all.”
“You seem to know quite a bit about us,” she remarked. “How is it?”
“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.”
“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.”
“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.”
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.
“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.”
“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?”
“In order that Hugh Henfrey may return to your side, and that hand in
hand you may be able to defeat your enemies.”
“My enemies! Who are they?” asked the girl.
“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 _Times_ newspaper at any time for
an appointment with ‘Silverado.’ Give me seven days, and I will keep
it.”
“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.”
“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.”
“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?”
“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!--_at last_!”
And next second she found herself clasped in her lover’s strong embrace,
while the stranger, utterly taken aback, stood looking on, absolutely
mystified.
FIFTEENTH CHAPTER
THE NAMELESS MAN
“Who is this gentleman, Dorise?” asked Hugh, when a moment later the
girl and her companion had recovered from their surprise.
“I cannot introduce you,” was her reply. “He refuses to give his name.”
The tall man laughed, and said:
“I have already told you that my name is X.”
Hugh regarded the stranger with distinct suspicion. It was curious that
he should discover them together, yet he made but little comment.
“We were just speaking about you, Mr. Henfrey,” the tall man went on. “I
believed that you were still in Belgium.”
“How did you know I was there?”
“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.”
“You seem to know a good deal concerning me,” Hugh remarked resentfully,
looking at the stern, rather handsome face in the moonlight.
“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.
“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.”
“But who are you?” demanded Hugh, filled with curiosity.
“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.”
“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.”
“Your enemies must not know you are in England. If they do, they will
most certainly inform the police.”
“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.”
“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.”
“Ah! I know of what you are accused, Hugh!” cried the girl. “And I also
know you are innocent!”
“Mr. Henfrey is innocent,” said the tall stranger. “But there must be no
publicity, hence his only chance of safety lies in strict concealment.”
“It is difficult to conceal oneself in England,” replied Hugh.
The stranger laughed, as he slowly answered:
“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.”
“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.”
“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?”
“Thanks very much indeed,” Hugh replied. “I shall remember it. Mrs.
Mason, ‘Heathcote,’ Abingdon Road, Kensington.”
“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.”
Hugh looked his mysterious friend full in the face.
“Look here!” he said, in a firm, hard voice. “Are you known as Il
Passero?”
“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.”
“But the famous Passero--The Sparrow--is my unknown friend,” he said,
“and I have a suspicion that you and he are identical!”
“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. _Au revoir_!”
And, raising his hat, he turned abruptly, and, leaving them, set off up
the high road which led to Perth.
“But, listen, sir--one moment!” cried Hugh, as he turned away.
Nevertheless the stranger heeded not, and a few seconds later his figure
was lost in the shadow of the high hedgerow.
“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.”
“The Sparrow? Who is he--dear?” asked Dorise, her hand upon her lover’s
shoulder.
“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.
“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?”
“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.”
“He certainly was quite as surprised as myself,” the girl replied, happy
beyond expression that her lover was once again at her side.
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.
Suddenly he put a question to her:
“Do you really believe I am innocent of the charge against me, darling?”
“I do, Hugh,” she answered frankly.
“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.”
“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.”
“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.”
“But why did you go there at all, dear?” the girl asked. “You surely
knew the unenviable reputation borne by that woman!”
“I know it quite well,” he said. “I expected to meet an
adventuress--but, on the contrary, I met a real good woman!”
“I don’t understand you, Hugh,” she said.
“No, darling. You, of course, cannot understand!” he exclaimed. “I admit
that I followed her home, and I demanded an interview.”
“Why?”
“Because I was determined she should divulge to me a secret of her own.”
“What secret?”
“One that concerns my whole future.”
“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.
“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----”
“Yes--yet--what?”
He drew a deep breath.
“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.”
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.
He inquired about George Sherrard, but she said little. She hesitated to
tell him of the incident while fishing that morning, but merely said:
“Oh! He was up here for two or three days, but had to go back to London
on business. And I was very glad.”
“Of course, dearest, your mother still presses you to marry him.”
“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.”
Hugh sighed, and replied:
“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?”
“I repeat it, Hugh!” declared the girl, deeply in earnest, her hand
stealing into his. “I love only you!--_you_!”
Then again he took her in his arms, and imprinted a fierce, passionate
kiss upon her ready lips.
“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.”
“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.
“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.”
“Recollect the name. Mason, wasn’t it? And she lives at ‘Heathcote.’”
“That was it. But do not communicate with me, otherwise my place of
concealment will most certainly be discovered.”
“But can’t I see you, Hugh?” implored the girl. “Must we again be
parted?”
“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.”
“Do you think he is a thief?” asked the girl.
“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.”
She gave him further details of their first meeting at Nice.
“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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
It was early morning, after they had rambled for several hours in the
moonlight, when Hugh bade his well-beloved farewell.
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.
“What matter?” she replied. “They do not know you, and probably will not
recognize me.”
So after promising Hugh to remain discreet, she told him they were
returning to London in a few days.
“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.”
“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.”
“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!”
“You have a friend, as I have, in the mysterious white cavalier,” she
said. “I wonder who he really is?”
“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.”
Then stepping on to the grass, where his feet fell noiselessly, he
disappeared in the dark shadow of the great avenue of beeches.
SIXTEENTH CHAPTER
THE ESCROCS OF LONDON
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“Harry Austen has gone down to Surrey to stay with Molly.”
“Molly? Why, I thought she was in Paris!”
“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.”
“H’m!” grunted the third man. “Not quite the sort of companion Charlie
might choose for his daughter--eh?”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“Welcome at last, darling!” he cried. “I was wondering if you could get
away, after all!”
“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.”
“Even five minutes with you is bliss to me, darling,” he said, grasping
her ungloved hand and raising it to his lips.
“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.”
“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.”
“But you go out for a ramble at night?”
“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.”
“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.
“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.”