A MAN appeared in the lobby of an old apartment house just off Broadway. The place was deserted. It was antiquated in appearance, and showed signs of having once known better days.
The man opened the solid door of the automatic elevator. He entered, closed the door behind him, and pressed the button marked with the figure four. The elevator, its mechanism groaning, moved slowly upward.
The man placed his forefinger upon the red button marked “Stop.” He watched the door of the elevator and noted the number designating the third floor.
The instant the bottom of the elevator reached the top of the door that led to the third floor, the man pressed the stop button. The elevator came to a halt between the third and fourth floors.
The passenger turned to the back of the elevator. It consisted of two metal panels with a vertical division between them. The man placed his hand upon the division and pushed it upward several inches. Pressing his hand against the panel on the right, he moved it to the left.
An opening appeared in the back of the elevator. Beyond it was a narrow doorway cut through the brick masonry of the elevator shaft.
The man stepped through the opening. He closed the panel of the elevator behind him. Something clicked; the mechanism of the elevator began to grind as the car descended.
The lobby downstairs remained deserted for a few minutes. Then a side door opened, and Rodney Paget emerged. He stepped out of the old storeroom through which he had come.
He looked cautiously about the lobby. The street door was solid, and no one could be seen from outside.
Paget glanced at his watch. It registered five minutes past eight.
The clubman moved across the lobby in a stealthy manner. He hastily opened the elevator door and slipped through. He breathed a sigh of relief as he pressed the button by the figure four.
Like the man who had gone before him, Paget kept his finger upon the red stop button. He was tense, waiting for the proper instant. He had the air of one who has embarked upon a dangerous adventure.
When the elevator had cleared the third floor, Paget pressed the stop button. He turned and his hands trembled slightly as he found the movable panel and opened it. The darkness of the passage through the wall momentarily discouraged him. He hesitated on the brink; then, with a sudden effort, he stepped through the opening.
He closed the panel behind him and released a catch which he discovered by feeling in the darkness. He stood in a listening attitude while the car descended to the first floor.
PAGET walked straight ahead, through impenetrable darkness. His hands were outstretched before him.
At last they encountered a smooth wall.
Feeling to the right, Paget sensed a turn in the passage, but he did not follow it; Instead, he moved his hands to the corner of the wall. There his fingers discovered a tiny crevice! In it was a small, almost unnoticeable projection.
He pressed the projection, and the smooth wall slid back. It revealed a room lighted by a dim red light.
When Paget entered, the wall closed behind him.
The room was small and barren. In one corner lay a dark mass of cloth. Paget stopped and lifted a dark-blue robe, topped by a cowl. He donned the garment and stepped to the wall opposite the spot where he had entered.
He tapped the wall seven times. A momentary silence; then seven answering taps were heard. Paget tapped five times. A portion of the wall slid open.
Paget entered a larger room where four cowled men were standing. One of them approached him. The room was filled with a dim, weird light.
“Seven,” came a whispered voice. The word was uttered by the cowled figure that stood before Paget.
“Silence,” whispered Paget, in reply.
“One,” came the next challenge.
“Five,” was Paget’s response.
“Our name.”
“The Silent Seven.”
“Our sign.”
Paget raised his hands to the front of his robe. The fingers of his right hand were spread; two fingers of his left hand were extended.
The gesture signified the number seven. It satisfied the challenger.
“Our amulet,” came the next request. Paget held out his left hand, palm down. There, on his third finger, rested the scarab ring which had once been worn by Doctor George Lukens.
The hooded challenger leaned forward to inspect it. He showed his approval by stepping backward.
Paget, without noticeable hesitation, took his place near the wall beside the three hooded men who stood there.
An ominous silence hung over that group of strangely clad men. The suspense chilled Rodney Paget.
They were waiting, and no motion was made by any one. At length, seven light taps were heard.
The hooded chief stepped forward and tapped the sliding door seven times. Six knocks came in reply.
The wall moved to the side and another hooded man entered. He answered the challenges that had been given to Rodney Paget.
The only difference was in the reply given to the word “One.” Paget had responded “Five.” The newcomer answered “Six.”
There was a prolonged wait after the sixth man had been accepted by the challenger. Then came another tapping. The new entrant replied “Seven” to the word “One.” He was accepted.
The challenger walked backward to the far side of the room and raised both hands. Paget followed the example of the others as they sat on stools near the walls of the room.
“WE are the Silent Seven,” said the central figure, in a low-pitched voice. Every word was audible; some peculiar acoustic condition of the room gave the tone an awe-inspiring sound.
“The Silent Seven,” repeated the others, in a whisper.
“We command the Faithful Fifty,” came the voice.
“The Faithful Fifty,” was the whispering echo.
“Our identities are unknown,” declared the speaker. “Each of us was appointed by the founder of our order — he who first was Number One.
“Should new members be needed, I shall appoint them. Their names will be known to me alone. That is my oath.”
“You have declared the oath of Number One,” was the response.
“Be wary with the Faithful Fifty,” came the speaker’s voice. “Reveal yourselves only in extreme necessity. Otherwise, deal with them through the countersign.”
“Through the countersign.”
“Or through the cipher.”
“Through the cipher.”
“Or through me, your leader.”
“Through our leader.”
There was a short silence. The speaker then made an announcement.
“Tonight,” he said, “we have assembled at the request of Number Five. We shall hear him break the silence.”
Rodney Paget arose unsteadily. He moved to the end of the room opposite the chief and made the sign of the seven with his hands. The leader made the same sign in return.
“Brothers of the Seven,” said Paget, in a low voice, “I have brought you a plan.”
He was surprised at the sound of his own tones. His words did not seem natural. It was impossible to recognize a familiar voice in this strange room.
Paget gained reassurance. He had feared these men until now, but he was rapidly becoming confident.
“My plan,” he continued, “will bring us millions. In order to accomplish it, I must have full services of the Faithful Fifty. I have used some of them before now” — he was glib as he spoke this falsehood — “but I need the services of those most suited to my present needs. I wish to obtain them through Number One.”
“Does your plan require crime?”
The interrupting voice was that of Number One.
“Yes.”
“Of what nature?”
“Abduction.”
“Is that all?”
“There may be complications,” ventured Paget uneasily.
“There are no complications to the Silent Seven,” declared the leader. “To us, all crimes are one — and all are justifiable. Each crime must serve a purpose that is useful to us.
“We demand power and wealth. Society is our prey. We stop at nothing. We ask only that the gain be worth our attention.”
“My plan fills that requirement.”
“What do the Seven say?” asked the leader.
“Let Number Five reveal his plan to Number One,” came a voice. A chorus responded, “Aye.”
THE leader approached and produced a board which bore a sheet of paper. He placed a pencil in Paget’s hand. There, in that weird room, amidst those hooded figures, the man who had declared himself as Number Five began to write.
At times his hand hesitated. The presence of the leader urged him on. He completed his work.
The leader moved back, carrying the board with him. He was deliberate as he read the words which Paget had inscribed.
He perused the message a second time, as though committing it to memory. Then he pulled the paper from the board.
Paget’s heart sank as the leader tore the paper into halves and quarters; then he felt a thrill of elation when the leader spoke.
“The plan is good,” declared Number One. “What do the Seven order?”
“Let Number One decide,” came a reply.
“Aye,” affirmed the whispered chorus.
“We shall accept it,” said the leader. “Has Number Five any further request?”
“I shall need money,” said Paget boldly.
“How much?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“It is granted,” was the leader’s prompt reply. He beckoned to Paget. When the latter approached, the leader wrote a few cryptic words on a card and showed it to him.
Paget nodded his hooded head. The leader destroyed the card, and Paget retired.
“Shall the silence become unbroken?” questioned the leader. There was no reply.
The leader turned and uncovered a niche in the wall. Standing there, was a candelabrum with seven lighted candles. The leader spoke.
“The Seven,” he said.
“Silence,” replied the others.
The leader extinguished one of the candles.
“Number Seven,” he said.
One of the hooded figures rose and turned his back to the leader. The wall slid back and Number Seven departed. The wall closed.
After a short wait, the leader put out another candle. This time he named Number Six, and a second man left. When the leader extinguished a third candle, and called for Number Five, Rodney Paget followed the actions of the others.
As soon as the wall had closed behind him, he removed his robe and went down the passage to the elevator. There he found a button in the wall. The car came up, and Paget entered it.
He lost no time in his departure. Three minutes after his dismissal, he was riding down Broadway in a cab.
PAGET attended the theater that night, but he began to show signs of poorly restrained impatience before the show was over. After the last act, Paget left the theater with unusual haste.
He turned his steps toward Sixth Avenue, and stopped at the corner of Forty-fourth Street. A few minutes later, a cab pulled up beside the curb.
“Taxi?” asked Paget, speaking from beside the car.
“Busy,” replied the driver.
“Faithful,” said Paget, in a low voice.
“The Fifty,” replied the driver.
“Silence,” said Paget.
“The Seven,” came the response.
Paget placed his hands against his chest, one hand outspread, the other clenched to form a fist. The driver made the same sign.
It was the signal of recognition that identified the members of the Faithful Fifty, the men who served the Silent Seven. The driver opened the cab.
Paget instructed him to drive to the Merrimac Club. As the cab moved out between the pillars of the elevated, the driver’s hand appeared through the partition that separated the back seat from the front. An envelope dropped to the floor.
Paget picked it up and put it in his pocket. He did not linger long at the Merrimac Club. He strolled about and smoked a cigarette. Then, leisurely as ever, he left the club, summoned a cab, and rode home.
But in the privacy of his own apartment, behind the drawn shades of the living room, Rodney Paget became suddenly eager.
He pulled the envelope from his pocket and tore off the end. His fingers trembled as he spread open the envelope and reached in to grasp the contents. A gasp of satisfaction followed.
Crinkling in his hands was a wad of crisp new, five-hundred-dollar bills.
Paget smiled as he counted them. Twenty in all. It was the ten thousand dollars he had requested from the Silent Seven!
Paget marveled at the power of the mighty organization. He realized that he had associated himself with masters of crime. With inexhaustible funds, with fifty determined workers at their call, the Silent Seven was an unknown band of terror.