The Seven Dials mystery
"You can't, my lady. And it's getting late, too. The cooks will be here
any minute now."
"Mr. Mosgo-what-not doesn't come till later, I suppose?"
"He's never here much before midnight. But, oh, my lady--"
"Don't talk so much, Alfred," said Bundle. "Get that tray. If you stay
here arguing, you _will_ get into trouble."
Doing what is familiarly known as "wringing his hands," Alfred
departed. Presently he returned with a tray, and having by now realized
that his protests were useless, he worked with a nervous energy quite
surprising.
As Bundle had seen, the shelves were easily detachable. She took them
down, ranged them upright against the wall, and then stepped in.
"H'm," she remarked. "Pretty narrow. It's going to be a tight fit. Shut
the door on me carefully, Alfred--that's right. Yes, it can be done.
Now I want a gimlet."
"A gimlet, my lady?"
"That's what I said."
"I don't know--"
"Nonsense, you must have a gimlet--perhaps you've got an auger as well.
If you haven't got what I want, you'll have to go out and buy it, so
you'd better try hard to find the right thing."
Alfred departed and returned presently with quite a creditable
assortment of tools. Bundle seized what she wanted and proceeded
swiftly and efficiently to bore a small hole at the level of her
right eye. She did this from the outside so that it should be less
noticeable, and she dared not make it too large lest it should attract
attention.
"There, that'll do," she remarked at last.
"Oh! but, my lady, my lady--"
"Yes?"
"But they'll find you--if they should open the door."
"They won't open the door," said Bundle, "because you are going to lock
it and take the key away."
"And if by chance Mr. Mosgorovsky should ask for the key?"
"Tell him it's lost," said Bundle briskly. "But nobody's going to worry
about this cupboard--it's only here to attract attention from the other
one and make a pair. Go on, Alfred, someone might come at any time.
Lock me in and take the key and come and let me out when everyone's
gone."
"You'll be taken bad, my lady. You'll faint--"
"I never faint," said Bundle. "But you might as well get me a cocktail.
I shall certainly need it. Then lock the door of the room again--don't
forget--and take all the door keys back to their proper doors. And,
Alfred--don't be too much of a rabbit. Remember, if anything goes
wrong, I'll see you through."
"And that's that," said Bundle to herself when, having served the
cocktail, Alfred had finally departed.
She was not nervous lest Alfred's nerve should fail and he should
give her away. She knew that his sense of self-preservation was far
too strong for that. His training alone helped him to conceal private
emotions beneath the mask of the well-trained servant.
Only one thing worried Bundle. The interpretation she had chosen to put
upon the cleaning of the room that morning might be all wrong. And if
so--Bundle sighed in the narrow confines of the cupboard. The prospect
of spending long hours in it for nothing was not attractive.
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?"