"Are you all right there?" asked Gimlet.
The answer came back in a bad-tempered growl. "Why shouldn't I be? Why can't you let a man sleep?"
"Sorry," returned Gimlet carelessly, and strolled on. But before reaching the corner he stopped again and drew Cub into a doorway. "I've got a feeling there's something going on here," he breathed. "That fellow may have been a genuine tramp, or he may have been a sentry. If he was a sentry, as we seemed curious, the chances are he'll watch us. Keep still."
They waited for perhaps five minutes, but they saw no sign of the tramp; and Gimlet had just stirred preparatory to moving on when a car, travelling quickly, came round the corner. With a squeak of brakes it pulled up in front of the church.
"Now what?" murmured Gimlet, bending forward to watch.
One man got out of the car, carrying a small black bag, and disappeared into the church entrance. When some five minutes had passed and he did not reappear, Gimlet said quietly: "Stand fast." He glided away along the path.
He was gone only for two or three minutes. When he came back he said: "There's no one in the car. I've got its number. We'll hang on for a little while to see what happens."
They had to wait for nearly half an hour. Then the man, still carrying his little black bag, emerged, entered the car and drove away.
"I should say that's all for to-night," murmured Gimlet. "Let's get back to headquarters."
They walked down the street. Copper joined them at the corner. "You've bin a long time.
I was just comin' lookin' for you," he complained.
In the car there was a brief debate. "Whether the place has anything to do with our business remains to be seen," said Gimlet. We'll have a look inside that church sometime—but not to-night."
"Why not to-morrow?" suggested Cub. "There's a service at noon. It sounds like a ready-made chance."
"I shall be on my way to Lonington," reminded Gimlet. "I shall have to get the morning train down from Paddington if I'm to do my job on Monday."
"I could attend the service and tell you all about it when you get back," offered Cub.
"It's an idea," admitted Gimlet. "Be careful. If the place is what it pretends to be, all so well and good; but if it's what I suspect it might be it could easily be a death trap."
"Copper and Trapper could keep an eye on things even if they didn't come to the service,
" persisted Cub.
"I promised the General that I'd take one of you with me to Devon. Trapper had better come. Copper could stay here with you. I'll turn it over in my mind," promised Gimlet, as he started the car.
Arriving back at Brummel Square they found that the General had not gone to bed after all. Gimlet told him what had transpired. When the number of the car was mentioned he reached for the telephone, asked the operator for Scotland Yard and put through an inquiry.
"If the number plate on that car is genuine we shall soon know who it belongs to," he said as he replaced the receiver. "The black bag suggests that the man might have been a doctor or a lawyer, although I must admit that it was hardly the hour one would expect a professional man to visit a church.
"I was thinking the same thing," replied Gimlet. "There might be one explanation. The rescued Werewolf was wounded, and would almost certainly be in need of medical attention. He might have been dropped off at the church. If we follow that line of thought we may discover that the church is a sort of Werewolf hospital, or a base where medical attention is available. It might even be the London headquarters of the gang."
"More likely a meeting place—a church would serve that purpose admirably," opined the General. "Had it been the general headquarters. surely all the Werewolves would have got out there? And there is the car to consider. It must be garaged somewhere. We should have to be sure of our ground before we dare make anything like a raid on a place ofworship."
"Cub is going to attend the service there to-morrow morning," stated Gimlet. "He may learn something." He then explained his plan for taking Trapper with him to Lorrington, leaving Copper to watch events in the Whitechapel Road.
To this the General agreed.
At this point the telephone rang. The call was from Scotland Yard. The General took the message.
"Hm. I wasn't far wrong after all," he remarked as he hung up. "The car belongs to a Doctor Guthram Paul, a practitioner in the Mile End Road."
"British subject?" queried Gimlet.
"Apparently," answered the General. "But that is nothing to go on. Too many enemy agents in this country carry British nationality papers. We'll keep an eye on this particular gentleman—it shouldn't take us long to fmd out who his patients are in Whitechapel." He got up. "Well, it's getting late. We'd better see about some sleep,' he concluded. 'We'll discuss the matter further in the morning."
CHAPTER IX
CUB GOES TO CHURCH
ELEVEN-FIFTY the following morning found Cub, feeling unusually respectable in a navy blue suit, walking down the Whitechapel Road on his way to attend divine service at the Chapel of St. Bamaby in the East. Behind, at a reasonable distance, strolled Copper, who had undertaken to see that Cub emerged safely from the church when the service was over. Trapper had gone with Gimlet to Lorrington, whither the others were to follow later in the day if they felt inclined, or should they have any urgent information to impart.
Cub's paramount sensation as he turned into the narrow street was curiosity. With Copper standing by, and the entire Metropolitan police force available should it be required, he felt that he had no cause to be afraid or even nervous of the outcome of his adventure. Nothing, he thought, could have looked more innocent, more mundane, more devoid of anything sinister than the little brick church, at the door of which two men in black clothes were engaged in conversation.
Just short of the entrance a middleaged man stood leaning against the door post of a tawdry newsagent's shop, scanning a newspaper. Coadess, hatless, collarless and unshaven, it was evident that he was the proprietor of the establishment. He threw a casual glance at Cub as he passed.
"So they've got a new recruit, eh?" he observed, half jocularly, with a strong Cockney accent.
Cub pulled up. 'Who's got a recruit for what?"
The newsagent jabbed a thumb towards the church. "That's where you're going, I'll bet."
Cub admitted that this was correct.
"I've got to know most of 'em, but you're a new 'un to me," stated the man.
Cub became interested. "I see. You watch the people who go to church every Sunday, eh?"
"Not every Sunday. The church ain't open every Sunday."
Cub raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? How often is it open?"
"Oh, every now and again, when they feel like psalm singin', I suppose."
"Then how do people know when they may come to the church?"
"The fellow who runs the joint puts a notice in the paper."
Cub became even more interested. "Do I understand that the church only opens occasionally and advertises the doings?" "That's right. Funny bloomin' show I calls it. They must be
a queer lot.'
Cub nodded. "As you say, they must be a queer lot. In what paper does this advertisement appear?"
"On a Saturday, in the Evening Herald."
"I see. And there was an advertisement yesterday, I suppose?"
"That's right. Here, I'll show it to you if you don't believe me," went on the Cockney tartly, as if he resented his information being doubted. He went into the shop and returned unfolding a newspaper. "There you are. There it is," he declared, stabbing the paper with a blunt finger. "Of course, they put a notice outside the church as well."
Cub read the advertisement, which was framed in general terms under the heading of '
Brotherhood of St. Barnaby in the East.' "Can I keep this paper?" he asked.
"You're welcome, I've done with it," was the ready answer.
Cub folded the paper and put it in his pocket. For a moment he hesitated. Copper, he observed, was st
anding at the corner. "Well, I only happened to notice the place by chance," he remarked carelessly. "Having nothing better to do I thought I'd take a look inside. . ."
At this juncture the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of another man, apparently a friend of the newsagent.
The two greeted each other cheerfully and retired together into the house. Deep in thought Cub walked on to the church.
As he turned from the pavement to the entrance a man in a black suit was about to close the door. Seeing Cub coming, he paused long enough for him to enter, regarding him the while with a steady, appraising glance, natural, perhaps, in the circumstances. At least, Cub thought so. But he experienced a twinge of uneasiness as he heard the door being closed behind him. It reminded him that he had crossed the threshold from the security of the public street into—well, he did not know what.
The first thing he noticed was a curious smell—curious only because of where it occurred. It was faint but unmistakable. He recognised it for iodoform. Then he remembered the doctor and the remarks that had been made at headquarters overnight.
The supposition that the doctor had called at the church to attend a patient was practically confirmed. There was less time to dwell on this than he would have wished, for the service, apparently, was about to begin. The congregation were standing.
It was a very small gathering and it took him only a moment to count the members of the congregation. It comprised eleven men. No women were present. No one took any notice of him as he tip-toed into one of the rear pews, but he observed that the verger—or the man who had been on door duty—did not leave his post. He wondered what would happen if he tried to leave, but it was not the moment, he decided, to put the experiment to practical test.
The minister entered and took his place at something that was half way between a reading desk and a pulpit. He was an elderly man dressed in an ordinary dark suit without anything in the nature of vestments. His eyes roved over his flock. It struck Cub that they rested on him rather longer than on the others, although this again was natural, since he was a stranger
and the others were probably known to him. Cub stared back, and as he did so a feeling came over him that he had seen the man before somewhere. It was not his face so much as the way he carried himself. When he spoke he became more than ever convinced that this was so, that he had heard the voice in entirely different circumstances; but search his memory as he would he could not recall the occasion.
"Let us pray," ordered the preacher.
The congregation knelt. Cub did likewise.
After that the service proceeded in a manner that was normal enough although the ritual was a strange mixture of spiritual and temporal exhortations. He did not know quite what to make of it. He appreciated, of course, that if the church was a genuine place of worship the service would be strange, because the worshippers were not of an orthodox sect; but he could not shake off a feeling that what he was watching was insincere; that it was an act put on for a particular purpose—possibly for his benefit. Several times the preacher hesitated as if he was at a loss for words, or was not certain of the procedure; and the congregation was sometimes slow with its responses, as if for the same reason.
And when, after about twenty minutes of this, the service ended abruptly, Cub became increasingly convinced that the whole thing was a sham; that the service would have been different had he not been there. An atmosphere, a sort of tension, had become perceptible.
As the minister rose after the final prayer—a curious extemporaneous speech which, as far as Cub could make out, meant nothing—one of the congregation left his place and made a collection in a small black bag. This was usual enough and Cub thought nothing of it until he noticed that one of the worshippers furtively dropped into the bag a small folded piece of paper. When, presently, another did the same, Cub's suspicions were again aroused. That these little pieces of folded paper were treasury notes he could not believe. None of those present looked particularly affluent. Had one put in a note it would have been remarkable, he thought, but that two should do so was straining credulity too far. When his own turn came he dropped in a shilling. It clinked, he noticed, when it fell, so apparently some coins had been put in.
The preacher retired and most of the members of the congregation moved towards the door which, to Cub's relief, was opened to permit them to leave. Cub would have gone too, but when he left his pew he found his way barred. It might have been accidental, but two members of the congregation occupied the gangway. And they did not move aside.
The verger came forward. "Our preacher would like to have a word with you," he said softly. His lips smiled, but there was no humour in his eyes.
"What about?" inquired Cub evenly, but fully aware that if things were not what they appeared to be this was going to be the show-down.
"You are a stranger in our midst," explained the verger in a flat voice. "Our minister makes it a rule to ask strangers if they enjoyed the service and if they would care to join the Brotherhood."
Cub was thinking fast. His eyes went to the door hoping to see Copper outside; instead, he saw that with the exception of three men the congregation had gone. Two were standing by him; the other was closing the door from the inside, "I'd like to think it over,"
averred Cub.
"But it would be discourteous not to speak to the preacher," chided the verger gently. "
Come, he is waiting."
The other two men were watching with cold dispassionate eyes. Again it might have been accidental, but one of them put a hand into his pocket.
"Very well," agreed Cub, who now saw clearly that he was in no case to argue.
"This way, please."
Cub was no longer in doubt. The procession that moved down the aisle was by its very nature a threat. The verger led the way. Cub followed.
Close behind came the two members of the congregation.
Reaching the vestry, or what in the ordinary way Cub would have called the vestry, the verger tapped on the door. A voice called, "Come in."
The verger pushed the door open and by a wave of his hand invited Cub to enter.
The minister was waiting, seated at a low writing table. As he glanced up he sniffed, screwing his nose sideways, and the movement, slight though it was, acted as a spur to Cub's memory. With a sudden tightening of the heartstrings he remembered where he had seen the man before. It was at the Hotel Europa. The man was Wenson.
There was something different about his general appearance suggesting that either then or now he had affected some simple form of disguise, but Cub knew that he was not mistaken. He hoped fervently that nothing in his own manner had revealed that identification had been established. On the other hand, had Wenson recognised him?
Neither by word nor deed was it suggested that he had, although this could not be accepted as proof. After all, thought Cub swiftly, although he had seen Wenson when the man had come to Gimlet's room at the Europa, Wenson may not have seen him, or noticed him, for his eyes had naturally been on Gimlet, who had opened the door.
Surmise was cut short by a remark from Wenson. "I hope you enjoyed our little service,"
he said smoothly.
Cub shrugged. "It was all right," he answered casually, seeing no reason to pretend an enthusiasm which he did not feel.
"What brought you to our little church?" Wenson still spoke quietly, but his eyes were on Cub's face, and they were hard, suspicious.
"I happened to be passing. I saw the notice on the board about the service so I thought I'
d come in."
"You are interested in religion, eh?"
"Not particularly."
"So !" Wenson's voice took on a slightly harder quality. "And now suppose you tell us the real reason why you came?"
Cub affected surprise. "Is this usually how you talk to new members of your church?"
"Who sent you here?" demanded Wenson.
"I came entirely on my own account," returned Cub, truthfully enoug
h.
"Very well. We shall accept you into our Brotherhood," decided Wenson.
"I have no objection," replied Cub. "What does it involve exactly?"
"In the first place it involves a little ceremony of initiation."
"What sort of ceremony?" asked Cub slowly. Out of the corners of his eyes he could see the men who had remained behind edging closer to him.
"It is a sort of confirmation. We call it the Spirit of Truth." "Would you mind being a little more explicit?"
"Not in the least. Quite recently, as you may have heard, some very remarkable drugs have been discovered, and they can be made to serve very useful purposes. There is one which, when injected into a human body, makes that person a simple subject for interrogation. In other words, the answers that he gives are truthful. He cannot lie. It is reasonable that before adopting you we should like to know something of your past life.
You may have made mistakes, committed indiscretions which, naturally, you would wish to conceal. We shall remove the risk of such temptation. There is no need for you to be afraid. We have a doctor present. He will apply the necessary treatment."
The word 'doctor' came as another shock to Cub. Remembering the man with the black bag he did not doubt the truth of Wenson's statement. "I shall not, of course, submit to any treatment," he declared.
"My dear boy," murmured Wenson blandly. "I do not think you are in a position to refuse our little request. You came here entirely of your own accord, remember. Refusal on your part would suggest that your true motives are open to suspicion. If you have told the truth you have nothing to fear." Wenson turned to a man who was standing a little apart.
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