Part 34 (1/2)

On the face of it, his father's death was exceedingly suspicious. He had left his home in the country and gone to town upon pretence. Why? That a woman was connected with his journey was now apparent. Hugh had ascertained certain facts which he had resolved to withhold from everybody.

But why should the notorious Sparrow, the King of the Underworld, interest himself so actively on his behalf as to travel up there to Perths.h.i.+re, after making those secret, but elaborate, arrangements for safety? The whole affair was a mystery, complete and insoluble.

It was early morning, after they had rambled for several hours in the moonlight, when Hugh bade his well-beloved farewell.

They had returned through the park and were at a gate quite close to the castle when they halted. It had crossed Hugh's mind that they might be seen by one of the keepers, and he had mentioned this to Dorise.

”What matter?” she replied. ”They do not know you, and probably will not recognize me.”

So after promising Hugh to remain discreet, she told him they were returning to London in a few days.

”Look here!” he said suddenly. ”We must meet again very soon, darling.

I daresay I may venture out at night, therefore why not let us make an appointment--say, for Tuesday week. Where shall we meet? At midnight at the first seat on the right on entering the part at the Marble Arch? You remember, we met there once before--about a year ago.”

”Yes. I know the spot,” the girl replied. ”I remember what a cold, wet night it was, too!” and she laughed at the recollection. ”Very well.

I will contrive to be there. That night we are due at a dance at the Gordons' in Grosvenor Gardens. But I'll manage to be there somehow--if only for five minutes.”

”Good,” he exclaimed, again kissing her fondly. ”Now I must make all speed to Kensington and there go once more into hiding. When--oh, when will this wearying life be over!”

”You have a friend, as I have, in the mysterious white cavalier,” she said. ”I wonder who he really is?”

”The Sparrow--without a doubt--the famous 'Il Pa.s.sero' for whom the police of Europe are ever searching, the man who at one moment lives in affluence and the highest respectability in a house somewhere near Piccadilly, and at another is tearing over the French, Spanish, or Italian roads in his powerful car directing all sorts of crooked business. It's a strange world in which I find myself, Dorise, I a.s.sure you! Good-bye, darling--good-bye!” and he took her in a final embrace.

”Good-bye--till Tuesday week.”

Then stepping on to the gra.s.s, where his feet fell noiselessly, he disappeared in the dark shadow of the great avenue of beeches.

SIXTEENTH CHAPTER

THE ESCROCS OF LONDON

For ten weary days Hugh Henfrey had lived in the close, frowsy-smelling house in Abingdon Road, Kensington, a small, old-fas.h.i.+oned place, once a residence of well-to-do persons, but now sadly out of repair.

Its occupier was a worthy, and somewhat wizened, widow named Mason, who was supposed to be the relict of an army surgeon who had been killed at the Battle of the Marne. She was about sixty, and suffered badly from asthma. Her house was too large for one maid, a stout, matronly person called Emily, hence the place was not kept as clean as it ought to have been, and the cuisine left much to be desired.

Still, it appeared to be a safe harbour of refuge for certain strange persons who came there, men who looked more or less decent members of society, but whose talk and whose slang was certainly that of crooks.

That house in the back street of old-world Kensington, a place built before Victoria ascended the throne, was undoubtedly on a par with the flat of the Reveccas in Genoa, and the thieves' sanctuary in the shadow of the cathedral at Malines.

Adversity brings with it queer company, and Hugh had found himself among a mixed society of men who had been gentlemen and had taken up the criminal life as an up-to-date profession. They all spoke of The Sparrow with awe; and they all wondered what his next great coup would be.

Hugh became more than ever satisfied that Il Pa.s.sero was one of the greatest and most astute criminals who have graced the annals of our time.

Everyone sang his praise. The queer visitors who lodged there for a day, a couple of days, or more; the guests who came suddenly, and who disappeared just as quickly, were one and all loud in their admiration of Il Pa.s.sero, though Hugh could discover n.o.body who had actually seen the arch-thief in the flesh.

On the Tuesday night Hugh had had a frugal and badly-cooked meal with three mysterious men who had arrived as Mrs. Mason's guests during the day. After supper the widow rose and left the room, whereupon the trio, all well-dressed men-about-town, began to chatter openly about a little ”deal” in diamonds in which they had been interested. The ”deal” in question had been reported in the newspapers on the previous morning, namely, how a Dutch diamond dealer's office in Hatton Garden had been broken into, the safe cut open by the most scientific means, and a very valuable parcel of stones extracted.

”Harry Austen has gone down to Surrey to stay with Molly.”

”Molly? Why, I thought she was in Paris!”