"Yes," replied The Sparrow. "It is a strange fact that the greatest losses are sustained by the players when the Rooms are most empty.

n.o.body has yet ever been able to account for it."

"And yet it is so," declared old Cataldi. "I have watched it day by day.

But poor Mademoiselle! What can we do to solve the mystery?"

"Were you not with Mademoiselle and Mr. Benton when you both brought off that great coup in the Avenue Louise, in Brussels?" asked The Sparrow.

"Yes, signore," said the old man. "But I do not wish to speak of it now."

"Quite naturally. I quite appreciate it. Since Mademoiselle's--er--accident you have, I suppose, been leading an honest life?"

"Yes. I have tried to do so. At present I am a cafe waiter."

"And you can tell me nothing further regarding the affair at the Villa Amette?" asked The Sparrow, eyeing him narrowly.

"I regret, signore, I can tell you nothing further," replied the staid, rather sad-looking old man; "nothing." And he sighed.

"Why?" asked the man whose tentacles were, like an octopus, upon a hundred schemes, and as many criminal coups in Europe. He sought a solution of the problem, but nothing appeared forthcoming.

He had strained every effort, but he could ascertain nothing.

That Cataldi knew the key to the whole problem The Sparrow felt a.s.sured.

Yet why did not the old fellow tell the truth?

At last The Sparrow rose and left, and Hugh followed him. Both were bitterly disappointed. The old man refused to say more than that he was ignorant of the whole affair.

Cataldi's att.i.tude annoyed the master criminal.

For three days he remained in Nice with Hugh, at great risk of recognition and arrest.

On the fourth day they went together in a hired car along the winding road across the Var to Cannes.

At a big white villa a little distance outside the pretty winter town of flowers and palms, they halted. The house, which was on the Frejus road, was once the residence of a Russian prince.

With The Sparrow Hugh was ushered into a big, sunny room overlooking the beautiful garden where climbing geraniums ran riot with carnations and violets, and for some minutes they waited. From the windows spread a wide view of the calm sapphire sea.

Then suddenly the door opened.

TWENTY-NINTH CHAPTER

THE STORY OF MADEMOISELLE

Both men turned and before them they saw the plainly dressed figure of a beautiful woman, and behind her an elderly, grey-faced man.

For a few seconds the woman stared at The Sparrow blankly. Then she turned her gaze upon Hugh.

Her lips parted. Suddenly she gave vent to a loud cry, almost of pain, and placing both hands to her head, gasped:

_"Dieu!"_

It was Yvonne Ferad. And the cry was one of recognition.

Hugh dashed forward with the doctor, for she was on the point of collapse at recognizing them. But in a few seconds she recovered herself, though she was deathly pale and much agitated.

"Yvonne!" exclaimed The Sparrow in a low, kindly voice. "Then you know who we really are? Your reason has returned?"

"Yes," she answered in French. "I remember who you are. Ah! But--but it is all so strange!" she cried wildly. "I--I--I can't think! At last!

Yes. I know. I recollect! You!" And she stared at Hugh. "You--you are _Monsieur Henfrey_!"

"That is so, mademoiselle."

"Ah, messieurs," remarked the elderly doctor, who was standing behind his patient. "She recognized you both--after all! The sudden shock at seeing you has accomplished what we have failed all these months to accomplish. It is efficacious only in some few cases. In this it is successful. But be careful. I beg of you not to overtax poor mademoiselle's brain with many questions. I will leave you."

And he withdrew, closing the door softly after him.

For a few minutes The Sparrow spoke to Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo about general things.

"I have been very ill," she said in a low, tremulous voice. "I could think of nothing since my accident, until now--and now"--and she gazed around her with a new interest upon her handsome countenance--"and now I remember!--but it all seems too hazy and indistinct."

"You recollect things--eh?" asked The Sparrow in a kindly voice, placing his hand upon her shoulder and looking into her tired eyes.

"Yes. I remember. All the past is slowly returning to me. It seems ages and ages since I last met you, Mr.--Mr. Peters," and she laughed lightly. "Peters--that is the name?"

"It is, mademoiselle," he laughed. "And it is a happy event that, by seeing us unexpectedly, your memory has returned. But the reason Mr.

Henfrey is here is to resume that conversation which was so suddenly interrupted at the Villa Amette."

Mademoiselle was silent for some moments. Her face was averted, for she was gazing out of the window to the distant sea.

"Do you wish me to reveal to Monsieur Henfrey the--the secret of his father's death?" she asked of The Sparrow.

"Certainly. You were about to do so when--when the accident happened."

"Yes. But--but, oh!--how can I tell him the actual truth when--when, alas! I am so guilty?" cried the woman, much distressed.

"No, no, mademoiselle," said Hugh, placing his hand tenderly upon her shoulder. "Calm yourself. You did not kill my father. Of that I am quite convinced. Do not distress yourself, but tell me all that you know."

"Mr. Peters knows something of the affair, I believe," she said slowly.

"But he never planned it. The whole plot was concocted by Benton." Then, turning to Hugh, Mademoiselle said almost in her natural tone, though slightly high-pitched and nervous:

"Benton, the blackguard, was your father's friend at Woodthorpe. With a man named Howell, known also as Shaw, he prepared a will which your father signed unconsciously, and which provided that in the event of his death you should be cut off from almost every benefit if you did not marry Louise Lambert, Benton's adopted daughter."

"But who is Louise actually?" asked Hugh interrupting.

"The real daughter of Benton, who has made pretence of adopting her. Of course Louise is unaware of that fact," Yvonne replied.