NARRATES A STARTLING AFFAIR
I lost no time, but quickly hurried round to Arkwright Road, strolling
past the new, well-kept, red-brick house which, upon its gate, bore the
words in neat white letters, "Merton Lodge."
In several of the windows were lights. What, I wondered, was the nature
of the consultation going on within?
While I walked to the corner of Frognal, Benham remained at the Finchley
Road end, within call.
I watched patiently, when, about half-past eight, the front door opened
and Lola, descending the steps, left the house, walking alone in my
direction.
Drawing back quickly, I resolved to follow her, and doing so, went after
her straight up Arkwright Road, and up Fitzjohn's Avenue, till she came
to the Hampstead Tube Station, where, in the entrance, I was astounded
to see Edward Craig awaiting her.
He raised his hat and shook her hand warmly, while she, flushed with
pleasure, strolled at his side up the steep hill towards the Heath.
The attitude of the man, who was once supposed to have been dead and
buried, was now very different to what it had been when he had watched
her in secret at Boscombe.
I stood watching the pair, puzzled and wondering. What could it mean?
They were both smart and handsome. She, with all the vivacious
mannerisms of the chic Parisienne, was explaining something with much
gesticulation, while he strode at her side, bending to listen.
Behind them, I came on unobserved, following them on the high road over
the dark, windy Heath, past the well-known inn called _Jack Straw's
Castle_--the Mecca of the East-End seeker after fresh air--and on across
the long, straight road which led to the ancient Spaniards, one of the
landmarks of suburban London.
Half-way along that wide, open road, at that hour deserted, they sat
together upon a seat, talking earnestly, while I, leaving the road, lay
hidden in a bush upon the Heath. Lola seemed to be making some long
explanation, and then I distinctly saw him take her hand, and hold it
sympathetically, as he looked her full in the face.
Presently they rose, and walked the whole length of the open road, which
led across the top of the Heath, as far as the Spaniards. On either
side, far below, lay the lights of London, while, above, the red
night-glare was reflected from the lowering sky.
As they walked closely beside each other, with halting steps, as though
the moments of their meeting were passing all too rapidly, the man from
the grave was speaking, low and earnestly, into her ear.
She seemed to be listening to him in silence. And I watched on,
half-inclined to the belief that they were lovers.
Nevertheless, such an idea seemed ridiculous after Craig's demeanour
when he had watched her through the window on that night in Boscombe.
Yes. The friendship between Lola and the man whom every one believed to
be in his grave, was a complete mystery.
I followed them back, past the infrequent street-lamps, to the seat
whereon they had at first sat. Upon it they sank again, and until nearly
ten o'clock they remained in deep, earnest conversation.
When they rose, at last, I thought he raised her hand reverently to his
lips. But I was so far away that I could not be absolutely certain. As
they sauntered slowly down the hill to the station, I lounged leisurely
after them.
They were too occupied with each other to be conscious of my
surveillance.
I saw them descend in the lift to the platform below, and I was
compelled to take the next lift.
Fortunately, the train had not left ere I gained it, and I got in the
rear carriage, keeping a wary eye upon each platform as we reached it.
At Oxford Street they alighted, and while they ascended by the lift, I
tore up the stairs two steps at a time, reaching the street just as they
entered the big, grey, closed motor-car, which was apparently there
awaiting them, and moved off down the street.
In a moment I had hailed a taxi and was speeding after the grey car.
The red light showing the number-plate and the "G.B." plaque, went
swiftly down to Piccadilly Circus, then turning to the right along
Piccadilly, pulled up suddenly before the _Berkeley Hotel_, where both
alighted.
Craig went as far as the door and stood speaking with her for a moment
or two; then, raising his hat, re-entered the grey car and drove rapidly
in the direction of Hyde Park Corner.
Having established the fact that Lola was staying at the _Berkeley_, I
re-entered my taxi, and in about half an hour alighted once more at the
junction of Arkwright Road with Finchley Road.
Benham quickly detected my arrival, and approaching me from the
darkness, said--
"I wondered where you'd gone to, sir, all the evening. Nobody has come
out. The three men are in there still."
I was very tired and hungry, therefore we both went into the
neighbouring bar and swallowed some sandwiches. Then we went forth
again, and though midnight chimed from a distant church clock, there was
no sign of the interesting trio. Perhaps Vernon and Jeanjean were
fatigued after their swift journey from the African coast.
The solution of the mystery at Cromer was still as far off as ever. The
reappearance of the supposed dead man had increased the complications in
the amazing problem which had, long ago, been given up by Frayne of the
estimable Norfolk Constabulary as constituting an unsolvable "mystery."
Both he and Treeton were, no doubt, busily engaged in trapping motorists
who exceeded "the limit," for to secure a conviction is a far greater
credit to the local police officer than the patient unravelling of a
mystery of crime. Hence the persistent lack of intelligence amongst too
many of the country police.
It was past one o'clock in the morning when, lurking together in a
doorway, we saw the portals of Merton Lodge open, and Vernon with his
two friends, all in evening dress, come out. They buttoned their black
overcoats, pressed their crush-hats upon their heads against the wind,
and all three sallied briskly forth in the direction of Fitzjohn's
Avenue.
Bertini was, I noticed, carrying a small leather bag, very strong, like
those used by bankers to convey their coin.
One thing, which struck me as curious, was that they made no noise
whatever as they walked. They were seemingly wearing boots with rubber
soles. Yet, being in evening clothes, they might all be wearing
dancing-pumps.
We followed at a respectable distance, and, watching, saw some
astounding manoeuvres.
Passing down Fitzjohn's Avenue to Swiss Cottage Station, they separated,
Vernon taking a taxi and the others crossing to the station, which still
remained open.
I followed Vernon in another taxi while Benham, unknown to the other
two, stood upon the kerb in the darkness and lit a cigarette.
Vernon's cab went direct to Tottenham Court Road, where, opposite the
_Horse Shoe_, he alighted, and turning to the right, strolled along
Oxford Street past the Oxford Music Hall, I dogging his steps all the
time.
Half-way down Oxford Street he paused and, turning into Wells Street,
lit a cigar. Then he glanced up and down in expectancy till, some ten
minutes later, a taxi-cab pulled up some distance away, and his two
friends alighted from it. Close on their heels came a second taxi, from
which I saw Benham jump out.
The trio separated, and neither took any notice of the others.
Jeanjean came out into Oxford Street, where I was standing in the
shadow, and walking a few doors down in the direction of Great Portland
Street, halted suddenly before the door of a large jeweller's shop,
swiftly unlocked it with a key he held ready in his hand, and, ere I
could realize his intention, he was inside with the door closed behind
him.
The key had, no doubt, been already prepared from a cast of the
original, and the scene of action well prospected. Otherwise he would
never have dared to act in that openly defiant manner almost under the
very noses of the police.
I drew back and waited, watching the operations of the most notorious
jewel-thief in Europe, Benham keeping a wary eye upon the other pair.
Vernon, after a few moments, crossed into Poland Street, a narrow
thoroughfare nearly opposite, while Bertini, carrying the bag, slipped
along to the jeweller's shop, and also entered by the unlocked door.
In the heavy iron revolving shutters were gratings, allowing the police
on the beat to see within, but from where I stood I could see no light
inside. All was quite quiet and unsuspicious. It was a marvel to me how
silently and actively both men had slipped from view right under the
noses of the police in Oxford Street, who are ever vigilant at night.
Vernon, watched by Benham, had hidden himself in a doorway with the
evident intention of remaining until the _coup_ was successfully
effected, and to immediately take over the spoils and lock them away in
his safes in Hatton Garden.
Five, ten, fifteen breathless minutes went by.
I saw the constable on the beat, walking with his sergeant, approaching
me. Both were blissfully ignorant that within a few yards of them was
the great Jules Jeanjean, for whose capture the French police had long
ago offered a vast reward.
I was compelled to shift from my point of vantage, yet I remained in the
vicinity unseen by either.
What if the constable were to try the jeweller's door as he passed?
I watched the pair strolling slowly, their shiny capes on their
shoulders, for rain had begun to fall, watched them breathlessly.
Of a sudden the constable halted as he was passing the jeweller's shop
door, and, stepping aside, tried it.
My heart stood still.
Next second, however, the truth was plain. The door had been
re-fastened, and the constable, reassured, went on, resuming his night
gossip with his sergeant at the point where he had broken off.
Yes. The two thieves were inside, no doubt sacking the place of all that
was most valuable.
Their daring, swiftness, and expert methods were astounding. Truly Jules
Jeanjean was a veritable prince among jewel-thieves. Not another man in
the whole of Europe could approach him either for knowledge as to
whether a gem were good or bad, for nerve and daring, for impudent
effrontery, or for swift and decisive action. He was a king among
jewel-thieves, and as such acknowledged by the dishonest fraternity
whose special prey was precious stones.
I stood in blank wonder and amazement.
My first impulse was to turn and step along to Oxford Circus, where I
knew another constable would be on point-duty. Indeed, I was about to
raise the alarm without arousing old Vernon's suspicions, when I saw the
jeweller's door open quickly and both men dashed out wildly and up Wells
Street as fast as their legs could carry them.
In a moment I saw that they had been desperately alarmed and were
fleeing without waiting to secure their booty, for next second a man--a
watchman who had been sleeping on the premises--staggered out upon the
pavement, shouting, "Murder! Help! Thieves!" and then fell on the ground
senseless.
I rushed over to him, and by the light of the street-lamp saw that blood
was flowing from a great wound in his skull. Then, in a moment, Benham
was beside me, and the constable and sergeant came running back, being
joined by a second constable.
Meanwhile Vernon, as well as the two thieves, had disappeared.
The man attacked was senseless. The wound in his head was a terrible
one, apparently inflicted by a jemmy or life-preserver; so quickly an
ambulance was sent for, and the poor fellow was swiftly conveyed,
apparently in a dying condition, to the Middlesex Hospital.
At first the police regarded me with some suspicion, but when Benham
explained who he was, and that our attention had been attracted by
"something wrong," they were satisfied. We, however, went round to the
police-station and there made a statement that, in passing we had seen
two men--whom we described--enter the premises with a key, and as they
did not emerge, we waited, until we saw them escape, followed by the
injured watchman.
Then--it being about half-past three in the morning--we went back to the
jeweller's, and there found the place in a state of great disorder. At
the back of the window pieces of black linen had been suspended, in
order to shut out the light from the small gratings in the shutters,
and, in what they had believed to be perfect security, the thieves,
wearing gloves, had forced open several show-cases and packed their most
valuable contents in a cotton bag ready for removal. The big safe, one
by a well-known maker, stood open, and the various valuable articles it
contained had been pulled roughly out, examined, and placed aside ready
to be packed up, together with a bag containing about one hundred
sovereigns, and a small packet of banknotes.
On the floor lay a beautiful pearl collar, while everywhere empty cases
were strewn about. Yet, as far as could be ascertained from the manager,
who had come up hastily in a taxi, nothing had been taken.
Detectives came and began a thorough examination of the premises, and
the damage done.
They were looking for finger-prints, but it was not likely that
practised experts such as Jules Jeanjean and his companion would risk
detection by leaving any.
I kept my knowledge to myself, and returned, weary and hungry, to my
rooms, Benham accompanying me, and there we discussed our plans for the
morrow.