Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo

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

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

"Of course the fellow cannot," she replied. "But, for mother's sake, I
have to suffer his presence."

"At least you are frank, darling," he laughed.

"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."

Again he took her in his strong arms and pressed her to him, still being
watched by the mysterious individual who had followed Dorise.

"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?"

"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."

"Right. Friday week at the same place and time," he said cheerily.

"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."

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.

Then, when he had pressed her hand and wished her adieu, he continued,
towards Notting Hill Gate, and thence returned to Kensington.

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.

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.

SEVENTEENTH CHAPTER

ON THE SURREY HILLS

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.

He sprang to his feet when he recognized his visitor to be Charles
Benton.

"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."

"So I have been," replied the young man faintly. "You've heard of that
affair at Monte Carlo?"

"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.

"Why isn't it safe?"

"Because at Scotland Yard they know you are somewhere in Kensington, and
they're hunting high and low for you."

"How do you know?"

"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."

"Where to?" asked Hugh blankly.

"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."

"She might learn the truth and give me away," remarked Hugh dubiously.

"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."

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.

"How did you know that I was here?" asked Hugh suddenly in curiosity.

"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.

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.

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.

"You recollect Mrs. Bond," said Benton. "But I believe Maxwell, her
first husband, was alive then, wasn't he?"

"I have a faint recollection of meeting a Mrs. Maxwell in Paris--at
lunch at the Pre Catalan--was it not?"

"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."

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?

The latter thought decided him.

"I'm sure it's awfully good of Mrs. Bond whom I know so slightly to
invite me to stay with her."

"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."

"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.

"Rot! You can get all you want in Aldershot, Farnham or Portsmouth. Come
just as you are. Mrs. Bond will make all allowances."

"And probably have her suspicions aroused at the same time?"

"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."

"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."

"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?"

Hugh remained silent. He saw that to tell Benton the truth would be to
reopen the whole question of the will and of Louise.

So he merely shrugged his shoulders.

"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."

"Of course he does not. I was alone," was Hugh's answer. "The least said
about that night of horror the better, Benton."

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.

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.

Presently the car turned into the gravelled drive, and Hugh found
himself at Shapley.

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.

"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."

"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.

"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."

"Well, I really don't know how to thank you sufficiently, Mrs. Bond,"
Hugh declared. "It is really extremely good of you."

"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?"

"I recollect perfectly well. We met before the war, when one could
really enjoy oneself contentedly."

"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."

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.

"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.

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.

"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."

"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.

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.

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:

"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?"

Hugh paused.

"I--I had reasons--private reasons of my own," he replied.

"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."

"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."

"Is she? How do you know?" asked Benton quickly, for instantly he was on
the alert.

"I know. And that is all."

"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?"

"Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"I had my own reasons."

"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."

Hugh pursued his walk in silence.

"No," he said at last, "I prefer not to discuss the affair. That night
is one full of painful memories."

"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.

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.

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.

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.

Late one night as they sat together in the billiard-room after their
final game, Benton, removing the cigar from his lips, exclaimed:

"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."

"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.

"Yes. She's making her home with Mrs. Bond for the present. She returns
here to-morrow."

As he said this, he watched the young man's face. It was sphinx-like.

"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."

In his heart he had no great liking for the girl, although she was
bright, vivacious and extremely good company.

Next afternoon the pair met in the hall after the car had brought her
from Guildford station.

"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.

"And you younger," he replied, bending over her hand gallantly. "I hear
you've been all over the world of late!"

"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."

And he followed her into the big morning-room where Mrs. Bond, alias
Molly Maxwell, was awaiting her.

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 _nouveau riche_ who abound in that
neighbourhood. But the callers had left and they were now alone.

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.

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 _chic_ and good taste in dress. Yet he felt that he could
never fulfil his dead father's curious desire.

He could never marry her--_never_!

EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER

THE MAN WITH THE BLACK GLOVE

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.

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."

It was on dark-blue paper, such as is usually associated with the law or
officialdom. Written in a neat, educated hand, it read:

"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,

"GEORGE PETERS."

The address given was 14, Ellerston Street, Mayfair.

Hugh knew the street, which turned off Curzon Street, a short
thoroughfare, but very exclusive. Some smart society folk lived there.

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!

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.

Meanwhile, Benton sat with his hostess, and had a long confidential
chat.

"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."

"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.

"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."

"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."

"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?"

"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."

"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."

"We don't want to do that if there is any other way," the woman said.

"I don't see any other way," replied the adventurer. "If he won't marry
Louise, then the money passes out of our reach."

"I don't like The Sparrow taking such a deep interest in his welfare,"
growled the woman beneath her breath.

"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.

"But who fired the shot if Hugh didn't?" asked Mrs. Bond.

"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."

"Then why has The Sparrow taken all these elaborate precautions?"

"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."

"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.

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.

Benton looked up at him quickly, but said nothing before Louise.

"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?

"When do you wish to start?" asked his hostess.

"Oh! about nine--if I may," was the young man's reply.

"Will you be back to-night?" asked the girl who, in a pretty pink dinner
frock, sat opposite him.

"Yes. But it won't be till late, I expect," he replied.

"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."

"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.

Benton was filled with curiosity.

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:

"Don't you think it's a bit dangerous to go to town, Hugh?"

"It may be, but I must take the risk," was the other's reply.

"What are you going up for?" asked Benton bluntly.

"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?

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.

"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.

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.

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."

"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?"

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.

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:

"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."

"Very well, sir. Thank you," replied his hostess's chauffeur.

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.

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.

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.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19