The Place of Dragons: A Mystery

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER VII

  TELLS OF TWO MEN

  The stranger, whose age was about forty-five, went on in the directionof the post-office in the Church Square.

  Should I dash back, overtake him and claim acquaintance? Or should Ikeep my knowledge to myself, and watch in patience?

  A single second had I in which to decide. And I decided.

  I turned back upon my heel again as though I had not recognized him.

  But what could that man's presence mean in that little East Coast town?Aye, what indeed?

  I tried to think, to conjecture, to form some theory--but I was tooconfused. Lola had been there--and now that man who had just passed!

  Along the narrow, old-fashioned Jetty Street I strode for some yards,and then turned and retraced my steps till I saw him across the oldchurchyard entering the post-office.

  Treeton was coming up in my direction, little dreaming how near he wasto the one man who knew the truth. I smiled to myself at the ignoranceof the local police. And yet my own knowledge was that of a man who hadled a strange cosmopolitan life, who had mixed with all classes on theContinent, who had trodden the streets of more than one capital indisguise, and who had assisted the _Surete_ in half a dozen countries.

  I smiled at Treeton as he went by, and he smiled back. That man in thepost-office yonder was a remarkable personage. That I well knew. Whatwould any agent in the _brigade mobile_ of Paris have given to be in myplace at that moment--to be able to enter the Cromer post-office and layhands upon Jules Jeanjean--the notorious Jules Jeanjean, of all men!

  My thoughts were of Lola. Phew! Had ever man such a strange reverie as Ihad in those moments when I halted, pretending to look into theshop-window of the jeweller at the corner--yet all the time watching inthe direction of the door of the post-office!

  To go back would betray recognition, so I was compelled to goforward--to the hotel.

  I did not, however, allow the grass to grow beneath my feet. That night,instead of dining at the hotel, I ate a sandwich in the bar of the_Albion_, and soon discovered that the man I had seen passing CromerChurch was living in apartments in the Overstrand Road, the aristocraticquarter of Cromer, close to the Doctor's steps.

  I had kept careful watch all the evening. First, quite unconcernedly, hehad strolled along the East Cliff, past the seat where the man, nowdead, had sat early on that fatal morning. I had followed, and hadwatched.

  He paused close by, ostensibly to light a cigarette with a patentlighter, then, after covertly making observations, he went on away tothe edge of the links, and up the path near the _Links Hotel_, where hegained the Overstrand Road.

  The evening was clear and bright, the sundown across the North Sea ablaze of crimson and gold. There were many promenaders along thatwell-trodden path, yet it required the exercise of all my cunning toescape the observation of the shrewd and clever man I was following.

  At eight o'clock he entered his lodging. Half an hour later, as Ilounged past, I saw him seated at dinner between two elderly women,laughing with that easy-going cosmopolitan air--that foreign charm ofhis, which had carried him through so many strange adventures.

  Then I waited--waited until dusk deepened into night. Silent, andwithout wind, the summer air was fresh and invigorating after theoppressiveness of the day. The street-lamps were lit, yet I stillremained watching, and ever on the alert.

  The Norfolk constabulary were observing the old, slow, stereotyped,routine methods of police investigation, as I had expected them to do.

  I alone had scented the clue to the mystery.

  Not a sign had been seen of the cunning old fugitive. Telegrams had beendispatched by the dozen. Scotland Yard had been, of course, "informed,"but information from the country is there but lightly considered.Therefore, in all probability, the shrewd old man, who had so cleverlyimposed upon the good people of Cromer, was by that time across theChannel.

  But, would he leave that splendid treasure of his behind?

  All through that evening I waited in patience in the OverstrandRoad--waited to see if Jules Jeanjean would come forth again.

  At half-past ten, when the moon was shining brightly over the calm sea,I saw him come out, wearing a soft grey felt hat and light drabovercoat. He laughed at the neat maid who opened the door for him, andinstinctively put his hand to his hat to raise it, as foreigners sooften do.

  Instead of walking towards the town, as I had expected, he turned in thedirection of Suffield Park, the pretty suburb of Cromer, and actuallypassed within a few yards of where I was crouching behind the laurelhedge of somebody's front garden.

  I allowed him to get some distance ahead, then, treading lightly upon myrubber heels, swiftly followed.

  He made in the direction of the great Eastern Railway Station, until hecame to the arch where the line crosses the road, when from the shadowthere crept silently another figure of a man.

  At that hour, and at that point, all was deserted. From where I stood Icould see the lights of the great _Links Hotel_ high up, dominating thelandscape, and nearer were the long, slowly-moving shafts of extremebrilliance, shining from the lighthouse as a warning to mariners on theNorth Sea.

  Jules Jeanjean, the man of a hundred adventures, met the stranger. Itwas a tryst, most certainly. Under the shadow of a wall I drew back, andwatched the pair with eager interest. They whispered, and it wasapparent that they were discussing some very serious and weighty matter.Of necessity I was so far away that I could not distinguish the featuresof the stranger. All I could see was that he was very well dressed, andwore dark clothes, a straw hat, and carried a cane.

  Together they walked slowly in the shadow. Jeanjean had linked his armin that of the stranger, who seemed young and athletic, and was talkingvery earnestly--perhaps relating what had occurred at the inquest thatafternoon, for, though I had not seen him there, I suspected that hemight have been present.

  I saw Jeanjean give something to his companion, but I could not detectwhat it was. Something he took very slowly and carefully from his pocketand handed it to the young man, who at first hesitated to accept it,and only did so after Jeanjean's repeated and firm insistence.

  It was as though the man I had recognized that afternoon in Cromer wasbending the other by his dominant personality--compelling him to actagainst his will.

  And as I stood there I wondered whether after all Jeanjean had actuallyrecognized me when we met in Church Square--or whether he had beenstruck merely by what he deemed a chance resemblance, and had passed meby without further thought.

  Had he recognized me I do not think he would have dared to remain inCromer a single hour. Hence, I hoped he had not. The fact would rendermy work of investigation a thousandfold easier.

  Presently, after a full quarter of an hour's conversation, the pairstrolled together along the moonlit road back towards the town, which atthat hour was wrapped in slumber.

  By a circuitous route they reached the narrow street at the back of thehouse where old Mr. Gregory and his nephew had lived, and, after passingand repassing it several times, returned by the way they had come.

  Near the railway bridge, where Jeanjean had first met the stranger, bothpaused and had another earnest conversation. More than once in thelamplight I had caught sight of the man's face, a keen face, with darkmoustache, and sharp, dark eyes. He had a quick, agile gait, and Ijudged him to be about eight-and-twenty.

  Presently the two walked out beyond the arch, and I saw the younger mango behind a hedge, from which he wheeled forth a motor-cycle that hadbeen concealed there. They bade each other adieu, and then, starting hisengine, the stranger mounted the machine, and next moment was speedingtowards Norwich without having lit his lamp, possibly having forgottento do so in his hurry to get away.

  The Frenchman watched his friend depart, then, leisurely lighting acigarette, turned and went back to the house in Overstrand Road where hehad taken up his temporary abode.

  It was half-past two when the night-porter at the _Hotel de Paris_admitted
me, and until the sun had risen over the sea, I sat at my openwindow, smoking, and thinking.

  The discovery that Jules Jeanjean was in that little East Coast town wasto me utterly amazing. What was his business in Cromer?

  A wire to the _Surete_ in Paris, stating his whereabouts, would, I knew,create no end of commotion, and Inspector Treeton would no doubt receiveurgent orders by telegram from London for the arrest of the seeminglyinoffensive man with the jaunty, foreign air.

  The little town of Cromer, seething with excitement over the mysteriousmurder of Edward Craig, little dreamed that it now harboured one of themost dangerous criminals of modern times.

  Next day, in the hotel, I was asked on every hand my opinion in regardto the East Cliff murder mystery. The evidence at the inquest was givenverbatim in the Norwich papers, and every one was reading it. By reasonof my writings, I suppose, I had earned a reputation as a seeker-out ofmystery. But to all inquirers I now expressed my inability to theorizeon the affair, and carefully preserved an attitude of amazed ignorance.

  I scarce dared to go forth that day lest I should again meet Jeanjean,and he should become aware of my presence in Cromer. Had he recognizedme when we met? I was continually asking myself that question, andalways I came to the conclusion that he had not, or he would not havedared to keep his tryst with the mysterious motor-cyclist.

  Were either of the pair responsible for Edward Craig's death? That wasthe great problem that was before me.

  And where was Gregory? If he were not implicated in the crime, why hadhe absconded?

  I examined the copy of that curious letter signed by Egisto, but itconveyed nothing very tangible to me.

  Frayne and his men were still passing to and fro in Cromer, making allkinds of abortive inquiries, and were, I knew, entirely on the wrongscent. Like myself, they were seeking the motive which caused the suddendisappearance of old Gregory. They were actually looking for him in thecounty of Norfolk! I knew, too well, that he must be already safely faraway, abroad.

  Frayne called in to see me after luncheon, and sat up in my room for anhour, smoking cigarettes.

  "I'm leaving the rooms that were occupied by Craig and his uncle just asthey are," he said to me. "I'm not touching a thing for the present, sothat when we find Gregory we can make him give explanations of what wehave secured there. I thought first of taking that sea-chest and itscontents over to Norwich with me, but I have now decided to seal up theroom and leave everything as it is."

  "I understand," I replied, smiling to myself at his forlorn hope of everfinding Mr. Vernon Gregory. For, the further my inquiries had gone, themore apparent was it that the old man was a very wily customer.

  "We've made one discovery," said the detective as he lit a freshcigarette.

  "Oh, what's that?" I inquired.

  "A young fisherman, named Britton, has come forward and told me that onthe night of the murder he was going along the road to Gunton, at aboutmidnight, when he met a man on a motor-cycle, with an empty side-car,coming from the direction of Norwich. The man dismounted and askedBritton how far it was to Cromer. The fisherman told him, and the fellowrode off. Britton, who had been to see his brother, returned just beforetwo, and met the same motor-cyclist coming back from Cromer, andtravelling at a very high speed. He then had somebody in the side-carwith him. In the darkness Britton could not get a very good view of thepassenger, but he believes that it was a woman."

  "A woman!" I echoed, somewhat surprised.

  "Yes, he was sure it was a woman," Frayne said. "One good point is, thatBritton is able to give a fairly good description of the motor-cyclist,whose face he saw when the fellow got off his machine to speak to him.He pictures him as a sharp-faced man, with a small black moustache, whospoke broken English."

  "A foreigner, then?"

  "Evidently." Then Frayne went on to remark, "It was foolish of thisfellow Britton not to have come forward before, Mr. Vidal. But you knowhow slow these Norfolk fishermen are. It was only after he was pressedby his friends, to whom he related the incident, that he consented tocome to the police-station and have a chat with me."

  "Well--then you suspect the motor-cyclist and the woman?"

  "Not without some further proof," replied the detective, with a look ofwisdom on his face. "We don't know yet if the passenger in the side-carwas a woman. Britton only believes so. The foreigner evidently only cameinto Cromer to fetch a friend."

  "But could not any foreigner come into Cromer to fetch a lady friend?" Iqueried.

  "Yes. That's just why I do not attach much importance to the youngfellow's story."

  "Does he say he could recognize the cyclist again?"

  "He believes so. But, unfortunately, he's not a lad of very highintelligence," laughed Frayne.

  To my companions the statement of that young fisherman evidently meantbut little.

  To me, however, it revealed a very great deal.