AT THREE-EIGHTEEN A.M.
The letter brought to my bedside next morning contained some curious
instructions, namely, to take the car on the following Saturday to
Flamborough Head, arriving at a spot he named about a quarter of a
mile from the lighthouse, where I would be accosted by a Dutch sailor,
who would ask me if I were Mr. Skelton. I was not to fear treachery,
but to reply in the affirmative and drive him through the night to an
address he gave me in Providence Court, a turning off Dean Street,
Soho.
That address was sufficient for me! I had once before, at Rayne's
orders, driven a stranger to Dean Street and conducted him to that
house. It was no doubt a harbor of refuge for foreign criminals in
London, but was kept by an apparently respectable Italian who carried
on a small grocery shop in Old Compton Street.
As I was ordered, I duly arrived on that wild spot on the Yorkshire
coast. It blew half a gale, the wind howling about the car as I sat
with only the red rearlight on, waiting in patience.
Very soon a short, thick-set man with decidedly evil face and
seafaring aspect, emerged from the shadows and asked in broken English
whether I was Mr. Skelton. I replied that I was and bade him jump in,
and then, switching on the big headlights, turned the car in the
direction of London.
From what I had seen of the stranger I certainly was not prepossessed.
His clothes were rough and half soaked by the rain that had been
falling, while it became apparent as we talked that he had landed
surreptitiously from a Dutch fishing-boat early that morning and had
not dared to show himself. Hence he was half famished. I happened to
have a vacuum flask and some sandwiches, and these I divided with him.
A long silence fell between us as with difficulty in keeping myself
awake I drove over the two hundred odd miles of wet roads which
separated us from London, and just before nine o'clock next morning I
left the car in Wardour Street and walked with the stranger to the
frowsy house in Providence Court, where to my great surprise Gerald
Tracy opened the door. He laughed at my astonishment, but with a
gesture indicative of silence, he merely said:
"Hallo, Hargreave! Back all right, eh?"
Then he admitted the Dutchman and closed the door.
Tracy was evidently there to hold consultation with the stranger whose
entrance into England was unknown. He would certainly never risk a
long stay in that house, for the stout, bald-headed man had, I knew,
no wish to come face to face with Benton or any other officer of the
C.I.D.
Certainly something sinister and important was intended.
On calling at Half Moon Street, after having breakfasted, I found
Duperre there.
"Rayne wants you to go down to the Pavilion Hotel at Folkestone and
garage the car there," he said. "He and I are running a risk in a
couple of night's time--the risk whether Benton identifies us. We both
have tickets for the annual dinner of the staff of the Criminal
Investigation Department, which is to be held in the Elgin Rooms."
"And are you actually going?" I asked, much surprised.
"Yes. And our places are close to Benton's! He'll never dream that the
men he is hunting for everywhere are sitting exactly opposite him as
guests of one of his superiors."
Boldness was one of Rudolph Rayne's characteristics. He was fearless
in all his clever and ingenious conspiracies, though his cunning was
unequaled.
As I drove down to Folkestone I ruminated, as I so often did. No doubt
some devilish plot was underlying the acceptance of the high police
official's invitation to the staff dinner.
Its nature became revealed a few days later when, on opening my
newspaper one morning, being still at Folkestone waiting in patience,
I read a paragraph which aroused within me considerable interest.
It was to the effect that Superintendent Arthur Benton, the well-known
Scotland Yard officer, had, after the annual dinner a few nights
before, been suddenly taken ill on his way home to Hampstead, and was
at the moment lying in a very critical condition suffering from some
mysterious form of ptomaine poisoning, his life being despaired of.
I was quite unaware until long afterwards of the deeply laid attempt
upon Benton's life, how the mysterious Dutchman was really a waiter
much wanted by the French police for a poisoning affair in Marseilles,
and that he had been able, by means best known to Rayne, to obtain
temporary employment at the Elgin Rooms on the night of the banquet.
It was he who had served the table at which had sat the unsuspicious
detective superintendent.
The latter fortunately did not succumb, but he was incapacitated from
duty for over twelve months, during which period the inquiries
regarding the unknown head of the criminal band were dropped, much to
the relief of Rayne and Duperre.
All this, however, was, I saw, preliminary and in preparation for some
great _coup_.
I suppose I had been kicking my heels about Folkestone for perhaps ten
days when, without warning, Rayne and Lola arrived with Tracy and a
quantity of luggage. No doubt the mysterious Dutchman had returned to
the Continent by the fishing-boat in which he had come over to act at
Rayne's orders.
"We are going to the Continent by the morning service the day after
to-morrow, George," Rayne told me. "Tracy leaves to-night. Lola will
go with us as far as Paris, where Duperre will meet us, and we go
south together."
And he produced a batch of tickets, among which I saw coupons for
reserved compartments in the _wagon-lit_.
Afterwards he gave some peculiar instructions to Tracy.
"You'll recollect the map I showed you," he said. "Creches is two
miles south of Macon. At about two kilometres towards Lyons there is a
short bridge over a ravine. That's the spot. The train passes there at
three-eighteen in the morning."
"I follow you exactly," replied his stout, bald-headed accomplice. And
I was left wondering what was intended.
That evening Tracy left us and crossed to Boulogne, while two days
later we went on board the morning cross-Channel steamer, where, to my
surprise, we met Mr. and Mrs. Blumenfeld.
The encounter was a most unexpected and pleasant one. The great
financier and his wife were on their way to the Riviera, and we were
going as far as Cannes.
"I had no idea that you were going south!" laughed Rayne happily as
Lola, warmly dressed in furs, stood on deck chatting with Mrs.
Blumenfeld and watching the boat casting off from the quay. "It will
be most delightful to travel together," he went on. "Lola stays in
Paris and we go on to the Riviera. I suppose you've got your sleeping
berths from Paris to-night?"
"Yes," replied the financier, and then on comparing the numbers on the
coupons the old man discovered that by a coincidence his berth
adjoined the one which had been taken for myself.
We travelled merrily across to Boulogne, the weather being unusually
fine, and took our _dejeuner_ together in the _wagon-restaurant_ on
the way to Paris. With old Blumenfeld was his faithful valet who
looked especially after two battered old leather kitbags, a fact
which, I noticed, did not escape Rudolph's watchful eye.
Arrived at the Gare du Nord, Lola was met by an elderly Englishwoman
whom I recollected as having been a guest at Overstow, and after
hurried farewells drove away in a car, while we took taxis across to
the big hotel at the Gare de Lyon. There we dined, and at half-past
eight joined the Marseilles express upon which was a single
_wagon-lit_.
Just as I was about to enter it, Rayne took me by the arm, and walking
along the platform out of hearing, whispered:
"Vincent is here. Don't recognize him. Be alert at three o'clock. I
may want you!"
"For what?"
"Wait! We've something big in progress, George. Don't ask any
questions," he said in that blustering impelling manner which he
assumed when he was really serious.
Several times in the corridor I met the financier and his wife with
their bony-faced valet, and, of course, I made myself polite and
engaging to Mrs. Blumenfeld.
While the express roared through its first stage to Moret, I chatted
with Rudolph and Blumenfeld after the latter's wife had retired, and
as we sat in the dim light of the corridor of the sleeping-car smoking
cigarettes, all seemed absolutely normal.
Suddenly from the end compartment of the car Duperre came forth. As a
perfect stranger he apologized in French as he passed us and walked to
the little compartment at the end of the car where he ordered a drink
from the conductor.
Hence old Mr. Blumenfeld was in ignorance that Vincent had any
knowledge of us, or that Signorina Lacava, who was another of the
passengers, was our friend. Yet the thin-faced valet who had brought
up my early cup of tea when we had stayed at Bradbourne continually
hovered about his master.
Later, as the express was tearing on at increased speed, Mr.
Blumenfeld retired to his compartment, with his wife sleeping in the
adjoining one, and within half an hour Rayne beckoned me into his
compartment at the farther end, where we were joined by Duperre.
"I want you to be out in the corridor at three o'clock," Rayne said to
me. "Open the window and sit by it as though you want fresh air. The
conductor won't trouble you as he'll be put to sleep. After the train
leaves Macon, Vincent will pass you something. You will watch for
three white lights set in a row beside the railway line. Tracy will be
down there in waiting. When you see the three lights throw out what
Vincent gives to you. Understand?"
I now saw the plot. They had knowledge that old Blumenfeld was
travelling with a quantity of negotiable securities which he intended
to hand to his agent at Marseilles on his way to Cannes, and they
meant to relieve him of them!
"I shall be fast asleep," Rayne went on, and turning to Duperre, he
said: "Here's the old fellow's master-key. It opens everything."
"By Jove!" whispered Vincent. "That was a clever ruse of yours to
contrive the old man to faint and then take an impression of the key
upon his chain."
"It was the only way to get possession of it," Rayne declared with an
evil grin. "But both of you know how to act, so I'll soon retire."
And a few moments later I went out leaving both men together. The
train roared into a long tunnel and then out again across many high
embankments and over bridges. Rain was falling in torrents and lashed
the windows as we sped due south on our way to Dijon. At last I knew
the cause and motive of the old financier's fainting fit. The reason
of our visit to Bradbourne had been in order to obtain an impression
of the old fellow's little master-key which opened all his luggage,
his dispatch-boxes, and even the great safes at the office in Old
Broad Street.
I hated the part I was forced to play, yet there certainly was an
element of danger in it, and in that I delighted. Therefore I
partially undressed, turned in, and read the newspaper, anxiously
waiting for the hour of three and wondering in what manner Duperre
intended to rob the victim. I hoped that no violence would be used.
The minutes crept on slowly as, time after time, I glanced at my
watch. In the compartment next to mine the millionaire was sleeping,
all unconscious of the insidious plot. The brown-uniformed conductor
was asleep--no doubt he had taken a drink with Duperre. Besides, the
corridor at each end of the sleeping-saloon was closed and locked.
At last, at five minutes to three, I very cautiously opened my door
and stepped into the empty corridor. The train was again in a tunnel,
the noise deafening and the atmosphere stifling. As soon as we were
out in the open I noiselessly lowered the window and found that we
were passing through a mountainous country, for every moment we passed
over some rushing torrent or through some narrow ravine.
It was already three o'clock when my nostrils were greeted with a
pungent sickly odor of attar of roses, which seemed to be wafted along
the corridor. It emanated, I imagined, from one of the compartments
occupied by lady travellers.
Of a sudden we ran into the big station at Macon, where there was a
wait of about five minutes--for the wheels to be tested. Nobody left
or entered. All was quite still after the roaring and rocking of the
express.
As we waited the odor of roses became much more pronounced, yet I sat
at my post by the open window as though wanting fresh air, for the big
sleeping-car was very stuffy, the heating apparatus being on. At last
we moved out again, and I breathlessly waited for Duperre to hand me
something to toss out to Tracy who was ready with the three signal
lights beside the line.
The train gathered speed quickly. We had travelled two hundred and
seventy miles and now had only a little farther to go. With my eye
upon the side of the track, I sat scarce daring to breathe.
The ravine! We were crossing it! I glanced along the corridor. Nobody
came in sight.
Next instant I saw three white lights arranged in a row. But we
flashed past them!
For some reason, why, I knew not, the plot had failed!
I dared not go to the compartment of either of my companions, so after
sitting up a further half-hour I crept back to my sleeping-berth
feeling very drowsy, and turning in, slept heavily.
I was awakened by a loud hammering upon my door, and an excited voice
outside calling:
"Mr. Hargreave! Mr. Hargreave!"
I opened it in astonishment to find the gray-headed old millionaire in
his pajamas.
"I've been robbed!" he gasped. "I can't wake the conductor. He's been
drugged, I believe! What number is Mr. Rayne's compartment?"
"Number four," I answered. "But what has been taken?" I asked.
"Bonds that I was taking to my agent in Marseilles--over sixty
thousand pounds' worth! My kitbag has been opened and the dispatch-box
has been opened also while I've been asleep. The thief has evidently
had the conductor's key or he couldn't have got into my compartment!
The bonds must be still in the possession of one of the passengers,"
he added. "Our last stop was at Macon and I was awake then."
Together we woke up Rayne, who at once busied himself in great alarm.
"Possibly the bonds have been thrown from the train to an accomplice,"
he suggested, exchanging glances with me.
"No. I'm sure they are still here--in the car. When next we stop I
will prevent anyone leaving, and have all the passengers searched. The
one thing that puzzles me is how the thief got to work without waking
me, as I always place a little electric alarm on my bag when
travelling with securities--and secondly, how did he manage to open
both the bag and the dispatch-box it contained?"
"Well," said Rayne. "Don't let us raise any alarm, but just wait till
we get to Lyons. Then we'll see that nobody alights before we call
the police." Then, turning to me, he said: "You'll keep one door,
Hargreave, and I'll keep the other, while Mr. Blumenfeld gives
information."
Thus we waited. But I was sorely puzzled as to the whereabouts of the
stolen bonds. If Duperre had taken them, how had he got rid of them?
That he had done so was quite plain by Rayne's open attitude.
Presently, in the dawn, we ran slowly into Lyons, whereupon, with
Rayne, I mounted guard, allowing no one to leave. Two men wanted to
descend to obtain some _cafe au lait_, as is customary, and were
surprised when prevented.
The commissary of police, with several plain-clothes officers, were
quickly upon the spot, and to them Mr. Blumenfeld related his
story--declaring that while lying awake he smelt a very strong odor of
roses which caused him to become drowsy, and he slept. On awakening he
saw that his dispatch-box had been rifled.
When the millionaire explained who he was and the extent of his loss,
the commissary was at once upon the alert, and ordered every passenger
to be closely searched. In consequence, everyone was turned out and
searched, a woman searching the female passengers, Signorina Lacava
waxing highly indignant. Rayne, Duperre and myself were also very
closely searched, while every nook and cranny of the compartments and
baggage were rummaged during the transit of the train from Lyons down
to Marseilles. The missing bonds could not be discovered, nor did any
suspicion attach to anyone.
I confess myself entirely puzzled as to what had actually occurred.
The well-arranged plan to drop them from the train beyond Dijon had
failed, I knew, because old Mr. Blumenfeld was still awake; but what
alternative plan had been put into action?
It was only when we arrived in Marseilles that the bewildered
conductor, a most reliable servant of the _wagon-lit_ company,
recovered from his lethargy and could not in the least account for his
long heavy sleep. He had, it appeared, smelt the same pleasant perfume
of roses as Mr. Blumenfeld. At Marseilles there was still more
excitement and inquiry, but at last we moved off to Toulon and along
the beautiful Cote d'Azur, with its grey-green olives and glimpses of
sapphire sea.
We were passing along by the seashore, when I ventured to slip into
Duperre's compartment, old Blumenfeld and his wife being then in the
luncheon-car adjoining.
I inquired in a whisper what had happened.
For answer he crossed to one of the windows and drew down the brown
cloth blind used at night, when upon the inside I saw, to my
astonishment, some bonds spread out and pinned to the fabric!
He touched the spring, the blind rolled up and they disappeared
within.
Each of the four blinds in his compartment contained their valuable
documents which, in due course, he removed and placed in his pockets
before he stepped out upon the platform at Hyeres. He was, of course,
an entire stranger to Rudolph and me, and we continued our journey
with the victimized millionaire to Cannes, where we were compelled to
remain for a week lest our abrupt return should excite anybody's
suspicion. Meanwhile, of course, Duperre was already back in London
with the spoils.
In the whole affair Rayne, whose master-brain was responsible for the
ingenious _coup_, remained with clean hands and ready at any moment to
prove his own innocence.
The original plan of tossing out the sixty thousand pounds' worth of
bonds to Tracy, who was waiting with his three warning lights, failed
because of old Blumenfeld's sleeplessness, but it was substituted by a
far more secretive yet simple plan--one never even dreamed of by the
astute police attached to the Paris, Lyons and Mediterranean Railway.
It being daylight at Lyons, the blinds were up!