He had been there four weary, anxious days when one evening a pretty, well-dressed young French girl called, and after a short chat with Beppo"s wife became installed there as his fellow-guest. He did not know her name and she did not tell him.
She was known to them as Lisette, and Hugh found her a most vivacious and interesting companion. Truly, he had been thrown into very queer company, and he often wondered what his friends would say if they knew that he was guest in a hiding-place of thieves.
TENTH CHAPTER
A LESSON IN ARGOT
Late one evening the dainty girl thief, Lisette, went out for a stroll with Hugh, but in the Via Roma they met an agent of police.
"Look!" whispered the girl in French, "there"s a _pince sans rire_! Be careful!"
She constantly used the argot of French thieves, which was often difficult for the young Englishman to understand. And the dark-haired girl would laugh, apologize, and explain the meaning of her strange expressions.
Outside the city they were soon upon the high road which wound up the deep green valley of the Bisagno away into the mountains, ever ascending to the little hill-town of Mola.s.sana. The scene was delightful in the moonlight as they climbed the steep hill and then descended again into the valley, Lisette all the time gossiping on in a manner which interested and amused him.
Her arrival had put an end to his boredom, and, though he was longing to get away from his surroundings, she certainly cheered him up.
They had walked for nearly an hour, when, declaring she felt tired, they sat upon a rock to rest and eat the sandwiches with which they had provided themselves.
Two carabineers in cloaks and c.o.c.ked hats who met them on the road put them down as lovers keeping a clandestine tryst. They never dreamed that for both of them the police were in search.
"Now tell me something concerning yourself, mademoiselle," Hugh urged presently.
"Myself! Oh! la la!" she laughed. "What is there to tell? I am just of _la haute pegre--a truqueuse_. Ah! you will not know the expression.
Well--I am a thief in high society. I give indications where we can make a coup, and afterwards _bruler le pegriot_--efface the trace of the affair."
"And why are you here?"
"_Malheureus.e.m.e.nt_! I was in Orleans and a _friquet_ nearly captured me.
So Il Pa.s.sero sent me here for a while."
"You help Il Pa.s.sero--eh?"
"Yes. Very often. Ah! m"sieur, he is a most wonderful man--English, I think. _Girofle_ (genteel and amiable), like yourself."
"No, no, mademoiselle," Hugh protested, laughing.
"But I mean it. Il Pa.s.sero is a real gentleman--but--_maquiller son truc_, and he is marvellous. When he exercises his wonderful talent and forms a plan it is always flawless."
"Everyone seems to hold him in high esteem. I have never met him," Hugh remarked.
"He was in Genoa on the day that I arrived. Curious that he did not call and see Beppo. I lunched with him at the Concordia, and he paid me five thousand francs, which he owed me. He has gone to London now with his _ecrache-tarte_."
"What is that, pray?"
"His false pa.s.sport. He has always a good supply of them for anyone in need of one. They are printed secretly in Spain. But m"sieur," she added, "you are not of our world. You are in just a little temporary trouble. Over what?"
In reply he was perfectly frank with her. He told her of the suspicion against him because of the affair of the Villa Amette.
"Ah!" she replied, her manner changing, "I have heard that Mademoiselle was shot, but I had no idea that you had any connexion with that ugly business."
"Yes. Unfortunately I have. Do you happen to know Yvonne Ferad?"
"Of course. Everyone knows her. She is very charming. n.o.body knows the truth."
"What truth?" inquired Hugh quickly.
"Well--that she is a _marque de ce_."
"A _marque de ce_--what is that?" asked Hugh eagerly.
"Ah! _non_, m"sieur. I must not tell you anything against her. You are her friend."
"But I am endeavouring to find out something about her. To me she is a mystery."
"No doubt. She is to everybody."
"What did you mean by that expression?" he demanded. "Do tell me. I am very anxious to know your opinion of her, and something about her. I have a very earnest motive in trying to discover who and what she really is."
"If I told you I should offend Il Pa.s.sero," replied the girl simply. "It is evident that he wishes you should remain in ignorance."
"But surely, you can tell me in confidence? I will divulge nothing."
"No," answered the girl, whose face he could not see in the shadow. "I am sorry, M"sieur Brown"--she had not been told his Christian name--"but I am not permitted to tell you anything concerning Mademoiselle Yvonne."
"She is a very remarkable person--eh?" said Henfrey, again defeated.
"Remarkable! Oh, yes. She is of the _grande monde_."
"Is that still your argot?" he asked.
"Oh no. Mademoiselle Yvonne is a lady. Some say she is the daughter of a rich Englishman. Others say she is just a common adventuress."
"The latter is true, I suppose?"
"I think not. She has _le clou_ for the _eponge d"or_."
"I do not follow that."
"Well," she laughed, "she has the attraction for those who hold the golden sponge--the Ministers of State. Our argot is difficult for you, m"sieur--eh?"
"I see! Your expressions are a kind of cipher, unintelligible to the ordinary person--eh?"
"That is so. If I exclaim, _par exemple, tarte_, it means false; if I say _gilet de flanelle_, it is lemonade; if I say _frise_, it means a Jew; or _ca.s.serole_, which is in our own tongue a police officer. So you see it is a little difficult--is it not? To us _tire-jus_ is a handkerchief, and we call the ville de Paris _Pantruche_."