RODNEY PAGET alighted from a cab on a side street near Broadway. He quietly entered a little restaurant and ordered apple pie and coffee. After he finished his eating, he went to the telephone booth in the obscure corner.
He removed the receiver and turned the dial to the figure seven. Holding it there, he pressed the side of the booth. Something clicked. Paget replaced the receiver and slipped through a door that opened beside him.
It was an ingenious device, the whole side of the booth turning through the wall. The opening closed behind him.
Paget walked through a storeroom and arrived in the deserted lobby of the old apartment. He took the elevator to the secret floor and entered the passage where he had gone before.
Confident, he donned a robe and hood from the pile that lay in the anteroom, and gave the signal of seven taps. He received the answer and gave his five taps. He was admitted to the weird room where he joined the silent, standing figures.
A feeling of new confidence inspired Paget tonight. With the exception of the leader of the Seven, he alone, of that silent band, knew the vital importance of this meeting.
He knew that some one had been captured while trailing him; and that the meeting had been arranged that all might know of it. Furthermore, the startling news of Wilbur Blake’s death had made the meeting doubly imperative. That, also, Paget knew.
He had stayed at an uptown hotel the previous night, obeying instructions which he had found in his apartment. He had looked at the Morning Monitor shortly before noon, and had been astonished to learn of the affair at Blake’s.
Still, he had not forgotten to consult the want-ad columns. There he had found the item that signified a meeting.
What would be the outcome of this meeting? That, Paget could not foresee. He felt sure that the mysterious leader of this band would have some scheme to offer.