travelling coat crossing the courtyard, and a few moments later she was
shown into his room.
“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.
“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!”
“Not arrested?” he asked breathlessly.
“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.”
“Who can have done that?” asked The Sparrow, his eyes narrowing in
anger, his gloved hand clenched.
“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.”
“Then we have a secret enemy--eh?”
“Yes--and he is not very far to seek. Monsieur Howell has done this!”
“Howell! He would never do such a thing, my dear mademoiselle,” replied
the gloved man, smiling.
“Oh! wouldn’t he? I would not trust either Benton or Howell!”
“I think you are mistaken, mademoiselle. They have never shown much
friendship towards each other.”
“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.”
“What? _You know about that will, Lisette?_ Tell me everything.”
“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.”
“Yes. I recollect. A very neat piece of business.”
“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.”
“You actually know this?”
“Howell told me so with his own lips.”
“Then why is young Henfrey being made the victim?” asked The Sparrow
shrewdly. “Why, indeed, have you not revealed this to me before?”
“Because I had no proof before that Howell is _our_ enemy. He has now
given us away. He has some motive. What is it?”
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.
When one finds a betrayer, then in order to fix his guilt it becomes
necessary to discover the motive.
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.
The Sparrow ordered some _cafe noir_ from his housekeeper and produced
a particularly seductive brand of liqueur, which mademoiselle
took--together with a cigarette.
Then she left, he giving her the parting injunction:
“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.”
TWENTY-SEVENTH CHAPTER
THE INQUISITIVE MR. SHRIMPTON
An hour later Hugh stood in The Sparrow’s room, and related his exciting
adventure in Marseilles and on the high road.
“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.”
“By this time the driver of the car has, of course, recovered and told
his story,” Hugh remarked.
“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.”
“Who?”
“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 _chef de la Surete_ 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!”
“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.”
The man with the black glove laughed.
“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?”
“No. Not a word,” replied the young man. “I dare not write to her.”
“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.”
“But I am anxious to put it right,” the young fellow said. “Dorise
misjudges me.”
“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.”
“That I certainly will,” Hugh replied. “You have never yet advised me
wrongly.”
“Ah! I am not infallible,” laughed the master criminal.
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.
“Monsieur Hugh has returned from the south,” he added. “He is anxious to
see you again.”
“_Tres bien, m’sieur_,” 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.”
“Mademoiselle Lisette asks us to dine with her at Vian’s,” The Sparrow
said, turning to Hugh.
“Yes, I shall be delighted,” replied the young man.
So The Sparrow accepted the girl’s invitation.
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.
The whole matter concerning Hugh puzzled her. She could not bring
herself to a decision as to his innocence or his guilt.
As she sat writing in the morning-room, the maid announced that Mr.
Shrimpton wished to see her.
She started at the name. It was the detective inspector from Scotland
Yard who had called upon her on a previous occasion.
A few moments afterwards he was shown in, a tall figure in a rough tweed
suit.
“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?”
“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?”
“Well, because she had connived at his father’s death. That seems to be
proved.”
“Then your theory is that it was an act of vengeance?”
“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.”
“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.”
“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.”
“No. I have heard nothing.”
“And,” he said, “I suppose if you did hear, you would not tell me?”
“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?”
“In the interests of justice,” was the inspector’s reply.
“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.”
“But he must be guilty. There was the motive. He shot the woman who had
enticed his father to his death.”
“And how have you ascertained that?”
“By logical deduction.”
“Then you are trying to convict Mr. Henfrey upon circumstantial evidence
alone?”
“Others have gone to the gallows on circumstantial evidence--Crippen,
for instance. There was no actual witness of his crime.”
“I fear I must allow you to continue your investigations, Mr.
Shrimpton,” she said coldly.
“But your lover has deceived you. He was staying down in Surrey with the
girl, Miss Lambert, as his fellow-guest.”
“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.”
“Ah! then you refuse to assist justice?”
“No, I do not. But knowing nothing of the circumstances I do not see how
I can assist you.”
“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.”
“I do not know where he is,” replied the girl with truth.
“But you know The Sparrow,” said the detective. “You admitted that you
had met him when I last called here.”
“I have met him,” she replied.
“Where does he live?”
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.
“I refuse to give away the secrets of my friends,” she responded a
trifle haughtily.
“Then you prefer to shield the master criminal of Europe?”
“I have no knowledge that The Sparrow is a criminal.”
“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.”
“Yet you want me to betray him!”
“You are not a member of the gang of criminals, Miss Ranscomb,” replied
Shrimpton.
“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.
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.
It was evident that The Sparrow, who was her friend and Hugh’s, was a
most elusive person.
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.
Within half an hour of the departure of her visitor from Scotland Yard,
the maid announced Mr. Sherrard.
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.
“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.”
“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.”
“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.
Sherrard saw that Dorise’s attitude was one of hostility, but with his
superior overbearing manner he pretended not to notice it.
“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.”
“I hate Lady Oundle’s dances,” was the girl’s reply. “Such a lot of
fearful old fogies go there.”
“True, but a lot of your mother’s friends are in her set.”
“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.”
“Elise was there,” he remarked.
“And you danced with her, of course. She’s such a ripping dancer.”
“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?”
“Next Tuesday. I’m going down to Huntingdon to-morrow to stay with the
Fishers.”
“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.”
“In Madrid!” echoed Dorise, for she had no idea of her lover’s
whereabouts. “He must have been mistaken surely.”
“No. Tubby is an old friend of Henfrey’s. He says that he and the girl
seemed to be particularly good friends.”
Dorise hesitated.
“You tell me this in order to cause me annoyance!” she exclaimed.
“Not at all. I’ve only told you what Tubby said.”
“Did your friend speak to Mr. Henfrey?”
“I think not. But I really didn’t inquire,” Sherrard replied, not
failing, however, to note how puzzled she was.
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.
Sherrard, however, little dreamed how great was Dorise’s love for
Hugh, and how deeply she regretted having written that hasty letter to
Shapley.
Yet one of Hugh’s friends had met him in Madrid in company with what was
described as a pretty young French girl!
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?
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.
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.
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.
TWENTY-EIGHTH CHAPTER
THE SPARROW’S NEST
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
After their coffee all three returned to the Rue des Petits Champs where
Lisette, merry and full of vivacity, joined them in a cigarette.
The Sparrow had been preoccupied and thoughtful the whole evening. But
at last, as they sat together, he said:
“We shall all three go south to-morrow--to Nice direct.”
“To Nice!” exclaimed Lisette. “It is hardly safe--is it?”
“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 _train-de-luxe_. It is best that Mr. Henfrey is out of
Paris. The Surete will certainly be searching for him.”
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.
“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.”
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.
He went out and himself dispatched these from the office of the Grand
Hotel. He never entrusted his telegrams of instructions to others.
When he returned ten minutes later he took up _Le Soir_, and searching
it eagerly, suddenly exclaimed:
“Ah! Here it is! Manfield has been successful and got away all right
with the German countess’s trinkets!”
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.
“M’sieur Manfield is always extremely shrewd. He is such a real ladies’
man,” laughed Lisette, using some of the _argot_ of the Montmartre.
“Yes. Do you recollect that American, Lindsay--with whom you had
something to do?”
“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.”
“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.”
The pretty decoy of the great association of _escrocs_ 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.
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.
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.
At last she rose and wished them _bon soir_.
“I shall leave the Gare de Lyon at eleven fifty-eight to-morrow, and go
direct to Madame Odette’s in Nice,” she said.
“Yes. Remain there. If I want you I will let you know,” answered The
Sparrow.
And then she descended the stairs and walked to her hotel.
Next evening Hugh and The Sparrow, both dressed quite differently, left
by the Riviera _train-de-luxe_. As The Sparrow lay that night in the
_wagon-lit_ he tried to sleep, but the roar and rattle of the train
prevented it. Therefore he calmly thought out a complete and deliberate
plan.
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.
That there was a traitor in the camp was proved, but happily Hugh
Henfrey had escaped just in time.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
So Hugh and his companion waited, examining the poorly-furnished little
room.
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.