The Place of Dragons: A Mystery
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Suddenly we turned to the right, when I recognized that we were in the long, narrow town of Brentford, and travelling in the direction of Syon House, the main road to Hounslow and Staines. At Spring Grove, which I had known slightly in years gone by, we turned again to the right, and were soon passing through a district of market-gardens and solitary houses.
On the way I had leaned out of the window and instructed the taxi-driver to keep well behind the other cab, so as not to be discovered. Therefore, in carrying out my orders, he suddenly put on his brakes and stopped, saying —
"They're going into that house yonder, sir. See?"
I nipped out quickly and saw that in the distance the other taxi had pulled up and the two men had alighted before a garden gate.
"Put out your lights, go back to the end of the road, and wait for me," I said.
Then I hurried forward to ascertain what I could.
The taxi, having put down its two fares and been dismissed, turned and passed me as I went forward. At last I had run the sly old fox, Gregory, to earth, and I now meant to keep in touch with him.
On approaching the house I found it to be a good-sized one, standing back, lonely and deserted, in a weedy garden, and surrounded by big, high elms. From the neglect apparent everywhere, the decayed oak fence, and the grass-grown path leading to the front door, it was plain that the place was unoccupied, though in two windows lights now shone, behind dark-green holland blinds.
The place seemed situated in the centre of some market-gardens, without any other house in the near vicinity. A dismal, old-fashioned dwelling far removed from the bustle of London life, and yet within hearing of it, for, as I stood, I could see the night-glare of the metropolis shining in the sky, upon my right, and could hear the roar of motor-buses upon the main road through Spring Grove.
For a few moments I stood up under the shadow of a big bush which overhung the road, my eyes upon the lower window where the fights showed. The house was half-covered with ivy and had bay-windows upon each side of the front door, which was approached by a short flight of moss-grown steps.
That I was not mistaken in my surmise that the house was uninhabited was proved by the "To Let" notice-board which I discerned lying behind the fence, thrown down purposely, perhaps.
Was old Gregory an intruder there? Had he purposely thrown down that board in order that any person, seeing lights in the window, would not have their suspicions sufficiently aroused to cause them to investigate?
The house was a dark, weird one. But what would I not have given to be inside, and to overhear what was being planned!
Vernon Gregory was, according to Lola, the instigator of all those marvellously ingenious thefts effected by Jeanjean. Was another great robbery being planned?
Perhaps the man in the grey hat had travelled from afar. Possibly so, because of the long time in advance the appointment had been made.
All was silent. Therefore I crept over the weedy garden until I stood beneath the bay window in which a light was shining.
I could hear voices – men's voices raised in controversy. Then, suddenly, they only conversed in whispers. What was said, I could not distinguish. They were speaking in French, but further than that I could catch nothing.
Sometimes they laughed heartily at something evidently hailed as a huge joke. I distinctly heard Gregory's tones, but the others' I could not recognize. As far as I could gather they were strangers to me.
Was the place, I wondered, one of old Gregory's hiding-places? Though he conducted his business in Hatton Garden, where he was well known, his private address, Lola had told me, had always been a mystery, such pains did he take to conceal it.
Was that lonely house his place of abode? Had he met his friend in Ealing and taken him there in order to place before him certain plans for the future?
I looked at the grim old house, with its mantle of ivy, and reflected upon what quantities of stolen property it might contain!
That the man I knew as Vernon Gregory was head of an association of the cleverest jewel-thieves in the world, had been alleged by Lola, and I believed her. His deep cunning and clever elusiveness, his amazing craftiness and astounding foresight had been well illustrated by his disappearance from Cromer, even though his flight had been so sudden that he had been compelled to abandon his treasures. Yet as I stood there, upon the carpet of weeds, with my ears strained, I could hear his familiar voice speaking in slow measured tones, as he was explaining something in elaborate detail.
What was it? I stood there in a fever of excitement and curiosity.
Yet I had one satisfaction. I had run him to earth at last.
Presently the voices of the men were again raised in dissension. Gregory had apparently made some statement from which the others – how many there were, I knew not – dissented. They spoke rapidly in French, and I could hear one man's mouth full of execrations, a hard, hoarse voice of one of the lower class.
Then I distinctly heard some one say in English —
"I don't believe it! He knows nothing. Why take such a step against an innocent man?"
"Because, I tell you, he knows too much!" declared Gregory, now speaking loudly in English. "He was at Cromer, and discovered everything. Ah! you don't know how shrewd and painstaking he is. Read his books and you will see. He is the greatest danger confronting you to-day, my friends."
I held my breath. They were discussing me!
"I object," exclaimed the man who had first spoken in English. "He has no evil intentions against us."
"But he knows the Nightingale, and through her has learnt much," Gregory replied promptly.
"What?" gasped the unseen speaker. "Has she told him anything? Has the girl betrayed us?"
"Ask her," the old man urged. "She's upstairs. Call her."
Lola was there – in that house!
CHAPTER XVIII
DONE IN THE NIGHT
I heard the stranger's voice call —
"Lola! Lola! Come here. We want you."
I heard her rather impatient reply, and then, a few moments later, she descended the stairs and entered the room where the gang had been discussing me.
Some quick words in French were exchanged. Then I heard her cry —
"I tell you, I refuse!"
A man's voice protested.
"No, You shall not!" she declared in a loud, defiant voice. "If you do, then the police shall know!"
"Oh!" exclaimed old Gregory, whose voice I recognized. "Then you object, Mademoiselle, eh?"
"Yes. I do object, M'sieu'!" she cried. "If any attempt is made against him, then I shall myself inform the police. Remember, M'sieu' Vidal is my friend."
"Your lover, perhaps," sneered the old man.
"No," she cried in loud, angry protest. "He is not my lover! Would he love a girl like myself – a girl who has been brought by you, and your friends, to what I am?"
"Well, you are a very pretty girl, and sometimes uncommonly useful to your uncle," replied old Gregory tauntingly.
"Of use to you!" she cried. "Yes, I know I am! And when you have no further use for me, then – then – an accident will happen to me, and I shall trouble you no further – an accident like that which you intend shall befall Mr. Vidal!"
I crouched against the window, my ears glued to the glass. I tried to picture to myself the scene within – how the young girl I had befriended in such curious circumstances was standing before them, defying them to make any attempt to put me out of action.
"You speak like a little fool, Lola," old Gregory declared. "You lead the life of a lady of means. You travel with a maid, and all you have to do is to be pleasant to people, and keep your eyes and ears open. For that you receive very handsome rewards, and – "
"And you make a million francs a year, M'sieur Gregory," she interrupted. "Ah! when the police trace these marvellous plots to their source, they will be surprised. One day the papers will be full of you and your wicked doings – mark me!"
"You are mad, you ungrateful little minx!" shouted the old man in furious anger. "If you try to prevent me carrying out any of my schemes, depend upon it you will rue it. I'm not a man to be played with!"
"Neither am I to be played with, though I am only a girl!" she retorted. "I'm desperate now – rendered desperate by you and your blackguardly gang."
"Because you fear for this novelist friend of yours – this prying person who is so fond of investigating other people's affairs, and using the material for his books, eh?"
"Yes. I fear for him, because I know what is intended."
"I tell you it's a matter which does not concern you," said the man with the master-mind, as I listened attentively.
"It does. He is my friend," she exclaimed in French. "I know that you intend he shall die – and I will warn him."
"You will, will you!" shouted Gregory, and I heard him spring to his feet. "Repeat that, at your peril!"
"I do repeat it!" said the girl wildly. "He shall not be harmed!"
"Eh? So you are ready to betray us, are you!" said the old man in a hard, hissing voice.
"Yes," she cried in defiance. "I will, if you so much as touch a hair of his head."
"You will! Then take that!" screamed the old man, while, at the same instant, I heard a heavy blow struck, followed by a woman's scream, and a loud noise as she fell upon the floor.
"Dieu!" I heard a man's voice exclaim. "Why – master – you've killed her!"
Then as I stood there, breathless, I heard some further conversation in low tones. The ruffians were discussing the tragedy – for a tragedy I felt it to be. A defenceless girl struck down by old Gregory – her lips closed for ever because she had sought to protect me!
These men feared me! This thought, despite the horror and anger with which I was seething, flashed through my mind like fire. They believed that I knew more than I really did.
But it was a moment for action. Old Gregory had deliberately struck down that unfortunate girl who had been trained until she had become an expert thief, made a cat's paw and tool for that dangerous gang of criminals.
Creeping along the wall of the house, I managed to find and noiselessly place against the window a rustic garden-chair, and discovering also a heavy piece of wood. I prepared to make a dramatic entry into the room where this tragedy had happened, and the conspiracy against my life was being hatched.
Again I listened. The voices were now so low that I could not catch the words uttered.
Then standing on a level with the window-sill, I raised my arm and with the block of wood smashed one of the huge, long panes to fragments.
The crash was startling, no doubt, but ere they could recover from it I had dashed the holland blind aside and stepped boldly into the room, my big Browning revolver in my hand, and my back instantly against the wall.
The scene there was truly a strange one.
It was a dingy, old-fashioned drawing-room furnished in early Victorian style, with ponderous walnut furniture, a brown threadbare carpet, ugly arm-chairs, a what-not, and wax flowers under a glass dome, in the fashion beloved by our grandmothers. By the fireplace was a cosy corner, the upholstery of which was tattered and moth-eaten, while the stuffing of some of the chairs appeared through the corners of the cushions. Near where I stood was an old chintz-covered couch, and beyond, an arm-chair, of the same inartistic description.
The place smelt damp and musty, and in places the faded grey paper was peeling from the walls.
Three men were there. Gregory, and two others, strangers. The old man's appearance had greatly altered from what it was when I had seen him wandering about in Cromer. Then he had worn his white hair and beard long, and with his broad forehead, his pointed chin, and wide-brimmed slouch hat presented the picturesque appearance such as twenty years ago used to be affected by literary men or artists.
But now, as he stood before me, startled by my sudden appearance, I saw that he wore both beard and hair much shorter, and, though he could not alter his height, his facial expression was considerably different.
In an instant I realized that I saw him now as he naturally was, while in Cromer he had so disguised himself as to appear many years older than was actually the case.
His two companions were rather well-dressed men of perhaps thirty, one of whom, a foreigner, wore a small pointed brown beard, while the other, clean-shaven, was unmistakably an Englishman. Thieves they were both, assuredly, yet in the street one would have passed them by as respectable and rather refined citizens.
"You! Vidal!" cried Gregory, starting back when I sprang so unceremoniously into their midst.
"Yes, Vidal, Mr. Gregory!" I cried, striving to remain calm. Yet how could I, when my eyes fell upon the form of Lola, who, dressed in a dark-brown walking-costume, was lying huddled up in a heap on the floor, a few feet from where I stood.
Blood was upon the bosom of her dress. She had been struck down brutally with a knife!
"I may tell you, Gregory," I said, as coolly as I could, "that I have been listening to your interesting conspiracy to kill me. Well, do so now, if you dare! My friends are outside. They will be charmed to meet you, I assure you, especially after the foul deed you committed only a few minutes ago."
The three men started and exchanged glances. I saw by their faces that they were frightened. Yet I dared not lower my pistol, or bend down to Lola, for they would have jumped upon me instantly.
As I spoke, I pushed forth my weapon threateningly, covering them with it determinedly. But it required all my nerve to face them.
"You are an assassin, sir!" I cried, "and I have caught you redhanded."
"You haven't caught us yet," remarked the foreigner, defiantly, speaking English with a strong accent; and the expressions upon the faces of all three were villainous.
My thoughts were not of myself, but to avenge that murderous blow which had been struck at the poor defenceless girl. They were scoundrels, without pity and without compunction, who held human life cheaply whenever the existence of a person stood in the way of their schemes.
And I knew that they intended that I, too, should die.
But they were not quite sure whether I had the police waiting outside or not. My bluff had worked. I saw how they hesitated. Even Gregory was taken aback by my boldness in entering there and facing them.
"I may tell you," I said, still keeping my back to the wall and my useful Browning ready for business, "that I have discovered much more concerning your interesting doings and your intentions than you imagine."
"Lola has told you!" burst forth old Gregory. "Well, she won't have further opportunity of doing so."
"And you will not have further opportunity of engineering your remarkable thefts, my dear sir," I replied quite coolly. "The police desire to see you, and to question you about a certain little affair at Cromer, remember. You are extremely clever, Mr. Gregory – or whatever your real name may be – but I tell you that you are at last unmasked. To-morrow the papers will be full of your interesting career, and one diamond-broker will disappear from Hatton Garden for ever."
"Listen," cried the master-criminal to his companions, his face now white as paper. "Hark what that little chit of a girl has been saying! Was I not right to strike her down?"
"Quite," admitted his two companions.
"And now you will pay the penalty, my dear sir," I declared. "I intend that you shall."
"Put that revolver down," Gregory commanded. "Let us talk. You are clever, Mr. Vidal, and I – well, I confess you have the whip hand of us."
His companions looked at each other, dismayed at these words of the Master. He had actually admitted defeat!
For a few seconds I did not reply. I was reflecting, and it struck me that this pretence of being vanquished might only be a ruse. Gregory was far too clever and defiant a criminal to be beaten single-handed by the man he so sincerely hated and feared.
"No," I replied with a grim smile. "It is war between us, Mr. Gregory – not peace. Therefore, I shall hold my revolver here until my friends arrive. They will not be long, and I shall not suffer from fatigue, I assure you."
Gregory, quick-witted and shrewd, cast a rapid glance around as he stood before me, a smart figure in his well-cut evening clothes, with a fine diamond glistening in his pleated shirt-front.
"Well," he exclaimed after a brief pause, "if you deliberately take on the duties of the police, and pry into affairs which do not concern you, then you must take the consequences."
"For that very reason I have entered here," I said, "to become witness of your dastardly crime. You have killed that girl – killed her because you feared she would betray you."
"She has betrayed us," he retorted. "And she deserves all she has got."
"You infernal brute!" I cried. "If it were not that it would be deliberate murder, I'd put a bullet through you in return."
"Try it," he laughed jeeringly. "This quixotic temperament of yours will be your undoing."
"I befriended that unfortunate girl," I said. "And she has appreciated what I did."
"The little fool ran her head into a noose, I know," was his reply. "But even though you befriended her, it gave her no right to betray us."
"Nor any right to you to strike her down," I said, glancing at the white face of the prostrate form.
"Ah! You are her champion!" he laughed. "But you wouldn't be if you knew the truth. She wasn't the innocent little person she led you to believe she was."
"No," I cried angrily. "You shall say nothing against your victim's honour, curse you! I only thank Heaven that I'm here to-night – that I know the truth regarding this tragedy. Your intention was – the intention of all three of you, no doubt, was – to get rid of the evidence of your crime. But that will now be impossible."
As I uttered that last sentence, the bearded Frenchman made a movement towards the door.
"Halt!" I cried in a loud, imperious voice. "Come back here. Do not attempt to leave this room or I'll shoot you," and as he glanced at me he found himself looking into the barrel of my weapon.
"Come," said Gregory. "Enough of this fooling! It's a drawn game between us, Mr. Vidal. Why not let us discuss the future quietly and without any ill-feeling on either side. I admit what I have done – killed the traitress."
"And by Heaven! you shall pay the penalty of your crime!" I cried.
"Oh, shall I?" he laughed with a nonchalant air. "We shall see."
Next instant I heard a sharp click in the passage outside and the room was plunged in darkness. The electric light had been switched off by one of Gregory's confederates out in the hall.
I heard the door opened, and voices shouted wildly in French.
"Just in time," I heard the new-comer cry.
"Ah, Jules!" gasped Gregory. "You are late. Where have you been? Where are you?"
And, by the shuffling of feet, I knew that the men were groping about in the darkness.
Jules Jeanjean was there, in that room!
"Dieu! You were nearly trapped, all of you," I heard him cry. "Where is he?" he asked, referring to myself. "He shall not live to blab. Mind he doesn't get out by the window."
But I still stood with my back against the wall, my pistol raised in self-defence.
A few moments elapsed – moments that seemed like hours – when of a sudden my eyes were blinded by the ray of an electric torch which threw a strong light upon me from the doorway.
Ere I could realize my peril, there was a red flash, followed by a loud explosion, and I felt a hot, stinging sensation in my throat.
Then next second the blackness of unconsciousness fell upon me, and I knew no more.
CHAPTER XIX
RECORDS FURTHER FACTS
How long I remained there, or what subsequently happened to me, I did not learn till long afterwards.
I only knew, when I again awoke to consciousness, that it was day, and I found myself in a narrow bed, with two nurses in blue linen dresses, and white caps and aprons, standing near me, while two doctors were gazing into my face with keen, anxious expressions.
At first they would tell me nothing, even though, with a great effort, I asked what had happened. Bandages were around my throat and across my left shoulder, and I felt a nausea and a giddiness that I knew arose from chloroform, and therefore that some operation had been performed. I slowly struggled back to a knowledge of things about me.
"It's all right, Mr. Vidal," the youngest of the two doctors assured me. "Try and sleep. Don't worry. Everything is all right."
I felt uncommonly drowsy, and again slept, and not until night had fallen did I re-open my eyes.
A night-nurse was seated at my bedside, reading by a green-shaded lamp. The little room was in darkness, and I think I startled her when I suddenly spoke.
"Where am I, Nurse?" I inquired in a thin, weak voice, and with difficulty.
"This is the Cottage Hospital at Hounslow," was the reply. "You've been here two days, but you are much better now. Don't talk, however, for the doctor has forbidden it."
"But I want to know what has happened," I protested.
"Well, I don't exactly know," the dark-haired young woman answered. "I only know what I've been told. That is, that a taxi-driver who took you to some house beyond Spring Grove, grew tired of waiting for you, and on going to the house found you in one of the rooms, dying."
"Dying!" I gasped. "Ah! yes, I remember," I added, as recollections of that fateful night arose within my memory.
"Yes. You were suffering from a serious bullet-wound in the throat," she went on. "The window of the room was smashed, but your friends had all fled."
"My friends!" I echoed. "Who said they were my friends?"
"The taxi-driver said so, I believe."
"Where is he?"
"He has promised to come to-morrow, to see you."
"But was not a lady found in the same room?" I inquired eagerly, trying to raise myself. "She had been killed – deliberately struck down!"
"Yes. I've heard that a lady was found there."
"Was she brought here, with me?"
"No" was the nurse's reply. "She was removed, but to what place I've not heard."
Lola was dead! Ah! The sight of that white, upturned face, so delicate and sweet, and of that dark, ugly stream of blood across the bosom of her dress, haunted me. I recollected those hideous moments when, being on my guard against the assassins, I alas! had no opportunity of lending her aid.
She was found dead, apparently, and they had removed her body – probably to the nearest mortuary to await an inquest.
All my thoughts became confused when I realized the tragic truth. The nurse saw that I was upset and urged to try to sleep again. Indeed she gave me a draught which the doctor had ordered and, presently, though much against my inclination, I again dozed off.
It was once more day – a warm, sunny day – when I became thoroughly alive to things about me. The doctors came and expressed satisfaction at my improvement, dressed my wound, which I confess was very painful, and declared that I had had a very narrow escape.
"A quarter of an inch further to the left, Mr. Vidal," one of the surgeons remarked, "and we couldn't have saved you."
Towards noon the taxi-driver, cap in hand, came up to my bedside to inquire how I was. His name was Stevens. The nurse would not, however, allow me to put many questions to him.
"You were such a long time gone, sir, that I thought I'd just come up and see if you wanted me any more. I had to get over to Acton to the garage, for I'd had a long day," he told me. "I'd just got to the garden gate when I heard a pistol shot and, entering the garden, and seeing the window smashed, I suspected something wrong. I got in at the window and found the room in darkness. A light was burning in the hall and the door was open. Quickly I found the electric switch and, turning it, saw you lying on the floor close beside the body of a young lady."
"Did you see the other men?" I asked eagerly.
"At first sir, I believed it to be a case of murder and suicide," answered Stevens, "but a moment later, as I stood in the room horrified at the discovery, I heard several persons leave the house. I tried to raise an alarm, but nobody heard me, so they got clean away. I examined the young lady and yourself, then I rushed out for help. At the bottom of the road I went towards my cab, but as I did so, I heard the engine started and the red tail-lamp moved off, away from me. Those fellows that had run from the house were inside. Yes, sir, them vagabonds had stolen my cab!"