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THE PLACE OF DRAGONS
A MYSTERY
ByWILLIAM LE QUEUX
Author of "In White Raiment," "If Sinners Entice Thee,""The Room of Secrets," etc.
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITEDLONDON AND MELBOURNE
MADE IN ENGLAND
Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE I PRESENTS A PROBLEM 5
II IS MAINLY ASTONISHING 12
III SHOWS LIGHT FROM THE MIST 22
IV OPENS SEVERAL QUESTIONS 30
V IN WHICH THE SHADOW FALLS 38
VI MYSTERY INEXPLICABLE 44
VII TELLS OF TWO MEN 52
VIII REMAINS AN ENIGMA 60
IX DESCRIBES A NIGHT VIGIL 67
X CONTAINS A CLUE 73
XI THE AFFAIR OF THE SEVENTEENTH 81
XII LOLA 87
XIII RELATES A STRANGE STORY 95
XIV WHEREIN CONFESSION IS MADE 103
XV CONFIRMS CERTAIN SUSPICIONS 110
XVI WHERE TWO C'S MEET 118
XVII REVEALS ANOTHER PLOT 125
XVIII DONE IN THE NIGHT 131
XIX RECORDS FURTHER FACTS 139
XX ANOTHER DISCOVERY IS MADE 145
XXI EXPLAINS LOLA'S FEARS 152
XXII THE ROAD OF RICHES 160
XXIII FOLLOWS THE ELUSIVE JULES 166
XXIV MAKES A STARTLING DISCLOSURE 173
XXV IS MORE MYSTERIOUS 181
XXVI HOT-FOOT ACROSS EUROPE 188
XXVII OPENS A DEATH-TRAP 196
XXVIII DESCRIBES A CHASE 204
XXIX THE HOUSE IN HAMPSTEAD 212
XXX NARRATES A STARTLING AFFAIR 219
XXXI "SHEEP OF THY PASTURE" 227
XXXII THE TENTS OF UNGODLINESS 235
XXXIII DISCLOSES A STRANGE TRUTH 241
XXXIV CONCERNS TO-DAY 250
THE PLACE OF DRAGONS
CHAPTER I
PRESENTS A PROBLEM
"Curious affair, isn't it?"
"Very."
"Now, you're a bit of a mystery-monger, Vidal. What's your theory--eh?"
"I haven't one," I replied with a smile.
"I knew the old boy quite well by sight. Didn't you?" asked my friend,Major Keppell, as we stood gossiping together in the doorway of the_Hotel de Paris_, high up on the cliff opposite the pier at Cromer.
"Perfectly. His habit was to go down the slope yonder, to the pier eachmorning at ten, and to remain there till eleven," I said. "I used towatch him every morning. He went as regularly as the clock, wet orfine."
"A bit eccentric, I thought," remarked the Major, standing astride inhis rough golfing clothes, and puffing at his briar pipe. "Quite acharacter for a novel--eh?" and he laughed. "You'll do a book about thisstrange affair--what?"
I shrugged my shoulders and smiled, as I replied: "Not very likely, Ithink. Yet the circumstances are, to say the least, extremely curious."
"They are, from all I hear," said my friend. Then, glancing at hiswristlet watch, he exclaimed: "By Jove!--nearly seven! I must get in anddress for dinner. See you later."
With this he passed through the swing-doors of the hotel, leaving mestanding upon the short sweep of gravel gazing out upon the summer sea,golden in the glorious June sunset.
The Major had spoken the truth. A discovery had been made in Cromer thatmorning which possessed many remarkable features, and to me, aninvestigator of crime, it presented an extremely interestingproblem--one such as I, Herbert Vidal, had never before heard of.
Briefly related, the facts were as follows. Early in February--fourmonths before--there had arrived in Cromer a queer, wizened, little oldman named Vernon Gregory. He was accompanied by his nephew, a ratherdandified, overdressed young fellow of twenty-three, named Edward Craig.
Strangers are very few in Cromer in winter, and therefore Mrs. Dean,landlady of Beacon House, on the West Cliff, a few doors west of the_Hotel de Paris_, where the asphalted footpath runs along the top of thecliff, was very glad to let the new-comers the first-floor frontsitting-room with two bedrooms above.
In winter and spring, Cromer, high and bleak, and swept by the wild,howling winds from the grey North Sea, its beach white with the spume ofstorm, is practically deserted. The hotels, with the exception of the_Paris_, are closed, the boarding-houses are mostly shut, and thelandladies who let apartments wait weeks and weeks in vain for thearrival of a chance visitor. In August, however, the place overflowswith visitors, all of the best class, and for six weeks each year Cromerbecomes one of the gayest little towns on the breezy East Coast.
So, all through the spring, with its grey, wet days, when the spindriftswept in a haze across the promenade, old Mr. Gregory was a familiarfigure taking his daily walk, no matter how inclement the weather.
In appearance he was unusual, and seedy. His bony face was long, thin,and grey; a countenance that was broad at the brow and narrowed to apointed chin. He had a longish white beard, yet his deep-set eyes withtheir big bushy brows were so dark and piercing that the fire of youthseemed still to burn within them. He was of medium height, ratherround-shouldered, and walked with a decided limp, aided by a stout ashstick. Invariably he wore an old, dark grey, mackintosh cape, verygreasy at the collar; black trousers, old and baggy; boots very down atheel; and on his mass of long white hair a broad-brimmed felt hat, whichgave him the appearance of a musician, or an artist.
Sometimes, on rare occasions, his well-dressed nephew walked withhim--but very seldom were they together.
Craig was a tall, well-set-up young fellow, who generally wore a drabgolf-suit, smoked cigarettes eternally, and frequently played billiardsat the _Red Lion_. He was also a golfer and well known on the links forthe excellence of his play.
Between uncle and nephew there was nothing in common. Craig had droppeda hint that he was down there with his relative "just to look after theold boy." He undoubtedly preferred London life, and it was stated that afew years before he had succeeded to a large estate somewhere on theWelsh border.
The residents of Cromer are as inquisitive as those of most small towns.Therefore, it was not very long after the arrival of this curiouscouple, that everybody knew that old Mr. Gregory was concealing the factthat he was head of the famous Sheffield armour-plate making firm,Messrs. Gregory and Thorpe, though he now took but little part in theactive work of the world-famed house that rolled plates for Britain'smighty "Dreadnoughts."
Cromer, on learning his identity, at once regarded old Gregory's queerfigure with due reverence. His parsimonious ways, the clockworkregularity with which he took his morning walk, bought his daily paperat Munday's Library, and took his afternoon stroll up past thecoast-guard station, or towards the links, or along the Overstrand orSheringham roads, were looked upon as the eccentricities of an immenselywealthy man.
In rich men the public tolerate idiosyncrasies, that in poorer personsare declared to betoken either lunacy, or that vague excuse for thecontravention of the conventionalities known as "the artistictemperament." Many men have actually earned reputations, and evenpopularity,
by the sheer force of cultivated eccentricities. Withprofessional men eccentricity is one of the pegs on which their astutepress-agents can always hang a paragraph.
In the case of Mr. Vernon Gregory, as he limped by, the goodshop-keeping public of Cromer looked after him with benevolent glances.He was the great steel magnate who ate frugally, who grumbled loudly atMrs. Dean if his weekly bill exceeded that of the City clerk and hiswife who had occupied the same rooms for a fortnight in the previousJuly. He was pointed at with admiration as the man of millions who ekedout every scuttleful of coal as though it were gold.
Undoubtedly Mr. Gregory was a person of many eccentricities. From hissecretary in Sheffield he daily received a bulky package ofcorrespondence, and this, each morning, was attended to by his nephew.Yet the old man always made a point of posting all the letters with hisown hand, putting them into the box at the post-office opposite thechurch.
Sometimes, but only at rare intervals--because, as he declared, "it wasso very costly"--Mr. Gregory hired an open motor-car from Miller'sgarage. On such occasions, Craig, who was a practised motorist, woulddrive, and the pair would go on long day excursions towards Yarmouth, orHunstanton, or inland to Holt or Norwich. At such times the old manwould don many wraps, and a big blue muffler, and wear an unsightly pairof goggles.
Again, the old fellow preferred to do much of his shopping himself, andit was no uncommon sight to see him in the street carrying hometwo-pennyworth of cream in a little jug. Hence the good people of Cromergrew to regard their out-of-season visitor as a harmless, butphilanthropic old buffer, for his hand was in his pocket for every localcharity. His amusements were as frugal as his housekeeping. During thespring his only recreation was a visit to the cinema at the Town Halltwice a week. When, however, the orchestral concerts commenced on thepier, he became a constant attendant at them.
So small is Cromer, with its narrow streets near the sea, that in theoff-season strangers are constantly running into each other. Hence, Ifrequently met old Gregory, and on such occasions we chatted about theweather, or upon local topics. His voice was strangely high-pitched,thin, but not unmusical. Indeed, he was a great lover of music, as wasafterwards shown by his constant attendance at the pier concerts.
His nephew, Craig, was what the people of Cromer, in vulgar parlance,dubbed a "nut." He was always immaculately dressed, wore loud socks,seemed to possess a dozen styles of hats, and was never seen withoutperfectly clean wash-leather gloves. He laughed loudly, talked loudly,displayed money freely and put on patronizing airs which filled thosewho met him with an instinctive dislike.
I first made his acquaintance in April in the cosy bar of the _Albion_,where, after a long walk one morning, I went to quench my thirst. Craigwas laughing with the barmaid and gingerly lighting a cigarette. Havingpassed me by many times, he now addressed a casual remark to me, towhich I politely responded, and we got into conversation. But, somehow,his speech jarred upon me, and, like his personal appearance, struck anunpleasant note, for his white shoes and pale blue socks, his lightgreen Tyrolese hat, and his suit of check tweeds distinctly marked himas being more of a cad than a gentleman.
I remarked that I had walked to Overstrand, whereupon he asked--
"Did you chance to meet my uncle? He's gone out that way, somewhere."
I replied in the negative.
"Wonderful old boy, you know," he went on. "Walks me clean right out!But oh! such a dreadful old bore! Always talking about what he did inthe seventies, and how much better life was then than now. I don'tbelieve it. Do you?"
"I hardly know," was my reply. "I wasn't old enough then to appreciatelife."
"Neither was I," he responded. "But really, these eccentric old peopleought all to be put in an asylum. You don't know what I have to put upwith. I tell you, it's a terrible self-sacrifice to be down in thisconfounded hole, instead of being on the Riviera in decent sunnyweather, and in decent society."
"Your uncle is always extremely pleasant to me when I meet him," I said.
"Ah, yes, but you don't know him, my dear sir," said his nephew. "He'sthe very Old Nick himself sometimes, and his eccentricities border uponinsanity. Why, only last night, before he went to bed, he put on hisbed-gown, cut two wings out of brown paper, pinned them on his back, andfancied himself the Archangel Gabriel. Last week he didn't speak to mefor two days because I bought a box of sardines. He declares they areluxuries and he can't afford them--he, with an income of forty thousanda year!"
"Rich men are often rather niggardly," I remarked.
"Oh, yes. But with Uncle Vernon it's become a craze. He shivers withcold at night but won't have a fire in his bedroom because, he says,coals are so dear."
I confess I did not like this young fellow. Why should he reveal all hisprivate grievances to me, a perfect stranger?
"Why did your uncle come to Cromer?" I asked. "This place is hardly awinter resort, except for a few golfers."
"Oh, because when he was in Egypt last winter, some fool of a woman hemet at the _Savoy_ in Cairo, told him that Cromer was so horriblyhealthy in the winter, and that if he spent six months each year in thisGod-forgotten place, he'd live to be a hundred. Bad luck to her and herwords! I've had to come here with the old boy, and am their victim."Then he added warmly: "My dear sir, just put yourself in my place. I'venobody to talk to except the provincial Norfolk tradespeople, who thinkthey can play a good game at billiards. I've got the absolute hump, Itell you frankly!"
Well, afterwards I met the loud-socked young man more frequently, butsomehow I had taken a violent and unaccountable dislike to him. Why, Icannot tell, except perhaps that he had disgusted me by the way heunbosomed himself to a stranger and aired his grievances against hiseccentric uncle.
To descend that asphalted slope which led, on the face of the cliff,from the roadway in front of the _Hotel de Paris_, away to thePromenade, old Gregory had to pass beneath my window. Hence I saw himseveral times daily, and noted how the brown-bloused fishermen wholounged there hour after hour, gazing idly seaward, leaning upon therailings and gossiping, respectfully touched their caps to the limping,eccentric old gentleman who in his slouch hat and cape looked more likea poet than a steel magnate, and who so regularly took the fresh,bracing air on that breezy promenade.
On that morning--the morning of the twelfth of June--a startling rumourhad spread through the town. It at once reached me through Charles, thehead-waiter of the hotel, who told me the whole place was agog. Thestrange story was that old Mr. Gregory had at three o'clock that morningbeen found by a coast-guard lying near a seat on the top of the eastcliff at a point near the links, from which a delightful view could beobtained westward over the town towards Rimton and Sheringham.
The coast-guard had at once summoned a doctor by telephone, and onarrival the medical man had pronounced the mysterious old gentlemandead, and, moreover, that he had been dead several hours.
More than that, nobody knew, except that the dead man's nephew could notbe found.
That fact in itself was certainly extraordinary, but it was not half socurious, or startling, as certain other features of the amazing affair,which were now being carefully withheld from the public by thepolice--facts, which when viewed as a whole, formed one of the mostinexplicable criminal problems ever presented for solution.
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