“The Silent Seven,” repeated the others, in a whisper.
“We command the Faithful Fifty,” came the voice.
“The Faithful Fifty,” was the whispering echo.
“Our identities are unknown,” declared the speaker. “Each of us was appointed by the founder of our order — he who first was Number One.
“Should new members be needed, I shall appoint them. Their names will be known to me alone. That is my oath.”
“You have declared the oath of Number One,” was the response.
“Be wary with the Faithful Fifty,” came the speaker’s voice. “Reveal yourselves only in extreme necessity. Otherwise, deal with them through the countersign.”
“Through the countersign.”
“Or through the cipher.”
“Through the cipher.”
“Or through me, your leader.”
“Through our leader.”
There was a short silence. The speaker then made an announcement.
“Tonight,” he said, “we have assembled at the request of Number Five. We shall hear him break the silence.”
Rodney Paget arose unsteadily. He moved to the end of the room opposite the chief and made the sign of the seven with his hands. The leader made the same sign in return.
“Brothers of the Seven,” said Paget, in a low voice, “I have brought you a plan.”
He was surprised at the sound of his own tones. His words did not seem natural. It was impossible to recognize a familiar voice in this strange room.
Paget gained reassurance. He had feared these men until now, but he was rapidly becoming confident.
“My plan,” he continued, “will bring us millions. In order to accomplish it, I must have full services of the Faithful Fifty. I have used some of them before now” — he was glib as he spoke this falsehood — “but I need the services of those most suited to my present needs. I wish to obtain them through Number One.”
“Does your plan require crime?”
The interrupting voice was that of Number One.
“Yes.”
“Of what nature?”
“Abduction.”
“Is that all?”
“There may be complications,” ventured Paget uneasily.
“There are no complications to the Silent Seven,” declared the leader. “To us, all crimes are one — and all are justifiable. Each crime must serve a purpose that is useful to us.
“We demand power and wealth. Society is our prey. We stop at nothing. We ask only that the gain be worth our attention.”
“My plan fills that requirement.”
“What do the Seven say?” asked the leader.
“Let Number Five reveal his plan to Number One,” came a voice. A chorus responded, “Aye.”
THE leader approached and produced a board which bore a sheet of paper. He placed a pencil in Paget’s hand. There, in that weird room, amidst those hooded figures, the man who had declared himself as Number Five began to write.
At times his hand hesitated. The presence of the leader urged him on. He completed his work.
The leader moved back, carrying the board with him. He was deliberate as he read the words which Paget had inscribed.
He perused the message a second time, as though committing it to memory. Then he pulled the paper from the board.
Paget’s heart sank as the leader tore the paper into halves and quarters; then he felt a thrill of elation when the leader spoke.
“The plan is good,” declared Number One. “What do the Seven order?”
“Let Number One decide,” came a reply.
“Aye,” affirmed the whispered chorus.
“We shall accept it,” said the leader. “Has Number Five any further request?”
“I shall need money,” said Paget boldly.
“How much?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“It is granted,” was the leader’s prompt reply. He beckoned to Paget. When the latter approached, the leader wrote a few cryptic words on a card and showed it to him.
Paget nodded his hooded head. The leader destroyed the card, and Paget retired.
“Shall the silence become unbroken?” questioned the leader. There was no reply.
The leader turned and uncovered a niche in the wall. Standing there, was a candelabrum with seven lighted candles. The leader spoke.
“The Seven,” he said.
“Silence,” replied the others.
The leader extinguished one of the candles.
“Number Seven,” he said.
One of the hooded figures rose and turned his back to the leader. The wall slid back and Number Seven departed. The wall closed.
After a short wait, the leader put out another candle. This time he named Number Six, and a second man left. When the leader extinguished a third candle, and called for Number Five, Rodney Paget followed the actions of the others.
As soon as the wall had closed behind him, he removed his robe and went down the passage to the elevator. There he found a button in the wall. The car came up, and Paget entered it.
He lost no time in his departure. Three minutes after his dismissal, he was riding down Broadway in a cab.
PAGET attended the theater that night, but he began to show signs of poorly restrained impatience before the show was over. After the last act, Paget left the theater with unusual haste.
He turned his steps toward Sixth Avenue, and stopped at the corner of Forty-fourth Street. A few minutes later, a cab pulled up beside the curb.
“Taxi?” asked Paget, speaking from beside the car.
“Busy,” replied the driver.
“Faithful,” said Paget, in a low voice.
“The Fifty,” replied the driver.
“Silence,” said Paget.
“The Seven,” came the response.
Paget placed his hands against his chest, one hand outspread, the other clenched to form a fist. The driver made the same sign.
It was the signal of recognition that identified the members of the Faithful Fifty, the men who served the Silent Seven. The driver opened the cab.
Paget instructed him to drive to the Merrimac Club. As the cab moved out between the pillars of the elevated, the driver’s hand appeared through the partition that separated the back seat from the front. An envelope dropped to the floor.
Paget picked it up and put it in his pocket. He did not linger long at the Merrimac Club. He strolled about and smoked a cigarette. Then, leisurely as ever, he left the club, summoned a cab, and rode home.
But in the privacy of his own apartment, behind the drawn shades of the living room, Rodney Paget became suddenly eager.
He pulled the envelope from his pocket and tore off the end. His fingers trembled as he spread open the envelope and reached in to grasp the contents. A gasp of satisfaction followed.
Crinkling in his hands was a wad of crisp new, five-hundred-dollar bills.
Paget smiled as he counted them. Twenty in all. It was the ten thousand dollars he had requested from the Silent Seven!
Paget marveled at the power of the mighty organization. He realized that he had associated himself with masters of crime. With inexhaustible funds, with fifty determined workers at their call, the Silent Seven was an unknown band of terror.
CHAPTER XI. PAGET SEES A SHADOW
THERE was no appreciable change in Rodney Paget when he appeared at the Merrimac Club the day after the meeting of the Silent Seven. All traces of anxiety had left his features. His habitual composure was completely restored.
With Paget, languor was natural, not affected. The drooping fingers with their ivory cigarette holder hanging from them, indicated a man of some ability. For Paget was a deep schemer, whose greatest ability was his lack of unrestrained emotion.
He arrived at the club shortly after noon, and one of the first persons he encountered was Steuben. He drew his friend into a corner and pressed something into his hand. Steuben, upon looking at the article, was surprised to find a five-hundred-dollar bill.