Such were her thoughts when, an hour later, her mother’s car took her out to Kensington to lunch with her old school friend who was on the point of being married to a man who had won great distinction in the Air Force, and whose portrait was almost daily in the papers.

Would she ever marry Hugh, she wondered, as she sat gazing blankly out upon the London traffic. She would write to him, but, alas! she knew neither the name under which he was going, nor his address.

And a telephone message to Mr. Peters’s house had been answered to the effect that the man whose hand was gloved was abroad, and the date of his return uncertain.

TWENTY-EIGHTH CHAPTER THE SPARROW’S NEST

Mademoiselle Lisette met her two guests at Vian’s small but exclusive restaurant in the Rue Daunou, and all three had a merry meal together. Afterwards The Sparrow smoked a good cigar and became amused at the young girl’s chatter.

She was a sprightly little person, and had effectively brought off several highly successful coups. Before leaving his cosy flat in the Rue des Petits Champs, The Sparrow had sat for an hour calmly reviewing the situation in the light of what Lisette had told him and of Hugh’s exciting adventure on the Arles road.

That he had successfully escaped from a very clever trap was plain, but who was the traitor? Who, indeed, had fired that shot which, failing to kill Yvonne, had unbalanced her brain so that no attention could be paid to her wandering remarks?

He had that morning been on the point of trying to get into touch with his friend Howell, but after Lisette’s disclosures, he was very glad that he had not done so. His master-mind worked quickly. He could sum up a situation and act almost instantly where other men would be inclined to waver. But when The Sparrow arrived at a decision it was unalterable. All his associates knew that too well. Some of them called him stubborn, but they had to agree that he was invariably right in his suspicions and conclusions.

He had debated whether he should tell Hugh what Lisette had alleged concerning the forgery of his father’s will, but had decided to keep the matter to himself and see what further proof he could obtain. Therefore he had forbidden the girl to tell Henfrey anything, for, after all, it was quite likely that her statements could not be substantiated.

After their coffee all three returned to the Rue des Petits Champs where Lisette, merry and full of vivacity, joined them in a cigarette.

The Sparrow had been preoccupied and thoughtful the whole evening. But at last, as they sat together, he said:

“We shall all three go south to-morrow—to Nice direct.”

“To Nice!” exclaimed Lisette. “It is hardly safe—is it?”

“Yes. You will leave by the midday train from the Gare de Lyon—and go to Madame Odette’s in the boulevard Gambetta. I may want you. We shall follow by the train-de-luxe. It is best that Mr. Henfrey is out of Paris. The Surete will certainly be searching for him.”

Then, turning to Hugh, he told him that he had better remain his guest that night, and in the morning he would buy him another suit, hat and coat.

“There will not be so much risk in Nice as here in Paris,” he added. “After all, we ought not to have ventured out to Vian’s.”

Later he sat down, and after referring to a pocket-book containing certain entries, he scribbled four cryptic telegrams which were, apparently, Bourse quotations, but when read by their addressees were of quite a different character.

He went out and himself dispatched these from the office of the Grand Hotel. He never entrusted his telegrams of instructions to others.

When he returned ten minutes later he took up Le Soir, and searching it eagerly, suddenly exclaimed:

“Ah! Here it is! Manfield has been successful and got away all right with the German countess’s trinkets!”

And with a laugh he handed the paper to Lisette, who read aloud an account of a daring robbery in one of the best hotels in Cologne—jewels valued at a hundred thousand marks having mysteriously disappeared. International thieves were suspected, but the Cologne police had no clue.

“M’sieur Manfield is always extremely shrewd. He is such a real ladies’ man,” laughed Lisette, using some of the argot of the Montmartre.

“Yes. Do you recollect that American, Lindsay—with whom you had something to do?”

“Oh, yes, I remember. I was in London and we went out to dinner together quite a lot. Manfield was with me and we got from his dispatch-box the papers concerning that oil well at Baku. The company was started later on in Chicago, and only two months ago I received my dividend.”

“Teddy Manfield is a very good friend,” declared the man with the gloved hand. “Birth and education always count, even in these days. To any ex-service man I hold out my hand as the unit who saved us from becoming a German colony. But do others? I make war upon those who have profited by war. I have never attacked those who have remained honest during the great struggle. In the case of dog-eat-dog I place myself on the side of the worker and the misled patriot—not only in Britain, but in all the countries of the Allies. If members of the Allied Governments are profiteers what can the man-in-the-street expect of the poor little scraping-up tradesman oppressed by taxation and bewildered by waste? But there!” he added, “I am no politician! My only object is to solve the mystery of who shot poor Mademoiselle Yvonne.”

The pretty decoy of the great association of escrocs smoked another cigarette, and gazed into the young man’s face. Sometimes she shuddered when she reflected upon all she knew concerning his father’s unfortunate end, and of the cleverly concocted will by which he was to marry Louise Lambert, and afterwards enjoy but a short career.

Fate had made Lisette what she was—a child of fortune. Her own life would, if written, form a strange and sensational narrative. For she had been implicated in a number of great robberies which had startled the world.

She knew much of the truth of the Henfrey affair, and she had now decided to assist Hugh to vanquish those whose intentions were distinctly evil.

At last she rose and wished them bon soir.

“I shall leave the Gare de Lyon at eleven fifty-eight to-morrow, and go direct to Madame Odette’s in Nice,” she said.

“Yes. Remain there. If I want you I will let you know,” answered The Sparrow.

And then she descended the stairs and walked to her hotel.

Next evening Hugh and The Sparrow, both dressed quite differently, left by the Riviera train-de-luxe. As The Sparrow lay that night in the wagon-lit he tried to sleep, but the roar and rattle of the train prevented it. Therefore he calmly thought out a complete and deliberate plan.

From one of his friends in London he had had secret warning that the police, on the day he left Charing Cross, had descended upon Shapley Manor and had arrested Mrs. Bond under a warrant applied for by the French police, and he also knew that her extradition for trial in Paris had been granted.

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