And where was Vernon Gregory, the quaint, eccentric old fellow who had become such a notable figure in Cromer streets and along the asphalted parade. What had become of him?
The police had, of course, made no mention in their evidence of the search in the rooms occupied by the two men—of the discovery of the splendid treasure of gold and jewels—or of the fact that the real Mr. Vernon Gregory had died while on a voyage to India.
With Frayne, I walked back to the police-station, where we found that no trace had yet been discovered of the old man. He had disappeared swiftly and completely, probably in clothes which in no way resembled those he habitually wore, for, as his pocket-book and other things were found in the cape worn by his nephew, we assumed that they were actually the uncle's. Therefore, it would be but natural that old Gregory would have left the house wearing clothes suitable to a younger man.
The fact that Lola had visited him told me much.
Gregory, whoever he was, was certainly no amateur in the art of disguise. In all probability he now presented the appearance of a man of thirty or so, and in no way resembled the eccentric old gentleman who looked like a poet and whose habits were so regular.
That there was a mystery, a strange, amazing mystery, I knew instinctively. Edward Craig had, I felt confident, fallen the victim of a bitter and terrible vengeance—had been ingeniously done to death by one whose hand was that of a relentless slayer.
So, as I walked past the grey old church of Cromer, back to the Hôtel de Paris, I pondered deeply.
My own particular knowledge I kept a fast secret to myself. Among that heterogeneous collection of treasures had been one object which I recognized—an object I had seen and handled once before, in very different circumstances.
How came it in that old sea-chest, and in the possession of the man who was now exposed as an impostor?