The Squire, who had followed close behind him, fired, the pistol shot deafening in the enclosed space. "One less," he said coolly. "They're gone, Ruby."
The tall man granted and went about lighting candles.
As the features of the room sprang into view the other members came in, most glancing about cautiously.
"No more livestock," mocked the Squire. "You may be
à
l'aise
, my timorous heroes."
Topaz gave a snort of disgust. "Faugh! It stinks in here!"
Ruby muttered, "I think I am not easily cowed, but those hellish rodents freeze my blood! Why in God's name do you not get rid of 'em, Squire?"
"Why bother? We'll not need this room for very much longer, and they won't come out whilst we're all in here with the light."
"God help any one of us who chanced to be left in here alone," grunted the man called Emerald.
Topaz shivered. "They're ravenous by the look of 'em."
"An excellent reason to move briskly," purred the Squire.
His hint was taken. The secret door was swung back into place revealing a bowl identical to the one on the outside. The large and bulky member who was called Opal produced a kerchief and dusted off table and chairs. The Squire sat down, opened the case he carried, and retrieved a folded sheet of paper. As the others took their places, Ruby murmured, "I've wondered, Squire, if any of the icons was improperly placed, would the lock still open?"
Spreading his sheet of paper, the Squire answered absently, "No. Nor would the one who erred have time to correct his error."
Sapphire gave a rather hollow laugh. "Come now, Squire! You'd not really shoot down one of the Ruling Council? Couldn't afford to replace us, m'dear fellow!"
"You would be surprised to know how this council has changed since 'twas formed." The Squire added coldly, "Nor have we experienced great difficulty in finding—ah, replacements. Now—to business, gentlemen! Your report, Emerald, if you please."
Tall and powerfully built, Emerald stood. "We have acquired all but one of the properties which had been selected. In three instances these were secondary choices thanks to the damnable interference of Gideon Rossiter and his cronies. But all the estates now in our hands are fully manned, training is completed, and we are ready."
After a short burst of applause, Opal hoisted his bulk erect. "As you know, gentlemen, our first site in Cornwall had to be abandoned. That curst Rossiter has much to answer for! However, we found an even more advantageous site in north Devon. Our cargoes are being shipped there daily. It has proven an excellent reception and training point for new recruits. 'Tis an equally excellent dispersal point for those men ready to move to their assigned stations. All proceeds as scheduled."
The next report was offered by Ruby. He advised that thanks to their members at the Horse Guards, the Navy Board, and the East India Company, the authorities appeared to have no suspicion that the recent heavy shipping losses were not purely accidental. Communiques from the League's district commanders in the midlands, the west country, East Anglia, and the north, were all most satisfactory and there had been remarkably little opposition in those areas.
Topaz rose to his feet. His quiet voice hardened, and he was clearly angry when he said that there had been major opposition in London. "Our negotiations for arms and supplies from a—er, foreign source were seriously disrupted," he declared. "Suspicion was thrown onto two of our most staunch supporters, and a document that could well have destroyed us almost fell into enemy hands!"
At this there was consternation. Chairs scraped on the stone floor as the members jumped up. There were shouts of "What kind of document?"
"Why were we not warned?"
"What in God's name happened?"
The Squire pounded on the table with the butt of his pistol and roared a demand for quiet. When order was restored, he said with an irked glare at Topaz, "There is no cause for alarm. The document was an Agreement we entered into for the supply of arms and mercenaries, and—"
Opal bellowed, "And
that
fell into military hands? My God! If our names were appended, our lives would not be worth—"
"Dammit!" snarled the Squire, "Nobody said it fell into military hands, nor that your names were listed! Our—er, supplier allowed his copy to be stolen by an Intelligence agent, but—
Will
you be quiet? I fancy that only those directly involved could identify the signatures. They were inscribed in haste and are fortunately not very clear except to those familiar with the writing. At all events, comparison is no longer possible since we were able to retrieve the document."
Ruby said shrewdly, "I don't see that. If others have read it, they will surely report the contents to—"
"Three men may very well have read it," said the Squire. "Of those, two have been dealt with. The third is ill, and in the absence of any proof to support his statement would likely be laughed at in Whitehall rather than believed. Certainly, even if he were heeded, the result would be a cautious and lengthy investigation. And I do assure you, my friends, the authorities have no time for such procedures." There were murmurs of relief, and he went on: "I will tell you, however, that something good came out of the business. One of Rossiter's irksome crew has been put out of commission. Sir Owen Furlong was shot down by"—he chuckled—"the lady of his dreams, who filched the Agreement from him."
Sapphire asked eagerly, "He is killed, I hope?"
"Not quite," said Emerald. "But I hear the—er, poor fellow is not doing very well."
"Bravo!" exclaimed Opal. "Would that the rest of the bastards were in like case!"
"To the furtherance of which," said the Squire, "have a look here, my friends."
They gathered about the map he had spread on the table. It was an odd sort of map, consisting of a rough outline of the three kingdoms, but having no topographical detail. Scattered about were squares outlined in red, most of which were lightly shaded in. Each square had a neatly printed name, and lines connected them to adjacent blue circles, marked by initials.
"We have made great strides," the Squire asserted. "The cargoes we have—um, diverted"—there was laughter at this—"have enriched our war chest. The London riots have far exceeded our expectations, and still the authorities dither and delay—to their cost, poor fools! The army is undermanned, the troops undisciplined, ill-equipped and poorly commanded. By contrast, our people are well organized and well armed. Our strategy is clear and comprehensive, our commanders efficient and dedicated. We are ready at these locations." He pointed to each of the squares in succession, pausing at the only one that was outlined in red but not shaded in. "Here alone are we weak. And this is a key area."
Ruby argued thoughtfully, "But we do have a base, see— here."
"True. But Larchwoods is a small base. We need a large one. And here, my faithful patriots, we achieve our greatest triumph! A chain, as they say, is only as strong as its weakest fink. Gideon Rossiter and his damnable busybodies have disrupted our plans, and caused the deaths of some of our finest. But they have a weak link, my friends, who has played right into our hands! Fate has smiled on us, for in my wildest dreams I'd not have envisioned a more delightful state of affairs nor sweeter timing. We are enabled at one blow not only to acquire our final prize, but also to see Rossiter and his wretched followers utterly and completely annihilated!" He smiled at the clamour for details, then went on: "Everyone here has good cause to rejoice in this, our fourth and final chastisement of those who have so ruthlessly opposed us, but one of you has a particular score to settle." He turned and handed his jewelled figurine to Topaz. "To you, my friend, go the honours."
Topaz held the figurine for a moment, gazing down at the map as though savouring the moment. Then he cried harshly, "
Ch
â
timent quatre
!" and amid an outburst of cheers, set the figurine squarely upon the red outline that was marked "Ashleigh."
The atmosphere in the Rose and Crown had changed from congenial to anticipatory, noting which the proprietor, a small, bright-eyed individual eyed his argumentative customers warily and reached for the belaying pin under the bar. He had risen, by rather dubious stratagems, from a lowly position in a solictor's office to proprietor of this modest but well patronised tavern near Gray's Inn. He liked being a proprietor and had no intention of seeing his tavern reduced to rubble.
"Now then, gents," he cautioned. "Now then!"
His high-nosed, thin features flushed from a generous consumption of ale, Mr. Belew waved a hand aloft. "I said it before, and I'll say it again," he declared. "As one what has been a gentleman's gentleman these twelve year and more. You was lucky, Mr. Tummet, when Captain Gideon Rossiter took you on. You don't have the
air
for it, sir! Not that I means no offense. You should've thanked your stars and stayed with the gentleman. To leave his service and take on one what is"—he smirked—"the joke of London-Town, was ill advised, Mr. Tummet. Exceeding ill advised."
There were several nods and grins and a few muttered "Ayes" to endorse his sentiments.
Enoch Tummet's jaw became more prominent. A squarely built man who reckoned his age at "about forty," he had powerful shoulders and big scarred hands. His features had been charitably described as "rough hewn" and included a square head on a short muscular neck, a "cauliflower ear," a nose that had clearly been broken several times, and small brown eyes that just now glittered a warning. He was clad in the neat dark habit of a superior servant. The material was of excellent quality, the tailoring left nothing to be desired, yet it could not be denied that the garments seemed somehow incongruous and at odds with the personality of their owner.
"Number one, Mr. Bellows," he growled, "It's true that I don't put on no airs. Not like some as I could name. Number two, I didn't leave Cap'n Rossiter's service. Not exzack. He got married and took his bride orf on a ship, and I don't hold with ships, so I give Mr. August Falcon a hand when his reg'lar valet was called away, which is what Cap'n Rossiter wanted. And if it suits Enoch Tummet to stay on with Mr. August Falcon, that is none o' your affair. Number three, Mr. Bellows, me present guv'nor, Mr. A. Falcon by name, besides being the best-looking and best-dressed young gent in the City, happens to be one of the richest, and cries friends wiv viscounts and earls and honourables and nobs of all kinds. There ain't a gent in all the southland can match him wiv swords or pops. And if he is the joke of London, I don't hear no one laughing. But"—he set down his tankard and thrust his crooked nose under Mr. Belew's supercilious nostrils—"but if I
did
chance to hear some cove making a joke about such a swell as me guv'nor—"
"
Swell
!" Mr. Belew glanced around the interested gathering and sniggered. "August Falcon's wealth buys him a place in the
haut ton
, in spite of the fact that his great grandmother was—"
"Was a Russian princess," snarled Tummet, moving closer to that elevated and so smug nose.
"Who went and married a Chinaman," sniggered Mr. Belew. "Which makes your—er, guv'nor no more'n a—"
"Careful, Bellows," growled Tummet, his shoulders hunching up.
"Now, now gents," cautioned the proprietor, bringing the belaying pin into plain sight.
"I'm jest
telling
him," said Tummet reasonably, while putting a little more distance between himself and the belaying pin, "so he'll understand. Mr. Falcon's great grandpa wasn't no ordinary Chinaman, Bellows. A
Mandarin
he were, and wiv a mighty fortune. Me guv's got royal blood in his veins, and he's a proud man, and rightly so!" He turned to a slim young footman standing nearby, "And wot be you grinning at, my cove? You got some disparry-gin remarks to offer?"
"Oh, I ain't, Mr. Tummet," declared the footman hurriedly. "Your gentleman's got something to be proud of, like you said. I know that some folk make fun and call him the Mandarin—" He leapt back as Tummet leaned forward, and gabbled, "But I ain't one, sir! No, not me! Everything you said is—er, quite right. And—and his sister, Miss Katrina Falcon—well, no one couldn't deny as she is exceptional beautiful, and the Toast of London!"
"And if he's so royal," said Mr. Belew, who had resorted to his tankard with the result that his nose was a deeper hue than ever, "why does he spend so much time fighting duels?"
"
Winning
doo-ells," corrected Tummet. "Mr. August Falcon is partic'ler 'bout the gents wot tries to fix their interest wiv Miss Katrina, and the gents don't like it when they is sent abaht their business."
"
Particular
is it?" Mr. Belew brayed a laugh. "Beautiful she may be. I won't argue that. But your gent runs off every man what offers. And considering she's just as much of a half-breed as he is—"
"And that's done
you
, swivel-nose!" Tummet hurled the contents of his tankard into Mr. Belew's face, followed with an upper-cut that sent the superior gentleman's gentleman heels over head to join the proprietor on the other side of the bar. He ducked the belaying pin that flailed at him. The belaying pin found a home on the ear of a large dragoon who'd been attending to the discussion with interest. The dragoon staggered back, knocking over a table and the several full tankards that had rested on it. The owners of the tankards took exception.
Having managed without too much difficulty to make his way outside, Mr. Tummet walked sedately up the street congratulating himself on a job well done, and nodding beneficently to the watchmen who raced to the scene of the riot.
He was less complacent the following morning when he slipped into the kitchen of the palatial Falcon House on Great Ormond Street. He had gone to some pains to avoid the housekeeper, a majestic middle-aged lady who might easily pass for a dowager duchess, but she emerged from the pantry to confront him and surveyed his split lip with disapproval.
"Brawling again," she observed, folding her arms across her splendid bosom. "Did you chance to meet some unfortunate acquaintance who questioned your position in this household?"