CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE LAST MEETING OF THE CLUB.
Horseferry Road. A hazy though a cloudless night. A house, the windowsof which showed no lights. Up two flights of stairs.
The rendezvous of that agreeable social institution, the Murder Club.
The Club was to hold a session. The gentleman who, if he was not theactual source of inspiration, was, at any rate, the founder, thepromoter, the organiser, the backbone of the Club, was making ready forthe members coming. A man about the middle height, somewhat slightlybuilt, in evening dress, with an orchid in his buttonhole--Mr. CecilPendarvon. Mr. Pendarvon was not bad-looking. He had a long, fairbeard, which he had a trick of pulling with both his hands. His eyeswere certainly not ugly, but to the close observer they conveyed an oddimpression. As one watched them, one began to wonder if they were theman's real eyes which one saw, or if the real eyes were behind them.Perhaps one had this feeling of wonder, because, although there alwayswas the light of laughter in Mr. Pendarvon's eyes, their realexpression was one of such cold, passionless, unrelenting cruelty.
For some reason Mr. Pendarvon seemed ill at ease. One hand was restingon the large oval table which occupied the greater portion of the room,with the other he tugged at his beard, while he stared at a manuscriptvolume, bound in a beautiful scarlet binding, which lay open in frontof him. A cackling sound was emitted from his throat, which was,possibly, intended for a chuckle.
"His signature! His sign manual! An elegant example, too! With his ownhand--tied tight. If I remember rightly, he did say something about hispractically committing suicide by affixing his signature to such adeclaration. How often is truth spoken in a jest. What fools men are!"
His statement--which was very far from being an original statement--ofthe folly of humanity, seemed to afford him a large amount ofsatisfaction. He combed his beard with the fingers of both his hands.He kept on chuckling to himself as if he had given utterance to one ofthe best jokes that ever was heard.
"What's that?"
It was queer to notice how, in an instant, all signs of amusement fled.He gripped the rim of the massive table, as if seeking its support. Hecast a stealthy glance about him. He stood and listened, seeming tohold his breath to enable him to do it better. The man's real selfpeeped from his eyes. His whole bearing suggested fear.
There was a perfect silence for some moments. Then he drew a longbreath.
"It's nothing." He began again to tug at his beard, as if mechanically."What a little upsets a man if he is in the mood." He glanced at hiswatch, seeming, as he did so, to make a mental calculation. "It's timethat some of them were here." He paused, the remainder of his speechapparently referring to some other theme. "I hope that one can relyupon them sometimes--that one may take it that the guardians of law andorder do not always blunder. I suppose that we are shadowed. I suppose,too, that they will make no movement until they have received oculardemonstration of the fact that all of them are here. What's that?"
Again there was a sudden, startling change in Mr. Pendarvon's outwardbearing. Obviously his every faculty was strained in the act oflistening. So far as an ordinary observer would have been able to judgethere did not appear to be a sound. Yet it is not improbable thatsomething had made itself audible to Mr. Pendarvon's unusually keensense of hearing, because presently a slight click was heard, as itseemed, within the wall itself upon his right.
"Number one!"
Mr. Pendarvon's state of tension seemed to slightly decrease. The wallupon his right was panelled from floor to ceiling. One of the panelsMr. Pendarvon slipped aside, and, in doing so, revealed a dial-plate ofpeculiar construction, which apparently had some connection withelectricity. On it was a prominent figure 2. Beneath it a needle madethree separate strokes. A large 1 appeared. Then three more separatestrokes. Then another prominent 2. On the appearance of the second 2,on Mr. Pendarvon's touching an ivory button, the whole thing performeda complete revolution, and a sound as of a gong was heard.
While the gong still continued to vibrate, a voice was heard outsidethe door exclaiming "Reginald!"
The announcement of the name seemed to precipitate Mr. Pendarvon backinto his former condition of uneasiness.
"The man himself," he muttered. Then, by way of an afterthought, with asmile which by no means suggested mirth, "I wonder if they saw himcome."
He seemed to hesitate, then, with an effort, to pull himself together.
"The honourable member should not be kept waiting."
As he made this observation to himself, with another mirthless grin, hepressed a second button, which was on the other side of the dial.Immediately the door without swung open.
In another moment Mr. Reginald Townsend appeared upon the threshold ofthe door.
"A trifle slow to-night, Pendarvon--eh?"
Mr. Pendarvon admitted the soft impeachment.
"I'm afraid that this time, perhaps, I am. You've caught me napping. Iwas just putting the things in order when you came."
"Putting the things in order! I see. The things want putting in order,Pendarvon--eh?"
"There is a certain amount of work which has to be done, which, ofcourse, by virtue of my office"--this with a sneer which, perhaps, thespeaker found it impossible to suppress--"I have to do."
"By virtue of your office; yes." Mr. Pendarvon looked up at Mr.Townsend, only, as it were, by accident and for a moment; then hisglance went back again. "It would be a fine night if it were not forthe mist which is in the air. One now and then can get peeps at thestars beyond. But this mist gives me a chill."
"It's warm enough in here."
"Oh, yes, it's sufficiently warm in here."
In each man's manner there was something which was distinctly out ofthe ordinary, and the strangest part of it was that, though each was,as a rule, as keen an observer as one might easily meet, neither seemedto realise that there was anything unusual in the bearing of the other.Mr. Pendarvon was restless, fidgety, fussy, continually on the watchfor something to happen, not in the room, but out of it. He was like aperson who has an appointment of the first importance, and who isdevoured with anxiety lest the individual with whom he has theappointment should fail to keep it. Mr. Townsend's mood, on the otherhand, seemed almost transcendental. His physical beauty, uncommon bothin type and in degree, seemed to-night to have positively increased. Itwas almost startling. He seemed, too, to have increased in height. Hebore himself with an unconscious grace which displayed his splendidfigure to singular advantage. His head was thrown a little back fromhis shoulders, and in his eyes and in the whole expression of his facethere was something which suggested rapturous calm. One felt that,whatever happened, this man's mind would be at ease. He recalled thesoldier who, having volunteered for a forlorn hope, advances to meetdeath, and worse than death, with a smile.
It is probably when our soldiers have been in just that mood that theyhave done the deeds which have seemed to the world to be miracles ofvalour. It is when one cares for nothing that, sometimes, one can doanything.
Each of these men, however, seemed to be so preoccupied in his affairsthat he noticed nothing uncommon in the other. Mr. Pendarvon fidgetedabout the room. He set the chairs straight, the decanters on the table.He occupied himself with a dozen trifling things which scarcely seemedto stand in need of his attention. Mr. Townsend stood in front of thehuge, old-fashioned fireplace paying no sort of heed to the other'sfussiness, seeming indeed to be in a condition of mind which,psychologically, approximated to a waking dream.
Although he took no notice of the fit of fidgets with which Mr.Pendarvon seemed to be afflicted, his very calmness caused thatgentleman to seem still more ill at ease. More than once he seemed tobe on the point of saying something and then to stop short as if forwant of being able to find something appropriate to say.
At last he did hit upon a sufficiently apposite remark.
"They're late to-night."
The sound of his voice seemed to rouse M
r. Townsend to the fact of Mr.Pendarvon's presence.
"They are a little late to-night, Pendarvon." He looked at his watch."Indeed! Is it possible that they may have neglected to make a note ofthe occasion?"
Mr. Pendarvon laughed--again not merrily.
"I don't think there is much fear of that. They're sure to come, ifonly for their own safety's sake." Again the cheerless grin. "Possiblythey're trying to get their spirits up by putting the spirits down uponthe way. Hark! there's some one coming now."
There was a silence as the two men listened, with their eyes upon thedial-plate which Mr. Pendarvon had left exposed. It repeated theperformance with which it had announced Mr. Townsend's arrival.
"You have good ears, Pendarvon. I heard nothing."
Mr. Pendarvon admitted that it was so.
"I have good ears."
He spoke with a dryness which seemed to be unnecessarily significant.He sounded the gong. There was a voice without.
"Henry!"
"Dear Mr. Shepherd. You may let him in."
The door swung open. There entered a tall man, with long grey hair,clad in the attire of a superior mechanic. He had a silent face--theface of a man who can be silent in very many tongues--and the eyes of aman who sees visions. He vouchsafed no sort of greeting, but at oncesat down on one of the chairs which stood around the table.
Mr. Townsend looked at him as one looks at an object which one finds aninteresting study.
"I trust, Mr. Shepherd, that you may have fortune in drawing the lotto-night."
Mr. Shepherd opened his lips, which hitherto he had kept hermeticallyclosed. He spoke with a nasal twang which suggested a certain type ofprayer-meeting.
"Not to-night: my hour is not yet."
"Indeed! May I ask when your hour is likely to be?"
"I seek not to inquire."
The hint which Mr. Shepherd intended to convey was unmistakable. Mr.Pendarvon laughed. Mr. Townsend stared. Before the latter could speakagain the dial-plate repeated its previous performances. This time twovoices answered to the summons of the gong.
The door opened to admit Mr. Teddy Hibbard and his inseparable friend,Mr. Eugene Silvester.
They were both of them boys, rather than men, and were obviouslymembers of that class which, in a more advanced stage of socialorganisation, will probably, during its salad days, be detained in somekindly institution, the inmates of which will be gently, yet firmly,persuaded to do themselves as little injury as they conveniently can.They grow out of it, some of these young men, in time. But one had onlyto look at this particular two to see that, with them, that time wasscarcely yet.
The bell, being started, was kept rolling. One after the other themembers of the Club came in. A heterogeneous gathering they were. Onewondered what some of them did in such a galley. They seemed to be sooddly out of place.
At last, with two exceptions, all the members were assembled. One ofthe exceptions was Lord Archibald Beaupre. His absence was the cause,not only of comment, but, as time went on, and still he did not come,of obvious uneasiness to some of those who had arrived. Tell-tale lookscame on their faces. They eyed each other, as it were, askance. Theynot only inquired of one another why it was he did not come, but theymade the same inquiry of themselves with still more emphasis. Theappearance of indifference with which, at first, they had treated theabsent member's tardiness became less and less convincing. It was hewho last had drawn the lot. It was he who had to do something for theHonour of the Club.
What was it which had detained him?
Mr. Pendarvon, who, plainly, was not the least uneasy of those who werepresent in the room, addressed an inquiry to Mr. Townsend.
"You are Beaupre's _fidus achates_, Townsend. When did you see himlast?"
Mr. Townsend had evidently shown an indifference to the fact of LordArchibald Beaupre's non-arrival which evidently in his case was notassumed. He looked at Mr. Pendarvon a moment before he answered, andwhen he did answer his manner, although completely courteous, washardly genial.
"For information of Lord Archibald Beaupre I must refer you--to LordArchibald Beaupre."
Mr. Pendarvon seemed to relish neither the look with which he had beenfavoured nor the answer. Indeed, Mr. Townsend's manner, even more thanhis answer, seemed to increase the general feeling of uneasiness whichwas beginning to dominate the room.
Suddenly there was the sound of a click. With a rapidity which, in itsway, was comic, all eyes were fixed upon the dial-plate. Its mechanismhad been set in motion. The familiar movements followed.
"There he is!" exclaimed a voice.
Mr. Silvester added, with a show of hilarity which was slightly forced,"Better late than never!"
Mr. Pendarvon sounded the gong, seemingly in a state of feveredagitation.
"Stephen!" exclaimed a voice.
A blank look came on some of the faces.
"It isn't Beaupre; it's Kendrick!"
Colonel Kendrick was the other member who had not yet put in anappearance. His absence had gone almost unnoticed. He had to do nothingfor the Honour of the Club--as yet.
Colonel Kendrick came into the room. He was a thickset,soldierly-looking man, with a slight grey moustache and a pair of bold,unflinching eyes. He bowed as he came in, speaking in that short,crisp, staccato tone of voice which is apt to mark the man who has beenaccustomed to command.
"Gentlemen, I have to apologise to you for my delay." He turned to Mr.Townsend. "I have to inform you, Mr. Townsend, that Mr. Pendarvon hasset the police upon your track."