"In good time, however," Thirteen responded with a nod toward the vacant chair. "More than that, the summons was handed me only twenty minutes ago."

"How was that?" the babu asked. "It was sent at six o'clock."

"I was at work in the laboratory and had left orders I was not to be disturbed. But for one thing"--the petulance of Thirteen's habitual expression was lightened by a flash of self-gratulation, and his voice shook a little with excitement--"I might not have received the summons before morning."

"And that one thing?"

"Success, comrades! At last--after months of experimentation--I have been successful!"

"'Ow?" dryly demanded the man in the checked suit.

"I have discovered a great secret--discovered, perfected, adapted it to common means at our command. Comrades, I tell you, to-night we hold all England in the hollow of our hands!"

With an incoherent exclamation and eyes afire the Russian sat forward.

Unconsciously the others imitated his action. Only the man in evening dress made a show of remaining unimpressed.

"It's fine, fat words you're after using," he commented. "'All England in the hollow of our hands!' If they mean anything at all, comrade, they mean--"

"Everything!" Thirteen cut in with arrogant a.s.sertiveness; "all we've been waiting for, hoping for, praying for--the end of the ruling cla.s.ses, extinction of the accursed aristocrats, subjugation of the thrice-d.a.m.ned bourgeois, the triumph of the proletariat, all at a single stroke, swift, subtle, and sure! Freedom for Ireland, freedom for India, freedom for England, the speedy spreading of that red dawn which lights the Russian skies to-day, till all the wide world basks in its warm radiance and acclaims us, comrades, its redeemers!"

"Lieber Gott!" the German breathed. "Colossal!"

"'Ear, 'ear!" the Englishman applauded, perfunctory and skeptical. "Bli'me if you didn't mike me forget where I was--'ad me thinking I was in 'Yde Park, you did, listening to a b.l.o.o.d.y horator on a box."

"You may laugh," Thirteen replied with a sour glance; "but when you have heard, you will not laugh. I am not boasting--I am telling you."

"Not a great deal," the Irishman suggested. "Your mouth is full of sounds and fury, but till you tell us more you'll have told us nothing."

The face of Thirteen grew darker still, and for a moment he seemed to meditate an angry retort; but he thought better of it, contenting himself with an impatient movement and a mutter: "All in good time; Number One is not here yet."

"W'y wyste time w'itin' for 'im?" demanded the Englishman. "'E's no good, 'e's done."

Thirteen's eyes narrowed. "How so?"

"'E's done, Number One is--finished, counted out, napoo! 'E's 'ad 'is d'y, and a pretty mess 'e's mide of it--and it's 'igh time, I say, for 'im to step down and let a better man tike 'old."

Growls in chorus endorsed this declaration of mutiny; but suddenly were stilled by a voice, sonorous and calm, from outside the circle:

"You think so, Seven? Well--who knows?--perhaps you are right."

VIII

COUNCIL OF THE G.o.dLESS

Someone exclaimed in an accent of alarm: "Number One!"

With a concerted turning of startled heads, a hasty thrusting back of chairs, the gathering rose in involuntary deference. That is, five rose as one; and, after a moment during which his spirit of insubordination faltered and failed, the Englishman got awkwardly to his feet and stood abashed and sullen.

The one to remain seated was the Irishman so well turned out by Conduit Street; who made no move more than slightly to elevate supercilious brows and slouch a little lower in his chair, glancing from face to face of the circle, then back to the cold countenance presented by the author of the abrupt interruption.

This last stood quietly beside the eighth chair, a hand on its carved arm, one foot on the edge of the dais. A long robe of black silk enveloped him; on its bosom a Chinese unicorn was embroidered. His girdle clasp was of Imperial jade set with rubies. The girdle itself was yellow. A great ruby b.u.t.ton, nearly an inch in diameter, set in a mounting of worked gold, crowned a hat like an inverted round bowl. His black silk shoes were heavy with golden embroidery, and had white soles an inch thick. Authority lent inches to his stature, so that he seemed to dominate his company physically as well as spiritually.

A pace or two in the rear Shaik Tsin, with impa.s.sive face and arms folded in voluminous sleeves, waited as might a bodyguard.

A sardonic glimmer in eyes half visible under heavy lids alone betrayed relish of the situation, the homage commanded and the sensation created by this inopportune and unheralded arrival: deliberately Number One mounted the dais and posed himself in the throne-like chair. Then, as his look read face after face, he smiled with twitching and disdainful nostrils.

"Gentlemen of the Council," he said, slowly, "I bow to you all. Pray be seated."

In confounded silence the six resumed their seats, while the seventh--who had not moved--lighted a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and through a veil of smoke continued to regard Number One with insolent eyes.

"I fear my arrival was ill-timed, gentlemen. Seven had the floor, and I confess to finding what I happened to overhear extremely interesting. If he will be good enough to continue ..."

The Irishman gave a light, derisive laugh. Shifting uneasily in his chair, the man in the checked suit flushed darkly, then stiffened his spine, hardened his eyes, set his jaw, and faced Number One defiantly.

"You 'eard ... I 'olds by w'at I said."

"I am to understand, then, you think it time for me to abdicate and let another lead you in my stead?"

The Englishman a.s.sented with an inarticulate monosyllable and a surly nod.

"And may one ask why?"

"Blue's plice in Pekin Street was r'ided this afternoon," Seven announced truculently. "But per'aps you didn't know--"

"Not until some time before the news reached you," One replied, pleasantly.

"And what of it?"

"Three fycers in a week, Gov'ner--anybody'll tell you that's comin' it a bit thick."

"Granted. What then?"

"That's only part of it. Tike last week: Eighteen pinched, the queer plant in 'Igh Street pulled by the coppers--"

"I know, I know. To your point!"

Seven hesitated under that steely stare. "I leave it to you, Gov'ner," he continued to stammer at length. "S'y you was me and I was Number One--w'at would you think?"

"Why, quite naturally, that some superior intelligence has latterly been collaborating with Scotland Yard."

"Aren't you a bit behindhand in arriving at that conclusion?" the Irishman suggested with an ill-dissembled sneer.

"No, Eleven," Number One replied, mildly, "since I arrived at it some time since."

"But took no measures--"