“Already our investment has paid a hundred per cent profit. There were two million in cash and negotiable securities in the Guardian Bank. Each of you shall receive his share. Dollar for dollar for the time spent, this is greater profit than any of you ever made in the heyday of your public careers. But the future, not the present, is what we must look to. The future, when we shall all be multimillionaires — able to do what we want, buy what we want — and wield the power that is the rightful heritage of brainy men.”
There was a gloating, confident note in the muffled voice. The hidden Chairman of this unholy meeting of criminals was talking as though he were at the head of some successful and legitimate enterprise. But brutal harshness crept into his tone as he continued.
“Discipline! As I said to you last night, that is the backbone of our organized power. We must have discipline if we are to get the maximum return from our investment. And because I realize the necessity of this perhaps more than any of you, I have given certain commands that some of you may think harsh. I have said that punishment even to death, awaits any man among you who does not submit to the majority will. I have ordered each of you to check up on the conduct of his neighbor, for in spite of the masks you now wear, most of you are known to one another. That none of you know who I am is an asset to you all, for in it lies unity and power. If it becomes necessary to impose a death sentence on one of you, I personally shall take pains to see that it is carried out.”
Chorused growls of approval greeted these sinister words. Then a harshly bitter voice spoke in the darkness a few chairs away from Agent “X.”
“Death!” the voice said savagely. “Shouldn’t we, Mr. Chairman, extend that penalty beyond our own membership to those who are and have been our enemies? There are several persons I have in mind; but one especially who exposed and helped to ruin many of us during our banking days. I refer to Norman Coe with his prying citizens committee behind him. Because of his officious meddling into my affairs I even served a prison sentence.
THE Agent guessed then that this was Chauncey Doeg speaking, still bitter that the law, through Coe’s efforts, had punished him for his shady financial dealings. The voice of the Chairman gave answer.
“You are right, my friend. There are many enemies we must and shall settle with in time. But at the moment personal revenge must wait on more important matters. And meanwhile, gentlemen, for minor breaches of discipline within your own ranks, you have the whips! The whips! You saw how well they worked on the people in the bank today. You saw how the girl we were forced to interrogate before the raid, even though she was stubborn to the point of sheer stupidity, eventually submitted under the lash.
“And I do not doubt that your whips will be sufficient to enforce discipline among you under all normal circumstances. In case the whipping of a member becomes necessary, I have worked out a plan which will remove the element of ill-feeling. I shall provide eleven of you with the helmets you wore today, while the member to be punished will wear only such a mask as you have on. He will not know who among you is whipping him.
“And now we come to our immediate future. I have looked over the field, gathered data for our next venture. There were several promising possibilities. It was merely a matter of selection. That I have made. We have successfully looted two banks. We have proved that our method has no limits. To show that we can operate with equal success over a larger area I have chosen a department store this time. That of S. Carleton Co.”
The Agent’s body tensed. A chill of horror crept up his spine. This criminal, this unseen Chairman, was deliberately, calmly, plotting a crime which, if carried out unimpeded, might bring death and injury to thousands. For the fearful, blinding darkness would cause a worse panic in the big store than it had outside the bank. Yet the Chairman’s voice continued:
“To insure that the cashier’s safe will not be empty we shall change our time from noon to four o’clock. The date is tomorrow. We shall meet and the helmets will be distributed among you in the same manner as they were today. And now, gentlemen, are there any more suggestions you wish to make, or breaks of discipline to be reported?”
A few seconds of silence followed in the uncanny gloom of the room; then a chair creaked and the voice of Victor Blass sounded. It was low, nervous, as though the man were half afraid to speak, yet more afraid not to.
“I have a report to make, Mr. Chairman,” he said. “It is my duty to complain against a member. I have taken the pledge like the others, and you have seen fit to make me responsible for their conduct. Therefore I must speak.”
“These explanations are unnecessary,” said the cold voice behind the grille. “Who is the member you wish to complain of?”
“Lorenzo Courtney, Mr. Chairman.”
Chapter XV
THE Secret Agent sat rigid and waiting in his chair. The harshly precise voice of the invisible leader behind the grille droned on:
“Lorenzo Courtney! Before I hear the charge against you there is a certain matter I must ask you to report on. Earlier this evening you were commissioned by a friend of our organization to take charge of and question one suspected of being a possible dangerous enemy. I refer to the newspaper man, Sid Granville. What have you to say about this?”
Prickles of tension coursed up the Secret Agent’s spine. He could almost feel those unseen eyes back of the metal grille boring into his own. A faint rustle of clothing and creak of chairs in the gloom around him, told that the other members of the meeting were straining to hear his answer. And on that answer might depend the success or failure of his desperate, daring step in coming here. He rolled his shoulders, shrugged, and kept his voice nonchalant.
“I did my best, Mr. Chairman, but the man wouldn’t wake up. Mrs. — er — our friend gave him too strong a drink. I had to leave for this meeting before his answers made sense.”
“So — and where is this man now?”
“At my apartment. I’m still holding him.”
“You have taken every precaution, of course, to see that he does not escape?”
The Secret Agent let a moment pass before he answered. Then, with deliberate craft, he put a quaver of uncertainty into his voice. “Yes, sir — I think — that is, I’m sure he is safe.”
Victor Blass spoke with sudden excitement. “Pardon me, Mr. Chairman, but you should know before this goes farther that Lorenzo Courtney was drunk when he arrived tonight.”
“Drunk!” The word came out of the darkness explosively. “You mean he came to this meeting drunk?”
“Yes.” There was hesitancy in Blass’s voice now. “And if I hadn’t known him — hadn’t recognized him at once — I wouldn’t have admitted him. He couldn’t remember his signal, sir, and he had neglected to put on his mask.”
A stifled curse sounded behind the grille. A momentary silence followed it. Then the Chairman spoke as calmly, as precisely as before; but with a touch of sardonic mockery in his tone.
“Courtney is at fault — wholly and unquestionably. Men engaged in such an enterprise as ours cannot, must not, touch liquor. But shall we say, Victor Blass, that your own conduct has been entirely wise and praiseworthy — a perfect model for the other members to follow?”
A gasp sounded from the direction of a chair in the rear of the seated group. The relentless voice of the Chairman, continued: