Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo

“Nothing really wonderful,” he said. “Those who are innocent I protect, those who are traitors I condemn. And they never escape me. We have traitors at work now. It is for me to fix the identity. And in this you, Mr. Henfrey, must help me. Have you heard from Miss Ranscomb?”

“No. Not a word,” replied the young man. “I dare not write to her.”

“No, don’t. A man from Scotland Yard went to see her. So it is best to remain apart—my dear boy—even though that unfortunate misunderstanding concerning Louise Lambert has arisen between you.”

“But I am anxious to put it right,” the young fellow said. “Dorise misjudges me.”

“Ah! I know. But at present you must allow her to think ill of you. You must not court arrest. We now know that you have enemies who intend you to be the victim, while they reap the profit,” said The Sparrow kindly. “Leave matters to me and act at my suggestion.”

“That I certainly will,” Hugh replied. “You have never yet advised me wrongly.”

“Ah! I am not infallible,” laughed the master criminal.

Then he rose, and crossing to the telephone, he inquired for the Grand Hotel. After a few minutes he spoke to Mademoiselle Lisette, telling her that she need not go to Marseilles, and asking her to call upon him again at nine o’clock that night.

“Monsieur Hugh has returned from the south,” he added. “He is anxious to see you again.”

“Tres bien, m’sieur,” answered the smart Parisienne. “I will be there. But will you not dine with me—eh? At Vian’s at seven. You know the place.”

“Mademoiselle Lisette asks us to dine with her at Vian’s,” The Sparrow said, turning to Hugh.

“Yes, I shall be delighted,” replied the young man.

So The Sparrow accepted the girl’s invitation.

On that same morning, Dorise Ranscomb had, after breakfast, settled herself to write some letters. Her mother had gone to Warwickshire for the week-end, and she was alone with the maids.

The whole matter concerning Hugh puzzled her. She could not bring herself to a decision as to his innocence or his guilt.

As she sat writing in the morning-room, the maid announced that Mr. Shrimpton wished to see her.

She started at the name. It was the detective inspector from Scotland Yard who had called upon her on a previous occasion.

A few moments afterwards he was shown in, a tall figure in a rough tweed suit.

“I really must apologize, Miss Ranscomb, for disturbing you, but I have heard news of Mr. Henfrey. He has been in Marseilles. Have you heard from him?”

“Not a word,” the girl replied. “And, Mr. Shrimpton, I am growing very concerned. I really can’t think that he tried to kill the young Frenchwoman. Why should he?”

“Well, because she had connived at his father’s death. That seems to be proved.”

“Then your theory is that it was an act of vengeance?”

“Exactly, Miss Ranscomb. That is our opinion, and a warrant being out for his arrest both in France and in England, we are doing all we can to get him.”

“But are you certain?” asked the girl, much distressed. “After all, though on the face of things it seems that there is a distinct motive, I do not think that Hugh would be guilty of such a thing.”

“Naturally. Forgive me for saying so, miss, but I quite appreciate your point of view. If I were in your place I should regard the matter in just the same light. I, however, wondered whether you had heard news of him during the last day or two.”

“No. I have heard nothing.”

“And,” he said, “I suppose if you did hear, you would not tell me?”

“That is my own affair, Mr. Shrimpton,” she replied resentfully. “If you desire to arrest Mr. Henfrey it is your own affair. Why do you ask me to assist you?”

“In the interests of justice,” was the inspector’s reply.

“Well,” said the girl, very promptly, “I tell you at once that I refuse to assist you in your endeavour to arrest Mr. Henfrey. Whether he is guilty or not guilty I have not yet decided.”

“But he must be guilty. There was the motive. He shot the woman who had enticed his father to his death.”

“And how have you ascertained that?”

“By logical deduction.”

“Then you are trying to convict Mr. Henfrey upon circumstantial evidence alone?”

“Others have gone to the gallows on circumstantial evidence—Crippen, for instance. There was no actual witness of his crime.”

“I fear I must allow you to continue your investigations, Mr. Shrimpton,” she said coldly.

“But your lover has deceived you. He was staying down in Surrey with the girl, Miss Lambert, as his fellow-guest.”

“I know that,” was Dorise’s reply. “But I have since come to the conclusion that my surmise—my jealousy if you like to call it so—is unfounded.”

“Ah! then you refuse to assist justice?”

“No, I do not. But knowing nothing of the circumstances I do not see how I can assist you.”

“But no doubt you know that Mr. Henfrey evaded us and went away—that he was assisted by a man whom we know as The Sparrow.”

“I do not know where he is,” replied the girl with truth.

“But you know The Sparrow,” said the detective. “You admitted that you had met him when I last called here.”

“I have met him,” she replied.

“Where does he live?”

She smiled, recollecting that even though she had quarrelled with Hugh, the strange old fellow had been his best friend. She remembered how the White Cavalier had been sent by him with messages to reassure her.

“I refuse to give away the secrets of my friends,” she responded a trifle haughtily.

“Then you prefer to shield the master criminal of Europe?”

“I have no knowledge that The Sparrow is a criminal.”

“Ask the police of any city in Europe. They will tell you that they have for years been endeavouring to capture Il Passero. Yet so cleverly is his gang organized that never once has he been betrayed. All his friends are so loyal to him.”