Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo

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Truly, Il Passero, the cosmopolitan of many names and half a dozen
nationalities, had brought criminality to a fine art.

Hugh, standing there breathless, listened to every word. Who was this
man Howell?

"Hush!" cried The Sparrow suddenly. "What a fool I am! I quite forgot
to close the ventilator in the room to which the young fellow has been
shown! I hope he hasn't overheard! I had Evans and Janson in there an
hour ago, and they were discussing me, as I expected they would! It was
a good job that I took the precaution of opening the ventilator, because
I learned a good deal that I had never suspected. It has placed me on
my guard. I'll go and get young Henfrey. But," he added, "be extremely
careful. Disclose nothing you know concerning the affair."

"I shall be discreet, never fear," replied his visitor.

A moment later The Sparrow entered the room where Henfrey was, and
greeted him warmly. Then he ushered him down the passage to the room
wherein stood his mysterious visitor.

The room was such a distance away that Hugh was surprised that he could
have heard so distinctly. But, after all, it was an uncanny experience
to be associated with that man of mystery, whose very name was uttered
by his accomplices with bated breath.

"My friend, Mr. George Howell," said The Sparrow, introducing the slim,
wiry-looking, middle-aged man, who was alert and clean-shaven, and
plainly but well dressed--a man whom the casual acquaintance would take
to be a solicitor of a fair practice. He bore the stamp of suburbia all
over him, and his accent was peculiarly that of London.

His bearing was that of high respectability. The diamond scarf-pin was
his only ornament--a fine one, which sparkled even in that dull London
light. He was a square-shouldered man, with peculiarly shrewd, rather
narrow eyes, and dark, bushy eyebrows.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Henfrey," he replied, with a gay, rather
nonchalant air. "My friend Mr. Peters has been speaking about you. Had a
rather anxious time, I hear."

Henfrey looked at the stranger inquisitively, and then glanced at The
Sparrow.

"Mr. Howell is quite safe," declared the man with the gloved hand. "He
is one of Us. So you may speak without fear."

"Well," replied the young man, "the fact is, I've had a very
apprehensive time. I'm here to seek Mr. Peters' kind advice, for without
him I'm sure I'd have been arrested and perhaps convicted long ago."

"Oh! A bit of bad luck--eh? Nearly found out, have you been? Ah! All of
us have our narrow escapes. I've had many in my time," and he grinned.

"So have all of us," laughed the bristly-haired man. "But tell me,
Henfrey, why have you come to see me so quickly?"

"Because they know where I'm in hiding!"

"They know? Who knows?"

"Miss Ranscomb knows my whereabouts and has written to me in my real
name and addressed the letter to Shapley."

"Well, what of that?" he asked. "I told her."

"She tells me that my present hiding-place is known!"

"Not known to the police? _Impossible_!" gasped the black-gloved man.

"I take it that such is a fact."

"Why, Molly is there!" cried the man Howell. "If the police suspect that
Henfrey is at Shapley, then they'll visit the place and have a decided
haul."

"Why?" asked Hugh in ignorance.

"Nothing. I never discuss other people's private affairs, Mr. Henfrey,"
Howell answered very quietly.

Hugh was surprised at the familiar mention of "Molly," and the
declaration that if the Manor were searched the police would have "a
decided haul."

"This is very interesting," declared The Sparrow. "What did Miss
Ranscomb say in her letter?"

For a second Hugh hesitated; then, drawing it from his pocket, he gave
it to the gloved man to read.

Hugh knew that The Sparrow was withholding certain truths from him, yet
had he not already proved himself his best and only friend? Brock was a
good friend, but unable to assist him.

The Sparrow's strongly marked face changed as he read Dorise's angry
letter.

"H'm!" he grunted. "I will see her. We must discover why she has sent
you this warning. Come back again this evening. But be very careful
where you go in the meantime."

Thus dismissed, Hugh walked along Ellerston Street into Curzon Street
towards Piccadilly, not knowing where to go to spend the intervening
hours.

The instant he had gone, however, The Sparrow turned to his companion,
who said:

"I wonder if Lisette has revealed anything?"

"By Jove!" remarked The Sparrow, for once suddenly perturbed. _"I never
thought of that!"_

TWENTY-SECOND CHAPTER

CLOSING THE NET

"Well--recollect how much the girl knows!" Howell remarked as he stood
before The Sparrow in the latter's room.

"I have not forgotten," said the other. "The whole circumstances of old
Henfrey's death are not known to me. That it was an unfortunate affair
has long ago been proved."

"Yvonne was the culprit, of course," said Howell. "That was apparent
from the first."

"I suppose she was," remarked The Sparrow reflectively. "But that
attempt upon her life puzzles me."

"Who could have greater motive in killing her out of revenge than the
dead man's son?"

"Agreed. But I am convinced that the lad is innocent. Therefore I gave
him our protection."

"I was travelling abroad at the time, you recollect. When I learnt of
the affair through Franklyn about a week afterwards I was amazed. The
loss of Yvonne to us is a serious one."

"Very--I agree. She had done some excellent work--the affair in the Rue
Royale, for instance."

"And the clever ruse by which she got those emeralds of the Roumanian
princess. The Vienna police are still searching for her--after three
years," laughed the companion of the chief of the international
organization, whose word was law in the criminal underworld of Europe.

"Knowing what you did regarding the knowledge of old Mr. Henfrey's death
possessed by Lisette, I have been surprised that you placed her beneath
your protection."

"If she had been arrested she might have told some very unpleasant
truths, in order to save herself," The Sparrow remarked, "so I chose the
latter evil."

"Young Henfrey met her. I wonder whether she told him anything?"

"No. I questioned her. She was discreet, it seems. Or at least, she
declares that she was."

"That's a good feature. But, speaking frankly, have you any idea of the
identity of the person--man or woman--who attempted to kill Yvonne?"
asked Howell.

"I have a suspicion--a pretty shrewd suspicion," replied the little
bristly-haired man.

His companion was silent.

"And you don't offer to confide in me your suspicions--eh?"

"It is wiser to obtain proof before making any allegations," answered
The Sparrow, smiling.

"You will still protect Lisette?" Howell asked. "I agree that, like
Yvonne, she has been of great use to us in many ways. Beauty and wit
are always assets in our rather ticklish branch of commerce. Where is
Lisette now?"

"At the moment, she's in Madrid," The Sparrow replied. "There is a
little affair there--the jewels of a Belgian's wife--a fellow who,
successfully posing as a German during the occupation of Brussels, made
a big fortune by profiteering in leather. They are in Madrid for six
months, in order to escape unwelcome inquiries by the Government in
Brussels. They have a villa just outside the city, and I have sent
Lisette there with certain instructions."

"Who is with her?"

"Nobody yet. Franklyn will go in due course."

Howell's thin lips relaxed into a curious smile.

"Franklyn is in love with Lisette," he remarked.

"That is why I am sending them together to execute the little mission,"
The Sparrow said. "Lisette was here a fortnight ago, and I mapped out
for her a plan. I went myself to Madrid not long ago, in order to survey
the situation."

"The game is worth the candle, I suppose--eh?"

"Yes. If we get the lot Van Groot, in Amsterdam, will give at least
fifteen thousand for them. Moulaert bought most of them from old Leplae
in the Rue de la Paix. There are some beautiful rubies among them. I saw
Madame wearing some of the jewels at the Palace Hotel, in Madrid, while
they were staying there before their villa was ready. Moulaert, with his
wife and two friends from the Belgian Legation, dined at a table next to
mine, little dreaming with what purpose I ate my meal alone."

Truly, the intuition and cleverness of The Sparrow were wonderful. He
never moved without fully considering every phase of the consequences.
Unlike most adventurers, he drank hardly anything. Half a glass of dry
sherry at eleven in the morning, the same at luncheon, and one glass of
claret for his dinner.

Yet often at restaurants he would order champagne, choice vintage
clarets, and liqueurs--when occasion demanded. He would offer them to
his friends, but just sip them himself, having previously arranged with
the waiter to miss filling his glass.

Of the peril of drink "Mr. Peters" was constantly lecturing the great
circle of his friends.

Each year--on the 26th of February to be exact--there was held a dinner
at a well-known restaurant in the West End--the annual dinner of a
club known as "The Wonder Wizards." It was supposed to be a circle of
professional conjurers.

This dinner was usually attended by fifty guests of both sexes, all
well-dressed and prosperous, and of several nationalities. It was
presided over by a Mr. Charles Williams.

Now, to tell the truth, the guests believed him to be The Sparrow;
but in reality Mr. Williams was the tall White Cavalier whom Hugh had
believed to be the great leader, until he had gone to Mayfair and met
the impelling personality whom the police had for so long failed to
arrest.

The situation was indeed humorous. It was The Sparrow's fancy to hold
the reunion at a public restaurant instead of at a private house. Under
the very nose of Scotland Yard the deputy of the notorious Sparrow
entertained the chiefs of the great criminal octopus. There were
speeches, but from them the waiters learned nothing. It was simply
a club of conjurers. None suspected that the guests were those who
conjured fortunes out of the pockets of the unsuspecting. And while the
chairman--believed by those who attended to be The Sparrow himself--sat
there, the bristly-haired, rather insignificant-looking little man
occupied a seat in a far-off corner, from where he scrutinized his
guests very closely, and smiled at the excellent manner in which his
deputy performed the duties of chairman.

Because it was a club of conjurers, and because the conjurers displayed
their new tricks and illusions, after an excellent dinner the waiters
were excluded and the doors locked after the coffee.

It was then that the bogus Sparrow addressed those present, and gave
certain instructions which were later on carried into every corner of
Europe. Each member had his speciality, and each group its district
and its sanctuary, in case of a hue-and-cry. Every crime that could be
committed was committed by them--everything save murder.

The tall, thin man whom everyone believed to be The Sparrow never failed
to impress upon his hearers, after the doors were carefully locked, that
however they might attack and rob the rich, human life was sacred.

It was the real Sparrow's order. He abominated the thought of taking
human life, hence when old Mr. Henfrey had been foully done to death in
the West End he had at once set to work to discover the actual criminal.
This he had failed to do. And afterwards there had followed the
attempted assassination of Yvonne Ferad, known as Mademoiselle of Monte
Carlo.

The two men stood discussing the young French girl, Lisette, whom Hugh
had met when in hiding in the Via della Maddalena in Genoa.

"I only hope; that she has not told young Henfrey anything," Howell
said, with distinct apprehension.

"No," laughed The Sparrow. "She came to me and told me how she had met
him in Genoa and discovered to her amazement that he was old Henfrey's
son."

"How curious that the pair should meet by accident," remarked Howell.
"I tell you that Benton is not playing a straight game. That iniquitous
will which the old man left he surely must have signed under some
misapprehension. Perhaps he thought he was applying for a life
policy--or something of that short. Signatures to wills have been
procured under many pretexts by scoundrelly relatives and unscrupulous
lawyers."

"I know. And the witnesses have placed their signatures afterward,"
remarked The Sparrow thoughtfully. "But in this case all seems above
board--at least so far as the will is concerned. Benton was old
Henfrey's bosom friend. Henfrey was very taken with Louise, and I know
that he was desirous Hugh should marry her."

"And if he did, Hugh would acquire the old man's fortune, and Benton
would step in and seize it--as is his intention."

"Undoubtedly. All we can do is to keep Hugh and Louise apart. The latter
is in entire ignorance of the true profession of her adopted father,
and she'd be horrified if she knew that Molly was simply a clever
adventuress, who is very much wanted in Paris and in Brussels," said the
gloved man.

"A good job that she knows nothing," said Howell. "But it would be a
revelation to her if the police descended upon Shapley Manor--wouldn't
it?"

"Yes. That is why I must see Dorise Ranscomb and ascertain from her
exactly what she has heard. I know the police tracked Hugh to London,
and for that reason he went with Benton down into Surrey--out of the
frying-pan into the fire."

"Well, before we can go farther, it seems that we should ascertain who
shot Yvonne," Howell suggested. "It was a most dastardly thing, and
whoever did it ought to be punished."

"He ought. But I'm as much in the dark as you are, Howell; but, as I
have already said, I entertain strong suspicions."

"I'll suggest one name--Benton?"

The Sparrow shook his head.

"The manservant, Giulio Cataldi?" Howell ventured. "I never liked that
sly old Italian."

"What motive could the old fellow have had?"

"Robbery, probably. We have no idea what were Yvonne's winnings that
night--or of the money she had in her bag."

"Yes, we do know," was The Sparrow's reply. "According to the police
report, Yvonne, on her return home, went to her room, carrying her bag,
which she placed upon her dressing-table. Then, after removing her cloak
and hat, she went downstairs again and out on to the veranda. A few
minutes later the young man was announced. High words were heard by old
Cataldi, and then a shot."

"And Yvonne's bag?"

"It was found where she had left it. In it were three thousand eight
hundred francs, all in notes."

"Yet Franklyn told me that he had heard how Yvonne won quite a large sum
that night."

"She might have done so--and have lost the greater part of it," The
Sparrow replied.

"On the other hand, what more feasible than that the old manservant,
watching her place it there, abstracted the bulk of the money--a large
sum, no doubt--and afterwards, in order to conceal his crime, shot his
mistress in such circumstances as to place the onus of the crime upon
her midnight visitor?"

"That the affair was very cleverly planned there is no doubt," said The
Sparrow. "There is a distinct intention to fasten the guilt upon young
Henfrey, because he alone would have a motive for revenge for the death
of his father. Of that fact the man or woman who fired the shot was most
certainly aware. How could Cataldi have known of it?"

"I certainly believe the Italian robbed his mistress and afterwards
attempted to murder her," Howell insisted.

"He might rob his mistress, certainly. He might even have robbed her of
considerable sums systematically," The Sparrow assented. "The maids
told the police that Mademoiselle's habit was to leave her bag with her
winnings upon the dressing-table while she went downstairs and took a
glass of wine."

"Exactly. She did so every evening. Her habits were regular. Yet she
never knew the extent of her winnings at the tables before she counted
them. And she never did so until the following morning. That is what
Franklyn told me in Venice when we met a month afterwards."

"He learnt that from me," The Sparrow said with a smile. "No," he went
on; "though old Cataldi could well have robbed his mistress, just as the
maids could have done, and Yvonne would have been none the wiser, yet
I do not think he would attempt to conceal his crime by shooting her,
because by so doing he cut off all future supplies. If he were a thief
he would not be such a fool. Therefore you may rest assured, Howell,
that the hand that fired the shot was that of some person who desired to
close Yvonne's mouth."

"She might have held some secret concerning old Cataldi. Or, on his
part, he might have cherished some grievance against her. Italians are
usually very vindictive," replied the visitor. "On the other hand, it
would be to Benton's advantage that the truth concerning old
Henfrey's death was suppressed. Yvonne was about to tell the young man
something--perhaps confess the truth, who knows?--when the shot was
fired."

"Well, my dear Howell, you have your opinion and I have mine," laughed
The Sparrow. "The latter I shall keep to myself--until my theory is
disproved."

Thereupon Howell took a cigar that his host offered him, and while he
slowly lit it, The Sparrow crossed to the telephone.

He quickly found Lady Ranscomb's number in the directory, and a few
moments later was talking to the butler, of whom he inquired for Miss
Dorise.

"Tell her," he added, "that a friend of Mr. Henfrey's wishes to speak to
her."

In a few moments The Sparrow heard the girl's voice.

"Yes?" she inquired. "Who is speaking?"

"A friend of Mr. Henfrey," was the reply of the man with the gloved
hand. "You will probably guess who it is."

He heard a little nervous laugh, and then:

"Oh, yes. I--I have an idea, but I can't talk to you over the 'phone.
I've got somebody who's just called. Mother is out--and----" Then
she lowered her voice, evidently not desirous of being heard in the
adjoining room. "Well, I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean? Does it concern Mr. Henfrey?"

"Yes. It does. There's a man here to see me from Scotland Yard! What
shall I do?"

The Sparrow gasped at the girl's announcement.

Next second he recovered himself.

"A man from Scotland Yard!" he echoed. "Why has he called?"

"He knows that Mr. Henfrey is living at Shapley, in Surrey. And he has
been asking whether I am acquainted with you."

TWENTY-THIRD CHAPTER

WHAT LISETTE KNEW

A fortnight had gone by.

Ten o'clock in the morning in the Puerta del Sol, that great plaza in
Madrid--the fine square which, like the similarly-named gates at Toledo
and Segovia, commands a view of the rising sun, as does the ancient
Temple of Abu Simbel on the Nile.

Hugh Henfrey--a smart, lithe figure in blue serge--had been lounging for
ten minutes before the long facade of the Ministerio de la Gobernacion
(or Ministry of the Interior) smoking a cigarette and looking eagerly
across the great square. The two soldiers on sentry at the door,
suspicious of all foreigners in the days of Bolshevism and revolution,
had eyed him narrowly. But he appeared to be inoffensive, so they had
passed him by as a harmless lounger.

Five minutes later a smartly-dressed girl, with short skirt, silk
stockings, and a pretty hat, came along the pavement, and Hugh sprang
forward to greet her.

It was Lisette, the girl whom he had met when in hiding in that back
street in Genoa.

"Well?" he exclaimed. "So here we are! The Sparrow sent me to you."

"Yes. I had a telegram from him four days ago ordering me to meet you.
Strange things are happening--it seems!"

"How?" asked the young Englishman, in ignorance of the great conspiracy
or of what was taking place. "Since I saw you last, mademoiselle, I have
been moving about rapidly, and always in danger of arrest."

"So have I. But I am here at The Sparrow's orders--on a little business
which I hope to bring off successfully on any evening. I have an English
friend with me--a Mr. Franklyn."

"I left London suddenly. I saw The Sparrow in the evening, and next
morning, at eleven o'clock, without even a bag, I left London for Madrid
with a very useful passport."

"You are here because Madrid is safer for you than London, I suppose?"
said the girl in broken English.

"That is so. A certain Mr. Howell, a friend of The Sparrow's suggested
that I should come here," Hugh explained. "Ever since we met in Italy
I have been in close hiding until, by some means, my whereabouts became
known, and I had to fly."

The smartly-dressed girl walked slowly at his side and, for some
moments, remained silent.

"Ah! So you have met Hamilton Shaw--alias Howell?" she remarked at last
in a changed voice. "He certainly is not your friend."

"Not my friend! Why? I've only met him lately."

"You say that the police knew of your hiding-place," said mademoiselle,
speaking in French, as it was easier for her. "Would you be surprised if
Howell had revealed your secret?"

"Howell!" gasped Hugh. "Yes, I certainly would. He is a close friend of
The Sparrow!"

"That may be. But that does not prove that he is any friend of yours. If
you came here at Howell's suggestion--then, Mr. Henfrey, I should advise
you to leave Madrid at once. I say this because I have a suspicion that
he intends both of us to fall into a trap!"

"But why? I don't understand."

"I can give you no explanation," said the girl. "Now I know that
Hamilton Shaw sent you here, I can, I think, discern his motive. I
myself will see Mr. Franklyn at once, and shall leave Madrid as soon as
possible. And I advise you, Mr. Henfrey, to do the same."

"Surely you don't suspect that it was this Mr. Howell who gave me away
to Scotland Yard!" exclaimed Hugh, surprised, but at the same time
recollecting that The Sparrow had been alarmed at the detective's visit
to Dorise. He knew that Benton and Mrs. Bond had suddenly disappeared
from Shapley, but the reason he could only guess. He had, of course,
no proof that Benton and Molly were members of the great criminal
organization. He only knew that Benton had been his late father's
closest friend.

He discussed the situation with the girl jewel-thief as they walked
along the busy Carrera de San Jeronimo wherein are the best shops in
Madrid, to the great Plaza de Canovas in the leafy Prado.

Again he tried to extract from her what she knew concerning his father's
death. But she would tell him nothing.

"I am not permitted to say anything, Mr. Henfrey. I can only regret it,"
she said quietly. "Mr. Franklyn is at the Ritz opposite. I should like
you to meet him."

And she took him across to the elegant hotel opposite the Neptune
fountain, where, in a private sitting-room on the second floor, she
introduced him to a rather elderly, aristocratic-looking Englishman,
whom none would take to be one of the most expert jewel-thieves in
Europe.

When the door was closed and they were alone, mademoiselle suddenly
revealed to her friend what Hugh had said concerning Howell's suggestion
that he should travel to Madrid.

Franklyn's face changed. He was instantly apprehensive.

"Then we certainly are not safe here any longer. Howell probably intends
to play us false! We shall know from The Sparrow the reason we are
here, and, for aught we know, the police are watching and will arrest
us red-handed. No," he added, "we must leave this place--all three
of us--as soon as possible. You, Lisette, had better go to Paris and
explain matters to The Sparrow, while I shall fade away to Switzerland.
And you, Mr. Henfrey? Where will you go?"

"To France," was Hugh's reply, on the spur of the moment. "I can get to
Marseilles."

"Yes. Go by way of Barcelona. It is quickest," said the Englishman. "The
express leaves just after three o'clock."

Then, after he had thanked Hugh for his timely warning, the latter
walked out more than ever mystified at the attitude of The Sparrow's
accomplices.

It did not seem possible that Howell should have told Scotland Yard
that he was hiding at Shapley; yet it was quite evident that both
mademoiselle and her companion were equally in fear of the man Howell,
whose real name was Hamilton Shaw. The theory seemed to him a thin one,
for Howell was The Sparrow's intimate friend.

Yet, mademoiselle, while they had been discussing the situation, had
denounced him as their enemy, declaring that The Sparrow himself should
be warned of him.

That afternoon Hugh, having only been in Madrid twelve hours, left again
on the long, dusty railway journey across Spain to Zaragoza and down
the valley of the Ebro to the Mediterranean. After crossing the French
frontier, he broke the journey at the old-world town of Nimes for a
couple of days, and then went on to Marseilles, where he took up his
quarters in the big Louvre et Paix Hotel, still utterly mystified, and
still not daring to write to Dorise.

It was as well that he left Madrid, for, just as Lisette and Franklyn
had suspected, the police called at his hotel--an obscure one near the
station--only two hours after his departure. Then, finding him gone,
they sought both mademoiselle and Franklyn, only to find that they also
had fled.

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