"If the thing be feasible," he promised, "it shall be done. It remains for Thirteen to be more explicit."

With an extravagant flourish the inventor whipped from his breastpocket a folded paper, and spread it out face uppermost on the table.

"A map of London," he announced, "based on the latest Ordnance Survey and coloured to show the districts supplied by the mains of each individual gas depot. Thus you will observe"--what his long, bony finger indicated--"the district supplied by the mains of the Westminster gas works, comprising Buckingham Palace, the Houses of Parliament, the War Office, and the Admiralty, Downing Street, the homes of hundreds of the aristocracy. All these we can at will turn into the deadliest of death traps."

A tense voice interrupted with the demand: "How?"

"Quite easily, comrade: with the ramifications of our power throughout London, all under the control of his Excellency"--the inventor bowed to Number One--"it should be an easy matter to place a few trustworthy men with the Westminster gas works."

"It can readily be done," Number One affirmed. "And then--?"

"While this is being done means must be found to smuggle other men, in the guise of servants, into the various buildings selected, or to corrupt those already so employed therein. At the designated hour--"

The words dried upon his lips as somewhere a hidden bell stabbed the quiet with short, sharp thrills of sound, a code that spelled a message of terrifying significance. The inventor started violently, but no more so than every man about the table. Even Number One, shocked out of his lounging pose, grasped the arms of his throne with convulsive hands.

Quietly and without a hint of hurry, the Chinese, Shaik Tsin, moved back into the shadows and, unnoticed, disappeared behind a screen.

For a moment, when the bell had ceased, n.o.body spoke; but pallid face consulted face and eyes grown wide with dread sought eyes that winced in terror.

Then the Bengali leaped from his chair, jabbering with bloodless lips.

"Police! Raid! We are betrayed!"

He made an uncertain turn, as if thinking to seek safety in flight but doubting which way to choose; and the movement struck panic into the minds and hearts of his fellows. In a twinkling all were on their feet. But before one could move a step the lamp in the ceiling winked out, the room was left in darkness unrelieved, and the accents of Number One were heard, coldly imperative.

"Gentlemen! be good enough to resume your places--let no one move before there is light again. We are in no immediate danger: Shaik Tsin will show you out by a secret way long before the police can hope to find and break into this chamber. In the meantime--"

The infuriated voice of the Englishman interrupted:

"And 'oo're you to give us orders?--you 'oo talked so big about 'avin' tied the 'ands of the Lone Wolf and Scotland Yard! You blarsted blow'ard! Bli'me if I don't believe it's you 'oo--"

"Quietly, Seven! Have you forgotten you have a bad heart?--that excitement may mean your sudden death?"

The rage of the Englishman ran out in a gasp and a whisper.

"In the meantime," Number One resumed as if there had been no break, "I promised that, before the night was out, you should have proof of my ability to enforce my will."

A groan of agony answered him, followed by an oath of witless fear. From a distance the voice, now thin but still sonorous, added:

"Thirteen will hold himself ready to wait on me when I send for him to-morrow. Gentlemen of the Council, I bow to you all."

Again silence held for a long minute during which no man stirred or spoke.

Then overhead the lamp burned bright again, discovering six frightened men upon their feet and one who, still seated, did not stir, and never would again.

His head fallen forward, chin resting on his chest, mouth ajar, inert arms dangling over the arms of the chair, heavy legs lax, the Englishman sat quite dead, dead without a sign to show how death had come to him.

Number One had disappeared.

There was a remote rumour of cries and shouts, the m.u.f.fled sound of axes crashing into woodwork....

IX

MRS. WARING

Late in the forenoon a pencil of golden light found a c.h.i.n.k in jealously drawn draperies, and groped the rich dusk of the bedchamber till it came to rest, as if happy that its search had found so lovely a reward, upon the face of a young girl who lay sleeping in a bed whose exquisite adornment must have flattered even the exalted person of a princess.

With a swift but silent movement another girl, who had been sitting patiently on a low stool near by, rose and put herself in the way of the sunbeam. But too late: already long lashes were a-flutter upon the delicately modelled cheeks of the sleeper.

A gentle sigh brushed parting lips; the sweet body stirred luxuriously; unclouded by any shadow of misgiving, the blue eyes of the Princess Sofia looked out upon the first day of her new world.

Then they grew wide with wonder, comprehending the sleek, pretty face of a Chinese girl of about her own age who, with eyes downcast, demure mouth and folded hands, submissively awaited recognition.

"Who are you?" Sofia demanded in a breath.

A bob of courtesy, wholly charming, prefaced a reply pattered in English of quaintest accent:

"You' handmaiden--Chou Nu is my name."

"My handmaiden!"

"Les, Plincess Sofia."

"But I don't understand. How--when--?"

"Las' night Numbe' One he send for me, but when I come you go-sleep."

"Number One?"

Surprise coloured faintly the explanation: "Plince Victo', honol'ble fathe'

of Plincess Sofia. You like get up now, take bath, have blekfuss?"

The smile was irresistibly ingratiating: Sofia could not but return it.

Delighted, Chou Nu ran to the windows, threw wide their draperies, and darted into the bathroom.

Autumnal sunlight kindled to burning beauty the golden-bronze tresses coiled upon the pillows where Sofia lay unstirring, like a princess enchanted--as indeed she was. Surely nothing less potent than magic had wrought this metamorphosis in the fabric of her life! And whether the magic were white or black--what matter? Its work was good.

No more the Cafe des Exiles, no more the deadly tedium of daily service at the desk of the caisse, no more the shrewish tongue of Mama Therese, the odious oglings of Papa Dupont, the ceaseless cark of discontent....

Incredible!

As one who moves in a dream, Sofia rose presently and bathed, then, robed in a ravishing negligee of rare brocade, breakfasted on melon, tea, and toast from a service of eggsh.e.l.l china.

In a long mirror she saw and watched but did not know herself. Like Goody Twoshoes of nursery fame she could have cried: Lawkamercy! this is never I!

The presence of Chou Nu served merely to stress the sense of unreality: for, obviously, only the heroine of a true fairy tale could have broken from a chrysalis stage of sordid Soho to the brilliant b.u.t.terfly existence of a Russian princess domiciled in the most aristocratic quarter of London and attended by a Chinese maid!