rtain inquiries regarding my late father that I
called upon Mademoiselle last night."

Giulio Cataldi turned in pretence of rearranging a chair, but in reality
to avert his face from the young man's gaze--a fact which Hugh did not
fail to notice.

Had he really told the truth when he declared that he could not
recollect his father calling?

"How long were you in London with Mademoiselle?" asked Henfrey.

"About six weeks--not longer."

Was it because of some untoward occurrence that the old Italian did not
like London, Hugh wondered.

"And you are quite sure that you do not recollect my father calling upon
your mistress?"

"As I have said, m'sieur, I do not remember. Yet I recall the name, as
it is a rather unusual one."

"And you have never heard of Mr. Benton?"

Cataldi shook his head.

"Well," Hugh went on, "tell me whether you entertain any suspicions
of anyone who might be tempted to kill your mistress. Mademoiselle has
enemies, has she not?"

"Who knows?" exclaimed the man with the grey moustache and small, black
furtive eyes.

"Everyone has enemies of one sort or another," Walter remarked. "And
no doubt Mademoiselle has. It is for us to discover the enemy who shot
her."

"Ah! yes, it is, m'sieur," exclaimed the servant. "The poor Signorina! I
do hope that the police will discover who tried to kill her."

"For aught we know the attempt upon the lady's life may prove successful
after all," said Hugh despairingly. "The doctors hold out no hope of her
recovery."

"None. A third doctor has been in consultation--Doctor Bazin, from
Beaulieu. He only left a quarter of an hour ago. He told me that the
poor Signorina cannot possibly live! Ah! messieurs, how terrible all
this is--_povera Signorina_! She was always so kind and considerate to
us all." And the old man's voice trembled with emotion.

Walter Brock gazed around the luxurious room and at the long open window
through which streamed the bright morning sun, with the perfume of the
flowers outside. What was the mystery concerning Mademoiselle Yvonne?
What foundation had the gossips for those constant whisperings which had
rendered the handsome woman so notorious?

True, the story of the death of Hugh's father was an unusually strange
one, curious in every particular--and stranger still that the secret was
held by this beautiful, but mysterious, woman who lived in such luxury,
and who gambled so recklessly and with invariable good fortune.

As