“What?” cried Henfrey. “Is he guilty of murder—and Mademoiselle knows it?”
“Mademoiselle may not know about it. She is probably in ignorance, or she would not employ him.”
Her remark was of considerable interest, inasmuch as old Cataldi had seemed to be most devoted to his mistress, and entirely trusted by her.
“Do you know the circumstances?” asked Hugh.
“Yes. But it is not our habit to speak of another’s—well, shortcomings,” was her reply.
“Surely, Mademoiselle should have been told the truth! Does not Il Passero know?” he asked.
There flitted across his mind at that moment the recollection of Dorise. What could she think of his disappearance? He longed to write to her, but The Sparrow’s chauffeur had impressed upon him the serious danger he would be running if he wrote to her while she was at Monte Carlo.
“I question whether he does know. But if he does he would say nothing.”
“Ah!” sighed Hugh. “Yours is indeed a queer world, mademoiselle. And not without interest.”
“It is full of adventure and excitement, of ups and downs, of constant travel and change, and of eternal apprehension of arrest,” replied the girl, with a laugh.