The Place of Dragons: A Mystery

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER XXIV

  MAKES A STARTLING DISCLOSURE

  He crossed Holborn, walking leisurely, and smoking a cigar, andcontinued down St. Andrew Street and along towards Shoe Lane, Istrolling after him at some distance behind.

  At that hour the thoroughfare was practically deserted, thereforeconcealment was extremely difficult. Yet by his leisurely walk I feltconvinced that in passing he had, fortunately, not recognized me.

  Behind me came Rayner to see, as he swiftly put it, "that no harm came"to me.

  The old man in the full enjoyment of his cigar, and apparently quitehappy that if his offices were watched his two confederates would havetaken off the watchers, strolled along St. Bride Street as far as thecorner of Ludgate Hill, when he hailed a taxi and drove westward. Hisexample I quickly followed, leaving Rayner standing on the kerb, unableto follow, as no third cab was in sight.

  Up Fleet Street we drove quickly and along the Strand as far as CharingCross, when the taxi I was pursuing turned into Northumberland Avenueand pulled up before the _Hotel Metropole_.

  I drew up further along, at the corner of the Embankment, at the sametime watching the old man pay the driver and enter, being saluted bythe uniformed porter, who evidently knew him.

  For about five minutes I waited. Then I entered the hotel, where I alsowas well known, having very often stayed there.

  Of the porter at the door, who touched his hat as I went in, I asked thename of the old gentleman who had just entered.

  "I don't know his name, sir. He often stays here. They'll tell you atthe key-office."

  So I ascended the stairs into the hall, and made inquiry of thesharp-eyed, dark-faced man at the key-counter.

  "Oh, Mr. Vernon, you mean, sir? Been in about five minutes. He's justgone up in the lift--Room 139_a_, first-floor--shall I send your nameup, Mr. Vidal?"

  "No, I'll go up," I said. "You're sure he is up in his room?"

  "Quite sure, sir. He took his key about five minutes ago."

  "Is he often here?"

  "Every month," was the reply. "He usually spends about a week with us,and always has the same room."

  "What is he? Have you any idea?"

  "I've heard that he's a diamond-broker. Lives in Paris, I fancy."

  "Has he many callers?"

  "One or two business men sometimes; but only one lady."

  "A lady!" I echoed. "Who?"

  "Oh, a very pretty young French girl who comes sometimes to see him,"replied the clerk. Then, after reflection, he added: "I think the nameis Sorel--Mademoiselle Sorel."

  I started at mention of the name.

  "Does she come alone?" I asked. "Excuse me making these inquiries," Iadded apologetically, "but I have strong reasons for doing so."

  "Once she came alone, I think about six weeks ago. But she generallycomes with a tall, rather ugly, but well-dressed Frenchman of aboutforty-five, a man who seems to be Mr. Vernon's most intimate friend."

  I asked for a further description of her companion, and decided that itwas Jules Jeanjean.

  "Is the hotel detective about?" I asked.

  "Yes. He's somewhere down on the smoking-room floor. Do you want him?"he asked, surprised.

  I replied in the affirmative. Whereupon a page was at once dispatched,and returned with an insignificant-looking man, an ex-sergeant ofScotland Yard, engaged by the hotel as its private inquiry agent.

  He knew me well, therefore I said--

  "Will you come up with me to 139_a_. I want to see a Mr. Vernon, andthere may be a little trouble. I may have to call in the police."

  "What's the trouble, sir?" he asked in surprise, though he knew me to bean investigator of crime.

  "Only a little difference between us," I said. "He may have a revolver.Have you got one?"

  The detective smiled, and produced a serviceable-looking Colt from hiship-pocket, while I drew a long, plated, hammerless Smith & Wesson,which has been my constant companion throughout my adventurous life.

  Then together we ascended in the lift, and passed along the corridortill we found the room which the clerk had indicated.

  I tapped loudly at the door, at the same moment summoning all myself-possession. I was about to secure one of the most cunning andclever criminals on earth.

  There was no answer. Yet I distinctly heard some one within the room.

  Again I knocked loudly.

  Then I heard footsteps advancing to the door, which was thrown open, anda chambermaid stood there.

  "I'm sorry, sir," she said apologetically.

  I drew back in dismay.

  "Is Mr. Vernon in here?" I asked breathlessly.

  "Mr. Vernon--the gentleman in this room, sir?"

  "Yes. He has come up here, I know."

  "He did come in a few minutes ago, and took a small leather case, but hewent out again at once."

  "Went out? You saw him?"

  "Yes. He was coming out just as I came in, sir," replied the girl.

  "Gone!" I gasped, turning to the ex-sergeant.

  "He must have gone down the stairs, sir," the man suggested.

  With a glance round the room, which only contained a suit-case, I dasheddown the stairs and into the hall.

  Of the porter at the door I asked a quick question.

  "No, sir," he replied. "Mr. Vernon hasn't gone out this way. He may havegone out by the door in Whitehall Place."

  I rushed through the hotel and, at the door indicated, the man inuniform told me that Mr. Vernon had left on foot five minutes before,going towards Whitehall.

  I hurried after him, but alas! I was too late.

  Again, he had evaded me!

  So I returned to my rooms utterly fagged by the long vigil, and feelingthoroughly ill. Indeed, in my weak state, it had been a somewhatinjudicious proceeding, yet I felt anxious and impatient, eager tostrike a crushing blow against the daring band who held poor Lola socompletely in their power.

  The result of my imprudence, however, was another whole week in bed, anda further confinement to my room for a second week. Meanwhile Rayner wasactive and watchful.

  Observation upon the offices of Loicq Freres showed that only an Englishclerk was left in charge, and that neither Vernon, Jeanjean nor Bertinihad since been there. Vigilance upon Merton Lodge, in Hampstead, alsoresulted in nothing. It was clear, therefore, that the trio had becomealarmed at my visit to Hatton Garden, even though I had exercised everyprecaution to avoid recognition.

  As I sat in my big arm-chair, day after day, unable to go out, Icarefully reviewed all the events of the past, just as I have set themdown in these pages. Somehow--how it came to pass, I cannot tell--Ifound myself thinking more than ever of Lola Sorel, the sweet-faced,innocent-looking girl whose career had been fraught with so muchtragedy, apprehension and bitterness.

  Every day, nay, every hour, her pretty, fair face arose before myvision--that pale, delicately-moulded countenance, with the big, blue,wondering eyes, larger and more perfect than the eyes of any woman I hadever before met in the course of my adventurous career.

  Time after time I asked myself why my thoughts should so constantlyrevert to her. Sleeping or waking, I dreamed ever of that dainty littlefigure with its sweet, rather sad face, the pathetic countenance of thepretty Parisienne who had so gradually fascinated and entranced me.

  Within myself, I laughed at my own feelings of sympathy towards her. Whyshould I entertain any regard for a girl who, after all, was only athief--a girl whose innocence had decoyed men, and caused women tobetray the whereabouts of their jewels, so that her associates could robthem with impunity?

  From the moment when I had seized her in my bedroom at Balmaclellan Ihad pitied her, and that pity had now deepened into keen sympathy forher, held, as she was, in those bonds of guilt, yet struggling always tofree herself, like a poor frightened bird beating its wings against thebars.

  Had I fallen in love with her? Time after time I asked myself thatquestion. But time after time did I scout the very idea and laughedmyself to
ridicule.

  The thought that I loved Lola Sorel, beautiful as she was, seemedutterly absurd.

  Yes. During that fortnight of forced inactivity I had plenty of time tocarefully analyse the whole situation, to examine every detail of themystery surrounding the death of Edward Craig and, also, to formulatefresh plans.

  One fact was evident--that Vernon and his friends intended that Lolashould die. In addition, so subtle were they, I knew not when somesecret and desperate attack might not be made upon myself.

  Foul play was intended. Of that I had no doubt.

  The autumn days were passing. Business London had returned from thecountry and the sea, and even the blinds of houses in Berkeley Squarewere, one after another, being raised, indicative of the fact that manypeople in Society were already again in town.

  I exchanged letters with Lola almost daily. She was very happy and hadgreatly improved, she said, and also expressed a hope that we shouldsoon meet, a hope which I devoutly reciprocated.

  My one great fear, however, was that some dastardly attack might be madeupon her if any of the bandits succeeded in discovering herhiding-place. For that reason I sent Rayner to Bournemouth in secret towatch the house, and to ascertain whether any signs of intended evilwere apparent.

  He remained there a week, until one morning in October I received anurgent telegram from him asking me, if I were well enough, to lose notime in coming to Bournemouth. He gave no reason for the urgency of hismessage, but gravely apprehensive, I took the next train from Waterloo,arriving in Bournemouth about four o'clock. Rayner refused to meet meopenly, so I drove to the _Grand Hotel_, where he was staying, and foundhim in his room awaiting me.

  "There's something up, sir," he said very seriously, when I had closedthe door. "But I can't exactly make out what is intended. Mademoiselledoes not, of course, know I'm here. She went to the Winter Gardens withtwo young ladies last night, and they were followed by a man--astranger. He went behind them to the concert, and sat in the back seatswatching them, and when they walked home, he followed."

  "Have you ever seen him before?"

  "Never, sir."

  "Is he young or old?"

  "Young, and looks like a gentleman."

  "A foreigner?"

  "No, an Englishman, sir," was my man's reply. "I dare say if we go alongto Boscombe to-night, and watch the house, we might see him. He's up tono good, I believe."

  I readily adopted Rayner's suggestion.

  As soon as darkness fell, we took the tram eastward, and at lengthalighted at the end of a quiet road of comfortable red-brick villas, inone of which Lola was residing, a road which ran from the highwaytowards the sea.

  Separating, I passed up the road, while my man waited at the corner. Thehouse of my friends stood in its own small garden, a neat, artisticlittle red-and-white place with a long verandah in front and a pleasantgarden full of dahlias. As I passed it I saw that many of the rooms werelit, and I was eager to go and ring at the door and meet Lola, after ourlong separation.

  But I remembered I was there to watch and to ward off any danger thatmight threaten. Therefore I turned upon my heel, and finding a hedge,behind which lay some vacant land, I hid myself behind it and waited,wondering what had become of Rayner.

  All was quiet, save for the rumble of electric trams passing along themain road to Bournemouth. From where I lurked, smoking a cigarette, Icould hear a woman's sweet contralto voice singing gaily one of thelatest songs of the Paris Cafe concerts, which ran--

  "_C'est la femme aux bijoux, Celle qui rend fou, C'est une enjoleuse, Tous ceux qui l'ont aimee, Ont souffert, ont pleure._

  _Ell' n'aime que l'argent, Se rit des serments, Prends garde a la gueuse! Le coeur n'est qu'un joujou, Pour la femme aux bijoux!_"

  _La femme aux bijoux!_ The words fell upon my ears, causing me toponder. Was she not herself "_La femme aux bijoux_"! How strangelyappropriate was that merry _chanson_ which I had so often heard inParis, Brussels, and elsewhere.

  Suddenly the train of my reflections was interrupted by the sound of alight footstep coming in my direction, and, peering eagerly forth, Idiscerned the figure of a rather smart-looking man advancing towards me.

  I watched him come forward, tall and erect, into the light of thestreet-lamp a little to my left. He was well dressed in a smart suit ofdark brown with well-creased trousers, and wore a soft Hungarian hat ofdark-brown plush. On his hands were wash-leather gloves and he carried agold-mounted stick.

  As he came nearer I saw his face, and my heart gave a great leap. Istared again, not being able to believe my own eyes!

  Was it, indeed, any wonder? How would you, my reader, have felt insimilar circumstances? I ask, for the man who came past me, within acouple of feet from where I stood concealed, all unconscious of mypresence, was no stranger.

  It was Edward Craig--Edward Craig, risen from the dead!