me on that night
at the Villa Amette, when you opened the door to me."

"I do, signore. I recollect everything. It is all photographed upon my
memory. Poor Mademoiselle! You questioned her--as a gentleman
would--and you demanded to know about your father's death. She
prevaricated--and----"

"Then you overheard it?" said Hugh.

"Yes, I listened. Was I not Mademoiselle's servant? On that night she
had won quite a large sum at the Rooms, and she had given me--ah! she
was always most generous--five hundred francs--twenty pounds in your
English money. And they were acceptable in these days of high prices.
I heard much. I was interested. Mademoiselle was my mistress whom I had
served faithfully."

"You wondered why this young Englishman should call upon her at that
hour?" said The Sparrow.

"I did. She never received visitors after her five o'clock tea. It was
the habit at the Villa Amette to lunch at one o'clock, English tea at
five o'clock, and dinner at eight--when the Rooms were slack save for
the tourists from seven till ten. Strange! The tourists always think
they can win while the gambling world has gone to its meals! They get
seats, it is true, but they always lose."

"Yes," replied The Sparrow. "It is a strange fact that the greatest
losses are sustained by the players when the Rooms are most empty.
Nobody has yet ever been able to account for it."

"And yet it is so," declared old Cataldi. "I have watched it day by day.
But poor Mademoiselle! What can we do to solve the mystery?"

"Were you not with Mademoiselle and Mr. Benton when you both brought off
that great coup in the Avenue Louise, in Brussels?" asked The Sparrow.

"Yes, signore," said the old man. "But I do not wish to speak of it
now."

"Quite naturally. I quite appreciate it. Since
Mademoiselle's--er--accident you have, I suppose, been leading an honest
life?"

"Yes. I have tried to do so. At present I am a cafe waiter."

"And you can tell me nothing further regarding the affair at the Villa
Amette?" asked The Sparrow, eyeing him narrowly.

"I regret, signore, I can tell you nothing further," replied the staid,
rather sad-looking old man; "nothing." And he sighed.

"Why?" asked the man whose tentacles were, like an octopus, upon a
hundred schemes, and as many criminal coups in Europe. He sought a
solution of the problem, but nothing appeared forthcoming.

He had strained every effort, but he could ascertain nothing.

That Cataldi kne