CHAPTER XIV
WHEREIN CONFESSION IS MADE
"Well, Lola," I said at last, still holding her little hand in mine,"and why cannot you reveal to me the truth regarding the mystery of thedeath of Edward Craig?"
"For a very good reason--because I do not myself know the exactcircumstances," was her prompt response, dropping into French. "I knowthat you have made an investigation. What have you discovered?"
"If you will be frank with me," I said, also in French, "I will beequally frank with you."
"But, have I not always been frank?" she protested. "Have I not alwaystold you the truth, ever since that night in Scotland when you trappedme in your room. Don't you remember?"
"Yes," I replied in a low voice. "I remember, alas! too well. Youpromised in return for your liberty that you would break away from youruncle."
"Ah, I did--but I have been utterly unable, M'sieur Vidal," she criedquickly in her broken English. "You don't know how much I have sufferedthis past year--how terrible is my present position," she added in atone of poignant bitterness.
"Yes, I quite understand and sympathize with you," I said, taking out acigarette and lighting it, while she sat back in the big old-fashionedhorse-hair arm-chair. "For weeks I have been endeavouring to findyou--after you came to Cromer to call upon me. You have left theBoulevard Pereire."
"Yes. I have been travelling constantly of late."
"After the affair of the jeweller, Benoy--eh? Where were you at thattime?"
"In Marseilles, awaiting my uncle. We crossed to Algiers together.Thence we went along to Alexandria, and on to Cairo, where we met ourfriends."
"It was a dastardly business. I read of it in the _Matin_," I said.
"Brutal--horrible!" declared the girl. "But is not my uncle an inhumanbrute--a fearless, desperate man, who carries out, with utter disregardof human life, the amazing plots which are formed by one who is themaster of all the criminal arts."
"Then he is not the prime mover of all these ingenious thefts?" Iexclaimed in some surprise, for I had always believed Jules Jeanjean tobe the head of that international band.
"No. He acts under the direction of another, a man of amazing ingenuityand colossal intellect. It is he who cleverly investigates, and gainsknowledge of those who possess rare jewels; he who watches craftily foropportunities, who so carefully plans the _coups_, and who afterwardsarranges for the stones to be re-cut in Antwerp or Amsterdam."
"Who is he?" I asked eagerly. "You may tell me in confidence. I will notbetray your secret."
"He poses as a dealer in precious stones in London."
"In London?"
"Yes. He has an office in Hatton Garden, and is believed by otherdealers in precious stones to be a most respectable member of thatselect little coterie that deals in gems."
"What is his name?"
The girl was silent for a few seconds. Then she said--
"In Cromer he has been known under the name of Vernon Gregory."
"Gregory!" I gasped in astonishment. "What, to that quiet old man is duethe conception of all these great and daring robberies committed byJules Jeanjean?"
"Yes. My uncle acts upon plans and information which the old mansupplies," Lola replied. "Being in the trade, the crafty old fellowknows in whose hands lie the most valuable stones, and then lays hiscunningly-prepared plans accordingly--plans that my uncle desperatelycarries out to the very letter."
This statement much surprised me, for I had always regarded Jeanjean asthe instigator of the plots. But now, it appeared, old Gregory was thehead of Europe's most dangerous association of criminals.
"Then the jewels found in Gregory's rooms at Cromer were all stolenproperty?"
"Yes. We were surprised that the police did not discover the realowners," Lola replied. "The greater part of the jewels were taken fromthe castle of the Grand Duke Alexander of Russia, just outside Kiev,about nine months ago."
"By you?" I asked with a grim smile.
"Not all. Some," admitted the girl with a light laugh. Then shecontinued: "We expected that when the old gentleman made such a hurriedflight from Cromer, the police would recognize the property from thecirculated description. But, as they did not, Uncle determined to regainpossession of it--which he did."
"Who aided him?"
"Egisto--a man who is generally known as Egisto Bertini."
"The man who rode the motor-cycle?"
She nodded.
"And you assisted," I said. "Why did you leave your shoe behind?"
"By accident. I thought I heard some of the occupants of the housestirring, so fled without having an opportunity of recovering it. Isuppose it has puzzled the local police--eh?" she laughed merrily.
"It did. You were all very clever, and my man, Rayner, was renderedinsensible."
"Because he was a trifle too inquisitive. He was watching, and did notknow that my uncle, in such expeditions, has eyes in the back of hishead," she answered. "It was fortunate for him that he was not killedoutright, for, as you know, my uncle always, alas! believes in the oldmaxim that dead men tell no tales."
"The assassin!" I cried in fierce anger. "He will have many crimes toanswer for when at last the police lay hands upon him."
"He will never be taken alive," she said. "He will denounce me, and thenkill himself. That is what he constantly threatens."
"And because of that you fear to hold aloof and defy him?" I asked. "Youlive in constant terror, Lola."
"Yes. How can I act--how can I escape them? Advise me," she urged, herface pale and intensely in earnest.
I hesitated. It was certainly a difficult matter upon which to giveadvice. The pretty girl before me had for several years been theunwilling tool of that scoundrelly gang of bandits, whose organizationwas so perfect that they were never arrested, nor was any of their bootyever traced.
The four or five men acting under the direction of the master-mind ofold Gregory were, in private life, all of them affluent and respectedcitizens, either in England or in France, while Jules Jeanjean, Iafterwards learned, occupied a big white villa overlooking the blue seathree miles out of Algiers. It was a place with wonderful gardens filledwith high date-palms and brilliant tropical flowers. There, in his hoursof retirement, Jules Jeanjean lived amid the most artistic and luxurioussurroundings, with many servants, and a couple of motor-cars, devotinghimself to experiments in wireless telegraphy, having fitted up apowerful station for both receiving and transmitting.
The science of wireless telegraphy was indeed his chief hobby, and hespent many hours in listening to the messages from Pold, Poldhu,Clifden, Soller, Paris, Port Said, or Norddeich on the North Sea, incommunicating with ships in the Mediterranean, the Adriatic, the Levant,or on the Atlantic.
I was wondering how to advise my little friend. Ever since our firstmeeting my heart had been full of sympathy and compassion for her, sofrail seemed her frame, so tragic her life, and so fettered did she seemto that disreputable gang. Yet, had she not pointed out to me, on theseveral occasions on which we had met in Paris, the impossibility ofbreaking the bonds which bound her to that detestable life? Indeed shehad, more than once, declared our meetings to be filled with peril formyself.
Her uncle knew me by repute as an investigator of crime, and if he eversuspected me of prying into any affair in which he might be concerned,then my life would most certainly be in jeopardy. Jules Jeanjean neverdid things by halves. It was, I found, for that reason she had nowsought me--to beseech me to relinquish my efforts to fathom the mysteryof the death of Edward Craig.
"Do heed what I say, M'sieur Vidal," she exclaimed with deepearnestness. "My uncle knows that you are still in Cromer, and that youhave been investigating. In Algiers, a fortnight ago, he mentioned it tome, and declared that very shortly you would cease to trouble him."
"He intends foul play--eh?" I remarked with a grim smile, lightinganother cigarette.
"He means mischief," she assured me. "He knows, too well, of yoursuccess in other cases in which you have
interested yourself," sheremarked quickly. "And he fears--fears lest you may discover the secretof the young man's death."
"And if I do?" I asked, looking straight into her face.
"He does not intend that you shall," she replied very earnestly, adding:"Ah! M'sieur Vidal, do heed my words--I beg you. Be warned by me!"
"But, why?" I queried. "I am not afraid of Jules Jeanjean. I have neverdone him an evil turn. Therefore, why should he conspire to take mylife? Besides, I already know of his connexion with the Cromer mystery,the Benoy affair, and others. Could I not easily have sent a telegram tothe Prefecture of Police in Paris, when I recognized him in Cromer? ButI did not."
"Why?"
"For two reasons. First, I wished to stand aside and watch, and,secondly, I feared to betray him for your sake, Lola."
"Ah!" she exclaimed. "But you are always so generous. You know quitewell that he already believes that I have told you the truth. Therefore,he suspects us both and is determined to put an end to yourinquisitiveness."
"Unless I act swiftly--eh?" I suggested.
"But think--what would then become of me?" she exclaimed, her eyes openin quick alarm.
"I can't see what you really have to fear," I said. "It is true, Lola,that you live, like your friends, by dishonest methods, but have you notbeen forced into it by your uncle? Even if you were arrested, the lawwould treat you with the greatest leniency. Indeed, if necessary, Iwould come forward and tell the Court all I have known and discoveredconcerning the baneful influence which has been exercised upon you bythe man Jeanjean."
She shook her head mournfully.
"Alas! That would be of no avail," she declared in a low, strainedvoice.
"Why?"
"Because--because, ah!--you do not know the truth," she faltered, herface pale to the lips.
"Cannot you explain it to me?" I asked, bending down to her, and placingmy hand tenderly upon her shoulder.
I felt her shudder beneath my touch, while her big blue eyes weredowncast--downcast in shame.
"No. I cannot explain," she replied. "If you knew, M'sieur Vidal, howhorrible, how terrible all this is for me, you would not press yourquestion."
"But I do--in your interests," I said with deep earnestness. "I want tohelp you to escape from these scoundrels--I want to stand as yourfriend."
"My friend!" she exclaimed blankly. "My friend--ah! that you can neverbe."
"Why not?"
"You would not wish to cultivate my acquaintance further, M'sieur Vidal,if--if you were aware of the actual truth. Besides, this friendshipwhich you have shown to me may, in itself, prove fatal to you. If you donot exercise the greatest precaution, your reward for saving me, as youdid that night at Balmaclellan, will be death!"
"You are apprehensive on my account?" I asked, wondering whether shewere really in earnest--or whether beneath her strange warning there laysome subtle motive.
"Yes," was her frank response. "Take great care, or death will come toyou at a moment when you least expect it."
For an instant I was silent. Her warning was truly a curious anddisconcerting one, for I knew the dangerous character of Jules Jeanjean.That if he threatened, he meant action.
"I do not care for myself, Lola," I said at last. "I am thinking how Ican protect you, and rescue you from the hands of these unscrupulousmen."
"You cannot," she declared, with a hard, fixed look of desperation. "No,only be careful of yourself, and, at the same time, dismiss me from yourthoughts. I--I am unworthy of your regard," she murmured, her voicechoked by a sob. "Alas, entirely unworthy!"
"No, no," I urged. "I will not allow you to speak like that, Lola. Eversince you entered my room, on that well-remembered night in Scotland, Ihave wondered how best I could assist you to lead an honest life; how Icould----"
"I can accept no further assistance from you, M'sieur Vidal," sheinterposed, in a quivering voice. "I repeat that I am utterlyunworthy," she cried, and shivered with despair, as she stood erectbefore me. "And--and--if you only knew the truth--the terrible truth ofthe past--you would at once, I know, turn and discard me--nay, you wouldprobably ring for the waiter and hand me over to the police withouteither compunction or regret."
And the girl, known as "The Nightingale," stood before me, her facewhite and hard, her eyes with a strange light in them, staring straightbefore her, her breast heaving and falling with emotion which she wastrying in vain to suppress.
The Place of Dragons: A Mystery Page 14
