Perhaps the man in the grey hat had travelled from afar. Possibly so, because of the long time in advance the appointment had been made.
All was silent. Therefore I crept over the weedy garden until I stood beneath the bay window in which a light was shining.
I could hear voices—men's voices raised in controversy. Then, suddenly, they only conversed in whispers. What was said, I could not distinguish. They were speaking in French, but further than that I could catch nothing.
Sometimes they laughed heartily at something evidently hailed as a huge joke. I distinctly heard Gregory's tones, but the others' I could not recognize. As far as I could gather they were strangers to me.
Was the place, I wondered, one of old Gregory's hiding-places? Though he conducted his business in Hatton Garden, where he was well known, his private address, Lola had told me, had always been a mystery, such pains did he take to conceal it.
Was that lonely house his place of abode? Had he met his friend in Ealing and taken him there in order to place before him certain plans for the future?
I looked at the grim old house, with its mantle of ivy, and reflected upon what quantities of stolen property it might contain!
That the man I knew as Vernon Gregory was head of an association of the cleverest jewel-thieves in the world, had been alleged by Lola, and I believed her. His deep cunning and clever elusiveness, his amazing craftiness and astounding foresight had been well illustrated by his disappearance from Cromer, even though his flight had been so sudden that he had been compelled to abandon his treasures. Yet as I stood there, upon the carpet of weeds, with my ears strained, I could hear his familiar voice speaking in slow measured tones, as he was explaining something in elaborate detail.
What was it? I stood there in a fever of excitement and curiosity.
Yet I had one satisfaction. I had run him to earth at last.