“Happened!” she echoed in French. “Why, very nearly a disaster! Someone has given us away—at least, Monsieur Henfrey was given away to the police!”
“Not arrested?” he asked breathlessly.
“No. We all three managed to get away—but only just in time! I had a wire to-night from Monsieur Tresham, telling me guardedly that within an hour or so after we left Madrid the police called at my hotel—and at Henfrey’s.”
“Who can have done that?” asked The Sparrow, his eyes narrowing in anger, his gloved hand clenched.
“Your enemy—and mine!” was the girl’s reply. “Franklyn is in Switzerland. Monsieur Henfrey is in Marseilles—at the Louvre et Paix—and I am here.”
“Then we have a secret enemy—eh?”
“Yes—and he is not very far to seek. Monsieur Howell has done this!”
“Howell! He would never do such a thing, my dear mademoiselle,” replied the gloved man, smiling.
“Oh! wouldn’t he? I would not trust either Benton or Howell!”
“I think you are mistaken, mademoiselle. They have never shown much friendship towards each other.”