Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo Part 18

The sun was rising from the sea when Dorise entered her bedroom at the hotel. Her maid had retired, so she undressed herself, and putting on a dressing-gown, she pulled up the blinds and sat down to write a letter to Hugh.

She could not sleep before she had sent him a rea.s.suring message.

In the frenzy of her despair she wrote one letter and addressed it, but having done so she changed her mind. It was not sufficiently rea.s.suring, she decided. It contained an element of doubt. Therefore she tore it up and wrote a second one which she locked safely in her jewel case, and then pulled the blinds and retired.

It was nearly noon next day before she left her room, yet almost as soon as she had descended in the lift the head _femme de chambre_, a stout Frenchwoman in a frilled cap, entered the room, and walking straight to the waste-paper basket gathered up the contents into her ap.r.o.n and went back along the corridor with an expression of satisfaction upon her full round face.

NINTH CHAPTER

CONCERNS THE SPARROW

With the rosy dawn rising behind them the big dusty car tore along over the white road which led through Pegli and Cornigliano, with their wealth of olives and palms, into the industrial suburbs of old-world Genoa. Then, pa.s.sing around by the port, the driver turned the car up past Palazzo Doria and along that street of fifteenth-century palaces, the Via Garibaldi, into the little piazza in front of the Annunziata Church.

There he pulled up after a run of two hours from the last of the many railway crossings, most of which they had found closed.

When Hugh got out, the mysterious man, whose face was more forbidding in the light of day, exclaimed:

"Here I must leave you very shortly, signore. But first I have certain instructions to give you, namely, that you remain for the present in a house in the Via della Maddalena to which I shall take you. The man and the woman there you can trust. It will be as well not to walk about in the daytime. Remain here for a fortnight, and then by the best means, without, of course, re-entering France, you must get to Brussels. There you will receive letters at the Poste Restante in the name of G.o.dfrey Brown. That, indeed, is the name you will use here."

"Well, all this is very strange!" remarked Hugh, utterly bewildered as he glanced at the forbidding-looking chauffeur and the dust-covered car.

"I agree, signore," the man laughed. "But get in again and I will drive to the Via della Maddalena."

Five minutes later the car pulled up at the end of a narrow stuffy ancient street of high houses with closed wooden shutters. From house to house across the road household linen was flying in the wind, for the neighbourhood was certainly a poverty-stricken one.

The place did not appeal to Hugh in the least. He, however, recollected that he was about to hide from the police. Italians are early risers, and though it was only just after dawn, Genoa was already agog with life and movement.

Leaving the car, the mysterious chauffeur conduced the young Englishman along the street, where women were calling to each other from the windows of their apartments and exchanging salutations, until they came to an entrance over which there was an old blue majolica Madonna. The house had no outer door, but at the end of the pa.s.sage was a flight of stone steps leading up to the five storeys above.

At the third flight Hugh's conductor paused, and finding a piece of cord protruding from a hole in a door, pulled it. A slight tinkle was heard within, and a few moments later the sound of wooden shoes was heard upon the tiles inside.

The door opened, revealing an ugly old woman whose face was sallow and wrinkled, and who wore a red kerchief tied over her white hair.

As soon as she saw the chauffeur she welcomed him, addressing him as Paolo, and invited them in.

"This is the English signore," explained the man. "He has come to stay with you."

"The signore is welcome," replied the old woman as she clattered into the narrow, cheaply furnished little sitting-room, which was in half darkness owing to the _persiennes_ being closed.

Truly, it was an uninviting place, which smelt of garlic and of the paraffin oil with which the tiled floors had been rubbed.

"You will require another certificate of ident.i.ty, signore," said the man, who admitted that he had been engaged in smuggling contraband across the Alps. And delving into his pocket he produced an American pa.s.sport. It was blank, though the embossed stamp of the United States Government was upon it. The places were ready for the photograph and signature. With it the man handed him a large metal disc, saying:

"When you have your picture taken and affixed to it, all you have to do is to damp the paper slightly and impress this stamp. It will then defy detection."

"Where on earth did you get this from?" asked Hugh, noticing that it was a replica of the United States consular seal.

The man smiled, replying:

"They make pa.s.sports of all countries in Spain. You pay for them, and you can get them by the dozen. The embossing stamps are extra. There is a big trade in them now owing to the pa.s.sport restrictions. Besides, in every country there are pa.s.sport officers who are amenable to a little baksheesh!" And he grinned.

What he said was true. At no period has it ever been more easy for a criminal to escape than it is to-day, providing, of course, that he is a cosmopolitan and has money.

Hugh took the pa.s.sport and the disc, adding:

"How am I to repay you for all this?"

"I want no payment, signore. All I ask you is to conform to the suggestions of the worthy Signore Ravecca and his good wife here. You are not the first guest they have had for whom the police searched in vain."

"No," laughed the old woman. "Do you recollect the syndic of Porticello, how we had him here for nearly three years, and then he got safely away to Argentina and took the money, three million lire, with him?"

"Yes," was the man's reply. "I recollect it, signora. But the Signore Inglese must be very careful--very careful. He must never go out in the daytime. You can buy him English papers and books of Luccoli, in the Via Bosco. They will serve to while away the time."

"I shall, no doubt, pa.s.s the time very pleasantly," laughed Hugh, speaking in French.

Then the old crone left them and returned with two cups of excellent _cafe nero_, that coffee which, roasted at home one can get only in Italy.

It was indeed refreshing after that long night drive.

Hugh stood there without luggage, and with only about thirty pounds in his pocket.

Suddenly the man who had driven him looked him curiously in the face, and said:

"Ah! I know you are wondering what your lady friend in Monte Carlo will think. Well, I can tell you this. She already knows that you have escaped, and she had been told to write to you in secret at the Poste Restante at Brussels."

Hugh started.

"Who has told her? Surely she knows nothing of the affair at the Villa Amette?"

"She will not be told that. But she has been told that you are going to Brussels, and that in future your name is Monsieur G.o.dfrey Brown."

"But why have all these elaborate arrangements been made for my security?" Hugh demanded, more than ever nonplussed.

"It is useless to take one precaution unless the whole are taken,"

laughed the sphinx-like fellow whose cheerful banter had so successfully pa.s.sed them through the customs barrier.

Then, swallowing his coffee, he wished Hugh, "buon viaggio" and was about to depart, when Hugh said:

"Look here. Is it quite impossible for you to give me any inkling concerning this astounding affair? I know that some unknown friend, or friends, are looking after my welfare. But why? To whom am I indebted for all this? Who has warned Miss Rans...o...b..and told her of my alias and my journey to Brussels?"

"A friend of hers and of yourself," was the chauffeur's reply. "No, please do not question me, signore," he added. "I have done my best for you. And now my journey is at an end, while yours is only beginning.

Pardon me--but you have money with you, I suppose? If you have not, these good people here will trust you."

"But what is this house?"

The man laughed. Then he said: