The minutes passed. Bundle's watch had stopped, but she judged that over an hour had passed since the Russian had brought her here. What was happening? What, indeed, _had_ happened? At last she heard footsteps on the stairs. It was Mosgorovsky once more. He spoke very formally to her. "Lady Eileen Brent, you are wanted at an emergency meeting of the Seven Dials Society. Please follow me." He led the way down the stairs and Bundle followed him. He opened the door of the secret chamber and Bundle passed in, catching her breath in surprise as she did so. She was seeing for the second time what she had only had a glimpse of the first time through her peephole. The masked figures were sitting round the table. As she stood there, taken aback by the suddenness of it, Mosgorovsky slipped into his place, adjusting his clock mask as he did so. But this time the chair at the head of the table was occupied. No. 7 was in his place. Bundle's heart beat violently. She was standing at the foot of the table directly facing him and she stared and stared at the mocking piece of hanging stuff, with the clock dial on it, that hid his features. He sat quite immovable and Bundle got an odd sensation of power radiating from him. His inactivity was not the inactivity of weakness--and she wished violently, almost hysterically, that he would speak--that he would make some sign, some gesture--not just sit there like a gigantic spider in the middle of its web waiting remorselessly for its prey. She shivered and as she did so Mosgorovsky rose. His voice, smooth, silky, persuasive, seemed curiously far away. "Lady Eileen, you have been present unasked at the secret councils of this society. It is therefore necessary that you should identify yourself with our aims and ambitions. The place 2 o'clock, you may notice, is vacant. It is that place that is offered to you." Bundle gasped. The thing was like a fantastic nightmare. Was it possible that she, Bundle Brent, was being asked to join a murderous secret society? Had the same proposition been made to Bill, and had he refused indignantly? "I can't do that," she said bluntly. "Do not answer precipitately." She fancied that Mosgorovsky, beneath his clock mask, was smiling significantly into his beard. "You do not as yet know, Lady Eileen, what it is you are refusing." "I can make a pretty good guess," said Bundle. "Can you?" It was the voice of 7 o'clock. It awoke some vague chord of memory in Bundle's brain. Surely she knew that voice? Very slowly No. 7 raised a hand to his head and fumbled with the fastening of the mask. Bundle held her breath. At last--she was going to _know_. The mask fell. _Bundle found herself looking into the expressionless, wooden face of Superintendent Battle._ CHAPTER XXXII BUNDLE IS DUMFOUNDED