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Updated: May 25, 2025
"Yes, it does," admitted Dorise, and a few moments later she rang off. That evening Il Passero's chic messenger crossed from Dover to Ostend, and next morning she called at Madame Maupoil's, in Malines, where she delivered Dorise's note into Hugh's own hand. She was an expert and hardened traveller.
Her surmise was, as a matter of fact, the correct one. Ogier had employed the head chambermaid to give him the contents of Dorise's waste-paper basket from time to time, hence the knowledge he had gained. "Are you actually going to Malines?" asked Dorise of the girl. "Yes. As your messenger," the other replied with a smile. "I am leaving to-night.
"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.
Shrimpton," she said coldly. "But your lover has deceived you. He was staying down in Surrey with the girl, Miss Lambert, as his fellow-guest." "I know that," was Dorise's reply. "But I have since come to the conclusion that my surmise my jealousy if you like to call it so is unfounded." "Ah! then you refuse to assist justice?" "No, I do not.
Sherrard, however, little dreamed how great was Dorise's love for Hugh, and how deeply she regretted having written that hasty letter to Shapley. Yet one of Hugh's friends had met him in Madrid in company with what was described as a pretty young French girl! What was the secret of it all? Was Hugh really guilty of the attempt upon the notorious Mademoiselle?
Sherrard saw that Dorise's attitude was one of hostility, but with his superior overbearing manner he pretended not to notice it. "You were not at Lady Oundle's the night before last," he remarked, for want of something better to say. "I went there specially to meet you, Dorise." "I hate Lady Oundle's dances," was the girl's reply. "Such a lot of fearful old fogies go there."
Since that memorable night in Monte Carlo he had been living in frowsy surroundings, concealed in thieves' hiding-places, eating coarse food, and hearing the slang of the underworld of Europe. It had been exciting, yet he had been drawn into it against his will just because he had feared for Dorise's sake, to face the music after that mysterious shot had been fired at the Villa Amette. Mrs.
Yet, after all, as he again met Dorise's calm, wide-open eyes, the grim truth arose in his mind, as it ever did, that Lady Ranscomb, even though she had been so kind to him, would never allow her only daughter to marry a man who was not rich.
Mother and daughter greeted the two men enthusiastically, and at Lady Ranscomb's orders the waiter brought them small glasses of an aperitif. "We've been all day motoring up to the Col di Tenda. Sospel is lovely!" declared Dorise's mother. "Have you ever been there?" she asked of Brock, who was an habitue of the Riviera. "Once and only once. I motored from Nice across to Turin," was his reply.
The Sparrow's strongly marked face changed as he read Dorise's angry letter. "H'm!" he grunted. "I will see her. We must discover why she has sent you this warning. Come back again this evening. But be very careful where you go in the meantime." Thus dismissed, Hugh walked along Ellerston Street into Curzon Street towards Piccadilly, not knowing where to go to spend the intervening hours.
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