“Yes, m’sieur,” she said a few moments later.  “They are all dangerous.  They do not fear to use the knife or automatic pistol when cornered.  For myself, I simply move about Europe and make discoveries as to where little affairs can be negotiated.  I tell Il Passero, and he then works out the plans. Dieu!  But I had a narrow escape the other day in Orleans!”

“Do tell me about Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo.  I beg of you to tell me something, Mademoiselle Lisette,” Hugh urged, turning to the girl of many adventures who was seated at his side upon the big rock overlooking the ravine down which the bright moon was shining.

“I would if I were permitted,” she replied.  “Mademoiselle Yvonne is charming.  You know her, so I need say nothing, but——­”

“Well—­what?”

“She is clever—­very clever,” said the girl.  “As Il Passero is clever, so is she.”

“Then she is actively associated with him—­eh?”

“Yes.  She is cognizant of all his movements, and of all his plans.  While she moves in one sphere—­often in a lower sphere, like myself—­yet in society she moves in the higher sphere, and she ‘indicates,’ just as I do.”

“So she is one of The Sparrow’s associates?” Hugh said.

“Yes,” was the reply.  “From what you have told me I gather that Il Passero knew by one of his many secret sources of information that you were in danger of arrest, and sent Paolo to rescue you—­which he did.”

“No doubt that is so.  But why should he take all this interest in me?  I don’t know and have never even met him.”

“Il Passero is always courteous.  He assists the weak against the strong.  He is like your English bandit Claude Duval of the old days.  He always robs with exquisite courtesy, and impresses the same trait upon all who are in his service.  And I may add that all are well paid and all devoted to their great master.”

“I have heard that he has a house in London,” Hugh said.  “Do you know where it is situated?”

“Somewhere near Piccadilly.  But I do not know exactly where it is.  He is always vague regarding his address.  His letters he receives in several names at a newspaper shop in Hammersmith and at the Poste Restante at Charing Cross.”

“What names?” asked Hugh, highly interested.

“Oh! a number.  They are always being changed,” the French girl replied.

“Where do you write when you want to communicate with him?”

“Generally to the Poste Restante in the Avenue de l’Opera, in Paris.  Letters received there are collected for him and forwarded every day.”

“And so clever is he that nobody suspects him—­eh?”

“Exactly, m’sieur.  His policy is always ‘Rengraciez!’ and he cares not a single rotin for La Reniffe,” she replied, dropping again into the slang of French thieves.

“Of course he is on friendly terms with Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo?” Hugh remarked.  “He may have been at Monte Carlo on the night of the tragic affair.”