Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo | Page 9

the woman of mystery had taken.
A walk of ten minutes brought him to the iron gates of a great white
villa, over the high walls of which climbing roses and geraniums and
jasmine ran riot. The night air was heavy with their perfume. He
opened the side gate and walked up the gravelled drive to the terrace
whereon stood the house, commanding a wonderful view of the
moon-lit Mediterranean and the far-off mountains of Italy.
His ring at the door was answered by a staid elderly Italian manservant.
"I believe Mademoiselle is at home," Hugh said in French. "I desire to
see her, and also to apologize for the lateness of the hour. My visit is

one of urgency."
"Mademoiselle sees nobody except by appointment," was the man's
polite but firm reply.
"I think she will see me if you give her this card," answered Hugh in a
strained, unusual voice.
The man took it hesitatingly, glanced at it, placed it upon a silver salver,
and, leaving the visitor standing on the mat, passed through the glass
swing-doors into the house.
For some moments the servant did not reappear.
Hugh, standing there, entertained just a faint suspicion that he heard a
woman's shrill exclamation of surprise. And that sound emboldened
him.
At last, after an age it seemed, the man returned, saying:
"Mademoiselle will see you, Monsieur. Please come this way."
He left his hat and stick and followed the man along a corridor richly
carpeted in red to a door on the opposite side of the house, which the
servant threw open and announced the visitor.
Mademoiselle had risen to receive him. Her countenance was, Hugh
saw, blanched almost to the lips. Her black dress caused her pallor to be
more apparent.
"Well, sir? Pray what do you mean by resorting to this ruse in order to
see me? Who are you?" she demanded.
Hugh was silent for a moment. Then in a hard voice he said:
"I am the son of the dead man whose card is in your hands,
Mademoiselle! And I am here to ask you a few questions!"
The handsome woman smiled sarcastically and shrugged her half-bare

shoulders, her fingers trembling with her jade beads.
"Oh! Your father is dead--is he?" she asked with an air of indifference.
"Yes. /He is dead/," Hugh said meaningly, as he glanced around the
luxurious little room with its soft rose-shaded lights and pale-blue and
gold decorations. On her right as she stood were long French windows
which opened on to a balcony. One of the windows stood ajar, and it
was apparent that when he had called she had been seated in the long
wicker chair outside enjoying the balmy moonlight after the stifling
atmosphere of the Rooms.
"And, Mademoiselle," he went on, "I happen to be aware that you knew
my father, and--that you are cognizant of certain facts concerning his
mysterious end."
"I!" she cried, raising her voice in sudden indignation. "What on earth
do you mean?" She spoke in perfect English, though he had hitherto
spoken in French.
"I mean, Mademoiselle, that I intend to know the truth," said Hugh,
fixing his eyes determinedly upon hers. "I am here to learn it from your
lips."
"You must be mad!" cried the woman. "I know nothing of the affair.
You are mistaken!"
"Do you, then, deny that you have ever met a man named Charles
Benton?" demanded the young fellow, raising his voice. "Perhaps,
however, that is a bitter memory, Mademoiselle--eh?"
The strikingly handsome woman pursed her lips. There was a strange
look in her eyes. For several moments she did not speak. It was clear
that the sudden appearance of the dead man's son had utterly unnerved
her. What could he know concerning Charles Benton? How much of
the affair did he suspect?
"I have met many people, Mr.--er--Mr. Henfrey," she replied quietly at

last. "I may have met somebody named Benton."
"Ah! I see," the young man said. "It is a memory that you do not wish
to recall any more than that of my dead father."
"Your father was a good man. Benton was not."
"Ah! Then you admit knowing both of them, Mademoiselle," cried
Hugh quickly.
"Yes. I--well--I may as well admit it! Why, indeed, should I seek to
hide the truth--/from you/," she said in a changed voice. "Pardon me. I
was very upset at receiving the card. Pardon me--will you not?"
"I will not, unless you tell me the truth concerning my father's death
and his iniquitous will left concerning myself. I am here to ascertain
that, Mademoiselle," he said in a hard voice.
"And if I tell you--what then?" she asked with knit brows.
"If you tell me, then I am prepared to promise you on oath secrecy
concerning yourself--provided you