an along a corridor richly
carpeted in red to a door on the opposite side of the house, which the
servant threw open and announced the visitor.

Mademoiselle had risen to receive him. Her countenance was, Hugh saw,
blanched almost to the lips. Her black dress caused her pallor to be
more apparent.

"Well, sir? Pray what do you mean by resorting to this ruse in order to
see me? Who are you?" she demanded.

Hugh was silent for a moment. Then in a hard voice he said:

"I am the son of the dead man whose card is in your hands, Mademoiselle!
And I am here to ask you a few questions!"

The handsome woman smiled sarcastically and shrugged her half-bare
shoulders, her fingers trembling with her jade beads.

"Oh! Your father is dead--is he?" she asked with an air of indifference.

"Yes. _He is dead_," Hugh said meaningly, as he glanced around the
luxurious little room with its soft rose-shaded lights and pale-blue
and gold decorations. On her right as she stood were long French windows
which opened on to a balcony. One of the windows stood ajar, and it was
apparent that when he had called she had been seated in the long wicker
chair outside enjoying the balmy moonlight after the stifling atmosphere
of the Rooms.

"And, Mademoiselle," he went on, "I happen to be aware that you knew
my father, and--that you are cognizant of certain facts concerning his
mysterious end."

"I!" she cried, raising her voice in sudden indignation. "What on earth
do you mean?" She spoke in perfect English, though he had hitherto
spoken in French.

"I mean, Mademoiselle, that I intend to know the truth," said Hugh,
fixing his eyes determinedly upon hers. "I am here to learn it from your
lips."

"You must be mad!" cried the woman. "I know nothing of the affair. You
are mistaken!"

"Do you, then, deny that you have ever met a man named Charles Benton?"
demanded the young fellow, raising his voice. "Perhaps, however, that is
a bitter memory, Mademoiselle--eh?"

The strikingly handsome woman pursed her lips. There was a strange look
in her eyes. For several moments she did not speak. It was clear that
the sudden appearance of the dead man's son had utterly unnerved her.
What could he know concerning Charles Benton? How much of the affair did
he suspect?

"I have met many people, Mr.--er--Mr. Henfrey," she replied quietly at
last. "I may have met somebody named Benton."

"Ah! I see," the young man said. "It is a memory that you do not wish