nveigling him into
the net.

It was only that exchange of glances with the passer-by which had
aroused Hugh's suspicions.

But that significant look caused him to hesitate to accept the
mysterious stranger as his friend.

True, he had accepted as friends numbers of other unknown persons
since that fateful night at Monte Carlo. Yet in this case, he felt, by
intuition, that all was not plain sailing.

"Very well," he said, at last. "I esteem it a very great favour that
you should have interested yourself on behalf of one who is an entire
stranger to you, and I heartily thank you for warning me of my danger.
When I see The Sparrow I shall tell him how cleverly you approached me,
and how perfect were your arrangements for my escape."

"I require no thanks or reward, Mr. Henfrey," replied the man politely.
"My one desire is to get you safely out of Marseilles."

And with that the stranger lifted his hat and left him.

Hugh went about fifty yards farther along the broad, well-lit street
full of life and movement, for the main streets of Marseilles are alive
both day and night.

By some intuition--why, he knew not--he suspected that affable little
man who had posed as his friend. Was it possible that, believing the
notorious Sparrow to be his friend, he had at haphazard invented the
story, and posed as one of The Sparrow's gang?

If so, it was certainly a very clever and ingenious subterfuge.

He was undecided how to act. He did not wish to give offence to his
friend, the king of the underworld, and yet he felt a distinct suspicion
of the man who had so cleverly approached him, and who had openly
declared himself to be a crook.

That strange glance he had exchanged with the passer-by beneath the rays
of the street-lamp had been mysterious and significant. If the passer-by
had been a crook, like himself, the sign of recognition would be one of
salutation. But the expression upon his alleged friend's face was one of
triumph. That made all the difference, and to Hugh, with his observation
quickened as it had been in those months of living with daily dread
of arrest, it had caused him to be seized with strong and distinct
suspicions.

He felt in his hip pocket and found that his revolver, an American
Smith-Wesson, was there. He had a dislike of automatic pistols, as he
had once had a very narrow escape. He had been teaching a girl to shoot
with a revolver, when, believing that she had discharged the whole
magazine,