proved herself a very amusing companion as we drove out to Armenonville, where we sat out upon the lawn, she sipping her sirop while I smoked a cigarette. She knew Paris well, it seemed, and was communicative over everything – except concerning Rudolph Rayne.
When I put some questions to her regarding my new employer, she simply replied:
“We never discuss him, Mr. Hargreave. It is one of his rules that those who are his friends, as we are, preserve the strictest silence. What we discover from time to time we keep entirely to ourselves, and we even go to the length of disclaiming acquaintanceship with him when it becomes necessary. So it is best not to be inquisitive. If he discovers that you have been making inquiries he will be greatly annoyed.”
“I quite understand, Madame,” I replied with a meaning smile. That she was closely connected with the deep-laid schemes of Rudolph Rayne was more than ever apparent. But why, I wondered, was Lola so palpably beneath her influence?
My companion was about thirty-eight, though she looked younger, with handsome, well-cut features, and possessing the chic of a woman who had traveled much and who knew how to wear her clothes. There was, however, nothing of the adventuress about her. On the contrary, she had the appearance of moving in a very select set. She was English without a doubt, but she spoke perfect French.
I mentioned Lola, but she said:
“Remember what I have just told you about undue inquisitiveness, Mr. Hargreave! You will find out all you want to know in due course. So possess yourself in patience and act always with foresight as well as with discretion.”
I chanced to raise my eyes at that moment, when I noticed that a well-dressed, black-mustached Frenchman, who wore white spats, while passing along the terrace of the fine al fresco restaurant had halted a second to peer into Madame’s face, no doubt struck by her handsome features. She noticed it also but turned her head, and spoke to me of something else. A woman knows instinctively when she is being admired.
The position in which I now found myself, employed by a man who was undoubtedly a crook of no mean order, caused me considerable trepidation. When I had assumed the responsibility of that innocent-looking suit-case I never dreamt that it contained Lady Norah Kendrew’s stolen jewels, as it did, otherwise I would certainly never have attempted to pass it through the Customs at Rouen. But why and how, I wondered, had Lola’s suspicions been aroused? Why had she warned me?
Rayne had probably sent messengers with stolen property to France by that route before, knowing that, contrary to the shrewd examination at Calais, the officers of certain trading ships and the douaniers were on friendly terms.
When again I raised my eyes furtively to the Frenchman in the white spats I was relieved to find that he had disappeared. My fears that he might be an agent of the Sûreté were groundless. The afternoon was delightful as we sat beneath the trees, but Madame suddenly recollected an engagement she had with her dressmaker at five o’clock, so we reëntered our taxi and drove back to the Porte Maillot and thence direct to the hotel.
We found the door of the sitting-room locked, but as Madame turned the handle Duperré’s voice was heard inquiring who was there.
“Open the door, Vincent,” urged his wife.
“All right! Wait a moment,” was the reply.
We heard the quick rustling of paper, and after a lapse of perhaps a minute he unlocked the door for us to enter.
“Well? Had a nice time – eh?” he asked, turning to me as he reclosed the door and again locked it.
I replied in the affirmative, noticing that on the table was something covered with a newspaper.
“I’ve been busy,” he said with a grin, and lifting the paper disclosed a quantity of bracelets, rings, pendants and other ornaments from which the gems had been removed. During our absence he had been occupied in removing the stolen jewels from their settings.
“Yes,” I laughed. “You seem to have been very busy, Vincent!”
Beside the bent and broken articles of gold lay a little pile of glittering gems, none of them very large, but all of first quality.
“Lady Norah wouldn’t like to see her treasures in such a condition, would she?” laughed Duperré. “We shall get rid of them to old Heydenryck, who is arriving presently.”
“Who is he?”
“A Dutch dealer who lives here in Paris. He’s always open to buy good stuff, but he won’t look at any stones that are set. Rayne’s idea was to sell them, just as they were, to a dealer named Steffensen, who buys stuff here and smuggles it over to New York and San Francisco, where it is not likely to be traced. But I find that Steffensen is away in America at the moment, so I’ve approached the Dutchman. Heydenryck is a sly old dog. Unlike Steffensen, he buys unset stones because they are difficult to identify.”
I bent and examined the glittering little pile of diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires which had been stolen from the hotel in London.
“Look here, Hargreave,” said Duperré. “I want you to help us to get rid of this,” and he pointed to the broken jewelry.
“How?” I asked dismayed, for I confess that I feared the discovery. To be thus intimately associated with a band of expert crooks was a new experience.
“Quite easily,” he replied. “I’ll show you.” Then turning to his wife, he said: “Just bring Lu Chang in, will you, Hylda?”
Madame passed into the next room and returned with a small Pekinese in her arms.
“Lu Chang is quite quiet and harmless,” laughed Duperré as his wife handed the dog to me.
As my hands came in contact with the animal’s fur I realized that it was dead – and stuffed!
Duperré laughed heartily as he watched my face. I confess that I was mystified.
He took the dog, which had probably been purchased from a naturalist only that day, and ripping open the pelt behind the forelegs he quickly drew out the stuffing. Then into the cavity he hurriedly thrust the broken rings and pendants.
I watched him with curiosity. It seemed such an unusual proceeding. But I recollected that I was dealing with strange associates – people whom I afterwards found to be perhaps the most ingenious crooks in Europe.
“Poor Lu Chang,” exclaimed my old company commander with a laugh. “If you drown him he won’t feel it!”
Duperré watched the expression of surprise upon my face as he packed the whole of the broken jewelry into the dog.
“Now what I want you to do, Hargreave,” he said, “is to drown Lu Chang in the Seine. Lots of people in Paris, who are not lovers of dogs, are flinging them into the river because of the new excessive tax upon domestic pets. You will just toss Lu Chang over the Pont Neuf. The police can’t interfere, even though they see you. You will only have put the dog out of the world rather than pay the double tax.”
He watched my natural hesitation.
“Isn’t he a little dear!” exclaimed Madame, stroking the dog’s fur. “Poor Lu Chang! He won’t float with the gold inside him!”
“No,” laughed Duperré. “He’ll go plumb to the bottom!”
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