CHAPTER XI
THE AFFAIR ON THE SEVENTEENTH
The ingenious theft of old Gregory's treasure created the greatestconsternation amongst the police, though the truth was carefullyconcealed from the public.
Treeton pledged Mr. and Mrs. Dean and their servant to secrecy,therefore all that was known in Cromer was that there had been anattempted burglary at Beacon House.
Cromer is a quiet, law-abiding town, and burglars had not been knownthere for years. Therefore the inhabitants were naturally alarmed, andnow carefully locked and bolted their doors at night.
I returned the shoe to the police-station, but made no mention of theresult of my test.
From the first I had guessed that old Gregory would not leave histreasure behind. Yet, if he were not guilty of Craig's murder, why hadhe fled?
Lola had visited him, and Jeanjean had been in Cromer. Those two factswere, in themselves, sufficient to tell me that Gregory was an impostorand that Craig, whoever he might really have been, had fallen the victimof some deadly vengeance.
Would Lola return to see me?
In the days that followed--bright June days, with the North Sea lyingcalm and blue below the cliffs--I waited in patience, scarce leaving thehotel all day, in fear lest she might again seek me, and, paying me avisit, find me absent.
Rayner considered me inactive and grumbled in consequence.
He spent his time lolling upon one of the seats on the cliff-top outsidethe hotel, idly smoking Virginian cigarettes. He had openly expressedhis dissatisfaction that I had not made any attempt to follow themysterious Doctor Arendt and his Italian friend.
Truth to tell, I was utterly confounded.
To follow Jules Jeanjean, now that he had got clean away with Gregory'streasure, would, I felt, be an utterly futile task. He was too clever toleave any trace behind--a past-master in the art of evasion, and a manof a hundred clever disguises.
What would they say at the Prefecture of Police in Paris, when I relatedto them the strange story of Jeanjean's exploits in England? Was itpossible, I wondered, that the master-criminal, finding the Continent ofEurope growing a trifle too hot for him, had come to England to followhis nefarious profession. If so, then he would certainly cause a greatdeal of trouble to the famous Council of Seven at the CriminalInvestigation Department in London.
Thus days went on--warm, idle, summer days with holiday visitors dailyarriving, houses being repainted, and Cromer putting on her bestappearance for the coming "season." Seaside towns always blossom forthinto fresh paint in the month of June, window-sashes in white and doorsin green. But Cromer, with its golf and high-class music, is essentiallya resort of the wealthy, a place where the tripper is unwanted and wherethere are no importunate long-shoremen suggesting that it is a "Nice dayfor a bowot, sir!"
Where was Lola? Would she ever return?
I idled about the hotel, impatient and angry with myself. Yes, Raynerwas right after all! I ought to have made some effort to follow thethree men. But now, it was quite impossible. They were, no doubt, faraway, and probably old Gregory's treasure was by that time safe in hisown hands.
The evidence of the shoe puzzled me. The wearer of that little shoe withthe two pearl buttons had, without doubt, been near that seat on theEast Cliff where Craig had been killed--present, in all probability,when he had been so mysteriously stricken down.
Was it possible that a woman--the same woman--had assisted in theburglary, and had inadvertently lost her shoe? Perhaps she had takenher shoes off in order to move noiselessly, and in trying to recoverthem could only regain one!
Lola, I remembered, possessed a very small foot. She was alwaysextremely neat and dainty about the ankles and wore silk stockings andpretty shoes. Was it the print of her foot that I had found near thatfatal seat? Was it her shoe that had been found at Beacon House?
Ah! If I could but see her? If she would only call upon me once again!
Day after day I waited, but, alas, she did not come.
That she was most anxious to see me was proved by the fact that she haddared to call at all after what had occurred. She had some strong motivein meeting me again, therefore I lived on in hope that she would return.
The Nightingale! Heavens! What strange memories that one word broughtback to me as I sat in the window of my high-up room, gazing over thesummer sea.
It was now July, and Cromer was rapidly filling with better-class folk.Now and then I went to London, but only for the day, fearing lest Lolashould send me a telegram to meet her. In my absence Rayner alwaysremained on duty.
I had written to her address in the Avenue Pereire, in Paris, but hadreceived no reply. Then I had sent a line to the concierge of the housewherein the flat was situated. To this I had received an ill-scribbledfew lines in French, expressing a regret that Mademoiselle had vacatedthe place some weeks previously and that her present address wasunknown.
Unknown! Well, that, after all, scarcely surprised me. Lola's addressgenerally was unknown. Only her most intimate friends ever knew it; andfor obvious reasons. She existed always in a deadly fear.
Perhaps it was that very fear which even now kept her from me!
Several times I had advertised in the personal column of the _Matin_ inthe hope that she might see it and communicate with me, but all to noavail.
In Cromer the sensation caused by the mysterious crime had quite dieddown.
Frayne, in Norwich, had ceased to make further inquiry, and Treeton nowregarded the problem as one that would never be solved. So, with thedaily arrival of visitors, Cromer and its tradespeople and landladiesforgot the curious affair which had afforded them such a "nine days'wonder."
The month of July passed, and, with the London season over, every onerushed to the seaside. Cromer was filled to overflowing. The narrowstreets were crowded with well-dressed folk, and large cars passed oneat every turn. Stifled town-dwellers were there to enjoy the strong,healthy breezes from the North Sea, and to indulge in the bathing andthe golf.
Yet, though August came, I still kept on my room at the _Paris_, hopingagainst hope that Lola might yet return.
Quite suddenly, one day, I recollected that curious letter in Italian,signed "Egisto," and addressed to his "Illustrious Master," found atBeacon House.
It had referred to something which had appeared in the Paris _Matin_ ofMarch 17. Consequently I sent to Paris for a copy of the paper, and, onemorning, the pale yellow sheet arrived.
"The business we have been so long arranging, was successfully concludedlast night," the writer of the letter had said, adding that a report ofit appeared in the _Matin_ on the day of this letter.
Eagerly I searched the paper, which was, as usual, full of sensationalreports, for the French newspaper reader dearly loves a tragedy.
The "feature" of the paper is always placed in the right-hand cornernear the bottom, and, as I searched, my eyes fell upon the words, inbold capitals: "Motor Bandits: Dastardly Outrage near Fontainebleau."
What followed, roughly translated into English, read--
"By telephone from Fontainebleau. Early this morning we have receivedinformation of a dastardly outrage in which two lives have beensacrificed. It appears that, just after midnight, Monsieur CharlesBenoy, the well-known jeweller of the Rue de la Paix, was travellingfrom Paris to his chateau near Maret-sur-Loire, on the other side of theForest of Fontainebleau. He was accompanied by his son Pierre, agedtwenty-four, and driven by the chauffeur, named Petit. With him, in thecar, M. Benoy had in their leather cases four diamond collars of greatvalue, and two pearl necklaces, which he intended to show next day to acertain American gentleman who has recently purchased the ancientChateau de Provins, and who was one of the jeweller's customers.
"M. Benoy's intention was to take the jewels over to Provins in his caron the following morning. Apparently all went well on the journey. Theypassed through Melun, entered the Forest, and at a high speed passedthrough the little hamlet of Chantoiseau, where they were seen by twogendarmes.
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nbsp; "According to the story of the chauffeur, when about four kilometresbeyond Chantoiseau, at a lonely point of the forest, he saw two redlights being waved in the roadway, and reduced his speed on this sign ofdanger.
"As he did so, however, three men sprang out from the undergrowth. Theycalled upon him to stop, and a revolver was fired point-blank at him.Next moment the bandits fired, without further ado, upon the occupantsof the car, but the chauffeur, severely wounded, then fainted, and knewno more until he recovered consciousness in the barracks of theGendarmerie in Moret.
"What happened, apparently, was that the three assassins, after shootingall three of the occupants of the car, threw the bodies into theroadway, seized the automobile, and drove off with the jewels. M. Benoyand his son were dead when found, the father having two bullet-wounds inhis head, while the son had been struck in the region of the heart. Thechauffeur, Petit, lies in a critical condition, and only with greatdifficulty has been able to give an account of the murderous attack.
"Inquiries at M. Benoy's shop, in the Rue de la Paix, have revealed thefact that the jewellery is worth about four hundred thousand francs.
"The car was seen returning through Melun, being driven at a furiouspace by the bandits, but, unfortunately, all traces of it, and of thethree men, have been lost.
"According to the chauffeur's description of one of the men, who woremotor-goggles as a disguise, the police believe the outrage to be thework of the notorious Jules Jeanjean, the ingenious criminal of whom thepolice have been so long in search.
"The occupants of the car were treated with inhuman brutality. Thebodies of both father and son, together with the number-plates of thecar, were thrown unceremoniously into the undergrowth; that of Petit wasallowed to lie across the footpath, but for what reason cannot beguessed at.
"From the fact that the number-plates of the car have been found, itwould appear that before the bandits moved off they replaced the correctnumbers by false ones. No doubt, also, a rapid attempt was made to alterthe appearance of the body of the car, because, close by, there werefound two pails containing grey paint, and large brushes with the paintstill wet in them.
"From this it is seen that the intention of the bandits was to make along run, perhaps all through the following day, to reach some distantpoint of safety.
"It will be remembered that Jules Jeanjean was the prime mover in theterrible outrage near Lyons, where three motorists were shot dead andtwo wounded. Two men named Dubois, and Leblon, were arrested, and beforetheir condemnation confessed that Jeanjean, a dangerous anarchist, hadinstigated the plot.
"Readers of the _Matin_ will not need to be reminded of the manydesperate crimes of which this atrocious scoundrel has been the author;of his amazing daring and marvellous cunning; and of the almost uncannyease with which he, time after time, defies every effort of the policeto trace and capture him.
"M. Hamard, Chef de la Surete, and several inspectors have left Paris,and are upon the scene of the outrage, while descriptions of the missingjewellery have already been circulated."
The Place of Dragons: A Mystery Page 11