At last, however, by dint of long persuasion and argument, I succeeded in convincing her that I really was her friend, and that even if I exposed the gang, and caused them to be arrested, I could at the same time keep her out of the sensational affair which must inevitably result.
She rose, and for a long time stood at the window, gazing out upon the never-ceasing traffic in Piccadilly, her countenance very grave and thoughtful. By the quick rising and falling of her bosom, and by her pursed lips, I saw how deep was her agitation, how torn was her mind by conflicting emotions.
At last, as she leaned upon a chair, her eyes still fixed blankly out upon the long, rather monotonous façade of the Ritz Hotel, she began to tell me some of the facts she knew concerning her notorious uncle, Jules Jeanjean.
"He started life," she explained, "as an employé of the Nord Railway of France, and, being honest and hardworking, rose from an obscure situation in the goods-yard at Creil to become chief conductor on the express line between Calais and Paris. His sister, who was my mother, had married Felix Sorel, a leather-merchant in the Boulevard de Clichy, and they had one daughter, myself. Jules, however, remained unmarried. Apparently he held advanced Republican views, and soon entertained Anarchist ideas, yet no fault was ever found with the performance of his duties by the railway officials. He was, I have heard, a model servant, always punctual, sober, and so extremely polite that all the habitual passengers knew and liked him."
She paused, reflecting.
"It seems," she went on after a few moments, "it seems that as chief of the express which left Calais for Paris each day, after the arrival of the midday boat from Dover, his position was much coveted by the other employés. After about two and a half years of this, however, the Company one day offered him the post of Station-Inspector at Abbeville, where the boat expresses stop for water. But, to the surprise of his friends, he declined and, moreover, resigned from the service, pleading an internal trouble, and left France."
"Curious," I remarked. "He must have had some other motive than that for his sudden decision, I suppose."
Then, continuing her narrative, the pretty blue-eyed girl revealed to me a very remarkable story. From what she said it appeared that during his two and a half years' service between Calais and Dover, her uncle had been reaping a golden harvest and placing great sums of money in an English bank. The device by which the money had been gained was both ingenious and simple. Employed in the Customs House at the Maritime Station at Calais—through which all persons travelling from England by that route have to pass—was a douanier from Corsica who, though a French subject, bore an Italian name, Egisto Bertini. Between Bertini and the honest train-conductor a close friendship had arisen. Then Bertini, who had become acquainted with a London diamond-broker, Mr. Gregory Vernon, a constant traveller between the French and English capitals, one day introduced his friend. Before long Vernon's master-mind was at work, and at a meeting of the three men, held one evening on Dover cliffs, a very neat conspiracy was formed. It was simply this—
Bertini's duty was to examine passengers' baggage registered beyond Paris, and when it was placed upon the counter in the Customs House, he kept an open eye for any jewel-cases. Exercising his power, he would have them opened and inspect their contents, and then, being replaced, the box would be locked by the unsuspecting passenger. The Customs Officer would, however, chalk a peculiar mark upon the trunk containing the valuables, and during its transit between Calais and Paris Jeanjean would go to the baggage-wagon, and, with a big bunch of duplicate keys, unlock the marked trunks, abstract the jewellery, and relock it again. By the time the unfortunate passenger discovered the loss, the stolen property would probably be on its way into old Vernon's hands for disposal in Antwerp or Amsterdam.