we know as The Sparrow."

"I do not know where he is," replied the girl with truth.

"But you know The Sparrow," said the detective. "You admitted that you
had met him when I last called here."

"I have met him," she replied.

"Where does he live?"

She smiled, recollecting that even though she had quarrelled with Hugh,
the strange old fellow had been his best friend. She remembered how the
White Cavalier had been sent by him with messages to reassure her.

"I refuse to give away the secrets of my friends," she responded a
trifle haughtily.

"Then you prefer to shield the master criminal of Europe?"

"I have no knowledge that The Sparrow is a criminal."

"Ask the police of any city in Europe. They will tell you that they have
for years been endeavouring to capture Il Passero. Yet so cleverly is
his gang organized that never once has he been betrayed. All his friends
are so loyal to him."

"Yet you want me to betray him!"

"You are not a member of the gang of criminals, Miss Ranscomb," replied
Shrimpton.

"Whether I am or not, I refuse to say a word concerning anyone who has
been of service to me," was her stubborn reply. And with that the man
from the Criminal Investigation Department had to be content.

Even then, Dorise was not quite certain whether she had misjudged the
man who loved her so well, but who was beneath a cloud. She had acted
hastily in writing that letter, she felt. Yet she had successfully
warned him of his peril, and he had been able to extricate himself from
the net spread for him.

It was evident that The Sparrow, who was her friend and Hugh's, was a
most elusive person.

She recollected the White Cavalier at the ball at Nice, and how she had
never suspected him to be the deputy of the King of the Underworld--the
man whose one hand was gloved.

Within half an hour of the departure of her visitor from Scotland Yard,
the maid announced Mr. Sherrard.

Dorise, with a frown, arose from her chair, and a few seconds later
faced the man who was her mother's intimate friend, and who daily forced
his unwelcome attentions upon her.

"Your mother told me you would be alone, Dorise," he said in his forced
manner of affected elegance. "So I just dropped in. I hope I'm not
worrying you."

"Oh! not at all," replied the girl, sealing a letter which she had just
written. "Mother has gone to Warwickshire, and I'm going out to lunch
with May Petheridge, an old schoolfellow of mine."

"Oh! The