Again she was silent.
"There are several people who hate her. One of them might have done it out of revenge. You say you saw nobody?"
"Nobody."
"Why did you go and see her at that hour?" asked the girl.
"Because I wanted her to tell me something--something of greatest importance to me."
"And she refused, of course? She keeps her own secrets."
"No. On the other hand, she was about to disclose to me the information I sought when someone fired through the open window."
"The shot might have been intended for you--eh?"
Hugh paused.
"It certainly might," he admitted. "But with what motive?"
"To prevent you from learning the truth."
"She was on the point of telling me what I wanted to know."
"Exactly. And what more likely than someone outside, realizing that Mademoiselle was about to make a disclosure, fired at you."
"But you said that Mademoiselle had enemies."
"So she has. But I think my theory is the correct one," replied the girl. "What was it that you asked her to reveal to you?"
"Well," he replied, after a brief hesitation, "my father died mysteriously in London some time ago, and I have reason to believe that she knows the truth concerning the sad affair."
"Where did it happen?"
"My father was found in the early morning lying in a doorway in Albemarle Street, close to Piccadilly. The only wound found was a slight scratch in the palm of the hand. The police constable at first thought he was intoxicated, but the doctor, on being called, declared that my father was suffering from poison. He was at once taken to St. George's Hospital, but an hour later he died without recovering consciousness."
"And what was your father's name?" asked Lisette in a strangely altered voice.
"Henfrey."
"Henfrey!" gasped the girl, starting up at mention of the name. "Henfrey! And--and are--you--his son?"
"Yes," replied Hugh. "Why? You know about the affair, mademoiselle! Tell me all you know," he cried. "I--the son of the dead man--have a right to demand the truth."
"Henfrey!" repeated the girl hoarsely in a state of intense agitation. "Monsieur Henfrey! And--and to think that I am here--with you--his son! Ah! forgive me!" she gasped. "I--I----Let us return."
"But you shall tell me the truth!" cried Hugh excitedly. "You know it! You cannot deny that you know it!"
All, however, he could get from her were the words: "You--Monsieur Henfrey's son! Surely Il Passero does not know this!"