The driver, with the southerner's disregard of the feelings of animals, lashed his weedy horse into a gallop, as up-hill and down-hill we sped, back to the town.
Entering the city gate, the man scattered the dogs and foot-passengers by his warning yells in Arabic, until at last we were down upon the long, semi-circular quay, our eager eyes looking over the blue, sun-lit sea.
No sign could we discern of the motor-boat, but Fournier, with his hand uplifted, cried—
"See! Look at that white steam-yacht at the end of the Mole—the long, low-built one. That belongs to the Count. Perhaps he has already boarded her!"
I looked in the direction my companion indicated, and there saw lying anchored about half a mile from the shore a small white-painted yacht, built so low that her decks were almost awash, with two rakish-looking funnels, and a light mast at either end with a wireless telegraph suspended between them. The French tricolour was flying at the stern.
From the funnels smoke was issuing, and from where I stood, I could see men running backwards and forwards.
"She's getting under weigh," I cried. "The fugitives must be aboard. We must stop them."
"How can we?" asked the Frenchman, dismayed. "Besides, why should we—except that we were nearly suffocated in that room."
"That man you know as the Comte d'Esneux is the most dangerous criminal in all Europe," I told him. "To the Prefecture of Police in Paris—to you in Algiers also—he is known as Jules Jeanjean!"
"Jules Jeanjean!" choked out the man in the shabby straw hat. "Is that the actual truth, M'sieur?"
"It is," I replied. "And now you know the cause of my anxiety."
"Why, there is a reward of four hundred thousand francs for his capture, offered by companies who have insured jewels he has stolen," he cried.
"I know. Now, what shall we do?" I asked, feeling myself helpless, for at that moment I saw the motor-boat draw away from the yacht, with only one occupant, the man driving the engine. It had turned and was speeding along the coast back in the direction of the villa, white foam rising at its elevated bows.
"What can we do?" queried my companion. "That yacht is the fastest privately owned craft in the Mediterranean. It is theCarlo Alberta, the Italian torpedo-boat built at Spezzia two years ago. Because it did not quite fulfil the specifications, it was disarmed and sold. The Count purchased her, and turned her into a yacht."
"But surely there must be some craft on which we could follow?" I exclaimed. "Let's see."
We drove down to the port, and after a few rapid inquiries at the bureau of the harbour-master, found that there was lying beyond the Mole, a big steam-yacht belonging to an American railway magnate named Veale. The owner and some ladies were on board, and he might perhaps assist the police and give chase.
Quickly we were aboard the fast motor-boat belonging to the harbour authorities, but ere we had set out, theCarlo Alberta, with long lines of black smoke issuing from her funnels, had weighed anchor and was slowly steaming away.
Silas J. Veale, of the New York Central Railroad, a tall, very thin, very bald-headed man in a smart yachting suit, greeted us pleasantly when we boarded his splendid yacht. When he heard our appeal he entered into the adventure with spirit and gave the order to sail at once.
Beside us, on his own broad white deck, he stoodscanning the low-built, rapidly disappearingCarlo Albertathrough his binoculars.
"Guess they'll be able to travel some! We'll have all our work cut out if we mean to keep touch with them. Never mind. We'll see what the oldVikingcan do."
Then he shouted another order to his captain, a red-whiskered American, urging him to "hurry up and get a move on!"
As we stood there, three ladies, his wife and two daughters, the latter respectively about twenty-two and twenty, all of them in yachting costumes, came and joined us, eagerly inquiring whither we were bound.
"Don't know, Jenny," he replied to his wife. "We're just following a couple of crooks who've got slick away in that two-funnelled boat yonder, and we mean to keep in touch with them till they land. That's all."
"Then we're leaving Algiers!" exclaimed the younger girl regretfully.
"Looks like it, Sadie," was his reply. "The police have requested our aid, an' we can't very well refuse it." Then turning to me he exclaimed, "Say, I wonder where they're making for?"
"They are the most elusive pair of thieves in Europe," I replied. "They are certain to get away if we do not exercise the greatest caution."
The ladies grew most excited, and as the vessel began at last to move through the water, the chief officer shouting at her men, the girl whose name was Sadie, a smart, rather good-looking little person, though typically American, exclaimed to me, as she fixed her grey eyes on the fleeing vessel—
"Do you think they are faster than we are?"
"I fear so," was my reply. "But your father has promised to do his best."
"What crime is alleged against the men?" inquired Mrs. Veale, in a high-pitched, nasal tone.
"Murder," replied Fournier, in French, understanding English, but never speaking it.
"Murder!" all three ladies echoed in unison. "How exciting!"
And exciting that chase proved. Old Mr. Veale entered thoroughly into the spirit of the adventure. With Fournier, I took off my coat and, descending to the engine-room, assisted to stoke, we having put to sea short-handed, three men being ashore. Amateur stoking, of course, is not conducive to speed, but Veale himself, his coat also off, and perspiring freely, directed our efforts.
Still our speed was not up to what it should have been. Therefore the owner of the yacht went along to the storeroom, and dragging out sides of cured bacon, chopped them up, and with the pieces fed the furnaces, until we got up sufficient steam-pressure, and were moving through the calm, sun-lit waters at the maximum speed the fine yacht had attained on her trials.
As the golden sun sank away in the direction of Gibraltar, the fugitive vessel held on her course to the north-east, straight to where the nightclouds were rising upon the horizon. Far away we could see the long line of black smoke lying out behind her upon the glassy sea. And though we had every ounce of pressure in our boilers, yet with heart-sinking we watched her slowly but very surely, getting further and further away from us, growing smaller as each half-hour passed.
The fiery sun sank into the glassy sea, and was followed by a wonderful crimson afterglow, which shone upon our anxious faces as, ever and anon, we left our work in the stifling stokehold, and went on deck for a breath of fresh air.
Fournier's face was grimy with coal-dust, and so was mine, while Veale himself also took his turn in handling the shovel.
The chase was full of wildest excitement, which was certainly shared by the three ladies, to whom the hunting of criminals was a decided novelty.
With the aid of a whisky and soda now and then, and on odd ham sandwich, we worked far into the night.
The captain reported that before darkness had fallen theCarlo Albertahad, according to the laws of navigation, put up her lights. But an hour after the darkness became complete she must have either extinguished them or had passed through a bank of mist. For fully half an hour nothing was seen of the lights, though most of the men on board were eagerly on the watch for a sight of them. Suddenly, however, they again reappeared.
Then our captain, after consultation with Mr. Veale, decided to try a ruse. He extinguished every light in the ship, but still held on his course, following the distant yacht. For quite an hour we went full-speed ahead with all lights extinguished, keeping an active look-out for shipping, or for obstacles.
We did this in order that the fugitives should believe we had given up the chase. Though their vessel was so fast, it was apparent that something must have happened to them, for they had not drawn away from us so far as we had expected. An ordinary steam-yacht, however swift she may be, can never hold her own with a destroyer.
"Guess she's got engine-trouble," remarked the American captain as I stood with him upon the bridge, peering into the darkness. "We may overhaul her yet if you gentlemen keep the furnaces a-going as you have been. Hot job, ain't it?"
"Rather," I laughed. "But I don't mind as long as we can get alongside that boat." And then I returned to my place in the stokehold, perspiring so freely that I had not a stitch of dry clothing upon me.
Half an hour later I was again on deck for a blow, and saw that the fugitive steamer had perceptibly increased the distance between us. Had her engines been working well she would, no doubt, have been well out of sight two hours after we had left Algiers. Yet, as it was, we were still following in her wake, allour lights out, so that in the darkness she could not see us following.
The whole of that night was an exciting one. All of us worked at the furnaces with a will, pouring in coal to keep up every ounce of steam of which our boilers were capable. No one slept, and Mrs. Veale, now as excited as the rest, brought us big draughts of tea below.
In the stokehold the heat became unbearable. I was not used to such a temperature, neither were the railway magnate nor the detective. The latter was all eagerness now that he knew who was on board the vessel away there on the horizon.
"She's making for Genoa, I believe," declared the captain, towards four o'clock in the morning. "She's not going to Marseilles, that's very evident. If only we had wireless on board we might warn the harbour-police at Genoa to detain them, but, unfortunately, we haven't."
"And they have!" I remarked with a grin.
Dawn came at last, and the spreading light revealed us. From the two low funnels of the escaping vessel a long trail of black smoke extended far away across the sea, while from our funnel went up a whirling, woolly-looking, dunnish column, due to our unprofessional stoking.
All the bacon had been used, as well as other stores, to make as much steam as possible, yet even though theCarlo Albertahad plainly something amiss with her engines, we found it quite impossible to overhaul her.
The day went past, long and exciting. The captain held to his opinion that our quarry was making for Savona or Genoa. The weather was perfect, and the voyage would have been most enjoyable had not the race been one of life and death.
To Veale and his party I related some of the marvellous exploits of the criminal pair, and told how cleverly they had escaped us from the Villa Beni Hassan. I described the dastardly attempt made upon my life,and that of Lola, and my narrative caused every one on board to work with a will in order to break up the desperate gang.
As we had feared, when night again fell the vessel we were chasing showed no lights. Only by aid of his night-glasses could our captain distinguish her in the darkness, but fortunately it was not so cloudy as on the previous night, and the moon shone from behind the light patches of drifting vapour much, no doubt, to Jeanjean's chagrin, for it revealed their presence and allowed us to still hang on to them.
Our American captain was a tough-looking fellow, of bull-dog type, and full of humorous remarks concerning the fugitives.
I recollected what Lola had told me in regard to her uncle's wireless experiments with a friend of his in Genoa. Yes. Finding themselves pressed by us they, no doubt, intended to land at that port. How devoutly we all wished that their engines would break down entirely. But that was not likely in a boat of her powerful description. Yet something was, undoubtedly, interfering with her speed.
The second day passed much as the first. We were already within sight of the rocky coast near Toulon, and in the track of the liners passing up and down between Port Said and Gib'. We passed two P. and O. mail steamers, and a yellow-funnelled North German Lloyd homeward bound from China. Still we kept at our enemies' heels like a terrier, though the seas were heavy off the coast, and a strong wind was blowing.
Fournier suffered from sea-sickness, so did Mr. Veale's second daughter, but we kept doggedly on, snatching hasty meals and performing the monotonous, soul-killing work of stoking. The run was as hard a strain as ever had been put upon the engines of theViking, and I knew that the engineer was in hourly dread of their breaking down under it.
If she did, then all our efforts would be in vain.
So he alternately nursed them, and urged them along through the long, angry waves which had now arisen.
Another long and weary night passed, and again we both steamed along with all lights out, a dangerous proceeding now that we were right in the track of the shipping. Then, when morning broke, we found we were off the yellow Ligurian coast, close to Savona, and heading, as our captain had predicted, for Genoa. The race became fiercely contested. We stood on deck full of excitement. Even Fournier shook off his sea-sickness.
Soon the high, square lighthouse came into view through the haze, and we then put on all the speed of which we were capable in a vain endeavour to get closer to the fugitives. But again the black smoke trailed out upon the horizon, and suddenly rounding the lighthouse, they were lost to view.
At last we, too, rounded the end of the Mole, and entered the harbour where theCarlo Albertahad moored three-quarters of an hour earlier. Fournier instantly invoked the aid of the dock police and, with them, we boarded the vessel, only, alas! to find that its owner and his English guest had landed and left, leaving orders to the captain to proceed to Southampton.
The vessel was, we found, spick and span, luxuriously appointed, and tremendously swift, though, on that run across the Mediterranean, one of the engines had been under repair when the Count and his friend had so unexpectedly come on board, and the other was working indifferently.
The captain, a dark-bearded, pleasant-faced Englishman from Portsmouth, believed that his master had dashed to catch the express for Rome. He had, he said, heard him speaking with Mr. Vernon as to whether they could catch it.
"Did they use the wireless apparatus on board?" I asked quickly.
"Once, sir," was the captain's reply. "The Comtewas in the wireless cabin last night for nearly an hour. He's always experimenting."
"You don't know if he sent any messages—eh?"
"Oh, yes. He sent some, for I heard them, but I didn't trouble to try to read the sounds."
Therefore, having thanked Mr. Veale and his family, I set forth, accompanied by Fournier and the two Italian police officers, to the railway station up the hill, above the busy docks.
Eagerly I asked one of the ticket-collectors in Italian if the Rome express had gone, knowing well that in Italy long-distance trains are often an hour or more late.
"No, Signore," was his reply. "It is still here, fifty-five minutes late, from Turin." Then glancing down upon the lines, where several trains were standing in the huge, vaulted station, he added: "Platform number four. Hurry quickly, Signore, and you will catch it."
I dashed down to the platform, three steps at a time, followed by my three companions, but ere I gained it the train had begun to move out of the station.
One of the Italian police officers shouted to the scarlet-capped station-master to have the train stopped, but that stately official, his hands behind his back, only walked calmly in our direction to hear the voluble words which fell from the French officer's lips.
By that time the train had rounded the curve and was dropping from sight.
My heart sank within me. Once again Jeanjean had escaped!
We were making frantic inquiry regarding the two fugitives when a porter, who chanced to overhear my words, expressed a belief that they had not left by the Rome express, but for Turin by the train that had and started a quarter of an hour before.
I rushed to the booking office, and, after some inquiry of the lazy, cigar-smoking clerk, learned that two foreigners, answering the descriptions of the men I wanted, had taken tickets for London by way of the Mont Cenis Paris-Calais route. He gave me the ticket numbers.
Yes. The porter was correct. They had left by the express for Turin, and the frontier at Modane!
With Fournier and the two policemen, I went to the Questura, or Central Police Office, situated in a big, gloomy, old medieval palace—for Genoa is eminently a city of ancient palaces—and before the Chief of the Brigade Mobile, a dapper little man with bristling white hair and yellow boots, I laid information, requesting that the pair be detained at the frontier.
When I revealed the real name of the soi-disant Comte d'Esneux, the police official started, staring at me open-mouthed. Then, even as we sat in his bare, gloomy office with its heavily-barred windows—the original windows of the palace, in the days when it had also been a fortress—he spoke over the telephone with the Commissary of Police at Bardonnechia in the Alps, the last Italian station before the great Mont Cenis tunnel is entered.
After me he repeated over the wire a minute description of both men wanted, while the official at the other end wrote them down.
"They will probably travel by the train which arrives from Turin at 6.16," the Chief of the Brigade Mobile went on. "The numbers of their tickets are 4,176B.and 4,177B., issued to London. Search them, as they may have stolen jewels upon them. Understand?"
An affirmative reply was given, and the white-haired little man replaced the telephone receiver.
Thanking him I went outside into the Via Garibaldi, with a sigh of relief. At last the two men were running straight into the arms of the police. My chief thought now was of Lola. Where could she be, that she had not answered my urgent letters sent to the Poste Restante at Versailles?
The next train—the through sleeping-car express from Rome to Calais—left at a few minutes to six, and for this we were compelled to wait.
I recollected that Lola had told me how Jeanjean was in the habit of communicating with his confederate Hodrickx, who had also established a wireless station in Genoa. Thereupon I made inquiry, and found that aerial wires were placed high over the roof of a house close to the Acqua Sola Gardens at the end of the broad, handsome Via Roma.
The house, however, was tenantless, Hodrickx, apparently a Belgian, having sold his furniture and disappeared, no one knew where, a fortnight previously.
At six o'clock we entered the Calais express, and travelling by way of Alessandria and Turin, ascended, through the moon-lit Alps, that night a perfect fairyland, up the long steep incline, mounting ever higher and higher, until the two engines hauling thetrain-de-luxeat last, at midnight, pulled up at the little ill-lit station of Bardonnechia. There, we hastily alighted and sought the Commissary of Police.
To him Fournier presented his card of identity which every French detective carries, and at once the brown-bearded official told us that, although strict watch had been kept upon every train, the fugitives had not arrived!
"They may have left the train at Turin, and gone across to Milan, and thence by the Gotthard route to Basle and Paris," he suggested to me. "If they believe they were followed that is what they most certainly would do."
Then he swiftly turned over the leaves of atimetable upon the desk of his little office, and, after a minute examination, added in Italian—
"If they have gone by that route they will join the same Channel-boat at Calais as this train catches, whether they go from Basle, by way of Paris, or direct on to Calais."
The train we had travelled by was still waiting in the station, for one of the engines was being detached.
"Then you suggest that we had better go by this?" I said.
"I certainly should, Signore, if I were you," was his polite answer. "Besides they are wanted in England, you say, therefore it would be better to arrest them on the English steamer, or on their arrival in Dover, and thus avoid the long formalities of extradition. Our Government, as you know, never gives up criminals to England."
Instantly I realized the soundness of his argument, and, thanking him, we both climbed back into thewagon-litwe had occupied, and were soon slowly entering the black, stifling tunnel.
Need I further describe that eager, anxious journey, save to say that when next day we traversed the Ceinture in Paris, and arrived from the Gare de Lyon, at the Gare du Nord, we kept a vigilant and expectant watch, for it was there that the two men might join our train. Our watch, however, proved futile. They might have joined the ordinary express from Paris to Calais which had left half an hour before us—ours being atrain-de-luxe. So we possessed ourselves in patience till at length, after a halt at Calais-Ville, we slowly drew up on the quay near where the big white Dover boat was lying.
The soft felt hat I had bought in Genoa, I pulled over my eyes, and then rushed along the gangway, and on board, with Fournier at my side, making a complete tour of the vessel, peeping into every cabin, and in every hole and corner, to discover the fugitives.
Already the gangway was up, and the three blastssounded upon the siren announcing the departure of the boat. Therefore the pair, if on board, could not now escape.
Throughout the hour occupied in the crossing I was ever active, and when we were moored beside the pier in Dover Harbour, I stood at the gangway to watch every one leave.
Yet all my efforts were, alas! in vain.
They had evidently changed their route to London a second time, and had travelled from Bâle to Brussels and Ostend!
The thought occurred to me as I stood watching the last passengers leaving the steamer. If they had travelled direct by way of Ostend, then they would be seated in the train for Charing Cross, for the Ostend boat had been in half an hour, we were told.
The train, one of those gloomy, grimy, South-Eastern "expresses," was waiting close by. Therefore I ran frantically from end to end, peering into each carriage, but, to my dismay, the men I sought were not there!
So Fournier and I entered a first-class compartment and, full of bitter disappointment, travelled up to Charing Cross, where we arrived about seven o'clock.
I was alighting from the train into the usual crowd of arriving passengers, and their friends who were present to meet them, for there is always a quick bustle when the boat-train comes alongside the customs barrier, when of a sudden my quick eyes caught sight of two men in Homburg hats and overcoats.
My heart gave a bound.
Vernon and Jeanjean had alighted from the same train in which I and Fournier had travelled, and were hurrying out of the station.
Jeanjean carried a small brown leather handbag, while Vernon had only a walking-stick. Both men looked fagged, weary and travel-worn.
"Look!" I whispered to Fournier. "There they are!"
Then, holding back in the crowd, and keeping oureyes upon the hats of the fugitives, we followed them out into the station yard, where they hurriedly entered a taxi and drove away, all unconscious of our presence.
In another moment we were in a second taxi, following them up Regent Street, through Regent's Park, and along Finchley Road, until suddenly they turned into Arkwright Road.
Then I stopped our vehicle and descended, just in time to see them enter the house called Merton Lodge—the house which Rayner had described to me on the night of my long vigil at the corner of Hatton Garden.
For a few moments I stood, undecided how to act. Should I drive at once to Scotland Yard and lay the whole affair before them, or should I still keep my counsel until I rediscovered Lola?
I knew where they were hiding, and if I watched, I might learn something further. Both Rayner and Fournier were known to the two culprits. Therefore I decided to invoke the aid of an ex-detective-sergeant who, since his retirement from Scotland Yard, had more than once assisted me.
Truth to tell, I had a far higher opinion of the astuteness of the Paris police than that of Scotland Yard. The latter disregarded my theories, whereas Jonet was always ready to listen to me. For that reason I hesitated to go down to the "Yard," preferring to send word to Jonet, and allow him to act as he thought fit.
William Benham lived in the Camberwell New Road; so I went to the nearest telephone call-box and, ringing him up, asked him to meet me at Swiss Cottage Station and bring a trustworthy friend.
I knew that Merton Lodge had a convenient exit at the rear, hence, to be watched effectively, two men must be employed.
Towards half-past nine, leaving Fournier to watch at the end of the road, I met Benham, who came attired as one of the County Council employés engaged in watering the roads at night, accompanied by a burly-looking labourer who was introduced to me as anex-detective from Vine Street. Without revealing the whole story, or who the two men were, I explained that I had followed them post-haste from Algiers, and that both were wanted for serious crimes. All I desired was that a strict surveillance should be placed upon them, and that they should be followed and all their movements watched.
"Very well, Mr. Vidal," Benham replied.
He was a pleasant-faced, grey-haired man, with a broad countenance, and a little grey moustache.
"I quite understand," he said. "We'll keep on them, and if I find it necessary, I'll get a third person. They won't get very far ahead of us, you bet," he laughed.
"They're extremely wary birds," I cautioned. "So you'll both of you be compelled to keep your eyes skinned."
"You merely want to know what's doing-eh?"
"Yes. I'm fagged out, and want a rest to-night. I'll come up and see you in the morning," I said.
Then we entered a bar, and having had a drink together, we went to Arkwright Road, where I rejoined Fournier, and with him returned to my rooms.
Next day nothing happened. The two men wanted, wearing different clothes, and Vernon in blue glasses, went out about eleven for a walk as far as Hampstead Heath, and returned to luncheon. That was all my watchers reported.
On the following evening, however, I met Benham by appointment in a bar in the Finchley Road, when he said—
"There's something in the wind, Mr. Vidal. But I can't make out what it is. This afternoon a well-dressed man, apparently an Italian, called, and about half an hour later a smart young French girl, with fair hair, and wearing a short dark blue dress and brown silk stockings and shoes, also paid the pair a visit. She's there now."
From the further description he gave of her, I found that it tallied exactly with the identity of Lola.
And she was there! with Vernon and his two confederates.
"There's also something else strange about that house, Mr. Vidal," added Benham. "I dare say you didn't notice it in the dark, but away, half-hidden by the trees in the garden, there's a long stretch of four wires, suspended from two high poles. A wireless telegraph, I take it to be."
"Wireless at Merton Lodge!" I cried.
"Yes. To-day I asked a man who was repairing an underground wire in the Finchley Road, and he says it's a very powerful station, and he wonders that the Post Office ever licensed it."
"It was probably licensed as a small station, and then its power was secretly increased," I suggested.
"But you say that the young French lady is still there?"
"Yes," replied Benham, "she was when I left ten minutes ago."
I lost no time, but quickly hurried round to Arkwright Road, strolling past the new, well-kept, red-brick house which, upon its gate, bore the words in neat white letters, "Merton Lodge."
In several of the windows were lights. What, I wondered, was the nature of the consultation going on within?
While I walked to the corner of Frognal, Benham remained at the Finchley Road end, within call.
I watched patiently, when, about half-past eight,the front door opened and Lola, descending the steps, left the house, walking alone in my direction.
Drawing back quickly, I resolved to follow her, and doing so, went after her straight up Arkwright Road, and up Fitzjohn's Avenue, till she came to the Hampstead Tube Station, where, in the entrance, I was astounded to see Edward Craig awaiting her.
He raised his hat and shook her hand warmly, while she, flushed with pleasure, strolled at his side up the steep hill towards the Heath.
The attitude of the man, who was once supposed to have been dead and buried, was now very different to what it had been when he had watched her in secret at Boscombe.
I stood watching the pair, puzzled and wondering. What could it mean?
They were both smart and handsome. She, with all the vivacious mannerisms of the chic Parisienne, was explaining something with much gesticulation, while he strode at her side, bending to listen.
Behind them, I came on unobserved, following them on the high road over the dark, windy Heath, past the well-known inn calledJack Straw's Castle—the Mecca of the East-End seeker after fresh air—and on across the long, straight road which led to the ancient Spaniards, one of the landmarks of suburban London.
Half-way along that wide, open road, at that hour deserted, they sat together upon a seat, talking earnestly, while I, leaving the road, lay hidden in a bush upon the Heath. Lola seemed to be making some long explanation, and then I distinctly saw him take her hand, and hold it sympathetically, as he looked her full in the face.
Presently they rose, and walked the whole length of the open road, which led across the top of the Heath, as far as the Spaniards. On either side, far below, lay the lights of London, while, above, the red night-glare was reflected from the lowering sky.
As they walked closely beside each other, with halting steps, as though the moments of their meeting were passing all too rapidly, the man from the grave was speaking, low and earnestly, into her ear.
She seemed to be listening to him in silence. And I watched on, half-inclined to the belief that they were lovers.
Nevertheless, such an idea seemed ridiculous after Craig's demeanour when he had watched her through the window on that night in Boscombe.
Yes. The friendship between Lola and the man whom every one believed to be in his grave, was a complete mystery.
I followed them back, past the infrequent street-lamps, to the seat whereon they had at first sat. Upon it they sank again, and until nearly ten o'clock they remained in deep, earnest conversation.
When they rose, at last, I thought he raised her hand reverently to his lips. But I was so far away that I could not be absolutely certain. As they sauntered slowly down the hill to the station, I lounged leisurely after them.
They were too occupied with each other to be conscious of my surveillance.
I saw them descend in the lift to the platform below, and I was compelled to take the next lift.
Fortunately, the train had not left ere I gained it, and I got in the rear carriage, keeping a wary eye upon each platform as we reached it.
At Oxford Street they alighted, and while they ascended by the lift, I tore up the stairs two steps at a time, reaching the street just as they entered the big, grey, closed motor-car, which was apparently there awaiting them, and moved off down the street.
In a moment I had hailed a taxi and was speeding after the grey car.
The red light showing the number-plate and the "G.B." plaque, went swiftly down to Piccadilly Circus, then turning to the right along Piccadilly, pulled upsuddenly before theBerkeley Hotel, where both alighted.
Craig went as far as the door and stood speaking with her for a moment or two; then, raising his hat, re-entered the grey car and drove rapidly in the direction of Hyde Park Corner.
Having established the fact that Lola was staying at theBerkeley, I re-entered my taxi, and in about half an hour alighted once more at the junction of Arkwright Road with Finchley Road.
Benham quickly detected my arrival, and approaching me from the darkness, said—
"I wondered where you'd gone to, sir, all the evening. Nobody has come out. The three men are in there still."
I was very tired and hungry, therefore we both went into the neighbouring bar and swallowed some sandwiches. Then we went forth again, and though midnight chimed from a distant church clock, there was no sign of the interesting trio. Perhaps Vernon and Jeanjean were fatigued after their swift journey from the African coast.
The solution of the mystery at Cromer was still as far off as ever. The reappearance of the supposed dead man had increased the complications in the amazing problem which had, long ago, been given up by Frayne of the estimable Norfolk Constabulary as constituting an unsolvable "mystery." Both he and Treeton were, no doubt, busily engaged in trapping motorists who exceeded "the limit," for to secure a conviction is a far greater credit to the local police officer than the patient unravelling of a mystery of crime. Hence the persistent lack of intelligence amongst too many of the country police.
It was past one o'clock in the morning when, lurking together in a doorway, we saw the portals of Merton Lodge open, and Vernon with his two friends, all in evening dress, come out. They buttoned their black overcoats, pressed their crush-hats upon their heads against the wind, and all three sallied briskly forth in the direction of Fitzjohn's Avenue.
Bertini was, I noticed, carrying a small leather bag, very strong, like those used by bankers to convey their coin.
One thing, which struck me as curious, was that they made no noise whatever as they walked. They were seemingly wearing boots with rubber soles. Yet, being in evening clothes, they might all be wearing dancing-pumps.
We followed at a respectable distance, and, watching, saw some astounding manœuvres.
Passing down Fitzjohn's Avenue to Swiss Cottage Station, they separated, Vernon taking a taxi and the others crossing to the station, which still remained open.
I followed Vernon in another taxi while Benham, unknown to the other two, stood upon the kerb in the darkness and lit a cigarette.
Vernon's cab went direct to Tottenham Court Road, where, opposite theHorse Shoe, he alighted, and turning to the right, strolled along Oxford Street past the Oxford Music Hall, I dogging his steps all the time.
Half-way down Oxford Street he paused and, turning into Wells Street, lit a cigar. Then he glanced up and down in expectancy till, some ten minutes later, a taxi-cab pulled up some distance away, and his two friends alighted from it. Close on their heels came a second taxi, from which I saw Benham jump out.
The trio separated, and neither took any notice of the others.
Jeanjean came out into Oxford Street, where I was standing in the shadow, and walking a few doors down in the direction of Great Portland Street, halted suddenly before the door of a large jeweller's shop, swiftly unlocked it with a key he held ready in his hand, and, ere I could realize his intention, he was inside with the door closed behind him.
The key had, no doubt, been already prepared from a cast of the original, and the scene of action well prospected. Otherwise he would never have dared to actin that openly defiant manner almost under the very noses of the police.
I drew back and waited, watching the operations of the most notorious jewel-thief in Europe, Benham keeping a wary eye upon the other pair.
Vernon, after a few moments, crossed into Poland Street, a narrow thoroughfare nearly opposite, while Bertini, carrying the bag, slipped along to the jeweller's shop, and also entered by the unlocked door.
In the heavy iron revolving shutters were gratings, allowing the police on the beat to see within, but from where I stood I could see no light inside. All was quite quiet and unsuspicious. It was a marvel to me how silently and actively both men had slipped from view right under the noses of the police in Oxford Street, who are ever vigilant at night.
Vernon, watched by Benham, had hidden himself in a doorway with the evident intention of remaining until thecoupwas successfully effected, and to immediately take over the spoils and lock them away in his safes in Hatton Garden.
Five, ten, fifteen breathless minutes went by.
I saw the constable on the beat, walking with his sergeant, approaching me. Both were blissfully ignorant that within a few yards of them was the great Jules Jeanjean, for whose capture the French police had long ago offered a vast reward.
I was compelled to shift from my point of vantage, yet I remained in the vicinity unseen by either.
What if the constable were to try the jeweller's door as he passed?
I watched the pair strolling slowly, their shiny capes on their shoulders, for rain had begun to fall, watched them breathlessly.
Of a sudden the constable halted as he was passing the jeweller's shop door, and, stepping aside, tried it.
My heart stood still.
Next second, however, the truth was plain. The door had been re-fastened, and the constable, reassured,went on, resuming his night gossip with his sergeant at the point where he had broken off.
Yes. The two thieves were inside, no doubt sacking the place of all that was most valuable.
Their daring, swiftness, and expert methods were astounding. Truly Jules Jeanjean was a veritable prince among jewel-thieves. Not another man in the whole of Europe could approach him either for knowledge as to whether a gem were good or bad, for nerve and daring, for impudent effrontery, or for swift and decisive action. He was a king among jewel-thieves, and as such acknowledged by the dishonest fraternity whose special prey was precious stones.
I stood in blank wonder and amazement.
My first impulse was to turn and step along to Oxford Circus, where I knew another constable would be on point-duty. Indeed, I was about to raise the alarm without arousing old Vernon's suspicions, when I saw the jeweller's door open quickly and both men dashed out wildly and up Wells Street as fast as their legs could carry them.
In a moment I saw that they had been desperately alarmed and were fleeing without waiting to secure their booty, for next second a man—a watchman who had been sleeping on the premises—staggered out upon the pavement, shouting, "Murder! Help! Thieves!" and then fell on the ground senseless.
I rushed over to him, and by the light of the street-lamp saw that blood was flowing from a great wound in his skull. Then, in a moment, Benham was beside me, and the constable and sergeant came running back, being joined by a second constable.
Meanwhile Vernon, as well as the two thieves, had disappeared.
The man attacked was senseless. The wound in his head was a terrible one, apparently inflicted by a jemmy or life-preserver; so quickly an ambulance was sent for, and the poor fellow was swiftly conveyed, apparently in a dying condition, to the Middlesex Hospital.
At first the police regarded me with some suspicion, but when Benham explained who he was, and that our attention had been attracted by "something wrong," they were satisfied. We, however, went round to the police-station and there made a statement that, in passing we had seen two men—whom we described—enter the premises with a key, and as they did not emerge, we waited, until we saw them escape, followed by the injured watchman.
Then—it being about half-past three in the morning—we went back to the jeweller's, and there found the place in a state of great disorder. At the back of the window pieces of black linen had been suspended, in order to shut out the light from the small gratings in the shutters, and, in what they had believed to be perfect security, the thieves, wearing gloves, had forced open several show-cases and packed their most valuable contents in a cotton bag ready for removal. The big safe, one by a well-known maker, stood open, and the various valuable articles it contained had been pulled roughly out, examined, and placed aside ready to be packed up, together with a bag containing about one hundred sovereigns, and a small packet of banknotes.
On the floor lay a beautiful pearl collar, while everywhere empty cases were strewn about. Yet, as far as could be ascertained from the manager, who had come up hastily in a taxi, nothing had been taken.
Detectives came and began a thorough examination of the premises, and the damage done.
They were looking for finger-prints, but it was not likely that practised experts such as Jules Jeanjean and his companion would risk detection by leaving any.
I kept my knowledge to myself, and returned, weary and hungry, to my rooms, Benham accompanying me, and there we discussed our plans for the morrow.
The autumn sun shone brightly into the artistic little sitting-room at theBerkeley Hotel, overlooking Piccadilly and the Green Park, where, next morning, I was seated alone with Lola.
She was dressed in a pretty, neatly-made gown of a delicate brown shade, with silk stockings and smart little shoes to match, and as she leaned back in her cosy arm-chair, her pointed chin upon her white hand, her big blue eyes, so full of expression, were turned upon me, their brows slightly knit in her earnestness.
Upon the centre table stood a big silver bowl of dahlias and autumn foliage, while upon a sideboard was lying a fine bouquet of roses which a page-boy had brought in as we had been chatting.
I related my strange experience of the previous night, whereupon she had said, in a low, intense voice—
"Yes. I heard yesterday afternoon, when I was at Vernon's house in Hampstead, that an attempt was to be made somewhere. But I was not told where."
"Lola," I exclaimed, taking her hand tenderly, and looking into her eyes, "I am here this morning to save you from these people, and to save myself. If we remain inactive like this, they will deal us both a secret blow. They fear you, and in addition they know that I have discovered who they are, and the truth concerning some of their crimes."
She nodded, but no sound escaped her lips.
At last, however, by dint of long persuasion and argument, I succeeded in convincing her that I really was her friend, and that even if I exposed the gang, and caused them to be arrested, I could at the same time keep her out of the sensational affair which must inevitably result.
She rose, and for a long time stood at the window, gazing out upon the never-ceasing traffic in Piccadilly, her countenance very grave and thoughtful. By the quick rising and falling of her bosom, and by her pursed lips, I saw how deep was her agitation, how torn was her mind by conflicting emotions.
At last, as she leaned upon a chair, her eyes still fixed blankly out upon the long, rather monotonous façade of theRitz Hotel, she began to tell me some of the facts she knew concerning her notorious uncle, Jules Jeanjean.
"He started life," she explained, "as an employé of the Nord Railway of France, and, being honest and hardworking, rose from an obscure situation in the goods-yard at Creil to become chief conductor on the express line between Calais and Paris. His sister, who was my mother, had married Felix Sorel, a leather-merchant in the Boulevard de Clichy, and they had one daughter, myself. Jules, however, remained unmarried. Apparently he held advanced Republican views, and soon entertained Anarchist ideas, yet no fault was ever found with the performance of his duties by the railway officials. He was, I have heard, a model servant, always punctual, sober, and so extremely polite that all the habitual passengers knew and liked him."
She paused, reflecting.
"It seems," she went on after a few moments, "it seems that as chief of the express which left Calais for Paris each day, after the arrival of the midday boat from Dover, his position was much coveted by the other employés. After about two and a half years of this, however, the Company one day offered him the post of Station-Inspector at Abbeville, where the boat expresses stop for water. But, to the surprise of his friends, he declined and, moreover, resigned from the service, pleading an internal trouble, and left France."
"Curious," I remarked. "He must have had some other motive than that for his sudden decision, I suppose."
Then, continuing her narrative, the pretty blue-eyedgirl revealed to me a very remarkable story. From what she said it appeared that during his two and a half years' service between Calais and Dover, her uncle had been reaping a golden harvest and placing great sums of money in an English bank. The device by which the money had been gained was both ingenious and simple. Employed in the Customs House at the Maritime Station at Calais—through which all persons travelling from England by that route have to pass—was adouanierfrom Corsica who, though a French subject, bore an Italian name, Egisto Bertini. Between Bertini and the honest train-conductor a close friendship had arisen. Then Bertini, who had become acquainted with a London diamond-broker, Mr. Gregory Vernon, a constant traveller between the French and English capitals, one day introduced his friend. Before long Vernon's master-mind was at work, and at a meeting of the three men, held one evening on Dover cliffs, a very neat conspiracy was formed. It was simply this—
Bertini's duty was to examine passengers' baggage registered beyond Paris, and when it was placed upon the counter in the Customs House, he kept an open eye for any jewel-cases. Exercising his power, he would have them opened and inspect their contents, and then, being replaced, the box would be locked by the unsuspecting passenger. The Customs Officer would, however, chalk a peculiar mark upon the trunk containing the valuables, and during its transit between Calais and Paris Jeanjean would go to the baggage-wagon, and, with a big bunch of duplicate keys, unlock the marked trunks, abstract the jewellery, and relock it again. By the time the unfortunate passenger discovered the loss, the stolen property would probably be on its way into old Vernon's hands for disposal in Antwerp or Amsterdam.
Thus the two made some hugecoups. In one instance, the pearls of the Duchess of Carcassonne, valued at forty-five thousand pounds, were secured, and never traced, for they were sold east of Suez. In another instance the celebrated diamond necklace belonging toMademoiselle Montbard, the famous actress at the Ambigu in Paris, worth thirty thousand pounds, was abstracted from her baggage. Emeralds to the value of over twenty thousand pounds, the property of the wife of an American millionaire, and the whole of the famous jewels of the Princess Tchernowski were also among the articles stolen.
So constant, however, were these mysterious thefts, that at last the police established a strict surveillance upon all baggage, and hence the interesting little game was at an end.
Matters grew a trifle too warm, and though neither Jeanjean nor Bertini changed their mode of life with their rapidly-gained wealth, yet it was felt that to retire was best. So, within a month of each other, they left. Jeanjean crossed over to England, and Bertini accepted promotion to Boulogne, where he remained several months, fearing that if he resigned too quickly suspicions might be aroused.
Of course, after this, the organized thefts between Calais and Paris ceased suddenly, though the Company never entertained the slightest suspicion of the guilty persons, or of the mode in which each trunk containing jewellery was made known to the thief.
Vernon's craft and cunning were unequalled, for at his suggestion, Jeanjean, though he had over fifty thousand pounds in the Bank of England, now embarked upon the career of a jewel-thief, whose audacity, daring and elusiveness was astounding. His anarchist views prompted him to disregard human life wherever it interfered with his plans, and so clever and ingenious were hiscoups, that the police of Europe, whom he so often defied, stood dumbfounded.
About this time Lola's father, the honest leather-merchant of Paris, went bankrupt, and died a few weeks afterwards of phthisis, while Madame Sorel, brokenhearted, followed her husband to the grave two months later, leaving little Lola alone. She was then fifteen, and her uncle, seeing that she might be of use to him,adopted her as his daughter, and gradually initiated her into the arts and wiles of an expert-thief. His whole surroundings were criminal, she declared to me. She lived in an atmosphere of crime, for to the flat in the Boulevard Pereire, which her uncle made his headquarters when in Paris, came the men, Bertini, Vernon, Hodrickx, Hunzle, and others, greatcoupsbeing discussed between them, and arranged, thefts carried out in various cities of Europe, often at great cost and frequently with the assistance of Lola, who was pressed into the service, and upon whom her uncle had bestowed the name of "The Nightingale," on account of her sweet voice.
Vernon was the brain of the organization. By his connection with the diamond trade he obtained information as to who had valuable gems in their possession, and by the exercise of his marvellous wit and subterfuge would devise deep and remarkable plots of which the assassination of the well-known Paris jeweller, M. Benoy, was one. In three years the daring gang, so perfectly organized, perpetrated no fewer than eighteen big jewel robberies as well as other smaller thefts and burglaries. In many, robbery was, alas! accompanied by brutal violence. The ParisSûreté, Scotland Yard, and the Detective Departments of Berlin, Brussels, and Rome were ever on the alert endeavouring to trace, capture, and break up the gang, but with the large funds at their disposal they were able to bribe even responsible officials who became obnoxious, and by such means evade arrest. Of these bribings there had been many sinister whispers, as Henri Jonet told me months afterwards.
"Ah! Lola!" I exclaimed. "How strangely romantic your career has been!"
"Yes, M'sieur Vidal," she replied, turning her splendid eyes upon mine. "And were it not for your generosity towards me, I should have been arrested that night at Balmaclellan, and at this moment would have been in prison."
"I know that you have been associated with thesemen through no fault of your own—that you have been forced to become a confederate of thieves and assassins," I said. "Surely no other girl in all England, or, indeed, in Europe, has found herself in a similar position—the decoy of such a dangerous and unscrupulous gang."
"No," faltered the girl. "It was not my fault, I assure you. Ah! Heaven knows how, times without number, I have endeavoured to defy and break away from them. But they were always too artful, too strong for me. My uncle held me in his grip, and though he was never unkind, yet he was always determined, and constantly threatened me with exposure if I did not blindly do his bidding. Thus I was forced to remain his cat's paw, even till to-day," she added, in a voice full of sorrow and regret.
I recollected the scene I had witnessed on Hampstead Heath on the previous night—her meeting with the man who had so mysteriously died in Cromer, and as I gazed upon her fair face, I pondered.
What could it mean?
Apparently she was staying at theBerkeleyalone, and I mentioned this fact.
"Oh, they know me well, here. When I'm alone, I often stay here," she explained, still speaking in French. "I like the place far better than theCarltonor theRitz. I have had quite enough of the big hotels," she added with a meaning smile.
She referred to those hotels where she had lived in order to rub shoulders with women who possessed rich jewels.
At that moment a foreign waiter knocked at the door and interrupted ourtête-à-tête, by announcing—
"Mr. Craig to see you, miss."
"Show him in," was her prompt reply in English, as she rose and glanced quickly at me. I saw that her cheeks were slightly flushed in her sudden excitement.
And a few seconds later I stood face to face with the man upon whose body a Coroner's verdict had been pronounced.
He was tall, good-looking, and smartly-dressed in a grey lounge-suit, carrying his plush Tyrolese hat in his hand.
On seeing me he drew back, and cast a quick, inquisitive glance at Lola.
"This is M'sieur Vidal," the girl exclaimed in her pretty broken English, introducing us. "My very good friend of whom I spoke yesterday—M'sieur Edouard Craig."
We bowed to each other, and I thought I saw upon his face a look of annoyance. He had evidently believed Lola to be alone.
In an instant, however, the shadow fled from the young man's face, and he exclaimed with frankness—
"I'm extremely pleased to know you, sir, more especially after what Lola has told me concerning you."
"What has she told you?" I asked, with a smile. "Nothing very terrible, I hope?"
For a second he did not reply. Then, looking over at her as she stood on the opposite side of the table, he replied—
"Well, she has told me of your long friendship and—and—may I be permitted to tell Mr. Vidal, Lola?" he suddenly asked, turning to her.
"Tell him what you wish," she answered.
"Then I will not conceal it," he went on, turning back to me. "Lola has explained to me her position, her connection with certain undesirable persons, whom we need not mention, and how you in your generosity allowed her her freedom."
"She has told you!" I gasped in surprise, not understanding in what position he stood towards the dainty little Parisienne. "Well, Mr. Craig, I thought you knew that long ago," I added after a pause.
"Until last night, I was in entire ignorance of the whole truth. I met Lola at Hampstead, and she explained many things that have astounded me."
"I have told Mr. Craig the truth," declared the girl, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "It was onlyright that he should know who and what I am—especially as——" she broke off suddenly.
"Especially as—what?" I asked.
"Especially as I love you, Lola, eh?" the young man chimed in, grasping her hand and raising it to his lips fondly.
This revelation staggered me. The pair were lovers! This man, whose attitude when he saw her in secret at Boscombe was so antagonistic, was now deeply in love with her! Surely I was living in a world of surprises!
How much, I wondered, had she revealed to this man who was believed to have been buried?
For some moments all three of us stood looking at each other, neither uttering a word.
Then I swiftly put to the young man several questions, and receiving answers, excused myself, and went below to the telephone.
I had three calls in various directions, and then returned to where Lola and her lover were standing together. Heedless of my presence, so deeply in love was he, that he was holding her hand and looking affectionately into the girl's eyes as he bent, whispering lovingly, to her.
Yes, they were indeed a well-matched pair standing there together. She sweet and innocent-looking, he tall and athletic, with all the appearance of a gentleman.
Yet it was Edward Craig, the man who had lived at Beacon House at Cromer, the man whom I had seen lying stark and dead, killed by some mysterious means which medical men could not discover. Edward Craig, the dead man in the flesh!