The Seven Dials Mystery - Agatha Christie [40]
‘Unless one takes risks–’ He left the sentence unfinished.
Again seven taps sounded and Mosgorovsky moved across to the secret door.
She failed to catch anything definite for some moments since the whole company were out of sight, but presently she heard the bearded Russian’s voice upraised.
‘Shall we begin proceedings?’
He himself came round the table and took the seat next to the arm-chair at the top. Sitting thus, he was directly facing Bundle’s cupboard. The elegant five o’clock took the place next to him. The third chair that side was out of Bundle’s sight, but the American, No 4, moved into her line of vision for a moment or two before he sat down.
On the near side of the table also, only two chairs were visible, and as she watched a hand turned the second–really the middle chair–down. And then with a swift movement, one of the newcomers brushed past the cupboard and took the chair opposite Mosgorovsky. Whoever sat there had, of course, their back directly turned to Bundle–and it was at that back that Bundle was staring with a good deal of interest, for it was the back of a singularly beautiful woman very much décolleté.
It was she who spoke first. Her voice was musical, foreign–with a deep seductive note in it. She was glancing towards the empty chair at the head of the table.
‘So we are not to see No 7 to-night?’ she said. ‘Tell me, my friends, shall we ever see him?’
‘That’s darned good,’ said the American. ‘Darned good! As for seven o’clock–I’m beginning to believe there is no such person.’
‘I should not advise you to think that, my friend,’ said the Russian pleasantly.
There was a silence–rather an uncomfortable silence, Bundle felt.
She was still staring as though fascinated at the beautiful back in front of her. There was a tiny black mole just below the right shoulder blade that enhanced the whiteness of the skin. Bundle felt that at last the term ‘beautiful adventuress’, so often read, had a real meaning for her. She was quite certain that this woman had a beautiful face–a dark Slavonic face with passionate eyes.
She was recalled from her imagining by the voice of the Russian, who seemed to act as master of ceremonies.
‘Shall we get on with our business? First to our absent comrade! No 2!’
He made a curious gesture with his hand towards the turned down chair next to the woman, which everyone present imitated, turning to the chair as they did so.
‘I wish No 2 were with us tonight,’ he continued. ‘There are many things to be done. Unsuspected difficulties have arisen.’
‘Have you had his report?’ It was the American who spoke.
‘As yet–I have nothing from him.’ There was a pause. ‘I cannot understand it.’
‘You think it may have–gone astray?’
‘That is–a possibility.’
‘In other words,’ said five o’clock softly, ‘there is–danger.’
He spoke the word delicately–and yet with relish.
The Russian nodded emphatically.
‘Yes–there’s danger. Too much is getting known about us–about this place. I know of several people who suspect.’ He added coldly: ‘They must be silenced.’
Bundle felt a little cold shiver pass down her spine. If she were to be found, would she be silenced? She was recalled suddenly to attention by a word.
‘So nothing has come to light about Chimneys?’
Mosgorovsky shook his head.
‘Nothing.’
Suddenly No 5 leant forward.
‘I agree with Anna; where is our president–No 7? He who called us into being. Why do we never see him?’
‘No 7,’ said the Russian, ‘has his own ways of working.’
‘So you always say.’
‘I will say no more,’ said Mosgorovsky. ‘I pity the man–or woman–who comes up against him.’
There was an awkward silence.
‘We must get on with our business,’ said Mosgorovsky quietly. ‘No 3, you have the plans of Wyvern Abbey?’
Bundle strained her ears. So far she had neither caught a glimpse of No 3, nor had she heard his voice. She heard it now and recognized it as unmistakable. Low, pleasant, indistinct–the voice of a well-bred Englishman.
‘I’ve got them here, sir.’
Some papers were shoved across the table. Everyone bent forward. Presently Mosgorovsky raised