NINETEENTH CHAPTER
THE SPARROW
Hugh Henfrey was at last face to face with the most notorious criminalin Europe!
The black-gloved hand of the wizened, bristly-haired old man was thehand that controlled a great organization spread all over Europe--anorganization which only knew Il Passero by repute, but had never seenhim in the flesh.
Yet there he was, a discreet, rather petulant old gentleman, who livedat ease in an exclusive West End street, and was entirely unsuspected!
When "Mr. Peters" admitted his identity, Hugh drew a long breath. Hewas staggered. He was profuse in his thanks, but "The Sparrow" merelysmiled, saying:
"It is true that I and certain of my friends make war upon Society--andmore especially upon those who have profiteered upon those brave fellowswho laid down their lives for us in the war. Whatever you have heardconcerning me I hope you will forgive, Mr. Henfrey. At least I am thefriend of those who are in distress, or who are wrongly judged--as youare to-day."
"I have heard many strange things concerning you from those who havenever met you," Hugh said frankly. "But nothing to your detriment.Everyone speaks of you, sir, as a gallant sportsman, possessed of analmost uncanny cleverness in outwitting the authorities."
"Oh, well!" laughed the shrewd old man. "By the exercise of a littlewit, and the possession of a little knowledge of the _personnel_ of thepolice, one can usually outwit them. Curious as you may think it, a veryhigh official at Scotland Yard dined with me here only last night. As Iam known as a student of criminology, and reputed to be the author ofa book upon that subject, he discussed with me the latest crime problemwith which he had been called upon to deal--the mysterious murder of ayoung girl upon the beach on the north-east coast. His frankness ratheramused me. It was, indeed, a quaint situation," he laughed.
"But does he not recognize you, or suspect?" asked Hugh.
"Why should he? I have never been through the hands of the police in mylife. Hence I have never been photographed, nor have my finger printsbeen taken. I merely organize--that is all."
"Your organization is most wonderful, Mr.--er--Mr. Peters," declared theyoung man. "Since my flight I have had opportunity of learning somethingconcerning it. And frankly, I am utterly astounded."
The old man's face again relaxed into a sphinx-like smile.
"When I order, I am obeyed," he said in a curious tone. "I ordered yourrescue from that ugly situation in Monte Carlo. You and Miss Ranscomb nodoubt believed the tall man who went to the ball at Nice as a cavalierto be myself. He did not tell you anything to the contrary, because Ionly reveal my identity to persons whom I can trust, and then only incases of extreme necessity."
"Then I take it, sir, that you trust me, and that my case is one ofextreme necessity?"
"It is," was The Sparrow's reply. "At present I can see no solution ofthe problem. It will be best, perhaps, for you to remain where youare for the present," he added. He did not tell the young man of hisknowledge of Benton and his hostess.
"But I am very desirous of seeing Miss Ranscomb," Hugh said. "Is thereany way possible by which I can meet her without running too great arisk?"
The Sparrow reflected in silence for some moments.
"To-day is Wednesday," he remarked slowly at last. "Miss Ranscomb is inLondon. That I happen to know. Well, go to the Bush Hotel, in Farnham,on Friday afternoon and have tea. She will probably motor there and taketea with you."
"Will she?" cried Hugh eagerly. "Will you arrange it? You are, indeed, agood Samaritan!"
The little old man smiled.
"I quite understand that this enforced parting under such circumstancesis most unfortunate for you both," he said. "But I have done, and willcontinue to do, all I can in your interest."
"I can't quite make you out, Mr. Peters," said the young man. "Whyshould you evince such a paternal interest in me?"
The Sparrow did not at once reply. A strange expression played about hislips.
"Have I not already answered that question twice?" he asked. "Restassured, Mr. Henfrey, that I have your interests very much at heart."
"You have some reason for that, I'm sure."
"Well--yes, I have a reason--a reason which is my own affair." And herose to wish his visitor "good-night."
"I'll not forget to let Miss Ranscomb know that you will be at Farnham.She will, no doubt, manage to get her mother's car for the afternoon,"he said. "Good-night!" and with his gloved fingers he took the youngman's outstretched hand.
The instant he heard the front door close he crossed to the telephone,and asking for a number, told the person who answered it to come roundand see him without a moment's delay.
Thus, while Hugh Henfrey was seated beside Mead as Mrs. Bond's car wentswiftly towards Kensington, a thin, rather wiry-looking man of middleage entered The Sparrow's room.
The latter sprang to his feet quickly at sight of his visitor.
"Ah! Howell! I'm glad you've come. Benton and Molly Maxwell aredeceiving us. They mean mischief!"
The man he addressed as Howell looked aghast.
"Mischief?" he echoed. "In what way?"
"I've not yet arrived at a full conclusion. But we must be on the alertand ready to act whenever the time is ripe. You know what they did overthat little affair in Marseilles not so very long ago? They'll repeat,if we're not very careful. That girl of Benton's they are using as adecoy--and she's a dangerous one."
"For whom?"
"For old Henfrey's son."
The Sparrow's visitor gave vent to a low whistle.
"They intend to get old Henfrey's money?"
"Yes--and they will if we are not very wary," declared the little,bristly-haired old gentleman known as The Sparrow. "The boy has beenentirely entrapped. They made one _faux pas_, and it is upon thatwe may--if we are careful--get the better of them. I don't like thesituation at all. They have a distinctly evil design against the boy."
"Benton and Molly are a combination pretty hard to beat," remarked Mr.Howell. "But I thought they were friends of ours."
"True. They were. But after the little affair in Marseilles I don'ttrust them," replied The Sparrow. "When anyone makes a slip, eitherby design or sheer carelessness, or perhaps by reason of inordinateavarice, then I always have to safeguard myself. I suspect--and mysuspicion usually proves correct."
His midnight visitor drew a long breath.
"What we all say of you is that The Sparrow is gifted with an extrasense," he said.
The little old man with the gloved hand smiled contentedly.
"I really don't know why," he said. "But I scent danger long beforeothers have any suspicion of it. If I did not, you would, many of youwho are my friends, have been in prison long ago."
"But you have such a marvellous memory."
"Memory!" he echoed. "Quite wrong. I keep everything filed. I workyonder at my desk all day. See this old wardrobe," and he crossed to along, genuine Jacobean wardrobe which stood in a corner and, unlockingit, opened the carved doors. "There you see all my plans arranged anddocketed. I can tell you what has been attempted to-night. Whether thecoup is successful I do not yet know."
Within were shelves containing many bundles of papers, each tied withpink tape in legal fashion. He took out a small, black-covered indexbook and, after consulting it, drew out a file of papers from the secondshelf.
These he brought to his table, and opened.
"Ah, yes!" he said, knitting his brows as he read a document beneath thegreen-shaded electric lamp. "You know Franklyn, don't you?"
"Harold Franklyn?"
"Yes. Well, he's in the Tatra, in Hungary. He and Matthews are withthree Austrian friends of ours, and to-night they are at the Castle ofSzombat, belonging to Count Zsolcza, the millionaire banker of Vienna.The Countess has some very valuable jewels, which were indicated tome several months ago by her discharged lady's maid--through anotherchannel, of course. I hope that before dawn the jewels will be no longerat Szombat, for the Count is an old scoundrel who
cornered the people'sfood in Austria just before the Armistice and is directly responsiblefor an enormous amount of suffering. The Countess was a cafe singer inBudapest. Her name was Anna Torna."
Mr. Howell sat open-mouthed. He was a crook and the bosom friend of thegreat Passero. Like all others who knew him, he held the master criminalin awe and admiration. The Sparrow, whatever he was, never did amean action and never took advantage of youth or inexperience. To hisfinger-tips he was a sportsman, whose chief delight in life was tooutwit and puzzle the police of Europe. In the underworld he wasbelieved to be fabulously wealthy, as no doubt he was. To the outsideworld he was a very rich old gentleman, who contributed generously tocharities, kept two fine cars, and, as well as his town house, had apretty place down in Gloucestershire, and usually rented a grouse moorin Scotland, where he entertained Mr. Howell and several other of hisintimate friends who were in the same profitable profession as himself,and in whose "business" he held a controlling interest.
In Paris, Rome, Madrid, or Brussels, he was well known as an idler whostayed at the best hotels and patronized the most expensive restaurants,while his villa on the Riviera he had purchased from a Roumanian princewho had ruined himself by gambling. His gloved hand--gloved because ofa natural deformity--was the hand which controlled most of the greaterrobberies, for his war upon society was constantly far-reaching.
"Is Franklyn coming straight back?" asked Howell.
"That is the plan. He should leave Vienna to-morrow night," said TheSparrow, again consulting the papers. "And he comes home with all speed.But first he travels to Brussels, and afterwards to The Hague, where hewill hand over Anna Torna's jewels to old Van Ort, and they'll be cutout of all recognition by the following day. Franklyn will then crossfrom the Hook to Harwich. He will wire me his departure from Vienna.He's bought a car for the job, and will have to abandon it somewhereoutside of Vienna, for, as in most of our games, time is the essence ofthe contract," and the old fellow laughed oddly.
"I thought Franklyn worked with Molly," said Mr. Howell.
"So he does. I want him back, for I've a delicate mission for him,"replied the sphinx-like man known as The Sparrow.
Mr. Howell, at the invitation of the arch-criminal, helped himself to adrink. Then The Sparrow said:
"You are due to leave London the day after to-morrow on that littlebusiness in Madrid. You must remain in town. I may want you."
"Very well. But Tresham is already there. I had a letter from him fromthe Palace Hotel yesterday."
"I will recall him by wire to-morrow. Our plans are complete. TheMarquis's picture will still hang in his house until we are ready forit. It is the best specimen of Antonio del Rincon, and will fetch a bigprice in New York--when we have time to go and get it," he laughed.
"Is Franklyn to help the Maxwell woman again?" asked Mr. Howell, who wasknown as an expert valuer of antiques and articles of worth, and who hadan office in St. James's. He only dealt in collectors' pieces, andin the trade bore an unblemished reputation, on account of his expertknowledge and his sound financial condition. He bought old mastersand pieces of antique silver now and then, but none suspected that thegenuine purchases at big prices were only made in order to blind hisfriends as to the actual nature of his business.
Indeed, to his office came many an art gem stolen from its owner on theContinent and smuggled over by devious ways known only to The Sparrowand his associates. And just as ingeniously the stolen property was sentacross to America, so well camouflaged that the United States Customsofficers were deceived. With pictures it was their usual method tocoat the genuine picture with a certain varnish, over which one of theorganization, an old artist living in Chelsea, would paint a modern andquite passable picture and add a new canvas back.
Then, on its arrival in America, the new picture was easily cleanedoff, the back removed, and lo! it was an old master once more ready forpurchase at a high price by American collectors.
Truly, the gloved hand of The Sparrow was a master hand. He had broughtwell-financed and well-organized theft to a fine art. His "indicators,"both male and female, were everywhere, and cosmopolitan as he washimself, and a wealthy man, he was able to direct--and finance--allsorts of coups, from a barefaced jewel theft to the forgery of Americanbanknotes.
And yet, so strange and mysterious a personality was he that not twentypersons in the whole criminal world had ever met him in the flesh. Thetall, good-looking man whom Dorise knew as the White Cavalier was one offour other men who posed in his stead when occasion arose.
Scotland Yard, the Surete in Paris, the Pubblica Sicurezza in Rome, andthe Detective Department of the New York police knew, quite naturally,of the existence of the elusive Sparrow, but none of them had been ableto trace him.
Why? Because he was only the brains of the great, widespread criminalorganization. He remained in smug respectability, while others beneathhis hand carried out his orders--they were the servants, well-paid too,and he was the master.
No more widespread nor more wonderful criminal combine had ever beenorganized than that headed by The Sparrow, the little old man whomLondoners believed to be Cockney, yet Italians believed to be pure-bredTuscan, while in Paris he was a true Parisian who could speak the argotof the Montmartre without a trace of English accent.
As a politician, as a City man, as a professional man, The Sparrow,whose real name was as obscure as his personality, would have made hismark. If a lawyer, he would have secured the honour of a knighthood--orof a baronetcy, and more than probable he would have entered Parliament.
The Sparrow was a philosopher, and a thorough-going Englishman toboot. Though none knew it, he was able by his unique knowledge of theunderworld of Europe to give information--as he did anonymously to theWar Office--of certain trusted persons who were, at the moment of theoutbreak of war, betraying Britain's secrets.
The Department of Military Operations was, by means of the anonymousinformation, able to quash a gigantic German plot against us; but theyhad been unable to discover either the true source of their informationor the identity of their informant.
"I'd better be off. It's late!" said Mr. Howell, after they had been inclose conversation for nearly half an hour.
"Yes; I suppose you must go," The Sparrow remarked, rising. "I must getFranklyn back. He must get to the bottom of this curious affair. Ifell that I am being bamboozled by Benton and Molly Maxwell. The boy isinnocent--he is their victim," he added; "but if I can save him, bygad! I will! Yet it will be difficult. There is much trouble ahead, Ianticipate, and it is up to us, Howell, to combat it!"
"Perhaps Franklyn can assist us?"
"Perhaps. I shall not, however, know before he gets back here from hisadventures in Hungary. But I tell you, Howell, I am greatly concernedabout the lad. He has fallen into the hands of a bad crowd--a very badcrowd indeed."
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