"Well, Mr. Peters, the fact is that my father died in very suspicious circ.u.mstances, and I was led to believe the Mademoiselle was cognizant of 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 by someone on the veranda outside."

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

"I repeat she was about to disclose the circ.u.mstances--to divulge her secret, when she was struck down."

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

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

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

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

"You think, then, that Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo would have told you the 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 me the truth?"

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

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

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

"My father, in his will, cut me off every benefit he could unless I married Benton's adopted daughter, Louise. If I marry her, then I obtain a quarter of a million. I at first thought of disputing the will, but Mr. Charman, our family solicitor, says that it is perfectly in order.

The will was made in Paris two years before his death. He went over there 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 months altogether, 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 may be near his adopted daughter, in the hope that you will marry her! In the meantime you are deeply in love with Lady Rans...o...b..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 very complicated one."

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

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

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

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

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

"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 a.s.suming that you are actually the person of whom I have heard so much up and down Europe--the man of whom certain men and women speak with admiration, and with bated breath--the man known in certain circles as--as _Il Pa.s.sero_?"

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

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

NINETEENTH CHAPTER

THE SPARROW

Hugh Henfrey was at last face to face with the most notorious criminal in Europe!

The black-gloved hand of the wizened, bristly-haired old man was the hand that controlled a great organization spread all over Europe--an organization which only knew Il Pa.s.sero by repute, but had never seen him in the flesh.

Yet there he was, a discreet, rather petulant old gentleman, who lived at ease in an exclusive West End street, and was entirely unsuspected!

When "Mr. Peters" admitted his ident.i.ty, Hugh drew a long breath. He was staggered. He was profuse in his thanks, but "The Sparrow" merely smiled, saying:

"It is true that I and certain of my friends make war upon Society--and more especially upon those who have profiteered upon those brave fellows who laid down their lives for us in the war. Whatever you have heard concerning me I hope you will forgive, Mr. Henfrey. At least I am the friend of those who are in distress, or who are wrongly judged--as you are to-day."