The bristly-haired little man of twenty names and
as many individualities pondered for a moment.
It was evident that he was both apprehensive and amazed
at the suggestion the pretty young French girl had
placed before him.
When one finds a betrayer, then in order to fix his
guilt it becomes necessary to discover the motive.
The Sparrow was in a quandary. Seldom was he
in such a perturbed state of mind. He and his
accomplices could always defy the police. It was
not the first time in his career, however, that he
had found a traitor in his camp. If Howell was
really a traitor, then he would pay dearly for it.
Three times within the last ten years there had been
traitors in the great criminal organization.
One was a Dutchman; the second was a Greek; and the
third a Swiss. Each died—for dead men
tell no tales.
The Sparrow ordered some cafe noir from his
housekeeper and produced a particularly seductive
brand of liqueur, which mademoiselle took—together
with a cigarette.
Then she left, he giving her the parting injunction:
“It is probable that you will go to Marseilles
and meet young Henfrey. I will think it all over.
You will have a note from me at the Grand Hotel before
noon to-morrow.”
THE INQUISITIVE MR. SHRIMPTON
An hour later Hugh stood in The Sparrow’s room,
and related his exciting adventure in Marseilles and
on the high road.
“H’m!” remarked the man with the
gloved hand. “A very pretty piece of business.
The police endeavoured to mislead you, and you, by
a very fortunate circumstance, suspected. That
cigarette, my dear young friend, stood you in very
good stead. It was fortunate that I gave it to
you.”
“By this time the driver of the car has, of
course, recovered and told his story,” Hugh
remarked.
“And by this time the police probably know that
you have come to Paris,” remarked The Sparrow.
“Now, Mr. Henfrey, only an hour ago I learnt
something which has altered my plans entirely.
There is a traitor somewhere—somebody has
given you away.”
“At present I have not decided. But we
must all be wary and watchful,” was The Sparrow’s
reply. “In any case, it is a happy circumstance
that you saw through the ruse of the police to get
you to Cette. First the Madrid police were put
upon your track, and then, as you eluded them, the
Marseilles police were given timely information—a
clever trap,” he laughed. “I admire
it. But at Marseilles they are even more shrewd
than in Paris. Maillot, the chef de la Surete
at Marseilles, is a really capable official.
I know him well. A year ago he dined with me at
the Palais de la Bouillabaisse. I pretended that
I had been the victim of a great theft, and he accepted
my invitation. He little dreamed that I was Il
Passero, for whom he had been spreading the net for
years!”
