What was the mystery of it all?  Ay, what indeed?

He recalled every incident of that fateful night, her indignation at his presence in her house, and her curious softening of manner towards him, as though repentant and ready to make amends.

Then he wondered what Dorise would think when he failed to put in an appearance to go with her to the ball at Nice.  He pictured the car waiting outside the hotel, Lady Ranscomb fidgeting and annoyed, the count elegant and all smiles and graces, and Dorise, anxious and eager, going to the telephone and speaking to the concierge at the Palmiers.  Then inquiry for Monsieur Henfrey, and the discovery that he had left the hotel unseen.

So far Dorise knew nothing of Hugh’s part in the drama of the Villa Amette, but suddenly he was horrified by the thought that the police, finding he had escaped, would question her.  They had been seen together many times in Monte Carlo, and the eyes of the police of Monaco are always very wide open.  They know much, but are usually inactive.  When one recollects that all the escrocs of Europe gather at the tapis vert in winter and spring, it is not surprising that they close their eyes to such minor crimes as theft, blackmail and false pretences.

In his excited and unnerved state, he pictured Ogier calling upon Lady Ranscomb and questioning her closely concerning her young English friend who was so frequently seen with her daughter.  That would, surely, end their friendship!  Lady Ranscomb would never allow her daughter to associate further with a man accused of attempting to murder a notorious woman after midnight!

The car presently descended the steep rocky road which wound up over the promontory and back again down to the sea, until they passed through the little frontier town of Ventimiglia.

It was late, and few people were about in the narrow, ill-lit streets.

Suddenly, a couple of Italian carabineers stopped the car.

Hugh’s heart beat quickly.  Had they at the dogana discovered the trick and telephoned from the frontier?

Instantly the fugitive reassumed his role of invalid, and no sooner had he settled himself than the second man in a cocked hat and heavy black cloak opened the door and peered within.

Another lamp was flashed upon his face.

The carabineer asked in Italian: 

“What is your name, signore?”

But Hugh, pretending that he did not understand the language, asked: 

“Eh?  What?”

“Here are our papers, signore,” interrupted the ever-ready chauffeur, and he produced the papers for the officer’s inspection.

He looked at them, bending to read them by the light of the torch which his companion held.

Then, after an officious gesture, he handed them back, saying: 

“Benissimo!  You may pass!”

Again Hugh was free!  Yet he wondered if that examination had been consequent upon the hue and cry set up now that he had escaped from Monaco.