The situation was indeed humorous. It was The Sparrow’s fancy to hold the reunion at a public restaurant instead of at a private house. Under the very nose of Scotland Yard the deputy of the notorious Sparrow entertained the chiefs of the great criminal octopus. There were speeches, but from them the waiters learned nothing. It was simply a club of conjurers. None suspected that the guests were those who conjured fortunes out of the pockets of the unsuspecting. And while the chairman—believed by those who attended to be The Sparrow himself—sat there, the bristly-haired, rather insignificant-looking little man occupied a seat in a far-off corner, from where he scrutinized his guests very closely, and smiled at the excellent manner in which his deputy performed the duties of chairman.
Because it was a club of conjurers, and because the conjurers displayed their new tricks and illusions, after an excellent dinner the waiters were excluded and the doors locked after the coffee.
It was then that the bogus Sparrow addressed those present, and gave certain instructions which were later on carried into every corner of Europe. Each member had his speciality, and each group its district and its sanctuary, in case of a hue-and-cry. Every crime that could be committed was committed by them—everything save murder.
The tall, thin man whom everyone believed to be The Sparrow never failed to impress upon his hearers, after the doors were carefully locked, that however they might attack and rob the rich, human life was sacred.
It was the real Sparrow’s order. He abominated the thought of taking human life, hence when old Mr. Henfrey had been foully done to death in the West End he had at once set to work to discover the actual criminal. This he had failed to do. And afterwards there had followed the attempted assassination of Yvonne Ferad, known as Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo.
The two men stood discussing the young French girl, Lisette, whom Hugh had met when in hiding in the Via della Maddalena in Genoa.
“I only hope; that she has not told young Henfrey anything,” Howell said, with distinct apprehension.
“No,” laughed The Sparrow. “She came to me and told me how she had met him in Genoa and discovered to her amazement that he was old Henfrey’s son.”
“How curious that the pair should meet by accident,” remarked Howell. “I tell you that Benton is not playing a straight game. That iniquitous will which the old man left he surely must have signed under some misapprehension. Perhaps he thought he was applying for a life policy—or something of that short. Signatures to wills have been procured under many pretexts by scoundrelly relatives and unscrupulous lawyers.”
“I know. And the witnesses have placed their signatures afterward,” remarked The Sparrow thoughtfully. “But in this case all seems above board—at least so far as the will is concerned. Benton was old Henfrey’s bosom friend. Henfrey was very taken with Louise, and I know that he was desirous Hugh should marry her.”