From the door opposite the leader came seven taps.
An eighth man was seeking admittance to the sanctum of the Silent Seven!
There was a pause. Paget wondered what the leader would do. He could not imagine whom the intruder might be.
“Some one desires admittance,” declared the leader, in a calm, solemn voice. “Before we reply to his request, let us identify ourselves. I am Number One—”
“Two.” A robed figure called the number and stepped across the room beside the leader.
“Three.” Another man took his place in line.
“Four.” As the speaker moved to the front of the room, Paget awaited the proper instant to give his number. As he was about to speak, the man beside him stepped to the center of the room and said “Five.”
Paget was too astounded to move. He could not understand the man’s purpose. Five was his number — not that of the one who had spoken. Some mistake had been made; it would not be wise to protest at this critical moment.
“Six.” Paget heard the word, as another robed man called the number. He was now alone, standing before the line of silent men. His mind was in a state of utter confusion. He looked at his cowled companions. Every hood seemed turned so that invisible eyes were peering at him.
“Your number?”