The Place of Dragons: A Mystery

By that time the train had rounded the curve and was dropping from sight.

My heart sank within me. Once again Jeanjean had escaped!

We were making frantic inquiry regarding the two fugitives when a porter, who chanced to overhear my words, expressed a belief that they had not left by the Rome express, but for Turin by the train that had and started a quarter of an hour before.

I rushed to the booking office, and, after some inquiry of the lazy, cigar-smoking clerk, learned that two foreigners, answering the descriptions of the men I wanted, had taken tickets for London by way of the Mont Cenis Paris-Calais route. He gave me the ticket numbers.

Yes. The porter was correct. They had left by the express for Turin, and the frontier at Modane!

With Fournier and the two policemen, I went to the Questura, or Central Police Office, situated in a big, gloomy, old medieval palace – for Genoa is eminently a city of ancient palaces – and before the Chief of the Brigade Mobile, a dapper little man with bristling white hair and yellow boots, I laid information, requesting that the pair be detained at the frontier.

When I revealed the real name of the soi-disant Comte d'Esneux, the police official started, staring at me open-mouthed. Then, even as we sat in his bare, gloomy office with its heavily-barred windows – the original windows of the palace, in the days when it had also been a fortress – he spoke over the telephone with the Commissary of Police at Bardonnechia in the Alps, the last Italian station before the great Mont Cenis tunnel is entered.

After me he repeated over the wire a minute description of both men wanted, while the official at the other end wrote them down.

"They will probably travel by the train which arrives from Turin at 6.16," the Chief of the Brigade Mobile went on. "The numbers of their tickets are 4,176 B. and 4,177 B., issued to London. Search them, as they may have stolen jewels upon them. Understand?"

An affirmative reply was given, and the white-haired little man replaced the telephone receiver.

Thanking him I went outside into the Via Garibaldi, with a sigh of relief. At last the two men were running straight into the arms of the police. My chief thought now was of Lola. Where could she be, that she had not answered my urgent letters sent to the Poste Restante at Versailles?

The next train – the through sleeping-car express from Rome to Calais – left at a few minutes to six, and for this we were compelled to wait.

I recollected that Lola had told me how Jeanjean was in the habit of communicating with his confederate Hodrickx, who had also established a wireless station in Genoa. Thereupon I made inquiry, and found that aerial wires were placed high over the roof of a house close to the Acqua Sola Gardens at the end of the broad, handsome Via Roma.

The house, however, was tenantless, Hodrickx, apparently a Belgian, having sold his furniture and disappeared, no one knew where, a fortnight previously.

At six o'clock we entered the Calais express, and travelling by way of Alessandria and Turin, ascended, through the moon-lit Alps, that night a perfect fairyland, up the long steep incline, mounting ever higher and higher, until the two engines hauling the train-de-luxe at last, at midnight, pulled up at the little ill-lit station of Bardonnechia. There, we hastily alighted and sought the Commissary of Police.

To him Fournier presented his card of identity which every French detective carries, and at once the brown-bearded official told us that, although strict watch had been kept upon every train, the fugitives had not arrived!

"They may have left the train at Turin, and gone across to Milan, and thence by the Gotthard route to Basle and Paris," he suggested to me. "If they believe they were followed that is what they most certainly would do."

Then he swiftly turned over the leaves of a timetable upon the desk of his little office, and, after a minute examination, added in Italian —

"If they have gone by that route they will join the same Channel-boat at Calais as this train catches, whether they go from Basle, by way of Paris, or direct on to Calais."

The train we had travelled by was still waiting in the station, for one of the engines was being detached.

"Then you suggest that we had better go by this?" I said.

"I certainly should, Signore, if I were you," was his polite answer. "Besides they are wanted in England, you say, therefore it would be better to arrest them on the English steamer, or on their arrival in Dover, and thus avoid the long formalities of extradition. Our Government, as you know, never gives up criminals to England."

Instantly I realized the soundness of his argument, and, thanking him, we both climbed back into the wagon-lit we had occupied, and were soon slowly entering the black, stifling tunnel.

Need I further describe that eager, anxious journey, save to say that when next day we traversed the Ceinture in Paris, and arrived from the Gare de Lyon, at the Gare du Nord, we kept a vigilant and expectant watch, for it was there that the two men might join our train. Our watch, however, proved futile. They might have joined the ordinary express from Paris to Calais which had left half an hour before us – ours being a train-de-luxe. So we possessed ourselves in patience till at length, after a halt at Calais-Ville, we slowly drew up on the quay near where the big white Dover boat was lying.

The soft felt hat I had bought in Genoa, I pulled over my eyes, and then rushed along the gangway, and on board, with Fournier at my side, making a complete tour of the vessel, peeping into every cabin, and in every hole and corner, to discover the fugitives.

Already the gangway was up, and the three blasts sounded upon the siren announcing the departure of the boat. Therefore the pair, if on board, could not now escape.

Throughout the hour occupied in the crossing I was ever active, and when we were moored beside the pier in Dover Harbour, I stood at the gangway to watch every one leave.

Yet all my efforts were, alas! in vain.

They had evidently changed their route to London a second time, and had travelled from Bâle to Brussels and Ostend!

The thought occurred to me as I stood watching the last passengers leaving the steamer. If they had travelled direct by way of Ostend, then they would be seated in the train for Charing Cross, for the Ostend boat had been in half an hour, we were told.

The train, one of those gloomy, grimy, South-Eastern "expresses," was waiting close by. Therefore I ran frantically from end to end, peering into each carriage, but, to my dismay, the men I sought were not there!

So Fournier and I entered a first-class compartment and, full of bitter disappointment, travelled up to Charing Cross, where we arrived about seven o'clock.

I was alighting from the train into the usual crowd of arriving passengers, and their friends who were present to meet them, for there is always a quick bustle when the boat-train comes alongside the customs barrier, when of a sudden my quick eyes caught sight of two men in Homburg hats and overcoats.

My heart gave a bound.

Vernon and Jeanjean had alighted from the same train in which I and Fournier had travelled, and were hurrying out of the station.

Jeanjean carried a small brown leather handbag, while Vernon had only a walking-stick. Both men looked fagged, weary and travel-worn.

"Look!" I whispered to Fournier. "There they are!"

Then, holding back in the crowd, and keeping our eyes upon the hats of the fugitives, we followed them out into the station yard, where they hurriedly entered a taxi and drove away, all unconscious of our presence.

In another moment we were in a second taxi, following them up Regent Street, through Regent's Park, and along Finchley Road, until suddenly they turned into Arkwright Road.

Then I stopped our vehicle and descended, just in time to see them enter the house called Merton Lodge – the house which Rayner had described to me on the night of my long vigil at the corner of Hatton Garden.

For a few moments I stood, undecided how to act. Should I drive at once to Scotland Yard and lay the whole affair before them, or should I still keep my counsel until I rediscovered Lola?

I knew where they were hiding, and if I watched, I might learn something further. Both Rayner and Fournier were known to the two culprits. Therefore I decided to invoke the aid of an ex-detective-sergeant who, since his retirement from Scotland Yard, had more than once assisted me.

Truth to tell, I had a far higher opinion of the astuteness of the Paris police than that of Scotland Yard. The latter disregarded my theories, whereas Jonet was always ready to listen to me. For that reason I hesitated to go down to the "Yard," preferring to send word to Jonet, and allow him to act as he thought fit.

William Benham lived in the Camberwell New Road; so I went to the nearest telephone call-box and, ringing him up, asked him to meet me at Swiss Cottage Station and bring a trustworthy friend.

I knew that Merton Lodge had a convenient exit at the rear, hence, to be watched effectively, two men must be employed.

Towards half-past nine, leaving Fournier to watch at the end of the road, I met Benham, who came attired as one of the County Council employés engaged in watering the roads at night, accompanied by a burly-looking labourer who was introduced to me as an ex-detective from Vine Street. Without revealing the whole story, or who the two men were, I explained that I had followed them post-haste from Algiers, and that both were wanted for serious crimes. All I desired was that a strict surveillance should be placed upon them, and that they should be followed and all their movements watched.

"Very well, Mr. Vidal," Benham replied.

He was a pleasant-faced, grey-haired man, with a broad countenance, and a little grey moustache.

"I quite understand," he said. "We'll keep on them, and if I find it necessary, I'll get a third person. They won't get very far ahead of us, you bet," he laughed.

"They're extremely wary birds," I cautioned. "So you'll both of you be compelled to keep your eyes skinned."