Dan went to bed with an aching head, doubtless induced by the power of the drug which had been used to stupefy him. The Sumatra perfume was evidently both powerful and useful, as it was used by the Society of Flies not only as a means of recognition in the form of a harmless scent, but as a soporific to bring about insensibility. Probably many a person had been rendered unconscious by the drowsy smoke, and taken to the headquarters of the infernal association, there to become members. But where the headquarters were to be found, Dan had not the slightest notion. And, as his head pained him greatly, he decided to wait until the next morning before thinking out the matter. Off and on he managed to sleep a trifle, but it was not until the small hours that true slumber came to him. It was nine o’clock when he woke, and then he found his head clear, and the pain absent. Only an evil taste remained in his mouth, and after a cold bath he felt more himself, although a touch of languor remained to recall to his recollection what he had been through.
After breakfast he lighted a pipe, and began to think over late events as carefully as was necessary. On alighting at his own door he had paid the driver of the four-wheeled cab, and had asked questions, which the man was willing enough to answer. Halliday hoped by learning where the cabman had picked him up to discover at least the neighbourhood wherein the headquarters were situated. It was difficult to think that an unconscious person, as he had been, could have been taken any great distance along streets, or roads, or lanes, without attention being attracted. But the cabman explained that the friend who had placed his fare in the four-wheeler had removed him from a taxi, which the friend declared had broken down. “And he wanted to get you home, you being drunk,” explained the driver, “so he shoved you into my trap, and I drove off, having the address I was to take you to, leaving your friend to look after the broken-down taxi, along with the chuffer.”
From this explanation it was apparent that on being removed from the dark room Dan had been transported for some distance, long or short, in the taxi. He did not believe that the same had broken down, but that his friend — probably Marcus Penn — had hailed the first cab he saw, and on pretence of an accident had got rid of him in this clever way. It was West Kensington where this exchange had taken place, according to the cabman’s story, but since he had been driven an indefinite distance by Penn in the taxi, the headquarters might be in Hampstead, or Blackheath, or Ilford, or, indeed, anywhere round about London, if not in the heart of the metropolis itself. All bearings were lost by the clever way in which the return had been carried out.
And now Halliday scarcely knew what to do, or how to act. He did not dare to tell the police, as the first sign of activity on the part of the authorities would mean his own death in some mysterious way. He also would be found with an artificial fly near the wound, and the odour of the Sumatra scent on his clothes. As Dan did not wish to die, he therefore hesitated to make any statement to Inspector Tenson of Hampstead, who was so anxious to learn the secret and gain the reward. In fact, he hoped that the man would not come to his rooms — he had been there several times in quest of information — lest he should smell the Sumatra scent. Dan found that he had brought the perfume away on his clothes when he examined them, which was scarcely to be wondered at considering how powerfully the dark room had reeked of the odour. Certainly Tenson did not know the scent so well as Halliday did, although he had experienced a whiff of it when examining the body of Sir Charles Moon. But he might have forgotten the smell.
While Dan turned over his clothes — the blue serge suit he had worn on the previous night — he found a piece of paper in one of the trousers pockets which contained a message type-written in crimson ink. It was set forth in the third person, by no less an individual than Queen Beelzebub herself, and ran as follows —
“QUEEN BEELZEBUB warns Daniel Halliday that not only his own life depends upon his secrecy but the life of Lillian Moon also. Should he apply to the authorities, or in any way recount his adventures, the girl he loves will be put out of the way, and afterwards Daniel Halliday will be dealt with. At the end of thirty days Queen Beelzebub expects to receive homage from her new subject, who will receive notice of time and place fixed for the ceremony. Remember!”
“Quite a Charles-the-First ring about that last word,” thought Dan, frowning at the threatening message; “the scoundrels: they have tied my hands with a vengeance. What the deuce am I to do?”
It was useless for him to ask himself this question as the only answer could be, “Nothing!” If he moved in any way likely to harm the society he ran the chance of sacrificing, not only himself, but Lillian. It was bad enough that he should be done to death — he might have risked that so as to break up the organisation; but it was impossible to place the girl he loved in so dangerous a position. Queen Beelzebub knew what she was about when she used the phrase. And Halliday was well aware that the society had a long arm, and that nothing could protect Lillian from these moles who were working in darkness — clever, deadly, and unscrupulous.
For the next two days the young man went about in a dream, or rather in a nightmare. He did not dare to see Lillian, or to write to Lillian, lest the members of the Society should believe he was betraying them. They appeared to have spies everywhere, and there was no move on the chessboard which he could make which might not be detected. Yet he could not wait passively for the rest of the thirty days, since he had no idea of joining the band, and had only asked for a respite so as to think out some means of escape. More than ever he longed for the return of Laurance. He could trust him, and a consultation between the two might evolve some scheme by which to baffle the subjects of the accursed woman who called herself Queen Beelzebub. Dan wondered if she was Mrs. Jarsell, but the evidence of the perfume seemed too slight a link to join her with this deadly organisation. Of course, there was Marcus Penn, who was a member and knew everything; but he would not speak, since he also ran a risk of death should he betray too much. Still, Dan, being in the same boat and under the same ban, fancied that the secretary might be frank, as his confidence could not be abused. Now, if he could get Penn to state positively that Mrs. Jarsell was Queen Beelzebub, he might have something tangible upon which to work. But, taking into consideration the Egyptian mask, and the alteration of the voice by means of the artificial mouth-piece, Dan believed that she wished to keep her identity secret; always presuming that Queen Beelzebub was the “she” in question. On this assumption Halliday concluded that Penn could not speak out, and bothered himself for hours as to whether it would be worth while to ask the secretary questions.
While still in this undecided frame of mind he received a morning visit from Laurance, who turned up unexpectedly. Freddy, in pursuit of his business, played puss-inthe-corner all over the world, coming and going from London in the most unexpected manner. He reminded Dan of this when the young man jumped up with an exclamation at his sudden entrance.
“You might have known that I would turn up, anyhow,” he said, sitting down, and accepting an offer to have breakfast. “I never know where I shall be on any given date, and you must be always prepared for the unexpected so far as I am concerned. I heard you were looking for me, when I returned last night from Vienna, so I came along to feed with you.”
Halliday ordered his man to bring in a clean cup, and poured out coffee, after which he heaped Freddy’s plate with bacon and kidneys. “There you are, old fellow, eat away and get yourself ready for a long talk. I have heaps to tell you likely to be interesting.”
“About the murder of Durwin?” questioned, reaching for toast.
“Yes, and about the murder of Sir Charles Moon also. You don’t mind my smoking while you eat?”
“No. Smoke away! Have you seen ‘The Moment’ this morning?”
“No. Anything interesting in it about your Austrian excursion?”
“Oh, yes,” said Laurance, indifferently, “I managed to learn a good deal about these anarchistic beasts, and it’s set all out in print. But that’s not what I meant,” he fumbled in his pockets. “Hang it! I haven’t brought a paper, and I meant to. There’s a death chronicled this morning.”
Dan sat up and shivered. “Another of the murders?”
“Yes. Marcus Penn this time.”
“Penn!” Halliday dropped his pipe. “The devil,” he picked it up again. “I wonder why they killed him?”
“He told you too much, maybe,” said Laurance, drily; “anyhow, the gang has got rid of him by drowning him in an ornamental pond in Curberry’s grounds.”
“He might have fallen in,” suggested Dan, uneasily, “or he might have committed suicide out of sheer terror.”
“Well, he might have,” admitted Freddy, thoughtfully, “but from what I saw of the man I should think he was too great a coward to commit suicide.”
Dan smoked in a meditative manner. “I suppose she killed him, or had him killed,” he said aloud, after a pause.
“She? Who?”
“The she-devil who presides over the Society of Flies. Queen Beelzebub.”
Laurance dropped his knife and fork to stare hard at his friend. “So you have learned something since I have been away?”
“Several things. Wait a moment.” Dan rose and retired to his bedroom, while Freddy pushed away the breakfast things, as he did not wish to eat further in the face of Halliday’s hint, which had taken away his appetite. In a few minutes Dan came back to the sitting-room carrying the clothes he had worn on the night of his kidnapping, which still retained a faint odour of the fatal scent belonging to the gang. “Smell that,” said Dan, placing the clothes on his friend’s knee.
Laurance sniffed. “Is this the Sumatra scent?” he asked, “h’m; quite a tropical fragrance. But I thought you proved to your satisfaction that there was nothing in this perfume business?”
“I always had my doubts,” said Halliday, drily, “they were lulled by Penn’s lies and reawakened when I found the scent at Mrs. Jarsell’s. Now I know all about the matter. I place my life in your hands by telling you.”
“Is it as serious as that?” asked Laurance, uneasily.
“Yes. Serious to me and to Lillian also. Read that.”
The journalist scanned the crimson type-writing, and his eyes opened larger and larger as he grasped the meaning of the message. “Where the deuce did you get this?” he demanded, hurriedly.
“I found it in my pocket when I got back the other night.”
“Where from?”
“From the headquarters of the Society of Flies.”
“There is a gang then?” asked Laurance, starting.
“Yes. A very well-organised gang, presided over by Queen Beelzebub, the consort of the gentleman of that name, who is the god of Flies.”
“Where are the headquarters?”
“I don’t know.”
“We may be able to trace the gang by this,” said Freddy, examining the type-written paper. “If Inspector Tenson —”
“If Tenson gets hold of that and learns anything, which by the way I don’t think he can, from that paper, my life won’t be worth a cent; neither will that of Lillian. I might not care for my own life, but I care a great deal for her. I want to have a consultation as to what is best to be done to save her from these devils.”
“Well, you can depend upon my saying nothing, Dan. It seems serious. Tell me all about your discoveries.”
Halliday did so, starting with his visit to the cinematograph with Lillian, and his recognition of Mrs. Jarsell in the animated picture. Then he recounted his journey to Hillshire, and what he had learned from Mrs. Pelgrin and her nephew. “So on the face of it,” concluded Dan, earnestly, “I don’t see how Mrs. Jarsell could have got to London. She didn’t go by train and could not have gone by motor. Yet, I’m sure she was on the Blackheath grounds.”
“It is a puzzle,” admitted Freddy, drawing his brows together, “but go on; you have something else to tell me.”
“Rather,” and Dan detailed all that had taken place from the time he received Penn’s invitation to meet him in the Bakerloo Tube to the moment when he arrived at his rooms again in the four-wheeler. “What do you make of it all, Freddy?” asked Halliday, when he ended and relighted his pipe.
“Give me time to think,” said Laurance, and rose to pace the room. For a time there was a dead silence, each man busy with his own thoughts. It was Dan who spoke first, and said what was uppermost in his mind.
“Of course my hands are tied,” he said dismally, “I dare not risk Lillian’s life. T............