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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Surely, Dorise would be most careful not to betray me!" cried the young Englishman. "Well, somebody undoubtedly has." "I presume you are one of Il Passero's friends?" Hugh said with a smile. "Yes. Hence I am your friend," was the reply. "Have you heard of late how Mademoiselle Yvonne is progressing?" The man, who told his visitor his name was Jules Vervoort, shook his head. "She is no better.
His voice was certainly that of the white cavalier which she recollected so well, but his personality, so strongly marked, was a little overbearing. "I know you mistrust me," he went on. "If I were in your place I certainly should do so. A thousand pities it is that I cannot tell you who I am. But well I tell you in confidence that I dare not!" "Dare not! Of what are you afraid?" inquired Dorise.
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."
My instructions are to see you, and to convey any message you may wish to send to Mr. Henfrey to him direct in Malines." "I'm sure it's awfully good of you," Dorise replied. "Does he know you are here?" "Yes. But I have not met him. I am simply a messenger. In fact, I travel far and wide for those who employ me." "And who are they?"
Late on Thursday night Dorise and her mother were driving home from Lady Strathbayne's, in Grosvenor Square, where they had been dining. It was a bright starlight night, and the myriad lamps of the London traffic flashed past the windows as Dorise sat back in silence. She was tired. The dinner had been followed by a small dance, and she had greatly enjoyed it.
"Is he, dear old chap? I only wish I dared write to him, and give him my address." "I told him that you were back in London. But I did not give him your address. You told me to disclose nothing." "Quite right, Dorise," he said. "If, as I hope one day to do, I can ever clear myself and combat my secret enemies, then there will be revealed to you a state of things of which you little dream.
As for Hugh, he is now happily married to Dorise, and as the Probate Court has decided that Woodthorpe and the substantial income are his, he is enjoying all his father's wealth. Yvonne Ferad is still Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo. She still lives on the hill in the picturesque Villa Amette, and is still known to the habitues of the Rooms as Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo.
On that same morning, Dorise Ranscomb had, after breakfast, settled herself to write some letters. Her mother had gone to Warwickshire for the week-end, and she was alone with the maids. The whole matter concerning Hugh puzzled her. She could not bring herself to a decision as to his innocence or his guilt. As she sat writing in the morning-room, the maid announced that Mr.
"I do wish you would tell me the motive of your extreme kindness towards us both," Dorise urged. "I can't make it out at all. I am bewildered." "Well so am I, Miss Ranscomb," replied the tall, elegant man who spoke with such refinement, and was so shrewd and alert. "There are certain facts facts of which I have no knowledge. The affair at the Villa Amette is still, to me, a most profound mystery."
"But I don't know where Hugh can be. I've just been up to his room, but his fancy dress is there, flung down as though he had suddenly discarded it and gone out. Nobody noticed him leave. The page at the door is certain that he did not go out. So he must have left by the staff entrance." "That's very curious, isn't it?" Dorise remarked. "Very. I can't understand it."
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