I call upon Numbers Twelve and Thirty-four to undertake this agreeable
task. They will attend me in my office for their instructions after the
meeting. Will the Numbers I have named kindly signify that they are
able and willing to perform this duty?"
Two hands were raised in salute. The President continued, looking at
his watch:
"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your partners for the next dance."
The gramophone struck up again. Rogers turned to a girl near him in
a red dress. She nodded, and they slipped into the movement of a
fox-trot. The couples gyrated solemnly and in silence. Their shadows
were flung against the blinds as they turned and stepped to and fro.
"What has happened?" breathed the girl in a whisper, scarcely moving
her lips. "I'm frightened, aren't you? I feel as if something awful was
going to happen."
"It does take one a bit short, the President's way of doing things,"
agreed Rogers, "but it's safer like that."
"Those poor men----"
A dancer, turning and following on their heels, touched Rogers on the
shoulder.
"No talking, please," he said. His eyes gleamed sternly; he twirled his
partner into the middle of the crowd and was gone. The girl shuddered.
The gramophone stopped. There was a burst of clapping. The dancers
again clustered before the President's seat.
"Ladies and gentlemen. You may wonder why this extraordinary meeting
has been called. The reason is a serious one. The failure of our recent
attempt was no accident. The police were not on the premises that night
by chance. We have a traitor among us."
Partners who had been standing close together fell distrustfully apart.
Each member seemed to shrink, as a snail shrinks from the touch of a
finger.
"You will remember the disappointing outcome of the Dinglewood affair,"
went on the President, in his harsh voice. "You may recall other
smaller matters which have not turned out satisfactorily. All these
troubles have been traced to their origin. I am happy to say that our
minds can now be easy. The offender has been discovered and will be
removed. There will be no more mistakes. The misguided member who
introduced the traitor to our Society will be placed in a position
where his lack of caution will have no further ill-effects. There is no
cause for alarm."
Every eye roved about the company, searching for the traitor and his
unfortunate sponsor. Somewhere beneath the black masks a face must have
turned white; somewhere under the stifling velvet there must have been
a brow sweating, not with the heat of the dance. But the masks hid
everything.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your partners for the next dance."
The gramophone struck into an old and half-forgotten tune: "There ain't
nobody loves me." The girl in red was claimed by a tall mask in evening
dress. A hand laid on Roger's arm made him start. A small, plump woman
in a green jumper slipped a cold hand into his. The dance went on.
When it stopped, amid the usual applause, everyone stood, detached,
stiffened in expectation. The President's voice was raised again.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please behave naturally. This is a dance, not a
public meeting."
Rogers led his partner to a chair and fetched her an ice. As he stooped
over her, he noticed the hurried rise and fall of her bosom.
"Ladies and gentlemen." The endless interval was over. "You will no
doubt wish to be immediately relieved from suspense. I will name the
persons involved. Number Thirty-seven!"
A man sprang up with a fearful, strangled cry.
"Silence!"
The wretch choked and gasped.
"I never--I swear I never--I'm innocent."
"Silence. You have failed in discretion. You will be dealt with. If you
have anything to say in defence of your folly, I will hear it later.
Sit down."
Number Thirty-seven sank down upon a chair. He pushed his handkerchief
under the mask to wipe his face. Two tall men closed in upon him. The
rest fell back, feeling the recoil of humanity from one stricken by
mortal disease.
The gramophone struck up.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I will now name the traitor. Number Twenty-one,
stand forward."
Rogers stepped forward. The concentrated fear and loathing of
forty-eight pairs of eyes burned upon him. The miserable Jukes set up a
fresh wail.
"Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"
"Silence! Number Twenty-one, take off your mask."
The traitor pulled the thick covering from his face. The intense hatred
of the eyes devoured him.
"Number Thirty-seven, this man was introduced here by you, under the
name of Joseph Rogers, formerly second footman in the service of the
Duke of Denver, dismissed for pilfering. Did you take steps to verify
that statement?"
"I did--I did! As God's my witness, it was all straight. I had him
identified by two of the servants. I made enquiries. The tale was
straight--I'll swear it was."
The President consulted a paper before him, then he looked at his watch
again.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your partners...."
Number Twenty-one, his arms twisted behind him and bound, and his
wrists hand-cuffed, stood motionless, while the dance of doom circled
about him. The clapping, as it ended, sounded like the clapping of the
men and women who sat, thirsty-lipped, beneath the guillotine.
"Number Twenty-one, your name has been given as Joseph Rogers, footman,
dismissed for theft. Is that your real name?"
"No."
"What is your name?"
"Peter Death Bredon Wimsey."
"We thought you were dead."
"Naturally. You were intended to think so."
"What has become of the genuine Joseph Rogers?"
"He died abroad. I took his place. I may say that no real blame
attaches to your people for not having realised who I was. I not only
took Roger's place; I _was_ Rogers. Even when I was alone, I walked
like Rogers, I sat like Rogers, I read Rogers's books, and wore
Rogers's clothes. In the end, I almost thought Rogers's thoughts. The
only way to keep up a successful impersonation is never to relax."
"I see. The robbery of your own flat was arranged?"
"Obviously."
"The robbery of the Dowager Duchess, your mother, was connived at by
you?"
"It was. It was a very ugly tiara--no real loss to anybody with decent
taste. May I smoke, by the way?"
"You may not. Ladies and gentlemen...."
The dance was like the mechanical jigging of puppets. Limbs jerked,
feet faltered. The prisoner watched with an air of critical detachment.
"Numbers Fifteen, Twenty-two and Forty-nine. You have watched the
prisoner. Has he made any attempts to communicate with anybody?"
"None." Number Twenty-two was the spokesman. "His letters and parcels
have been opened, his telephone tapped, and his movements followed. His
water-pipes have been under observation for Morse signals."
"You are sure of what you say?"
"Absolutely."
"Prisoner, have you been alone in this adventure? Speak the truth, or
things will be made somewhat more unpleasant for you than they might
otherwise be."
"I have been alone. I have taken no unnecessary risks."
"It may be so. It will, however, be as well that steps should be taken
to silence the man at Scotland Yard--what is his name?--Parker. Also
the prisoner's manservant, Mervyn Bunter, and possibly also his mother
and sister. The brother is a stupid oaf, and not, I think, likely to
have been taken into the prisoner's confidence. A precautionary watch
will, I think, meet the necessities of his case."
The prisoner appeared, for the first time, to be moved.
"Sir, I assure you that my mother and sister know nothing which could
possibly bring danger on the Society."
"You should have thought of their situation earlier. Ladies and
gentlemen, please take----"
"No--no!" Flesh and blood could endure the mockery no longer. "No!
Finish with him. Get it over. Break up the meeting. It's dangerous. The
police----"
"Silence!"
The President glanced round at the crowd. It had a dangerous look about
it. He gave way.
"Very well. Take the prisoner away and silence him. He will receive
Number 4 treatment. And be sure you explain it to him carefully first."
"Ah!"
The eyes expressed a wolfish satisfaction. Strong hands gripped
Wimsey's arms.
"One moment--for God's sake let me die decently."
"You should have thought this over earlier. Take him away. Ladies and
gentlemen, be satisfied--he will not die quickly."
"Stop! Wait!" cried Wimsey desperately. "I have something to say. I
don't ask for life--only for a quick death. I--I have something to
sell."
"To sell?"
"Yes."
"We make no bargains with traitors."
"No--but listen! Do you think I have not thought of this? I am not so
mad. I have left a letter."
"Ah! now it is coming. A letter. To whom?"
"To the police. If I do not return to-morrow----"
"Well?"
"The letter will be opened."
"Sir," broke in Number Fifteen. "This is bluff. The prisoner has not
sent any letter. He has been strictly watched for many months."
"Ah! but listen. I left the letter before I came to Lambeth."
"Then it can contain no information of value."
"Oh, but it does."
"What?"
"The combination of my safe."
"Indeed? Has this man's safe been searched?"
"Yes, sir."
"What did it contain?"
"No information of importance, sir. An outline of our organisation--the
name of this house--nothing that cannot be altered and covered before
morning."
Wimsey smiled.
"Did you investigate the inner compartment of the safe?"
There was a pause.
"You hear what he says," snapped the President sharply. "Did you find
this inner compartment?"
"There was no inner compartment, sir. He is trying to bluff."
"I hate to contradict you," said Wimsey, with an effort at his ordinary
pleasant tone, "but I really think you must have overlooked the inner
compartment."
"Well," said the President, "and what do you say is in this inner
compartment, if it does exist?"
"The names of every member of this Society, with their addresses,
photographs, and finger-prints."
"What?"
The eyes round him now were ugly with fear. Wimsey kept his face
steadily turned towards the President.
"How do you say you have contrived to get this information?"
"Well, I have been doing a little detective work on my own, you know."
"But you have been watched."
"True. The finger-prints of my watchers adorn the first page of the
collection."
"This statement can be proved?"
"Certainly. I will prove it. The name of Number Fifty, for example----"
"Stop!"
A fierce muttering arose. The President silenced it with a gesture.
"If you mention names here, you will certainly have no hope of mercy.
There is a fifth treatment--kept specially for people who mention
names. Bring the prisoner to my office. Keep the dance going."
The President took an automatic from his hip-pocket and faced his
tightly fettered prisoner across the desk.
"Now speak!" he said.
"I should put that thing away, if I were you," said Wimsey
contemptuously. "It would be a much pleasanter form of death than
treatment Number 5, and I might be tempted to ask for it."
"Ingenious," said the President, "but a little too ingenious. Now, be
quick; tell me what you know."
"Will you spare me if I tell you?"
"I make no promises. Be quick."
Wimsey shrugged his bound and aching shoulders.
"Certainly. I will tell you what I know. Stop me when you have heard
enough."
He leaned forward and spoke low. Overhead the noise of the gramophone
and the shuffling of feet bore witness that the dance was going on.
Stray passers-by crossing the Heath noted that the people in the lonely
house were making a night of it again.
* * * * *
"Well," said Wimsey, "am I to go on?"
From beneath the mask the President's voice sounded as though he were
grimly smiling.
"My lord," he said, "your story fills me with regret that you are
not, in fact, a member of our Society. Wit, courage, and industry are
valuable to an association like ours. I fear I cannot persuade you?
No--I supposed not."
He touched a bell on his desk.
"Ask the members kindly to proceed to the supper-room," he said to the
mask who entered.
The "supper-room" was on the ground-floor, shuttered and curtained.
Down its centre ran a long, bare table, with chairs set about it.
"A Barmecide feast, I see," said Wimsey pleasantly. It was the first
time he had seen this room. At the far end, a trap-door in the floor
gaped ominously.
The President took the head of the table.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, as usual--and the foolish courtesy
had never sounded so sinister--"I will not conceal from you the
seriousness of the situation. The prisoner has recited to me more than
twenty names and addresses which were thought to be unknown, except to
their owners and to me. There has been great carelessness"--his voice
rang harshly--"which will have to be looked into. Finger-prints have
been obtained--he has shown me the photographs of some of them. How our
investigators came to overlook the inner door of this safe is a matter
which calls for enquiry."
"Don't blame them," put in Wimsey. "It was meant to be overlooked, you
know. I made it like that on purpose."
The President went on, without seeming to notice the interruption.
"The prisoner informs me that the book with the names and addresses is
to be found in this inner compartment, together with certain letters
and papers stolen from the houses of members, and numerous objects
bearing authentic finger-prints. I believe him to be telling the truth.
He offers the combination of the safe in exchange for a quick death. I
think the offer should be accepted. What is your opinion, ladies and
gentlemen?"
"The combination is known already," said Number Twenty-two.
"Imbecile! This man has told us, and has proved to me, that he is
Lord Peter Wimsey. Do you think he will have forgotten to alter the
combination? And then there is the secret of the inner door. If he
disappears to-night and the police enter his house----"
"I say," said a woman's rich voice, "that the promise should be given
and the information used--and quickly. Time is getting short."
A murmur of agreement went round the table.
"You hear," said the President, addressing Wimsey. "The Society offers
you the privilege of a quick death in return for the combination of the
safe and the secret of the inner door."
"I have your word for it?"
"You have."
"Thank you. And my mother and sister?"
"If you in your turn will give us your word--you are a man of
honour--that these women know nothing that could harm us, they shall be
spared."
"Thank you, sir. You may rest assured, upon my honour, that they know
nothing. I should not think of burdening any woman with such dangerous
secrets--particularly those who are dear to me."
"Very well. It is agreed--yes?"
The murmur of assent was given, though with less readiness than before.
"Then I am willing to give you the information you want. The word of
the combination is UNRELIABILITY."
"And the inner door?"
"In anticipation of the visit of the police, the inner door--which
might have presented difficulties--is open."
"Good! You understand that if the police interfere with our
messenger----"
"That would not help me, would it?"
"It is a risk," said the President thoughtfully, "but a risk which I
think we must take. Carry the prisoner down to the cellar. He can amuse
himself by contemplating apparatus Number 5. In the meantime, Numbers
Twelve and Forty-six----"
"No, no!"
A sullen mutter of dissent arose and swelled threateningly.
"No," said a tall man with a voice like treacle. "No--why should any
members be put in possession of this evidence? We have found one
traitor among us to-night and more than one fool. How are we to know
that Numbers Twelve and Forty-six are not fools and traitors also?"
The two men turned savagely upon the speaker, but a girl's voice struck
into the discussion, high and agitated.
"Hear, hear! That's right, I say. How about us? We ain't going to have
our names read by somebody we don't know nothing about. I've had enough
of this. They might sell the 'ole lot of us to the narks."
"I agree," said another member. "Nobody ought to be trusted, nobody at
all."
The President shrugged his shoulders.
"Then what, ladies and gentlemen, do you suggest?"
There was a pause. Then the same girl shrilled out again:
"I say Mr. President oughter go himself. He's the only one as knows
all the names. It won't be no cop to him. Why should we take all the
risk and trouble and him sit at home and collar the money? Let him go
himself, that's what I say."
A long rustle of approbation went round the table.
"I second that motion," said a stout man who wore a bunch of gold
seals at his fob. Wimsey smiled as he looked at the seals; it was that
trifling vanity which had led him directly to the name and address of
the stout man, and he felt a certain affection for the trinkets on that
account.
The President looked round.
"It is the wish of the meeting, then, that I should go?" he said, in an
ominous voice.
Forty-five hands were raised in approbation. Only the woman known as
Number Two remained motionless and silent, her strong white hands
clenched on the arm of the chair.
The President rolled his eyes slowly round the threatening ring till
they rested upon her.
"Am I to take it that this vote is unanimous?" he enquired.
The woman raised her head.
"Don't go," she gasped faintly.
"You hear," said the President, in a faintly derisive tone. "This lady
says, don't go."
"I submit that what Number Two says is neither here nor there," said
the man with the treacly voice. "Our own ladies might not like us to be
going, if they were in madam's privileged position." His voice was an
insult.
"Hear, hear!" cried another man. "This is a democratic society, this
is. We don't want no privileged classes."
"Very well," said the President. "You hear, Number Two. The feeling
of the meeting is against you. Have you any reasons to put forward in
favour of your opinion?"
"A hundred. The President is the head and soul of our Society. If
anything should happen to him--where should we be? You"--she swept the
company magnificently with her eyes--"you have all blundered. We have
your carelessness to thank for all this. Do you think we should be
safe for five minutes if the President were not here to repair your
follies?"
"Something in that," said a man who had not hitherto spoken.
"Pardon my suggesting," said Wimsey maliciously, "that, as the lady
appears to be in a position peculiarly favourable for the reception
of the President's confidences, the contents of my modest volume will
probably be no news to her. Why should not Number Two go herself?"
"Because I say she must not," said the President sternly, checking the
quick reply that rose to his companion's lips. "If it is the will of
the meeting, I will go. Give me the key of the house."
One of the men extracted it from Wimsey's jacket-pocket and handed it
over.
"Is the house watched?" he demanded of Wimsey.
"No."
"That is the truth?"
"It is the truth."
The President turned at the door.
"If I have not returned in two hours' time," he said, "act for the best
to save yourselves, and do what you like with the prisoner. Number Two
will give orders in my absence."
He left the room. Number Two rose from her seat with a gesture of
command.
"Ladies and gentlemen. Supper is now considered over. Start the dancing
again."
* * * * *
Down in the cellar the time passed slowly, in the contemplation of
apparatus Number 5. The miserable Jukes, alternately wailing and
raving, at length shrieked himself into exhaustion. The four members
guarding the prisoners whispered together from time to time.
"An hour and a half since the President left," said one.
Wimsey glanced up. Then he returned to his examination of the room.
There were many curious things in it, which he wanted to memorise.
Presently the trap-door was flung open. "Bring him up!" cried a voice.
Wimsey rose immediately, and his face was rather pale.
The members of the gang were again seated round the table. Number Two
occupied the President's chair, and her eyes fastened on Wimsey's face
with a tigerish fury, but when she spoke it was with a self-control
which roused his admiration.
"The President has been two hours gone," she said. "What has happened
to him? Traitor twice over--what has happened to him?"
"How should I know?" said Wimsey. "Perhaps he has looked after Number
One and gone while the going was good!"
She sprang up with a little cry of rage, and came close to him.
"Beast! liar!" she said, and struck him on the mouth. "You know he
would never do that. He is faithful to his friends. What have you done
with him? Speak--or I will make you speak. You two, there--bring the
irons. He _shall_ speak!"
"I can only form a guess, madame," replied Wimsey, "and I shall
not guess any the better for being stimulated with hot irons, like
Pantaloon at the circus. Calm yourself, and I will tell you what I
think. I think--indeed, I greatly fear--that Monsieur le Président in
his hurry to examine the interesting exhibits in my safe may, quite
inadvertently, no doubt, have let the door of the inner compartment
close behind him. In which case----"
He raised his eyebrows, his shoulders being too sore for shrugging, and
gazed at her with a limpid and innocent regret.
"What do you mean?"
Wimsey glanced round the circle.
"I think," he said, "I had better begin from the beginning by
explaining to you the mechanism of my safe. It is rather a nice safe,"
he added plaintively. "I invented the idea myself--not the principle of
its working, of course; that is a matter for scientists--but just the
idea of the thing.
"The combination I gave you is perfectly correct as far as it goes. It
is a three-alphabet thirteen-letter lock by Bunn & Fishett--a very good
one of its kind. It opens the outer door, leading into the ordinary
strong-room, where I keep my cash and my Froth Blower's cuff-links and
all that. But there is an inner compartment with two doors, which open
in quite a different manner. The outermost of these two inner doors is
merely a thin steel skin, painted to look like the back of the safe
and fitting closely, so as not to betray any join. It lies in the same
plane as the wall of the room, you understand, so that if you were to
measure the outside and the inside of the safe you would discover no
discrepancy. It opens outwards with an ordinary key, and, as I truly
assured the President, it was left open when I quitted my flat."
"Do you think," said the woman sneeringly, "that the President is so
simple as to be caught in a so obvious trap? He will have wedged open
that inner door undoubtedly."
"Undoubtedly, madame. But the sole purpose of that outer inner door, if
I may so express myself, is to appear to be the only inner door. But
hidden behind the hinge of that door is another door, a sliding panel,
set so closely in the thickness of the wall that you would hardly see
it unless you knew it was there. This door was also left open. Our
revered Number One had nothing to do but to walk straight through into
the inner compartment of the safe, which, by the way, is built into the
chimney of the old basement kitchen, which runs up the house at that
point. I hope I make myself clear?"
"Yes, yes--get on. Make your story short."
Wimsey bowed, and, speaking with even greater deliberation than ever,
resumed:
"Now, this interesting list of the Society's activities, which I have
had the honour of compiling, is written in a very large book--bigger,
even, than Monsieur le Président's ledger which he uses downstairs. (I
trust, by the way, madame, that you have borne in mind the necessity
of putting that ledger in a safe place. Apart from the risk of
investigation by some officious policeman, it would be inadvisable that
any junior member of the Society should get hold of it. The feeling of
the meeting would, I fancy, be opposed to such an occurrence.)"
"It is secure," she answered hastily. "_Mon dieu!_ get on with your
story."
"Thank you--you have relieved my mind. Very good. This big book lies
on a steel shelf at the back of the inner compartment. Just a moment.
I have not described this inner compartment to you. It is six feet
high, three feet wide, and three feet deep. One can stand up in it
quite comfortably, unless one is very tall. It suits me nicely--as you
may see, I am not more than five feet eight and a half. The President
has the advantage of me in height; he might be a little cramped, but
there would be room for him to squat if he grew tired of standing. By
the way, I don't know if you know it, but you have tied me up rather
tightly."