"WHERE THE TWO C'S MEET"
So Lola's portrait was in the hands of the French police. The fact
jarred upon me.
But I was careful not to betray any of the agitation I felt, and after
gazing upon it in silence I remarked in a light tone to Jonet--
"That is the only portrait you've got--eh? Rather good-looking, isn't
she?"
"Good-looking! Ah, mon cher Vidal, extremely beautiful, I call her,"
declared the Inspector, taking the picture and gazing upon it. "Really,"
he added, "it hardly seems possible that such a pretty girl should be
such a hardened and expert thief as she is reported to be."
"I thought Jeanjean was the thief," I said with a pretence of surprise.
Jonet lit a fresh cigarette, after offering me one. Then he said--
"It is on record here," and he tapped the damning portfolio that lay
under his hand, "that in at least half a dozen cases the methods have
been the same. The Nightingale--as the girl, whose real name is Lola
Sorel, but who has a dozen aliases--is called by her friends, goes with
her maid to one of the smartest hotels, say at Carlsbad, Nice, Aix,
Trouville, or London, Berlin, anywhere, where there are usually wealthy
women. She is a modest little person, and makes a long stay, keeping her
blue eyes well open for any visitor possessed of valuable jewellery.
Having fixed upon one, she carefully cultivates the lady's acquaintance,
is extremely affable, and soon becomes on such intimate terms with her
that she is admitted to her bedroom, and is then able to discover where
the lady's jewels are kept--whether the case is sufficiently small to be
portable, and if not, what kind of lock it has. Every detail she
carefully notes and passes on to Jeanjean, who, when the _coup_ is
ready, appears from nowhere. He is too wary to stay in the same hotel."
"Then the girl has a maid with her!" I exclaimed.
"Invariably," was Jonet's reply. "But the methods by which the robberies
are carried out are varied. In some cases the pretty Lola has simply
seized an opportunity to transfer her 'friend's' jewel-case to her own
room, whence it has been abstracted in her absence by Jeanjean. In other
cases while she has been out with the owner of the jewels, motoring, or
shopping, or at the theatre, Jeanjean, having had the tip from his
niece, has slipped in and secured the valuables. Again this method has
been varied by Lola stealing the best piece from the victim's room and
in the night handing it to Jeanjean from her bedroom window, as was done
at Cannes last winter, when the Princess Tynarowski lost her diamond
collar after a brief acquaintance with the fascinating Lola. The latter
remained in the hotel for nearly a fortnight following the theft and
left still enjoying the greatest friendship of the unsuspecting victim."
"Then this girl must be very clever and daring," I exclaimed.
"Yes. She is the tool of that scoundrel Jeanjean," declared Jonet,
closing the dossier. "Poor girl. Probably she acts entirely against her
will. The brute has her in his power, as so many girls are in the power
of unscrupulous men in the criminal under-world. They, in their
innocence, commit one crime, perhaps unconsciously, and for years
afterwards they are threatened with exposure to us; so, in order to
purchase their liberty, they are forced to become thieves and
adventuresses. Ah, yes, mon cher Vidal, that is a curious and tragic
side of criminal life, one of which the world never dreams."
"Then you do not believe this girl is really a criminal from instinct?"
I asked eagerly.
"No. She is under the all-compelling influence of Jeanjean, who will not
hesitate to take a life if it suits him; the man who has set at naught
every law of our civilized existence."
"Her position must be one full of terror," I said.
"Yes. Poor girl. Though I have never seen her, to my knowledge, yet I,
even though I am a police functionary, cannot help feeling pity for her.
Think what a girl forced into crime by such a man must suffer! Rothera
in his report says she is extremely refined and full of personal charm."
"That is why wealthy women find her such a pleasant and engaging
companion, I suppose."
"No doubt. Most middle-aged women take an interest in a pretty girl,
especially if she can tell a good story of her unhappiness with her
parents, or of some sorrowful love affair," remarked Jonet. "I expect
she can romance as well as you can, my friend," he laughed. "And you are
a professional writer."
"Better, in all probability," I rejoined, also laughing. "At any rate it
seems that, by her romances, this fellow Jeanjean reaps a golden
harvest."
"And I dare say her profits are not very much," said the police
official. "He probably pays all her hotel bills, and gives her a little
over for pocket money."
"And the maid?"
"Ah! She must be one of the gang. They would never risk being given away
by one who was not in the swim. The maid, if she were in ignorance of
what went on, would very quickly scent some mystery, for each time her
young mistress found a new friend in an hotel she would notice that
jewels invariably were reported missing, and a hue and cry raised. No.
The maid is an accomplice, and at this moment I am doing all I can to
fix the interesting pair."
"And you will arrest them?"
"Of course," he replied determinedly. "I sympathize with the pretty
little thief, yet I have my duty to perform. Besides, if I have the
interesting little lady here before me for interrogation, I shall, I
think, not be very long before I discover our friend Jeanjean in his
secret hiding-place."
I did not answer for several minutes.
A trap had evidently been laid for Lola, and, in her own interests, she
should be warned.
Continuing, I further questioned my friend, and he told me some
astounding stories of Jeanjean's elusiveness. I, however, said nothing
of what I knew. I remained silent regarding the curious affair in
Cromer, and as to my knowledge that the pretty villa near Algiers
concealed the man for whom all the police of Europe were in search.
My chief concern was for Lola, and that same evening I wrote to her at
the Poste Restante at Versailles giving her warning of what was
intended. She was probably in Brussels, but in due course would, no
doubt, receive my letter, and see me again, as I requested.
On two other occasions I saw Jonet, but he had no further information
regarding Jeanjean and his gang. The chief point which puzzled him
seemed to be the fact that not a single stone, out of all the stolen
jewels, had been traced.
"The receiver is an absolute mystery," he declared. "Perhaps the stuff
goes to London."
"Perhaps," I said. "Have you made inquiry of Scotland Yard?"
"Oh, yes. I was over there a month ago. But they either know nothing, or
else they are not inclined to help us." Then with a faint smile he
added, "As you know, mon cher ami, I have no very great admiration for
your English police. Their laws are always in favour of the criminal,
and their slowness of movement is astounding to us."
"Yes. Your methods are more drastic and more effective in the detection
of crime," I admitted.
"And in its prevention," he added.
That day was the twenty-sixth of August, and as I walked along the Rue
de Rivoli back to the _Hotel Meurice_, I suddenly remembered the
mysterious tryst contained in that letter found in the pocket of Edward
Craig. The appointment at the spot, "where the two C's meet," at Ealing.
I left Paris that night by the mail-train, crossed from Calais to Dover,
and at noon next day alighted at Ealing Broadway station.
I had never been in Ealing before, and spent several hours wandering
about its quiet, well-kept suburban roads, many of them of
comfortable-looking detached villas. But I found the district a perfect
maze of streets, therefore I went and sat on one of the seats in the
small park in front of the station, wondering how best to act.
Two clear days were still before me ere the meeting which had apparently
been arranged with old Gregory--the man with the master-mind.
"Where the two C's meet."
I lunched at the _Feathers Hotel_ near the station, and all that hot
afternoon wandered the streets, but failed to discover any clue. What
"C's" were meant? Possibly two persons whose initials were C were in the
habit of meeting at some spot, or in some house at Ealing--and Ealing is
a big place when one is presented with such a problem.
Fagged and hungry, I returned to my rooms in Carlos Place, off Berkeley
Square, where Rayner was awaiting me. He knew the object of my search,
and as he admitted me, asked if I had been successful.
"No, Rayner, I haven't," I snapped. "I can see no ray of daylight yet.
The appointment is an important one, no doubt, and one which we should
watch. But how?"
"Well, sir," he replied, as I cast myself into my big arm-chair, and he
got out my slippers, "we could watch the two railway stations at Ealing,
and see if we detect old Gregory, or any of the others."
"They might go to Ealing in a tram or a taxi," I suggested.
"Yes, sir. But there'll be no harm in watching the trains, will there?"
my man remarked. "If he went in a taxi he might leave by train."
"True," I said, and after a few seconds' reflection, added, "Yes. We'll
try the trains."
So, on the night of the twenty-ninth, at about nine o'clock in the
evening, I took up my post in the small arcade which formed the exit of
the station and there waited patiently.
I was in a shabby tweed suit, with patched boots, and a cloth golf-cap,
presenting the appearance of a respectable workman, as I smoked my
short briar-pipe and idled over the _Evening News_.
As each train arrived I eagerly scanned the emerging passengers, while
pretending to look in the shop window, but I saw nobody whom I knew.
The expression, "Where the two C's meet," kept running through my mind
as I stood there in impatient inactivity. It was already past nine, and,
in three-quarters of an hour, the fateful meeting, for somehow I felt
that it was a fateful meeting, would be held.
The two "C's." The idea suddenly flashed across my mind, whether the
spot indicated could be the junction of two roads, or streets, the names
of which commenced with "C." Yet, how could I satisfy myself? If I
searched Ealing again for roads commencing with a "C," I could only do
so in daylight, too late to learn what I so dearly wished.
Of a porter I inquired the time of arrival of the next underground train
and found that I had eight minutes. So I dashed along to the _Feathers
Hotel_, where I obtained a map of the Ealing district and eagerly
scanned it to find streets commencing with "C."
For some minutes I was unsuccessful, until of a sudden I noticed
Castlebar Road, and examining the map carefully saw, to my excitement,
that at an acute angle it joined another road, called Carlton Road, a
triangular open space lying between the two thoroughfares.
It was the spot in Ealing where the two C's met!
I glanced at the clock.
It still wanted a quarter to ten, therefore I drained my glass hastily
and, leaving the hotel, struck across the small open space opposite the
station, in which, in a direct line, lay the junction of the two roads.
The evening was dark and sultry, with every indication of a
thunderstorm. I remembered Rayner's vigil, but alas! had no time to go
to him and explain my altered plans.
Along the dark, rather ill-lit, suburban road I hurried until, before
me, I saw a big electric-light standard with four great inverted globes.
It showed a parting of the ways.
I looked at my watch as I passed a street-lamp, and saw that it wanted
two minutes to ten.
And as I looked on ahead I saw, standing back in the shadow of the
trees, on the left-hand, a dark figure, but in the distance I could not
distinguish whether a man or a woman waited there.
I hurried forward, full of eagerness, to witness the secret meeting, and
with an intention of watching and following those who met.
Yet, could I have foreseen the due result of such inquisitiveness, I
scarcely think that I would have dared to tread ground so highly
dangerous.