Vervoort said. "Who
is it?"

"I don't know. I only received word of it the day before yesterday. A
messenger from London, I believe."

"Well, each day I become more and more mystified," Hugh declared. "Why
Il Passero, whom I do not know, should take all this interest in me, I
cannot imagine."

"Il Passero very often assists those against whom a false charge is
laid," the woman remarked. "There is no better friend when one is in
trouble, for so clever and ubiquitous is he, and so many friends in high
quarters does he possess, that he can usually work his will. His is the
master-mind, and we obey without question."

TWELFTH CHAPTER

THE STRANGER IN BOND STREET

As Dorise walked up Bond Street, smartly dressed, next afternoon, on her
way to her dressmaker's, she was followed by a well-dressed young girl
in black, dark-eyed, with well-cut, refined features, and apparently a
lady.

From Piccadilly the stranger had followed Dorise unseen, until at the
corner of Maddox Street she overtook her, and smiling, uttered her name.

"Yes," responded Doris in surprise. "But I regret--you have the
advantage of me?"

"Probably," replied the stranger. "Do you recollect the _bal blanc_ at
Nice and a certain white cavalier? I have a message from him to give you
in secret."

"Why in secret?" Dorise asked rather defiantly.

"Well--for certain reasons which I think you can guess," answered the
girl in black, as she strolled at Dorise's side.

"Why did not you call on me at home?"

"Because of your mother. She would probably have been a little
inquisitive. Let us go into some place--a tea-room--where we can talk,"
she suggested. "I have come to see you concerning Mr. Henfrey."

"Where is he?" asked Dorise, in an instant anxious.

"Quite safe. He arrived in Malines yesterday--and is with friends."

"Has he had my letters?"

"Unfortunately, no. But do not let us talk here. Let's go in yonder,"
and she indicated the Laurel Tea Rooms, which, the hour being early,
they found, to their satisfaction, practically deserted.

At a table in the far corner they resumed their conversation.

"Why has he not received my letters?" asked Dorise. "It is nearly a
month ago since I first wrote."

"By some mysterious means the police got to know of your friend's
intended visit to Brussels to obtain his letters. Therefore, it was too
dangerous for him to go to the Poste Restante, or even to send anyone
there. The Brussels police wer