CHAPTER V.
THE MURDER CLUB.
"Delany was the last man who quitted us--you see I use your expressionagain. I like it," Brande said quietly, watching me as he spoke.
I stood staring at the slip of paper which I held in my hand for somemoments before I could reply. When my voice came back, I asked hoarsely:
"Did this man, Delany, die suddenly after quitting the Society?"
"He died immediately. The second event was contemporaneous with thefirst."
"And in consequence of it?"
"Certainly."
"Have all the members who retired from your list been equallyshort-lived?"
"Without any exception whatever."
"Then your Society, after all your high-flown talk about it, is only avulgar murder club," I said bitterly.
"Wrong in fact, and impertinent in its expression. It is not a murderclub, and--well, you are the first to discover its vulgarity."
"I call things by their plain names. You may call your Society what youplease. As to my joining it in face of what you have told me--"
"Which is more than was ever told to any man before he joined--to anyman living or dead. And more, you need not join it yet unless you stillwish to do so. I presume what I have said will prevent you."
"On the contrary, if I had any doubt, or if there was any possibility ofmy wavering before this interview, there is none now. I join at once."
He would have taken my hand, but that I could not permit. I left himwithout another word, or any form of salute, and returned to the house.I did not appear again in the domestic circle that evening, for I hadenough upon my mind without further burdening myself with socialpretences.
I sat in my room and tried once more to consider my position. It wasthis: for the sake of a girl whom I had only met some score of times;who sometimes acted, talked, dressed after a fashion suggestive ofinsanity; who had glorious dark eyes, a perfect figure, and anexquisitely beautiful face--but I interrupt myself. For the sake of thisgirl, and for the manifestly impossible purpose of protecting her fromherself as well as others, I had surrendered myself to the probablevengeance of a band of cut-throats if I betrayed them, and to thecertain vengeance of the law if I did not. Brande, notwithstanding hisconstant scepticism, was scrupulously truthful. His statement of factmust be relied upon. His opinions were another matter. As nothingpractical resulted from my reflections, I came to the conclusion that Ihad got into a pretty mess for the sake of a handsome face. I regrettedthis result, but was glad of the cause of it. On this I went to bed.
Next morning I was early astir, for I must see Natalie Brande withoutdelay, and I felt sure she would be no sluggard on that splendid summerday. I tried the lawn between the house and the lake shore. I did notfind her there. I found her friend Miss Metford. The girl was saunteringabout, swinging a walking-cane carelessly. She was still rationallydressed, but I observed with relief that the rational part of hercostume was more in the nature of the divided skirt than the plainknickerbockers of the previous day. She accosted me cheerfully by mysurname, and not to be outdone by her, I said coolly:
"How d'ye do, Metford?"
"Very well, thanks. I suppose you expected Natalie? You see you haveonly me."
"Delighted," I was commencing with a forced smile, when she stopped me.
"You look it. But that can't be helped. Natalie saw you going out, andsent me to meet you. I am to look after you for an hour or so. You jointhe Society this evening, I hear. You must be very pleased--andflattered."
I could not assent to this, and so remained silent. The girl chatteredon in her own outspoken manner, which, now that I was growing accustomedto it, I did not find as unpleasant as at first. One thing was evidentto me. She had no idea of the villainous nature of Brande's Society. Shecould not have spoken so carelessly if she shared my knowledge of it.While she talked to me, I wondered if it was fair to her--a likeablegirl, in spite of her undesirable affectations of advanced opinion,emancipation or whatever she called it--was it fair to allow her toassociate with a band of murderers, and not so much as whisper a word ofwarning? No doubt, I myself was associating with the band; but I was notin ignorance of the responsibility thereby incurred.
"Miss Metford," I said, without heeding whether I interrupted her, "areyou in the secret of this Society?"
"I? Not at present. I shall be later on."
I stopped and faced her with so serious an expression that she listenedto me attentively.
"If you will take my earnest advice--and I beg you not to neglectit--you will have nothing to do with it or any one belonging to it."
"Not even Brande--I mean Natalie? Is she dangerous?"
I disregarded her mischief and continued: "If you can get Miss Brandeaway from her brother and his acquaintances," (I had nearly saidaccomplices,) "and keep her away, you would be doing the best andkindest thing you ever did in your life."
Miss Metford was evidently impressed by my seriousness, but, as sheherself said very truly, it was unlikely that she would be able tointerfere in the way I suggested. Besides, my mysterious warning wasaltogether too vague to be of any use as a guide for her own action,much less that of her friend. I dared not speak plainer. I could onlyrepeat, in the most emphatic words, my anxiety that she would thinkcarefully over what I had said. I then pretended to recollect anengagement with Brande, for I was in such low spirits I had reallylittle taste for any company.
She was disappointed, and said so in her usual straightforward way. Itwas not in the power of any gloomy prophecy to oppress her long. Theserious look which my words had brought on her face passed quickly, andit was in her natural manner that she bade me good-morning, saying:
"It is rather a bore, for I looked forward to a pleasant hour or twotaking you about."
I postponed my breakfast for want of appetite, and, as Brande's housewas the best example of Liberty Hall I had ever met with, I offered noapology for my absence during the entire day when I rejoined my host andhostess in the evening. The interval I spent in the woods, thinkingmuch and deciding nothing.
After dinner, Brande introduced me to a man whom he called Edward Grey.Natalie conducted me to the room in which they were engaged. From themass of correspondence in which this man Grey was absorbed, and thelitter of papers about him, it was evident that he must have been in thehouse long before I made his acquaintance.
Grey handed me a book, which I found to be a register of the names ofthe members of Brande's Society, and pointed out the place for mysignature.
When I had written my name on the list I said to Brande: "Now that Ihave nominated myself, I suppose you'll second me?"
"It is not necessary," he answered; "you are already a member. Yourremark to Miss Metford this morning made you one of us. You advised her,you recollect, to beware of us."
"That girl!" I exclaimed, horrified. "Then she is one of your spies? Isit possible?"
"No, she is not one of our spies. We have none, and she knew nothing ofthe purpose for which she was used."
"Then I beg to say that you have made a d--d shameful use of her."
In the passion of the moment I forgot my manners to my host, and formedthe resolution to denounce the Society to the police the moment Ireturned to London. Brande was not offended by my violence. There wasnot a trace of anger in his voice as he said:
"Miss Metford's information was telepathically conveyed to my sister."
"Then it was your sister--"
"My sister knows as little as the other. In turn, I received theinformation telepathically from her, without the knowledge of either. Iwas just telling Grey of it when you came into the room."
"And," said Grey, "your intention to go straight from this house toScotland Yard, there to denounce us to the police, has beentelepathically received by myself."
"My God!" I cried, "has a man no longer the right to his own thoughts?"
Grey went on without noticing my exclamation: "Any overt or covertaction on your part, toward carrying out your inte
ntion, will betelepathically conveyed to us, and our executive--" He shrugged hisshoulders.
"I know," I said, "Woking Cemetery, near Saint Anne's Chapel. You haveground there."
"Yes, we have to dispense with--"
"Say murder."
"Dispense with," Grey repeated sharply, "any member whose loyalty isquestionable. This is not our wish; it is our necessity. It is the onlymeans by which we can secure the absolute immunity of the Societypending the achievement of its object. To dispense with any living manwe have only to will that he shall die."
"And now that I am a member, may I ask what is this object, the secretof which you guard with such fiendish zeal?" I demanded angrily.
"The restoration of a local etheric tumour to its original formation."
"I am already weary of this jargon from Brande," I interrupted. "What doyou mean?"
"We mean to attempt the reduction of the solar system to its elementalether."
"And you will accomplish this triviality by means of Huxley's comet, Isuppose?"
I could scarcely control my indignation. This fooling, as I thought it,struck me as insulting. Neither Brande nor Grey appeared to notice mykeen resentment. Grey answered me in a quiet, serious tone.
"We shall attempt it by destroying the earth. We may fail in thecomplete achievement of our design, but in any case we shall at least becertain of reducing this planet to the ether of which it is composed."
"Of course, of course," I agreed derisively. "You will at least makesure of that. You have found out how to do it too, I have no doubt?"
"Yes," said Grey, "we have found out."