the man who was thursday-第12部分

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ned　in　this　company。〃

Sunday　had　spent　his　life　in　astonishing　his　followers；　but　it　seemed　as　if　he　had　never　really　astonished　them　until　now。　They　all　moved　feverishly　in　their　seats；　except　Syme。　He　sat　stiff　in　his；　with　his　hand　in　his　pocket；　and　on　the　handle　of　his　loaded　revolver。　When　the　attack　on　him　came　he　would　sell　his　life　dear。　He　would　find　out　at　least　if　the　President　was　mortal。

Sunday　went　on　smoothly

〃You　will　probably　understand　that　there　is　only　one　possible　motive　for　forbidding　free　speech　at　this　festival　of　freedom。　Strangers　overhearing　us　matters　nothing。　They　assume　that　we　are　joking。　But　what　would　matter；　even　unto　death；　is　this；　that　there　should　be　one　actually　among　us　who　is　not　of　us；　who　knows　our　grave　purpose；　but　does　not　share　it；　who〃

The　Secretary　screamed　out　suddenly　like　a　woman。

〃It　can't　be！〃　he　cried；　leaping。　〃There　can't〃

The　President　flapped　his　large　flat　hand　on　the　table　like　the　fin　of　some　huge　fish。

〃Yes；〃　he　said　slowly；　〃there　is　a　spy　in　this　room。　There　is　a　traitor　at　this　table。　I　will　waste　no　more　words。　His　name〃

Syme　half　rose　from　his　seat；　his　finger　firm　on　the　trigger。

〃His　name　is　Gogol；〃　said　the　President。　〃He　is　that　hairy　humbug　over　there　who　pretends　to　be　a　Pole。〃

Gogol　sprang　to　his　feet；　a　pistol　in　each　hand。　With　the　same　flash　three　men　sprang　at　his　throat。　Even　the　Professor　made　an　effort　to　rise。　But　Syme　saw　little　of　the　scene；　for　he　was　blinded　with　a　beneficent　darkness；　he　had　sunk　down　into　his　seat　shuddering；　in　a　palsy　of　passionate　relief。



CHAPTER　VII

THE　UNACCOUNTABLE　CONDUCT　OF　PROFESSOR　DE　WORMS

〃SIT　down！〃　said　Sunday　in　a　voice　that　he　used　once　or　twice　in　his　life；　a　voice　that　made　men　drop　drawn　swords。

The　three　who　had　risen　fell　away　from　Gogol；　and　that　equivocal　person　himself　resumed　his　seat。

〃Well；　my　man；〃　said　the　President　briskly；　addressing　him　as　one　addresses　a　total　stranger；　〃will　you　oblige　me　by　putting　your　hand　in　your　upper　waistcoat　pocket　and　showing　me　what　you　have　there？〃

The　alleged　Pole　was　a　little　pale　under　his　tangle　of　dark　hair；　but　he　put　two　fingers　into　the　pocket　with　apparent　coolness　and　pulled　out　a　blue　strip　of　card。　When　Syme　saw　it　lying　on　the　table；　he　woke　up　again　to　the　world　outside　him。　For　although　the　card　lay　at　the　other　extreme　of　the　table；　and　he　could　read　nothing　of　the　inscription　on　it；　it　bore　a　startling　resemblance　to　the　blue　card　in　his　own　pocket；　the　card　which　had　been　given　to　him　when　he　joined　the　anti…anarchist　constabulary。

〃Pathetic　Slav；〃　said　the　President；　〃tragic　child　of　Poland；　are　you　prepared　in　the　presence　of　that　card　to　deny　that　you　are　in　this　companyshall　we　say　de　trop？〃

〃Right　oh！〃　said　the　late　Gogol。　It　made　everyone　jump　to　hear　a　clear；　commercial　and　somewhat　cockney　voice　coming　out　of　that　forest　of　foreign　hair。　It　was　irrational；　as　if　a　Chinaman　had　suddenly　spoken　with　a　Scotch　accent。

〃I　gather　that　you　fully　understand　your　position；〃　said　Sunday。

〃You　bet；〃　answered　the　Pole。　〃I　see　it's　a　fair　cop。　All　I　say　is；　I　don't　believe　any　Pole　could　have　imitated　my　accent　like　I　did　his。〃

〃I　concede　the　point；〃　said　Sunday。　〃I　believe　your　own　accent　to　be　inimitable；　though　I　shall　practise　it　in　my　bath。　Do　you　mind　leaving　your　beard　with　your　card？〃

〃Not　a　bit；〃　answered　Gogol；　and　with　one　finger　he　ripped　off　the　whole　of　his　shaggy　head…covering；　emerging　with　thin　red　hair　and　a　pale；　pert　face。　〃It　was　hot；〃　he　added。

〃I　will　do　you　the　justice　to　say；〃　said　Sunday；　not　without　a　sort　of　brutal　admiration；　〃that　you　seem　to　have　kept　pretty　cool　under　it。　Now　listen　to　me。　I　like　you。　The　consequence　is　that　it　would　annoy　me　for　just　about　two　and　a　half　minutes　if　I　heard　that　you　had　died　in　torments。　Well；　if　you　ever　tell　the　police　or　any　human　soul　about　us；　I　shall　have　that　two　and　a　half　minutes　of　discomfort。　On　your　discomfort　I　will　not　dwell。　Good　day。　Mind　the　step。〃

The　red…haired　detective　who　had　masqueraded　as　Gogol　rose　to　his　feet　without　a　word；　and　walked　out　of　the　room　with　an　air　of　perfect　nonchalance。　Yet　the　astonished　Syme　was　able　to　realise　that　this　ease　was　suddenly　assumed；　for　there　was　a　slight　stumble　outside　the　door；　which　showed　that　the　departing　detective　had　not　minded　the　step。

〃Time　is　flying；〃　said　the　President　in　his　gayest　manner；　after　glancing　at　his　watch；　which　like　everything　about　him　seemed　bigger　than　it　ought　to　be。　〃I　must　go　off　at　once；　I　have　to　take　the　chair　at　a　Humanitarian　meeting。〃

The　Secretary　turned　to　him　with　working　eyebrows。

〃Would　it　not　be　better；〃　he　said　a　little　sharply；　〃to　discuss　further　the　details　of　our　project；　now　that　the　spy　has　left　us？〃

〃No；　I　think　not；〃　said　the　President　with　a　yawn　like　an　unobtrusive　earthquake。　〃Leave　it　as　it　is。　Let　Saturday　settle　it。　I　must　be　off。　Breakfast　here　next　Sunday。〃

But　the　late　loud　scenes　had　whipped　up　the　almost　naked　nerves　of　the　Secretary。　He　was　one　of　those　men　who　are　conscientious　even　in　crime。

〃I　must　protest；　President；　that　the　thing　is　irregular；〃　he　said。　〃It　is　a　fundamental　rule　of　our　society　that　all　plans　shall　be　debated　in　full　council。　Of　course；　I　fully　appreciate　your　forethought　when　in　the　actual　presence　of　a　traitor〃

〃Secretary；〃　said　the　President　seriously；　〃if　you'd　take　your　head　home　and　boil　it　for　a　turnip　it　might　be　useful。　I　can't　say。　But　it　might。

The　Secretary　reared　back　in　a　kind　of　equine　anger。

〃I　really　fail　to　understand〃　he　began　in　high　offense。

〃That's　it；　that's　it；〃　said　the　President；　nodding　a　great　many　times。　〃That's　where　you　fail　right　enough。　You　fail　to　understand。　Why；　you　dancing　donkey；〃　he　roared；　rising；　〃you　didn't　want　to　be　overheard　by　a　spy；　didn't　you？　How　do　you　know　you　aren't　overheard　now？〃

And　with　these　words　he　shouldered　his　way　out　of　the　room；　shaking　with　incomprehensible　scorn。

Four　of　the　men　left　behind　gaped　after　him　without　any　apparent　glimmering　of　his　meaning。　Syme　alone　had　even　a　glimmering；　and　such　as　it　was　it　froze　him　to　the　bone。　If　the　last　words　of　the　President　meant　anything；　they　meant　that　he　had　not　after　all　passed　unsuspected。　They　meant　that　while　Sunday　could　not　denounce　him　like　Gogol；　he　still　could　not　trust　him　like　the　others。

The　other　four　got　to　their　feet　grumbling　more　or　less；　and　betook　themselves　elsewhere　to　find　lunch；　for　it　was　already　well　past　midday。　The　Professor　went　last；　very　slowly　and　painfully。　Syme　sat　long　after　the　rest　had　gone；　revolving　his　strange　position。　He　had　escaped　a　thunderbolt；　but　he　was　still　under　a　cloud。　At　last　he　rose　and　made　his　way　out　of　the　hotel　into　Leicester　Square。　The　bright；　cold　day　had　grown　increasingly　colder；　and　when　he　came　out　into　the　street　he　was　surprised　by　a　few　flakes　of　snow。　While　he　still　carried　the　sword…stick　and　the　rest　of　Gregory's　portable　luggage；　he　had　thrown　the　cloak　down　and　left　it　somewhere；　perhaps　on　the　steam…tug；　perhaps　on　the　balcony。　Hoping；　therefore；　that　the　snow…shower　might　be　slight；　he　stepped　back　out　of　the　street　for　a　moment　and　stood　up　under　the　doorway　of　a　small　and　greasy　hair…dresser's　shop；　the　front　window　of　which　was　empty；　except　for　a　sickly　wax　lady　in　evening　dress。

Snow；　however；　began　to　thicken　and　fall　fast；　and　Syme；　having　found　one　glance　at　the　wax　lady　quite　sufficient　to　depress　his　spirits；　stared　out　instead　into　the　white　and　empty　street。　He　was　considerably　astonished　to　see；　standing　quite　still　outside　the　shop　and　staring　into　the　window；　a　man。　His　top　hat　was　loaded　with　snow　like　the　hat　of　Father　Christmas；　the　white　drift　was　rising　round　his　boots　and　ankles；　but　it　seemed　as　if　nothing　could　tear　him　away　from　the　contemplation　of　the　colourless　wax　doll　in　dirty　evening　dress。　That　any　human　being　should　stand　in　such　weather　looking　into　such　a　shop　was　a　matter　of　sufficient　wonder　to　Syme；　but　his　idle　wonder　turned　suddenly　into　a　personal　shock；　for　he　realised　that　the　man　standing　there　was　the　paralytic　old　Professor　de　Worms。　It　scarcely　seemed　the　place　for　a　person　of　his　years　and　infirmities。

Syme　was　ready　to　believe　anything　about　the　perversions　of　this　dehumanized　brotherhood；　but　even　he　could　not　believe　that　the　Professor　had　fallen　in　love　with　that　particular　wax　lady。　He　could　only　suppose　that　the　man's　malady　（whatever　it　was）　involved　some　momentary　fits　of　rigidity　or　trance。　He　was　not　inclined；　however；　to　feel　in　this　case　any　very　compassionate　concern。　On　the　contrary；　he　rather　congratulated　himself　that　the　Professor's　stroke　and　his　elaborate　and　limping　walk　would　make　it　easy　to　escape　from　him　and　leave　him　miles　behind。　For　Syme　thirsted　first　and　last　to　get　clear　of　the　whole　poisonous　atmosphere；　if　only　for　an　hour。　Then　he　could　collect　his　thoughts；　formulate　his　policy；　and　decide　finally　whether　he　should　or　should　not　keep　faith　with　Gregory。

He　strolled　away　through　the　dancing　snow；　turned　up　two　or　three　streets；　down　through　two　or　three　others；　and　entered　a　small　Soho　restaurant　for　lunch。　He　partook　reflectively　of　four　small　and　quaint　courses；　drank　half　a　bottle　of　red　wine；　and　ended　up　over　black　coffee　and　a　black　cigar；　still　thinking。　He　had　taken　his　seat　in　the　upper　room　of　the　restaurant；　which　was　full　of　the　chink　of　knives　and　the　chatter　of　foreigners。　He　remembered　that　in　old　days　he　had　imagined　that　all　these　harmless　and　kindly　aliens　were　anarchists。　He　shuddered；　remembering　the　real　thing。　But　even　the　shudder　had　the　delightful　shame　of　escape。　The　wine；　the　common　food；　the　familiar　place；　the　faces　of　natural　and　talkative　men；　made　him　almost　feel　as　if　the　Council　of　the　Seven　Days　had　been　a　bad　dream；　and　although　he　knew　it　was　nevertheless　an　objective　reality；　it　was　at　least　a　distant　one。　Tall　houses　and　populous　streets　lay　between　him　and　his　last　sight　of　the　shameful　seven；　he　was　free　in　free　London；　and　drinking　wine　among　the　free。　With　a　somewhat　easier　action；　he　took　his　hat　and　stick　and　strolled　down　the　stair　into　the　shop　below。

When　he　entered　that　lower　room　he　stood　stricken　and　rooted　to　the　spo