The Russian remained for some minutes standing by the table, stroking his beard.
Then he drew a watch from his pocket and glanced at the time. Nodding his head as though satisfied, he again thrust his hand into his pocket and, pulling out something that Bundle could not see, he moved out of her line of vision.
When he reappeared again, she could hardly help giving a gasp of surprise.
His face was now covered by a mask—but hardly a mask in the conventional sense. It was not shaped to the face. It was a mere piece of material hanging in front of the features like a curtain in which two slits were pierced for the eyes. In shape it was round and on it was the representation of a clock face, with the hands pointing to six o’clock.
“The Seven Dials!” said Bundle to herself.
And at that minute there came a new sound—seven muffled taps.
Mosgorovsky strode across to where Bundle knew was the other cupboard door.
She heard a sharp click, and then the sound of greetings in a foreign tongue.
Presently she had a view of the newcomers.
They also wore clock masks, but in their case the hands were in a different position—four o’clock and five o’clock respectively.
Both men were in evening dress—but with a difference. One was an elegant, slender young man wearing evening clothes of exquisite cut.