ISIDORE LE DRIEUX
Perhaps the cigar was half gone when Patsy gave a sudden start and
squeezed Uncle John's hand, which she had been holding in both her own.
"What is it, my dear?"
"The man I told you of. There he is, just across the lobby. The man with
the gray clothes and gray hair."
"Oh, yes; the one lighting a cigar."
"Precisely."
Uncle John gazed across the lobby reflectively. The stranger's eyes roved
carelessly around the big room and then he moved with deliberate steps
toward their corner. He passed several vacant chairs and settees on his
way and finally paused before a lounging-chair not six feet distant from
the one occupied by Mr. Merrick.
"Pardon me; is this seat engaged, sir?" he asked.
"No," replied Uncle John, not very graciously, for it was a deliberate
intrusion.
The stranger sat down and for a time smoked his cigar in silence. He was
so near them that Patsy forbore any conversation, knowing he would
overhear it.
Suddenly the man turned squarely in their direction and addressed them.
"I hope you will pardon me, Mr. Merrick, if I venture to ask a
question," said he.
"Well, sir?"
"I saw you talking with Mr. Jones this evening--A. Jones, you know, who
says he came from Sangoa."
"Didn't he?" demanded the old gentleman.
The stranger smiled.
"Perhaps; once on a time; allowing such a place exists. But his last
journey was here from Austria."
"Indeed!"
Mr. Merrick and Patsy were both staring at the man incredulously.
"I am quite sure of that statement, sir; but I cannot prove it, as yet."
"Ah! I thought not."
Patsy had just told her uncle how she had detected this man stealthily
watching Jones, and how he had followed the boy when he retired to his
room. The present interview had, they both knew, something to do with
this singular action. Therefore Mr. Merrick restrained his indignation at
the stranger's pointed questioning. He realized quite well that the man
had come to their corner determined to catechise them and gain what
information he could. Patsy realized this, too. So, being forewarned,
they hoped to learn his object without granting him the satisfaction of
"pumping" them.
"I suppose you are friends of this Mr. A. Jones," was his next remark.
"We are acquaintances," said Mr. Merrick.
"Has he ever mentioned his adventures in Austria to you?"
"Are _you_ a friend of Mr. Jones?" demanded uncle John.
"I am not even an acquaintance," said the man, smiling. "But I am
interested in him, through a friend of mine who met him abroad. Permit me
to introduce myself, sir."
He handed them a card which read:
"ISADORE LE DRIEUX
Importer of Pearls and Precious Stones
36 Maiden Lane,
New York City."
"I have connections abroad, in nearly all countries," continued the man,
"and it is through some of them that I have knowledge of this young
fellow who has taken the name of A. Jones. In fact, I have a portrait of
the lad, taken in Paris, which I will show you."
He searched in his pocket and produced an envelope from which he
carefully removed a photograph, which he handed to Uncle John. Patsy
examined it, too, with a start of surprise. The thin features, the large
serious eyes, even the closely set lips were indeed those of A. Jones.
But in the picture he wore a small mustache.
"It can't be _our_ A. Jones," murmured Patsy. "This one is older."
"That is on account of the mustache," remarked Le Drieux, who was
closely watching their faces. "This portrait was taken more than a
year ago."
"Oh; but he was in Sangoa then," protested Patsy, who was really
bewildered by the striking resemblance.
The stranger smiled indulgently.
"As a matter of fact, there is no Sangoa." said he; "so we may doubt the
young man's assertion that he was ever there."
"Why are you interested in him?" inquired Mr. Merrick.
"A natural question," said Le Drieux, after a moment of hesitation. "I
know you well by reputation, Mr. Merrick, and believe I am justified in
speaking frankly to you and your niece, provided you regard my statements
as strictly confidential. A year ago I received notice from my friend in
Austria that the young man had gone to America and he was anxious I
should meet him. At the time I was too busy with my own affairs to look
him up, but I recently came to California for a rest, and noticed the
strong resemblance between the boy, A. Jones, and the portrait sent me.
So I hunted up this picture and compared the two. In my judgment they are
one and the same. What do _you_ think, sir?"
"I believe there is a resemblance," answered Uncle John, turning the
card over. "But here is a name on the back of the photograph: 'Jack
Andrews.'"
"Yes; this is Jack Andrews," said Le Drieux, nodding. "Have you ever
heard the name before?"
"Never."
"Well, Andrews is noted throughout Europe, and it is but natural he
should desire to escape his notoriety by assuming another name out here.
Do you note the similarity of the initials? 'J.A.' stand for Jack
Andrews. Reverse them and 'A.J.' stand for A. Jones. By the way, what
does he claim the 'A' means? Is it Andrew?"
"It means nothing at all," said Patsy. "He told us so."
"I see. You caught him unprepared. That isn't like Jack. He is always
on guard."
Both Patsy and Uncle John were by this time sorely perplexed. They had a
feeling common to both of them, that the subject of this portrait and A.
Jones were two separate and distinct persons; yet the resemblance could
not be denied, if they were indeed the same, young Jones had deliberately
lied to them, and recalling his various statements and the manner in
which they had been made, they promptly acquitted the boy of the charge
of falsehood.
"For what was Jack Andrews noted throughout Europe?" inquired Mr.
Merrick, after silently considering these things.
"Well, he was a highflier, for one thing." answered Le Drieux. "He was
known as a thorough 'sport' and, I am told, a clever gambler. He had a
faculty of making friends, even among the nobility. The gilded youth of
London, Paris and Vienna cultivated his acquaintance, and through them he
managed to get into very good society. He was a guest at the splendid
villa of Countess Ahmberg, near Vienna, when her magnificent collection
of pearls disappeared. You remember that loss, and the excitement it
caused, do you not?"
"No, sir; I have never before heard of the Countess of Ahmberg or
her pearls."
"Well, the story filled the newspapers for a couple of weeks. The
collection embraced the rarest and most valuable pearls known to exist."
"And you accuse this man, Andrews, of stealing them?" asked Uncle John,
tapping with his finger the portrait he still held.
"By no means, sir; by no means!" cried Le Drieux hastily. "In fact, he
was one of the few guests at the villa to whom no suspicion attached.
From the moment the casket of pearls was last seen by the countess until
their loss was discovered, every moment of Andrews' time was accounted
for. His alibi was perfect and he was quite prominent in the unsuccessful
quest of the thief."
"The pearls were not recovered, then?"
"No. The whole affair is still a mystery. My friend in Vienna, a pearl
merchant like myself, assisted Andrews in his endeavor to discover the
thief and, being much impressed by the young man's personality, sent me
this photograph, asking me to meet him, as I have told you, when he
reached America."
"Is his home in this country?"
"New York knows him, but knows nothing of his family or his history. He
is popular there, spending money freely and bearing the reputation of an
all-around good fellow. On his arrival there, a year ago, he led a gay
life for a few days and then suddenly disappeared. No one knew what had
become of him. When I found him here, under the name of A. Jones, the
disappearance was solved."
"I think," said Uncle John, "you are laboring under a serious, if
somewhat natural, mistake. The subject of this picture is like A. Jones,
indeed, but he is older and his expression more--more--"
"Blase and sophisticated," said Patsy.
"Thank you, my dear; I am no dictionary, and if those are real words they
may convey my meaning. I feel quite sure, Mr. Le Drieux, that the story
of Andrews can not be the story of young Jones."
Le Drieux took the picture and replaced it in his pocket.
"To err is human," said he, "and I will admit the possibility of my being
mistaken in my man. But you will admit the resemblance?"
"Yes. They might be brothers. But young Jones has said he has no
brothers, and I believe him."
Le Drieux sat in silence for a few minutes. Then he said:
"I appealed to you, Mr. Merrick, because I was not thoroughly satisfied,
in my own mind, of my conclusions. You have added to my doubts, I must
confess, yet I cannot abandon the idea that the two men are one and the
same. As my suspicion is only shared by you and your niece, in
confidence, I shall devote myself for a few days to studying young Jones
and observing his actions. In that way I may get a clue that will set all
doubt at rest."
"We will introduce you to him," said Patsy. "and then you may question
him as much as you like."
"Oh, no; I prefer not to make his acquaintance until I am quite sure,"
was the reply. "If he is not Jack Andrews he would be likely to resent
the insinuation that he is here trading under a false name. Good night,
Mr. Merrick. Good night, Miss Doyle. I thank you for your courteous
consideration."
He had risen, and now bowed and walked away.
"Well," said Patsy. "what was he after? And did he learn anything from
us?"
"He did most of the talking himself," replied Uncle John, looking after
Le Drieux with a puzzled expression. "Of course he is not a jewel
merchant."
"No," said Patsy, "he's a detective, and I'll bet a toothpick to a match
that he's on the wrong scent."
"He surely is. Unfortunately, we cannot warn Ajo against him."
"It isn't necessary, Uncle. Why, the whole thing is absurd. Our boy is
not a gambler or roysterer, nor do I think he has ever been in Europe.
Mr. Le Drieux will have to guess again!"