CHAPTER IX
DESCRIBES A NIGHT-VIGIL
The gusty wind had died down.
In the silence of the night I listened to the receding noise of themotor-cycle as it swept down the hill into Cromer town, where I knewRayner would be on the alert.
The sound died away, therefore I relit my pipe, and mounting again intothe driver's seat, sat back thinking--thinking mostly of Lola, and myill-luck at having missed her.
Before me, in the white glare of the lamps upon the road, where insectsof the night, attracted by the radiance, were dancing to their deaths,there arose before me that sweet, perfect face, the face that had soattracted me. I saw her smile--smile at me, as she did when first we hadmet. Ah! How strange had been our friendship, stranger than novelist hadever imagined. I had loved her--loved as I had never loved before, andshe had loved me, with that bright, intense look in her wonderful eyes,the woman's look that can never lie.
There is but one love-look. A man knows it by his instinct, just as doesa woman. A woman knows by intuition that the fool who takes her out tothe theatre and supper, and is so profuse in his protestations ofundying admiration, is only uttering outpourings of vapid nonsense. Justso, a man meets insincerity with insincerity. The woman gets to know intime how much her vain, shallow admirer is good for, for she knows hewill soon pass out of her life, while the man's instinct is exactly thesame. In a word, it is life--the life of this, our Twentieth Century.
The man laughed at and derided to-day, is a hero ten years hence.
A few years ago Mr. John Burns carried a banner perspiringly along theThames Embankment, in a May Day procession, and I assisted him. To-dayhe is a Cabinet Minister. A few years ago my dear friend, GeorgeGriffith, wrote about air-ships in his romance, _The Angel of theRevolution_, and everybody made merry at his expense. To-day airshipsare declared to be the chief arm of Continental nations.
Ah, yes! The world proceeds apace, and the unknown to-morrow ever bringsits amazing surprises and the adoption of the "crank's" ideas ofyesterday.
Lola had called to see me. That fact conjured up in my imagination athousand startling theories.
Why?
Why had she called, after all that had passed between us?
I waited, waited for the coming of that mysterious cyclist, who arosefrom nowhere, and whose business with Jules Jeanjean was of such vastand secret importance.
The very fact of Jeanjean being in Cromer had staggered me. As I satthere smoking, and listening, I recollected when last I had heardmention of his name. Hamard--the great Hamard--Chief of the _Surete_ ofParis, had been seated in his private bureau in the offices of thedetective police.
He had leaned back in his chair, and blowing a cloud of tobacco-smokefrom his lips, had said in French--
"Ah! Mon cher Vidal, we are face to face in this affair with JulesJeanjean, the most ingenious and most elusive criminal that we have metthis century in France. In other walks of life Jeanjean would have beena great man--a millionaire financier, a Minister of the Cabinet, agreat general--a leader of men. But in the circumstances thisarch-adventurer, who slips through our fingers, no matter what trap weset for him, is a criminal of a type such as Europe has never knownwithin the memory of living man. Personally I admire his pluck, hisenergy, his inventiveness, his audacity, his iron nerve, and his amazingcunning. Truly, now, cher ami, he is a marvel. There is but onemaster-criminal, Jules Jeanjean."
That was the character given him by Monsieur Hamard, the greatest Frenchdetective since Lecoq.
And now this master-criminal was beneath the railway arch at Cromermeeting in secret a mysterious cyclist!
What evil was now intended?
I waited, my ears strained to catch every sound. But I only heard thedistant rumble of the thunder, away across the North Sea, and,somewhere, the dismal howling of a dog.
I waited, and still waited. The sky grew brighter, and I grewperceptibly colder, so that I turned up my coat-collar, and shivered,even though the previous day had been so unusually warm. The car smeltof petrol and oil--a smell that nauseated me--and yet my face was turnedto the open country ready to follow and track down the man who had sweptpast me to keep that mysterious tryst in the darkness.
Looking back, I saw, away to the right, the white shafts of light fromthe high-up lighthouse, slowly sweeping the horizon, flashing warning tomariners upon that dangerous coast, while, far away in the distance overthe sea, I could just discern a flash from the lightship on theHaisboro' Sands.
In the valley, deep below, lay Cromer, the street-lamps reflecting uponthe low storm-clouds. At that moment the thunder-storm threatened toburst.
Yet I waited, and waited, watching the rose of dawn slowly spreading inthe Eastern sky.
Silence--a complete and impressive silence had fallen--even the dog hadnow ceased to howl.
And yet I possessed myself in patience, my ears strained for the"pop-pop" of the returning motor-cycle.
A farmer's cart, with fresh vegetables and fruit for the Cromer shops onthe morrow, creaked slowly past, and the driver in his broad Norfolkdialect asked me--
"Any trouble, sir?"
I replied in the negative, whereupon he whipped up his horse, bade me acheery "good morning," and descended the hill. For a long time, as Irefilled and relit my pipe, I could hear the receding wheels, but nosound of a motor-cycle could I hear.
Time passed, the flush of dawn crept over the sea, brightened swiftly,and then overcast night gave place to a calm and clear morning. Thelarks, in the fields on either side, rose to greet the rising sun, andthe day broke gloriously. Many a dawn had I witnessed in various partsof the world, from the snows of Spitzbergen to the baking sands of theSahara, but never a more glorious one than that June morning inPoppyland, for Cromer is one of the few places in England where you canwitness the sun both rise from, and set in the sea.
My headlights had burned themselves out long ago. It was now fouro'clock. Strange that the nocturnal cyclist did not return!
All my preparations had, it seemed, been in vain.
I knew, however, that I was dealing with Jules Jeanjean, a past-masterin crime, a man who, no doubt, was fully aware of the inquiries beingmade by the plain-clothes officers from Norwich, and who inwardlylaughed them to scorn.
The man who had defied the Paris _Surete_ would hardly entertain anyfear of the Norfolk Constabulary.
Many country carts, most of them going towards Cromer, now passed me,and their drivers wished me "Good morning," but I remained at my lonelyvigil until five o'clock. Then I decided that Jeanjean's friend musthave taken another road out of Cromer, either the Sheringham, the Holt,or the Overstrand, the three other main roads out of the town.
What had Rayner done, I wondered? Where was he?
I sat down upon the grassy bank at the roadside, still pondering. Of allthe mysteries of crime I had assisted in investigating, in order towrite down the details in my book, this was assuredly the mostremarkable.
I knew that I was face to face with some great and startling affair,some adventure which, when the truth became known, would amaze andastound the world. Jules Jeanjean was not the man to attempt smallthings. He left those to smaller men. In his profession he was themaster, and a thousand _escrocs_, all over the Continent, forgers,international thieves, burglars, coiners, _rats d'hotel_--most ingeniousof malefactors--regarded the name of Jeanjean with awe.
One of his exploits was well known up and down the Continent--for the_Matin_ had published the full story a year ago. Under another name, andin the guise of a wealthy _rentier_ of Paris, he made the acquaintanceof one of the Inspectors of the Paris detective service. Inviting him tohis private sitting-room in the _Hotel Royale_, on the Promenade desAnglais, he gave him an _aperitif_ which in less than three minutescaused the police official to lose consciousness. Thereupon Jeanjeantook from the Inspector's pocket his card of authority as a detective--acard signed by the Prefect of Police--and at once left the hotel.
Next night, at the _Cafe Ame
ricain_ in Paris, he went up to a wealthyGerman who was spending a harmless but gay evening at that well-knownsupper-resort and arrested him for theft, exhibiting his warrant ofauthority.
In a taxi he conducted him to the Prefecture of Police, but on their waythe German asked him if they could come to terms. The pseudo-Inspectorhesitated, then told the taxi-driver to go to a small hotel oppositethe Gare du Nord. There he and his prisoner discussed terms, it beingeventually agreed that the German--a well-known shipowner ofHamburg--should in the morning telegraph to his bank for eighty thousandmarks, for which sum he would be allowed to go at liberty.
It was well known, of course, to Jeanjean that his "prisoner" had beenguilty of the offence for which he had "arrested" him, and the _coup_was quite easy.
He kept the German in the hotel till ten o'clock next morning, and thenthe pair went to the Credit Lyonnais together. At four o'clock--thebogus Inspector still with his "prisoner,"--the money was brought to theobscure hotel, and after Jeanjean had carefully counted through thenotes he allowed his prey to go at liberty, advising him to take thenext train back to Germany.
At six o'clock, the sun shining out warm and brightly, my patience wasexhausted. I had spent the night hours there in vain. Yet I dare notdrive the car into Cromer, for I intended to repeat my effort on thefollowing night. Therefore I started the engine, and was soon back inthe yard of the small hotel in Aylsham.
There I put up the car, breakfasted, and then taking the first train toNorth Walsham, arrived in Cromer about half-past nine o'clock.
When I entered my room at the _Hotel de Paris_ the maid came quicklyalong, saying--
"Will you please go up to see your servant, sir! He's very unwell!"
"Unwell?" I said. "Why, what's the matter?"
"I don't know, sir. The police brought him in about half an hour ago.He's been out all night, they say. And they found him very ill."
I darted upstairs and entered Rayner's room without knocking.
He was lying upon the bed, still dressed, his face pale as death.
"Ah, sir!" he gasped, "I--I'm so glad you've come back! I--I wonderedwhether anything had happened to you. I--I----"
He stretched out his hand to me, but no other word escaped his lips.
I saw that he had fainted.