AN AMAZING ADVENTURE
Next day Dan went to look up Laurance and have a consultation, as he
was considerably puzzled over the new problem and did not know exactly
how to act. But Fate was against him, so far as having a second
opinion was concerned, for Laurance proved to be absent. An
anarchistic plot, of which _The Moment_ desired to know the details,
had taken him to Vienna, and it was probable that he would not return
for at least a week. Halliday might have expected something of the
sort, as in the prosecution of his business Freddy was here, there,
and everywhere, never knowing his next destination, which depended
entirely on the latest sensation. But hitherto few startling events
had summoned Laurance out of England, and Dan had been accustomed to
always finding him on the spot for a consultation. He left the office
of _The Moment_ in a rather disconsolate frame of mind.
There was no doubt that Halliday badly needed someone to talk to about
the matters which occupied his thoughts. But, failing Freddy, who was
working with him, he did not know any one worth consulting--anyone,
that is, whose advice would be worth taking.
Certainly there were the two inspectors of police--one at Hampstead,
and one at Blackheath--who were deeply interested in the respective
deaths of Moon and Durwin. They would have been delighted to discuss
the entire business threadbare in the hope of solving the mystery of
the two crimes. But Dan did not wish to bring the police into the
matter until he had more evidence to go upon. After all, what he knew
concerning Mrs. Jarsell and Penn was both vague and uncertain, while
the clue of the perfume being so slight might be scouted as ridiculous
by these cut-and-dried officials. What Halliday wished to do was to
establish a connection between the doings at Sheepeak, Blackheath, and
Hampstead on evidence that could not be questioned, so that he might
submit a complete case to the police. He could not do this until he
acquired positive proof, and he desired to acquire the same by his own
endeavors supplemented by those of Laurance. Therefore, as Freddy was
away on business, and Dan did not care about placing his unfinished
case before the inspectors, he went about his ordinary affairs,
waiting for his friend's return. This was all that he could do, and he
did it reluctantly.
A hint from Lord Curberry had evidently made Sir John more vigilant as
regarded his niece. Dan called at the house and was denied an
interview; he wrote a letter and received no answer; and although he
haunted Bond Street and Regent Street, the parks and the theatres, he
could catch no glimpse of Lillian. After three days of unavailing
endeavor he went to Bedford and attended to the transfer of his
aeroplane to Blackheath, bringing it up in the train personally. Then
he put it together again, and took short flights in the vicinity of
London, after repairing the damage done to the propeller. All the
same, his heart was not in the business of aviation at the moment as
the detective fever had seized him and he felt that he could not rest
until he had solved the mystery of the two crimes. But at the moment,
he saw no way by which he could advance toward a consummation of his
wishes, and simply fiddled away his time until the return of Laurance.
Then, after a threshing out of details, he hoped to make some sort of
move in the darkness.
But Fate decreed that he should act alone and without advice, and the
intimation of Fate's intention came in the form of a short letter from
Marcus Penn, asking for an interview. "I am confident," wrote the
secretary, "that from what you threatened in the aeroplane you suspect
me of knowing something relative to Sir Charles Moon's murder. As I am
entirely innocent I resent these suspicions, and I wish you to meet me
in order that they should be cleared away. If you will meet me at the
booking-office of the Bakerloo Tube, I can take you to the person who
gave me the perfume. He will be able to tell you that I have no
connection with any criminal." Then the letter went on to state day
and hour of the appointment, and ended with the feeble signature of
the writer. Dan always thought that Penn's signature revealed only too
plainly the weakness of his character.
Of course he intended to go, even though he remembered that Penn had
declared the identity of the person who had given him the perfume. His
cousin in Sumatra had sent the same to him, the secretary had said,
yet he now proposed to introduce Dan to another person, who was the
donor of the scent. Unless, indeed--and this was possible--the Sumatra
cousin had come to England with the intention of exonerating Penn.
Certainly, Penn might mean mischief, and might be dexterously luring
him to a trap. But Halliday felt that he was quite equal to dealing
with a timid personality such as the secretary possessed. Also, when
going to keep the appointment, he slipped a revolver into his
hip-pocket, to be used if necessary. It might be--and Dan's
adventurous blood reached fever heat at the mere idea--that Penn
intended to introduce him to his brother scoundrels, who constituted
this mysterious gang. If so, there was a very good chance that at last
he might learn something tangible concerning the organization.
Undoubtedly there was a great risk of his losing liberty if not life,
and it was impossible to say what precautions this society of
cut-throats might take to preserve its secrets. But Halliday was not
of a nervous nature, and, moreover, was willing to risk everything on
one cast of the die, instead of lingering in suspense. He therefore
got himself ready without saying a word to any one, and kept the
appointment. And, indeed, now that Laurance was absent, there was no
one to whom he could speak.
It chanced to be a somewhat foggy night when Dan descended to the
underground in Trafalgar Square, but out of the darkness and in the
light he had no difficulty in recognizing Penn. The secretary was well
wrapped up in a heavy great-coat, and welcomed the young man with a
nervous smile, blinking his pale eyes furiously, as was his custom
when much moved. However, he spoke amiably enough, and appeared to
bear no malice against his companion, notwithstanding the threat in
the aeroplane.
"I am glad you have come, Mr. Halliday," said Penn in a would-be
dignified tone, "as I wish to clear my character from the grave doubts
you cast upon it when we last met."
"Your admissions favored the grave doubts," retorted Dan lightly.
"I spoke foolishly, Mr. Halliday, as I was quite upset by your
threats."
"H'm! I wonder to see you trust yourself again to such a bloodthirsty
being as I am, Mr. Penn."
"Oh, I knew you were only bluffing in the aeroplane," said the
secretary in a meek voice and with a shrug.
"The means you took to escape further questioning showed me that!"
The dry tone of Dan stirred the man's chilly blood to greater heat.
"You have no right to interfere with my private affairs," he said
furiously.
"But when those affairs have to do with a crime----"
"They have not. I know nothing about the matter," Penn's breath was
short, and he tried to keep his voice from quavering. "When you see my
cousin he will prove that he gave me the scent."
"Oh! then your Sumatra cousin is now in England?"
"Yes! Otherwise, I should not have asked you to come."
"Are we to meet him here?" questioned Dan, glancing round curiously.
"No. We can go to him in a taxi. I thought of the tube first, but we
can get to our destination quicker in a motor. Come!" and Penn,
leading the way, ascended the stairs, down which Halliday had lately
come.
"Where are we going to?" asked Dan, but the secretary, being some
distance ahead, either did not hear the question, or did not desire to
reply to the same. "I suppose," added Halliday, as the two stood once
more in the foggy upper-world, "that your cousin wishes to see Mrs.
Jarsell?"
"My cousin doesn't know Mrs. Jarsell, neither do I," retorted Penn
sharply.
"Curious that she should possess the perfume," murmured Dan
sceptically, "and one which you say is unique."
"In England that is," said the secretary, as they stepped into a
taxi-cab which evidently was waiting for them, near the Trafalgar
Square lions, "but, this lady whose name you mention may know someone
in Sumatra also, and in that way the perfume may have come into her
possession."
"Ah!" Dan made himself comfortable, while Penn pulled up the windows
of the taxi, so as to keep out the damp air, "the long arm of
coincidence?"
"The improbable usually occurs in real life and not in novels, Mr.
Halliday."
Dan laughed and watched the street lights flash past the blurred
windows as the taxi turned up the Haymarket. He wondered where they
were going, and as he believed that Penn would not give him any
information he carefully watched to see the route. His companion
adjusted his silk muffler well over his mouth, with a murmured
explanation about his weak lungs, and then held out a silver cigarette
case to Dan, clicking it open as he did so.
"Will you smoke, Mr. Halliday?"
"No, thank you," replied the other cautiously, "for the present I
don't care about it," and Penn shrugged his shoulders, evidently
understanding that Dan did not trust him or his gifts. After a time he
took out a cigarette and lighted a match.
"These cigarettes are of a particular kind," he remarked, and blew a
cloud of smoke directly under Halliday's nose, after which he
readjusted the muffler, not only over his mouth, but over his nose.
Dan started, for the whiff of smoke filled the close confinement of
the taxi with the well-known flavor of the Sumatra scent. He was about
to make a remark when the scent grew stronger as the cigarette burned
steadily with a red, smoldering tip, and he felt suddenly faint. "Pull
down the window," he gasped, and leaned forward to do so himself.
For answer, Penn suddenly pulled the young man back into his seat, and
enveloped him in a cloud of drowsy smoke, keeping his own mouth and
nose well covered meanwhile with the silk muffler. Halliday made a
faint struggle to retain his senses and the control of his muscles,
but the known world receded rapidly from him and he seemed to be
withdrawn into gulfs of utter gloom. The last coherent thought which
came into his mind was that the pretended cigarette produced by Penn
was a drugged pastil. Then an effort to grasp the undoubted fact that
he had been lured into a skilful trap which had shut down on him, used
up his remaining will-power, and he remembered no more. Whither he
went into darkness, or what he did, Dan never knew, as there seemed to
be no break in the time that elapsed from his becoming unconscious in
the taxi and waking with the acrid smell of some reviving salts in his
nostrils. He might have been on earth or in sky or sea; he did not
know, for he opened his eyes languidly in a dense gloom.
"Where am I?" he asked, but there was no reply. His senses came back
to him with a rush, owing perhaps to the power of the stimulant
applied to bring him round. He sat up alertly in his chair, and felt
immediately that his arms were bound tightly to his sides, so that he
could not use his revolver, or even strike a match. He certainly would
have done this latter, had he been able to, for he greatly desired to
be informed as to the quality of his surroundings. He presumed that he
was in a large room of some kind, and he became convinced by his sixth
sense that the room was crowded with people. When fully himself Dan
could hear the soft breathing of many unseen beings, but whether they
were men or women, or a mixture of the sexes, he could not say. Even
when his eyes became accustomed to the gloom he could discern nothing,
for the darkness was that of Egypt. And the silence, save for the
steady breathing, was most uncanny.
Dan felt it incumbent on him to make some attempt towards acquiring
knowledge. "What is the meaning of this outrage?" he demanded loudly
and in a resolute tone. "I insist upon knowing!"
From the near distance came a whispering voice, which made him shiver.
"No one insists here," said the unknown speaker, "all obey."
"Who is it that all obey?" demanded the prisoner undauntedly.
"Queen Beelzebub!" murmured the voice, soft and sibilant.
There flashed into Dan's mind some teaching, secular or sacred--he
could not tell which at the moment--relative to a deity who had to do
with flies. A Ph[oe]nician deity he fancied, but surely if his memory
served him, a male godling. Beelzebub, the god of Flies! He remembered
now, and remembered also the trade-mark of the mysterious society
formed for the purpose of murdering various people for various
reasons, known and unknown.
"So you have got me at last," he said aloud. "I might have guessed
that Penn would trap me."
"No names," said the unseen speaker coldly; "it will be the worse for
you if you mention names."
"Am I addressing Beelzebub?" asked Dan, and for the life of him he
could not keep the irony out of his tones, for the whole thing was so
theatrical.
"Queen Beelzebub!"
"I see; you have given the god of Flies a consort. May I ask why I
have been brought here?"
"We intend to make you an offer."
"Who we? What we?"
"The members of the Society of Flies, of which I am the head."
"H'm, I understand. Don't you think you had better loose my hands and
turn up the lights?"
"Be silent," ordered the voice imperiously, and, as Dan fancied, with
some hint of temper at the flippant way in which he talked; "be silent
and listen!"
"I can't help myself," said Halliday coolly, "go on, please."
There was a soft rustle, as if the unseen company admired his courage
for behaving calmly in what was, undoubtedly, a weird and trying
situation. Then some distance away a disk of red light, like a winter
sun, appeared with nerve-shaking swiftness. It revealed none of the
company, for all were still in the gloom, but concentrated its angry
rays on a large and solemn visage, unhuman in its stillness and awful
calm. It was an Egyptian face, such as belongs to the statues of the
gods of Kem, and the head-dress, stiff and formal, was also suggestive
of the Nile. Of more than usual size, Dan could only see its vast
features, but fancied that a red robe fell in folds from the neck
downward. There was something grand about this severe face, and in the
darkness, with the scarlet light gleaming fiercely on its immobility,
it was assuredly effective, if somewhat theatrical. The lips did not
move when Queen Beelzebub began to speak, but the eyes were alive; the
eyes of the person concealed behind the mask. Dan noticed that, when
the face became visible in the angry red light, the speaker ceased to
whisper, and the voice became deep, voluminous, and resonant as that
of a gong. The tone was that of a man, but it might have been a woman
speaking through an artificial mouthpiece. The final thing which Dan
noticed was that the whole atmosphere of the room reeked with the rich
fragrance of the Sumatra scent.
"You are very daring and meddlesome," said the voice, issuing in
chilly tones from behind the stately mask, "for you have intruded
yourself into affairs which have nothing to do with you."
"They have everything to do with me," retorted Halliday decisively and
feeling reckless, "if you and your society are omniscient, you should
know."
"Omniscient is a good word. We know that you love Lillian Moon and
wish to marry her; we know that her uncle is willing this should be,
if you discover the truth about his brother's death. You have been
searching for the assassin, and you are still searching. That search
must stop."
"I think not."
"If you refuse to obey," said Queen Beelzebub coldly, "we can put you
out of the way as we have put others out of the way."
"The Law----"
A faint murmur of laughter was heard, suggestive of scorn. "We care
nothing for the law," said the speaker contemptuously.
"Oh, I think you do, or you would not have taken all this trouble to
have me brought here."
"You are here to receive an offer."
"Indeed. I shall be glad to hear the offer."
"We wish you to join the Society of Flies and swear to obey me, the
queen."
"Thank you, but an association of cut-throats does not appeal to me."
"Think twice before you refuse," the voice became threatening.
"I think once, and that is sufficient," returned Dan drily.
"You are at our mercy. We can kill you as we have killed others."
"There are worse things than death. Dishonor."
"You talk like a fool," scoffed Queen Beelzebub. "What is dishonor?
Merely a word. It means nothing."
"I can well believe that it means nothing to you and your friends,"
said Dan, who was weary of this fencing: "may I ask what advantage I
gain by becoming a member of your bloodthirsty gang?"
"We are an association," boomed the great voice, "banded against the
injustice of the world. We resent few people having wealth and the
majority going without the necessaries of life. Being limited in
number, the Law is too strong for us, and we cannot gain our objects
openly; therefore we have to strike in the dark."
"And your objects?"
"To equalize wealth, to give our members wealth, position, comfort,
and power."
"Oh. It's a kind of Socialistic community. You work for the poor."
"We work for ourselves.
"Rather selfish, isn't it?"
"People will only work for self, and to those who labor for us we give
all that they wish for. Become a member and you will realize your
heart's desire."
"Perhaps," said Halliday in a caustic tone, "I may realize that
without your aid."
"We think not. To marry Lillian Moon you must find who murdered her
father, and that person will never be found."
"Then why stop me from searching?"
"It is a pity you should waste your time," said Queen Beelzebub
sarcastically, "besides you are one who would do honor to our
society."
"Perhaps. But would the society do honor to me?"
"We can give you what you desire, on certain conditions."
"What are they?"
"You must take the oath and sign the book; swear to obey me, who am
the head of this association, without question; promise to be secret,
and give all your talents to forwarding the aims of the Society of
Flies."
"H'm," said Dan coolly, "a very comprehensive oath indeed. And the
aims?"
"Wealth and power. We are banded together to get what we want,
independent of the law, and we think that the end justifies the means.
We accept money from those people who desire to get rid of their
enemies, or of those who stand between them and their desires. We
supply plans of English forts to foreign powers on condition that
large sums are paid to us. We trade on the secrets of people, which we
learn in various ways. If we are asked by any member to get him
something, all the resources of the society are at his disposal.
Rivals can be removed if he wants to marry; relatives can be put out
of the way, if he wishes for their money. There is no height to which
an ambitious man cannot climb with our aid. Join us and you shall
marry Lillian Moon within the year and also shall enjoy her large
fortune."
Desirous to learn more of the villainies with which this precious band
of scoundrels were concerned, Dan temporized. "And if I refuse?"
"You will be put to death!"
"Now? At this very moment?" Dan's blood ran cold, for, after all, he
was yet young, and life was sweet to him.
"No. You will be allowed to go, and death shall fall upon you when you
least expect it. Thus your agony will be great, for death may find you
to-morrow, or in a week, a month, or a year. We are not afraid you
will tell the police, for if you do it will only hasten your end.
Besides, you do not know where you are, and shall be taken away as
secretly as you have been brought here. The Law cannot touch us,
because we work under ground like moles, and even if you told the
police, your story of what has happened would only be laughed at. The
police," here the voice sneered, "think everything is known and refuse
to believe that we exist."
"Well," said Dan, as if making up his mind, "can I ever leave the
society if I once join it?"
"Yes," said Queen Beelzebub unexpectedly, "when you take the oath you
must swear to be sober, chaste, and secret, since these qualities are
needed to keep a member in good working trim. A certain amount of work
you must do in connection with our aims, so that you dare not speak
without being implicated in our doings. But, after a time, you can
leave with money, position, or power--whatever you desire, and then
can lead your own life, however profligate it may be. But while a
member you must be a saint."
"A black saint," murmured Dan, wondering at the solid ground upon
which this association was founded, and thinking how dangerous it
could be with its misdirected aims, "well, I don't say 'No' and I
don't say 'Yes.' I must have time to think what my answer will be."
"You shall have one month to consider, and then you shall be brought
here secretly again," said Queen Beelzebub authoritatively, "but you
will be wise if you join us. We wish you to do so because you have
brains, and we want brains. Our society will rule the world if we get
clever men to join, as the training of our members in sobriety,
chastity, self-control, and secrecy is that of the so-called saints."
"I see," said Dan cheerfully, "the Lord's Prayer said backward,
so to speak, your Majesty. Well, the whole business is clever, and
extremely well managed as I can see. I shall take my month's respite,
and then----"
"And then if you say 'Yes,' you will have all that the world can give
you; if you say 'No,' prepare for death."
A murmur, vague and indistinct, went round the dark room. "Prepare for
death."
"And if I speak to the police in the meantime?" asked Dan yawning.
"You have been warned that if you do, death will follow immediately,"
declared Queen Beelzebub, "no human law can protect you from us.
Enough has been said, and you have thirty days to decide what to do."
As she spoke, the red light vanished as abruptly as it had come. Dan
could only hear the steady breathing of many people in the gloom, and
wondered how many members of this devilish society were present.
At that moment, and while the thought was yet in his mind, he felt
that a pastil was being held under his nose. The drowsy scent stole
into his brain, although he tried to avert his head, and almost
immediately he became again unconscious. Again he fell into gulfs of
gloom, and remembered nothing. When he recovered his senses, he was
seated in a four wheeler, driving in an unknown direction, and he was
alone. His head ached, but he struck a match and looked at his watch.
It was eleven o'clock.
"Where did you find me?" he asked the cabman, putting his head out of
the window, and noticing that he was in a well-lighted street.
"A friend of yours brought you to my cab," said the man, "saying you
was drunk--dead drunk. He gave me your address, and I'm taking you
home."
"Clever," said Dan to himself, accepting the explanation without
comment.