What if the constable were to try the jeweller's door as he passed?
I watched the pair strolling slowly, their shiny capes on their shoulders, for rain had begun to fall, watched them breathlessly.
Of a sudden the constable halted as he was passing the jeweller's shop door, and, stepping aside, tried it.
My heart stood still.
Next second, however, the truth was plain. The door had been re-fastened, and the constable, reassured, went on, resuming his night gossip with his sergeant at the point where he had broken off.
Yes. The two thieves were inside, no doubt sacking the place of all that was most valuable.
Their daring, swiftness, and expert methods were astounding. Truly Jules Jeanjean was a veritable prince among jewel-thieves. Not another man in the whole of Europe could approach him either for knowledge as to whether a gem were good or bad, for nerve and daring, for impudent effrontery, or for swift and decisive action. He was a king among jewel-thieves, and as such acknowledged by the dishonest fraternity whose special prey was precious stones.
I stood in blank wonder and amazement.
My first impulse was to turn and step along to Oxford Circus, where I knew another constable would be on point-duty. Indeed, I was about to raise the alarm without arousing old Vernon's suspicions, when I saw the jeweller's door open quickly and both men dashed out wildly and up Wells Street as fast as their legs could carry them.
In a moment I saw that they had been desperately alarmed and were fleeing without waiting to secure their booty, for next second a man—a watchman who had been sleeping on the premises—staggered out upon the pavement, shouting, "Murder! Help! Thieves!" and then fell on the ground senseless.