"Yes, that's the man! But they have not informed us yet. I'll telephone to Mentone." Then he added: "As a formality I'll just have a peep at your master."

The chauffeur held his breath.

"He's pretty bad, I think. I hope we shall be in Turin early in the morning."

Advancing to the car, the police officer opened the door and flashed his torch upon the occupant.

He saw a pale, elderly man, with a grey moustache, wearing a golf cape and reclining uneasily upon the pillow, with his leg propped up and wrapped with a heavy travelling-rug. Upon the white countenance was an expression of pain as he turned wearily, his eyes dazzled by the sudden light.

"Where are we?" he asked faintly in English.

"At the Italian _douane_, m'sieur," was the police officer's reply, as for a few seconds he gazed upon the invalid's face, seconds that seemed hours to Hugh. He was, of course, unaware of the c.o.c.k-and-bull story which his strange chauffeur had told, and feared that at any moment he might find himself under arrest.

While the door remained open there was danger. At last, however, the man reclosed it.

Hugh's heart gave a great bound. The chauffeur had restarted the engine, and mounting to the wheel shouted a merry:

"_Buona notte, signori_!"

Then the car moved away along the winding road and Hugh knew that he was on Italian soil--that he had happily escaped from France.

But why had he escaped, he reflected? He was innocent. Would not his flight lend colour to the theory that Yvonne Ferad had been shot by his hand?

Again, who was his unknown friend who had warned him of his peril and made those elaborate arrangements for his escape? Besides, where was Walter?

His brain was awhirl. As they tore along in the darkness ever beside the sea over that steep and dangerous road along the rock coast, Hugh Henfrey fell to wondering what the motive of it all could be. Why had Yvonne been shot just at that critical moment? It was evident that she had been closely watched by someone to whom her silence meant a very great deal.

She had told him that his father had been a good man, and she was on the point of disclosing to him the great secret when she had been struck down.

What was the mystery of it all? Ay, what indeed?

He recalled every incident of that fateful night, her indignation at his presence in her house, and her curious softening of manner towards him, as though repentant and ready to make amends.

Then he wondered what Dorise would think when he failed to put in an appearance to go with her to the ball at Nice. He pictured the car waiting outside the hotel, Lady Rans...o...b..fidgeting and annoyed, the count elegant and all smiles and graces, and Dorise, anxious and eager, going to the telephone and speaking to the concierge at the Palmiers.

Then inquiry for Monsieur Henfrey, and the discovery that he had left the hotel unseen.

So far Dorise knew nothing of Hugh's part in the drama of the Villa Amette, but suddenly he was horrified by the thought that the police, finding he had escaped, would question her. They had been seen together many times in Monte Carlo, and the eyes of the police of Monaco are always very wide open. They know much, but are usually inactive. When one recollects that all the _escrocs_ of Europe gather at the _tapis vert_ in winter and spring, it is not surprising that they close their eyes to such minor crimes as theft, blackmail and false pretences.

In his excited and unnerved state, he pictured Ogier calling upon Lady Rans...o...b..and questioning her closely concerning her young English friend who was so frequently seen with her daughter. That would, surely, end their friendship! Lady Rans...o...b..would never allow her daughter to a.s.sociate further with a man accused of attempting to murder a notorious woman after midnight!

The car presently descended the steep rocky road which wound up over the promontory and back again down to the sea, until they pa.s.sed through the little frontier town of Ventimiglia.

It was late, and few people were about in the narrow, ill-lit streets.

Suddenly, a couple of Italian carabineers stopped the car.

Hugh's heart beat quickly. Had they at the _dogana_ discovered the trick and telephoned from the frontier?

Instantly the fugitive rea.s.sumed his role of invalid, and no sooner had he settled himself than the second man in a c.o.c.ked hat and heavy black cloak opened the door and peered within.

Another lamp was flashed upon his face.

The carabineer asked in Italian:

"What is your name, signore?"

But Hugh, pretending that he did not understand the language, asked:

"Eh? What?"

"Here are our papers, signore," interrupted the ever-ready chauffeur, and he produced the papers for the officer's inspection.

He looked at them, bending to read them by the light of the torch which his companion held.

Then, after an officious gesture, he handed them back, saying:

"_Benissimo_! You may pa.s.s!"

Again Hugh was free! Yet he wondered if that examination had been consequent upon the hue and cry set up now that he had escaped from Monaco.

They pa.s.sed out of the straggling town of Ventimiglia, but instead of turning up the valley by that long road which winds up over the Alps until it reaches the snow and then pa.s.ses through the tunnel on the Col di Tenda and on to Cuneo and Turin, the mysterious driver kept on by the sea-road towards Bordighera.

Hugh realised that his guide's intention was to go in the direction of Genoa.

About two miles out of Ospedaletti, on the road to San Remo, Henfrey rapped at the window, and the chauffeur, who was travelling at high speed, pulled up.

Hugh got out and said in French:

"Well, so far we've been successful. I admire your ingenuity and your pluck."

The man laughed and thanked him.

"I have done what I was told to do," he replied simply. "Monsieur is, I understand, in a bit of a sc.r.a.pe, and it is for all of us to a.s.sist each other--is it not?"

"Of course. But who told you to do all this?" Hugh inquired, standing in the dark road beside the car. The pair could not see each other's faces, though the big head-lamps glared far ahead over the white road.

"Well--a friend of yours, m'sieur."

"What is his name?"

"Pardon, I am not allowed to say."

"But all this is so very strange--so utterly mysterious!" cried Hugh.

"I have not committed any crime, and yet I am hunted by the police!

They are anxious to arrest me for an offence of which I am entirely innocent."

"I know that, m'sieur," was the fellow's reply. "At the _dogana_, however, we had a narrow escape. The man who looked at you was Morain, the chief inspector of the Surete of the Alpes-Maritimes, and he was at the outpost especially to stop you!"

"Again I admire your perfect nonchalance and ingenuity," Hugh said. "I owe my liberty entirely to you."