“I left London suddenly. I saw The Sparrow in the evening, and next morning, at eleven o’clock, without even a bag, I left London for Madrid with a very useful passport.”
“You are here because Madrid is safer for you than London, I suppose?” said the girl in broken English.
“That is so. A certain Mr. Howell, a friend of The Sparrow’s suggested that I should come here,” Hugh explained. “Ever since we met in Italy I have been in close hiding until, by some means, my whereabouts became known, and I had to fly.”
The smartly-dressed girl walked slowly at his side and, for some moments, remained silent.
“Ah! So you have met Hamilton Shaw—alias Howell?” she remarked at last in a changed voice. “He certainly is not your friend.”
“Not my friend! Why? I’ve only met him lately.”
“You say that the police knew of your hiding-place,” said mademoiselle, speaking in French, as it was easier for her. “Would you be surprised if Howell had revealed your secret?”
“Howell!” gasped Hugh. “Yes, I certainly would. He is a close friend of The Sparrow!”
“That may be. But that does not prove that he is any friend of yours. If you came here at Howell’s suggestion—then, Mr. Henfrey, I should advise you to leave Madrid at once. I say this because I have a suspicion that he intends both of us to fall into a trap!”
“But why? I don’t understand.”