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George Gissing - "Demos"

E. P. Roe - "From Jest to Earnest"

James Otis - "A District Messenger Boy and a Necktie Party"

George Meredith - "The Adventures of Harry Richmond, v4"

Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo

W >> William Le Queux >> Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo




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."

"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?"

"I do. I still believe he is the notorious and defiant criminal 'Il
Passero'--the most daring and ingenious thief of the present century."

"But he is evidently your friend."

"Yes. That is the great mystery of it all. I cannot discern his motive."

"Is it a sinister one, do you think?"

"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."

"But, Hugh, I wish you would be more frank with me," the girl said.
"There are several things you are hiding from me."

"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.

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.

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.

Thus a close intimacy had sprung up between them, and Hugh had naturally
regarded his father's friend with entire confidence.

"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?"

"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?"

"Trust you!" she echoed. "Why, of course I will! You surely know that,
Hugh."

The young man was again silent for some moments. Then he exclaimed:

"Yet, after all, I can see no ray of hope."

"Why?"

"Hope of our marriage, Dorise," he said hoarsely. "How can I, without
money, ever hope to make you my wife?"

"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."

"Ah! Dorise, I am really poor. You don't understand--_you can't_!"

"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."

"And if he has left me nothing?"

"Nothing!" exclaimed the handsome girl at his side. "What do you mean?"

"Well----" he said very slowly. "At present I have nothing--that's all.
That is why at Monte Carlo I suggested that--that----"

He did not conclude the sentence.

"I remember. You said that I had better marry George Sherrard--that
thick-lipped ass. You said that because you are hard-up?"

"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."

"The notorious thief?"

Hugh nodded, and said:

"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."

"But why did you go to her home that night, Hugh?"

"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."

The girl drew a long breath.

"I know, Hugh," she said. "I know, dear--and I do trust you."

They halted, and he bent and impressed upon her lips a fierce caress.

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."

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.

"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?"

"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."

"Is he, dear old chap? I only wish I dared write to him, and give him my
address."

"I told him that you were back in London. But I did not give him your
address. You told me to disclose nothing."

"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."

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.

An empty seat was near, and with one accord the lovers sank upon it,
Hugh still holding the girl's soft hand.

"I must really go," she said. "Mother will miss me, no doubt."

"And George Sherrard, too?" asked her companion bitterly.

"He may, of course."

"Ah! Then he is with you to-night?"

"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."

"And he still pesters you with his attentions, of course," remarked Hugh
in a hard voice.

"Oh! yes, he is always pretending to be in love with me."

"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."

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