The Penguin Book of Gaslight Crime - Michael Sims [43]
“Thank you, gentlemen,” said the American, as he vanished between the spring-doors. When I say vanished, I mean that word and no other, because my men outside saw nothing of this individual then or later. He vanished as if he had never existed, and it was some hours before we found how this had been accomplished.
I rushed out almost on his heels, as one might say, and hurriedly questioned my waiting men. They had all seen the tall American come out with the greatest leisureness and stroll towards the west. As he was not the man any of them were looking for, they paid no further attention to him, as, indeed, is the custom with our Parisian force. They have eyes for nothing but what they are sent to look for, and this trait has its drawbacks for their superiors.
I ran up the Boulevard, my whole thought intent on the diamonds and their bidder. I knew my subordinate in command of the men inside the hall would look after the scoundrel with the pistols. A short distance up I found the stupid fellow I had sent out, standing in a dazed manner at the corner of the Rue Michodière, gazing alternately towards the Place de l’Opéra and down the short street at whose corner he stood. The very fact that he was there was proof that he had failed.
“Where is that American?” I cried.
“He went down this street, sir.”
“And why are you standing there like a fool?”
“I followed him this far, then a man came up the Rue Michodière, and without a word the American handed him the jewel-box, turning instantly down the street up which the other had come. The other jumped into a cab and drove towards the Place de l’Opéra.”
“And what did you do? Stood here like a post, I suppose?”
“I didn’t know what to do, sir. It all happened in a moment.”
“Why didn’t you follow the cab?”
“I didn’t know which to follow, sir, and the cab was gone instantly while I watched the American.”
“What was its number?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“You clod! Why didn’t you call one of our men, whoever was nearest, and leave him to follow the American while you followed the cab?”
“I did shout to the nearest man, sir, but he said you told him to stay there and watch the English lord; and even before he had said that, both American and cabman had disappeared.”
“Was the man to whom he gave the box an American, too?”
“No, sir, he was French.”
“How do you know?”
“By his appearance and the words he spoke.”
“I thought you said he didn’t speak?”
“He did not speak to the American, sir, but he said to the cabman: ‘Drive to the Madeline as quickly as you can.’”
“Describe the man.”
“He was a head shorter than the American, wore a black beard and moustache rather neatly trimmed, and seemed to be a superior sort of artisan.”
“You did not take the number of the cab. Should you know the cabman if you saw him again?”
“Yes, sir, I should.”
Taking this fellow with me, I returned to the now empty auction-room and there gathered all my men about me. Each in his notebook took down descriptions of the cabman and his passenger from the lips of my incompetent spy; then I dictated a full description of the two Americans, and scattered my men to the various railway stations of the lines leading out of Paris, with orders to make inquiries of the police on duty there, and to arrest one or more of the four persons described, should they be so fortunate as to find any of them, which I much doubted.
I now learned how the man with the pistols vanished so completely as he did. My subordinate in the auction-room had speedily solved the mystery. To the left of the main entrance of the auction-room was a door that gave access to the premises in the rear. As the attendant in charge confessed when questioned, he had been bribed by the American earlier in the day to leave this side-door open and to allow the man to