The Place of Dragons: A Mystery

"You merely want to know what's doing – eh?"

"Yes. I'm fagged out, and want a rest to-night. I'll come up and see you in the morning," I said.

Then we entered a bar, and having had a drink together, we went to Arkwright Road, where I rejoined Fournier, and with him returned to my rooms.

Next day nothing happened. The two men wanted, wearing different clothes, and Vernon in blue glasses, went out about eleven for a walk as far as Hampstead Heath, and returned to luncheon. That was all my watchers reported.

On the following evening, however, I met Benham by appointment in a bar in the Finchley Road, when he said —

"There's something in the wind, Mr. Vidal. But I can't make out what it is. This afternoon a well-dressed man, apparently an Italian, called, and about half an hour later a smart young French girl, with fair hair, and wearing a short dark blue dress and brown silk stockings and shoes, also paid the pair a visit. She's there now."

From the further description he gave of her, I found that it tallied exactly with the identity of Lola.

And she was there! with Vernon and his two confederates.

"There's also something else strange about that house, Mr. Vidal," added Benham. "I dare say you didn't notice it in the dark, but away, half-hidden by the trees in the garden, there's a long stretch of four wires, suspended from two high poles. A wireless telegraph, I take it to be."

"Wireless at Merton Lodge!" I cried.

"Yes. To-day I asked a man who was repairing an underground wire in the Finchley Road, and he says it's a very powerful station, and he wonders that the Post Office ever licensed it."

"It was probably licensed as a small station, and then its power was secretly increased," I suggested.

"But you say that the young French lady is still there?"

"Yes," replied Benham, "she was when I left ten minutes ago."

CHAPTER XXX

NARRATES A STARTLING AFFAIR

I lost no time, but quickly hurried round to Arkwright Road, strolling past the new, well-kept, red-brick house which, upon its gate, bore the words in neat white letters, "Merton Lodge."

In several of the windows were lights. What, I wondered, was the nature of the consultation going on within?

While I walked to the corner of Frognal, Benham remained at the Finchley Road end, within call.

I watched patiently, when, about half-past eight, the front door opened and Lola, descending the steps, left the house, walking alone in my direction.

Drawing back quickly, I resolved to follow her, and doing so, went after her straight up Arkwright Road, and up Fitzjohn's Avenue, till she came to the Hampstead Tube Station, where, in the entrance, I was astounded to see Edward Craig awaiting her.

He raised his hat and shook her hand warmly, while she, flushed with pleasure, strolled at his side up the steep hill towards the Heath.

The attitude of the man, who was once supposed to have been dead and buried, was now very different to what it had been when he had watched her in secret at Boscombe.

I stood watching the pair, puzzled and wondering. What could it mean?

They were both smart and handsome. She, with all the vivacious mannerisms of the chic Parisienne, was explaining something with much gesticulation, while he strode at her side, bending to listen.

Behind them, I came on unobserved, following them on the high road over the dark, windy Heath, past the well-known inn called Jack Straw's Castle– the Mecca of the East-End seeker after fresh air – and on across the long, straight road which led to the ancient Spaniards, one of the landmarks of suburban London.

Half-way along that wide, open road, at that hour deserted, they sat together upon a seat, talking earnestly, while I, leaving the road, lay hidden in a bush upon the Heath. Lola seemed to be making some long explanation, and then I distinctly saw him take her hand, and hold it sympathetically, as he looked her full in the face.

Presently they rose, and walked the whole length of the open road, which led across the top of the Heath, as far as the Spaniards. On either side, far below, lay the lights of London, while, above, the red night-glare was reflected from the lowering sky.

As they walked closely beside each other, with halting steps, as though the moments of their meeting were passing all too rapidly, the man from the grave was speaking, low and earnestly, into her ear.

She seemed to be listening to him in silence. And I watched on, half-inclined to the belief that they were lovers.

Nevertheless, such an idea seemed ridiculous after Craig's demeanour when he had watched her through the window on that night in Boscombe.

Yes. The friendship between Lola and the man whom every one believed to be in his grave, was a complete mystery.

I followed them back, past the infrequent street-lamps, to the seat whereon they had at first sat. Upon it they sank again, and until nearly ten o'clock they remained in deep, earnest conversation.

When they rose, at last, I thought he raised her hand reverently to his lips. But I was so far away that I could not be absolutely certain. As they sauntered slowly down the hill to the station, I lounged leisurely after them.

They were too occupied with each other to be conscious of my surveillance.

I saw them descend in the lift to the platform below, and I was compelled to take the next lift.

Fortunately, the train had not left ere I gained it, and I got in the rear carriage, keeping a wary eye upon each platform as we reached it.

At Oxford Street they alighted, and while they ascended by the lift, I tore up the stairs two steps at a time, reaching the street just as they entered the big, grey, closed motor-car, which was apparently there awaiting them, and moved off down the street.

In a moment I had hailed a taxi and was speeding after the grey car.

The red light showing the number-plate and the "G.B." plaque, went swiftly down to Piccadilly Circus, then turning to the right along Piccadilly, pulled up suddenly before the Berkeley Hotel, where both alighted.

Craig went as far as the door and stood speaking with her for a moment or two; then, raising his hat, re-entered the grey car and drove rapidly in the direction of Hyde Park Corner.

Having established the fact that Lola was staying at the Berkeley, I re-entered my taxi, and in about half an hour alighted once more at the junction of Arkwright Road with Finchley Road.

Benham quickly detected my arrival, and approaching me from the darkness, said —

"I wondered where you'd gone to, sir, all the evening. Nobody has come out. The three men are in there still."

I was very tired and hungry, therefore we both went into the neighbouring bar and swallowed some sandwiches. Then we went forth again, and though midnight chimed from a distant church clock, there was no sign of the interesting trio. Perhaps Vernon and Jeanjean were fatigued after their swift journey from the African coast.

The solution of the mystery at Cromer was still as far off as ever. The reappearance of the supposed dead man had increased the complications in the amazing problem which had, long ago, been given up by Frayne of the estimable Norfolk Constabulary as constituting an unsolvable "mystery." Both he and Treeton were, no doubt, busily engaged in trapping motorists who exceeded "the limit," for to secure a conviction is a far greater credit to the local police officer than the patient unravelling of a mystery of crime. Hence the persistent lack of intelligence amongst too many of the country police.

It was past one o'clock in the morning when, lurking together in a doorway, we saw the portals of Merton Lodge open, and Vernon with his two friends, all in evening dress, come out. They buttoned their black overcoats, pressed their crush-hats upon their heads against the wind, and all three sallied briskly forth in the direction of Fitzjohn's Avenue.

Bertini was, I noticed, carrying a small leather bag, very strong, like those used by bankers to convey their coin.

One thing, which struck me as curious, was that they made no noise whatever as they walked. They were seemingly wearing boots with rubber soles. Yet, being in evening clothes, they might all be wearing dancing-pumps.

We followed at a respectable distance, and, watching, saw some astounding manœuvres.