“But the question I ask is of greatest importance
to me in my own inquiries,” Hugh persisted.
“I am here to discover the identity of Mademoiselle’s
assailant,” Ogier asserted. “And
I will not brook your interference.”
“Mademoiselle has been shot, and it is for you
to discover who fired at her,” snapped the young
Englishman. “I consider that I have just
as much right to put a question to this man as you
have, that is”—he added with sarcasm—“that
is, of course, if you don’t suspect him of shooting
his mistress.”
“Well, I certainly do not suspect that,”
the Frenchman said. “But, to tell you candidly,
your story of the affair strikes me as a very improbable
one.”
“Ah!” laughed Hugh, “I thought so!
You suspect me—eh? Very well.
Where is the weapon?”
“Perhaps you have hidden it,” suggested
the other meaningly. “We shall, no doubt,
find it somewhere.”
“I hope you will, and that will lead to the
arrest of the guilty person,” Hugh laughed.
Then he was about to put further questions to the
man Cataldi when Doctor Leneveu entered the room.
“How is she?” demanded Hugh breathlessly.
The countenance of the fussy little doctor fell.
“Monsieur,” he said in a low earnest voice,
“I much fear that Mademoiselle will not recover.
My colleague Duponteil concurs with that view.
We have done our best, but neither of us entertain
any hope that she will live!” Then turning to
Ogier, the doctor exclaimed: “This is an
amazing affair—especially in face of what
is whispered concerning the unfortunate lady.
What do you make of it?”
The officer of the Surete knit his brows, and with
frankness replied:
“At present I am entirely mystified—entirely
mystified!”
WHAT THE DOSSIER CONTAINED
Walter Brock was awakened at four o’clock that
morning by Hugh touching him upon the shoulder.
He started up in bed and staring at his friend’s
pale, haggard face exclaimed:
“Good Heavens!—why, what’s
the matter?”
“Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo has been shot!”
the other replied in a hard voice.
“Shot!” gasped Brock, startled. “What
do you mean?”
Briefly Hugh who had only just entered the hotel,
explained the curious circumstances—how,
just at the moment she had been about to reveal the
secret of his father’s death she was shot.
“Most extraordinary!” declared his friend.
“Surely, we have not been followed here by someone
who is determined to prevent you from knowing the
truth!”
“It seems much like it, Walter,” replied
the younger man very seriously. “There
must be some strong motive or no person would dare
to shoot her right before my eyes.”
“Agreed. Somebody who is concerned in your
father’s death has adopted this desperate measure
in order to prevent Mademoiselle from telling you
the truth.”
