CHAPTER XXI
EXPLAINS LOLA'S FEARS
After leaving the house in which I had so narrowly escaped death, I dropped the sergeant at Spring Place station and, with Rayner, drove over to Brentford, where, at the hospital, I stood beside Lola's bed.
She looked a pale, frail, pathetic little figure, clad in a light blue dressing-jacket, and propped up among the pillows. When she recognized me she put forth a slim white hand and smiled a glad welcome.
"I have been so very anxious about you, Lola," I said after the nurse had gone. "You know, of course, what happened?"
"Yes," she answered weakly in French. "I am so very sorry that you should have fallen into the trap as well as myself, M'sieur Vidal. They induced me to call there for one purpose – to kill me," she added in English, with her pretty French accent.
"I fear that is so," was my reply. "But did you not receive my warnings? The Paris Sûreté are searching for you everywhere, and Jonet is most anxious to find you."
"Ah, I know!" she exclaimed with a slight laugh. "Yes, I got your kind letters, but I could not reply to them. There were reasons which, at the time, prevented me."
She looked very sweet, her fair, soft hair in two long plaits hanging over her shoulders, the ends being secured by big bows of turquoise ribbon.
Yes, she was decidedly pretty; her big, blue, wide-open eyes turned upon me.
"I wrote to Elise Leblanc at Versailles," I said, for want of something else to say.
"I got the letters. I was in Dresden at the time."
"With your uncle?"
"No. He has been in Vienna," was her brief response.
"But he was at that house in Spring Grove."
"Yes. It was a trap for me – a dastardly trap laid for me by old Gregory," she cried in anger. "He intended that I should die, but he never expected you to come so suddenly upon the scene."
"How was it that Jeanjean arrived there also?" I asked.
"He came there to consult the Master," she replied. "A huge affair was being planned to take place at the offices of one of the best known diamond dealers in Hatton Garden. Gregory, being in the diamond trade, knows most of the secrets of the other dealers, and in this case had learned of the arrival of three very fine stones, among the most notable diamonds known to the world. For three months he had carefully laid his plans of attack, and on the night in question had called his confederates together, as was his habit, in order to put his plans finally before them, and to allocate each his work. Through my uncle, however, I knew of the proposed robbery, and the old man, fearing me, had decided that it would be in their interests if I died. Hence the attack upon me."
"A most base and brutal one!" I cried. "But thank Heaven! Lola, you are recovering. I overheard all that you said regarding myself."
She flushed slightly, but did not reply.
"To-day I have heard that you have made a statement to the police," I went on in a low voice so that I should not be overheard by the nurse who stood outside the door of the small two-bedded ward, the second bed being unoccupied.
"Yes. An agent of police came and questioned me," was her reply, "but I did not tell him much – at least, nothing which might give them any clue – or which would jeopardize either of us. I had heard that you were recovering, and therefore I thought you would prefer to unmask Gregory and his associates yourself, rather than leave it to the London police. Besides, they have escaped and I have no idea where they may now be."
"Quite right," I replied, much relieved at her words. "You acted wisely, for had you told them the truth they would in all probability have arrested you."
She smiled faintly.
"Yes. That was one of the reasons which caused me to exercise discretion. I felt that we should soon meet again, M'sieur Vidal," she added. "They say that I shall be discharged from here in about a week."
"I hope so," I declared earnestly. "You had a very narrow escape from those fiends."
"I was quite unsuspicious when I went there," she said. "That house has been our meeting-place for the past eighteen months or so. Sometimes we met at Gregory's flat in Amsterdam, and sometimes at the tenantless house in Spring Grove, or at one which has been to let at Cricklewood, and also at a house in West Hampstead."
"The spot 'where the three C's meet' at Ealing is the usual rendezvous, I suppose?"
"Yes, the place is easy of access, quiet, and entirely unsuspicious. I have met my uncle there sometimes when in London, and sometimes Gregory or the others. The conference usually took place there, and then we went together in a taxi to one or other of the meeting-places which Gregory had established."
"As soon as you have quite recovered we will lay a trap and secure the whole gang," I whispered confidently.
"Ah! I fear that will not be easy," she exclaimed, slowly shaking her head. "We shall be too well watched."
"And we can watch also," I remarked. "I know that from to-day I shall be kept under close supervision because they will fear me more than ever. But I shall manage to evade them, never fear. As soon as you leave hospital we must join forces and exterminate this gang of assassins."
She drew a long breath, bent her fair brows and looked straight across at the pale-green wall. I could see that she was not at all confident of escape. She knew how clever, designing and unscrupulous was the old man Gregory; how cheaply her uncle, Jules Jeanjean, held human life.
"Where is Gregory now, I wonder?" I exclaimed.
"Who knows? They are all in France or Belgium, I expect. They may be in Amsterdam, but I do not think so, as they might suspect me of making a statement to the police."
"What did you tell the police?"
For a moment she hesitated.
"Simply that I was enticed there by a young man whom I knew in Paris, and found myself in the company of several men who were undoubtedly thieves. These men I described. I stated that I was pressed to act as their decoy, and on refusal was struck down."
"Then they will be already searching for the men!" I exclaimed, remembering that Warton had that morning gone up to consult his chief at Scotland Yard.
"They will be searching for men whose descriptions do not tally with those of my uncle and his friends," she whispered frankly, with a mischievous smile.
"Tell me, Lola," I asked, after complimenting her upon her astuteness, "do you recognize the names of Lavelle, Kunzle, Geering, or Hodrickx?"
She started, staring at me.
"Why? What do you know of them?" she inquired quickly, an apprehensive look upon her pretty face.
"They are associates of your uncle, are they not – in fact, members of the gang?"
"Yes. But how did you discover their true names?"
Then I explained how, after poor Craig's death, I had found the paper with the elaborate calculations, and the list of names with corresponding numbers.
"They are code-numbers, so that mention of them can be made in telegrams or letters, and their identity still concealed."
"And what were the columns of figures?" I asked, describing them.
"Probably either the calculations of weights and values of precious stones, or calculations of wave-lengths of wireless telegraphy in which Gregory experiments," she replied. "After a coup Gregory always valued the stolen gems very carefully before they were sent to Antwerp or Amsterdam to be re-cut and altered out of recognition. At one coup, a year ago, when at Klein's, the principal jeweller in Vienna, the night-watchman was killed and the safe opened with the acetylene jet. We got clear away with jewels valued at three-quarters of a million francs. Afterwards, I motored from Vienna to Antwerp, carrying most of the unset stones and pearls in the radiator of my car. The prying douaniers at the frontiers never suspect anything there, nor in the inner tube of a spare wheel. Besides, I was the daughter of the Baronne de Lericourt, travelling with her maid, therefore nobody suspected, and Kunzle, a young Dane, acted as my chauffeur."
"In which direction did your uncle travel?"
"To Algiers, by way of Trieste, and home to his hobby, wireless telegraphy. He has high aerial wires across the grounds of his villa, and can receive on his delicate apparatus messages from Clifden in Ireland, Trieste, Paris, Madrid, London, Port Said, and stations all over Europe."
"Can he transmit messages?" I asked.
She sighed slightly, her wound was giving her pain.
"Oh, yes. His transmitter is very powerful, and sometimes, at night, he can reach Poldhu in Cornwall."
"Then your uncle is, apparently, a skilled scientist, as well as a daring criminal!" I said, surprised.
"Oui, M'sieur. He is just now experimenting with a wireless telephone, and has already heard from Algiers, across the Mediterranean, to Genoa, where his friend, the man Hodrickx, has established a similar station. It was Hodrickx you saw at Spring Grove."
"And the wireless is sometimes used for their nefarious purposes, I suppose?"
"Probably. But that is, of course, their own secret. I am told nothing," was her reply, dropping into French. "Sometimes, when at home, my uncle sits for hours with the telephones over his ears, listening – listening attentively – and now and then, scribbling down the mysterious call-letters he hears, and referring to his registers to see whose attention is being attracted. Every night, at twelve o'clock, he receives the day's news sent out from Clifden in Ireland to ships in the Atlantic."
"It must be an exceedingly interesting hobby," I remarked.
"It is. If I were a man I should certainly go in for experimenting. There is something weirdly mysterious about it," she said with a sweet expression.
"If he can speak by telephone across the Mediterranean to Genoa, then, no doubt, such an instrument is of greatest use to him in the pursuit of his shameful profession," I said.
"I expect it is," she answered rather grimly, regarding me with half-closed eyes. "But, oh! M'sieu', how can I bear the future? What will happen now? I cannot tell. For me it must be either a violent death, at a moment when I least expect it, or – or – "
"Leave it all to me, Lola," I interrupted. "I'll leave no stone unturned to effect the arrest of the whole gang."
"Do be careful of yourself," she urged, with apprehension. "Remember, they intend at all hazards to kill you! Gregory and my uncle fear you more than they do the police. Ever since you unearthed that mystery in Brussels, they have held you in terror. The evidence you gave in the Assize Court against the man Lefranc showed them that you entertained suspicion of who killed the jeweller, Josse Vanderelst, in the Avenue Louise. And for that reason you have since been a marked man," she added, looking very earnestly into my face.
"I assure you I have now no fear of them, Lola. I will extricate you from the guilty bonds in which they hold you, if you will only render me assistance."
For a moment she remained thoughtful, a very serious expression upon her fair face.
"Bien! But if the men are arrested they will at once turn upon me," she argued. "Then I too will stand in the criminal dock beside them!"
"Not if you act as I direct," I assured her, placing my hand upon hers, which lay outside the coverlet.
Then, after a brief pause, during which I again looked straight into her great blue eyes, I suddenly asked —
"Where can I find trace of old Gregory? As soon as I am a little better I shall resume my investigations, and run the whole gang to earth."
"I do not know where he lives. My uncle once remarked that he was so evasive that he changed his abode as often as he did his collars. His office, however, is in Hatton Garden over a watchmaker's named Etherington, on the second floor. You will find on a door, 'Loicq Freres, Diamond Dealers, Antwerp.' Mr. Gregory Vernon, not Vernon Gregory, poses as the London manager of the firm of 'Loicq Freres,' who, by reason of their wealth and the magnitude of their purchases and sales, are well known in the diamond trade. So, by carrying on a genuine business, he very successfully conceals his illegitimate one of re-cutting stones and re-placing them upon the market."
"Good!" I said, enthusiastically, in English. "I shall endeavour to trace his hiding-place, for most certainly he is no longer in London, now that he knows that his attempt upon you was unsuccessful."
"And the police are now looking for mythical persons!" she laughed merrily, displaying her white, even teeth.
Yes, the more I saw of my dainty little divinity, the greater I became attracted by her, even though force of circumstances had, alas! compelled her, against her will, to become an expert jewel-thief, who by reason of her charm, her beauty, and her astuteness, had passed without suspicion.
What a strange and tragic career had been that of the frail little creature now smiling so sweetly at me! My heart went out in sympathy towards her, just as it had done ever since that memorable night when I had gripped her slim waist and captured her in my room.
The nurse entered, so I rose from my chair, and clasping Lola's little hand, bade her au revoir, promising to return again in two days' time, and also suggesting that when she became convalescent I should take her down to some friends of mine at Boscombe to recuperate.
My suggestion she adopted at once, and then I turned, and thanking the nurse for all her kindness, left the hospital.
CHAPTER XXII
THE ROAD OF RICHES
When my doctor first allowed me forth on foot it was fully a week later.
I had driven to Brentford in a taxi on three occasions to visit Lola, taking her fresh flowers, grapes and other dainties. Each time I recognized a marked improvement in her.
I felt certain that every movement of mine was being watched, but neither Rayner nor myself could discover any one spying upon us. I had always flattered myself that nobody could keep observation upon me without I detected them, and I certainly felt considerable chagrin at my present helplessness.
Rayner, a shrewd, clever watcher himself, was up to every ruse in the science of keeping observation and remaining unseen. Yet he also failed to discover any one.
Therefore, one morning I left Carlos Place in a taxi and drove to King's Cross Station, where I alighted, paid the man, and went on to the main line departure platform. Thence I passed across to the arrival platform, so as to evade any pursuer, though no one had followed me to my knowledge, and then I drove down to Brentford.
Though still weak, I that afternoon accompanied the dainty little invalid down to Bournemouth, where I saw her comfortably installed with a very worthy family – a retired excise officer and his wife and daughter, living at Boscombe – and, after a night at the Bath Hotel, I returned to London to resume my investigations.
Through three days following I felt very unwell and unable to go out, the journey to Bournemouth having rather upset me in my weak state. Indeed, it was not before another week that one afternoon I alighted from a taxi at Holborn Circus and strolled leisurely down Hatton Garden in search of the watchmaker's Lola had indicated.
I found it with but little difficulty, about half-way down on the left-hand side.
A stranger passing along Hatton Garden, that dreary, rather mean street, leading from busy Holborn away to the poverty-stricken district of Saffron Hill, with its poor Italian denizens and its Italian church, would never dream that it contained all the chief wholesale dealers in precious stones in London. In that one street, hidden away in the safes of the various dealers, Jew and Gentile, are gems and pearls worth millions.
The houses are sombre, grimed, and old-fashioned, and there is an air of middle-class respectability about them which disguises from the stranger the real character of their contents. The very passers-by are for the most part shabby, though, now and then, one may see a well-dressed man enter or leave one of the houses let out in floors to the diamond dealers.
It is a street of experts, of men who pay thousands of pounds for a single stone, and who regard the little paper packets of glittering diamonds as the ordinary person would regard packets of seed-peas.
Many a shabby man with shiny coat, and rather down at heel, passing up the street, carries in his pocket, in a well-worn leathern wallet, diamonds, rubies or emeralds worth the proverbial king's ransom.
On that autumn afternoon the sun was shining brightly as I passed the house where "Gregory Vernon's" office was situated. Seldom, indeed, does the sun shine in Hatton Garden or in Saffron Hill, but when it does it brings gladness to the hearts of those sons and daughters of the sunny Italy, who are wearing out their lives in the vicinity. To them, born and bred in the fertile land where August is indeed the Lion Month, the sun is their very life. Alas! it comes to them so very seldom, but when it does, the women and children go forth into the streets bare-headed to enjoy the "bella giornata."
And so it was then. Some Italian women and children, with a few old men, white-haired and short of stature, were passing up and down the Road of Riches into which I had ventured.
I knew not, of course, whether old Gregory was still in London. He might be at his upper window for aught I knew. Therefore I had adopted the dress of a curate of the Church of England, a disguise which on many an occasion had stood me in good stead. And as I loitered through the road, with eyes about me on all hands, I presented the appearance of the hard-worked curate of a poor London parish.
Before the watchmaker's I halted, looking in at the side door, where I saw written up with the names in dark, dingy lettering, "Loicq Freres, Second Floor."
Beyond was a dark, well-worn stair leading to the other offices, but all looked so dingy and so dismal, that it was hard to believe that within were stored riches of such untold value.
I did not hesitate long, but with sudden resolve entered boldly and mounted the stairs.
On the second floor, on a narrow landing, was a dingy, dark-brown door on which the words "Loicq Freres" were painted.
At this I knocked, whereupon a foreign voice called, "Come in."
I entered a clerk's room where, at a table, sat a man who, when he raised his head and sallow face, I recognized instantly as the mysterious motor-cyclist of Cromer, the man Egisto Bertini, who had so cleverly evaded me on the night of my long vigil on the Norwich road, and who had assisted Gregory, or Vernon as he called himself, to remove the jewels from Beacon House.
He did not, of course, recognize me, though I knew his face in an instant. He rose and came forward.
"Is Mr. Gregory Vernon in?" I asked, assuming a clerical drawl.
"No, sare," replied the dark-eyed Italian. "Can I gif him any message?" he asked with a strong accent.
The reply satisfied me, for my object in going there was not to see the man whose real name was Vernon, but to get a peep at the unsuspicious headquarters of the greatest criminal in Europe.
"Ah, I – I called to ask him to be good enough to subscribe to an outing we are giving to the poor children of my parish – that of St. Anne's. We have much poverty, you know, and the poor children want a day in the country before autumn is over. Several kind friends – "
"Meester Vernon, he will not be able to make a subscription – he is away," broke in the Italian.
My quick eye had noticed that opposite me was a door of ground-glass. A shadow had flitted across that glass, for the short curtains behind it were inadvertently drawn slightly aside.
Some one was within. If it were Vernon, then he might have a secret hole for spying and would recognize me. Thereupon I instantly altered my position, turning my back towards the door, as though unconsciously.
"I'm sorry," I said. "Perhaps you could subscribe a trifle yourself, if only one shilling?" and I took out a penny account book with which I had provided myself.
"Ah, no," was his reply. "I haf none to gif," and he shook his head and held out his palms. "Meester Vernon – he reech man – me, no! Me only clerk!"
"I'm sorry," I said. "Perhaps you will tell Mr. Vernon that the Reverend Harold Hawke called."
"Yes, sare," replied the expert motor-cyclist, whom I knew to be one of the clever gang. And he pretended to scribble something upon a pad. He posed as a clerk perfectly, even to the shabbiness of his office-coat. He presented the appearance of a poor, under-paid foreign clerk, of whom there are thousands in the City of London.
Standing in such a position that old Mr. Vernon could not see my face, I conversed with the Italian a few moments longer as I wished to make some further observations. What I saw surprised me, for there seemed every evidence that a bona fide trade was actually conducted there.
The shadow across the private office had puzzled me. I entertained a strong suspicion that old Vernon was within that room, and the man, Egisto Bertini, had orders to tell all strangers that his master was absent.
If he feared arrest – as no doubt he did, knowing that Lola might make a statement to the police – then it was but natural that he would not see any stranger.
No. I watched Bertini very closely as I chatted with him, feeling assured that he was lying.
So I apologized for my intrusion, as a good curate should do, and descended the dark, narrow stairs with the firm conviction that Gregory Vernon was actually in his office.
In the street I walked leisurely towards Holborn, fearing to hurry lest the crafty old man should be watching my departure. Having turned the corner, however, I rushed to the nearest telephone and got on to Rayner.
He answered me quickly, and I gave him instructions to dress instantly as a poor, half-starved labourer – for my several suits of disguise fitted him – and to meet me at the earliest moment at Holborn Circus, outside Wallis's shop.
"All right, sir," was the man's prompt reply. "I'll be there inside half an hour."
"And, Rayner," I added, "bring my small suit-case with things for the night, and an extra suit. Drop it at the cloak-room at Charing Cross on your way here. I may have to leave London."
"Anything interesting, sir?" he asked, his natural curiosity rising.
"Yes. I'll tell you when we meet," was my answer, and I rang off.
I have always found clerical clothes an excellent disguise for keeping observation. It may be conspicuous, but the clergyman is never regarded with any suspicion, where an ill-dressed man who loiters is in peril of being interfered with by the police, "moved on," or even taken into custody on suspicion of loitering for the purpose of committing a felony. England is not exactly the "free country" which those ignorant of our by-laws are so fond of declaring.
Having spoken to Rayner, I returned to the corner of Hatton Garden, and idling about aimlessly, kept a sharp eye upon the watchmaker's shop.
If my visit to the offices of Loicq Brothers had aroused any suspicion in the mind of Gregory Vernon, then he would, no doubt, make a bolt for it. If not, he would remain there till he left for his home.
In the latter case I should certainly discover the place of his abode, and take the first step towards striking the blow.
On the one hand, I argued that Vernon would never dare to remain in England after his brutal attack upon Lola, knowing that the police must question her. Then there was the tell-tale excavation in the garden at Spring Grove – the nameless grave ready prepared for her! But, on the other hand, I recollected the subtle cunning of the man, his bold audacity, his astounding daring, and his immunity hitherto from the slightest suspicion.
The flitting shadow upon the ground-glass was, I felt confident, his silhouette – that silhouette I had known so well – when he had been in the habit of passing the Hôtel de Paris, at Cromer, a dozen times a day.
The afternoon wore on, but I still remained at the Holborn end of Hatton Garden, ever watchful of all who came and went. Rayner was longer than he had anticipated, for he had to drive down to Charing Cross before coming to me. But at last I saw a wretched, ill-dressed, pale-faced man alight from a bus outside Wallis's drapery shop, and, glancing round, he quickly found me.
I walked round a corner and, when we met, I explained in a few brief words the exact situation.
Then I instructed him to pass down Hatton Garden to the Clerkenwell Road end and watch there while I maintained a vigilance in Holborn. When Vernon came out we would both follow him, and track him to his dwelling-place.
I told Rayner of Bertini's presence there as a clerk, whereupon my man grew full of vengeful anger, expressing a hope that later on he would meet the Italian face to face and get even for the treatment meted out to him on that memorable night at Cromer.
We had walked together to the end of the Road of Riches in earnest discussion, when, on suddenly glancing along the pavement in the direction of the watchmaker's, I recognized the figure of a well-dressed man coming in our direction.
I held my breath, for his presence there was entirely unexpected.
It was Jules Jeanjean.