"Why confidential--and from whom?" she asked, standing against the wall and surveying the mysterious masker.

"From a gentleman friend of yours--Mr. Henfrey."

"From Hugh?" she gasped. "Do you know him?"

"Yes."

"I expected him to come with us to-night, but he has vanished from his hotel."

"I know. That is why I am here," was the reply.

There was a note in the stranger's voice which struck her as somehow familiar, but she failed to recognize the individual. She was as quick at remembering voices as she was at recollecting faces. Who could he be, she wondered?

"You said you had a message for me," she remarked.

"Yes," he replied. "I am here to tell you that a serious contretemps has occurred, and that Mr. Henfrey has escaped from France."

"Escaped!" she echoed. "Why?"

"Because the police suspect him of a crime."

"Crime! What crime? Surely he is innocent?" she cried.

"He certainly is. His friends know that. Therefore, Miss Rans...o...b.. I beg of you to betray no undue anxiety even if you do not hear from him for many weeks."

"But will he write to me?" she asked in despair. "Surely he will not keep me in suspense?"

"He will not if he can avoid it. But as soon as the French police realize that he has got away a watch will be kept upon his correspondence." Then, lowering his voice, he urged her to move away, as he thought that an idling masker was trying to overhear their conversation.

"You see," he went on a few moments later, "it might be dangerous if he were to write to you."

Dorise was thinking of what her mother would say when the truth reached her ears. Hugh was a _fugitive_!

"Of what crime is he suspected?" asked the girl.

"I--well, I don't exactly know," was the stranger's faltering response.

"I was told by a friend of his that it was a serious one, and that he might find it extremely difficult to prove himself innocent. The circ.u.mstantial evidence against him is very strong."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Not in the least. All I know is that he is safely across the frontier into Italy," was the reply of the tall white cavalier.

"I wish I could see your face," declared Dorise frankly.

"And I might express a similar desire, Miss Rans...o...b.. But for the present it is best as it is. I have sought you here to tell you the truth in secret, and to urge you to remain calm and patient."

"Is that a message from Hugh?"

"No--not exactly. It is a message from one who is his friend."

"You are very mysterious," she declared. "If you do not know where he is at the moment, perhaps you know where we can find him later."

"Yes. He is making his way to Brussels. A letter addressed to Mr.

G.o.dfrey Brown, Poste Restante, Brussels, will eventually find him.

Recollect the name," he added. "Disguise your handwriting on the envelope, and when you post it see that you are not observed. Recollect that his safety lies in your hands."

"Trust me," she said. "But do let me know your name," she implored.

"Any old name is good enough for me," he replied. "Call me Mr. X."

"Don't mystify me further, please."

"Well, call me Smith, Jones, Robinson--whatever you like."

"Then you refuse to satisfy my curiosity--eh?"

"I regret that I am compelled to do so--for certain reasons."

"Are you a detective?" Dorise suddenly inquired.

The stranger laughed.

"If I were a police officer I should scarcely act as an intermediary between Mr. Henfrey and yourself, Miss Rans...o...b.."

"But you say he is innocent. Are you certain of that? May I set my mind at rest that he never committed this crime of which the police suspect him?" she asked eagerly.

"Yes. I repeat that he is entirely innocent," was the earnest response.

"But I would advise you to affect ignorance. The police may question you. If they do, you know nothing, remember--absolutely nothing. If you write to Mr. Henfrey, take every precaution that n.o.body sees you post the letter. Give him a secret address in London, or anywhere in England, so that he can write to you there."

"But how long will it be before I can see him again?"

"Ah! That I cannot tell. There is a mystery underlying it all that even I cannot fathom, Miss Rans...o...b.."

"What kind of mystery?"

The white cavalier shrugged his shoulders.

"You must ask Mr. Henfrey. Or perhaps his friend Brock knows. Yet if he does, I do not suppose he would disclose anything his friend may have told him in confidence."

"I am bewildered!" the girl declared. "It is all so very mysterious--Hugh a fugitive from justice! I--I really cannot believe it!

What can the mystery be?"

"Of that I have no means of ascertaining, Miss Rans...o...b.. I am here merely to tell you what has happened and to give you in secret the name and address to which to send a letter to him," the masked man said very politely. "And now I think we must part. Perhaps if ever we meet again--which is scarcely probable--you will recognize my voice. And always recollect that should you or Mr. Henfrey ever receive a message from 'Silverado' it will be from myself." And he spelt the name.

"Silverado. Yes, I shall not forget you, my mysterious friend."

"_Au revoir_!" he said as, bowing gracefully, he turned and left her.