When Dan, looking rather pale and sick, presented himself atThe Momentoffice late that same evening, the first question Laurance put to him was relative to the accident. "Was your machine tampered with?" asked Freddy in a breathless manner, and the second almost the door was closed. "No, it wasn't," replied Halliday, sinking with a tired sigh into the nearest chair. "I was making a quick turn and the rudder gave way; I put too great a strain on it, and came fluttering to the ground like a shot partridge. That was a few miles beyond Bedford. However, I had the aeroplane dismounted and packed away in a village close at hand, then after a rest caught the express to St. Pancras. You got my wire?"
"Yes, and I fancied this tumble must be the work of the gang."
"Not a bit of it. My bad flying, that's all. Well, I have lost the race, and the man who flew the Zigzag monoplane has won, though he took his own time in arriving at York. A dashed bad machine I think he had, even though it's come out top for the time being. I'm a bit shaken, and feel sick, but a night's rest will put me square."
"Why didn't you go straight home and get it?" inquired Freddy anxiously, for there was no denying that Dan looked considerably fagged. "I read about this death of Durwin in a late edition of an evening paper, and couldn't rest until I knew the truth. The paper only gave a hint. Tell me what you know." Laurance did so, and then handed Halliday a proof of his article on the subject which was to appear in the morning issue ofThe Moment. He supplemented the same with further information. "I went down to see if there was any scent on the clothes of the corpse," he explained, "it's still at Blackheath, you know, in charge of the Inspector. There's no perfume, anyhow."
"And no fly?"
"No. I asked that the moment I saw Durwin stretched out on the ground. If this crime is the work of the gang, the sign-manual is absent."
"All the same it is the work of the gang, I truly believe," remarked Dan in grim tones. "Durwin has been on the hunt, and very probably, since he discovered the death of Moon first of all, he has been watched. One of the gang got behind him in the crowd, and knifed him in the crush. It would be perfectly easy for the assassin to slip away, without being noticed, since every one was watching the flight of the aeroplanes." Laurance nodded. "I agree with you. But who is the assassin?"
"Well," said Dan reflectively, "I saw Penn on the ground."
"The deuce you did," cried Freddy jumping up, "did he----"
"Don't be in too great a hurry. He seems to me much too nervous a man to handle this job."
"But he belongs to the gang," insisted Laurance sharply. "He has as good as admitted that much by what he said of the perfume."
"Oh, yes, I believe he has something to do with the association, which, by the way, appears to be a kind of joint-stock company, like that one mentioned by Balzac in his story 'Histoire des Treize,' and----"
"Oh, hang your literary references," interrupted Freddy, anxiously pacing the office, "do you believe that Penn struck the blow?"
"No, I don't. The gang must have better men than he to strike."
"Or women," muttered Laurance, thinking of the false Mrs. Brown. "However, since Penn was in the crowd, and is plainly in the secret of the gang, don't you think we ought to tell the Blackheath Inspector about the matter, and also Inspector Tenson, who had charge of the Hampstead crime?"
"No," said Dan, after a pause. "If Penn is arrested and questioned, he will say nothing. As he hinted, he would be killed if he gave away the gang; so as he wouldn't split, when I threatened him on the aeroplane, he certainly won't speak out if questioned by the police. And we haven't got enough evidence to prove his complicity, remember. Better keep silence, Freddy, and let the police fog out this crime alone. Meanwhile, we can look round and keep an eye on Penn." After some argument, Laurance agreed to act as his friend suggested. It was no doubt the wiser course to take no action until absolute proof could be procured that the secretary was a member of the gang. Also, if Penn were arrested, the organization might break up and scatter out of sheer alarm, in which case all the villains would not be caught. Dan deemed it best to work quietly until the whole of the scoundrels could be netted, and to do so it was necessary to preserve silence. Thus it came about that, at the inquest on Durwin, nothing came to light likely to connect this crime with the preceding one. The hint given by Freddy inThe Momentwas not taken, and, indeed, was laughed at. There was neither perfume nor fly on the corpse of the unfortunate man, and consequently no link between Blackheath and Hampstead. An open verdict was brought in, and Durwin was buried without the truth becoming known in any detail. Then a new sensation took up the attention of the public. Nevertheless, both Dan and his friend were convinced that Darwin, having learned too much, had been done to death by the gang for its own safety in the same way as Sir Charles Moon had been put out of the way. They employed a private detective to watch Penn, but gave him no hint that they suspected him in any way. Through Penn, who was the sole person they knew for certain--and on the evidence of the perfume was connected with the gang--they hoped to arrive at the truth, but the time was not yet ripe for questioning him as regarded his nefarious doings. But they kept him well in sight so as to watch the path he took in life. There was no doubt that by following the same they would arrive at a gathering of the dangerous persons, whose association threatened to disintegrate society. As Dan, quoting Balzac's fiction, had observed, it was Ferragus and his fellow-conspirators in a modern setting. Dan, having lost the race, and consequently the £2,000, was short of funds, and Laurance not being rich could not lend him any money. However, the two managed to borrow a certain sum from a grasping money-lender, which supplied the sinews of war for the time being. Halliday had the Vincent aeroplane brought to Blackheath again, and made some money in his usual way by taking various people trips for short distances. Aviation was now quite a Society craze, especially for ladies desirous of a new sensation, so Dan did extremely well. A few months later he intended to attempt a cross-Channel flight, for which a French millionaire was offering a large prize, but in the meantime he got along as best he could. Nothing happened for a week or two likely to stir up the muddy water which concealed the doings of the gang, and there were no new murders. Then Dan took Lillian to a cinematograph exhibition, and made a discovery. Of course Lillian was profoundly grieved that her lover should have lost the race, but comforted herself with the reflection that he was safe. Had she been able, she would have interdicted Dan from trying further flights, especially in the face of the many accidents which were occurring in connection with aviation all over the world. Dan, however, laughed at her fears, and insisted upon continuing his dangerous vocation. Nevertheless, he promised in a moment of tenderness, to give up aviation when he and Lillian were married, though at present affairs in this direction did not look bright. As yet Dan had discovered very little likely to lead to the detection of Moon's assassin, and until that individual was brought to justice, Sir John would never consent to the match. The course of true love in these dark days was by no means running as smoothly as the pair desired. Lord Curberry haunted Sir John Moon's house, and pestered Lillian with undesired attentions until she was openly rude to him. But this did not at all damp his ardor; he merely smiled acidly and continued to send flowers and theatre seats, and lastly articles of jewelry, which she declined to accept. And always Sir John was at her elbow, croaking out what a lucky girl she was to attract the attention of the peer. With her money and his title, to say nothing of his talents, the marriage would be an ideal one. Lillian did not think so, and with the obstinacy of a woman in love with the wrong person, preferred to think of and long for Dan Halliday. More than that, with the connivance of Mrs. Bolstreath, who was heart and soul with the poor suitor, Lillian contrived to meet him at various times, and enjoy herself not a little. On these occasions they were like children let loose from an over-severe nursery. Sometimes Mrs. Bolstreath came as chaperon, and sometimes, knowing that Dan was a gentleman, she allowed them to be together alone, which, naturally, they liked much better. But on the whole, and so that no one might talk, the good-natured smiling woman followed their restless footsteps to restaurants and theatres--matinees that is--even to cinematographs. It was at one of these last entertainments that Dan received a shock. On this particular occasion, Mrs. Bolstreath was not with them, as she had gone shopping in Regent Street. An appointment had been made by her to meet Lillian and Dan at five, when the trio intended to have afternoon-tea in New Bond Street. Meantime, as it was only three o'clock, the lovers had the whole of London to themselves. The day was rather fine, so Lillian proposed to go to the unfashionable spaces of the park, where she was not likely to meet with any acquaintance. Dan was willing, and they walked along Piccadilly in a leisurely manner. Then Lillian stumbled on a biograph theatre, and read the programme. When she saw that a set of pictures represented the aviation ground at Blackheath, and the start for the London to York race, nothing would serve her whim, but that she must go in and see the film. Dan was willing to oblige her, as he also was curious to see himself in a moving-picture. Therefore, they soon found themselves being guided by an attendant with an electric-torch, through the warm darkness of the hall to a couple of well-cushioned seats. The performance was a continuous one, the pictures repeating themselves again and again, so the lovers arrived in the middle of an interesting story of which they did not know the beginning. Anxious to see what had gone before, Lillian exacted a promise from her complaisant swain that they should wait until the repetition. Dan agreed, but reminded her that this delay would mean no walk in the park. "Never mind," said Lillian, slipping her hand into his, under cover of the friendly twilight, "we can stay here until we meet Bolly in New Bond Street; you know I adore cinematographs." "And me also I hope," insinuated Dan, to which the answer was a friendly and very emphatic squeeze. As is usual with such entertainments the pictures were a mixture of comedy and tragedy, so as not to dwell too long on one note. But Lillian, in an impatient mood, waited anxiously for the aviation scenes. These were in due time thrown on the screen, and the girl gave a little cry of pleasure when she saw Dan tinkering at his aeroplane, every gesture being faithfully reproduced. Halliday himself was greatly amused by this resurrection of his doings and felt an odd feeling at coming face to face with himself in this way. But he started, greatly surprised, for in front of the crowd and disproportionately large, in comparison with the rest of the figures, he beheld the massive form of Mrs. Jarsell moving across the illuminated picture. She even paused to look round at someone in the mob, so he had a distinct front view of her powerful face. There could be no mistake, as she was a singularly noticeable woman, and when she finally passed away from the screen, he sat wondering at the odd chance which had shown him that she had been on the Blackheath aviation ground on the very day and about the very time Durwin had met with his mysterious death. Her presence suggested the possession of the Sumatra scent perfume, which in its turn recalled Penn's ownership of the same, and the scent of the dead Sir Charles Moon's clothes. More than ever Dan was convinced that Mrs. Jarsell was connected with the gang, and therefore with the two tragedies which were perplexing justice. He was glad that he had promised to wait for the repetition, and when Lillian wished to go, after she had seen the start of the picture, which had met them half-finished on their entrance, Dan urged her to stop and witness the aviation scenes once more. "It is so amusing to see one's self in this way," said Dan artfully. Lillian pouted. "I wish I could have been taken also," she said with a sigh of pleasure, and willingly consented to wait. The second view convinced Halliday absolutely that he was right. It was Mrs. Jarsell who moved so royally across the screen, and what puzzled him was that she appeared to be well dressed, without any attempt at disguise. Yet, if she had come to Blackheath bent upon crime, she would surely have worn a veil, so as not to be noticed. Still, Mrs. Jarsell, living a secluded life at Sheepeak, would not be known to any one in London, and might not think it necessary to disguise herself in any way. Moreover, if by chance she was recognized through any possible disguise, such a thing would mean the asking of leading questions. However, there was no doubt that she had been on the aviation ground when Durwin was murdered, and Dan determined to go that same night to Sheepeak and make inquiries. He was very silent when at the afternoon tea with the ladies, but Lillian chattered enough for two, and gave Mrs. Bolstreath a vivid account of the animated pictures. The companion certainly did hint that Halliday was not quite himself, but he averted further inquiries by saying that he had a headache. Then he took leave of the pair, and went to see what train he could catch to Thawley, being in so great a hurry that he did not even call on Freddy Laurance to acquaint him with his wonderful discovery. Thus Halliday most unexpectedly found himself standing on the Thawley Station platform, a few minutes after nine o'clock, as he had left St. Pancras by the six o'clock express. It was now too late to travel by the local to Beswick, for when he reached that place there was the long hill to climb to Sheepeak, and The Peacock Hotel would probably be closed by the time he got to his destination. Dan therefore decided to remain in Thawley for the night, and secured a bed at an hotel near the station. Early next morning he came to look for George Pelgrin with whom he wished to talk, and had no difficulty in finding him. A brother-porter brought the man to him and handing over his bag, Halliday requested to be led to the platform whence the Beswick local departed. Then he began to ask artful questions. Pelgrin was a big bovine creature, with sleepy blue eyes, and a slow, ponderous manner, which argued small intelligence. Dan wondered why a clever woman like Mrs. Jarsell should interest herself in such a creature, and to find out cautiously introduced the lady's name. "I was staying at your aunt's hotel in Sheepeak some time ago," said Dan, as George carried his bag over the bridge, "and she told me that you are quite a favorite with my friend, Mrs. Jarsell of The Hall."
"Aye," grinned George amiably, "that I be, sir. I come from Sheepeak, and Mrs. Jarsell she takes interest in Sheepeak folk. 'Send for George,' she says, when coming to London, and I puts her straight as she likes."
"She comes to town pretty often I expect," said Halliday lightly, "which is all the better for your pocket."
"Why, no," said Pelgrin thoughtfully, "she don't go away much from Sheepeak, not even to come to Thawley. Once in a few months she goes to London to see things. 'George,' she says, 'I'm going to look up friends,' or 'George, I'm after lawyer's business this day,' she says. Oh, she's good to me and Aunt Marian, is Mrs. Jarsell. I wish she'd come to London oftener," ended George in dismal tones, "for she gives me half-a-crown always, and don't come as often as I'd like, seeing as I wants money."
"Ah, she's a stay-at-home," commented Halliday. "Looking after that friend of hers, Miss Armour, she is," agreed George. "Well, she has been a good friend to me," said the other man, shuffling into a first-class compartment, "for she got me an aeroplane from Mr. Vincent."
"Aye," said Pelgrin, "I know him. Crosspatch he is, sir."
"I think so, too. But Mrs. Jarsell promised to come to London and see me in the London to York race. You heard of it, I suppose."
"Aye, that I did," said Pelgrin, and mentioned the exact date, "we'd a heap of traffic that day, folk going to York to see them airships arrive. But Mrs. Jarsell wasn't one of them, sir."
"She wouldn't go to York, but to London."
"She didn't go nowhere," said George doggedly, "on that day anyhow. 'Send for George,' she always says, and on the day of that flying-race send for me she did not. So she stayed at home, I reckon."
"Oh," Dan looked disappointed. "I did so want her to see me flying in this race, Pelgrin, since she got Mr. Vincent to give me the aeroplane." '"Well, she didn't see you, sir, for she never went to London on that day early or late, I swear. She don't go much away from Sheepeak, and hasn't been there--to London that is, sir--for months. And she always tips me half a crown," ended George once more. Dan took the hint and handed over the money. "There you are. And I hope Mrs. Jarsell will travel oftener so that you may become rich."
"Aye, I need money, me being engaged as it were," said Pelgrin with a grin, touching his forelock, and he went on explaining his private affairs, which had to do with a girl, until the train steamed out of the station. Dan was puzzled. According to the cinematograph Mrs. Jarsell had certainly been in town on the day of the race, yet this yokel swore that she had not travelled from the Thawley Station. Yet there was no other route by which she could come. Of course, according to Mrs. Pelgrin, the woman owned three motors and could go to London in that way. There was just a chance that she might have done so, but Dan did not know how he was to find out. It would be no use asking Mrs. Jarsell, as she would deny having been out of Sheepeak. Yet since she was wholly undisguised on the Blackheath ground, why should she deny her identity. It might be that she would admit having gone to the big city--say by motor--and would defy him to credit her with the death of Durwin. Not that Dan would be foolish enough to accuse her of the same, as he had no evidence to go upon, save the fact of the perfume, and that was a weak reed upon which to lean. Mrs. Pelgrin might know something, however, and to Mrs. Pelgrin he determined to apply for information. At the end of his journey, and when he arrived in a ramshackle fly, he was welcomed by her as usual--that is, she bounced out of the inn, and placing her arms akimbo, smiled grimly. "Oh, so you are here again," she said in exactly the same way in which she had greeted Laurance. "Yes," said Halliday, readily having his excuse cut and dried, "I lost the flying race, and have come to apologize to Mr. Vincent for misusing his machine. I only want a mid-day meal as I leave again this afternoon."
"You shall have your dinner," snapped Mrs. Pelgrin, leading the way into the inn after Dan had arranged for the driver of the trap to wait for three or four hours. "So you didn't win that race. Aye, Mr. Vincent will be rare mad with you, thinking what he does of those kites he makes." Halliday sat down in the well-remembered room and laughed. "The fortune of war, Mrs. Pelgrin. But I am sorry I lost the race. Mrs. Jarsell, who got me the aeroplane, will also be disappointed. Did she tell you about the start?"
"Eh! man, would a lady like her come chattering to a humble body like me," was the landlady's reply, as she laid the table rapidly, "not that she saw the race, mind you, Mr. Halliday."
"Oh, but she must have," replied Dan, with pretended surprise, "she promised to come and see me start from Blackheath."
"She did not go to London," persisted Mrs. Pelgrin, her eyes becoming angry at the contradiction, "I mind that well, because she came to see me about some eggs on the very day you were flying, and says she, 'It will be a good day for Mr. Vincent's machine to win the race.'" "Are you sure?" asked Dan, more puzzled than ever to find that the stories of Mrs. Pelgrin and her nephew were in accordance with one another. "Do you take me for a fool," cried Mrs. Pelgrin, her sallow face becoming a fiery red; "am I not telling you again and again that Mrs. Jarsell never went to see your rubbishy race. She came here to get some eggs from me, and sat in this very room at nine o'clock, or a little after. You take me for a liar, you--you--oh, I'll best see to the dinner, or I'll lose my temper," and the sharp-tongued woman, having already lost it, bounced out of the room. "Mrs. Jarsell was here at nine o'clock, or a little after," repeated Dan, in a wondering tone, "then she could not have been in London. All the same, I swear I saw her on that cinematograph." Here he opened his bag and took out an "A.B.C.," to see the trains from Thawley to London. An examination showed him that, even if Mrs. Jarsell had left Thawley Station at nine o'clock exactly, she would not have reached St. Pancras until twelve-five. This would scarcely give her time to arrive at Blackheath. The aeroplanes had started in the race at one o'clock, and, according to the evidence at the inquest, the people had been looking at them flying northward at the moment Durwin was stabbed. Mrs. Jarsell could not have arrived on the ground by one o'clock if she only got to St. Pancras at mid-day. And then, to do that, she would have been obliged to leave Thawley at nine o'clock. According to George she had not been near the station on that day, and if Mrs. Pelgrin was to be believed, she was in the very room he now occupied at the hour when the express departed. It was clearly impossible that she could have got to Thawley for the nine o'clock train, let alone it being impossible that had she caught the express she could have arrived in London to execute the crime by one o'clock, or a trifle later. Yet, on the other hand, was the evidence of Mrs. Pelgrin and her nephew, while on the other hand was the evidence of the cinematograph. One or the other must assuredly be wrong. Of course the landlady and George might be telling lies, but on the face of it there was no need for them to do so. Moreover, as Dan had sprung his questions on them unexpectedly, they could not have been ready with false answers. "She must have used a motor-car," thought Halliday, restoring the "A.B.C." to his bag, "yet even so, she was here at nine o'clock, and could not have reached town in the three hours and odd minutes. D---- it!" Mrs. Pelgrin brought in the dinner with compressed lips and showed small disposition to chatter. Anxious not to arouse her suspicions by asking any further questions, Dan began to talk of other matters, and gradually she became more friendly. He told her that he had employed George and had given him half-a-crown, since the mention of money appeared to melt her into civility more than did anything else. Mrs. Pelgrin smiled grimly and observed that "George was a grasping hound," an amiable speech which did not argue that she was on the best of terms with the sleepy-eyed man at Thawley Station. After Dan had learned indirectly all he could from her he sought out Vincent's cottage, only to learn that the inventor and his niece were absent for the day. As he could frame no excuse to visit Mrs. Jarsell there was nothing left for him to do but to travel back to town; therefore he found himself once more in St. Pancras Station, comparatively early in the evening, wondering what was the solution of this new problem.
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 whichThe Momentdesired 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 ofThe Momentin 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 Phœnician 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.