tedly. "You know it!
You cannot deny that you know it!"

All, however, he could get from her were the words:

"You--Monsieur Henfrey's son! _Surely Il Passero does not know this_!"

ELEVENTH CHAPTER

MORE ABOUT THE SPARROW

A month of weary anxiety and nervous tension had gone by.

Yvonne Ferad had slowly struggled back to health, but the injury to the
brain had, alas! seriously upset the balance of her mind. Three of
the greatest French specialists upon mental diseases had seen her and
expressed little hope of her ever regaining her reason.

It was a sad affair which the police of Monaco had, by dint of much
bribery and the telling of many untruths, successfully kept out of the
newspapers.

The evening after Hugh's disappearance, Monsieur Ogier had called upon
Dorise Ranscomb--her mother happily being away at the Rooms at the time.
In one of the sitting-rooms of the hotel the official of police closely
questioned the girl, but she, of course made pretense of complete
ignorance. Naturally Ogier was annoyed at being unable to obtain the
slightest information, and after being very rude, he told the girl the
charge against her lover and then left the hotel in undisguised anger.

Lady Ranscomb was very much mystified at Hugh's disappearance, though
secretly she was very glad. She questioned Brock, but he, on his part,
expressed himself very much puzzled. A week later, however, Walter
returned to London, and on the following night Lady Ranscomb and her
daughter took the train-de-luxe for Boulogne, and duly arrived home.

As day followed day, Dorise grew more mystified and still more anxious
concerning Hugh. What was the truth? She had written to Brussels three
times, but her letters had elicited no response. He might be already
under arrest, for aught she knew. Besides, she could not rid herself of
the recollection of the white cavalier, that mysterious masker who had
told her of her lover's escape.

In this state of keen anxiety and overstrung nerves she was compelled
to meet almost daily, and be civil to, her mother's friend, the odious
George Sherrard.

Lady Ranscomb was for ever singing the man's praises, and never weary of
expressing her surprise at Hugh's unforgivable behaviour.

"He simply disappeared, and nobody has heard a word of him since!" she
remarked one day as they sat at breakfast. "I'm quite certain he's done
something wrong. I've never liked him, Dorise."

"You don't like him, mother,