CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE MAN IN THE STREET
I had asked the Frenchman, rather angrily I fear, why he was followingme, whereat he merely bowed with the exquisite politeness of his race,and replied in good English--
"I was not aware of following m'sieur. I regret extremely if I havecaused annoyance. I ask a thousand pardons."
"Well, your surveillance upon me annoys me," I declared abruptly. "Isaw you spying upon me in Manchester this afternoon, and you havefollowed me to London!"
"Ah, yes," he replied, with a slight gesticulation; "it is true that Iwas in Manchester. But our meeting here must be by mere chance. I wasunaware that monsieur was in Manchester," he assured me in a suavemanner.
"Well," I said in French, "yours is a very lame story, monsieur. I sawyou, and you also saw me talking to Mr. Pennington in the MidlandHotel. Perhaps you'll deny that you know Mr. Pennington--eh?"
"I certainly do not deny that," he said, with a smile. "I have knownMonsieur Penning-ton for some years. It is true that I saw him at theMidland."
"And you withdrew in order to escape his observation--eh?"
"Monsieur has quick eyes," he said. "Yes, that is quite true."
"Why?"
"For reasons of my own."
"And you deny having followed me here?"
He hesitated for a second, looking straight into my face in thedarkness.
"Come," I said, "you may as well admit that you followed me fromManchester."
"Why should I admit what is not the truth?" he asked. "What motivecould I have to follow you--a perfect stranger?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, I'm a bit suspicious," I declared, stillspeaking in French. "Of late there was a desperate attempt upon mylife."
"By whom?" he inquired quickly. "Please tell me, Monsieur Biddulph; Iam greatly interested in this."
"Then you know my name?" I exclaimed, surprised.
"Certainly."
"Why are you interested in me?"
"I may now have a motive," was his calm yet mysterious reply. "Tell mein what manner an attempt has been made upon you?"
At first I hesitated, then, after a second's reflection, I explainedthe situation in a few words.
"Ah! Of course, I quite see that monsieur's mind must be filled bysuspicion," he responded; "yet I regret if I have been the cause ofany annoyance. By the way, how long have you known MonsieurPenning-ton?"
"Oh, some months," I replied. "The fact is, I'm engaged to hisdaughter."
"His daughter!" echoed the Frenchman, looking at me quickly with asearching glance. Then he gave vent to a low grunt, and stroked hisgrey pointed beard.
"And it was after this engagement that the attempt was made uponyou--eh?" he inquired.
"No, before."
The foreigner remained silent for a few moments. He seemedconsiderably puzzled. I could not make him out. The fact that he wasacquainted with my name showed that he was unduly interested in me,even though he had partially denied it.
"Why do you ask this?" I demanded, as we still stood together at thebottom of St. James's Street.
"Ah, nothing," he laughed. "But--well, I really fear I've aroused yoursuspicions unduly. Perhaps it is not so very extraordinary, after all,that in these days of rapid communication two men should catch sightof each other in a Manchester hotel, and, later on, meet in a streetin London--eh?"
"I regard the coincidence as a strange one, monsieur," I repliedstiffly, "if it is really an actual coincidence."
For aught I knew, the fellow might be a friend of Pennington, or anaccomplice of those rascally assassins. Had I not been warned byShuttleworth, and also by Sylvia herself, of another secret attemptupon my life?
I was wary now, and full of suspicion.
Instinctively I did not like this mysterious foreigner. The way inwhich he had first caught sight of my face as I descended the steps ofWhite's, and how he had glided after me down St. James's Street, wasnot calculated to inspire confidence.
He asked permission to walk at my side along the Mall, which I ratherreluctantly granted. It seemed that, now I had addressed him, I couldnot shake him off. Without doubt his intention was to watch, and seewhere I lived. Therefore, instead of going in the direction ofBuckingham Palace, I turned back eastward towards the steps at thefoot of the Duke of York's Column.
As we strolled in the darkness along the front of Carlton HouseTerrace he chatted affably with me, then said suddenly--
"Do you know, Monsieur Biddulph, we met once before--in rather strangecircumstances. You did not, however, see me. It was in Paris, somelittle time ago. You were staying at the Grand Hotel, and becameacquainted with a certain American named Harriman."
"Harriman!" I echoed, with a start, for that man's name brought backto me an episode I would fain forget. The fact is, I had trusted him,and I had believed him to be an honest man engaged in big financialtransactions, until I discovered the truth. My friendship with himcost me nearly one thousand eight hundred pounds.
"Harriman was very smart, was he not?" laughed my friend, with a touchof sarcasm.
Could it be, I wondered, that this Frenchman was a friend of theshrewd and unscrupulous New Yorker?
"Yes," I replied rather faintly.
"Sharp--until found out," went on the stranger, speaking in French."His real name is Bell, and he----"
"Yes, I know; he was arrested for fraud in my presence as he came downthe staircase in the hotel," I interrupted.
"He was arrested upon a much more serious charge," exclaimed thestranger. "He was certainly wanted in Berlin and Hanover for frauds inconnection with an invention, but the most serious charge against himwas one of murder."
"Murder!" I gasped. "I never knew that!"
"Yes--the murder of a young English statesman named Ronald Burke at avilla near Nice. Surely you read reports of the trial?"
I confessed that I had not done so.
"Well, it was proved conclusively that he was a member of a verydangerous gang of criminals who for several years had committed someof the most clever and audacious thefts. The organization consisted ofover thirty men and women, of varying ages, all of them expert jewelthieves, safe-breakers, or card-sharpers. Twice each year thisinteresting company held meetings--at which every member waspresent--and at such meetings certain members were allotted certaindistricts, or certain profitable pieces of business. Thus, ifhalf-a-dozen were to-day operating in London as thieves or receivers,they would change, and in a week would be operating in St. Petersburg,while those from Russia would be here. So cleverly was the bandorganized that it was practically impossible for the police to makearrests. It was a more widespread and wealthy criminal organizationthan has ever before been unearthed. But the arrest of your friendHarriman, alias Bell, on a charge of murder was the means of exposingthe conspiracy, and the ultimate breaking up of the gang."
"And what of Bell?"
"He narrowly escaped the guillotine, and is now imprisoned for life atDevil's Island."
"And you saw him with me at Paris?" I remarked, in wonder at thisstrange revelation. "He certainly never struck me as an assassin. Hewas a shrewd man--a swindler, no doubt, but his humorous bearing andhis good-nature were entirely opposed to the belief that his was asinister nature."
"Yet it was proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that he and anotherman killed and robbed a young Englishman named Burke," responded theFrenchman. "Perhaps you, yourself, had a narrow escape. Who knows? Itwas no doubt lucky for you that he was arrested."
"But I understood that the charge was one of fraud," I said. "Iintended to go to the trial, but I was called to Italy."
"The charge of fraud was made in order not to alarm his accomplice,"replied the stranger.
"How do you know that?" I inquired.
"Well"--he hesitated--"that came out at the trial. There were fullaccounts of it in the Paris _Matin_."
"I don't care for reading Assize Court horrors," I replied, stillpuzzled regarding my strange companion's intimate knowl
edge concerningthe man whose dramatic and sudden arrest had, on that memorableafternoon, so startled me.
"When I saw your face just now," he said, "I recognized you as beingat the Grand Hotel with Bell. Do you know," he laughed, "you were sucha close friend of the accused that you were suspected of being amember of the dangerous association! Indeed, you very narrowly escapedarrest on suspicion. It was only because the reception clerk in thehotel knew you well, and vouched for your respectability and thatBiddulph was your real name. Yet, for a full week, you were watchedclosely by the _surete_."
"And I was all unconscious of it!" I cried, realizing how narrowly Ihad escaped a very unpleasant time. "How do you know all this?" Iasked.
But the Frenchman with the gold glasses and the big amethyst ring uponhis finger merely laughed, and refused to satisfy me.
From him, however, I learned that the depredations of the formidablegang had been unequalled in the annals of crime. Many of the greatestjewel robberies in the European capitals in recent years had, it wasnow proved, been effected by them, as well as the theft of theMarchioness of Mottisfont's jewels at Victoria Station, which werevalued at eighteen thousand pounds, and were never recovered; thebreaking open of the safe of Levi & Andrews, the well-knowndiamond-merchants of Hatton Garden, and the theft of a whole vanloadof furs before a shop in New Bond Street, all of which are, no doubt,fresh within the memory of the reader of the daily newspapers.
Every single member of that remarkable association of thieves was anexpert in his or her branch of dishonesty, while the common fund was alarge one, hence members could disguise themselves as wealthy persons,if need be. One, when arrested, was found occupying a fine old castlein the Tyrol, he told me; another--an expert burglar--was a doctor ingood practice at Hampstead; another kept a fine jeweller's shop inMarseilles, while another, a lady, lived in style in a great chateaunear Nevers.
"And who exposed them?" I asked, much interested. "Somebody must havebetrayed them."
"Somebody did betray them--by anonymous letters to the police--letterswhich were received at intervals at the Prefecture in Paris, and ledto the arrest of one after another of the chief members of the gang.It seemed to have been done by some one irritated by Bell's arrest.But the identity of the informant has never been ascertained. Hedeemed it best to remain hidden--for obvious reasons," laughed myfriend at my side.
"You seem to know a good many facts regarding the affair," I said."Have you no idea of the identity of the mysterious informant?"
"Well"--he hesitated--"I have a suspicion that it was some personassociated with them--some one who became conscience-stricken. Ah!M'sieur Biddulph, if you only knew the marvellous cunning of thatinvulnerable gang. Had it not been for that informant, they wouldstill be operating--in open defiance of the police of Europe. Criminalmethods, if expert, only fail for want of funds. Are not some of ourwealthiest financiers mere criminals who, by dealing in thousands, asother men deal in francs, conceal their criminal methods? Half yoursuccessful financiers are merely successful adventurers. The_dossiers_ of some of them, preserved in the police bureaux, would beastounding reading to those who admire them and proclaim them thesuccessful men of to-day--kings of finance they call them!"
"You are certainly something of a philosopher," I laughed, compelledto admit the truth of his argument; "but tell me--how is it that youknow so much concerning George Harriman, alias Bell, and hisantecedents?"