not come to meet him, but he attributed it to The Sparrow’s + inability to convey a message to her. She might have gone out of town with + her mother, he thought. Or, perhaps, at the last moment, she had been + unable to get away. + </p> + <p> + On his return to Shapley he found Louise and Mrs. Bond sitting together in + the charming, old-world drawing-room. A log fire was burning brightly. + </p> + <p> + “Did you have a nice run, Hugh?” asked the girl, clasping her + hands behind her head and looking up at him as he stood upon the pale-blue + hearthrug. + </p> + <p> + “Quite,” he replied. “I went around Hindhead down to + Frensham Ponds and back through Farnham—quite a pleasant run.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Benton has had to go to town,” said his hostess. “Almost + as soon as you had gone he was rung up, and he had to get a taxi out from + Guildford. He’ll be back to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes—and, by the way, Hugh,” exclaimed Louise, + “there was a call for you about a quarter of an hour afterwards. I + thought nobody knew you were down here.” + </p> + <p> + “For me!” gasped Henfrey, instantly alarmed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I answered the ‘phone. It was a girl’s voice!” + </p> + <p> + “A girl! Who?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know who she was. She wouldn’t give her name,” + Louise replied. “She asked if we were Shapley, and I replied. Then + she asked for you. I told her that you were out in the car and asked her + name. But she said it didn’t matter at all, and rang off.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder who she was?” remarked Hugh, much puzzled and, at + the same time, greatly alarmed. He scented danger. The fact in itself + showed that somebody knew the secret of his hiding-place, and, if they + did, then the police were bound to discover him sooner or later. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour afterwards he took Mrs. Bond aside, and pointed out the peril + in which he was placed. His hostess, on her part, grew alarmed, for though + Hugh was unaware of it, she had no desire to meet the police. That little + affair in Paris was by no means forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “It is certainly rather curious,” the woman admitted. “Evidently + it is known by somebody that you are staying with me. Don’t you + think it would be wiser to leave?” + </p> + <p> + Hugh hesitated. He wished to take Benton’s advice, and told his + hostess so. With this she agreed, yet she was inwardly highly nervous at + the situation. Any police inquiry at Shapley would certainly be most + unwelcome to her, and she blamed herself for agreeing to Benton’s + proposal that Hugh should stay there. + </p> + <p> + “Benton will be back to-morrow,” Hugh said. “Do you + think it safe for me to remain here till then?” he added anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know what to think,” replied the woman. She herself + had a haunting dread of recognition as Molly Maxwell. She had crossed and + recrossed the Atlantic, carefully covering her tracks, and she did not + intend to be cornered at last. + </p> + <p> + After dinner, Hugh, still greatly perturbed at the mysterious telephone + call, played billiards with Louise. About a quarter to eleven, however, + Mrs. Bond was called to the telephone and, closing the door, listened to + an urgent message. + </p> + <p> + It was from Benton, who spoke from London—a few quick, cryptic, but + reassuring words—and when the woman left the room three minutes + later all her anxiety as to the police had apparently passed. + </p> + <p> + She joined the young couple and watched their game. Louise handled her cue + well, and very nearly beat her opponent. Afterwards, when Louise went out, + Mrs. Bond closed the door swiftly, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been thinking over that little matter, Mr. Henfrey. I + really don’t think there is much cause for alarm. Charles will be + back to-morrow, and we can consult him.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh shrugged his shoulders. He was much puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “The fact is, Mrs. Bond, I’m tired of being hunted like this!” + he said. “This eternal fear of arrest has got upon my nerves to such + an extent that I feel if they want to bring me for trial—well, they + can. I’m innocent—therefore, how can they prove me guilty?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you mustn’t let it obsess you,” the woman urged. + “Mr. Benton has told me all about the unfortunate affair, and I + greatly sympathize with you. Of course, to court the publicity of a trial + would be fatal. What would your poor father think, I wonder, if he were + still alive?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s dead,” said the young man in a low, hoarse voice; + “but Mademoiselle Ferad knows the secret of his death.” + </p> + <p> + “He died suddenly—did he not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He was murdered, Mrs. Bond. I’m certain of it. My father + was murdered!” + </p> + <p> + “Murdered?” she echoed. “What did the doctors say?” + </p> + <p> + “They arrived at no definite conclusion,” was Hugh’s + response. “He left home and went up to London on some secret and + mysterious errand. Later, he was found lying upon the pavement in a dying + condition. He never recovered consciousness, but sank a few hours + afterwards. His death is one of the many unsolved mysteries of London.” + </p> + <p> + “The police believe that you went to the Villa Amette and murdered + Mademoiselle out of revenge.” + </p> + <p> + “Let them prove it!” said the young fellow defiantly. “Let + them prove it!” + </p> + <p> + “Prove what?” asked Louise, as she suddenly reopened the door, + greatly to the woman’s consternation. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Only somebody—that Spicer woman over at Godalming—has + been saying some wicked and nasty things about Mr. Henfrey,” replied + Mrs. Bond. “Personally, I should be annoyed. Really those gossiping + people are simply intolerable.” + </p> + <p> + “What have they been saying, Hugh?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s really nothing,” laughed Henfrey. “I + apologize. I was put out a moment ago, but I now see the absurdity of it. + Forgive me, Louise.” + </p> + <p> + The girl looked from Mrs. Bond to her guest in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “What is there to forgive?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “The fact that I was in the very act of losing my temper. That’s + all.” + </p> + <p> + Presently, when Louise was ascending the stairs with Mrs. Bond, the girl + asked: + </p> + <p> + “Why was Hugh so put out? What has Mrs. Spicer been saying about + him?” + </p> + <p> + “Only that he was a shirker during the war. And, naturally, he is + highly indignant.” + </p> + <p> + “He has a right to be. He did splendidly. His record shows that,” + declared the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I urged him to take no notice of the insults. The Spicer woman has + a very venomous tongue, my dear! She is a vicar’s widow!” + </p> + <p> + And then they separated to their respective rooms. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later Hugh Henfrey retired, but he found sleep impossible; so + he got up and sat at the open window, gazing across to the dim outlines of + the Surrey hills, picturesque and undulating beneath the stars. + </p> + <p> + Who could have called him on the telephone? It was a woman, but the voice + might have been that of a female telephone operator. Or yet—it might + have been that of Dorise! She knew that he was at Shapley and looked it up + in the telephone directory. If that were the explanation, then she + certainly would not give away the secret of his hiding-place. + </p> + <p> + Still he was haunted by a great dread the whole of that night. The Sparrow + had told him he had acted foolishly in leaving his place of concealment in + Kensington. The Sparrow was his firm friend, and in future he intended to + obey the little old man’s orders implicitly—as so many others + did. + </p> + <p> + Next morning he came down to breakfast before the ladies, and beside his + plate he found a letter—addressed to him openly. He had not received + one addressed in his real name for many months. Sight of it caused his + heart to bound in anxiety, but when he read it he stood rooted to the + spot. + </p> + <p> + Those lines which he read staggered him; the room seemed to revolve, and + he re-read them, scarce believing his own eyes. + </p> + <p> + He realized in that instant that a great blow had fallen upon him, and + that all was now hopeless. The sunshine of his life, had in that single + instant, been blotted out! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWENTY-FIRST CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + THE MAN WITH MANY NAMES + </h3> + <p> + At the moment he had read the letter Mrs. Bond entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo! You’re down early,” she remarked. “And + already had your letters, I see! They don’t generally come so early. + The postman has to walk over from Puttenham.” + </p> + <p> + Then she took up her own and carelessly placed them aside. They consisted + mostly of circulars and the accounts of Guildford tradesmen. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “I was down early. Lately I’ve + acquired the habit of early rising.” + </p> + <p> + “An excellent habit in a young man,” she laughed. “All + men who achieve success are early risers—so a Cabinet Minister said + the other day. And really, I believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “An hour in the early morning is worth three after dinner. That is + why Cabinet Ministers entertain people at breakfast nowadays instead of at + dinner. In the morning the brain is fresh and active—a fact recently + discovered in our post-war days,” Hugh said. + </p> + <p> + Then, as his hostess turned to the hot-plate upon the sideboard, lifting + the covers to see what her cook had provided, he re-scanned the letter + which had been openly addressed to him. It was from Dorise: + </p> + <p> + “I refuse to be deceived any longer, I have discovered that you are + now a fellow-guest with the girl Louise, to whom you introduced me. And + yet you arranged to meet me at Farnham, believing that I was not aware of + your close friendship with her! I have believed in you up to the present, + but the scales have now fallen from my eyes. I thought you loved me too + well to deceive me—as you are doing. Hard things are being said + about you—but you can rest content that I shall reveal nothing that + I happen to know. What I do know, however, has changed my thoughts + concerning you. I believed you to be the victim of circumstance. Now I + know you have deceived me, and that I, myself, am the victim. I need only + add that someone else—whom I know not—knows of your + hiding-place, for, by a roundabout way, I heard of it, and hence, I + address this letter to you.—DORISE.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh Henfrey stood staggered. There was no mistaking the meaning of that + letter now that he had read it a second time. + </p> + <p> + Dorise doubted him! And what answer could he give her? Any explanation + must, to her, be but a lame excuse. + </p> + <p> + Hugh ate his breakfast sullenly. To Louise, who put in a late appearance, + and helped herself off the hot-plate, he said cheerfully: + </p> + <p> + “How lazy you are!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not laziness, Hugh,” replied the girl. “The + maid was so late with my tea—and—well, to tell the truth, I + upset a whole new box of powder on my dressing-table and had to clean up + the mess.” + </p> + <p> + “More haste—less speed,” laughed Hugh. “It is + always the same in the morning—eh?” + </p> + <p> + When the girl sat down at the table Hugh had brightened up. Still the load + upon his shoulders was a heavy one. He was ever obsessed by the mystery of + his father’s death, combined with that extraordinary will by which + it was decreed that if he married Louise he would acquire his father’s + fortune. + </p> + <p> + Louise was certainly very good-looking, and quite charming. He admitted + that as he gazed across at her fresh figure on the opposite side of the + table. He, of course, was in ignorance of the fact that Benton, who had + adopted her, was a clever and unscrupulous adventurer, whose accomplice + was the handsome woman who was his hostess. + </p> + <p> + Naturally, he never dreamed that that quiet and respectable house, high on + the beautiful Surrey hills, was the abode of a woman for whom the police + of Europe were everywhere searching. + </p> + <p> + His thoughts all through breakfast were of The Sparrow—the great + criminal, who was his friend. Hence, after they rose, he strolled into the + morning-room with his hostess, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have to go to town again this morning. I have an urgent + letter. Can Mead take me?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” was the woman’s reply. “I have to + make a call at Worplesdon this afternoon, and Louise is going with me. But + Mead can be back before then to take us.” + </p> + <p> + So half an hour later Hugh was driving up the steep High Street of + Guildford on his way to London. + </p> + <p> + He alighted in Piccadilly, at the end of Half Moon Street, soon after + eleven, and, dismissing Mead, made his way to Ellerston Street to the + house of Mr. George Peters. + </p> + <p> + He rang the bell at the old-fashioned mansion, and a few moments later the + door was opened by the manservant he had previously seen. + </p> + <p> + In an instant the servant recognized the visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Peters will not be in for a quarter of an hour,” he said. + “Would you care to wait, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Hugh replied. “I want to see him very urgently.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you come in? Mr. Peters has left instructions that you might + probably call; Mr. Henfrey, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Hugh. The man seemed to possess a memory like + that of a club hall-porter. + </p> + <p> + Young Henfrey was ushered into a small but cosy little room, which, in the + light of day, he saw was well-furnished and upholstered. The door closed, + and he waited. + </p> + <p> + A few moments after he distinctly heard a man’s voice, which he at + once recognized as that of The Sparrow. + </p> + <p> + The servant had told him that Mr. Peters was absent, yet he recognized his + voice—a rather high-pitched, musical one. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Henfrey is waiting,” he heard the servant say. + </p> + <p> + “Right! I hope you told him I was out,” The Sparrow replied. + </p> + <p> + Then there was silence. + </p> + <p> + Hugh stood there very much puzzled. The room was cosy and well-furnished, + but the light was somewhat dim, while the atmosphere was decidedly murky, + as it is in any house in Mayfair. One cannot obtain brightness and light + in a West End house, where one’s vista is bounded by bricks and + mortar. The dukes in their great town mansions are no better off for light + and air than the hard-working and worthy wage-earners of Walworth, + Deptford, or Peckham. The air in the working-class districts of London is + not one whit worse than it is in Mayfair or in Belgravia. + </p> + <p> + Hugh stood before an old coloured print representing the hobby-horse + school—the days of the “bone-shakers”—and studied + it. He awaited Il Passero and the advice which he had promised to give. + </p> + <p> + His ears were strained. That house was curiously quiet and forbidding. The + White Cavalier, whom he had believed to be the notorious Sparrow, had been + proved to be one of his assistants. He had now met the real, elusive + adventurer, who controlled half the criminal adventurers in Europe, and + had found in him a most genial friend. He was there to seek his advice and + to act upon it. + </p> + <p> + As he reflected, he realized that without the aid of The Sparrow he would + have long ago been in the hands of the police. So widespread was the + organization which The Sparrow controlled that it mattered not in what + capital he might be, the paternal hand of protection was placed upon him—in + Genoa, in Brussels, in London—anywhere. + </p> + <p> + It seemed that when The Sparrow protected any criminal the fugitive was + safe. He had been sent to Mrs. Mason in Kensington, and he had left her + room against The Sparrow’s will. + </p> + <p> + Hence his peril of arrest. It was that point which he wished to discuss + with the great arch-criminal of Europe. + </p> + <p> + That house was one of mystery. The servant had told him that he was + expected. Why? What did The Sparrow suspect? + </p> + <p> + The whole atmosphere of that old-fashioned place was mysterious and + apprehensive. And yet its owner had succeeded in extricating him from that + very perilous position at Monte Carlo! + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, as he stood there, he heard voices again. They were raised in + discussion. + </p> + <p> + One voice he recognized as that of The Sparrow. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I tell you my view is still the same,” he exclaimed. + “What you have told me does not alter it, however much you may + ridicule me!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you know the truth—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I really didn’t say so, my dear Howell. But I have my + suspicions—strong suspicions.” + </p> + <p> + “Which you will, in due course, impart to young Henfrey, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall do nothing of the sort,” was The Sparrow’s + reply. “The lad is in serious peril. I happen to know that.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why don’t you warn him at once?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s my affair!” snapped the gentleman known in + Mayfair as Mr. Peters. + </p> + <p> + “IF Henfrey is here, then I’d like to meet him,” Howell + said. + </p> + <p> + It seemed as though the pair were in a room on the opposite side of the + passage, and yet, though Hugh stood at some distance away, he could hear + the words quite distinctly. At this he was much surprised. He did not, + however, know that in that house in Ellerston Street there had been + constructed a curious system of ventilation of the rooms by which a + conversation taking place in a distant apartment could be heard in certain + other rooms. + </p> + <p> + The fact was that The Sparrow received a good many queer visitors, and + some of their whispered conversations while they awaited him were often + full of interest. + </p> + <p> + The house was, in more than one way, a curiosity. It had a secret exit + through a mews at the rear—now converted into a garage—and + several other mysterious contrivances which were unsuspected by visitors. + </p> + <p> + “It would hardly do for him to know what we know, Mr. Peters—eh?” + Hugh heard Howell say a moment later. It was the habit of The Sparrow’s + accomplices to address their great director—the brain of criminal + Europe—by the name under which they inquired for him. The Sparrow + had twenty names—one for every city in which he had a cosy <i>pied-a-terre</i>. + In Paris, Lisbon, Madrid, Marseilles, Vienna, Hamburg, Budapest, Stockholm + and on the Riviera, he was, in all the cities, known by a different name. + Yet each was so distinct, and each individuality so well kept up, that he + snapped his fingers at the police and pitied them their red tape, + ignorance, and lack of initiative. + </p> + <p> + Truly, Il Passero, the cosmopolitan of many names and half a dozen + nationalities, had brought criminality to a fine art. + </p> + <p> + Hugh, standing there breathless, listened to every word. Who was this man + Howell? + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” cried The Sparrow suddenly. “What a fool I am! I + quite forgot to close the ventilator in the room to which the young fellow + has been shown! I hope he hasn’t overheard! I had Evans and Janson + in there an hour ago, and they were discussing me, as I expected they + would! It was a good job that I took the precaution of opening the + ventilator, because I learned a good deal that I had never suspected. It + has placed me on my guard. I’ll go and get young Henfrey. But,” + he added, “be extremely careful. Disclose nothing you know + concerning the affair.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be discreet, never fear,” replied his visitor. + </p> + <p> + A moment later The Sparrow entered the room where Henfrey was, and greeted + him warmly. Then he ushered him down the passage to the room wherein stood + his mysterious visitor. + </p> + <p> + The room was such a distance away that Hugh was surprised that he could + have heard so distinctly. But, after all, it was an uncanny experience to + be associated with that man of mystery, whose very name was uttered by his + accomplices with bated breath. + </p> + <p> + “My friend, Mr. George Howell,” said The Sparrow, introducing + the slim, wiry-looking, middle-aged man, who was alert and clean-shaven, + and plainly but well dressed—a man whom the casual acquaintance + would take to be a solicitor of a fair practice. He bore the stamp of + suburbia all over him, and his accent was peculiarly that of London. + </p> + <p> + His bearing was that of high respectability. The diamond scarf-pin was his + only ornament—a fine one, which sparkled even in that dull London + light. He was a square-shouldered man, with peculiarly shrewd, rather + narrow eyes, and dark, bushy eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “Glad to meet you, Mr. Henfrey,” he replied, with a gay, + rather nonchalant air. “My friend Mr. Peters has been speaking about + you. Had a rather anxious time, I hear.” + </p> + <p> + Henfrey looked at the stranger inquisitively, and then glanced at The + Sparrow. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Howell is quite safe,” declared the man with the gloved + hand. “He is one of Us. So you may speak without fear.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied the young man, “the fact is, I’ve + had a very apprehensive time. I’m here to seek Mr. Peters’ + kind advice, for without him I’m sure I’d have been arrested + and perhaps convicted long ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! A bit of bad luck—eh? Nearly found out, have you been? + Ah! All of us have our narrow escapes. I’ve had many in my time,” + and he grinned. + </p> + <p> + “So have all of us,” laughed the bristly-haired man. “But + tell me, Henfrey, why have you come to see me so quickly?” + </p> + <p> + “Because they know where I’m in hiding!” + </p> + <p> + “They know? Who knows?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Ranscomb knows my whereabouts and has written to me in my real + name and addressed the letter to Shapley.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what of that?” he asked. “I told her.” + </p> + <p> + “She tells me that my present hiding-place is known!” + </p> + <p> + “Not known to the police? <i>Impossible</i>!” gasped the + black-gloved man. + </p> + <p> + “I take it that such is a fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Molly is there!” cried the man Howell. “If the + police suspect that Henfrey is at Shapley, then they’ll visit the + place and have a decided haul.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Hugh in ignorance. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. I never discuss other people’s private affairs, Mr. + Henfrey,” Howell answered very quietly. + </p> + <p> + Hugh was surprised at the familiar mention of “Molly,” and the + declaration that if the Manor were searched the police would have “a + decided haul.” + </p> + <p> + “This is very interesting,” declared The Sparrow. “What + did Miss Ranscomb say in her letter?” + </p> + <p> + For a second Hugh hesitated; then, drawing it from his pocket, he gave it + to the gloved man to read. + </p> + <p> + Hugh knew that The Sparrow was withholding certain truths from him, yet + had he not already proved himself his best and only friend? Brock was a + good friend, but unable to assist him. + </p> + <p> + The Sparrow’s strongly marked face changed as he read Dorise’s + angry letter. + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” he grunted. “I will see her. We must + discover why she has sent you this warning. Come back again this evening. + But be very careful where you go in the meantime.” + </p> + <p> + Thus dismissed, Hugh walked along Ellerston Street into Curzon Street + towards Piccadilly, not knowing where to go to spend the intervening + hours. + </p> + <p> + The instant he had gone, however, The Sparrow turned to his companion, who + said: + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if Lisette has revealed anything?” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” remarked The Sparrow, for once suddenly perturbed. + <i>“I never thought of that!”</i> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWENTY-SECOND CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + CLOSING THE NET + </h3> + <p> + “Well—recollect how much the girl knows!” Howell + remarked as he stood before The Sparrow in the latter’s room. + </p> + <p> + “I have not forgotten,” said the other. “The whole + circumstances of old Henfrey’s death are not known to me. That it + was an unfortunate affair has long ago been proved.” + </p> + <p> + “Yvonne was the culprit, of course,” said Howell. “That + was apparent from the first.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose she was,” remarked The Sparrow reflectively. + “But that attempt upon her life puzzles me.” + </p> + <p> + “Who could have greater motive in killing her out of revenge than + the dead man’s son?” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed. But I am convinced that the lad is innocent. Therefore I + gave him our protection.” + </p> + <p> + “I was travelling abroad at the time, you recollect. When I learnt + of the affair through Franklyn about a week afterwards I was amazed. The + loss of Yvonne to us is a serious one.” + </p> + <p> + “Very—I agree. She had done some excellent work—the + affair in the Rue Royale, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “And the clever ruse by which she got those emeralds of the + Roumanian princess. The Vienna police are still searching for her—after + three years,” laughed the companion of the chief of the + international organization, whose word was law in the criminal underworld + of Europe. + </p> + <p> + “Knowing what you did regarding the knowledge of old Mr. Henfrey’s + death possessed by Lisette, I have been surprised that you placed her + beneath your protection.” + </p> + <p> + “If she had been arrested she might have told some very unpleasant + truths, in order to save herself,” The Sparrow remarked, “so I + chose the latter evil.” + </p> + <p> + “Young Henfrey met her. I wonder whether she told him anything?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I questioned her. She was discreet, it seems. Or at least, she + declares that she was.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a good feature. But, speaking frankly, have you any + idea of the identity of the person—man or woman—who attempted + to kill Yvonne?” asked Howell. + </p> + <p> + “I have a suspicion—a pretty shrewd suspicion,” replied + the little bristly-haired man. + </p> + <p> + His companion was silent. + </p> + <p> + “And you don’t offer to confide in me your suspicions—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It is wiser to obtain proof before making any allegations,” + answered The Sparrow, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You will still protect Lisette?” Howell asked. “I agree + that, like Yvonne, she has been of great use to us in many ways. Beauty + and wit are always assets in our rather ticklish branch of commerce. Where + is Lisette now?” + </p> + <p> + “At the moment, she’s in Madrid,” The Sparrow replied. + “There is a little affair there—the jewels of a Belgian’s + wife—a fellow who, successfully posing as a German during the + occupation of Brussels, made a big fortune by profiteering in leather. + They are in Madrid for six months, in order to escape unwelcome inquiries + by the Government in Brussels. They have a villa just outside the city, + and I have sent Lisette there with certain instructions.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody yet. Franklyn will go in due course.” + </p> + <p> + Howell’s thin lips relaxed into a curious smile. + </p> + <p> + “Franklyn is in love with Lisette,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “That is why I am sending them together to execute the little + mission,” The Sparrow said. “Lisette was here a fortnight ago, + and I mapped out for her a plan. I went myself to Madrid not long ago, in + order to survey the situation.” + </p> + <p> + “The game is worth the candle, I suppose—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. If we get the lot Van Groot, in Amsterdam, will give at least + fifteen thousand for them. Moulaert bought most of them from old Leplae in + the Rue de la Paix. There are some beautiful rubies among them. I saw + Madame wearing some of the jewels at the Palace Hotel, in Madrid, while + they were staying there before their villa was ready. Moulaert, with his + wife and two friends from the Belgian Legation, dined at a table next to + mine, little dreaming with what purpose I ate my meal alone.” + </p> + <p> + Truly, the intuition and cleverness of The Sparrow were wonderful. He + never moved without fully considering every phase of the consequences. + Unlike most adventurers, he drank hardly anything. Half a glass of dry + sherry at eleven in the morning, the same at luncheon, and one glass of + claret for his dinner. + </p> + <p> + Yet often at restaurants he would order champagne, choice vintage clarets, + and liqueurs—when occasion demanded. He would offer them to his + friends, but just sip them himself, having previously arranged with the + waiter to miss filling his glass. + </p> + <p> + Of the peril of drink “Mr. Peters” was constantly lecturing + the great circle of his friends. + </p> + <p> + Each year—on the 26th of February to be exact—there was held a + dinner at a well-known restaurant in the West End—the annual dinner + of a club known as “The Wonder Wizards.” It was supposed to be + a circle of professional conjurers. + </p> + <p> + This dinner was usually attended by fifty guests of both sexes, all + well-dressed and prosperous, and of several nationalities. It was presided + over by a Mr. Charles Williams. + </p> + <p> + Now, to tell the truth, the guests believed him to be The Sparrow; but in + reality Mr. Williams was the tall White Cavalier whom Hugh had believed to + be the great leader, until he had gone to Mayfair and met the impelling + personality whom the police had for so long failed to arrest. + </p> + <p> + The situation was indeed humorous. It was The Sparrow’s fancy to + hold the reunion at a public restaurant instead of at a private house. + Under the very nose of Scotland Yard the deputy of the notorious Sparrow + entertained the chiefs of the great criminal octopus. There were speeches, + but from them the waiters learned nothing. It was simply a club of + conjurers. None suspected that the guests were those who conjured fortunes + out of the pockets of the unsuspecting. And while the chairman—believed + by those who attended to be The Sparrow himself—sat there, the + bristly-haired, rather insignificant-looking little man occupied a seat in + a far-off corner, from where he scrutinized his guests very closely, and + smiled at the excellent manner in which his deputy performed the duties of + chairman. + </p> + <p> + Because it was a club of conjurers, and because the conjurers displayed + their new tricks and illusions, after an excellent dinner the waiters were + excluded and the doors locked after the coffee. + </p> + <p> + It was then that the bogus Sparrow addressed those present, and gave + certain instructions which were later on carried into every corner of + Europe. Each member had his speciality, and each group its district and + its sanctuary, in case of a hue-and-cry. Every crime that could be + committed was committed by them—everything save murder. + </p> + <p> + The tall, thin man whom everyone believed to be The Sparrow never failed + to impress upon his hearers, after the doors were carefully locked, that + however they might attack and rob the rich, human life was sacred. + </p> + <p> + It was the real Sparrow’s order. He abominated the thought of taking + human life, hence when old Mr. Henfrey had been foully done to death in + the West End he had at once set to work to discover the actual criminal. + This he had failed to do. And afterwards there had followed the attempted + assassination of Yvonne Ferad, known as Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo. + </p> + <p> + The two men stood discussing the young French girl, Lisette, whom Hugh had + met when in hiding in the Via della Maddalena in Genoa. + </p> + <p> + “I only hope; that she has not told young Henfrey anything,” + Howell said, with distinct apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “No,” laughed The Sparrow. “She came to me and told me + how she had met him in Genoa and discovered to her amazement that he was + old Henfrey’s son.” + </p> + <p> + “How curious that the pair should meet by accident,” remarked + Howell. “I tell you that Benton is not playing a straight game. That + iniquitous will which the old man left he surely must have signed under + some misapprehension. Perhaps he thought he was applying for a life policy—or + something of that short. Signatures to wills have been procured under many + pretexts by scoundrelly relatives and unscrupulous lawyers.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. And the witnesses have placed their signatures afterward,” + remarked The Sparrow thoughtfully. “But in this case all seems above + board—at least so far as the will is concerned. Benton was old + Henfrey’s bosom friend. Henfrey was very taken with Louise, and I + know that he was desirous Hugh should marry her.” + </p> + <p> + “And if he did, Hugh would acquire the old man’s fortune, and + Benton would step in and seize it—as is his intention.” + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly. All we can do is to keep Hugh and Louise apart. The + latter is in entire ignorance of the true profession of her adopted + father, and she’d be horrified if she knew that Molly was simply a + clever adventuress, who is very much wanted in Paris and in Brussels,” + said the gloved man. + </p> + <p> + “A good job that she knows nothing,” said Howell. “But + it would be a revelation to her if the police descended upon Shapley Manor—wouldn’t + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That is why I must see Dorise Ranscomb and ascertain from her + exactly what she has heard. I know the police tracked Hugh to London, and + for that reason he went with Benton down into Surrey—out of the + frying-pan into the fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, before we can go farther, it seems that we should ascertain + who shot Yvonne,” Howell suggested. “It was a most dastardly + thing, and whoever did it ought to be punished.” + </p> + <p> + “He ought. But I’m as much in the dark as you are, Howell; + but, as I have already said, I entertain strong suspicions.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll suggest one name—Benton?” + </p> + <p> + The Sparrow shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “The manservant, Giulio Cataldi?” Howell ventured. “I + never liked that sly old Italian.” + </p> + <p> + “What motive could the old fellow have had?” + </p> + <p> + “Robbery, probably. We have no idea what were Yvonne’s + winnings that night—or of the money she had in her bag.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we do know,” was The Sparrow’s reply. “According + to the police report, Yvonne, on her return home, went to her room, + carrying her bag, which she placed upon her dressing-table. Then, after + removing her cloak and hat, she went downstairs again and out on to the + veranda. A few minutes later the young man was announced. High words were + heard by old Cataldi, and then a shot.” + </p> + <p> + “And Yvonne’s bag?” + </p> + <p> + “It was found where she had left it. In it were three thousand eight + hundred francs, all in notes.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet Franklyn told me that he had heard how Yvonne won quite a large + sum that night.” + </p> + <p> + “She might have done so—and have lost the greater part of it,” + The Sparrow replied. + </p> + <p> + “On the other hand, what more feasible than that the old manservant, + watching her place it there, abstracted the bulk of the money—a + large sum, no doubt—and afterwards, in order to conceal his crime, + shot his mistress in such circumstances as to place the onus of the crime + upon her midnight visitor?” + </p> + <p> + “That the affair was very cleverly planned there is no doubt,” + said The Sparrow. “There is a distinct intention to fasten the guilt + upon young Henfrey, because he alone would have a motive for revenge for + the death of his father. Of that fact the man or woman who fired the shot + was most certainly aware. How could Cataldi have known of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly believe the Italian robbed his mistress and afterwards + attempted to murder her,” Howell insisted. + </p> + <p> + “He might rob his mistress, certainly. He might even have robbed her + of considerable sums systematically,” The Sparrow assented. “The + maids told the police that Mademoiselle’s habit was to leave her bag + with her winnings upon the dressing-table while she went downstairs and + took a glass of wine.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. She did so every evening. Her habits were regular. Yet she + never knew the extent of her winnings at the tables before she counted + them. And she never did so until the following morning. That is what + Franklyn told me in Venice when we met a month afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “He learnt that from me,” The Sparrow said with a smile. + “No,” he went on; “though old Cataldi could well have + robbed his mistress, just as the maids could have done, and Yvonne would + have been none the wiser, yet I do not think he would attempt to conceal + his crime by shooting her, because by so doing he cut off all future + supplies. If he were a thief he would not be such a fool. Therefore you + may rest assured, Howell, that the hand that fired the shot was that of + some person who desired to close Yvonne’s mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “She might have held some secret concerning old Cataldi. Or, on his + part, he might have cherished some grievance against her. Italians are + usually very vindictive,” replied the visitor. “On the other + hand, it would be to Benton’s advantage that the truth concerning + old Henfrey’s death was suppressed. Yvonne was about to tell the + young man something—perhaps confess the truth, who knows?—when + the shot was fired.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear Howell, you have your opinion and I have mine,” + laughed The Sparrow. “The latter I shall keep to myself—until + my theory is disproved.” + </p> + <p> + Thereupon Howell took a cigar that his host offered him, and while he + slowly lit it, The Sparrow crossed to the telephone. + </p> + <p> + He quickly found Lady Ranscomb’s number in the directory, and a few + moments later was talking to the butler, of whom he inquired for Miss + Dorise. + </p> + <p> + “Tell her,” he added, “that a friend of Mr. Henfrey’s + wishes to speak to her.” + </p> + <p> + In a few moments The Sparrow heard the girl’s voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” she inquired. “Who is speaking?” + </p> + <p> + “A friend of Mr. Henfrey,” was the reply of the man with the + gloved hand. “You will probably guess who it is.” + </p> + <p> + He heard a little nervous laugh, and then: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. I—I have an idea, but I can’t talk to you over + the ‘phone. I’ve got somebody who’s just called. Mother + is out—and——” Then she lowered her voice, + evidently not desirous of being heard in the adjoining room. “Well, + I don’t know what to do.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean? Does it concern Mr. Henfrey?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It does. There’s a man here to see me from Scotland + Yard! What shall I do?” + </p> + <p> + The Sparrow gasped at the girl’s announcement. + </p> + <p> + Next second he recovered himself. + </p> + <p> + “A man from Scotland Yard!” he echoed. “Why has he + called?” + </p> + <p> + “He knows that Mr. Henfrey is living at Shapley, in Surrey. And he + has been asking whether I am acquainted with you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWENTY-THIRD CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + WHAT LISETTE KNEW + </h3> + <p> + A fortnight had gone by. + </p> + <p> + Ten o’clock in the morning in the Puerta del Sol, that great plaza + in Madrid—the fine square which, like the similarly-named gates at + Toledo and Segovia, commands a view of the rising sun, as does the ancient + Temple of Abu Simbel on the Nile. + </p> + <p> + Hugh Henfrey—a smart, lithe figure in blue serge—had been + lounging for ten minutes before the long facade of the Ministerio de la + Gobernacion (or Ministry of the Interior) smoking a cigarette and looking + eagerly across the great square. The two soldiers on sentry at the door, + suspicious of all foreigners in the days of Bolshevism and revolution, had + eyed him narrowly. But he appeared to be inoffensive, so they had passed + him by as a harmless lounger. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later a smartly-dressed girl, with short skirt, silk + stockings, and a pretty hat, came along the pavement, and Hugh sprang + forward to greet her. + </p> + <p> + It was Lisette, the girl whom he had met when in hiding in that back + street in Genoa. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he exclaimed. “So here we are! The Sparrow sent + me to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I had a telegram from him four days ago ordering me to meet + you. Strange things are happening—it seems!” + </p> + <p> + “How?” asked the young Englishman, in ignorance of the great + conspiracy or of what was taking place. “Since I saw you last, + mademoiselle, I have been moving about rapidly, and always in danger of + arrest.” + </p> + <p> + “So have I. But I am here at The Sparrow’s orders—on a + little business which I hope to bring off successfully on any evening. I + have an English friend with me—a Mr. Franklyn.” + </p> + <p> + “I left London suddenly. I saw The Sparrow in the evening, and next + morning, at eleven o’clock, without even a bag, I left London for + Madrid with a very useful passport.” + </p> + <p> + “You are here because Madrid is safer for you than London, I + suppose?” said the girl in broken English. + </p> + <p> + “That is so. A certain Mr. Howell, a friend of The Sparrow’s + suggested that I should come here,” Hugh explained. “Ever + since we met in Italy I have been in close hiding until, by some means, my + whereabouts became known, and I had to fly.” + </p> + <p> + The smartly-dressed girl walked slowly at his side and, for some moments, + remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! So you have met Hamilton Shaw—alias Howell?” she + remarked at last in a changed voice. “He certainly is not your + friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Not my friend! Why? I’ve only met him lately.” + </p> + <p> + “You say that the police knew of your hiding-place,” said + mademoiselle, speaking in French, as it was easier for her. “Would + you be surprised if Howell had revealed your secret?” + </p> + <p> + “Howell!” gasped Hugh. “Yes, I certainly would. He is a + close friend of The Sparrow!” + </p> + <p> + “That may be. But that does not prove that he is any friend of + yours. If you came here at Howell’s suggestion—then, Mr. + Henfrey, I should advise you to leave Madrid at once. I say this because I + have a suspicion that he intends both of us to fall into a trap!” + </p> + <p> + “But why? I don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I can give you no explanation,” said the girl. “Now I + know that Hamilton Shaw sent you here, I can, I think, discern his motive. + I myself will see Mr. Franklyn at once, and shall leave Madrid as soon as + possible. And I advise you, Mr. Henfrey, to do the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely you don’t suspect that it was this Mr. Howell who gave + me away to Scotland Yard!” exclaimed Hugh, surprised, but at the + same time recollecting that The Sparrow had been alarmed at the detective’s + visit to Dorise. He knew that Benton and Mrs. Bond had suddenly + disappeared from Shapley, but the reason he could only guess. He had, of + course, no proof that Benton and Molly were members of the great criminal + organization. He only knew that Benton had been his late father’s + closest friend. + </p> + <p> + He discussed the situation with the girl jewel-thief as they walked along + the busy Carrera de San Jeronimo wherein are the best shops in Madrid, to + the great Plaza de Canovas in the leafy Prado. + </p> + <p> + Again he tried to extract from her what she knew concerning his father’s + death. But she would tell him nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I am not permitted to say anything, Mr. Henfrey. I can only regret + it,” she said quietly. “Mr. Franklyn is at the Ritz opposite. + I should like you to meet him.” + </p> + <p> + And she took him across to the elegant hotel opposite the Neptune + fountain, where, in a private sitting-room on the second floor, she + introduced him to a rather elderly, aristocratic-looking Englishman, whom + none would take to be one of the most expert jewel-thieves in Europe. + </p> + <p> + When the door was closed and they were alone, mademoiselle suddenly + revealed to her friend what Hugh had said concerning Howell’s + suggestion that he should travel to Madrid. + </p> + <p> + Franklyn’s face changed. He was instantly apprehensive. + </p> + <p> + “Then we certainly are not safe here any longer. Howell probably + intends to play us false! We shall know from The Sparrow the reason we are + here, and, for aught we know, the police are watching and will arrest us + red-handed. No,” he added, “we must leave this place—all + three of us—as soon as possible. You, Lisette, had better go to + Paris and explain matters to The Sparrow, while I shall fade away to + Switzerland. And you, Mr. Henfrey? Where will you go?” + </p> + <p> + “To France,” was Hugh’s reply, on the spur of the + moment. “I can get to Marseilles.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Go by way of Barcelona. It is quickest,” said the + Englishman. “The express leaves just after three o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + Then, after he had thanked Hugh for his timely warning, the latter walked + out more than ever mystified at the attitude of The Sparrow’s + accomplices. + </p> + <p> + It did not seem possible that Howell should have told Scotland Yard that + he was hiding at Shapley; yet it was quite evident that both mademoiselle + and her companion were equally in fear of the man Howell, whose real name + was Hamilton Shaw. The theory seemed to him a thin one, for Howell was The + Sparrow’s intimate friend. + </p> + <p> + Yet, mademoiselle, while they had been discussing the situation, had + denounced him as their enemy, declaring that The Sparrow himself should be + warned of him. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon Hugh, having only been in Madrid twelve hours, left again + on the long, dusty railway journey across Spain to Zaragoza and down the + valley of the Ebro to the Mediterranean. After crossing the French + frontier, he broke the journey at the old-world town of Nimes for a couple + of days, and then went on to Marseilles, where he took up his quarters in + the big Louvre et Paix Hotel, still utterly mystified, and still not + daring to write to Dorise. + </p> + <p> + It was as well that he left Madrid, for, just as Lisette and Franklyn had + suspected, the police called at his hotel—an obscure one near the + station—only two hours after his departure. Then, finding him gone, + they sought both mademoiselle and Franklyn, only to find that they also + had fled. + </p> + <p> + <i>Someone had given away their secret!</i> + </p> + <p> + On arrival at Marseilles in the evening Hugh ate his dinner alone in the + hotel, and then strolled up the well-lit Cannebiere, with its many smart + shops and gay cafes—that street which, to many thousands on their + way to the Near or Far East, is their last glimpse of European life. He + was entirely at a loose end. + </p> + <p> + Unnoticed behind him there walked an undersized little Frenchman, an + alert, business-like man of about forty-five, who had awaited him outside + his hotel, and who leisurely followed him up the broad, main street of + that busy city. + </p> + <p> + He was well-dressed, possessing a pair of shrewd, searching eyes, and a + moustache carefully trimmed. His appearance was that of a prosperous + French tradesman—one of thousands one meets in the city of + Marseilles. + </p> + <p> + As Hugh idled along, gazing into some of the shop windows as he lazily + smoked his cigarette, the under-sized stranger kept very careful watch + upon his movements. He evidently intended that he should not escape + observation. Hugh paused at a tobacconist’s and bought some stamps, + but as he came out of the shop, the watcher drew back suddenly and in such + a manner as to reveal to anyone who might have observed him that he was no + tyro in the art of surveillance. + </p> + <p> + Walking a little farther along, Hugh came to the corner of the broad Rue + de Rome, where he entered a crowded cafe in which an orchestra was + playing. + </p> + <p> + He had taken a corner seat in the window, had ordered his coffee, and was + glancing at the <i>Petit Parisien</i>, which he had taken from his pocket, + when another man entered, gazed around in search of a seat and, noticing + one at Hugh’s table, crossed, lifted his hat, and took the vacant + chair. + </p> + <p> + He was the stranger who had followed him from the Louvre et Paix. + </p> + <p> + The young Englishman, all unsuspecting, glanced at the newcomer, and then + resumed his paper, while the keen-eyed little man took a long, thin cigar + which the waiter brought, lit it carefully, and sipped his coffee, his + interest apparently centred in the music. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a tall, dark-haired woman, who had been sitting near by with a + man who seemed to be her husband, rose and left. A moment before she had + exchanged glances with the watcher, who, apparently at her bidding, rose + and followed her. + </p> + <p> + All this seemed quite unnoticed by Hugh, immersed as he was in his + newspaper. + </p> + <p> + Outside the man and woman met. They held hurried consultation. The woman + told him something which evidently caused him sudden surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I will call on you at eleven to-morrow morning, madame,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “No. I will meet you at the Reserve. I will lunch there at twelve. + You will lunch with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he answered. “<i>Au revoir</i>,” and + he returned to his seat in the cafe, while she disappeared without + returning to her companion. + </p> + <p> + The mysterious watcher resumed his coffee, for he had only been absent for + a few moments, and the waiter had not cleared it away. + </p> + <p> + Hugh took out his cigarette-case and, suddenly finding himself without a + match, made the opportunity for which the mysterious stranger had been + waiting. + </p> + <p> + He struck one and handed it to his <i>vis-a-vis</i>, bowing with his + foreign grace. + </p> + <p> + Then they naturally dropped into conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! m’sieur is English!” exclaimed the shrewd-eyed + little man. “Here, in Marseilles, we have many English who pass to + and fro from the boats. I suppose, m’sieur is going East?” he + suggested affably. + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Hugh, speaking in French, “I have some + business here—that is all.” He was highly suspicious of all + strangers, and the more so of anyone who endeavoured to get into + conversation with him. + </p> + <p> + “You know Marseilles—of course?” asked the stranger, + sharply scrutinizing him. + </p> + <p> + “I have been here several times before. I find the city always gay + and bright.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so bright as before the war,” declared the little man, + smoking at his ease. “There have been many changes lately.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh Henfrey could not make the fellow out. Yet many times before he had + been addressed by strangers who seemed to question him out of curiosity, + and for no apparent reason. This man was one of them, no doubt. + </p> + <p> + The man, who had accompanied the woman whom the stranger had followed out, + rose, exchanged a significant glance with the little man, and walked out. + That the three were in accord seemed quite apparent, though Hugh was still + unsuspicious. + </p> + <p> + He chatted merrily with the stranger for nearly half an hour, and then + rose and left the cafe. When quite close to the hotel the stranger + overtook him, and halting, asked in a low voice, in very good English: + </p> + <p> + “I believe you are Mr. Henfrey—are you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you ask that?” inquired Hugh, much surprised. “My + name is Jordan—William Jordan.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” laughed the man. “That is, I know, the name you + have given at the hotel. But your real name is Henfrey.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh started. The stranger, noticing his alarm, hastened to reassure him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWENTY-FOURTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + FRIEND OR ENEMY? + </h3> + <p> + “You need not worry,” said the stranger to Hugh. “I am + not your enemy, but a friend. I warn you that Marseilles is unsafe for + you. Get away as soon as possible. The Spanish police have learnt that you + have come here,” he went on as he strolled at his side. + </p> + <p> + Hugh was amazed. + </p> + <p> + “How did you know my identity?” he asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “I was instructed to watch for your arrival—and to warn you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who instructed you?” + </p> + <p> + “A friend of yours—and mine—The Sparrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he been here?” + </p> + <p> + “No. He spoke to me on the telephone from Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “What were his instructions?” + </p> + <p> + “That you were to go at once—to-night—by car to the + Hotel de Paris, at Cette. A car and driver awaits you at the Garage + Beauvau, in the Rue Beauvau. I have arranged everything at The Sparrow’s + orders. You are one of Us, I understand,” and the man laughed + lightly. + </p> + <p> + “But my bag?” exclaimed Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “Go to the hotel, pay your bill, and take your bag to the station + cloak-room. Then go and get the car, pick up your bag, and get out on the + road to Cette as soon as ever you can. Your driver will ask no questions, + and will remain silent. He has his orders from The Sparrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Does The Sparrow ever come to Marseilles?” Hugh asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sometimes—when anything really big brings him here. I + have, however, only seen him once, five years ago. He was at your hotel, + and the police were so hot upon his track that only by dint of great + promptitude and courage he escaped by getting out of the window of his + room and descending by means of the rain-water pipe. It was one of the + narrowest escapes he has ever had.” + </p> + <p> + As the words left the man’s mouth, they were passing a well-lit + brasserie. A tall, cadaverous man passed them and Hugh had a suspicion + that they exchanged glances of recognition. + </p> + <p> + Was his pretended friend an agent of the police? + </p> + <p> + For a few seconds he debated within himself how he should act. To refuse + to do as he was bid might be to bring instant arrest upon himself. If the + stranger were actually a detective—which he certainly did not appear + to be—then the ruse was to get him on the road to Cette because the + legal formalities were not yet complete for his arrest as a British + subject. + </p> + <p> + Yet he knew all about The Sparrow, and his attitude was not in the least + hostile. + </p> + <p> + Hugh could not make up his mind whether the stranger was an associate of + the famous Sparrow, or whether he was very cleverly inveigling him into + the net. + </p> + <p> + It was only that exchange of glances with the passer-by which had aroused + Hugh’s suspicions. + </p> + <p> + But that significant look caused him to hesitate to accept the mysterious + stranger as his friend. + </p> + <p> + True, he had accepted as friends numbers of other unknown persons since + that fateful night at Monte Carlo. Yet in this case, he felt, by + intuition, that all was not plain sailing. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he said, at last. “I esteem it a very great + favour that you should have interested yourself on behalf of one who is an + entire stranger to you, and I heartily thank you for warning me of my + danger. When I see The Sparrow I shall tell him how cleverly you + approached me, and how perfect were your arrangements for my escape.” + </p> + <p> + “I require no thanks or reward, Mr. Henfrey,” replied the man + politely. “My one desire is to get you safely out of Marseilles.” + </p> + <p> + And with that the stranger lifted his hat and left him. + </p> + <p> + Hugh went about fifty yards farther along the broad, well-lit street full + of life and movement, for the main streets of Marseilles are alive both + day and night. + </p> + <p> + By some intuition—why, he knew not—he suspected that affable + little man who had posed as his friend. Was it possible that, believing + the notorious Sparrow to be his friend, he had at haphazard invented the + story, and posed as one of The Sparrow’s gang? + </p> + <p> + If so, it was certainly a very clever and ingenious subterfuge. + </p> + <p> + He was undecided how to act. He did not wish to give offence to his + friend, the king of the underworld, and yet he felt a distinct suspicion + of the man who had so cleverly approached him, and who had openly declared + himself to be a crook. + </p> + <p> + That strange glance he had exchanged with the passer-by beneath the rays + of the street-lamp had been mysterious and significant. If the passer-by + had been a crook, like himself, the sign of recognition would be one of + salutation. But the expression upon his alleged friend’s face was + one of triumph. That made all the difference, and to Hugh, with his + observation quickened as it had been in those months of living with daily + dread of arrest, it had caused him to be seized with strong and distinct + suspicions. + </p> + <p> + He felt in his hip pocket and found that his revolver, an American + Smith-Wesson, was there. He had a dislike of automatic pistols, as he had + once had a very narrow escape. He had been teaching a girl to shoot with a + revolver, when, believing that she had discharged the whole magazine, he + was examining the weapon and pulled the trigger, narrowly escaping + shooting her dead. + </p> + <p> + For a few seconds he stood upon the broad pavement. Then he drew out his + cigarette-case. In it were four cigarettes, two of which The Sparrow had + given him when in London. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he muttered to himself. “Somebody must have given + me away at Shapley, and now they have followed me! I will act for myself, + and take the risks.” + </p> + <p> + Then he walked boldly on, crossed the road, and entered the big Hotel de + Louvre et Paix. To appear unconcerned he had a drink at the bar, and + ascending in the lift, called the floor-waiter, asked for his bill, and + packed his bag. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said to himself. “If I could only get to know + where The Sparrow is and ask him the truth! He may be at that address in + Paris which he gave me.” + </p> + <p> + After a little delay the bill was brought and he paid it. Then in a taxi + he drove to the station where he deposited his bag in the cloak-room. + </p> + <p> + Close by the <i>consigne</i> a woman was standing. He glanced at her, + when, to his surprise, he saw that she was the same woman who had been + sitting in the cafe with a male companion. + </p> + <p> + Was she, he wondered, in league with his so-called friend? And if so, what + was intended. + </p> + <p> + Sight of that woman lounging there, however, decided him. She was, no + doubt, awaiting his coming. + </p> + <p> + He walked out of the great railway terminus, and, inquiring the way to the + Rue Beauvau, soon found the garage where a powerful open car was awaiting + him in the roadway outside. + </p> + <p> + A smart driver in a dark overcoat came forward, and apparently recognizing + Hugh from a description that had been given to him, touched his cap, and + asked in French: + </p> + <p> + “Where does m’sieur wish to go?” + </p> + <p> + “To the station to fetch my coat and bag,” replied the young + Englishman, peering into the driver’s face. He was a clean-shaven + man of about forty, broad-shouldered and stalwart. Was it possible that + the car had been hired by the police, and the driver was himself a police + agent? + </p> + <p> + “Very well, m’sieur,” the man answered politely. And + Hugh having entered, he drove up the Boulevard de la Liberte to the Gare + St. Charles. + </p> + <p> + As he approached the <i>consigne</i>, he looked along the platform, and + there, sure enough, was the same woman on the watch, though she pretended + to be without the slightest interest in his movements. + </p> + <p> + Hugh put on his coat, and, carrying his bag, placed it in the car. + </p> + <p> + “You have your orders?” asked Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, m’sieur. We are to go to Cette with all speed. Is not + that so?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” was Hugh’s reply. “I will come up beside + you. I prefer it. We shall have a long, dark ride to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! but the roads are good,” was the man’s reply. + “I came from Cette yesterday,” he added, as he mounted to his + seat and the passenger got up beside him. + </p> + <p> + Hugh sat there very thoughtful as the car sped out of the city of noise + and bustle. The man’s remark that he had come from Cette on the + previous day gave colour to the idea that no net had been spread, but that + the stranger was acting at the orders of the ubiquitous Sparrow. Indeed, + were it not for the strange glance the undersized little man had given to + the passer-by, he would have been convinced that he was actually once + again under the protection of the all-powerful ruler of the criminal + underworld. + </p> + <p> + As it was, he remained suspicious. He did not like that woman who had + watched so patiently his coming and going at the station. + </p> + <p> + With strong headlights glaring—for the night was extremely dark and + a strong wind was blowing—they were soon out on the broad highway + which leads first across the plain and then beside the sea, and again + across the lowlands to old-world Arles. + </p> + <p> + It was midnight before they got to the village of Lancon, an obscure + little place in total darkness. + </p> + <p> + But on the way the driver, who had told Hugh that his name was Henri + Aramon, and who insinuated that he was one of The Sparrow’s + associates, became most affable and talkative. Over those miles of dark + roads, unfamiliar to Hugh, they travelled at high speed, for Henri had + from the first showed himself to be an expert driver, not only in the + unceasing traffic of the main streets of Marseilles, but also on the dark, + much-worn roads leading out of the city. The roads around Marseilles have + never been outstanding for their excellence, and after the war they were + indeed execrable. + </p> + <p> + “This is Lancon,” the driver remarked, as they sped through + the dark little town. “We now go on to Salon, where we have a direct + road across the plain they call the Crau into Arles. From there the road + to Cette is quite good and straight. The road we are now on is the worst,” + he added. + </p> + <p> + Hugh was undecided. Was the man who was driving him so rapidly out of the + danger zone his friend—or his enemy? + </p> + <p> + He sat there for over an hour unable to decide. + </p> + <p> + “This is an outlandish part of France,” he remarked to the + driver presently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But after Salon it is more desolate.” + </p> + <p> + “And is there no railway near?” + </p> + <p> + “After Salon, yes. It runs parallel with the road about two miles to + the north—the railway between Arles and Aix-en-Provence.” + </p> + <p> + “So if we get a breakdown, which I hope we shall not, we are not far + from a railway?” Hugh remarked, as through the night the heavy car + tore along that open desolate road. + </p> + <p> + As he sat there he thought of Dorise, wondering what had happened—and + of Louise. If he had obeyed his father’s wishes and married the + latter all the trouble would have been avoided, he thought. Yet he loved + Dorise—loved her with his whole soul. + </p> + <p> + And she doubted him. + </p> + <p> + Poor fellow! Hustled from pillar to post, and compelled to resort to every + ruse in order to avoid arrest for a crime which he did not commit, yet + about which he could not establish his innocence, he very often despaired. + At that moment he felt somehow—how he could not explain—that + he was in a very tight corner. He felt confident after two hours of + reflection that he was being driven over these roads that night in order + that the police should gain time to execute some legal formality for his + arrest. + </p> + <p> + Why had not the police of Marseilles arrested him? There was some subtle + motive for sending him to Cette. + </p> + <p> + He had not had time to send a telegram to Mr. Peters in London, or to + Monsieur Gautier, the name by which The Sparrow told him he was known at + his flat in the Rue des Petits Champs, in the centre of Paris. He longed + to be able to communicate with his all-powerful friend, but there had been + no opportunity. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the car began to pass through banks of mist, which are usual at + night over the low marshes around the mouths of the Rhone. It was about + half-past two in the morning. They had passed through the long dark + streets of Salon, and were already five or six miles on the broad straight + road which runs across the marshes through St. Martin-de-Crau into Arles. + </p> + <p> + Of a sudden Hugh declared that he must have a cigarette, and producing his + case handed one to the driver and took one himself. Then he lit the man’s, + and afterwards his own. + </p> + <p> + “It is cold here on the marshes, monsieur,” remarked the + driver, his cigarette between his lips. “This mist, too, is + puzzling. But it is nearly always like this at night. That is why nobody + lives about here.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it quite deserted?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, except for a few shepherds, and they live up north at the foot + of the hills.” + </p> + <p> + For some ten minutes or so they kept on, but Hugh had suddenly become very + watchful of the driver. + </p> + <p> + Presently the man exclaimed in French: + </p> + <p> + “I do not feel very well!” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” asked Hugh in alarm. “You must not + be taken ill here—so far from anywhere!” + </p> + <p> + But the man was evidently unwell, for he pulled up the car. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my head!” he cried, putting both hands to his brow as the + cigarette dropped from his lips. “My head! It seems as if it will + burst! And—and I can’t see! Everything is going round—round! + Where—<i>where am I</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “You are all right, my friend. Get into the back of the car and + rest. You will be yourself very quickly.” + </p> + <p> + And he half dragged the man from his seat and placed him in the back of + the car, where he fell inert and unconscious. + </p> + <p> + The cigarette which The Sparrow had given to Hugh only to be used in case + of urgent necessity had certainly done its work. The man, whether friend + or enemy, would now remain unconscious for many hours. + </p> + <p> + Hugh, having settled him in the bottom of the car, placed a rug over him. + Then, mounting to the driver’s place, he turned the car and drove as + rapidly as he dared back over the roads to Salon. + </p> + <p> + Time after time, he wondered whether he had been misled; whether, after + all, the man who had driven him was actually acting under The Sparrow’s + orders. If so, then he had committed a fatal error! + </p> + <p> + However, the die was cast. He had acted upon his own initiative, and if a + net had actually been spread to catch him he had successfully broken + through it. He laughed as he thought of the police at Cette awaiting his + arrival, and their consternation when hour after hour passed without news + of the car from Marseilles. + </p> + <p> + At Salon he passed half way through the town to cross roads where he had + noticed in passing a sign-board which indicated the road to Avignon—the + broad high road from Marseilles to Paris. + </p> + <p> + Already he had made up his mind how to act. He would get to Avignon, and + thence by express to Paris. The <i>rapides</i> from Marseilles and the + Riviera all stopped at the ancient city of the Popes. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, being a good motor driver, Hugh started away down the long road + which led through the valley to Orgon, and thence direct to Avignon, which + came into sight about seven o’clock in the morning. + </p> + <p> + Before entering the old city of walls and castles Hugh turned into a side + road about two miles distant, drove the car to the end, and opening a gate + succeeded in getting it some little distance into a wood, where it was + well concealed from anyone passing along the road. + </p> + <p> + Then, descending and ascertaining that the driver was sleeping comfortably + from the effects of the strong narcotic, he took his bag and walked into + the town. + </p> + <p> + At the railway station he found the through express from Ventimiglia—the + Italian frontier—to Paris would be due in twenty minutes, therefore + he purchased a first-class ticket for Paris, and in a short time was + taking his morning coffee in the <i>wagon-restaurant</i> on his way to the + French capital. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWENTY-FIFTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + THE MAN CATALDI + </h3> + <p> + On the day that Hugh was travelling in hot haste to Paris, Charles Benton + arrived in Nice early in the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + Leaving the station it was apparent he knew his way about the town, for + passing down the Avenue de la Gare, with its row of high eucalyptus trees, + to the Place Massena, he plunged into the narrow, rather evil-smelling + streets of the old quarter. + </p> + <p> + Before a house in the Rue Rossette he paused, and ascending to a flat on + the third floor, rang the bell. The door was slowly opened by an elderly, + rather shabbily-attired Italian. + </p> + <p> + It was Yvonne’s late servant at the Villa Amette, Giulio Cataldi. + </p> + <p> + The old man drew back on recognizing his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Cataldi!” exclaimed the well-dressed adventurer + cheerily. “I’m quite a stranger—am I not? I was in Nice, + and I could not leave without calling to see you.” + </p> + <p> + The old man, with ill-grace scarcely concealed, invited him into his + shabby room, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Signor Benton, I never thought to see you again.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you didn’t want to—eh? After that little affair + in Brussels. But I assure you it was not my fault. Mademoiselle Yvonne + made the blunder.” + </p> + <p> + “And nearly let us all into the hands of the police—including + The Sparrow himself!” growled the old fellow. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! But all that has long blown over. Now,” he went on, after + he had offered the old man a cigar. “Now the real reason I’ve + called is to ask you about this nasty affair concerning Mademoiselle + Yvonne. You were there that night. What do you know about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” the old fellow declared promptly. “Since that + night I’ve earned an honest living. I’m a waiter in a cafe in + the Avenue de la Gare.” + </p> + <p> + “A most excellent decision,” laughed the well-dressed man. + “It is not everyone who can afford to be honest in these hard times. + I wish I could be, but I find it impossible. Now, tell me, Giulio, what do + you know about the affair at the Villa Amette? The boy, Henfrey, went + there to demand of Mademoiselle how his father died. She refused to tell + him, angry words arose—and he shot her. Now, isn’t that your + theory—the same as that held by the police?” + </p> + <p> + The old man looked straight into his visitor’s face for a few + moments. Then he replied quite calmly: + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing, Signor Benton—and I don’t want to know + anything. I’ve told the police all I know. Indeed, when they began + to inquire into my antecedents I was not very reassured, I can tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think not,” laughed Benton. “Still, they never + suspected you to be the man wanted for the Morel affair—an + unfortunate matter that was.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” sighed the old fellow. “Please do not mention it,” + and he turned away to the window as though to conceal his guilty + countenance. + </p> + <p> + “You mean that you <i>know</i> something—but you won’t + tell it!” Benton said. + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing,” was the old fellow’s stubborn reply. + </p> + <p> + “But you know that the young fellow, Henfrey, is guilty!” + exclaimed Benton. “Come! you were there at the time! You heard high + words between them—didn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I have already made my statement to the police,” declared the + old Italian. “What else I know I shall keep to myself.” + </p> + <p> + “But I’m interested in ascertaining whether Henfrey is + innocent or guilty. Only two persons can tell us that—Mademoiselle, + who is, alas! in a hopeless mental state, and yourself. You know—but + you refuse to incriminate the guilty person. Why don’t you tell the + truth? You know that Henfrey shot her!” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I know nothing,” retorted the old man. “Why + do you come here and disturb me?” he added peevishly. + </p> + <p> + “Because I want to know the truth,” Benton answered. “And + I mean to!” + </p> + <p> + “Go away!” snapped the wilful old fellow. “I’ve + done with you all—all the crowd of you!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” laughed Benton. “Then you forget the little matter + of the man Morel—eh? That is not forgotten by the police, remember!” + </p> + <p> + “And if you said a word to them, Signor Benton, then you would + implicate yourself,” the old man growled. Seeing hostility in the + Englishman’s attitude he instantly resented it. + </p> + <p> + “Probably. But as I have no intention of giving you away, my dear + Giulio, I do not think we need discuss it. What I am anxious to do is to + establish the guilt—or the innocence—of Hugh Henfrey,” + he went on. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt. You have reason for establishing his guilt—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Reasons for establishing his innocence.” + </p> + <p> + “For your own ends, Signor Benton,” was the shrewd old man’s + reply. + </p> + <p> + “At one time there was a suspicion that you yourself had fired at + Mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” gasped the old man, his countenance changing + instantly. “Who says that?” he asked angrily. + </p> + <p> + “The police were suspicious, I believe. And as far as I can gather + they are not yet altogether satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” growled the old Italian in a changed voice. “They + will have to prove it!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they declare that the shot was fired by either one or the + other of you,” Benton said, much surprised at the curious effect the + allegation had upon the old fellow. + </p> + <p> + “So they think that if the Signorino Henfrey is innocent I am guilty + of the murderous attack—eh?” + </p> + <p> + Benton nodded. + </p> + <p> + “But they are seeking to arrest the signorino!” remarked the + Italian. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That is why I am here—to establish his innocence.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I were to tell you that he was innocent I should condemn + myself!” laughed the crafty old man. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Giulio,” said Benton. “I confess that I have + long ago regretted the shabby manner in which I treated you when we were + all in Brussels, and I hope you will allow me to make some little amend.” + Then, taking from his pocket-book several hundred-franc notes, he doubled + them up and placed them on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the old man. “I see! You want to <i>buy</i> + my secret! No, take your money!” he cried, pushing it back towards + him contemptuously. “I want none of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Because you are now earning an honest living,” Benton + sneered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and Il Passero knows it!” was Cataldi’s bold + reply. + </p> + <p> + “Then you refuse to tell me anything you know concerning the events + of that night at the Villa Amette?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he snapped. “Take your money, and leave me in + peace!” + </p> + <p> + “And I have come all the way from England to see you,” + remarked the disappointed man. + </p> + <p> + “Be extremely careful. You have enemies, so have I. They are the + same as those who denounced the signorino to the police—as they will + no doubt, before long, denounce you!” said the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Bah! You always were a pessimist, Giulio,” Benton laughed. + “I do not fear any enemies—I assure you. The Sparrow takes + good care that we are prevented from falling into any traps the police may + set,” he added after a moment’s pause. + </p> + <p> + The old waiter shook his head dubiously. + </p> + <p> + “One day there may be a slip—and it will cost you all very + dearly,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You are in a bad mood, Giulio—like all those who exist by + being honest,” Benton laughed, though he was extremely annoyed at + his failure to learn anything from the old fellow. + </p> + <p> + Was it possible that the suspicions which both Molly and he had + entertained were true—namely, that the old man had attempted to kill + his mistress? After all, the hue-and-cry had been raised by the police + merely because Hugh Henfrey had fled and successfully escaped. + </p> + <p> + Benton, after grumbling because the old man would make no statement, and + again hinting at the fact that he might be the culprit, left with very ill + grace, his long journey from London having been in vain. + </p> + <p> + If Henfrey was to be free to marry Louise, then his innocence must first + be proved. Charles Benton had for many weeks realized that his chance of + securing old Mr. Henfrey’s great fortune was slowly slipping from + him. Once Hugh had married Louise and settled the money upon her, then the + rest would be easy. He had many times discussed it with Molly, and they + were both agreed upon a vile, despicable plot which would result in the + young man’s sudden end and the diversion of his father’s + fortune. + </p> + <p> + The whole plot against old Mr. Henfrey was truly one of the most elaborate + and amazing ones ever conceived by criminal minds. + </p> + <p> + Charles Benton was a little too well known in Nice, hence he took care to + leave the place by an early train, and went on to Cannes, where he was a + little less known. As an international crook he had spent several seasons + at Nice and Monte Carlo, but had seldom gone to Cannes, as it was too + aristocratic and too slow for an <i>escroc</i> like himself. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at Cannes he put up at the Hotel Beau Site, and that night ate an + expensive dinner in the restaurant at the Casino. Then, next day, he took + the <i>train-de-luxe</i> direct for Calais, and went on to London, all + unconscious of the sensational events which were then happening. + </p> + <p> + On arrival in London he found a telegram lying upon his table among some + letters. It was signed “Shaw,” and urged him to meet him + “at the usual place” at seven o’clock in the evening. + “I know you are away, but I’ll look in each night at seven,” + it concluded. + </p> + <p> + It was just six o’clock, therefore Benton washed and changed, and + just before seven o’clock entered a little cafe off Wardour Street, + patronized mostly by foreigners. At one of the tables, sitting alone, was + a wiry-looking, middle-aged man—Mr. Howell, The Sparrow’s + friend. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Howell, when a few minutes later they were + walking along Wardour Street together. “How did you get on in Nice?” + </p> + <p> + “Had my journey for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t the old man tell anything?” asked Howell + eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Not a word,” Benton replied. “But my firm opinion is + that he himself tried to kill Yvonne—that he shot her.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really agree with me?” gasped Howell excitedly. + “Of course, there has, all along, been a certain amount of suspicion + against him. The police were once on the point of arresting him. I happen + to know that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my belief is that young Henfrey is innocent. I never thought + so until now.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we must prove Cataldi guilty, and Henfrey can marry Louise,” + Howell said. “But the reason I wanted to get in touch with you is + that the police went to Shapley.” + </p> + <p> + “To Shapley!” gasped Benton. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. They went there the night you left London. Evidently somebody + has given you away!” + </p> + <p> + “Given me away! Who in the devil’s name can it be? If I get to + know who the traitor is I—I’ll—by gad, I’ll kill + him. I swear I will!” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows? Some secret enemy of yours—no doubt. Molly has + been arrested and has been up at Bow Street. They also arrested Louise, + but there being no charge against her, she has been released. I’ve + sent her up to Cambridge—to old Mrs. Curtis. I thought she’d + be quite quiet and safe there for a time.” + </p> + <p> + “But Molly arrested! What’s the charge?” + </p> + <p> + “Theft. An extradition warrant from Paris. That jeweller’s + affair in the Rue St. Honore, eighteen months ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope they won’t bring forward other charges, or it + will go infernally bad with her. What has The Sparrow done?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s abroad somewhere—but I’ve had five hundred + pounds from an unknown source to pay for her defence. I saw the + solicitors. Brigthorne, the well-known barrister, appeared for her.” + </p> + <p> + “But all this is very serious, my dear Howell,” Benton + declared, much alarmed. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it is. You can’t marry the girl to young Henfrey + until he is proved innocent, and that cannot be until the guilt is fixed + upon the crafty old Giulio.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. That’s what we must do. But with Molly arrested we + shall be compelled to be very careful,” said Benton, as they turned + toward Piccadilly Circus. “I don’t see how we dare move until + Molly is either free or convicted. If she knew our game she might give us + away. Remember that if we bring off the Henfrey affair Molly has to have a + share in the spoils. But if she happens to be in a French prison she won’t + get much chance—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “If she goes it will be ten years, without a doubt,” Howell + remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And in the meantime much can happen—eh?” laughed + Benton. + </p> + <p> + “Lots. But one reassuring fact is that, as far as old Henfrey’s + fate is concerned, Mademoiselle’s lips are closed. Whoever shot her + did us a very good turn.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. But I agree we must fix the guilt upon old Cataldi. He + almost as good as admitted it by his face when I taxed him with it. Why + not give him away to the Nice police?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not yet. Certainly not,” exclaimed Howell. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pity The Sparrow does not know about the Henfrey + business. He might help us. Dare we tell him? What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him! Good Heavens! No! Surely you are fully aware how he + always sets his face against any attempt upon human life, and no one who + has taken life has ever had his forgiveness,” said Howell. “The + Sparrow is our master—a fine and marvellous mind which has no equal + in Europe. If he had gone into politics he could have been the greatest + statesman of the age. But he is Il Passero, the man who directs affairs of + every kind, and the man at the helm of every great enterprise. Yet his one + fixed motto is that life shall not be taken.” + </p> + <p> + “But in old Henfrey’s case we acted upon our own initiative,” + remarked Benton. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Yours was a wonderfully well-conceived idea. And all worked + without a hitch until young Henfrey’s visit to Monte Carlo, and his + affection for that girl Ranscomb.” + </p> + <p> + “We are weaning him away from her,” Benton said. “At + last the girl’s suspicions are excited, and there is just that + little disagreement which, broadening, leads to the open breach. Oh! my + dear Howell, how could you and I live if it were not for that silly + infection called love? In our profession love is all-conquering. Without + it we could make no progress, no smart coups, no conquests of women who + afterwards shed out to us money which at the assizes they would designate + by the ugly word ‘blackmail.’” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Charles. You were always a philosopher,” laughed his + companion—the man who was a bosom friend of The Sparrow. “But + it carries us no nearer. We must, at all costs, fix the hand that shot + Yvonne.” + </p> + <p> + “Giulio shot her—without a doubt!” was Benton’s + quick reply. + </p> + <p> + They were standing together on the kerb outside the Tube station at + Piccadilly Circus as Benton uttered the words. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear fellow, then let us prove it,” said Howell. + “But not yet, remember. We must first see how it goes with Molly. + She must be watched carefully. Of course, I agree that Giulio Cataldi shot + Yvonne. Later we will prove that fact, but the worst of it is that the + French police are hot on the track of young Henfrey.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that?” asked his companion quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he answered, after a second’s hesitation, + “I heard so two days ago.” + </p> + <p> + Then Howell, pleading an urgent meeting with a mutual friend, also a crook + like themselves, grasped the other’s hand, and they parted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWENTY-SIXTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + LISETTE’S DISCLOSURES + </h3> + <p> + At ten o’clock on the morning that Hugh Henfrey left Avignon for + Paris, The Sparrow stood at the window of his cozy little flat in the Rue + des Petits Champs, where he was known to his elderly housekeeper—a + worthy old soul from Yvetot, in the north—as Guillaume Gautier. + </p> + <p> + The house was one of those great old ones built in the days of the First + Empire, with a narrow entrance and square courtyard into which the stage + coaches with postilions rumbled before the days of the P.L.M. and + aircraft. In the Napoleonic days it had been the residence of the Dukes de + Vizelle, but in modern times it had been converted into a series of very + commodious flats. + </p> + <p> + The Sparrow, sprightly and alert, stood, after taking his <i>cafe au lait</i>, + looking down into the courtyard. He had been reading through several + letters and telegrams which had caused him some perturbation. + </p> + <p> + “They are playing me false!” he muttered, as he gazed out of + the window. “I’m certain of it—quite certain! But, Gad! + If they do I’ll be even with them! Who could have given Henfrey away + in London—<i>and why</i>?” + </p> + <p> + He paced the length of the room, his teeth hard set and his hands + clenched. + </p> + <p> + “I thought they were all loyal after what I have done for them—after + the fortunes I have put into their pockets. Fancy! One of them a + well-known member of Parliament—another a director of one of the + soundest insurance companies! Nobody suspects the really great crooks. It + is only the little clumsy muddlers whom the police catch and the judge + makes examples of!” + </p> + <p> + Then crossing back to the window, he said aloud: + </p> + <p> + “Lisette ought to be here! She was due in from Toulouse at nine o’clock. + I hope nothing further has happened. One thing is satisfactory—young + Henfrey is safe.” + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, the girl had spoken to The Sparrow from her hotel in + Toulouse late on the previous night, and told him that her “friend + Hugh” was in Marseilles. + </p> + <p> + Even to the master criminal the whole problem was increasingly + complicated. He could not prove the innocence of young Henfrey, because of + the mysterious, sinister influence being brought to bear against him. He + had interested himself in aiding the young fellow to evade arrest, because + he had no desire that there should be a trial in which he and his + associates might be implicated. + </p> + <p> + The Sparrow hated trials of any sort. With him silence was golden, and + very wisely he would pay any sum rather than court publicity. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour went past, but the girl he expected did not put in an + appearance. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Gautier—the man with the gloved hand—was believed by + his old housekeeper to be a rich and somewhat eccentric bachelor, who was + interested in old clocks and antique silver, and who travelled extensively + in order to purchase fine specimens. Indeed it was by that description he + was registered in the archives of the Surete, with the observation that + notwithstanding his foreign name he was an Englishman of highest standing. + </p> + <p> + It was never dreamed that the bristly-haired alert little man, who was so + often seen in the salerooms of Paris when antique silver was being sold, + was the notorious Sparrow. + </p> + <p> + Lisette’s failure to arrive considerably disturbed him. He hoped + that nothing had happened to her. Time after time, he walked to the window + and looked out eagerly for her to cross the courtyard. In those rooms he + sometimes lived for weeks in safe obscurity, his neighbours regarding him + as a man of the greatest integrity, though a trifle eccentric in his + habits. + </p> + <p> + At last, just before eleven, he saw Lisette’s smart figure in a + heavy travelling coat crossing the courtyard, and a few moments later she + was shown into his room. + </p> + <p> + “You’re late!” the old man said, as soon as the door was + closed. “I feared that something had gone wrong! Why did you leave + Madrid? What has happened?” he asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Happened!” she echoed in French. “Why, very nearly a + disaster! Someone has given us away—at least, Monsieur Henfrey was + given away to the police!” + </p> + <p> + “Not arrested?” he asked breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “No. We all three managed to get away—but only just in time! I + had a wire to-night from Monsieur Tresham, telling me guardedly that + within an hour or so after we left Madrid the police called at my hotel—and + at Henfrey’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Who can have done that?” asked The Sparrow, his eyes + narrowing in anger, his gloved hand clenched. + </p> + <p> + “Your enemy—and mine!” was the girl’s reply. + “Franklyn is in Switzerland. Monsieur Henfrey is in Marseilles—at + the Louvre et Paix—and I am here.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we have a secret enemy—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and he is not very far to seek. Monsieur Howell has done + this!” + </p> + <p> + “Howell! He would never do such a thing, my dear mademoiselle,” + replied the gloved man, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! wouldn’t he? I would not trust either Benton or Howell!” + </p> + <p> + “I think you are mistaken, mademoiselle. They have never shown much + friendship towards each other.” + </p> + <p> + “They are close friends as far as concerns the Henfrey affair,” + declared mademoiselle. “I happen to know that it was Howell who + prepared the old man’s will. It is in his handwriting, and his + manservant, Cooke, is one of the witnesses.” + </p> + <p> + “What? <i>You know about that will, Lisette?</i> Tell me everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Howell himself let it out to me. They were careful that you should + not know. At the time I was in London with Franklyn and Benton over the + jewels of that ship-owner’s wife, I forget her name—the affair + in Carlton House Terrace.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I recollect. A very neat piece of business.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—Howell told me how he had prepared the will, and how + Benton, who was staying with old Mr. Henfrey away in the country, got him + to put his signature to it by pretending it to be for the purchase of a + house at Eltham, in Kent. The house was, indeed, purchased at Benton’s + suggestion, but the signature was to a will which Howell’s man, + Cooke, and a friend of his, named Saunders, afterwards witnessed, and + which has now been proved—the will by which the young man is + compelled to marry Benton’s adopted daughter before he inherits his + father’s estates.” + </p> + <p> + “You actually know this?” + </p> + <p> + “Howell told me so with his own lips.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why is young Henfrey being made the victim?” asked The + Sparrow shrewdly. “Why, indeed, have you not revealed this to me + before?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I had no proof before that Howell is <i>our</i> enemy. He + has now given us away. He has some motive. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + The bristly-haired little man of twenty names and as many individualities + pondered for a moment. It was evident that he was both apprehensive and + amazed at the suggestion the pretty young French girl had placed before + him. + </p> + <p> + When one finds a betrayer, then in order to fix his guilt it becomes + necessary to discover the motive. + </p> + <p> + The Sparrow was in a quandary. Seldom was he in such a perturbed state of + mind. He and his accomplices could always defy the police. It was not the + first time in his career, however, that he had found a traitor in his + camp. If Howell was really a traitor, then he would pay dearly for it. + Three times within the last ten years there had been traitors in the great + criminal organization. One was a Dutchman; the second was a Greek; and the + third a Swiss. Each died—for dead men tell no tales. + </p> + <p> + The Sparrow ordered some <i>cafe noir</i> from his housekeeper and + produced a particularly seductive brand of liqueur, which mademoiselle + took—together with a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + Then she left, he giving her the parting injunction: + </p> + <p> + “It is probable that you will go to Marseilles and meet young + Henfrey. I will think it all over. You will have a note from me at the + Grand Hotel before noon to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWENTY-SEVENTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + THE INQUISITIVE MR. SHRIMPTON + </h3> + <p> + An hour later Hugh stood in The Sparrow’s room, and related his + exciting adventure in Marseilles and on the high road. + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” remarked the man with the gloved hand. “A + very pretty piece of business. The police endeavoured to mislead you, and + you, by a very fortunate circumstance, suspected. That cigarette, my dear + young friend, stood you in very good stead. It was fortunate that I gave + it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “By this time the driver of the car has, of course, recovered and + told his story,” Hugh remarked. + </p> + <p> + “And by this time the police probably know that you have come to + Paris,” remarked The Sparrow. “Now, Mr. Henfrey, only an hour + ago I learnt something which has altered my plans entirely. There is a + traitor somewhere—somebody has given you away.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “At present I have not decided. But we must all be wary and + watchful,” was The Sparrow’s reply. “In any case, it is + a happy circumstance that you saw through the ruse of the police to get + you to Cette. First the Madrid police were put upon your track, and then, + as you eluded them, the Marseilles police were given timely information—a + clever trap,” he laughed. “I admire it. But at Marseilles they + are even more shrewd than in Paris. Maillot, the <i>chef de la Surete</i> + at Marseilles, is a really capable official. I know him well. A year ago + he dined with me at the Palais de la Bouillabaisse. I pretended that I had + been the victim of a great theft, and he accepted my invitation. He little + dreamed that I was Il Passero, for whom he had been spreading the net for + years!” + </p> + <p> + “You are really marvellous, Mr. Peters,” remarked Hugh. + “And I have to thank you for the way in which you have protected me + time after time. Your organization is simply wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + The man with the black glove laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing really wonderful,” he said. “Those who are + innocent I protect, those who are traitors I condemn. And they never + escape me. We have traitors at work now. It is for me to fix the identity. + And in this you, Mr. Henfrey, must help me. Have you heard from Miss + Ranscomb?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Not a word,” replied the young man. “I dare not + write to her.” + </p> + <p> + “No, don’t. A man from Scotland Yard went to see her. So it is + best to remain apart—my dear boy—even though that unfortunate + misunderstanding concerning Louise Lambert has arisen between you.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am anxious to put it right,” the young fellow said. + “Dorise misjudges me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I know. But at present you must allow her to think ill of you. + You must not court arrest. We now know that you have enemies who intend + you to be the victim, while they reap the profit,” said The Sparrow + kindly. “Leave matters to me and act at my suggestion.” + </p> + <p> + “That I certainly will,” Hugh replied. “You have never + yet advised me wrongly.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I am not infallible,” laughed the master criminal. + </p> + <p> + Then he rose, and crossing to the telephone, he inquired for the Grand + Hotel. After a few minutes he spoke to Mademoiselle Lisette, telling her + that she need not go to Marseilles, and asking her to call upon him again + at nine o’clock that night. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Hugh has returned from the south,” he added. “He + is anxious to see you again.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Tres bien, m’sieur</i>,” answered the smart + Parisienne. “I will be there. But will you not dine with me—eh? + At Vian’s at seven. You know the place.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Lisette asks us to dine with her at Vian’s,” + The Sparrow said, turning to Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I shall be delighted,” replied the young man. + </p> + <p> + So The Sparrow accepted the girl’s invitation. + </p> + <p> + On that same morning, Dorise Ranscomb had, after breakfast, settled + herself to write some letters. Her mother had gone to Warwickshire for the + week-end, and she was alone with the maids. + </p> + <p> + The whole matter concerning Hugh puzzled her. She could not bring herself + to a decision as to his innocence or his guilt. + </p> + <p> + As she sat writing in the morning-room, the maid announced that Mr. + Shrimpton wished to see her. + </p> + <p> + She started at the name. It was the detective inspector from Scotland Yard + who had called upon her on a previous occasion. + </p> + <p> + A few moments afterwards he was shown in, a tall figure in a rough tweed + suit. + </p> + <p> + “I really must apologize, Miss Ranscomb, for disturbing you, but I + have heard news of Mr. Henfrey. He has been in Marseilles. Have you heard + from him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a word,” the girl replied. “And, Mr. Shrimpton, I + am growing very concerned. I really can’t think that he tried to + kill the young Frenchwoman. Why should he?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, because she had connived at his father’s death. That + seems to be proved.” + </p> + <p> + “Then your theory is that it was an act of vengeance?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, Miss Ranscomb. That is our opinion, and a warrant being + out for his arrest both in France and in England, we are doing all we can + to get him.” + </p> + <p> + “But are you certain?” asked the girl, much distressed. + “After all, though on the face of things it seems that there is a + distinct motive, I do not think that Hugh would be guilty of such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally. Forgive me for saying so, miss, but I quite appreciate + your point of view. If I were in your place I should regard the matter in + just the same light. I, however, wondered whether you had heard news of + him during the last day or two.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I have heard nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” he said, “I suppose if you did hear, you would + not tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “That is my own affair, Mr. Shrimpton,” she replied + resentfully. “If you desire to arrest Mr. Henfrey it is your own + affair. Why do you ask me to assist you?” + </p> + <p> + “In the interests of justice,” was the inspector’s + reply. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the girl, very promptly, “I tell you at + once that I refuse to assist you in your endeavour to arrest Mr. Henfrey. + Whether he is guilty or not guilty I have not yet decided.” + </p> + <p> + “But he must be guilty. There was the motive. He shot the woman who + had enticed his father to his death.” + </p> + <p> + “And how have you ascertained that?” + </p> + <p> + “By logical deduction.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are trying to convict Mr. Henfrey upon circumstantial + evidence alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Others have gone to the gallows on circumstantial evidence—Crippen, + for instance. There was no actual witness of his crime.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear I must allow you to continue your investigations, Mr. + Shrimpton,” she said coldly. + </p> + <p> + “But your lover has deceived you. He was staying down in Surrey with + the girl, Miss Lambert, as his fellow-guest.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” was Dorise’s reply. “But I have + since come to the conclusion that my surmise—my jealousy if you like + to call it so—is unfounded.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! then you refuse to assist justice?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not. But knowing nothing of the circumstances I do not see + how I can assist you.” + </p> + <p> + “But no doubt you know that Mr. Henfrey evaded us and went away—that + he was assisted by a man whom we know as The Sparrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know where he is,” replied the girl with truth. + </p> + <p> + “But you know The Sparrow,” said the detective. “You + admitted that you had met him when I last called here.” + </p> + <p> + “I have met him,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Where does he live?” + </p> + <p> + She smiled, recollecting that even though she had quarrelled with Hugh, + the strange old fellow had been his best friend. She remembered how the + White Cavalier had been sent by him with messages to reassure her. + </p> + <p> + “I refuse to give away the secrets of my friends,” she + responded a trifle haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “Then you prefer to shield the master criminal of Europe?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no knowledge that The Sparrow is a criminal.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask the police of any city in Europe. They will tell you that they + have for years been endeavouring to capture Il Passero. Yet so cleverly is + his gang organized that never once has he been betrayed. All his friends + are so loyal to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you want me to betray him!” + </p> + <p> + “You are not a member of the gang of criminals, Miss Ranscomb,” + replied Shrimpton. + </p> + <p> + “Whether I am or not, I refuse to say a word concerning anyone who + has been of service to me,” was her stubborn reply. And with that + the man from the Criminal Investigation Department had to be content. + </p> + <p> + Even then, Dorise was not quite certain whether she had misjudged the man + who loved her so well, but who was beneath a cloud. She had acted hastily + in writing that letter, she felt. Yet she had successfully warned him of + his peril, and he had been able to extricate himself from the net spread + for him. + </p> + <p> + It was evident that The Sparrow, who was her friend and Hugh’s, was + a most elusive person. + </p> + <p> + She recollected the White Cavalier at the ball at Nice, and how she had + never suspected him to be the deputy of the King of the Underworld—the + man whose one hand was gloved. + </p> + <p> + Within half an hour of the departure of her visitor from Scotland Yard, + the maid announced Mr. Sherrard. + </p> + <p> + Dorise, with a frown, arose from her chair, and a few seconds later faced + the man who was her mother’s intimate friend, and who daily forced + his unwelcome attentions upon her. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother told me you would be alone, Dorise,” he said in + his forced manner of affected elegance. “So I just dropped in. I + hope I’m not worrying you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! not at all,” replied the girl, sealing a letter which she + had just written. “Mother has gone to Warwickshire, and I’m + going out to lunch with May Petheridge, an old schoolfellow of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Then I won’t keep you,” said the smug lover of Lady + Ranscomb’s choice. He was one of those over-dressed fops who haunted + the lounges of the Ritz and the Carlton, and who scraped acquaintance with + anybody with a title. At tea parties he would refer to Lord This and Lady + That as intimate friends, whereas he had only been introduced to them by + some fat wife of a fatter profiteer. + </p> + <p> + Sherrard saw that Dorise’s attitude was one of hostility, but with + his superior overbearing manner he pretended not to notice it. + </p> + <p> + “You were not at Lady Oundle’s the night before last,” + he remarked, for want of something better to say. “I went there + specially to meet you, Dorise.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate Lady Oundle’s dances,” was the girl’s + reply. “Such a lot of fearful old fogies go there.” + </p> + <p> + “True, but a lot of your mother’s friends are in her set.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. But mother always avoids going to her dances if she + possibly can. We had a good excuse to be away, as mother was packing.” + </p> + <p> + “Elise was there,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “And you danced with her, of course. She’s such a ripping + dancer.” + </p> + <p> + “Twice. When I found you were not there I went on to the club,” + he replied, with his usual air of boredom. “When do you expect your + mother back?” + </p> + <p> + “Next Tuesday. I’m going down to Huntingdon to-morrow to stay + with the Fishers.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! by the way,” he remarked suddenly. “Tubby Hall, who + is just back from Madrid, told me in the club last night that he’d + seen your friend Henfrey in a restaurant there with a pretty French girl.” + </p> + <p> + “In Madrid!” echoed Dorise, for she had no idea of her lover’s + whereabouts. “He must have been mistaken surely.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Tubby is an old friend of Henfrey’s. He says that he and + the girl seemed to be particularly good friends.” + </p> + <p> + Dorise hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “You tell me this in order to cause me annoyance!” she + exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. I’ve only told you what Tubby said.” + </p> + <p> + “Did your friend speak to Mr. Henfrey?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not. But I really didn’t inquire,” Sherrard + replied, not failing, however, to note how puzzled she was. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ranscomb was already assuring him that the girl’s affection for + the absconding Henfrey would, sooner or later, fade out. More than once he + and she had held consultation concerning the proposed marriage, and more + than once Sherrard had been on the point of withdrawing from the contest + for the young girl’s heart. But her mother was never tired of + bidding him be patient, and saying that in the end he would obtain his + desire. + </p> + <p> + Sherrard, however, little dreamed how great was Dorise’s love for + Hugh, and how deeply she regretted having written that hasty letter to + Shapley. + </p> + <p> + Yet one of Hugh’s friends had met him in Madrid in company with what + was described as a pretty young French girl! + </p> + <p> + What was the secret of it all? Was Hugh really guilty of the attempt upon + the notorious Mademoiselle? If not, why did he not face the charge like a + man? + </p> + <p> + Such were her thoughts when, an hour later, her mother’s car took + her out to Kensington to lunch with her old school friend who was on the + point of being married to a man who had won great distinction in the Air + Force, and whose portrait was almost daily in the papers. + </p> + <p> + Would she ever marry Hugh, she wondered, as she sat gazing blankly out + upon the London traffic. She would write to him, but, alas! she knew + neither the name under which he was going, nor his address. + </p> + <p> + And a telephone message to Mr. Peters’s house had been answered to + the effect that the man whose hand was gloved was abroad, and the date of + his return uncertain. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWENTY-EIGHTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + THE SPARROW’S NEST + </h3> + <p> + Mademoiselle Lisette met her two guests at Vian’s small but + exclusive restaurant in the Rue Daunou, and all three had a merry meal + together. Afterwards The Sparrow smoked a good cigar and became amused at + the young girl’s chatter. + </p> + <p> + She was a sprightly little person, and had effectively brought off several + highly successful coups. Before leaving his cosy flat in the Rue des + Petits Champs, The Sparrow had sat for an hour calmly reviewing the + situation in the light of what Lisette had told him and of Hugh’s + exciting adventure on the Arles road. + </p> + <p> + That he had successfully escaped from a very clever trap was plain, but + who was the traitor? Who, indeed, had fired that shot which, failing to + kill Yvonne, had unbalanced her brain so that no attention could be paid + to her wandering remarks? + </p> + <p> + He had that morning been on the point of trying to get into touch with his + friend Howell, but after Lisette’s disclosures, he was very glad + that he had not done so. His master-mind worked quickly. He could sum up a + situation and act almost instantly where other men would be inclined to + waver. But when The Sparrow arrived at a decision it was unalterable. All + his associates knew that too well. Some of them called him stubborn, but + they had to agree that he was invariably right in his suspicions and + conclusions. + </p> + <p> + He had debated whether he should tell Hugh what Lisette had alleged + concerning the forgery of his father’s will, but had decided to keep + the matter to himself and see what further proof he could obtain. + Therefore he had forbidden the girl to tell Henfrey anything, for, after + all, it was quite likely that her statements could not be substantiated. + </p> + <p> + After their coffee all three returned to the Rue des Petits Champs where + Lisette, merry and full of vivacity, joined them in a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + The Sparrow had been preoccupied and thoughtful the whole evening. But at + last, as they sat together, he said: + </p> + <p> + “We shall all three go south to-morrow—to Nice direct.” + </p> + <p> + “To Nice!” exclaimed Lisette. “It is hardly safe—is + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You will leave by the midday train from the Gare de Lyon—and + go to Madame Odette’s in the boulevard Gambetta. I may want you. We + shall follow by the <i>train-de-luxe</i>. It is best that Mr. Henfrey is + out of Paris. The Surete will certainly be searching for him.” + </p> + <p> + Then, turning to Hugh, he told him that he had better remain his guest + that night, and in the morning he would buy him another suit, hat and + coat. + </p> + <p> + “There will not be so much risk in Nice as here in Paris,” he + added. “After all, we ought not to have ventured out to Vian’s.” + </p> + <p> + Later he sat down, and after referring to a pocket-book containing certain + entries, he scribbled four cryptic telegrams which were, apparently, + Bourse quotations, but when read by their addressees were of quite a + different character. + </p> + <p> + He went out and himself dispatched these from the office of the Grand + Hotel. He never entrusted his telegrams of instructions to others. + </p> + <p> + When he returned ten minutes later he took up <i>Le Soir</i>, and + searching it eagerly, suddenly exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Here it is! Manfield has been successful and got away all right + with the German countess’s trinkets!” + </p> + <p> + And with a laugh he handed the paper to Lisette, who read aloud an account + of a daring robbery in one of the best hotels in Cologne—jewels + valued at a hundred thousand marks having mysteriously disappeared. + International thieves were suspected, but the Cologne police had no clue. + </p> + <p> + “M’sieur Manfield is always extremely shrewd. He is such a + real ladies’ man,” laughed Lisette, using some of the <i>argot</i> + of the Montmartre. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Do you recollect that American, Lindsay—with whom you + had something to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I remember. I was in London and we went out to dinner + together quite a lot. Manfield was with me and we got from his + dispatch-box the papers concerning that oil well at Baku. The company was + started later on in Chicago, and only two months ago I received my + dividend.” + </p> + <p> + “Teddy Manfield is a very good friend,” declared the man with + the gloved hand. “Birth and education always count, even in these + days. To any ex-service man I hold out my hand as the unit who saved us + from becoming a German colony. But do others? I make war upon those who + have profited by war. I have never attacked those who have remained honest + during the great struggle. In the case of dog-eat-dog I place myself on + the side of the worker and the misled patriot—not only in Britain, + but in all the countries of the Allies. If members of the Allied + Governments are profiteers what can the man-in-the-street expect of the + poor little scraping-up tradesman oppressed by taxation and bewildered by + waste? But there!” he added, “I am no politician! My only + object is to solve the mystery of who shot poor Mademoiselle Yvonne.” + </p> + <p> + The pretty decoy of the great association of <i>escrocs</i> smoked another + cigarette, and gazed into the young man’s face. Sometimes she + shuddered when she reflected upon all she knew concerning his father’s + unfortunate end, and of the cleverly concocted will by which he was to + marry Louise Lambert, and afterwards enjoy but a short career. + </p> + <p> + Fate had made Lisette what she was—a child of fortune. Her own life + would, if written, form a strange and sensational narrative. For she had + been implicated in a number of great robberies which had startled the + world. + </p> + <p> + She knew much of the truth of the Henfrey affair, and she had now decided + to assist Hugh to vanquish those whose intentions were distinctly evil. + </p> + <p> + At last she rose and wished them <i>bon soir</i>. + </p> + <p> + “I shall leave the Gare de Lyon at eleven fifty-eight to-morrow, and + go direct to Madame Odette’s in Nice,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Remain there. If I want you I will let you know,” + answered The Sparrow. + </p> + <p> + And then she descended the stairs and walked to her hotel. + </p> + <p> + Next evening Hugh and The Sparrow, both dressed quite differently, left by + the Riviera <i>train-de-luxe</i>. As The Sparrow lay that night in the <i>wagon-lit</i> + he tried to sleep, but the roar and rattle of the train prevented it. + Therefore he calmly thought out a complete and deliberate plan. + </p> + <p> + From one of his friends in London he had had secret warning that the + police, on the day he left Charing Cross, had descended upon Shapley Manor + and had arrested Mrs. Bond under a warrant applied for by the French + police, and he also knew that her extradition for trial in Paris had been + granted. + </p> + <p> + That there was a traitor in the camp was proved, but happily Hugh Henfrey + had escaped just in time. + </p> + <p> + For himself The Sparrow cared little. He seemed to be immune from arrest, + so cleverly did he disguise his true identity; yet now that some person + had revealed his secrets, what more likely than the person, whoever it + was, would also give him away for the sake of the big reward which he knew + was offered for his apprehension. + </p> + <p> + Before leaving Paris that evening he had dispatched a telegram, a reply to + which was handed him in the train when it stopped at Lyons early next + morning. + </p> + <p> + This decided him. He sent another telegram and then returned to where Hugh + was lying half awake. When they stopped at Marseilles, both men were + careful not to leave the train, but continued in it, arriving at the great + station of Nice in the early afternoon. + </p> + <p> + They left their bags at a small hotel just outside the station, and taking + a cab, they drove away into the old town. Afterwards they proceeded on + foot to the Rue Rossetti, where they climbed to the flat occupied by old + Giulio Cataldi. + </p> + <p> + The old fellow was out, but the elderly Italian woman who kept house for + him said she expected him back at any moment. He was due to come off duty + at the cafe where he was employed. + </p> + <p> + So Hugh and his companion waited, examining the poorly-furnished little + room. + </p> + <p> + Now The Sparrow entertained a strong suspicion that Cataldi knew more of + the tragedy at the Villa Amette than anyone else. Indeed, of late, it had + more than once crossed his mind that he might be the actual culprit. + </p> + <p> + At last the door opened and the old man entered, surprised to find himself + in the presence of the master criminal, The Sparrow, whom he had only met + once before. + </p> + <p> + He greeted his visitors rather timidly. + </p> + <p> + After a short chat The Sparrow, who had offered the old man a cigarette + from a cheap plated case much worn, began to make certain inquiries. + </p> + <p> + “This is a very serious and confidential affair, Cataldi,” he + said. “I want to know the absolute truth—and I must have it.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it is serious, signore,” replied the old man, much + perturbed by the unexpected visit of the king of the underworld, the + elusive Sparrow of whom everyone spoke in awe. “But I only know one + or two facts. I recognize Signor Henfrey.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Then you know me!” exclaimed Hugh. “You recognized + me on that night at the Villa Amette, when you opened the door to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I do, signore. I recollect everything. It is all photographed upon + my memory. Poor Mademoiselle! You questioned her—as a gentleman + would—and you demanded to know about your father’s death. She + prevaricated—and——” + </p> + <p> + “Then you overheard it?” said Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I listened. Was I not Mademoiselle’s servant? On that + night she had won quite a large sum at the Rooms, and she had given me—ah! + she was always most generous—five hundred francs—twenty pounds + in your English money. And they were acceptable in these days of high + prices. I heard much. I was interested. Mademoiselle was my mistress whom + I had served faithfully.” + </p> + <p> + “You wondered why this young Englishman should call upon her at that + hour?” said The Sparrow. + </p> + <p> + “I did. She never received visitors after her five o’clock + tea. It was the habit at the Villa Amette to lunch at one o’clock, + English tea at five o’clock, and dinner at eight—when the + Rooms were slack save for the tourists from seven till ten. Strange! The + tourists always think they can win while the gambling world has gone to + its meals! They get seats, it is true, but they always lose.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied The Sparrow. “It is a strange fact that + the greatest losses are sustained by the players when the Rooms are most + empty. Nobody has yet ever been able to account for it.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet it is so,” declared old Cataldi. “I have + watched it day by day. But poor Mademoiselle! What can we do to solve the + mystery?” + </p> + <p> + “Were you not with Mademoiselle and Mr. Benton when you both brought + off that great coup in the Avenue Louise, in Brussels?” asked The + Sparrow. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, signore,” said the old man. “But I do not wish to + speak of it now.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite naturally. I quite appreciate it. Since Mademoiselle’s—er—accident + you have, I suppose, been leading an honest life?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I have tried to do so. At present I am a cafe waiter.” + </p> + <p> + “And you can tell me nothing further regarding the affair at the + Villa Amette?” asked The Sparrow, eyeing him narrowly. + </p> + <p> + “I regret, signore, I can tell you nothing further,” replied + the staid, rather sad-looking old man; “nothing.” And he + sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the man whose tentacles were, like an octopus, + upon a hundred schemes, and as many criminal coups in Europe. He sought a + solution of the problem, but nothing appeared forthcoming. + </p> + <p> + He had strained every effort, but he could ascertain nothing. + </p> + <p> + That Cataldi knew the key to the whole problem The Sparrow felt assured. + Yet why did not the old fellow tell the truth? + </p> + <p> + At last The Sparrow rose and left, and Hugh followed him. Both were + bitterly disappointed. The old man refused to say more than that he was + ignorant of the whole affair. + </p> + <p> + Cataldi’s attitude annoyed the master criminal. + </p> + <p> + For three days he remained in Nice with Hugh, at great risk of recognition + and arrest. + </p> + <p> + On the fourth day they went together in a hired car along the winding road + across the Var to Cannes. + </p> + <p> + At a big white villa a little distance outside the pretty winter town of + flowers and palms, they halted. The house, which was on the Frejus road, + was once the residence of a Russian prince. + </p> + <p> + With The Sparrow Hugh was ushered into a big, sunny room overlooking the + beautiful garden where climbing geraniums ran riot with carnations and + violets, and for some minutes they waited. From the windows spread a wide + view of the calm sapphire sea. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly the door opened. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWENTY-NINTH CHAPTER + </h2> + <h3> + THE STORY OF MADEMOISELLE + </h3> + <p> + Both men turned and before them they saw the plainly dressed figure of a + beautiful woman, and behind her an elderly, grey-faced man. + </p> + <p> + For a few seconds the woman stared at The Sparrow blankly. Then she turned + her gaze upon Hugh. + </p> + <p> + Her lips parted. Suddenly she gave vent to a loud cry, almost of pain, and + placing both hands to her head, gasped: + </p> + <p> + <i>“Dieu!”</i> + </p> + <p> + It was Yvonne Ferad. And the cry was one of recognition. + </p> + <p> + Hugh dashed forward with the doctor, for she was on the point of collapse + at recognizing them. But in a few seconds she recovered herself, though + she was deathly pale and much agitated. + </p> + <p> + “Yvonne!” exclaimed The Sparrow in a low, kindly voice. + “Then you know who we really are? Your reason has returned?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered in French. “I remember who you are. + Ah! But—but it is all so strange!” she cried wildly. “I—I—I + can’t think! At last! Yes. I know. I recollect! You!” And she + stared at Hugh. “You—you are <i>Monsieur Henfrey</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “That is so, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, messieurs,” remarked the elderly doctor, who was standing + behind his patient. “She recognized you both—after all! The + sudden shock at seeing you has accomplished what we have failed all these + months to accomplish. It is efficacious only in some few cases. In this it + is successful. But be careful. I beg of you not to overtax poor + mademoiselle’s brain with many questions. I will leave you.” + </p> + <p> + And he withdrew, closing the door softly after him. + </p> + <p> + For a few minutes The Sparrow spoke to Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo about + general things. + </p> + <p> + “I have been very ill,” she said in a low, tremulous voice. + “I could think of nothing since my accident, until now—and now”—and + she gazed around her with a new interest upon her handsome countenance—“and + now I remember!—but it all seems too hazy and indistinct.” + </p> + <p> + “You recollect things—eh?” asked The Sparrow in a kindly + voice, placing his hand upon her shoulder and looking into her tired eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I remember. All the past is slowly returning to me. It seems + ages and ages since I last met you, Mr.—Mr. Peters,” and she + laughed lightly. “Peters—that is the name?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, mademoiselle,” he laughed. “And it is a happy + event that, by seeing us unexpectedly, your memory has returned. But the + reason Mr. Henfrey is here is to resume that conversation which was so + suddenly interrupted at the Villa Amette.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle was silent for some moments. Her face was averted, for she + was gazing out of the window to the distant sea. + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish me to reveal to Monsieur Henfrey the—the secret + of his father’s death?” she asked of The Sparrow. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. You were about to do so when—when the accident + happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But—but, oh!—how can I tell him the actual truth + when—when, alas! I am so guilty?” cried the woman, much + distressed. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, mademoiselle,” said Hugh, placing his hand tenderly + upon her shoulder. “Calm yourself. You did not kill my father. Of + that I am quite convinced. Do not distress yourself, but tell me all that + you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Peters knows something of the affair, I believe,” she + said slowly. “But he never planned it. The whole plot was concocted + by Benton.” Then, turning to Hugh, Mademoiselle said almost in her + natural tone, though slightly high-pitched and nervous: + </p> + <p> + “Benton, the blackguard, was your father’s friend at + Woodthorpe. With a man named Howell, known also as Shaw, he prepared a + will which your father signed unconsciously, and which provided that in + the event of his death you should be cut off from almost every benefit if + you did not marry Louise Lambert, Benton’s adopted daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “But who is Louise actually?” asked Hugh interrupting. + </p> + <p> + “The real daughter of Benton, who has made pretence of adopting her. + Of course Louise is unaware of that fact,” Yvonne replied. + </p> + <p> + Hugh was much surprised at this. But he now saw the reason why Mrs. Bond + was so solicitous of the poor girl’s welfare. + </p> + <p> + “Now I happened to be in London, and on one of your father’s + visits to town, Benton, his friend, introduced us. Naturally I had no + knowledge of the plot which Benton and Howell had formed, and finding your + father a very agreeable gentleman, I invited him to the furnished flat I + had taken at Queen’s Gate. I went to the theatre with him on two + occasions, Benton accompanying us, and then your father returned to the + country. One day, about two months later Howell happened to be in London, + and presumably they decided that the plot was ripe for execution, for they + asked me to write to Mr. Henfrey at Woodthorpe, and suggest that he should + come to London, have an early supper with us, and go to a big charity ball + at the Albert Hall. In due course I received a wire from Mr. Henfrey, who + came to London, had supper with me, Benton and Howell being also present, + while Howell’s small closed car, which he always drove himself, was + waiting outside to take us to the ball.” + </p> + <p> + Then she paused and drew a long breath, as though the recollection of that + night horrified her—as indeed it did. + </p> + <p> + “After supper I rose and left the room to speak to my servant for a + moment, when, just as I re-entered, I saw Howell, who was standing behind + Mr. Henfrey’s chair, suddenly bend, place his left arm around your + father’s neck, and with his right hand press on the nape of the neck + just above his collar. ‘Here!’ your father cried out, thinking + it was a joke, ‘what’s the game?’ But the last word was + scarcely audible, for he collapsed across the table. I stood there aghast. + Howell, suddenly noticing me, told me roughly to clear out, as I was not + wanted. I demanded to know what had happened, but I was told that it did + not concern me. My idea was that Mr. Henfrey had been drugged, for he was + still alive and apparently dazed. I afterwards heard, however, that Howell + had pressed the needle of a hypodermic syringe containing a newly + discovered and untraceable poison which he had obtained in secret from a + certain chemist in Frankfort, who makes a speciality of such things.” + </p> + <p> + “And what happened then?” asked Hugh, aghast and astounded at + the story. + </p> + <p> + “Benton and Howell sent me out of the room. They waited for over an + hour. Then Howell went down to the car. Afterwards, when all was clear, + they half carried poor Mr. Henfrey downstairs, placed him in the car, and + drove away. Next day I heard that my guest had been found by a constable + in a doorway in Albemarle Street. The officer, who first thought he was + intoxicated, later took him to St. George’s Hospital, where he died. + Afterwards a scratch was found on the palm of his hand, and the doctors + believed it had been caused by a pin infected with some poison. The truth + was, however, that his hand was scratched in opening a bottle of champagne + at supper. The doctors never suspected the tiny puncture in the hair at + the nape of the neck, and they never discovered it.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew nothing of the affair,” declared The Sparrow, his face + clouded by anger. “Then Howell was the actual murderer?” + </p> + <p> + “He was,” Yvonne replied. “I saw him press the needle + into Mr. Henfrey’s neck, while Benton stood by, ready to seize the + victim if he resisted. Benton and Howell had agreed to kill Mr. Henfrey, + compel his son to marry Louise, and then get Hugh out of the world by one + or other of their devilish schemes. Ah!” she sighed, looking sadly + before her. “I see it all now—everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it was arranged that after I had married Louise I should also + meet with an unexpected end?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. One that should discredit you in the eyes of your wife and + your own friends—an end probably like your father’s. A secret + visit to London, and a mysterious death,” Mademoiselle replied. + </p> + <p> + She spoke quite calmly and rationally. The shock of suddenly encountering + the two persons who had been uppermost in her thoughts before those + terrible injuries to her brain had balanced it again. Though the pains in + her head were excruciating, as she explained, yet she could now think, and + she remembered all the bitterness of the past. + </p> + <p> + “You, M’sieur Henfrey, are the son of my dead friend. You have + been the victim of a great and dastardly conspiracy,” she said. + “But I ask your forgiveness, for I assure you that when I invited + your father up from Woodthorpe I had no idea whatever of what those + assassins intended.” + </p> + <p> + “Benton is already under arrest for another affair,” broke in + The Sparrow quietly. “I heard so from London yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! And I hope that Howell will also be punished for his crime,” + the handsome woman cried. “Though I have been a thief, a swindler, + and a decoy—ah! yes, I admit it all—I have never committed the + crime of murder. I know, messieurs,” she went on—“I know + that I am a social outcast, the mysterious Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo, + they call me! But I have suffered. I have indeed in these past months paid + my debt to Society, and of you, Mr. Henfrey, I beg forgiveness.” + </p> + <p> + “I forgive you, Mademoiselle,” Hugh replied, grasping her + slim, white hand. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle will, I hope, meet Miss Ranscomb, Mr. Henfrey’s + fiancee, and tell her the whole truth,” said The Sparrow. + </p> + <p> + “That I certainly will,” Yvonne replied. “Now that I can + think I shall be allowed to leave this place—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. I will see after that,” said the man known as Mr. + Peters. “You must return to the Villa Amette—for you are still + Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo, remember! Leave it all to me.” And he + laughed happily. + </p> + <p> + “But we are no nearer the solution of the mystery as to who + attempted to kill you, Mademoiselle,” Hugh remarked. + </p> + <p> + “There can be but one person. Old Cataldi knows who it is,” + she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Cataldi? Then why has he not told me? I questioned him closely only + the other day,” said The Sparrow. + </p> + <p> + “For certain reasons,” Mademoiselle replied. “He <i>dare</i> + not tell the truth!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “Because—well——” and she turned to The + Sparrow. “You will recollect the affair we brought off in Brussels + at that house of the Belgian baroness close to the Bois de la Cambre. A + servant was shot dead. Giulio Cataldi shot him in self-defence. But Howell + knows of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked The Sparrow. + </p> + <p> + “Howell was in Monte Carlo on the night of the attempt upon me. I + met him in the Casino half an hour before I left to walk home. He no doubt + recognized Mr. Henfrey, who was also there, as the son of the man whom he + had murdered, watched him, and followed him up to my villa. He suspected + that Mr. Henfrey’s object was to face me and demand an explanation.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really think so?” gasped Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “Of that I feel positive. Only Cataldi can prove it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why Cataldi?” inquired Hugh. + </p> + <p> + “See him again and tell him what I have revealed to you,” + answered Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo. + </p> + <p> + “Who was it who warned me against you by that letter posted in + Tours?” + </p> + <p> + “It was part of Howell’s scheme, no doubt. I have no idea of + the identity of the writer of any anonymous letter. But Howell, no doubt, + saw that if he rid himself of me it would be to his great advantage.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Cataldi will not speak the truth because he fears Howell?” + remarked the notorious chief of Europe’s underworld. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. Now that I can think, I can piece the whole puzzle + together. It is all quite plain. Do you not recollect Howell’s + curious rifle fashioned in the form of a walking-stick? When I halted to + speak to Madame Beranger on the steps of the Casino as I came out that + night, he passed me carrying that stick. Indeed, he is seldom without it. + By means of that disguised rifle I was shot!” + </p> + <p> + “But you speak of Cataldi. How can he know?” + </p> + <p> + “When I entered the house I told him quickly that I believed Howell + was following me. I ordered him to watch. This no doubt he did. He has + ever been faithful to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Buy why should Howell have attempted to fix his guilt upon Mr. + Henfrey?” asked The Sparrow. “In doing so he was defeating his + own aims. If Mr. Henfrey were sent to prison he could not marry Louise + Lambert, and if he had married Louise he would have benefited Howell! + Therefore the whole plot was nullified.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, m’sieur. Howell attempted to kill me in order to + preserve his secret, fearing that if I told Mr. Henfrey the truth he would + inform the police of the circumstances of his father’s + assassination. In making the attempt he defeated his own ends—a fact + which he only realized when too late!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_CONC" id="link2H_CONC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CONCLUSION + </h2> + <p> + The foregoing is perhaps one of the most remarkable stories of the + underworld of Europe. + </p> + <p> + Its details are set down in full in three big portfolios in the archives + of the Surete in Paris—where the present writer has had access to + them. + </p> + <p> + In that bald official narrative which is docketed under the heading + “No. 23489/263—Henfrey” there is no mention of the love + affair between Dorise Ranscomb and Hugh Henfrey of Woodthorpe. + </p> + <p> + But the true facts are that within three days of Mademoiselle’s + recovery of her mental balance, old Giulio Cataldi made a sworn statement + to the police at Nice, and in consequence two gendarmes of the Department + of Seine et Oise went one night to a small hotel at Provins, where they + arrested the Englishman, Shaw, alias Howell, who had gone there in what he + thought was safe hiding. + </p> + <p> + The arrest took place at midnight, but Howell, on being cornered in his + bedroom, showed fight, and raising an automatic pistol, which he had under + his pillow, shot and wounded one of the gendarmes. Whereupon his companion + drew his revolver in self-defence and shot the Englishman dead. + </p> + <p> + Benton, a few months later, was sentenced to forced labour for fifteen + years, while his accomplice, Molly Bond, received a sentence of ten years. + Only one case—that of jewel robbery—was, however, proved + against her. + </p> + <p> + Dorise, about six weeks after Mademoiselle Yvonne’s explanation, met + her in London, and there she and Hugh became reconciled. Her jealousy of + Louise Lambert disappeared when she knew the actual truth, and she admired + her lover all the more for his generosity in promising, when the Probate + Court had set aside the false will, that he would settle a comfortable + income upon the poor innocent girl. + </p> + <p> + This, indeed, he did. + </p> + <p> + The Sparrow has never since been traced, though Scotland Yard and the + Surete have searched everywhere for him. But he is far too clever. The + writer believes he is now living in obscurity, but perfectly happy, in a + little village outside Barcelona. He loves the sunshine. + </p> + <p> + As for Hugh, he is now happily married to Dorise, and as the Probate Court + has decided that Woodthorpe and the substantial income are his, he is + enjoying all his father’s wealth. + </p> + <p> + Yvonne Ferad is still Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo. She still lives on the + hill in the picturesque Villa Amette, and is still known to the habitues + of the Rooms as—Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo. + </p> + <p> + On most nights in spring she can be seen at the Rooms, and those who know + the truth tell the queer story which I have in the foregoing pages + attempted to relate. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo, by William Le Queux + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADEMOISELLE OF MONTE CARLO *** + +***** This file should be named 4694-h.htm or 4694-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/6/9/4694/ + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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