"Of course," he replied determinedly. "I sympathize with the pretty little thief, yet I have my duty to perform. Besides, if I have the interesting little lady here before me for interrogation, I shall, I think, not be very long before I discover our friend Jeanjean in his secret hiding-place."
A trap had evidently been laid for Lola, and, in her own interests, she should be warned.
Continuing, I further questioned my friend, and he told me some astounding stories of Jeanjean's elusiveness. I, however, said nothing of what I knew. I remained silent regarding the curious affair in Cromer, and as to my knowledge that the pretty villa near Algiers concealed the man for whom all the police of Europe were in search.
My chief concern was for Lola, and that same evening I wrote to her at the Poste Restante at Versailles giving her warning of what was intended. She was probably in Brussels, but in due course would, no doubt, receive my letter, and see me again, as I requested.
On two other occasions I saw Jonet, but he had no further information regarding Jeanjean and his gang. The chief point which puzzled him seemed to be the fact that not a single stone, out of all the stolen jewels, had been traced.
"The receiver is an absolute mystery," he declared. "Perhaps the stuff goes to London."
"Perhaps," I said. "Have you made inquiry of Scotland Yard?"
"Oh, yes. I was over there a month ago. But they either know nothing, or else they are not inclined to help us." Then with a faint smile he added, "As you know, mon cher ami, I have no very great admiration for your English police. Their laws are always in favour of the criminal, and their slowness of movement is astounding to us."
"Yes. Your methods are more drastic and more effective in the detection of crime," I admitted.
That day was the twenty-sixth of August, and as I walked along the Rue de Rivoli back to the _Hotel Meurice_, I suddenly remembered the mysterious tryst contained in that letter found in the pocket of Edward Craig. The appointment at the spot, "where the two C's meet," at Ealing.
I left Paris that night by the mail-train, crossed from Calais to Dover, and at noon next day alighted at Ealing Broadway station.
I had never been in Ealing before, and spent several hours wandering about its quiet, well-kept suburban roads, many of them of comfortable-looking detached villas. But I found the district a perfect maze of streets, therefore I went and sat on one of the seats in the small park in front of the station, wondering how best to act.