The Mystery of Room 75. Fred M. White
“Sufficient for the moment it is that your great leader lies in a foreign gaol,” the speaker went on impressively. “But not for long, not for long. And, once he is free, he will know when and where to strike. Let it be assumed that I am here, acting on his behalf. Believe me, my friends, when I tell you that the proofs of this black treachery on the part of one that your leader never harmed, lie within the sealed envelope that I hold in my hand.”
Wendover held his breath for a moment. There was an unexpected development that he had not anticipated. What if his secret had been disclosed, what if the president of the Brotherhood knew that the man who had been tracking him down sat there, helpless and unarmed, within a yard of vengeance? And if this was so, then the great adventure was over, almost before it had begun. And yet it seemed impossible that Garcia should know, indeed, how could he, when the gold disc and the mask had only passed into Wendover’s possession half-an-hour ago? He bent over the table with assumed indifference, yet with every muscle tense and rigid, and with every fibre of his being ready for the fray.
“Open it,” the man with the orange hair said. The President shook his head, and, as he did so, Wendover knew that the crisis was passed.
“Not to-night,” the leader replied. “That is not the wish of the man whom we regard as our head. My instructions are that this envelope should be deposited in the safe, behind those locked doors, for another twelve months.”
Wendover was breathing freely now, he breathed more freely still as he saw Garcia place the envelope in the safe.
“Come, comrades,” he said, “let us go through the form of proving our right to be here.”
So saying, he took from his pocket the section of his own gold disc, and the other men immediately followed his example. Wendover’s precious fragment lay on the table, almost as soon as the rest. No sooner were they displayed than, from the interior of the safe, Garcia produced their corresponding halves. Then he lifted the discs, one by one, and gravely proceeded to fit them to the sections that he had taken from the safe, so that, presently, what appeared to be six complete coins lay before him. This being done, he handed back to each man his token of identity with the air of one who is thoroughly satisfied with his task.
“Before I close the safe for another year,” he said, “before I set the combination which bars that lock for another twelve months, in such a way that it cannot open in the meantime, I wish to ask the usual questions. Is there any member of the Brotherhood present who is in need of funds to complete the peculiar task upon which he is engaged? We have one or two big operations in progress, and it may be that all of you are fettered by the need of money.”
“I am, for one,” the tall man with the black moustache said. “I need a thousand pounds. That strike in the Westphalian coalfields has not been quite as successful as I anticipated, and further funds are needed.”
“Is it your wish, brothers,” Garcia asked, “that our friend should have this money? Nikolo Petroff, I think.”
The tall man bowed gravely. No hands were upraised in opposition, and the money and notes were handed over to the tall man, who placed them in his pocket. Then another, who was spoken of as Leon de Vince, proffered a suggestion, and he, in his turn, was duly accommodated. Wendover made a careful note of these names for future use. Then, nothing more being asked for, the leader commenced to arrange the numbers on the lock. A moment later the door of the safe would be closed again and, for a further twelve months, the treasure lying there would be safe from further depredations. But in twelve months much can happen. If fortune were on his side, Wendover might return a year hence, and restore the money to its rightful owner. As he thought of this, his spirit rose.
As if on the spur of the moment. Garcia turned to Paul and spoke. There was a sneer in his voice, and a glitter in his eyes, a hard and cruel gleam.
“Have you no request to make?” he demanded. “Is your particular task going so well that you have no occasion to make a call upon our common fund?”
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