Gentlemen of Crime

Chapter I—The Gathering of the Eagles.

Chapter I—The Gathering of the Eagles.“Gentlemen,” barked out the small wizened man, “money talks.”

Nine men were seated at a long table in a very large room, where, except for a small and carefully shaded light directly above the head of the man who had spoken, everything was in complete darkness.

But although the hour was midnight, and the door was locked and the windows were closely shuttered and draped over with thick curtains, there was nothing in a way suspicious or sinister about the room itself.

It was no bare unfurnished cellar, suggestive of secrecy and the plotting of evil deeds, no hole-and-corner meeting place, where criminals might be foregathering, and no lair certainly for the hiding away of human beasts of prey.

Instead, the appointments of the chamber were in every way rich and sumptuous, speaking eloquently of refinement and of money judiciously, if lavishly, expended.

The chairs and tables would have realised a small fortune in any art saleroom in the world, and the enormous carpet, extending to the wainscoting, had cost many hundreds of pounds. There were pictures, too, upon the walls, the value which only experts could appraise, while the great oak fireplace was a rare and prized antique, a poem of those far-off days when men gave to wood and stone the beauty of the stars.

And yet there was only one small light in the room, and until the little man had darted through the door and locking it behind him, had started to address the gathering, not a word had been spoken by anyone, and the stillness had been as complete and deep as if all present had been waiting breathlessly for the pronouncement of some dread sentence of death.

“Yes,” continued the speaker, in sharp and staccato-like tones, “it is my fortune or misfortune, as you all know, to be a very rich man, and indeed great wealth alone could have enabled me to arrange such a gathering as this.” He thumped with his fist upon the table. “Gentlemen, will it surprise you to learn that there are now present in this room the very cream of the great detectives of the world, and, if I may say so without giving offence”—his lips curved to a sarcastic smile—”certain of its greatest miscreants as well?”

The humour died from his face, and he became at once business-like and cold. “I have been successful in bringing together upon a single occasion the most renowned trackers and the most notorious practitioners of crime, and I have brought you here at great expense, by the pulling of many strings; and, as I say, nothing but my unique position in financial circles could have rendered it possible for me to have bid so successfully for your company.” He lowered his voice to an intense whisper. “And you have one and all come here by stealth, unknown to one another, by many devious ways. You are all disguised and wearing the black masks I have provided for you, this chamber is in darkness, it is in the dead of night, and mine is the only voice that so far any of you have heard.” He raised his hand to emphasise his point. “There is then no human possibility that any of you can know who the others are, and unless I give the word everything is propitious for this anonymity to remain unbroken.”

An apologetic tone crept into his voice. “And I have arranged that everything should happen in this way because, upon the first shock of your seeing so many gathered together here, it may seem that I have not been open and straightforward in my call for your company, and some of you may in consequence be unwilling to act for me and may desire to draw out.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You have each of course imagined that you were being summoned here alone, but when I have exactly explained the position, and what I want you for, you will one and all then realise that it was vital for the success of my project that you should be under this illusion.

“Under the peculiar circumstances it was impossible that I could give you the whole of my confidence until you were all assembled here, but”—he looked round with a grim smile—”surely my terms are sufficiently generous to mollify any wounded feelings that any of you may have. I have mentioned to each of you the sum of £1,000 for one month's work, whether your labour be of any service to me or not, and I now make the promise of a further £5,000 to one and all of you if the consummation I am desirous of is brought about—no matter by whom. In addition, in the latter contingency I will also give a most substantial present to the one of you who in my opinion has been most instrumental in contributing to that success.” He thumped his fist again upon the table. “Now, gentlemen, I ask you, is there any one among you who is not prepared to work upon these terms in unison with such colleagues as I have chosen? What do you say?”

A moment's silence, and then the masked man nearest to him on his right asked slowly:

“And how do you propose then, Mr. Smith, that we should work, as you say, in unison together?” There was a distinct sneer in the voice. “From what you have just told us, I gather we shall not all of us be imbued exactly with the same ideals.”

“Precisely,” snapped Ephraim Smith, “and you may also gather, sir, that ideals are altogether out of place and of no marketable value here.” His voice was harsh and insistent as he waved his arm round to his audience. “Understand, please, all of you, that this is a commercial proposition I am placing before you—a commercial proposition pure and simple, and I make no pretences that I am appealing to any higher feelings. I want something, and I am prepared to pay for it, and it does not matter two hoots to me whether those who give it have clean hands or not in the ordinary conduct of their lives.” He spoke quite coldly. “So the only bond of unison between you will be one of dollars—cash—for I have simply brought you here, good man and bad, saint and sinner, in order that you may all pool your peculiar talents to my advantage.”

He raised his hand. “But mind, you”—and his face softened into an attractive smile—”although I am purposely putting the position before you so brutally, still—still in my own mind I am perfectly sure that money will not be the only factor you will dwell upon in making your decisions, for, however different your temperaments and characters, I am aware that you all possess one quality in common, the quality of courage. You are all brave men, and risk and peril belong to the atmospheres in which you live. You have all of you attuned your lives to danger and it is your wont to labour in the storm and on the precipice side. Good men and bad, you are hunters, and therefore you are never deterred by the possibility that your quarry may at any moment turn and rend you.” He laughed lightly. “So, when I tell you it is dangerous work I am going to entrust to you, very dangerous work, I know quite well that I am appealing to your sympathies as well as offering you material rewards.”

“But how do you propose we shall work together?” asked the man upon his right again. “You haven't explained that yet.”

“Well, well,” replied Ephraim Smith impatiently, “having made quite clear to you that it is to your mutual advantage that some one of you should be successful, I am confident you will all be prepared to help one another to the full extent of your abilities. After I have laid everything before you and you have duly cogitated over the matter, you will one and all, I hope, contribute your ideas and suggestions to the common fund.” He glared round the table. “Now, has anyone else a question to ask?”

“Certainly,” came a refined voice from the far end, “I have one.” The speaker laughed musically. “Like my honourable colleague-to-be who has just asked for information, I do not feel easy at the company I am in”—he spread out his hands, as if in some anxiety—”for as by no stretch of the imagination can I think of anybody referring to me as one of the great detectives of the world, so I can only conclude that I fall into the other category as one of its greatest rogues. That being so”—and he made his voice tremble—”how shall I fare when I am uncovered naked and defenceless before my enemies? Will it be safe for the wolf to be consorting with the watchdogs, and the jackal to go hunting with the lions?”

“A sensible question,” exclaimed Ephraim Smith sharply, “but one easily answered.” He lifted his hand in solemn warning. “It is to be understood that a truce of God will exist whilst you are in my service and that no one among you will lift his finger against any other. I mean—upright men and rogues, men of honour and gentlemen without scruples, you will one and all for the time being act as in a common brotherhood, and will do nothing by word or deed to bring misfortune upon one another.” He paused for a moment. “Now is that clearly understood? You are to take no advantage of your association together in my service.”

“Good,” remarked a slim man seated next to him of the refined and musical voice, “then perhaps some gentleman here will kindly give me back my watch. It is of value to me, and I have noted for some minutes now that it has been absent from the usual pocket where I keep it. It is—,” and he paused while passing his hands down his waistcoat. “Oh, pardon,” he went on in real distress, “I remember now I didn't bring it with me. The glass was loose and I left it at home in the chest of drawers. Really, really,” and it was plain that his annoyance was genuine. “I apologise most humbly to all present. Upon another occasion if the opportunity be afforded me I will pay willingly for champagne all round. I——”

“A handsome apology, I am sure,” laughed another man, “but while upon the subject of personal property, Mr. Smith, may I remark that some gentleman here must be sitting on my hat. I put it down upon another chair when I first came into the room, but your butler motioned me to sit here, and in changing my seat I forgot to move the hat with me. It is a good hat, and I shouldn't like——”

But Ephraim Smith shook himself in irritation.

“Well, are you all agreed?” he interrupted brusquely. “A truce of God and you all work together under the conditions I have stated? No one has any objection?”

The man who had lost his hat sank back into his chair and a deep silence followed.

Ephraim Smith rubbed his hands together. “Excellent,” he exclaimed, “then you are men of common sense as well as men of genius, and as far as this gathering is concerned there is consequently no further need for secrecy.”

With a quick movement he pushed a button under the table and instantly the room was flooded with light. There were lights then everywhere, glaring, harsh, and unshaded lights—over the table, high up in the ceiling, and all round the walls.

So suddenly, indeed, was the darkness broken that the company of masked men wilted as if they had come suddenly under the lash. They jerked themselves up stiffly and turned sharply in their chairs, regarding one another as far as their blinking and dazed condition would permit with hostile and suspicious eyes. But the shock passed away quickly and curiosity soon began to take the place of uneasiness. They subsided into their chairs again and allowed their glances to wander interestedly around.

“Now I'll introduce you to one another,” said Ephraim Smith briskly, “I'll——”

“But is that necessary, sir,” broke in another man sharply. He spoke with a slight foreign accent. “Is it necessary, I ask?”

“Not absolutely necessary,” replied Ephraim Smith with a frown, “but most desirable, because you can then all appreciate the value of one another's opinions.” He brushed the objection aside. “There is still no need, if you do not wish it, for any of you to discard your disguises. You are all past masters in the art and, if you are so minded, your everyday appearances, as far as this meeting is concerned, may remain concealed. There is no obligation on any of you to unmask.”

He spoke quickly, is if to forestall any further objection.

“Beginning then on my right hand and going round the table, we have—number one, Mr. Naughton Jones, the versatile solver of many intricate problems and the terror of the aristocracy of the underworld; number two, Monsieur Vallon, of the Surete Generale of Paris, who perhaps has given more men to the guillotine than any other detective of his country; number three, Dr. Crittenden, who has as many hangings to his credit as there are years in his life; number four, Monsieur Raphael Croupin, who has all France at his feet because of the romantic interweaving of his many love adventures and his many thefts; number five, Lord Victor Hume, who, in the ways of criminology, has performed for us the miracle of making omelettes without breaking of any eggs; number six, Mr. Gilbert Larose, who comes to us from the Antipodes with a great reputation for setting small value upon lives, including, it would certainly seem, his own; number seven, Professor Mariarty, whose organisation of crime has been the one bright spot in the failure of the lawless classes of this country to establish a stranglehold upon Scotland Yard; and finally, number eight—Monsieur Gustave Hidou, the so-called sewer rat of Paris, who, if report be true, has given to the waters of the Seine more corpses than there are in many a fashionable churchyard.”

Ephraim Smith rubbed his hands together exultantly and beamed round upon his audience. “Surely, gentlemen—surely as opulent a gathering of good and evil as could be found in any chamber in any city of the world.”

A strained silence followed, and then Naughton Jones laughed dryly.

“A grim joke, Mr. Smith,” he said, “and your need must indeed have been great for you to perpetrate it.” He slipped off his mask and threw it down upon the table. “Well, I, for one; am not ashamed to show my face.”

“Nor I, either,” cried Vallon, throwing off his mask as well. “I'm Vallon, of the Surete of Paris, and I have no care who knows it.”

And then one by one all round the table they proceeded to discard their masks, except the last man, who sat motionless and with no intention apparently of uncovering.

“I prefer to remain as I am,” he said coldly. “I am not so good-looking as the rest of you, and no beauty will be lost if you don't see me.”

“As you will!” snapped Ephraim Smith, as if rather surprised. He scowled. “But all the same, I think it would have shown more courtesy on your part, Monsieur Hidou, if you had followed the general example.” He rose briskly from his chair.

“Black coffee will now be served,” he went on, “for I want to keep you as alert and wakeful as possible until you have considered my problem. After that you will be my guests at supper, and the fastidious Lord Hume, even, will be able to find no fault in the vintage of champagne I am offering you.” He smiled genially. “So, for five minutes, gentleman, you can talk and relax. You are all amongst friends, remember, and there is no need for any of you to be on your guard”—and, turning his back upon his guests, he unlocked the door and proceeded quickly from the room.

For a minute or so none of the company appeared to have any desire to further their acquaintanceships; instead, they sat stiffly in their chairs and took no notice of one another. Then Raphael Croupin got up and walked round to Naughton Jones.

“Most happy to meet you again, Mr. Jones,” he said, bowing respectfully. “Why, you look younger than ever! Age and cocaine seem to nave no effect on you.”

“I have given up cocaine,” replied Naughton Jones, coldly, “and kindly do not refer to it. From a little failing among intellectuals it has become the vice of the degenerates and has descended even to the slums.” He smiled. “How are you getting on? Trade brisk, eh?”

Raphael Croupin made reply with despondency. “Not very well, I am sorry to say,” he said. “Business is slow and expenses are going on just the same. I have not the heart to dismiss the staff.”

“Well, you may not need them much longer, Monsieur Croupin,” broke in Vallon grimly, nodding his head. “We shall be getting you very soon, I am sure.”

“Ah! Monsieur Vallon!” exclaimed Croupin, turning round excitedly, “I am delighted to meet you. It does not happen we have met before, but then who does not know the great Vallon by reputation?” He bowed gallantly. “It is my good fortune that my line of work does not especially attract your activity. Neither I nor any of my employes use vitriol nor prepare sacks and graves in cellars for lovely girls.” He leant forward and touched Vallon on the arm. “But I do not like it, Monsieur—all the company we have here.” He looked round stealthily. “That Hidou is a most immoral man, and really I would prefer not to have business with him in any way. It was a mistake for Mr. Smith to invite him to consult with us. He is a vulgar murderer.”

The deep voice of Professor Mariarty came up from the end of the room.

“Of course, Mr. Hidou,” he said, a little resentfully, “things are so much easier for you in Paris. You have the Seine close to you all the time. When, we have to get rid of a body it is not so easy, and we find it safer to leave it where it is. In making away then we don't encumber ourselves.”

“But my dear Dr. Crittenden,” protested Lord Hume, “you are quite mistaken. By what chemical means can you ever possibly expect to give to colonial wines the glory of the soil of the valleys of the Loire and the Rhone? God consigned to the chalk of France——”

“But, Monsieur Vallon,” laughed Raphael Croupin merrily, “even if you did get hold of me by any chance, you would never be able to sustain the charge. My organisation is too perfect.” He spread out his hands. “Why, there are two members of my staff whose sole duty it is to prepare alibis for me. They are always at it. Whilst I am working, say, at Nimes, there is a cast iron alibi being prepared to show that I have never left Paris; when I am at Bordeaux, a dozen honest fellows are being got ready to swear that I have been all the time at Nancy. And so on and go on. I never——”

The emotionless and solemn looking butler brought in the coffee, handing it round upon a silver tray, and the conversation became general. Despite their varied temperaments and occupations, for the moment the guests all talked in seeming harmony together, and the gay laugh of Raphael Croupin and the cultured tones of Lord Hume broke in across the deep voice of Dr. Crittenden and the precise enunciation of Naughton Jones. Five—ten minutes passed, and then Ephraim Smith made another lightning entrance into the room.

“Gentlemen,” he announced briskly, “to your seats—if you please. The serious business of the night is about to begin. You have all pencils and paper before you, and kindly help yourselves to cigarettes.” He switched off the lights all round the room, leaving only the table illuminated. Then he sat down and pulled his chair up close. “Now,” he said grimly, “I am going to tell you what I have summoned you all here for.”