Chapter 2

The man who had been addressed as Zaboleff ceased looking over his
shoulder, and followed the other through a broken-down lattice-gate to
the rear of the house. They paused in front of the back door, and on
it the leader knocked three times in a peculiar way. It was obviously
a pre-arranged signal, for almost at once stealthy steps could be heard
coming along the passage inside. The door was cautiously pulled back a
few inches, and a man peered out, only to throw it open wide with a
faint sigh of relief.

“It’s you, Mr. Waldock, is it?” he muttered. “Glad you’ve got ‘ere at
last. This place is fair giving us all the ‘ump.”

“Evening, Jim.” He stepped inside, followed by Zaboleff, and the door
closed behind them. “Our friend’s boat was a little late. Is everyone
here?”

“Yep,” answered the other. “All the six of us. And I reckons we’d
like to get it over as soon as possible. Has he”–his voice sank to a
hoarse undertone–“has he brought the money?”

“You’ll all hear in good time,” said Waldock curtly. “Which is the
room?”

“‘Ere it is, guv’nor.” Jim flung open a door. “And you’ll ‘ave to sit
on the floor, as the chairs ain’t safe.”

Two candles guttered on a square table in the centre of the room,
showing up the faces of the five men who sat on the floor, leaning
against the walls. Three of them were nondescript specimens of
humanity of the type that may be seen by the thousand hurrying into the
City by the early business trains. They were representative of the
poorer type of clerk–the type which Woodbines its fingers to a
brilliant orange; the type that screams insults at a football referee
on Saturday afternoon. And yet to the close observer something more
might be read on their faces: a greedy, hungry look, a shifty,
untrustworthy look–the look of those who are jealous of everyone
better placed than themselves, but who are incapable of trying to
better their own position except by the relative method of dragging
back their more fortunate acquaintances; the look of little men
dissatisfied not so much with their own littleness as with the bigness
of other people. A nasty-faced trio with that smattering of education
which is the truly dangerous thing; and–three of Mr. Waldock’s clerks.

The two others were Jews; a little flashily dressed, distinctly
addicted to cheap jewellery. They were sitting apart from the other
three, talking in low tones, but as the door opened, their conversation
ceased abruptly and they looked up at the new-comers with the keen,
searching look of their race. Waldock they hardly glanced at; it was
the stranger Zaboleff who riveted their attention. They took in every
detail of the shrewd, foreign face–the olive skin, the dark, piercing
eyes, the fine-pointed beard; they measured him up as a boxer measures
up his opponent, or a business man takes stock of the second party in a
deal; then once again they conversed together in low tones which were
barely above a whisper.

It was Jim who broke the silence–Flash Jim, to give him the full name
to which he answered in the haunts he frequented.

“Wot abaht getting on with it, guv’nor?” he remarked with an attempt at
a genial smile. “This ‘ere ‘ouse ain’t wot I’d choose for a blooming
‘oneymoon.”

With an abrupt gesture Waldock silenced him and advanced to the table.

“This is Mr. Zaboleff, gentlemen,” he said quietly. “We are a little
late, I am afraid, but it was unavoidable. He will explain to you now
the reason why you were asked to come here, and not meet at our usual
rendezvous in Soho.”

He stepped back a couple of paces and Zaboleff took his place. For a
moment or two he glanced round at the faces turned expectantly towards
him; then resting his two hands on the table in front of him, he leaned
forward towards them.

“Gentlemen,” he began, and the foreign accent seemed a little more
pronounced, “I have asked you to come here to-night through my good
friend, Mr. Waldock, because it has come to our ears–no matter
how–that London is no longer a safe meeting-place. Two or three
things have occurred lately the significance of which it is impossible
to disregard.”

“Wot sort of things?” interrupted Flash Jim harshly.

“I was about to tell you,” remarked the speaker suavely, and Flash Jim
subsided, abashed. “Our chief, with whom I spent last evening, is
seriously concerned about these things.”

“You spent last night with the chief?” said Waldock, and his voice held
a tremour of excitement, while the others leaned forward eagerly. “Is
he, then, in Holland?”

“He was at six o’clock yesterday evening,” answered Zaboleff with a
faint smile. “To-day–now–I know no more than you where he is.”

“Who is he–this man we’re always hearing about and never seeing?”
demanded one of the three clerks aggressively.

“He is–the Chief,” replied the other, while his eyes seemed to bore
into the speaker’s brain. “Just that–and no more. And that is quite
enough for you.” His glance travelled round the room, and his audience
relaxed. “By the way, is not that a chink in the shutter there?”

“All the safer,” grunted Flash Jim. “Anyone passing will think the
ghost is walking.”

“Nevertheless, kindly cover it up,” ordered Zaboleff, and one of the
Jews rose and wedged his pocket-handkerchief into the crack. There was
silence in the room while he did so, a silence broken only by the
mournful hooting of an owl outside.

“Owls is the only things wot comes to this damned museum,” said Flash
Jim morosely. “Owls and blinking fools like us.”

“Stow it, Jim,” snarled Waldock furiously. “Anyone would think you
wanted a nurse.”

“Gentlemen–please.” Zaboleff held up a protesting hand. “We do not
want to prolong matters, but one or two explanations are necessary. To
return, then, to these things that have happened recently, and which
necessitated a fresh rendezvous for this evening–one which our friend
Mr. Waldock so obligingly found. Three messengers sent over during the
last three weeks bearing instructions and–what is more
important–money, have disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” echoed Waldock stupidly.

“Absolutely and completely. Money and all. Two more have been
abominably illtreated and had their money taken from them, but for some
reason they were allowed to go free themselves. It is from them that
we have obtained our information.”

“Blimey!” muttered Flash Jim; “is it the police?”