Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo

“You think, then, that Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo would have told you the truth?” asked the bristly-haired man with a mysterious smile.

“Yes. She would.”

“Well, Mr. Henfrey, I think I am not of your opinion.”

“You think possibly she would have implicated herself if she had told me the truth?”

“I do. But the chief reason I asked you to call and see me to-night is to learn for what reason you have been induced to go on a visit to this Mrs. Bond.”

“Because Benton suggested it. He told me that Scotland Yard knew of my presence in Kensington, making further residence there dangerous.”

“H’m!” And the man with the black glove paused again.

“You don’t like Benton, do you?”

“I have no real reason to dislike him. He has always been very friendly towards me—as he was to my late father. The only thing which causes me to hold aloof from him as much as I can is the strange clause in my father’s will.”

“Strange clause?” echoed the old man. “What clause?”

“My father, in his will, cut me off every benefit he could unless I married Benton’s adopted daughter, Louise. If I marry her, then I obtain a quarter of a million. I at first thought of disputing the will, but Mr. Charman, our family solicitor, says that it is perfectly in order. The will was made in Paris two years before his death. He went over there on some financial business.”

“Was Benton with him?” asked Mr. Peters.

“No. Benton went to New York about two months before.”

“H’m! And how soon after your father’s return did he come home?”

“I think it was about three months. He was in America five months altogether, I believe.”

The old man, still curled in his chair, smoked his cigar in silence. Apparently he was thinking deeply.

“So Benton has induced you to go down to Shapley in order that you may be near his adopted daughter, in the hope that you will marry her! In the meantime you are deeply in love with Lady Ranscomb’s daughter. I know her—a truly charming girl. I congratulate you,” he added, as though speaking to himself. “But the situation is indeed a very complicated one.”

“For me it is terrible. I am living under a cloud, and in constant fear of arrest. What can be done?”

“I fear nothing much can be done at present,” said the old man, shaking his head gravely. “I quite realize that you are victim of certain enemies who intend to get hold of your father’s fortune. It is for us to combat them—if we can.”

“Then you will continue to help me?” asked Hugh eagerly, looking into the mysterious face of the old fellow who wore the black glove.

“I promise you my aid,” he replied, putting out his gloved hand as pledge.

Then, as Hugh took it, he looked straight into those keen eyes, and asked:

“You have asked me many questions, sir, and I have replied to them all. May I ask one of you—my friend?”

“Certainly,” replied the older man.

“Then am I correct in assuming that you are actually the person of whom I have heard so much up and down Europe—the man of whom certain men and women speak with admiration, and with bated breath—the man known in certain circles as—as Il Passero?”

The countenance of the little man with the bristly white hair and the black glove relaxed into a smile, as, still holding Hugh’s hand in friendship, he replied:

“Yes. It is true. Some know me as ‘The Sparrow!’”

NINETEENTH CHAPTER

THE SPARROW

Hugh Henfrey was at last face to face with the most notorious criminal in Europe!

The black-gloved hand of the wizened, bristly-haired old man was the hand that controlled a great organization spread all over Europe—an organization which only knew Il Passero by repute, but had never seen him in the flesh.

Yet there he was, a discreet, rather petulant old gentleman, who lived at ease in an exclusive West End street, and was entirely unsuspected!

When “Mr. Peters” admitted his identity, Hugh drew a long breath. He was staggered. He was profuse in his thanks, but “The Sparrow” merely smiled, saying:

“It is true that I and certain of my friends make war upon Society—and more especially upon those who have profiteered upon those brave fellows who laid down their lives for us in the war. Whatever you have heard concerning me I hope you will forgive, Mr. Henfrey. At least I am the friend of those who are in distress, or who are wrongly judged—as you are to-day.”

“I have heard many strange things concerning you from those who have never met you,” Hugh said frankly. “But nothing to your detriment. Everyone speaks of you, sir, as a gallant sportsman, possessed of an almost uncanny cleverness in outwitting the authorities.”

“Oh, well!” laughed the shrewd old man. “By the exercise of a little wit, and the possession of a little knowledge of the personnel of the police, one can usually outwit them. Curious as you may think it, a very high official at Scotland Yard dined with me here only last night. As I am known as a student of criminology, and reputed to be the author of a book upon that subject, he discussed with me the latest crime problem with which he had been called upon to deal—the mysterious murder of a young girl upon the beach on the north-east coast. His frankness rather amused me. It was, indeed, a quaint situation,” he laughed.

“But does he not recognize you, or suspect?” asked Hugh.

“Why should he? I have never been through the hands of the police in my life. Hence I have never been photographed, nor have my finger prints been taken. I merely organize—that is all.”

“Your organization is most wonderful, Mr.—er—Mr. Peters,” declared the young man. “Since my flight I have had opportunity of learning something concerning it. And frankly, I am utterly astounded.”

The old man’s face again relaxed into a sphinx-like smile.

“When I order, I am obeyed,” he said in a curious tone. “I ordered your rescue from that ugly situation in Monte Carlo. You and Miss Ranscomb no doubt believed the tall man who went to the ball at Nice as a cavalier to be myself. He did not tell you anything to the contrary, because I only reveal my identity to persons whom I can trust, and then only in cases of extreme necessity.”

“Then I take it, sir, that you trust me, and that my case is one of extreme necessity?”

“It is,” was The Sparrow’s reply. “At present I can see no solution of the problem. It will be best, perhaps, for you to remain where you are for the present,” he added. He did not tell the young man of his knowledge of Benton and his hostess.

“But I am very desirous of seeing Miss Ranscomb,” Hugh said. “Is there any way possible by which I can meet her without running too great a risk?”

The Sparrow reflected in silence for some moments.

“To-day is Wednesday,” he remarked slowly at last. “Miss Ranscomb is in London. That I happen to know. Well, go to the Bush Hotel, in Farnham, on Friday afternoon and have tea. She will probably motor there and take tea with you.”

“Will she?” cried Hugh eagerly. “Will you arrange it? You are, indeed, a good Samaritan!”

The little old man smiled.

“I quite understand that this enforced parting under such circumstances is most unfortunate for you both,” he said. “But I have done, and will continue to do, all I can in your interest.”

“I can’t quite make you out, Mr. Peters,” said the young man. “Why should you evince such a paternal interest in me?”