"Then they found no weapon?" asked the young Englishman.

"No, m'sieur. There is no clue whatever to the a.s.sailant."

"Curious that there should be no footmarks," remarked Brock. "Yet they found yours, Hugh."

"Yes. The man must surely have left some trace outside!"

"One would certainly have thought so," Brock said. "I wonder if we may go into the room where the tragedy happened?" he asked of the servant.

"Certainly, m'sieur," was the courteous reply, and he conducted them both into the apartment wherein Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo had been shot down.

"Did you accompany Mademoiselle when she went to London, Giulio?"

asked young Henfrey of the old Italian, after he had described to Brock exactly what had occurred.

"Yes, m'sieur," he replied. "I was at Cromwell Road for a short time.

But I do not care for London, so Mademoiselle sent me back here to look after the Villa because old Jean, the concierge, had been taken to the hospital."

"When in London you knew some of Mademoiselle's friends, I suppose?"

"A few--only a few," was the Italian's reply.

"Did you ever know a certain Mr. Benton?"

The old fellow shook his head blankly.

"Not to my knowledge, m'sieur," he replied. "Mademoiselle had really very few friends in London. There was a Mrs. Matthews and her husband, Americans whom she met here in Monte Carlo, and Sir George Cave-Knight, who died a few weeks ago."

"Do you remember an elderly gentleman named Henfrey calling?" asked Hugh.

Old Cataldi reflected for a moment, and then answered:

"The name sounds familiar to me, m'sieur, but in what connexion I cannot recollect. That is your name, is it not?" he asked, remembering the card he had taken to his mistress.

"Yes," Hugh replied. "I have reason to believe that my late father was acquainted with your mistress, and that he called upon her in London."

"I believe that a gentleman named Henfrey did call, because when I glanced at the card you gave me last night the name struck me as familiar," the servant said. "But whether he actually called, or whether someone at table mentioned his name I really cannot recollect."

"Ah! That's a pity," exclaimed Hugh with a sigh. "As a matter of fact it was in order to make certain inquiries regarding my late father that I called upon Mademoiselle last night."

Giulio Cataldi turned in pretence of rearranging a chair, but in reality to avert his face from the young man's gaze--a fact which Hugh did not fail to notice.

Had he really told the truth when he declared that he could not recollect his father calling?

"How long were you in London with Mademoiselle?" asked Henfrey.

"About six weeks--not longer."

Was it because of some untoward occurrence that the old Italian did not like London, Hugh wondered.

"And you are quite sure that you do not recollect my father calling upon your mistress?"

"As I have said, m'sieur, I do not remember. Yet I recall the name, as it is a rather unusual one."

"And you have never heard of Mr. Benton?"

Cataldi shook his head.

"Well," Hugh went on, "tell me whether you entertain any suspicions of anyone who might be tempted to kill your mistress. Mademoiselle has enemies, has she not?"

"Who knows?" exclaimed the man with the grey moustache and small, black furtive eyes.

"Everyone has enemies of one sort or another," Walter remarked. "And no doubt Mademoiselle has. It is for us to discover the enemy who shot her."

"Ah! yes, it is, m'sieur," exclaimed the servant. "The poor Signorina! I do hope that the police will discover who tried to kill her."

"For aught we know the attempt upon the lady's life may prove successful after all," said Hugh despairingly. "The doctors hold out no hope of her recovery."

"None. A third doctor has been in consultation--Doctor Bazin, from Beaulieu. He only left a quarter of an hour ago. He told me that the poor Signorina cannot possibly live! Ah! messieurs, how terrible all this is--_povera Signorina_! She was always so kind and considerate to us all." And the old man's voice trembled with emotion.

Walter Brock gazed around the luxurious room and at the long open window through which streamed the bright morning sun, with the perfume of the flowers outside. What was the mystery concerning Mademoiselle Yvonne?

What foundation had the gossips for those constant whisperings which had rendered the handsome woman so notorious?

True, the story of the death of Hugh's father was an unusually strange one, curious in every particular--and stranger still that the secret was held by this beautiful, but mysterious, woman who lived in such luxury, and who gambled so recklessly and with invariable good fortune.

As they walked back to the town Hugh's heart sank within him.

"She will die," he muttered bitterly to himself. "She'll die, and I shall never learn the truth of the poor guv'nor's sad end, or the reason why I am being forced to marry Louise Lambert."

"It's an iniquitous will, Hugh!" declared his friend. "And it's infernally hard on you that just at the very moment when you could have learnt the truth that shot was fired."

"Do you think the woman had any hand in my father's death?" Hugh asked.

"Do you think that she had repented, and was about to try and atone for what she had done by confessing the whole affair?"

"Yes. That is just the view I take," answered Brock. "Of course, we have no idea what part she played in the business. But my idea is that she alone knows the reason why this marriage with Louise is being forced upon you."

"In that case, then, it seems more than likely that I've been followed here to Monte Carlo, and my movements watched. But why has she been shot? Why did not her enemies shoot me? They could have done so twenty times during the past few days. Perhaps the shot which hit her was really intended for me?"

"I don't think so. There is a monetary motive behind your marriage with Louise. If you died, your enemy would gain nothing. That seems clear."

"But who can be my secret enemy?" asked the young man in dismay.

"Mademoiselle alone knows that, and it was undoubtedly her intention to warn you."

"Yes. But if she dies I shall remain in ignorance," he declared in a hard voice. "The whole affair is so tangled that I can see nothing clearly--only that my refusal to marry Louise will mean ruin to me--and I shall lose Dorise in the bargain!"

Walter Brock, older and more experienced, was equally mystified. The pessimistic att.i.tude of the three doctors who had attended the injured woman was, indeed, far from rea.s.suring. The injury to the head caused by the a.s.sailant's bullet was, they declared, most dangerous. Indeed, the three medical men marvelled that she still lived.

The two men walked through the palm-lined garden, bright with flowers, back to their hotel, wondering whether news of the tragedy had yet got abroad. But they heard nothing of it, and it seemed true, as Walter Brock had declared, that the police make haste to suppress any tragic happenings in the Princ.i.p.ality.