The Golden Face: A Great 'Crook' Romance. Le Queux William
magistrate.
“Madame had better put on her hat at once,” he added, bristling with authority.
Thus ordered, she reluctantly obeyed and put on her big feathered hat before the glass. Then a few moments later we were conducted downstairs and away to the Prefecture of Police.
After all being thoroughly searched, Madame being examined by a prison wardress, we were ushered into the dull official room of Monsieur Rodin, the well-known examining magistrate, who for a full hour plied us with questions. Duperré and his wife preserved an outward dignity that amazed me. They complained bitterly of being accused without foundation, while on my part I answered the police official that I had quite accidentally come across my old superior officer.
Time after time Monsieur Rodin referred to the papers before him, evidently much puzzled. It seemed that Madame had been recognized in the Bois by the impressionable Frenchman who I had believed, had been attracted by her handsome face.
That information had been sent by Scotland Yard to Paris regarding the stolen jewels was apparent. Yet the fact that the locked suit-case only contained books and that nothing had been found in our possession – thanks to the forethought of Duperré – the police now found themselves in a quandary. The man in the white spats whom we had seen in the Bois identified Madame as Marie Richaud, a Frenchwoman who had lived in Philadelphia for several years, and who had been implicated two years before in the great frauds on the Bordeaux branch of the Société Générale.
Madame airily denied any knowledge of it. She had only arrived in Paris with her husband from Rome a few days before, she declared. And surely enough the visas upon their passports showed that was so, even though I had seen her at Overstow!
How I withstood that hour I know not. In the end, however, Monsieur Rodin ceased his questions and we were put into the cells till the next morning.
Imagine the sleepless night I spent! I hated myself for falling into the trap which Rayne, the crafty organizer of the gang, had so cleverly laid for me. Yet was I not in the hands of the police?
But the main question in my mind was the whereabouts of that little pile of gems.
Next day we were taken publicly before another magistrate and defended by a clever lawyer whom Duperré had engaged. It was found that not a tittle of evidence could be brought against us, and, even though the magistrate expressed his strong suspicions, we were at last released.
As we walked out into the sunlight of the boulevard, Duperré glanced at his watch, and exclaimed:
“I wonder if we shall be in time to catch the train? I must telephone to Heydenryck at once.”
Five minutes later he was in a public telephone-box speaking to the receiver of stolen goods.
Then, without returning to the Hôtel Ombrone, we took a taxi direct to the Gare de Lyon.
As Duperré took three first-class tickets to Fontainebleau, the undersized, grave-faced old man whom I had seen at the moment of our arrest followed him, and also took a ticket to the same destination. We entered an empty compartment where, just before the train moved off, the old man joined us.
He posed as a perfect stranger, but as soon as the train had left the platform my companion introduced him to me.
“I called last night and saw what had happened. Surely you have all three had a narrow escape!” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” said Duperré. “It was fortunate that Hylda recognized the sous-inspecteur Bossant in the Bois. She put me on my guard. I knew we should be arrested, so I took precautions to get rid of the gold and conceal the stones.”
“But where are they?” I asked eagerly, as the train ran through the first station out of Paris. “They are still hidden in the hotel, I suppose. We’ve all been searched!”
Madame laughed merrily, and removing her hat, unceremoniously tore out the three great feathers, the large quills of which she held up to the light before my eyes.
I then saw to my amazement that, though hardly distinguishable, all three of the hollow quills were filled with gems, the smaller being put in first.
At the detective’s own suggestion she had put on her hat when arrested, and she had worn it during the time she had been searched, during the examination by the magistrate, and during her trial!
Duperré was certainly nothing if not ingenious and his sang-froid had saved us all from terms of imprisonment.
Madame replaced the valuable feathers in her hat, and when we arrived at Fontainebleau we drove at once to the Hôtel de France, opposite the palace, where we took an excellent déjeuner in a private room.
And before we left, Duperré had disposed of Lady Norah’s jewels at a very respectable figure, which the sly old receiver paid over in thousand-franc notes.
I marveled at my companion’s ingenuity, whereupon he laughed airily, replying:
“When ‘The Golden Face’ arranges a coup it never fails to come off – I assure you. The police have to be up very early to get the better of him. His one injunction to all of us is that we shall be ready at all times to show clean hands – as we have to-day! But let’s get away, Hargreave – back to London, I think, don’t you?”
The whole adventure mystified and bewildered me. It was a mystery which, however, before long, was to be increased a hundredfold. Alas! that I should sit here and put down my guilt upon paper!
CHAPTER III
THE MAN WITH THE HUMP
One morning I called at Rayne’s luxurious chambers in Half Moon Street, when he expressed himself most delighted at the result of our visit to Paris.
“I want you to-morrow morning to drive Lola and Madame up to Overstow,” he said. “Better start early. Call for them at the hotel at nine o’clock. The roads are good, so you’ll have a pleasant journey. I’ll get home by train at the end of the week.”
At this I was very pleased, for Lola with her great dark eyes always sat beside me. She could drive quite well, and was full of good humor and a charming little gossip. Hence I looked forward to a very pleasant run. The more I saw of the master-crook’s daughter the more attracted I became by her. Indeed, though she seemed to regard me with some suspicion – why, I don’t know – we had already become excellent friends.
The month of September passed.
We had all spent a delightful time at Overstow. Rayne had given two big shoots at which several well-known Yorkshire landowners had been present, while I had taken a gun, and Lola, Madame and several other ladies had walked with us. Lola and I were frequently together, and I often accompanied her on long walks through the autumn-tinted woods.
Madame’s husband had only spent a week with us, for he had, I understood, been called to Switzerland on “business” – the nature of which I could easily guess.
At the end of the month we were back in London again.
One evening I had dined at the Carlton with Lola, her father and Madame, and the two ladies having gone off to the theater, he took me round to the set of luxurious chambers he occupied in Half Moon Street.
When we were alone together with our cigars, he suddenly said:
“I want you to go out for a run to-night – to Bristol.”
“To Bristol! To-night?” I echoed.
“Yes. I want you to take the new ‘A. C.’ and get to the Clifton Suspension Bridge by two o’clock to-morrow morning. There, in the center of the bridge, you will await a stranger – an elderly hunchback whose name is Morley Tarrant. He’ll give you, as bonâ fides, the word ‘Mask.’ When you meet him act upon his instructions. He is to be trusted.”
The tryst seemed full of suspicion, and I certainly did not like it. The evening was bright and clear, and the run in the fast two-seater would be enjoyable. But to meet a man who would give a password savored too much of crookdom.
He quickly saw my hesitation, and added:
“Now,