"More haste--less speed," laughed Hugh. "It is always the same in the morning--eh?"
When the girl sat down at the table Hugh had brightened up. Still the load upon his shoulders was a heavy one. He was ever obsessed by the mystery of his father's death, combined with that extraordinary will by which it was decreed that if he married Louise he would acquire his father's fortune.
Louise was certainly very good-looking, and quite charming. He admitted that as he gazed across at her fresh figure on the opposite side of the table. He, of course, was in ignorance of the fact that Benton, who had adopted her, was a clever and unscrupulous adventurer, whose accomplice was the handsome woman who was his hostess.
Naturally, he never dreamed that that quiet and respectable house, high on the beautiful Surrey hills, was the abode of a woman for whom the police of Europe were everywhere searching.
His thoughts all through breakfast were of The Sparrow--the great criminal, who was his friend. Hence, after they rose, he strolled into the morning-room with his hostess, and said: "I'll have to go to town again this morning. I have an urgent letter. Can Mead take me?"
"Certainly," was the woman's reply. "I have to make a call at Worplesdon this afternoon, and Louise is going with me. But Mead can be back before then to take us."
So half an hour later Hugh was driving up the steep High Street of Guildford on his way to London.
He alighted in Piccadilly, at the end of Half Moon Street, soon after eleven, and, dismissing Mead, made his way to Ellerston Street to the house of Mr. George Peters.
He rang the bell at the old-fashioned mansion, and a few moments later the door was opened by the manservant he had previously seen.
In an instant the servant recognized the visitor.
"Mr. Peters will not be in for a quarter of an hour," he said. "Would you care to wait, sir?"
"Yes," Hugh replied. "I want to see him very urgently."
"Will you come in? Mr. Peters has left instructions that you might probably call; Mr. Henfrey, is it not?"
"Yes," replied Hugh. The man seemed to possess a memory like that of a club hall-porter.
Young Henfrey was ushered into a small but cosy little room, which, in the light of day, he saw was well-furnished and upholstered. The door closed, and he waited.
A few moments after he distinctly heard a man's voice, which he at once recognized as that of The Sparrow.
The servant had told him that Mr. Peters was absent, yet he recognized his voice--a rather high-pitched, musical one.