CHAPTER XIV

THE MEETING OF THE SEVEN DIALS

It would be as well to pass over the sufferings of the next four hours

as quickly as possible. Bundle found her position extremely cramped.

She had judged that the meeting, if meeting there was to be, would take

place at a time when the club was in full swing--somewhere probably

between the hours of midnight and 2 A.M.

She was just deciding that it must be at least six o'clock in the

morning when a welcome sound came to her ears, the sound of the

unlocking of a door.

In another minute the electric light was switched on. The hum of

voices, which had come to her for a minute or two rather like the

far-off roar of sea waves, ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and

Bundle heard the sound of a bolt being shot. Clearly someone had

come in from the gaming room next door, and she paid tribute to the

thoroughness with which the communicating door had been rendered sound

proof.

In another minute the intruder came into her line of vision--a line of

vision that was necessarily somewhat incomplete but which yet answered

its purpose. A tall man, broad shouldered and powerful looking, with a

long black beard. Bundle remembered having seen him sitting at one of

the baccarat tables on the preceding night.

This, then, was Alfred's mysterious Russian gentleman, the proprietor

of the club, the sinister Mr. Mosgorovsky. Bundle's heart beat faster

with excitement. So little did she resemble her father that at this

minute she fairly gloried in the extreme discomfort of her position.

The Russian remained for some minutes standing by the table, stroking

his beard. Then he drew a watch from his pocket and glanced at the

time. Nodding his head as though satisfied, he again thrust his hand

into his pocket, and, pulling out something that Bundle could not see,

he moved out of her line of vision.

When he reappeared again, she could hardly help giving a gasp of

surprise.

His face was now covered by a mask--but hardly a mask in the

conventional sense. It was not shaped to the face. It was a mere piece

of material hanging in front of the features like a curtain in which

two slits were pierced for the eyes. In shape it was round and on it

was the representation of a clock face, with the hands pointing to six

o'clock.

"The Seven Dials!" said Bundle to herself.

And at that minute there came a new sound--seven muffled taps.

Mosgorovsky strode across to where Bundle knew was the other cupboard

door. She heard a sharp click, and then the sound of greetings in a

foreign tongue.

Presently she had a view of the newcomers.

They also wore clock masks, but in their case the hands were in a

different position--four o'clock and five o'clock respectively. Both

men were in evening dress--but with a difference. One was an elegant,

slender young man wearing evening clothes of exquisite cut. The grace

with which he moved was foreign rather than English. The other man

could be better described as wiry and lean. His clothes fitted him

sufficiently well, but no more, and Bundle guessed at his nationality

even before she heard his voice.

"I reckon we're the first to arrive at this little meeting."

A full pleasant voice with a slight American drawl, and an inflection

of Irish behind it.

The elegant young man said in good, but slightly stilted, English:

"I had much difficulty in getting away to-night. These things do not

always arrange themselves fortunately. I am not, like No. 4 here, my

own master."

Bundle tried to guess at his nationality. Until he spoke, she had

thought he might be French, but the accent was not a French one. He

might possibly, she thought, be an Austrian, or a Hungarian, or even a

Russian.

The American moved to the other side of the table, and Bundle heard a

chair being pulled out.

"One o'clock's being a great success," he said. "I congratulate you on

taking the risk."

Five o'clock shrugged his shoulders.

"Unless one takes risks--" He left the sentence unfinished.

Again seven taps sounded, and Mosgorovsky moved across to the secret

door.

She failed to catch anything definite for some moments since the

whole company were out of sight, but presently she heard the bearded

Russian's voice upraised.

"Shall we begin proceedings?"

He himself came round the table and took the seat next to the arm-chair

at the top. Sitting thus, he was directly facing Bundle's cupboard. The

elegant five o'clock took the place next to him. The third chair that

side was out of Bundle's sight, but the American, No. 4, moved into her

line of vision for a moment or two before he sat down.

On the near side of the table also, only two chairs were visible, and

as she watched a hand turned the second--really the middle chair--down.

And then with a swift movement, one of the newcomers brushed past the

cupboard and took the chair opposite Mosgorovsky. Whoever sat there

had, of course, their back directly turned to Bundle--and it was at

that back that Bundle was staring with a good deal of interest, for it

was the back of a singularly beautiful woman very much _décolleté_.

It was she who spoke first. Her voice was musical, foreign--with a deep

seductive note in it. She was glancing towards the empty chair at the

head of the table.

"So we are not to see No. 7 to-night?" she said. "Tell me, my friends,

shall we ever see him?"

"That's darned good," said the American. "Darned good! As for seven

o'clock--_I'm_ beginning to believe there is no such person."

"I should not advise you to think that, my friend," said the Russian

pleasantly.

There was a silence--rather an uncomfortable silence, Bundle felt.

She was still staring as though fascinated at the beautiful back in

front of her. There was a tiny black mole just below the right shoulder

blade that enhanced the whiteness of the skin. Bundle felt that at last

the term "beautiful adventuress," so often read, had a real meaning for

her. She was quite certain that this woman had a beautiful face--a dark

Slavonic face with passionate eyes.

She was recalled from her imaginings by the voice of the Russian, who

seemed to act as master of ceremonies.

"Shall we get on with our business? First to our absent comrade! No. 2!"

He made a curious gesture with his hand towards the turned down chair

next to the woman, which everyone present imitated, turning to the

chair as they did so.

"I wish No. 2 were with us to-night," he continued. "There are many

things to be done. Unsuspected difficulties have arisen."

"Have you had his report?" It was the American who spoke.

"As yet--I have nothing from him." There was a pause. "I cannot

understand it."

"You think it may have--gone astray?"

"That is--a possibility."

"In other words," said five o'clock softly, "there is--danger."

He spoke the word delicately--and yet with relish.

The Russian nodded emphatically.

"Yes--there's danger. Too much is getting known about us--about this

place. I know of several people who suspect." He added coldly: "They

must be silenced."

Bundle felt a little cold shiver pass down her spine. If she were to be

found, would she be silenced? She was recalled suddenly to attention by

a word.

"So nothing has come to light about Chimneys?"

Mosgorovsky shook his head.

"Nothing."

Suddenly No. 5 leant forward.

"I agree with Anna; where is our president--No. 7? He who called us

into being. Why do we never see him?"

"No. 7," said the Russian, "has his own ways of working."

"So you always say."

"I will say more," said Mosgorovsky. "I pity the man--or woman--who

comes up against him."

There was an awkward silence.

"We must get on with our business," said Mosgorovsky quietly. "No. 3,

you have the plans of Wyvern Abbey?"

Bundle strained her ears. So far she had neither caught a glimpse of

No. 3, nor had she heard his voice. She heard it now and recognized it

as unmistakable. Low, pleasant, indistinct--the voice of a well-bred

Englishman.

"I've got them here, sir."

Some papers were shoved across the table. Everyone bent forward.

Presently Mosgorovsky raised his head again.

"And the list of guests?"

"Here."

The Russian read them.

"Sir Stanley Digby. Mr. Terence O'Rourke. Sir Oswald and Lady Coote.

Mr. Bateman. Countess Anna Radzky. Mrs. Macatta. Mr. James Thesiger--"

he paused and then asked sharply:

"Who is Mr. James Thesiger?"

The American laughed.

"I guess you needn't worry any about him. The usual complete young ass."

The Russian continued reading.

"Herr Eberhard and Mr. Eversleigh. That completes the list."

"Does it?" said Bundle silently. "What about that sweet girl, Lady

Eileen Brent?"

"Yes, there seems nothing to worry about there," said Mosgorovsky. He

looked across the table. "I suppose there's no doubt whatever about the

value of Eberhard's invention?"

Three o'clock made a laconic British reply.

"None whatever."

"Commercially it should be worth millions," said the Russian. "And

internationally--well, one knows only too well the greed of nations."

Bundle had an idea that behind his mask he was smiling unpleasantly.

"Yes," he went on, "a gold mine."

"Well worth a few lives," said No. 5, cynically, and laughed.

"But you know what inventions are," said the American. "Sometimes these

darned things won't work."

"A man like Sir Oswald Coote will have made no mistake," said

Mosgorovsky.

"Speaking as an aviator myself," said No. 5, "the thing is perfectly

feasible. It has been discussed for years--but it needed the genius of

Eberhard to bring it to fruition."

"Well," said Mosgorovsky, "I don't think we need discuss matters any

further. You have all seen the plans. I do not think our original

scheme can be bettered. By the way, I hear something about a letter

of Gerald Wade's that has been found--a letter that mentions this

organization. Who found it?"

"Lord Caterham's daughter--Lady Eileen Brent."

"Bauer should have been on to that," said Mosgorovsky. "It was careless

of him. Who was the letter written to?"

"His sister, I believe," said No. 3.

"Unfortunate," said Mosgorovsky. "But it cannot be helped. The inquest

on Ronald Devereux is to-morrow. I suppose that has been arranged for?"

"Reports as to local lads having been practising with rifles have been

spread everywhere," said the American.

"That should be all right then. I think there is nothing further to be

said. I think we must all congratulate our dear one o'clock and wish

her luck in the part she has to play."

"Hurrah!" cried No. 5. "To Anna!"

All hands flew out in the same gesture which Bundle had noticed before.

"To Anna!"

One o'clock acknowledged the salutation with a typically foreign

gesture. Then she rose to her feet and the others followed suit. For

the first time, Bundle caught a glimpse of No. 3 as he came to put

Anna's cloak round her--a tall, heavily built man.

Then the party filed out through the secret door. Mosgorovsky secured

it after them. He waited a few moments and then Bundle heard him unbolt

the other door and pass through, after extinguishing the electric light.

It was not until two hours later that a white and anxious Alfred came

to release Bundle. She almost fell into his arms and he had to hold her

up.

"Nothing," said Bundle. "Just stiff, that's all. Here, let me sit down."

"Oh, Gord, my lady, it's been awful."

"Nonsense," said Bundle. "It all went off splendidly. Don't get the

wind up now it's all over. It might have gone wrong, but thank goodness

it didn't."

"Thank goodness, as you say, my lady. I've been in a twitter all the

evening. They're a funny crowd, you know."

"A damned funny crowd," said Bundle, vigorously massaging her arms and

legs. "As a matter of fact, they're the sort of crowd I always imagined

until to-night only existed in books. In this life, Alfred, one never

stops learning."