The Place of Dragons: A Mystery
Page 23
CHAPTER XXIII
FOLLOWS THE ELUSIVE JULES
The man of a hundred aliases, and as many crimes, was walking swiftly inour direction, and I only just had time to nip back and cross to thestreet refuge in the centre of Holborn Circus.
Rayner recognized him in an instant, and I had just time to exclaim--
"There's Jeanjean! Take him up, but be careful. Got your revolver?"
"Trust me, sir," Rayner laughed. "I don't forget Cromer."
"Be careful," I whispered, and next instant we had separated.
I saw Jeanjean gain the end of the drab thoroughfare and glance aroundapprehensively. He was dressed smartly in a well-cut suit of blue sergeand wore a grey hat of soft felt, and a pair of yellow wash-leathergloves, like those poor Craig had habitually affected. His quick, shiftyeyes searched everywhere for a few seconds, then he turned into thebustle of the traffic in Holborn and walked westward in the direction ofOxford Street.
A moment later Rayner, a poor wretched-looking figure, penurious andill, crossed from the opposite side of the road and lounged slowly afterJeanjean until I lost them amidst the crowd.
I was divided in my intentions, for if I followed the pair I should missthe Italian clerk, and as he undoubtedly was a member of the interestingassociation, I felt that it would be judicious to follow and ascertainwhere he lived.
For nearly two hours, nevertheless, my vigilance remained unrewarded.Office-boys came forth from the various houses laden with letters, andmiddle-aged clerks carried in black bags packets of precious stones inorder to insure them for transmission by post. Then as the dusk crepton, the offices and workshops in the vicinity emptied their workers, whohurried home by train or motor-bus, while in a constant stream cameweary Italians, painfully and patiently dragging piano-organs andice-cream barrows on their way to their quarters at the other end of theroad, their day's wanderings over.
A perfect panorama of London life passed by me as I stood there watchingin vain.
At length, about seven o'clock, when it had grown dark and thestreet-lamps had been lit, I saw the figure of the Italian emerge fromthe door, and turning his back towards me, he walked in the direction ofClerkenwell Road.
In eagerness I took a few quick steps after him, but halted as a suddensuggestion arose within me. If Jeanjean had been there it was forconsultation with his chief--the man he regarded as his master--themaster-mind of that daring and dangerous association. Was it possible,therefore, that these two men had left the place at long intervals,because of the suspicion in which they held the curate who had calledfor a subscription? Was it possible that Gregory Vernon, alias Gregory,and alias a dozen other names, no doubt, was still safe in his high-updingy little office wherein lay concealed stolen gems of untold value?
Rayner was, without doubt, hot upon the track of the elusive banditwhose _empreintes digitales_, and whose _cliches_ and _releves_ were socarefully preserved in that formidable dossier at the Prefecture ofPolice of the Seine. Rayner was a past master in the art of observation,and I felt convinced that ere long I should learn where Jeanjean madehis headquarters in London.
Therefore, after a second's reflection, I decided not to follow Bertini,but to still remain on and watch for the clever old rascal to whoseplots so many jewel robberies in Europe, with and without violence, weredue. By some vague intuition I felt that if Jeanjean dared to go to theoffices of Loicq Freres, then certainly the elder man would have nohesitation. But their daring was astounding in face of thecircumstances.
Perhaps, so completely and entirely did they hold Lola in their grip,that they felt confident she dare not reveal the truth. Was it not afact, alas! that the sweet, dainty little girl was actually a thief,forced into crime and trained by her uncle to act the part of decoy, hervery innocence disarming suspicion? Her youth was her protection, fornobody would believe that she was actually a clever adventuress and aprofessional thief.
Ah! how I pitied her, knowing all that I did. How often recollectionsarose in my mind of that never-to-be-forgotten night in Scotland whenshe had inadvertently entered my bedroom, and I had seized her--of herpiteous appeal to me, and of her expression of heartfelt thanks when Iallowed her her liberty. Yes, assuredly Lola Sorel was to be pitied, notblamed. She had been struggling all along to free herself from thosebonds of guilt which had bound her to that unscrupulous brutal gang ofmalefactors who were undoubtedly the most dangerous criminals in Europe.But, alas! all in vain. They had held her in their inexorable gripuntil, fearing lest she should appeal to me and make revelations, thesinister-faced old rascal who ruled them had ruthlessly struck her downand left her for dead.
Such a formidable band as that, constituted as it was, and with enormousfunds at command, could hold the police in contempt. Money was of noobject, and Lola had once told me how police officials, both in Berlinand in Rome, had been judiciously "squared" by a certain obscure lawyerwho had an office in the Italian capital, and who, being a member of thegang, conducted their legal affairs--which mainly consisted in theobtaining of information concerning the whereabouts of jewels in thepossession of private families, and in bribing any obnoxious policeofficial, from a _sous-prefet_ down to a humble _agent_.
Bribery among the Continental police is far more rife than is generallysupposed. Poor pay, especially in Italy, is the prime cause. There are,of course, black sheep in every flock, even in England, but in thesouthern countries the aspect of the flock is much darker than in thenorthern ones. Many a law-breaker to-day pays toll to the police, evenin our own London, and from the street bookmaker in the East End slumsto the keeper of the luxurious gaming-house near Piccadilly Circus,hundreds of men are allowed to carry on their nefarious practices bysending anonymous presents to the private addresses of those who mighttrouble them.
So it is even in matters criminal. There is not a single member of theCriminal Investigation Department who has not been sorely tempted at onetime or another. And perhaps in the light of certain recentprosecutions, and the allegations of Mr. Keir Hardie, big names--thenames of certain men who are leaders of our present-day life andthought--are suppressed, and grave scandals concealed by the judiciousapplication of gold.
My watch proved a wearying one, especially in my weak state.
With the darkness there were fewer people in the streets. The Citytraffic had now died down, and at eight o'clock Hatton Garden had becomepractically deserted.
I had been chatting to the constable on duty, who, on account of myclerical attire, had not viewed me with any suspicion, when of a suddenRayner alighted from a taxi and approached me.
"Well?" I asked eagerly, when we were together.
"He gave me the slip, sir," exclaimed my man breathlessly. "He'sdevilish clever, he is, sir."
"You surely knew that before, Rayner," I said, reproachfully.
"Yes, and I took every precaution. But he did me in the end."
"How?"
"Well, when he left here, he walked as far as Gamage's very leisurely.Then he took a taxi up to Baker Street Station. I followed him, and sawthat he took a ticket to Swiss Cottage, where he took another taxi alongthe Finchley Road, alighting at the end of a rather quiet thoroughfareof superior houses called Arkwright Road. He went into one of them, anew red-brick house, called Merton Lodge."
"You were near when he entered?" I asked.
"Quite. I watched the door open to admit him, but couldn't see whoopened it," he replied. "Then I waited for nearly two hours, concealingmyself in the area of an unoccupied house close by. The road was soquiet and unfrequented that I dare not show myself. The house seemedsmart and well-kept, with a large garden behind."
"No one came out?"
"Nobody. But at last I grew impatient and got out on to the pavement,when, a few seconds later, the door opened, and a middle-aged, dark-eyedman came out straight up to me. He had a Hebrew cast in his features.Without ado, he asked me with indignation why I was watching his house.Whereupon I told him I was waiting for a friend who had entered there.In repl
y, he denied that any friend of mine was there. He said, 'Iobject to my house being watched like this, and if you don't be off, Ishall telephone for the police, and have you arrested for loitering. Ibelieve you intend to commit a burglary.'"
"Ah! that was rather disconcerting, eh, Rayner?"
"Yes, sir. What could I do? I saw I'd been spotted, and so the game wasup. Well, a thought occurred to me, and I replied to him, 'Very good.Telephone at once. I'll be pleased to have a constable here to help me.'It was a bold move, but it worked. He believed me to be a detective, andhis tone altered at once. 'I tell you,' he said, 'I have nobody in myhouse. Nobody has come in since I returned home at five o'clock. You maysearch, if you wish!' I smiled and said, 'Oh, so you don't now suspectme of being a thief?' 'Well,' he replied, 'if you think your friend ishere, come over and satisfy yourself.'"
"Clever of him--very clever," I remarked. "But there might have been atrap! Jeanjean would set one without the slightest hesitation."
"Just what I suspected, sir," replied Rayner. "At first I hesitated, butI had my revolver with me, so I resolved to search the place. Just as Icrossed the road a constable turned the corner idly, and in a moment Iwas beside him. In a few words I asked him to accompany me, at the sametime slipping a couple of half-crowns into his hand, much to the chagrinof the occupier of the house. To the constable I explained that I hadreason to believe that a friend of mine was hidden in the house and Ihad been invited to search. So together we went in, and while theconstable remained in the hall, I went from room to room with thedark-faced Hebrew. The place was well furnished, evidently the abode ofa man of wealth and taste. He was something of a student, too, for in acorner of the small library at the rear, on the ground-floor, was atable, and on it several queer-looking electrical instruments and atelephone receiver. From room to room I went, and found nobody. Indeed,there was nobody else in the house except a sallow-looking youth, theson of the man who had invited me in. The back premises, however, toldtheir own tale. At the end of the dark garden was a door in the wall,leading to a narrow lane beyond the tradesmen's entrance. By that wayJules Jeanjean had escaped nearly two hours before!"
"So he has eluded you, as he always does," I remarked regretfully.
"Yes. But the owner of Merton Lodge no doubt knows him and gives himshelter when he's in London," Rayner said.
"He may, but, if I judge correctly, Jeanjean knew he was followed fromthe first, and simply led you there to mystify you. He entered by thefront door and went out at once by the back one," I said. "In allprobability he only knows the owner of Merton Lodge quite slightly. Ifnot, why did the Hebrew come out so boldly and ask you to search?"
"Bluff," declared Rayner promptly.
"No, not exactly," I remarked. "If Jeanjean knew he was followed hewould never have gone to a house where he could be again found, dependupon it. No. He perhaps told the person who opened the door to him somecock-and-bull story, and only remained in the house a minute or two. Tome, all seems quite clear. He led you on a wild-goose chase, Rayner," Ilaughed, as we stood together in Holborn.
Yet scarcely had these words left my mouth when there passed close by usa thin, old gentleman in black, and wearing a silk hat. His grey hairand beard were close-cropped, but his broad forehead and narrow chincould not be disguised.
I held my breath as I recognized him at a glance. He had not noticed me,for my back had been towards him. Yet my heart beat quickly, for mighthe not have identified me by my clerical hat!
It was the man I had suspected of lying closely concealed in hisoffice--old Gregory Vernon, the dealer in stolen gems.