CHAPTER XXXI
"SHEEP OF THY PASTURE"
The autumn sun shone brightly into the artistic little sitting-room atthe _Berkeley 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 leanedback in her cosy arm-chair, her pointed chin upon her white hand, herbig blue eyes, so full of expression, were turned upon me, their browsslightly knit in her earnestness.
Upon the centre table stood a big silver bowl of dahlias and autumnfoliage, while upon a sideboard was lying a fine bouquet of roses whicha page-boy had brought in as we had been chatting.
I related my strange experience of the previous night, whereupon she hadsaid, in a low, intense voice--
"Yes. I heard yesterday afternoon, when I was at Vernon's house inHampstead, that an attempt was to be made somewhere. But I was not toldwhere."
"Lola," I exclaimed, taking her hand tenderly, and looking into hereyes, "I am here this morning to save you from these people, and to savemyself. If we remain inactive like this, they will deal us both a secretblow. They fear you, and in addition they know that I have discoveredwho 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 succeededin convincing her that I really was her friend, and that even if Iexposed the gang, and caused them to be arrested, I could at the sametime keep her out of the sensational affair which must inevitablyresult.
She rose, and for a long time stood at the window, gazing out upon thenever-ceasing traffic in Piccadilly, her countenance very grave andthoughtful. By the quick rising and falling of her bosom, and by herpursed lips, I saw how deep was her agitation, how torn was her mind byconflicting emotions.
At last, as she leaned upon a chair, her eyes still fixed blankly outupon the long, rather monotonous facade of the _Ritz Hotel_, she beganto tell me some of the facts she knew concerning her notorious uncle,Jules Jeanjean.
"He started life," she explained, "as an employe of the Nord Railway ofFrance, and, being honest and hardworking, rose from an obscuresituation in the goods-yard at Creil to become chief conductor on theexpress 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 entertainedAnarchist ideas, yet no fault was ever found with the performance of hisduties by the railway officials. He was, I have heard, a model servant,always punctual, sober, and so extremely polite that all the habitualpassengers knew and liked him."
She paused, reflecting.
"It seems," she went on after a few moments, "it seems that as chief ofthe express which left Calais for Paris each day, after the arrival ofthe midday boat from Dover, his position was much coveted by the otheremployes. After about two and a half years of this, however, the Companyone day offered him the post of Station-Inspector at Abbeville, wherethe boat expresses stop for water. But, to the surprise of his friends,he declined and, moreover, resigned from the service, pleading aninternal trouble, and left France."
"Curious," I remarked. "He must have had some other motive than that forhis sudden decision, I suppose."
Then, continuing her narrative, the pretty blue-eyed girl revealed tome a very remarkable story. From what she said it appeared that duringhis two and a half years' service between Calais and Dover, her unclehad been reaping a golden harvest and placing great sums of money in anEnglish bank. The device by which the money had been gained was bothingenious and simple. Employed in the Customs House at the MaritimeStation at Calais--through which all persons travelling from England bythat route have to pass--was a _douanier_ from Corsica who, though aFrench subject, bore an Italian name, Egisto Bertini. Between Bertiniand the honest train-conductor a close friendship had arisen. ThenBertini, who had become acquainted with a London diamond-broker, Mr.Gregory Vernon, a constant traveller between the French and Englishcapitals, one day introduced his friend. Before long Vernon'smaster-mind was at work, and at a meeting of the three men, held oneevening on Dover cliffs, a very neat conspiracy was formed. It wassimply this--
Bertini's duty was to examine passengers' baggage registered beyondParis, and when it was placed upon the counter in the Customs House, hekept an open eye for any jewel-cases. Exercising his power, he wouldhave them opened and inspect their contents, and then, being replaced,the box would be locked by the unsuspecting passenger. The CustomsOfficer would, however, chalk a peculiar mark upon the trunk containingthe valuables, and during its transit between Calais and Paris Jeanjeanwould 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 stolenproperty would probably be on its way into old Vernon's hands fordisposal in Antwerp or Amsterdam.
Thus the two made some huge _coups_. In one instance, the pearls of theDuchess of Carcassonne, valued at forty-five thousand pounds, weresecured, and never traced, for they were sold east of Suez. In anotherinstance the celebrated diamond necklace belonging to MademoiselleMontbard, the famous actress at the Ambigu in Paris, worth thirtythousand pounds, was abstracted from her baggage. Emeralds to the valueof over twenty thousand pounds, the property of the wife of an Americanmillionaire, and the whole of the famous jewels of the PrincessTchernowski were also among the articles stolen.
So constant, however, were these mysterious thefts, that at last thepolice established a strict surveillance upon all baggage, and hence theinteresting little game was at an end.
Matters grew a trifle too warm, and though neither Jeanjean nor Bertinichanged their mode of life with their rapidly-gained wealth, yet it wasfelt that to retire was best. So, within a month of each other, theyleft. Jeanjean crossed over to England, and Bertini accepted promotionto Boulogne, where he remained several months, fearing that if heresigned too quickly suspicions might be aroused.
Of course, after this, the organized thefts between Calais and Parisceased suddenly, though the Company never entertained the slightestsuspicion of the guilty persons, or of the mode in which each trunkcontaining 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 ofEngland, now embarked upon the career of a jewel-thief, whose audacity,daring and elusiveness was astounding. His anarchist views prompted himto disregard human life wherever it interfered with his plans, and soclever and ingenious were his _coups_, that the police of Europe, whomhe 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 MadameSorel, brokenhearted, followed her husband to the grave two monthslater, 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 inan atmosphere of crime, for to the flat in the Boulevard Pereire, whichher uncle made his headquarters when in Paris, came the men, Bertini,Vernon, Hodrickx, Hunzle, and others, great _coups_ being discussedbetween them, and arranged, thefts carried out in various cities ofEurope, often at great cost and frequently with the assistance of Lola,who was pressed into the service, and upon whom her uncle had bestowedthe name of "The Nightingale," on account of her sweet voice.
Vernon was the brain of the organization. By his connection with thediamond trade he obtained information as to who had valuable gems intheir possession, and by the exercise of his marvellous wit andsubterfuge would devise deep and remarkable plots of which theassassination of the well-known Paris jeweller, M. Benoy, was one. Inthr
ee years the daring gang, so perfectly organized, perpetrated nofewer than eighteen big jewel robberies as well as other smaller theftsand burglaries. In many, robbery was, alas! accompanied by brutalviolence. The Paris _Surete_, Scotland Yard, and the DetectiveDepartments of Berlin, Brussels, and Rome were ever on the alertendeavouring to trace, capture, and break up the gang, but with thelarge funds at their disposal they were able to bribe even responsibleofficials who became obnoxious, and by such means evade arrest. Of thesebribings there had been many sinister whispers, as Henri Jonet told memonths 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 beenarrested that night at Balmaclellan, and at this moment would have beenin prison."
"I know that you have been associated with these men through no faultof your own--that you have been forced to become a confederate ofthieves and assassins," I said. "Surely no other girl in all England,or, indeed, in Europe, has found herself in a similar position--thedecoy of such a dangerous and unscrupulous gang."
"No," faltered the girl. "It was not my fault, I assure you. Ah! Heavenknows how, times without number, I have endeavoured to defy and breakaway from them. But they were always too artful, too strong for me. Myuncle held me in his grip, and though he was never unkind, yet he wasalways determined, and constantly threatened me with exposure if I didnot 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 theprevious night--her meeting with the man who had so mysteriously died inCromer, and as I gazed upon her fair face, I pondered.
What could it mean?
Apparently she was staying at the _Berkeley_ alone, and I mentioned thisfact.
"Oh, they know me well, here. When I'm alone, I often stay here," sheexplained, still speaking in French. "I like the place far better thanthe _Carlton_ or the _Ritz_. 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 rubshoulders with women who possessed rich jewels.
At that moment a foreign waiter knocked at the door and interrupted our_tete-a-tete_, by announcing--
"Mr. Craig to see you, miss."
"Show him in," was her prompt reply in English, as she rose and glancedquickly at me. I saw that her cheeks were slightly flushed in her suddenexcitement.
And a few seconds later I stood face to face with the man upon whosebody 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 brokenEnglish, introducing us. "My very good friend of whom I spokeyesterday--M'sieur Edouard Craig."
We bowed to each other, and I thought I saw upon his face a look ofannoyance. He had evidently believed Lola to be alone.
In an instant, however, the shadow fled from the young man's face, andhe exclaimed with frankness--
"I'm extremely pleased to know you, sir, more especially after what Lolahas 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 onthe opposite side of the table, he replied--
"Well, she has told me of your long friendship and--and--may I bepermitted 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 hasexplained to me her position, her connection with certain undesirablepersons, whom we need not mention, and how you in your generosityallowed her her freedom."
"She has told you!" I gasped in surprise, not understanding in whatposition 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 metLola at Hampstead, and she explained many things that have astoundedme."
"I have told Mr. Craig the truth," declared the girl, her cheeks flushedwith excitement. "It was only right that he should know who and what Iam--especially as----" she broke off suddenly.
"Especially as--what?" I asked.
"Especially as I love you, Lola, eh?" the young man chimed in, graspingher hand and raising it to his lips fondly.
This revelation staggered me. The pair were lovers! This man, whoseattitude when he saw her in secret at Boscombe was so antagonistic, wasnow deeply in love with her! Surely I was living in a world ofsurprises!
How much, I wondered, had she revealed to this man who was believed tohave been buried?
For some moments all three of us stood looking at each other, neitheruttering a word.
Then I swiftly put to the young man several questions, and receivinganswers, excused myself, and went below to the telephone.
I had three calls in various directions, and then returned to where Lolaand her lover were standing together. Heedless of my presence, so deeplyin love was he, that he was holding her hand and looking affectionatelyinto the girl's eyes as he bent, whispering lovingly, to her.
Yes, they were indeed a well-matched pair standing there together. Shesweet and innocent-looking, he tall and athletic, with all theappearance of a gentleman.
Yet it was Edward Craig, the man who had lived at Beacon House atCromer, the man whom I had seen lying stark and dead, killed by somemysterious means which medical men could not discover. Edward Craig, thedead man in the flesh!
The Place of Dragons: A Mystery Page 31