"Quite naturally. I quite appreciate it. Since Mademoiselle's--er--accident you have, I suppose, been leading an honest life?"
"Yes. I have tried to do so. At present I am a cafe waiter."
"And you can tell me nothing further regarding the affair at the Villa Amette?" asked The Sparrow, eyeing him narrowly.
"I regret, signore, I can tell you nothing further," replied the staid, rather sad-looking old man; "nothing." And he sighed.
"Why?" asked the man whose tentacles were, like an octopus, upon a hundred schemes, and as many criminal coups in Europe. He sought a solution of the problem, but nothing appeared forthcoming.
He had strained every effort, but he could ascertain nothing.
That Cataldi knew the key to the whole problem The Sparrow felt assured. Yet why did not the old fellow tell the truth?
At last The Sparrow rose and left, and Hugh followed him. Both were bitterly disappointed. The old man refused to say more than that he was ignorant of the whole affair.
Cataldi's attitude annoyed the master criminal.
For three days he remained in Nice with Hugh, at great risk of recognition and arrest.
On the fourth day they went together in a hired car along the winding road across the Var to Cannes.
At a big white villa a little distance outside the pretty winter town of flowers and palms, they halted. The house, which was on the Frejus road, was once the residence of a Russian prince.
With The Sparrow Hugh was ushered into a big, sunny room overlooking the beautiful garden where climbing geraniums ran riot with carnations and violets, and for some minutes they waited. From the windows spread a wide view of the calm sapphire sea.
Then suddenly the door opened.