"Well, it was proved conclusively that he was a member of a very
dangerous gang of criminals who for several years had committed some
of the most clever and audacious thefts. The organization consisted of
over thirty men and women, of varying ages, all of them expert jewel
thieves, safe-breakers, or card-sharpers. Twice each year this
interesting company held meetings--at which every member was
present--and at such meetings certain members were allotted certain
districts, or certain profitable pieces of business. Thus, if
half-a-dozen were to-day operating in London as thieves or receivers,
they would change, and in a week would be operating in St. Petersburg,
while those from Russia would be here. So cleverly was the band
organized that it was practically impossible for the police to make
arrests. It was a more widespread and wealthy criminal organization
than has ever before been unearthed. But the arrest of your friend
Harriman, alias Bell, on a charge of murder was the means of exposing
the conspiracy, and the ultimate breaking up of the gang."
"And what of Bell?"
"He narrowly escaped the guillotine, and is now imprisoned for life at
Devil's Island."
"And you saw him with me at Paris?" I remarked, in wonder at this
strange revelation. "He certainly never struck me as an assassin. He
was a shrewd man--a swindler, no doubt, but his humorous bearing and
his good-nature were entirely opposed to the belief that his was a
sinister nature."
"Yet it was proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that he and another
man killed and robbed a young Englishman named Burke," responded the
Frenchman. "Perhaps you, yourself, had a narrow escape. Who knows? It
was no doubt lucky for you that he was arrested."
"But I understood that the charge was one of fraud," I said. "I
intended to go to the trial, but I was called to Italy."
"The charge of fraud was made in order not to alarm his accomplice,"
replied the stranger.
"How do you know that?" I inquired.
"Well"--he hesitated--"that came out at the trial. There were full
accounts of it in the Paris _Matin_."
"I don't care for reading Assize Court horrors," I replied, still
puzzled regarding my strange companion's intimate knowledge concerning
the man whose dramatic and sudden arrest had, on that memorable
afternoon, so startled me.
"When I saw your face just now," he said, "I recognized you as being
at the Grand Hotel with Bell. Do you know," he laughed, "you were such
a close friend of the accused that you were suspected of being a
member of the dangerous association! Indeed, you very narrowly escaped
arrest on suspicion. It was only because the reception clerk in the
hotel knew you well, and vouched for your respectability and that
Biddulph was your real name. Yet, for a full week, you were watched
closely by the _sûreté_."
"And I was all unconscious of it!" I cried, realizing how narrowly I
had escaped a very unpleasant time. "How do you know all this?" I
asked.
But the Frenchman with the gold glasses and the big amethyst ring upon
his finger merely laughed, and refused to satisfy me.
From him, however, I learned that the depredations of the formidable
gang had been unequalled in the annals of crime. Many of the greatest
jewel robberies in the European capitals in recent years had, it was
now proved, been effected by them, as well as the theft of the
Marchioness of Mottisfont's jewels at Victoria Station, which were
valued at eighteen thousand pounds, and were never recovered; the
breaking open of the safe of Levi & Andrews, the well-known
diamond-merchants of Hatton Garden, and the theft of a whole vanload
of furs before a shop in New Bond Street, all of which are, no doubt,
fresh within the memory of the reader of the daily newspapers.
Every single member of that remarkable association of thieves was an
expert in his or her branch of dishonesty, while the common fund was a
large one, hence members could disguise themselves as wealthy persons,
if need be. One, when arrested, was found occupying a fine old castle
in the Tyrol, he told me; another--an expert burglar--was a doctor in
good practice at Hampstead; another kept a fine jeweller's shop in
Marseilles, while another, a lady, lived in style in a great château
near Nevers.
"And who exposed them?" I asked, much interested. "Somebody must have
betrayed them."
"Somebody did betray them--by anonymous letters to the police--letters
which were received at intervals at the Préfecture in Paris, and led
to the arrest of one after another of the chief members of the gang.
It seemed to have been done by some one irritated by Bell's arrest.
But the identity of the informant has never been ascertained. He
deemed it best to remain hidden--for obvious reasons," laughed my
friend at my side.
"You seem to know a good many facts regarding the affair," I said.
"Have you no idea of the identity of the mysterious informant?"
"Well"--he hesitated--"I have a suspicion that it was some person
associated with them--some one who became conscience-stricken. Ah!
M'sieur Biddulph, if you only knew the marvellous cunning of that
invulnerable gang. Had it not been for that informant, they would
still be operating--in open defiance of the police of Europe. Criminal
methods, if expert, only fail for want of funds. Are not some of our
wealthiest financiers mere criminals who, by dealing in thousands, as
other men deal in francs, conceal their criminal methods? Half your
successful financiers are merely successful adventurers. The
_dossiers_ of some of them, preserved in the police bureaux, would be
astounding reading to those who admire them and proclaim them the
successful men of to-day--kings of finance they call them!"
"You are certainly something of a philosopher," I laughed, compelled
to admit the truth of his argument; "but tell me--how is it that you
know so much concerning George Harriman, alias Bell, and his
antecedents?"