CHAPTER XXX 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 manœuvres.

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.