“But why do the police still search for him?”
“Because of an unfortunate fact. The lady, Mademoiselle Ferad, is now confined to a private asylum at Cannes, but all the time she raves furiously about Monsieur Henfrey. Hence the French police are convinced that he shot her—and they are determined upon his arrest.”
“But do you think he is guilty?”
“I know he is not. Yet by force of adverse circumstances, he is compelled to conceal himself until such time that we can prove his innocence.”
“Ah! But shall we ever be in a position to prove that?”
“I hope so. We must have patience—and still more patience,” urged the mysterious man as he stood in the full light of the brilliant moon. “I have here a letter for you which Mr. Henfrey wrote a week ago. It only came into my hands yesterday.” And he gave her an envelope.
“Tell me something about this woman, Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo. Who is she?” asked Dorise excitedly.
“Well—she is a person who was notorious at the Rooms, as you yourself know. You have seen her.”
“And tell me, why do you take such an interest in Hugh?” inquired the girl, not without a note of suspicion in her voice.
“For reasons best known to myself, Miss Ranscomb. Reasons which are personal.”