From Lisette he had failed to elicit any further facts concerning his father’s death, though it was apparent that she knew something about it—­something she dared not tell.

On the day following their midnight stroll, he had done all in his power to induce her to reveal something at least of the affair, but, alas! to no avail.  Then, two days later, she had suddenly left—­at orders of The Sparrow, she said.

Before Hugh left Ravecca had given him eighty pounds in English notes, saying that he acted at Il Passero’s orders, for Hugh would no doubt need the money, and it would be most dangerous for him to write to his bankers.

At first Henfrey protested, but, as his funds were nearly exhausted, he had accepted the money.

As he left the station in Brussels on that bright spring morning and crossed the busy Place, he was wondering to what hotel he should go.  He had left his scanty luggage in the consigne, intending to go out on foot and search for some cheap and obscure hotel, there being many such in the vicinity of the station.  After half an hour he chose a small and apparently clean little place in a narrow street off the Place de Brouckere, and there, later on, he carried his handbag.  Then, after a wash, he set out for the Central Post Office in the Place de la Monnaie.

He had not gone far along the busy boulevard when he was startled to hear his name uttered from behind, and, turning, encountered a short, thick-set little man wearing a brown overcoat.

The man, noticing the effect his words had upon him, smiled reassuringly, and said in broken English:  “It is all right!  I am not a police officer, Monsieur Henfrey.  Cross the road and walk down that street yonder.  I will follow in a few moments.”

And then the man walked on, leaving Hugh alone.

Much surprised, Hugh did as he was bid, and a few minutes later the Belgian met him again.

“It is very dangerous for us to be seen together,” he said quickly, scarcely pausing as he walked.  “Do not go near the Post Office, but go straight to 14 Rue Beyaert, first floor.  I shall be there awaiting you.  I have a message for you from a friend.  You will find the street close to the Porte de Hal.”

And the man continued on his way, leaving Hugh in wonder.  He had been on the point of turning from the boulevard into the Place de la Monnaie to obtain Dorise’s long looked for letter.  Indeed, he had been hastening his footsteps full of keen apprehension when the stranger had accosted him.

But in accordance with the man’s suggestion, he turned back towards the station, where he entered a taxi and drove across the city to the corner of Rue Beyaert, a highly respectable thoroughfare.  He experienced no difficulty in finding the house indicated, and on ascending the stairs, found the stranger awaiting him.

“Ah!” he cried.  “Come in!  I am glad that I discovered you!  I have been awaiting your arrival from Italy for the past fortnight.  It is indeed fortunate that I found you in time to warn you not to go to the Poste Restante.”  He spoke in French, and had shown his visitor into a small but well furnished room.