TWENTY-FIRST CHAPTER
THE MAN WITH MANY NAMES
At the moment he had read the letter Mrs. Bond entered the room.
"Hallo! You're down early," she remarked. "And already had your letters,I see! They don't generally come so early. The postman has to walk overfrom Puttenham."
Then she took up her own and carelessly placed them aside. Theyconsisted mostly of circulars and the accounts of Guildford tradesmen.
"Yes," he said, "I was down early. Lately I've acquired the habit ofearly rising."
"An excellent habit in a young man," she laughed. "All men who achievesuccess are early risers--so a Cabinet Minister said the other day. Andreally, I believe it."
"An hour in the early morning is worth three after dinner. That is whyCabinet Ministers entertain people at breakfast nowadays instead of atdinner. In the morning the brain is fresh and active--a fact recentlydiscovered in our post-war days," Hugh said.
Then, as his hostess turned to the hot-plate upon the sideboard, liftingthe covers to see what her cook had provided, he re-scanned the letterwhich had been openly addressed to him. It was from Dorise:
"I refuse to be deceived any longer, I have discovered that you are nowa fellow-guest with the girl Louise, to whom you introduced me. And yetyou arranged to meet me at Farnham, believing that I was not awareof your close friendship with her! I have believed in you up to thepresent, but the scales have now fallen from my eyes. I thought youloved me too well to deceive me--as you are doing. Hard things are beingsaid about you--but you can rest content that I shall reveal nothingthat I happen to know. What I do know, however, has changed my thoughtsconcerning you. I believed you to be the victim of circumstance. NowI know you have deceived me, and that I, myself, am the victim. I needonly add that someone else--whom I know not--knows of your hiding-place,for, by a roundabout way, I heard of it, and hence, I address thisletter to you.--DORISE."
Hugh Henfrey stood staggered. There was no mistaking the meaning of thatletter now that he had read it a second time.
Dorise doubted him! And what answer could he give her? Any explanationmust, to her, be but a lame excuse.
Hugh ate his breakfast sullenly. To Louise, who put in a lateappearance, and helped herself off the hot-plate, he said cheerfully:
"How lazy you are!"
"It's not laziness, Hugh," replied the girl. "The maid was so late withmy tea--and--well, to tell the truth, I upset a whole new box of powderon my dressing-table and had to clean up the mess."
"More haste--less speed," laughed Hugh. "It is always the same in themorning--eh?"
When the girl sat down at the table Hugh had brightened up. Still theload upon his shoulders was a heavy one. He was ever obsessed by themystery of his father's death, combined with that extraordinary willby which it was decreed that if he married Louise he would acquire hisfather's fortune.
Louise was certainly very good-looking, and quite charming. He admittedthat as he gazed across at her fresh figure on the opposite side of thetable. He, of course, was in ignorance of the fact that Benton, who hadadopted her, was a clever and unscrupulous adventurer, whose accomplicewas the handsome woman who was his hostess.
Naturally, he never dreamed that that quiet and respectable house, highon the beautiful Surrey hills, was the abode of a woman for whom thepolice of Europe were everywhere searching.
His thoughts all through breakfast were of The Sparrow--the greatcriminal, who was his friend. Hence, after they rose, he strolled intothe morning-room with his hostess, and said:
"I'll have to go to town again this morning. I have an urgent letter.Can Mead take me?"
"Certainly," was the woman's reply. "I have to make a call at Worplesdonthis afternoon, and Louise is going with me. But Mead can be back beforethen to take us."
So half an hour later Hugh was driving up the steep High Street ofGuildford on his way to London.
He alighted in Piccadilly, at the end of Half Moon Street, soon aftereleven, and, dismissing Mead, made his way to Ellerston Street to thehouse of Mr. George Peters.
He rang the bell at the old-fashioned mansion, and a few moments laterthe door was opened by the manservant he had previously seen.
In an instant the servant recognized the visitor.
"Mr. Peters will not be in for a quarter of an hour," he said. "Wouldyou care to wait, sir?"
"Yes," Hugh replied. "I want to see him very urgently."
"Will you come in? Mr. Peters has left instructions that you mightprobably call; Mr. Henfrey, is it not?"
"Yes," replied Hugh. The man seemed to possess a memory like that of aclub hall-porter.
Young Henfrey was ushered into a small but cosy little room, which, inthe light of day, he saw was well-furnished and upholstered. The doorclosed, and he waited.
A few moments after he distinctly heard a man's voice, which he at oncerecognized as that of The Sparrow.
The servant had told him that Mr. Peters was absent, yet he recognizedhis voice--a rather high-pitched, musical one.
"Mr. Henfrey is waiting," he heard the servant say.
"Right! I hope you told him I was out," The Sparrow replied.
Then there was silence.
Hugh stood there very much puzzled. The room was cosy andwell-furnished, but the light was somewhat dim, while the atmospherewas decidedly murky, as it is in any house in Mayfair. One cannot obtainbrightness and light in a West End house, where one's vista is boundedby bricks and mortar. The dukes in their great town mansions areno better off for light and air than the hard-working and worthywage-earners of Walworth, Deptford, or Peckham. The air in theworking-class districts of London is not one whit worse than it is inMayfair or in Belgravia.
Hugh stood before an old coloured print representing the hobby-horseschool--the days of the "bone-shakers"--and studied it. He awaited IlPassero and the advice which he had promised to give.
His ears were strained. That house was curiously quiet and forbidding.The White Cavalier, whom he had believed to be the notorious Sparrow,had been proved to be one of his assistants. He had now met the real,elusive adventurer, who controlled half the criminal adventurers inEurope, and had found in him a most genial friend. He was there to seekhis advice and to act upon it.
As he reflected, he realized that without the aid of The Sparrow hewould have long ago been in the hands of the police. So widespread wasthe organization which The Sparrow controlled that it mattered not inwhat capital he might be, the paternal hand of protection was placedupon him--in Genoa, in Brussels, in London--anywhere.
It seemed that when The Sparrow protected any criminal the fugitive wassafe. He had been sent to Mrs. Mason in Kensington, and he had left herroom against The Sparrow's will.
Hence his peril of arrest. It was that point which he wished to discusswith the great arch-criminal of Europe.
That house was one of mystery. The servant had told him that he wasexpected. Why? What did The Sparrow suspect?
The whole atmosphere of that old-fashioned place was mysterious andapprehensive. And yet its owner had succeeded in extricating him fromthat very perilous position at Monte Carlo!
Suddenly, as he stood there, he heard voices again. They were raised indiscussion.
One voice he recognized as that of The Sparrow.
"Well, I tell you my view is still the same," he exclaimed. "What youhave told me does not alter it, however much you may ridicule me!"
"Then you know the truth--eh?"
"I really didn't say so, my dear Howell. But I have mysuspicions--strong suspicions."
"Which you will, in due course, impart to young Henfrey, I suppose?"
"I shall do nothing of the sort," was The Sparrow's reply. "The lad isin serious peril. I happen to know that."
"Then why don't you warn him at once?"
"That's my affair!" snapped the gentleman known in Mayfair as Mr.Peters.
"IF Henfrey is here, then I'd like to meet him," Howell said.
It seemed as though the pair wer
e in a room on the opposite side of thepassage, and yet, though Hugh stood at some distance away, he could hearthe words quite distinctly. At this he was much surprised. He did not,however, know that in that house in Ellerston Street there had beenconstructed a curious system of ventilation of the rooms by which aconversation taking place in a distant apartment could be heard incertain other rooms.
The fact was that The Sparrow received a good many queer visitors, andsome of their whispered conversations while they awaited him were oftenfull of interest.
The house was, in more than one way, a curiosity. It had a secret exitthrough a mews at the rear--now converted into a garage--and severalother mysterious contrivances which were unsuspected by visitors.
"It would hardly do for him to know what we know, Mr. Peters--eh?"Hugh heard Howell say a moment later. It was the habit of The Sparrow'saccomplices to address their great director--the brain of criminalEurope--by the name under which they inquired for him. The Sparrow hadtwenty names--one for every city in which he had a cosy _pied-a-terre_.In Paris, Lisbon, Madrid, Marseilles, Vienna, Hamburg, Budapest,Stockholm and on the Riviera, he was, in all the cities, known by adifferent name. Yet each was so distinct, and each individuality so wellkept up, that he snapped his fingers at the police and pitied them theirred tape, ignorance, and lack of initiative.
Truly, Il Passero, the cosmopolitan of many names and half a dozennationalities, had brought criminality to a fine art.
Hugh, standing there breathless, listened to every word. Who was thisman Howell?
"Hush!" cried The Sparrow suddenly. "What a fool I am! I quite forgotto close the ventilator in the room to which the young fellow has beenshown! I hope he hasn't overheard! I had Evans and Janson in there anhour ago, and they were discussing me, as I expected they would! It wasa good job that I took the precaution of opening the ventilator, becauseI learned a good deal that I had never suspected. It has placed me onmy guard. I'll go and get young Henfrey. But," he added, "be extremelycareful. Disclose nothing you know concerning the affair."
"I shall be discreet, never fear," replied his visitor.
A moment later The Sparrow entered the room where Henfrey was, andgreeted him warmly. Then he ushered him down the passage to the roomwherein stood his mysterious visitor.
The room was such a distance away that Hugh was surprised that he couldhave heard so distinctly. But, after all, it was an uncanny experienceto be associated with that man of mystery, whose very name was utteredby his accomplices with bated breath.
"My friend, Mr. George Howell," said The Sparrow, introducing the slim,wiry-looking, middle-aged man, who was alert and clean-shaven, andplainly but well dressed--a man whom the casual acquaintance would taketo be a solicitor of a fair practice. He bore the stamp of suburbia allover him, and his accent was peculiarly that of London.
His bearing was that of high respectability. The diamond scarf-pin washis only ornament--a fine one, which sparkled even in that dull Londonlight. He was a square-shouldered man, with peculiarly shrewd, rathernarrow eyes, and dark, bushy eyebrows.
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Henfrey," he replied, with a gay, rathernonchalant air. "My friend Mr. Peters has been speaking about you. Had arather anxious time, I hear."
Henfrey looked at the stranger inquisitively, and then glanced at TheSparrow.
"Mr. Howell is quite safe," declared the man with the gloved hand. "Heis one of Us. So you may speak without fear."
"Well," replied the young man, "the fact is, I've had a veryapprehensive time. I'm here to seek Mr. Peters' kind advice, for withouthim I'm sure I'd have been arrested and perhaps convicted long ago."
"Oh! A bit of bad luck--eh? Nearly found out, have you been? Ah! All ofus have our narrow escapes. I've had many in my time," and he grinned.
"So have all of us," laughed the bristly-haired man. "But tell me,Henfrey, why have you come to see me so quickly?"
"Because they know where I'm in hiding!"
"They know? Who knows?"
"Miss Ranscomb knows my whereabouts and has written to me in my realname and addressed the letter to Shapley."
"Well, what of that?" he asked. "I told her."
"She tells me that my present hiding-place is known!"
"Not known to the police? _Impossible_!" gasped the black-gloved man.
"I take it that such is a fact."
"Why, Molly is there!" cried the man Howell. "If the police suspect thatHenfrey is at Shapley, then they'll visit the place and have a decidedhaul."
"Why?" asked Hugh in ignorance.
"Nothing. I never discuss other people's private affairs, Mr. Henfrey,"Howell answered very quietly.
Hugh was surprised at the familiar mention of "Molly," and thedeclaration that if the Manor were searched the police would have "adecided haul."
"This is very interesting," declared The Sparrow. "What did MissRanscomb say in her letter?"
For a second Hugh hesitated; then, drawing it from his pocket, he gaveit to the gloved man to read.
Hugh knew that The Sparrow was withholding certain truths from him, yethad he not already proved himself his best and only friend? Brock was agood friend, but unable to assist him.
The Sparrow's strongly marked face changed as he read Dorise's angryletter.
"H'm!" he grunted. "I will see her. We must discover why she has sentyou this warning. Come back again this evening. But be very carefulwhere you go in the meantime."
Thus dismissed, Hugh walked along Ellerston Street into Curzon Streettowards Piccadilly, not knowing where to go to spend the interveninghours.
The instant he had gone, however, The Sparrow turned to his companion,who said:
"I wonder if Lisette has revealed anything?"
"By Jove!" remarked The Sparrow, for once suddenly perturbed. _"I neverthought of that!"_