II

Somewhat to my surprise, just as I was about to start, Lawrence Jackson

called. Jackson is an invertebrate, lymphatic creature, of whose mental

equipment I have no opinion at all. How he ever brought himself to

belong to such an organisation as the Thirteen Club was to me a

mystery. I had not quite finished dressing when he arrived. When I

entered the room I found him fidgeting in his usual purposeless way

from chair to chair, and from table to table. I noticed at once that

his shirt front was creased; a sure sign, in a man of his class, of

cerebral disturbance. He rushed to me as I entered, gazing at me

through his eyeglass.

"Now that I have come I don't know what to say to you, you are such an

enthusiastic upholder of the club."

I was not so sure of that myself. Though I was aware that such an idea

was current among certain of its members. To use what I believe is an

Americanism--in my reply I sat on the fence.

"In its President what would you expect?"

"Quite so! quite so! I suppose it is all right?"

"All right? Jackson? What do you mean?"

"In going on as we are going on we're doing nothing wrong, running no

unwise risks, or that kind of thing?" As I had been putting a similar

inquiry to myself I was without an answer. When I turned away he broke

out, in agitated accents, "Short, I've come to warn you!"

"To warn me, Jackson?"

"Whatever you do, don't ride in a cab drawn by a white horse."

"Why?"

"Don't ask me, but don't! Don't walk under a ladder when there's a

red-haired woman looking on."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't take the last piece of bread and butter off a plate."

"I never did such a thing in my life."

"Above all, don't sleep in a house in which there is a man with one leg

shorter than the other."

"Jackson, occupying the position which I hold, which we both hold, I am

surprised to hear you speak in such a strain."

"I knew you would be, but I can't help it. I suppose we're not allowed

to believe in dreams?"

"Several of the rules are aimed at that particular form of foolish

credulity."

"Foolish, is it? Then all I can say is, that the things I've dreamt

about you during the last night or two have been enough to turn a man's

brain. I've seen you in the most frightful situations, awful. Such

dreams must mean something--they must. Anyhow, Mrs Jackson insisted on

my giving you warning. She believes in everything."

"In a woman, Jackson, that sort of thing is excusable. We, as men, know

better."

"If she knew that I was going to this--this flare-up I don't know what

she would do. She'd expect to see me brought home dead on a shutter. I

do hope no harm will come of it all."

"My dear Jackson, it is time to start. Suppose we have a glass of

sherry before we go."

"It would brace us up."

I cannot say why he supposed that I required bracing up. Though his

need was plain enough. As we drove to the Coliseum--I noticed, quite by

accident, that the cab horse was not white--he entertained me with

conversation of a kind to which I had a strong objection.

"I suppose that when thirteen people sit down to dinner, it's the one

who rises first who dies within the year. Of course, as President

you'll do that." Would I? we should see. "I have heard that if all rise

together all are marked for death. I'll see that nothing of that sort

happens, because I'll take particularly good care that I sit tight. I

don't want to leave my wife a widow, and--and my children." His tone

became lugubrious. "Not that I shall get much good by sitting tight,

because I had an aunt who used to have it that it was the one who

remained last at table who died. Mrs Jackson maintains that when

thirteen people dine together the consequences are such that those who

don't die within the year wish they could. Which is a cheerful way of

looking at the thing."

It was. More than once during the drive I was on the point of informing

Jackson that if he did not divert his conversation into different

channels I should be moved to take the extreme step of throwing him out

of the cab. By the time we reached the restaurant my depression had

increased to what I felt must be a visible extent.

As the hansom drew up at the door the horse slipped. It was only by

something in the shape of a miracle that the vehicle escaped being

overturned. For a second I certainly thought that we were over. I was

in a state of tremulous agitation.

"Ah," sighed Jackson, when at last we stood upon the pavement, "that's

a precursor of what's to come. If we were sensible men we should act

upon the warning, and go and have a chop together round the corner. I

feel as if a grim, relentless fate was marching me to execution."

It was with no pleasurable anticipations that we approached the feast

which had been prepared for us. My own impression is that if it had not

been for the attendants we might have acted on Jackson's suggestion and

dined upon a chop. A uniformed individual, advancing with what he

possibly intended to be an ingratiating smile, murmured,--

"Thirteen Club, gentlemen?"

I do not know why he took it for granted that we belonged to an

association of the kind. It is hardly probable that we bore the fact

upon our faces. There were other persons coming to the establishment to

dine to whom he did not address a similar inquiry; persons who looked

quite as likely to belong to such an organisation as we did.

As we were being ushered up the stairs we encountered Boulter, Tom

Boulter, who had apparently arrived just in front of us. He regarded me

with what I felt to be a doubtful eye.

"Feeling peckish?" he cried.

"Well, I can't say that I do--very. Do you?"

The tone of his reply was decidedly emphatic.

"Not likely. Wish I hadn't come. I've a lot of delicate things on hand

just now and want all the luck I can get, instead of fooling it away on

a silly show of this kind."

Boulter is a member of the Stock Exchange. I understood him to be

referring to speculations in which he was at that time engaged. The

reference touched me on a tender spot. The shares of a company in which

I was interested had fallen three-quarters that very morning. Suppose I

discovered to-morrow that they had dropped another three-quarters, I

should feel that the fall was of the nature of a visitation. If, by a

sort of sympathetic consequence, all my investments were to become

depressed, what would my emotions be?

We were shown into a room which was in partial darkness. Gardiner came

forward and gripped me by the hand.

"What," I inquired, "is the matter with the light?"

"My dear Short, what a question. Evil fortune is supposed to lurk in

shadows. It is our end and aim to laugh at all such fancies."

As I was about to observe that that was no reason why we should be

driven to tread upon each other's toes, to my surprise he made quite a

speech to the assembled company.

"Mr President and Gentlemen of the Thirteen Club,--We are all arrived

and will now proceed to partake of that hilarious banquet which has

been specially designed to enable us to express our scorn and contempt

for those ridiculous superstitions which have bound our ancestors about

as with swaddling clothes. We will show that we have risen superior to

those foolish traditions, the fear of which haunted them by day and

kept them awake at night. By way of making our position quite plain we

will commence by doing something the mere thought of which would have

made our great-grandmothers shiver and shake. A mirror will be handed

to each of you. As you pass into the dining-room you will dash it to

the ground with sufficient force to shatter it to fragments,

exclaiming, as you do so, 'So much for the bad luck a broken mirror is

supposed to bring!' It will be to begin as we intend to go on."

My own mother used to lay stress on the bad fortune which attends the

fracturing of a mirror. It was with sensations almost amounting to

dismay that I heard Gardiner's cold-blooded announcement of his

determination to compel me, among others, to treat my mother's feelings

with what was really equivalent to filial disrespect. Something of the

kind, I am convinced, was nearly general, and would have found

utterance, had not the man Finlayson stifled any attempt at

remonstrance by bustling about and forcing each of us to take a small

round mirror, which was without a frame. At the same time Gardiner,

putting his hand upon my shoulder, actually impelled me towards a door

leading to an inner room.

"I must protest--" I began.

But he cut me short, pretending to misunderstand what I was about to

say.

"In one instant so you shall. You shall be the first to break your

mirror, as you suggested."

"As I suggested!"

"Only give us time, and all your suggestions shall be acted on. You

will find, my dear Short, if you will only have a little patience, that

the whole affair has been planned on the lines which you yourself laid

down. Gentlemen, Mr Augustus Short, as our President, will lead the

way."

I do not know exactly what happened. I fancy that Gardiner jerked my

arm, anyhow, the mirror slipped from my grasp, and although I certainly

did not "dash" it to the ground, directly it touched the floor it was

shivered into fragments with quite an extraordinary amount of noise. My

conviction is that those mirrors were specially and artfully arranged

to smash with a kind of explosion directly they came into contact with

a resisting substance. I caught myself stammering, while I was still

bewildered by the din the thing had made,--

"So much for the bad luck a broken mirror is supposed to bring!"

I have a vague idea that the others did as I had done, but my

impressions were of such a variegated hue that for some seconds I

hardly knew what was taking place. I found myself in an apartment the

lights of which were shaded by globes of a peculiarly ghastly green.

The walls were hung in black. Mottoes sprawled across them. I noted

two, "The Thirteen Club laughs at luck." "Down with all Omens." There

was a table in the centre shrouded in the same funereal shade. One

presumed that it was laid for dinner. But the articles upon it were of

such an unusual sort, and were arranged in such fantastic forms, that

the thing was but presumption. Gardiner, however, did what I suppose he

considered his best to make the matter clear.

"I think, Mr President and Gentlemen, you will agree with me that this

is a fitting environment for such a function as the inaugural dinner of

the Thirteen Club."

I, for one, disagreed with him entirely. But at that instant I found

myself without the capacity to say so. To be frank, the look of the

whole thing had surprised me into speechlessness. Gardiner went on in a

tone of voice which suggested that he was enjoying himself immensely.

If that were the case then I am convinced that he in his enjoyment was

singular.

"We find ourselves surrounded by the proverbial attributes of gloom.

The lighting is uncanny, it lends to us all the attributes of sick

men. The walls and tables are decked with the traditional trappings of

the tomb. The only ornaments upon the festive board are skeletons,

cross-bones, and skulls. You will notice that the knives are crossed.

The drinking cups are of funereal ebony. Beside each chair is a black

cat in a black wicker cage."

That explained the peculiar sounds which were arising. Most of those

cats were objecting to the position in which Gardiner had placed them.

"So far as we have been able, Mr Finlayson and I have spared no pains

to provide a harmonious whole. Without self-conceit we are conscious

that we have made just those arrangements for you which you would have

wished to have made for yourselves. It only remains for the Thirteen

Club to show that it can be gay and light-hearted even among

surroundings the most forbidding. To your seats!" Gardiner bundled me

to mine. "One little ceremony still has to be performed. Each will find

in front of him a salt-cellar full of salt. Take it between your right

finger and thumb and spill the contents on the board."

He forced what I perceived to be a salt-cellar between my fingers,

then, giving my wrist a twist, he compelled me to upset it. I objected,

strongly, to the unceremonious manner in which he persisted in making

me behave as if I were an automaton. Moreover, I thought of Adeline's

view on the subject of the spilling of salt.

"This is beyond a joke," I exclaimed.

"Beyond a joke!" he echoed. "I should think it was. It's a challenge

from the Thirteen Club to the gnomes and goblins of Demon Fortune to

come on and do their worst. One word as regards the waiters. We have

been at some trouble to select notoriously bad characters, most of them

with crime-stained hands. The costume is a little notion of my own.

Waiters!"

There was a rustling behind us. From under the sombre hangings

which screened the wall there appeared a number of the most

forbidding-looking figures I ever beheld. They were enveloped from head

to foot in some shiny material which was red as blood. Slits were cut

for their eyes, nose, and mouth. Beyond that there was nothing to show

that the creatures within were men. The sight of them made me

positively uneasy. Especially after Gardiner's allusion to "notoriously

bad characters" and "crime-stained hands." Had I anticipated anything

of that sort I certainly should not have come.

"Another observation," he continued, in that strident voice which

grated more and more upon my ears, "I would ask to be permitted to make

before you fall to the feast with that appetite which, I am well aware,

grows every instant sharper." Did it? That was decidedly not the case

with mine. "Referring to the menu, I would beg of you to bestow on it a

little careful study, and then to tell me if you are not of opinion

that it is a masterpiece from the point of view of its suitability to

this unique occasion. The conception, I hasten to add, is again my very

own."

I glanced at the menu card which a small white skeleton thrust out

towards me in its attenuated hand. This is what I read:--

MENU OF THE INAUGURAL DINNER

OF THE THIRTEEN CLUB.

_Potages_.

Consommé Tete de Mort.

Crème d'Entrepreneurs des Pompes Funebres;

_Poissons_.

Soles a la Pierre Tumulaire.

Saumon, Sauce Fossoyeur.

_Entrees_.

Ris de Veau au Jus Mortuaire.

Pajasky de Volaille en Cercueil.

_Releves_.

Quartier d'Agneau Roti, Sauce Cadavre.

Boeuf Braisé aux Revenants.

_Legumes_.

Pommes de Terre Meurtriere.

Petits Pois Nouveaux a la Suicide.

_Rotis_.

Canetons Rotis a la memoire de la Fin de Touts.

Salade des Espoirs Evanouis.

_Entremets_.

Savarin au Cimetiere.

Parfait Woking.

Gateaux Kensal Green.

My knowledge of French is, in a manner of speaking, limited. It was

only after some moments' consideration that the monstrous nature of the

thing began to dawn on me. Was it possible that we were supposed to eat

food prepared in such fashions as the menu suggested? What connection

could sweetbreads have with "mortuary juice," and potatoes with murder?

What were "tombstone" soles, and "gravedigger" sauce? The allusions to

"Woking" and "Kensal Green," at a dinner-table, in association with

sweets, was enough to destroy one's appetite entirely. Was the

intention to hint that the dishes so named would send us there? One

shuddered at the thought.

I had not yet succeeded in realising the full horror of this final

outrage when one of the gruesomely-attired figures which it had been

Gardiner's humour to provide as waiters planted itself at my side. A

voice issued from one of the slits in the scarlet envelope, deep,

harsh, threatening, addressing me as if presenting a pistol at my head,

and demanding my money or my life.

"Death's Head Soup, or Cream of Undertakers?"

The question so startled me that I nearly jumped out of my chair. What

could the creature mean? A glance at the card which I was holding

showed that the reference was to the first two dishes on the bill of

fare. He was asking which of them I wished to have. I felt as if I were

on the point of choking. The same inquiry, uttered, as it seemed to me,

in the same sinister accents, came in a chorus from all round the

table.

Silence followed. Then a voice was heard which I recognised as Tom

Boulter's.

"Excuse me, Gardiner, but if you don't mind I think I'll slip round to

a tripe shop I know and dine off a saveloy. I've heard a saveloy

described as a 'bag of mystery'; but, anyhow, it can hardly be more

mysterious than 'cream of undertakers.'"

"Personally I never eat a dish of which I know nothing--never. And it's

outrageous--simply outrageous--that we should be expected to play

tricks with our digestion by attempting to eat such--such extraordinary

things."

This was James Rutherford, whose one hobby is what he calls "dieting"

himself. What he would think of such a bill of fare I could dimly

fancy. Lawrence Jackson spoke next. Judging from his tone he was on the

verge of tears. He is a man who is easily moved in the direction of the

melancholic.

"It isn't only what there is to eat. It's everything. Making us sit in

a chamber of horrors, with a possible murderer behind your chair, and a

green light always makes me ill. If I stay here much longer I shall

have to be carried out, I know I shall. I was far from well when I

came. Each second I'm growing worse. What my wife would say if she were

here I do not dare to think."

"If this is a Thirteen Club dinner I'm off it. Stomach's turned."

I am thankful to say that this distinctly vulgar remark was made by a

person who was a perfect stranger to me. A remark which was immediately

afterwards made by the man Finlayson transfixed me with astonishment.

"I must own that I think our President's carried the whole thing a

little too far."