The last of the supper-guests had left Henry's Restaurant, the
commissionaire's whistle was silent. The light laughter and frivolous
adieux of the departing guests seemed to have melted away into a world
somewhere beyond the pale of the unseasonable fog. The little strip of
waste ground adjoining was wrapped in gloom and silence. The exterior
of the bare and deserted chapel, long since unconsecrate, was dull and
lifeless. Inside, however, began the march of strange things. First of
all, the pinprick of light of a tiny electric torch seemed as though it
had risen from the floor, and Hassan, pushing back a trap-door, stepped
into the bare, dusty conventicle. He listened for a moment, then made a
tour of the windows, touched a spring in the wall, and drew down long,
thick blinds. Afterwards he passed between the row of dilapidated
benches and paused at the entrance door. He stooped down, examined the
keyless lock, shook it gently, gazed upwards and downwards as though in
vain search of bolts that were never there. His white teeth gleamed for
a moment in the darkness. He turned away with a little shiver.
"Not my fault," he muttered to himself. "Not my fault."
He listened for a moment intently, as though for footsteps outside. The
disturbance, however, came from the other end of the building. There
was a sharp knocking from the trap-door by which he had ascended. He
touched an electric knob. The place was dimly yet sufficiently
illuminated. He hastened towards the further end of the place and
pulled up the trap-door. A melancholy-looking little procession slowly
emerged. First of all came Joseph, stepping backwards, supporting the
head and shoulders of Graham, still bound and gagged. After him came a
dark, swarthy-faced wine waiter, who supported Graham's feet. Behind
followed Fischer, carrying his silk hat and cane in his hand. He paused
for a moment as he stepped on the floor of the chapel, and brushed the
dust from his trousers.
"You can take out the gag now," he ordered the two men. "There isn't
much shout in him."
They laid him upon a couch, and Joseph obeyed the order. Graham's head
swung helplessly on one side. His eyes opened, however, and he
struggled for consciousness. His lips twitched for a moment. In these
long hours he had almost forgotten the habit of speech. The words, when
they came, sounded strange to him.
"What--where am I? What do you want with me?"
Fischer laid his hat and stick upon a table, on which also stood a
telephone instrument.
"The formula, my young friend," he replied, "for that wonderful
explosive of which you spoke in the lobby."
A sudden accession of nervous strength brought something almost like
passion into the young man's reply, although to himself there still
seemed some unreality in the words which might have come from the walls
or the roof--surely not from his lips.
"I'll see you damned first!"
Fischer smiled. The man was good-looking, in his way, but this was a
pale and ugly smile.
"My request was merely a matter of courtesy," he remarked. "The
difficulty of searching you is not formidable. It would have been
undertaken long ago but for the fact that the restaurant has been
crowded and gags sometimes slip. Besides, there was no hurry. Observe!"
He leaned over Graham, who for the first time struggled furiously but
ineffectually with his bonds. His fingers all the time were straining
towards the inside pocket of his coat. Fischer nodded understandingly.
"Allow me to anticipate you," he said.
With a quick thrust he drew a little handful of papers from the pocket
of his captive. One by one he glanced them through and flung them on to
the floor. As he came towards the end of his search, however, his
expression of confident complacency vanished. His lips shrivelled up a
little, his eyes narrowed. The last folded sheet of paper--a little
perfumed note from Peggy, thanking Sandy for his beautiful roses--he
crumpled fiercely into a little ball. He opened his lips to speak, then
he paused. A new light broke in upon him. The fury had passed from
Sandy Graham's face. In its stead there was an expression of blank
astonishment.
"Where is the formula?" Fischer asked fiercely.
There was no reply. Sandy Graham was still staring at the little pile
of papers upon the floor. Fischer made a brief examination of the other
pockets. Then he stepped back. His voice shook, his face was dark and
malevolent.
"Joseph, Hassan, Jules--listen to me!" he ordered. "Did any one else
enter the musicians' room whilst he was lying in the alcove?"
"Impossible!" Jules declared.
"The door was locked," Hassan murmured.
"Stop!" Joseph exclaimed.
Fischer wheeled round upon him.
"Well?" he exclaimed. "Get on, then. Who?"
Joseph moistened his lips. He was still feeling sore and dizzy, but he
began to see his way.
"You noticed, perhaps," he said, "the American girl--the beautiful
young lady with this guy's friends? She was waiting with the others for
Captain Graham to come down. I saw her go up the stairs. I saw her come
down again, three minutes later."
"Miss Van Teyl?" Fischer exclaimed, with a frown. "You're mad, Joseph!"
The negro laughed grimly.
"Am I!" he retorted. "I tell you this, Master Fischer. She was in
Berlin where I was, and she was at the Embassy every day. She was asked
to leave there. They put her over the frontier into Holland. I knew her
when she came into the restaurant. She's no society young lady, she
ain't! Bet you she was on to the goods."
Fischer hesitated for a moment. The thoughts were chasing one another
through his brain. Then he took up the receiver from the telephone
instrument which stood upon the table.
"1560 Mayfair," he asked in a low tone.
They all stood listening, grouped around Graham's writhing figure.
"Hullo! Is that Claridge's Hotel?" Fischer went on. "I am speaking from
Giro's. Put me through, if you please, to Miss Van Teyl's apartments...
What? Repeat that, will you?... Thank you."
Fischer laid down the receiver. He turned towards the others. He was
breathing a little quickly, and his eyes glittered behind his
gold-rimmed spectacles.
"Miss Van Teyl," he announced, "has left for Tilbury. She is going out
on the _Lapland_ this morning. My God, she's got the formula!"
There was a moment's silence. Joseph was standing by with a wicked look
on his face.
"I saw her slip away," he muttered, "and I watched her come down again.
There was just time."
Fischer turned suddenly to where Graham was lying. He drew a sheet of
writing paper from the rack upon the table, and a pencil from his
pocket. There was an evil and concentrated significance in his tone.
"That formula," he said, "can be written again. I think you had better
write it."
"I'll see you damned first!" was the weak but prompt reply.
Fischer bent a little lower over the prostrate figure, "Look here," he
went on, "we don't run risks like this for nothing. You're better dead
than alive, so far as we are concerned, anyway. We'd planned to take
the formula from you, and you can guess the rest. There are cellars
underneath here into which no one ever goes who matters. Now here's a
chance of life for you. Write down that formula--truthfully, mind--and
we'll discuss the matter of taking your parole."
"See you damned first!" Graham repeated, his voice a little more
tremulous but still convincing.
Fischer stood upright and turned to Jules.
"Get a bottle of brandy and a glass," he ordered.
The man pushed open the trap-door and disappeared. He came back again
in a few moments, with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other.
Fischer poured out some of the cordial and drew a small table up to
Graham's side.
"There," he said, loosening the cord around his left wrist, "drink
that, and think it over. We shall be gone for about ten minutes. If you
change your mind before, ring that little hand-bell. If you have not
changed your mind when we return, it will be the cellars."
"Beasts!" Graham muttered.
Fischer shrugged his shoulders. For a moment he had straightened
himself. His face had softened, but it was in tune with his thoughts.
"I would twist the necks of a million fools like you," he said, "for
the sake of--"
He paused, leaving his sentence uncompleted, and beckoned to the other
men. They followed him through the trap-door and down into the cellars
below. The place was once more silent. Graham rolled from side to side,
drew a long breath, and tugged vainly at his bonds. The effort
overtaxed his strength. He seemed to feel the darkness closing in upon
him, the rushing of the sea in his ears....