Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo

by William Le Queux

  EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER

  THE MAN WITH THE BLACK GLOVE

  On his way out of London, Hugh had made excuse and stopped the car at apost office in Putney, whence he sent an express note to Dorise, tellingher his change of address. He though it wiser not to post it.

  Hence it was on the morning following Louise's arrival at Shapley, hereceived a letter from Dorise, enclosing one she had received undercover 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 orofficialdom. Written in a neat, educated hand, it read:

  "DEAR MR. HENFREY,--I hear that you have left Abingdon Road, and amgreatly interested to know the reason. You will, no doubt, recognize meas the friend who sent a car for you at Monte Carlo. Please call at theabove address at the earliest possible moment. Be careful that you arenot watched. Say nothing to anybody, wherever you may be. Better callabout ten-thirty P.M., and ask for me. Have no fear. I am still yourfriend,

  "GEORGE PETERS."

  The address given was 14, Ellerston Street, Mayfair.

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

  But who was George Peters? Was it not The Sparrow who had sent him thecar with the facetious chauffeur to that spot in Monte Carlo? Perhapsthe writer was the White Cavalier!

  During the morning Hugh strolled down the hill and through the woodswith Louise. The latter was dressed in a neat country kit, a tweedsuit, a suede tam-o'-shanter, and carried a stout ash-plant as awalking-stick. They were out together until luncheon time.

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

  "You see, Molly," he said, as he smoked lazily, "I thought it anexcellent plan to bring them together, and to let them have anopportunity of really knowing each other. It's no doubt true that he'sover head and ears in love with the Ranscomb girl, but Lady Ranscomb hasset 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 acloud. 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'llever induce that boy to marry Louise," remarked the handsome adventuresswhom nobody suspected.

  "Then if he doesn't, we'll just turn him over to Scotland Yard. Wehaven't any further use for him," said Benton savagely. "It's the moneywe want."

  "And I fear we shall go on wanting it, my dear Charles," declared thewoman, who was so well versed in the ways of men. "Louise likes him. Shehas told me so. But he only tolerates her--that's all! He's obsessed bythe 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 tohim. "I wonder if--if he suspected something, and went boldly and askedher?"

  "Ah! I wonder!" echoed the woman. "But Yvonne would surely tell himnothing. It would implicate her far too deeply if she did. Yvonne is avery shrewd person. She isn't likely to have told the old man's son verymuch."

  "No, you're right, Molly," replied the man. "You're quite right! I don'tthink we have much to fear on that score. We've got Hugh with us, andif he again turns antagonistic the end is quite easy--just an anonymousline 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 marryLouise, 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 weredead--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'tyet know--and he went to the Villa Amette and shot her in revenge forthe 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 topersuade the lad to come down here, for he evidently believes that TheSparrow is his best friend."

  "He may find him his enemy one day," laughed the woman. And then theyrose and strolled out into the grounds, across the lawn down to thegreat pond.

  When at half-past seven they sat down to dinner, Hugh suddenly remarkedthat 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 wasgreatly surprised at the sudden request. Both she and Benton instantlyforesaw that his intention was to visit Dorise in secret. For what otherreason 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 dinnerfrock, 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 willcome, too."

  "I don't know yet, dear," replied Mrs. Bond. The truth was that sheintended 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, hepoured 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 elderman tried time after time to get something more definite from him, heremained silent. Had not his unknown friend urged him to say nothing toanybody wherever he might be?

  So at nine Mead drove up the car to the door, and Hugh, slipping on hislight overcoat, bade his hostess good-night, thanked her for allowinghim the use of the limousine, and promised to be back soon aftermidnight.

  "Good-night, Hugh!" cried Louise from the other end of the fine oldhall. And a moment later the car drove away in the darkness.

  Along the Hog's Back they went, and down into Guildford. Then up thelong steep High Street, past the ancient, overhanging clock at theGuildhall, and out again on the long straight road to Ripley and London.

  As soon as they were beyond Guildford, he knocked at the window, andafterwards mounted beside Mead. He hated to be in a car alone, for hehimself 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, andpick me up outside there at twelve, will you?"

  The man promised to do so, and then they chatted as they continued ontheir 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 lorryfor 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. Hughgave Mead five shillings to get his evening meal, and said:

  "Be back here at midnight, Mead. I expect I'll be through my businesslong before that. But it's a clear night, and we shall have a splendidrun home."

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

  Hugh Henfrey, instead of entering the smart Society hotel, turned upthe street, and, walking quickly, found himself ten minutes later inEllerston Street before a spacious house, upon the pale-green door ofwhich was marked in Roman numerals the number fourteen.

  By the lig
ht of the street lamp he saw it was an old Georgian townhouse. In the ironwork were two-foot-scrapers, relics of a time longbefore 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 founditself in London drawing-rooms. Consumed by curiosity, Hugh pressed theelectric button marked "visitors," and a few moments later a smart youngfootman opened the door.

  "Mr. George Peters?" inquired Hugh. "I have an appointment."

  "What name, sir?" the young, narrow-eyed man asked.

  "Henfrey."

  "Oh, yes, sir! Mr. Peters is expecting you," he said. And at once heconducted him along the narrow hall to a room beyond.

  The house was beautifully appointed. Everywhere was taste and luxury.Even in the hall there were portraits by old Spanish masters and manyrare English sporting prints.

  The room into which he was shown was a long apartment furnished in thestyle of the Georgian era. The genuine Adams ceiling, mantelpiece,and dead white walls, with the faintly faded carpet of old rose andlight-blue, were all in keeping. The lights, too, were shaded, and overall was an old-world atmosphere of quiet and dignified repose.

  The room was empty, and Hugh crossed to examine a beautiful littlemarble statuette of a girl bather, with her arms raised and about todive. It was, no doubt, a gem of the art of sculpture, mounted upon apedestal of dark-green marble which revolved.

  The whole conception was delightful, and the girl's laughing face wasmost perfect in its portraiture.

  Of a sudden the door reopened, and he was met by a stout, rather wizenedold gentleman with white bristly hair and closely cropped moustache, aman whose ruddy face showed good living, and who moved with the briskalertness of a man twenty years his junior.

  "Ah! here you are, Mr. Henfrey!" he exclaimed warmly, as he offered hisvisitor his hand. Upon the latter was a well-worn black glove--evidentlyto hide either some disease or deformity. "I was wondering if youreceived my letter safely?"

  "Yes," replied Hugh, glancing at the shrewd little man whose glovedright hand attracted him.

  "Sit down," the other said, as he closed the door. "I'm very anxious tohave a little chat with you."

  Hugh took the arm-chair which Mr. Peters indicated. Somehow he viewedthe man with suspicion. His eyes were small and piercing, and his facewith its broad brow and narrow chin was almost triangular. He was a manof considerable personality, without a doubt. His voice was high pitchedand rather petulant.

  "Now," he said. "I was surprised to learn that you had left your safeasylum in Kensington. Not only was I surprised--but I confess, I wasalarmed."

  "I take it that I have to thank you for making those arrangements formy escape from Monte Carlo?" remarked Hugh, looking him straight in theface.

  "No thanks are needed, my dear Mr. Henfrey," replied the elder man."So long as you are free, what matters? But I do not wish you todeliberately run risks which are so easily avoided. Why did you leaveAbingdon Road?"

  "I was advised to do so by a friend."

  "Not by Miss Ranscomb, I am sure."

  "No, by a Mr. Benton, whom I know."

  The old man's eyebrows narrowed for a second.

  "Benton?" he echoed. "Charles Benton--is he?"

  "Yes. As he was a friend of my late father I naturally trust him."

  Mr. Peters paused.

  "Oh, naturally," he said a second later. "But where are you living now?"

  Hugh told him that he was the guest of Mrs. Bond of Shapley Manor,whereupon Mr. Peters sniffed sharply, and rising, obtained a box of goodcigars from a cupboard near the fireplace.

  "You went there at Benton's suggestion?"

  "Yes, I did."

  Mr. Peters gave a grunt of undisguised dissatisfaction, as he curledhimself in his chair and examined carefully the young man before him.

  "Now, Mr. Henfrey," he said at last. "I am very sorry for you. I happento know something of your present position, and the great difficulty inwhich you are to-day placed by the clever roguery of others. Will youplease describe to me accurately exactly what occurred on that fatefulnight at the Villa Amette? If I am to assist you further it is necessaryfor you to tell me everything--remember, _everything_!"

  Hugh paused and looked the stranger straight in the face.

  "I thought you knew all about it," he said.

  "I know a little--not all. I want to know everything. Why did youventure there at all? You did not know the lady. It was surely a veryunusual hour to pay a call?" said the little man, his shrewd eyes fixedupon his visitor.

  "Well, Mr. Peters, the fact is that my father died in very suspiciouscircumstances, and I was led to believe the Mademoiselle was cognizantof the truth."

  The other man frowned slightly.

  "And so you went there with the purpose of getting the truth from her?"he remarked, with a grunt.

  Hugh nodded in the affirmative.

  "What did she tell you?"

  "Nothing. She was about to tell me something when the shot was fired bysomeone on the veranda outside."

  "H'm! Then the natural surmise would be that you, suspecting that womanof causing your father's death, shot her because she refused to tell youanything?"

  "I repeat she was about to disclose the circumstances--to divulge hersecret, when she was struck down."

  "You have no suspicion of anyone? You don't think that her manservant--Iforget the fellow's name--fired the shot? Remember, he was not in theroom at the time!"

  "I feel confident that he did not. He was far too distressed at theterrible affair," said Hugh. "The outrage must have been committed bysomeone to whom the preservation of the secret of my father's end was ofmost vital importance."

  "Agreed," replied the man with the black glove. "The problem we have tosolve is who was responsible for your father's death."

  "Yes," said Hugh. "If that shot had not been fired I should have knownthe truth."

  "You think, then, that Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo would have told youthe 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 methe truth?"

  "I do. But the chief reason I asked you to call and see me to-night isto learn for what reason you have been induced to go on a visit to thisMrs. Bond."

  "Because Benton suggested it. He told me that Scotland Yard knew of mypresence 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 friendlytowards me--as he was to my late father. The only thing which causesme to hold aloof from him as much as I can is the strange clause in myfather's will."

  "Strange clause?" echoed the old man. "What clause?"

  "My father, in his will, cut me off every benefit he could unless Imarried Benton's adopted daughter, Louise. If I marry her, then I obtaina quarter of a million. I at first thought of disputing the will, butMr. Charman, our family solicitor, says that it is perfectly in order.The will was made in Paris two years before his death. He went overthere 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 monthsaltogether, 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 maybe near his adopted daughter, in the hope that you will marry her! Inthe 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 verycomplicated one."

  "For me it is terrible. I am living under a cloud, and in constant fearof arrest. What can be done?"

  "I fear nothing much can be done at present," said the old man, shakinghis head gravely. "I quite realize that you are victim of certainenemies who intend to get hold of your father's fortune. It is for us tocombat them--if we can."

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

  "I promise you my aid," he replied, putting out his gloved hand aspledge.

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

  "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 whomI have heard so much up and down Europe--the man of whom certain menand women speak with admiration, and with bated breath--the man known incertain circles as--as _Il Passero_?"

  The countenance of the little man with the bristly white hair and theblack glove relaxed into a smile, as, still holding Hugh's hand infriendship, he replied:

  "Yes. It is true. Some know me as 'The Sparrow!'"