Now that the Houndsditch affair has been laid aside by the man in the street and it is once more possible for a bearded Englishman to tread the pavements of London without reproach, I may perhaps venture to give some account of a secret society with which I have been intimately connected, without earning the reputation of a monger of sensations.

Some four or five years ago I met a picturesque journalist who told me that he had once been at pains to worm out the secrets of an anarchist society in London, and had incorporated his discoveries in a volume so marvellous that no editor or publisher would believe it.  I only remember one incident of all his wonderful adventures.  He was led by an anarchist comrade into a small shop in the Strand, thence into a p. 153cellar, and thence along a series of passages and caverns that ultimately brought him out in Seven Dials!  Even Mr. Chesterton’s detective-anarchists in the “Man who was Thursday” could not beat this.  For my part I shall not try, but shall content myself with a straightforward narration of facts.

I should think it was about last July that I first noticed that the children of my neighbourhood, with whom I have some small acquaintance, were endeavouring to assume a sinister aspect, and were wearing a cryptic button with a marked air of secrecy.  When I came out for my morning walk the front garden would be animated with partially concealed children like the park in Mr. Kipling’s “They,” and though I have long realised that suburban front gardens do not lend themselves to the higher horticulture, I felt the natural embarrassment of the man who does not know whether he is expected to expel trespassers or welcome bashful visitors.  In the circumstances I affected not to notice that the lilac was murmurous with ill-suppressed laughter and that the laurels were waving tumultuously; but it was p. 154hardly reassuring to discover on my return that a large red cross and the letters T. S. had been chalked on my gate by an unknown hand.  For a moment I wondered whether the children had been reading “Sentimental Tommy,” for these were the initials and the methods of Mr. Barrie’s luckless hero, but the age and genial contempt for scholarship of the investing forces made this unlikely.  On the fourth day, finding one of the band momentarily separated from her comrades, I ventured a coup d’etat.  Pointing to the letters on her secret button, I remarked, “I see you belong to the Teapot Society.”

“I don’t” she said indignantly; “it’s the Terror Society I belong to.”

The secret was out, but I thought it wiser to conceal my triumph.  Evidently, however, my discovery troubled the band, for next morning I received a soi-disant anonymous letter of caution signed in full by all the members.  I felt that the moment had arrived for definite action, especially as the cat who honours my house with his presence, and whose summer morning p. 155basking-place is in the front garden, had been much upset by this recurrent invasion of his privacy.  I wrote a humble letter to the Society, apologising for my crimes and begging that I might be allowed to become a member, and placed it outside on the path.  Five minutes later two very unembarrassed children appeared in my study, and introduced themselves as Captain and Secretary of the Terror Society.

The Captain was very frank with me.

“Of course, we didn’t really want to frighten you,” she said, “but we had to get you to become a member somehow or other.”

“But I’m afraid I’m not much good at conspiracies,” I said modestly.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” the Captain answered kindly.  “You can be honourable Treasurer.  You know we want a lot of things for our house.”

I began to see what part I had in the scheme of things.  “What are the rules of the Society?” I asked in all innocence, and thereby flung the Secretary into confusion.

“You see, she wrote them out,” the Captain p. 156explained, “and she doesn’t want you to read them because of the spelling.  But they’re only make-up rules, so you needn’t bother about them.  Don’t you want to see the house?”

“Captain,” I said firmly, “it is my one wish.  Lead on!”

“You ought really to be blindfolded,” the Captain whispered to me as we went along, “but I used my handkerchief to wrap up ............