CHAPTER XVII
REVEALS ANOTHER PLOT
Approaching from Ealing Broadway, the huge electric-light standard,which was also a sign-post, shed a bright glow across the junction ofthe two roads. The thoroughfare on the right was Castlebar Road and onthe left Carlton Road. In the latter road stood half a dozen big oldtrees, relics of a day when Ealing was a rural village and those treesformed a leafy way.
Beyond the sign-post, placed at the end of the triangle, lay a smallopen space of grass, and behind it a pleasant house with many trees inits spacious grounds.
At that hour silence reigned in that highly respectable suburbanneighbourhood, and, as I went forward, I noticed that the figure beneaththe trees was that of a man, who, emerging from the shadow, crossed theroad leisurely and passed across the grass into the Castlebar Road, onthe right hand.
He was dressed in dark clothes with a light grey felt hat, but so farwas I away that to see his features was impossible, though the zone oflight from the sign-post revealed his figure plainly.
Once he halted and looked in my direction, on hearing my footsteps, Isuppose, but then continued his leisurely stroll.
I was upon the left-hand pavement, and in order not to attract the man'sattention, passed along by the garden walls of the series of detachedvillas, for about two hundred yards, until the road ran in a curve roundto the left, and thus I became hidden from his view.
When I found that I had not attracted the attention of the waiting manin the grey hat, I halted.
Was that the spot indicated? Was he one of those keeping thelong-arranged appointment?
Ten o'clock had struck fully five minutes before, therefore, treadingnoiselessly, I retraced my steps until I could cautiously peep aroundthe corner and see over the triangular plot of grass to the CastlebarRoad.
Yes, the man was still standing there awaiting somebody. I could see theglowing end of his cigar.
Fortunately, he had his back turned towards me, gazing in the directionof the Broadway in apparent expectation. This allowed me to slip along afew yards, and entering the garden gate of one of the villas, I croucheddown behind the low stone wall which separated the garden from thefootway.
Kneeling there, I could watch without being seen, for fortunately thestranger opposite had not seen me.
I suppose I must have been there fully ten minutes. Several peoplepassed within a few inches of me quite unsuspicious of my presence. InCastlebar Road a few people went along, but none interested the watcher.
Of a sudden, however, after straining his eyes for a long time in thedirection whence I had come, he suddenly threw away his cigar andstarted off eagerly.
A few moments later I witnessed the approach of a short, thinnish man,wearing a black overcoat, open, over his evening clothes, and an operahat.
And as he approached I recognized him. It was none other than Gregoryhimself!
The two men shook hands heartily, and by their mutual enthusiasm Irealized that they could not have met for some considerable time.
They halted on the kerb in eager consultation, then both with one accordturned and strolled together in the direction of the station.
Next moment I had slipped from my hiding-place and was lounging along ata respectable distance behind them.
How I regretted that I had had no time to hail Rayner, for he would havehad no difficulty in keeping observation upon the pair, while I, at anymoment, might be recognized by the cunning, clever old fellow to whoseinventiveness all the _coups_ of the notorious Jules Jeanjean were due.
He seemed to walk more erect, and with more sprightliness, than atCromer, where his advanced age and slight infirmity were undoubtedlyassumed. In his present garb he really looked what he was supposed tobe--a wealthy dealer in gems.
Engaged in earnest conversation, Gregory and his companion walkedtogether along the dark road until they came to a taxi-stand near thestation, when, entering the first cab, they drove rapidly away.
The moment they had left, I leapt into the next cab and, telling thedriver to keep his friend in sight, we were soon moving along after thered tail-light of the first taxi.
The chase was an exciting one, for we whizzed along dark roads, quiteunfamiliar to me, roads lying to the south of Ealing towards the Thames.My driver believed me to be a detective from my garb, and I did notdiscourage the belief.
Suddenly we turned to the right, when I recognized that we were in thelong, narrow town of Brentford, and travelling in the direction of SyonHouse, the main road to Hounslow and Staines. At Spring Grove, which Ihad known slightly in years gone by, we turned again to the right, andwere soon passing through a district of market-gardens and solitaryhouses.
On the way I had leaned out of the window and instructed the taxi-driverto keep well behind the other cab, so as not to be discovered.Therefore, in carrying out my orders, he suddenly put on his brakes andstopped, saying--
"They're going into that house yonder, sir. See?"
I nipped out quickly and saw that in the distance the other taxi hadpulled up and the two men had alighted before a garden gate.
"Put out your lights, go back to the end of the road, and wait for me,"I said.
Then I hurried forward to ascertain what I could.
The taxi, having put down its two fares and been dismissed, turned andpassed me as I went forward. At last I had run the sly old fox, Gregory,to earth, and I now meant to keep in touch with him.
On approaching the house I found it to be a good-sized one, standingback, lonely and deserted, in a weedy garden, and surrounded by big,high elms. From the neglect apparent everywhere, the decayed oak fence,and the grass-grown path leading to the front door, it was plain thatthe place was unoccupied, though in two windows lights now shone, behinddark-green holland blinds.
The place seemed situated in the centre of some market-gardens, withoutany other house in the near vicinity. A dismal, old-fashioned dwellingfar removed from the bustle of London life, and yet within hearing ofit, for, as I stood, I could see the night-glare of the metropolisshining in the sky, upon my right, and could hear the roar ofmotor-buses upon the main road through Spring Grove.
For a few moments I stood up under the shadow of a big bush whichoverhung the road, my eyes upon the lower window where the fightsshowed. The house was half-covered with ivy and had bay-windows uponeach side of the front door, which was approached by a short flight ofmoss-grown steps.
That I was not mistaken in my surmise that the house was uninhabited wasproved by the "To Let" notice-board which I discerned lying behind thefence, thrown down purposely, perhaps.
Was old Gregory an intruder there? Had he purposely thrown down thatboard in order that any person, seeing lights in the window, would nothave their suspicions sufficiently aroused to cause them to investigate?
The house was a dark, weird one. But what would I not have given to beinside, and to overhear what was being planned!
Vernon Gregory was, according to Lola, the instigator of all thosemarvellously ingenious thefts effected by Jeanjean. Was another greatrobbery being planned?
Perhaps the man in the grey hat had travelled from afar. Possibly so,because of the long time in advance the appointment had been made.
All was silent. Therefore I crept over the weedy garden until I stoodbeneath the bay window in which a light was shining.
I could hear voices--men's voices raised in controversy. Then, suddenly,they only conversed in whispers. What was said, I could not distinguish.They were speaking in French, but further than that I could catchnothing.
Sometimes they laughed heartily at something evidently hailed as a hugejoke. I distinctly heard Gregory's tones, but the others' I could notrecognize. As far as I could gather they were strangers to me.
Was the place, I wondered, one of old Gregory's hiding-places? Though heconducted his business in Hatton Garden, where he was well known, hisprivate address, Lola had told me, had always been a mystery, such painsdid he take to conceal it.
Was th
at lonely house his place of abode? Had he met his friend inEaling and taken him there in order to place before him certain plansfor the future?
I looked at the grim old house, with its mantle of ivy, and reflectedupon what quantities of stolen property it might contain!
That the man I knew as Vernon Gregory was head of an association of thecleverest jewel-thieves in the world, had been alleged by Lola, and Ibelieved her. His deep cunning and clever elusiveness, his amazingcraftiness and astounding foresight had been well illustrated by hisdisappearance from Cromer, even though his flight had been so suddenthat he had been compelled to abandon his treasures. Yet as I stoodthere, upon the carpet of weeds, with my ears strained, I could hear hisfamiliar voice speaking in slow measured tones, as he was explainingsomething in elaborate detail.
What was it? I stood there in a fever of excitement and curiosity.
Yet I had one satisfaction. I had run him to earth at last.
Presently the voices of the men were again raised in dissension. Gregoryhad apparently made some statement from which the others--how many therewere, I knew not--dissented. They spoke rapidly in French, and I couldhear one man's mouth full of execrations, a hard, hoarse voice of one ofthe lower class.
Then I distinctly heard some one say in English--
"I don't believe it! He knows nothing. Why take such a step against aninnocent man?"
"Because, I tell you, he knows too much!" declared Gregory, now speakingloudly in English. "He was at Cromer, and discovered everything. Ah! youdon't know how shrewd and painstaking he is. Read his books and you willsee. He is the greatest danger confronting you to-day, my friends."
I held my breath. They were discussing me!
"I object," exclaimed the man who had first spoken in English. "He hasno evil intentions against us."
"But he knows the Nightingale, and through her has learnt much,"Gregory replied promptly.
"What?" gasped the unseen speaker. "Has she told him anything? Has thegirl betrayed us?"
"Ask her," the old man urged. "She's upstairs. Call her."
Lola was there--in that house!
The Place of Dragons: A Mystery Page 17