Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo

On the day that Hugh was travelling in hot haste to Paris, Charles Benton arrived in Nice early in the afternoon.

Leaving the station it was apparent he knew his way about the town, for passing down the Avenue de la Gare, with its row of high eucalyptus trees, to the Place Massena, he plunged into the narrow, rather evil-smelling streets of the old quarter.

Before a house in the Rue Rossette he paused, and ascending to a flat on the third floor, rang the bell. The door was slowly opened by an elderly, rather shabbily-attired Italian.

It was Yvonne’s late servant at the Villa Amette, Giulio Cataldi.

The old man drew back on recognizing his visitor.

“Well, Cataldi!” exclaimed the well-dressed adventurer cheerily. “I’m quite a stranger—am I not? I was in Nice, and I could not leave without calling to see you.”

The old man, with ill-grace scarcely concealed, invited him into his shabby room, saying:

“Well, Signor Benton, I never thought to see you again.”

“Perhaps you didn’t want to—eh? After that little affair in Brussels. But I assure you it was not my fault. Mademoiselle Yvonne made the blunder.”

“And nearly let us all into the hands of the police—including The Sparrow himself!” growled the old fellow.

“Ah! But all that has long blown over. Now,” he went on, after he had offered the old man a cigar. “Now the real reason I’ve called is to ask you about this nasty affair concerning Mademoiselle Yvonne. You were there that night. What do you know about it?”

“Nothing,” the old fellow declared promptly. “Since that night I’ve earned an honest living. I’m a waiter in a cafe in the Avenue de la Gare.”

“A most excellent decision,” laughed the well-dressed man. “It is not everyone who can afford to be honest in these hard times. I wish I could be, but I find it impossible. Now, tell me, Giulio, what do you know about the affair at the Villa Amette? The boy, Henfrey, went there to demand of Mademoiselle how his father died. She refused to tell him, angry words arose—and he shot her. Now, isn’t that your theory—the same as that held by the police?”

The old man looked straight into his visitor’s face for a few moments. Then he replied quite calmly:

“I know nothing, Signor Benton—and I don’t want to know anything. I’ve told the police all I know. Indeed, when they began to inquire into my antecedents I was not very reassured, I can tell you.”

“I should think not,” laughed Benton. “Still, they never suspected you to be the man wanted for the Morel affair—an unfortunate matter that was.”

“Yes,” sighed the old fellow. “Please do not mention it,” and he turned away to the window as though to conceal his guilty countenance.

“You mean that you know something—but you won’t tell it!” Benton said.

“I know nothing,” was the old fellow’s stubborn reply.

“But you know that the young fellow, Henfrey, is guilty!” exclaimed Benton. “Come! you were there at the time! You heard high words between them—didn’t you?”

“I have already made my statement to the police,” declared the old Italian. “What else I know I shall keep to myself.”

“But I’m interested in ascertaining whether Henfrey is innocent or guilty. Only two persons can tell us that—Mademoiselle, who is, alas! in a hopeless mental state, and yourself. You know—but you refuse to incriminate the guilty person. Why don’t you tell the truth? You know that Henfrey shot her!”

“I tell you I know nothing,” retorted the old man. “Why do you come here and disturb me?” he added peevishly.

“Because I want to know the truth,” Benton answered. “And I mean to!”

“Go away!” snapped the wilful old fellow. “I’ve done with you all—all the crowd of you!”

“Ah!” laughed Benton. “Then you forget the little matter of the man Morel—eh? That is not forgotten by the police, remember!”

“And if you said a word to them, Signor Benton, then you would implicate yourself,” the old man growled. Seeing hostility in the Englishman’s attitude he instantly resented it.

“Probably. But as I have no intention of giving you away, my dear Giulio, I do not think we need discuss it. What I am anxious to do is to establish the guilt—or the innocence—of Hugh Henfrey,” he went on.

“No doubt. You have reason for establishing his guilt—eh?”

“No. Reasons for establishing his innocence.”

“For your own ends, Signor Benton,” was the shrewd old man’s reply.

“At one time there was a suspicion that you yourself had fired at Mademoiselle.”

“What!” gasped the old man, his countenance changing instantly. “Who says that?” he asked angrily.

“The police were suspicious, I believe. And as far as I can gather they are not yet altogether satisfied.”

“Ah!” growled the old Italian in a changed voice. “They will have to prove it!”

“Well, they declare that the shot was fired by either one or the other of you,” Benton said, much surprised at the curious effect the allegation had upon the old fellow.

“So they think that if the Signorino Henfrey is innocent I am guilty of the murderous attack—eh?”

Benton nodded.

“But they are seeking to arrest the signorino!” remarked the Italian.

“Yes. That is why I am here—to establish his innocence.”

“And if I were to tell you that he was innocent I should condemn myself!” laughed the crafty old man.

“Look here, Giulio,” said Benton. “I confess that I have long ago regretted the shabby manner in which I treated you when we were all in Brussels, and I hope you will allow me to make some little amend.” Then, taking from his pocket-book several hundred-franc notes, he doubled them up and placed them on the table.

“Ah!” said the old man. “I see! You want to buy my secret! No, take your money!” he cried, pushing it back towards him contemptuously. “I want none of it.”

“Because you are now earning an honest living,” Benton sneered.

“Yes—and Il Passero knows it!” was Cataldi’s bold reply.

“Then you refuse to tell me anything you know concerning the events of that night at the Villa Amette?”

“Yes,” he snapped. “Take your money, and leave me in peace!”

“And I have come all the way from England to see you,” remarked the disappointed man.

“Be extremely careful. You have enemies, so have I. They are the same as those who denounced the signorino to the police—as they will no doubt, before long, denounce you!” said the old man.

“Bah! You always were a pessimist, Giulio,” Benton laughed. “I do not fear any enemies—I assure you. The Sparrow takes good care that we are prevented from falling into any traps the police may set,” he added after a moment’s pause.