The Place of Dragons: A Mystery

"For the simple reason that I was there," I laughed.

He looked astounded.

"I remember the report on the Cromer mystery, last June, perfectly well," he said. "But I never dreamed that you'd taken the matter up. We shall certainly do well if we can lay hands on Jeanjean, for we get constant reports from Paris about his wonderful exploits. I had one only this morning. He is suspected of having done a big job at a jeweller's in St. Petersburg, lately."

"Very well," I answered. "Let us take a taxi up to Arkwright Road at once. Benham, your ex-sergeant, is already there awaiting us, as well as my servant, Rayner."

Together we entered the next room, where Craig and Lola were sitting closely together, and I introduced them to the well-known Chief Detective-Inspector. Then, after Sommerville had telephoned to his office, and ordered up to Hampstead three of his men, we waited for another quarter of an hour to give them time to get to the appointed spot – the public-house in the Finchley Road.

At last we started, and on the way I explained many facts to my old friend Sommerville, who, with a hearty laugh, said —

"Well, Vidal, I know you're pretty painstaking over an inquiry, but I never thought you'd ferret out this great French jewel-thief when we had failed! Of course, we've looked upon this man Vernon with suspicion for some little time. He sold some stolen rubies in Antwerp two months ago, and it was reported to us, but we couldn't get sufficient evidence. I made some inquiry, and found that he's immensely wealthy, although he lives such a changeful life. The house in Arkwright Road is his, but he is never there more than two or three days at a time. He experiments in wireless telegraphy, judging from the masts and wires in his back garden."

I told him of Jeanjean's powerful station in Algiers, and we agreed that, by means of a code, the pair were in the habit of exchanging messages, just as Jeanjean did with his confederate in Genoa.

"Yes," Lola said. "At Merton Lodge there are big dynamos down in the cellars, and when I've been with my uncle at the Villa Beni Hassan, he has often come from the wireless room and told me he has been speaking with his friend Vernon in London. Wireless telegraphy is wonderful, is it not?"

Briefly I had described the murderous attack made upon the girl and myself at that untenanted house in Spring Grove, and, as I finished, the taxi drew up a few doors from the bar to which I had directed the man to drive.

Ere we could alight, Benham, in the guise of a loafer, had opened the door and touched his cap to me with a grin.

In the bar we found the three sergeants from Scotland Yard, as well as Rayner, who was greatly excited, and, of course, unaware of the identity of the three men who had entered casually, and were chatting at his elbow.

"We're going to make three arrests in a house close by," Sommerville explained to the trio. "They may make a pretty tough fight, and they probably carry revolvers. So keep a sharp look-out."

"All right, sir," the men replied, and were quickly in readiness.

In order not to arouse the suspicion of the three men, we arranged that Lola should first go there alone. Then we would surround the house, back and front, while Sommerville went to the front door and made some pretext. With a man behind him, he would wait until the door opened, and then rush in, followed by myself and two detectives and the young man Craig.

The arrangements were made in the private room behind the bar, and presently Lola, bidding us a merry au revoir, tripped out.

We gave her about ten minutes, and then in pairs, and by different routes, we approached the quiet, highly-respectable-looking house, first having got a couple of constables off the beat.

While Benham, as a loafer, went round to the back entrance, under the pretext of asking for an odd job to clean up the garden, Sommerville and one of his men slipped in and up the front steps.

For a little time his ring remained unanswered, but suddenly the door was opened slightly by Bertini.

For a second there was a sharp tussle, the Italian raising the alarm, but in a few moments I found myself, with Craig and Sommerville, inside the house.

Those moments were indeed exciting ones. Craig's only thought was for Lola's safety, and I saw him rush down the prettily-furnished hall and take her in his arms.

Shouts were raised on all sides.

In the scurry old Vernon dashed out of the room on the left and, meeting Lola with her lover, raised the revolver he had drawn and fired point-blank at her.

Fortunately, he missed. One of the detectives instantly closed with him, and I sprang to the officer's assistance. The old fellow, his face livid, his eyes staring wildly from his head, fought like a tiger, trying to turn his weapon upon us. He had forced the barrel of his big revolver right against my jaw, and was in the act of firing, when I ducked my head, and seizing his wrist, twisted it.

At that moment there was a loud explosion, and before I knew the truth I found his grip relaxing.

The weapon had been turned upon him as he, in desperation, had fired, and the bullet, entering his brain, had struck him dead.

He collapsed in our arms and we laid him upon the tiled floor.

Within the room, whence the old man had come, a desperate struggle was in progress, and entering, I found it to be a small library, at one end of which, upon a large table, was arranged a quantity of electrical apparatus – the various instruments necessary for wireless telegraphy. Close to this table, as we entered, stood Jules Jeanjean in the hands of Benham and the two detectives, while Rayner was standing covering the culprit resolutely with the revolver which he had wrenched from the prisoner's grasp.

Jeanjean's face was changed, his eyes wild and full of evil. In his fierce dash for liberty his collar had been torn from its studs and the sleeve of his smart blue serge jacket torn out. His hair was awry, and from a long scratch on his left cheek blood was freely flowing.

Truly he presented a weird, unkempt appearance, held as he was in the grip of those three strong, burly officers.

"Be careful!" I urged. "He'll get away if you don't exercise every care. He's as slippery as an eel!"

At my words his captors forced him back against the wall, redoubling their grip upon him.

Sommerville and Craig were standing beside Lola, who looked on, nervous and pale-faced. She had been witness to the tragedy out in the hall, and realized what a narrow escape she had had from the vicious old scoundrel's bullet.

Bertini was in the hall, held in a merciless grip by the two constables who had been summoned from their beats, and was standing close to the fallen body of the man who had so long been his acknowledged master.

Jules Jeanjean, though forced against the wall by those four men, was still wildly defiant, his face distorted by anger. He ceased struggling in order to curse and abuse his captors, pouring out upon them torrents of voluble French, a language with which only one of the four men, Rayner, was acquainted, and he but slightly.

"Listen, Jules Jeanjean!" said Sommerville, in a hard, commanding voice. "I am a police officer, and I arrest you on charges of theft and murder."

"Fools!" snarled the prisoner in defiance. "You've made a mistake, a great mistake! Arrest that girl yonder. Make inquiries about her, and you will find lots that will interest you."

"It is sufficient for the present to arrest you, my friend," was the Chief Inspector's response. "One of your comrades is outside, dead, and the other is under arrest."

Then turning to Lola, he asked —

"Do you identify this man as Jules Jeanjean, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes," the girl replied. "He is my uncle."

"You infernal brat!" shrieked the prisoner, livid with fury. "So it is you who have given me away, after all! I should have taken the old man's advice, and have put you out of the way. Dieu! You and your friend, Vidal, over there, had a narrow escape at Spring Grove. Your grave was already dug for you!"

"And yours will also be dug for you before long – when the Judge has sentenced you to death!" I cried.

"Enough!" exclaimed Sommerville, holding up his hand to command silence. "We want no recriminations, only the truth. You, and your friend Bertini, will have plenty of opportunity for defending yourselves when before the court. I think, Mademoiselle," he added, turning to where Lola was standing beside the man once believed to be dead, "you will have a strange story to relate to the Judge."

"She'll lie, no doubt," declared Jeanjean with a sneer. "She always does."

"No," the girl cried in her pretty, broken English, "I shall the truth speak. All of the truth."

"Yes," I urged, eagerly. "Reveal to us now the truth concerning the mystery on Cromer Cliffs. How it is that Edward Craig, the man who died, is now standing beside you!"

The prisoner, with a frantic struggle to free his arms, and throw himself upon her, to silence her lips, made a sudden dash forward. But his captors closed with him, pinioned him, and held him fiercely by the throat.

Lola, standing by, drew a long breath, but remained silent.

Her frail little figure seemed unbalanced, she was unnerved and trembling, two bright spots showing in the centre of her pale cheeks, as she stood there. Upon her shoulder rested the tender hand of the man whose end had been so wrapped in mystery.