# When the Winner Lost/Chapter 8

pp. 59–63.

### CHAPTER VIII.
#### GAMBLING.

I WAS so perturbed that I gave up the idea of walking back to the hotel. Crossing to Cottage Grove I hailed a street car, northbound, and gave myself to unpleasant speculations all the way to the Loop. The position in which I found myself was unenviable. For a salary I was walking into a trap which already had caused the disappearance or death of one former acquaintance of Latisse; though I had done my best to assure Elise of her brother's innocence there was little doubt in my mind that he would prove to be guilty. He looked equal to anything. Added to this was the bitter reflection that Elise, in whose hands I had placed myself unreservedly, doubtless considered me an enemy of her brother and herself. All in all I was thoroughly miserable, for no alternative to simply going ahead with whatever orders awaited could present itself now.
At the hotel I roused Mitsui, told him the story from beginning to end—omitting only the incident of my early conversation with Elise and the story of my unreasonable love for her, which I knew his semi-Oriental mind would discount heavily—if, indeed Mitsui could have understood it at all.
He listened, with his slits of eyes almost closed, and a smile of satisfaction disclosing his too gilded teeth. I thought him half sodden with sleep, but the moment I finished I saw this was a mistake. He leaped to his feet, throwing off the coat to his pajama suit and reaching for his clothes. “Now it goes, ye-ah?” He grinned, dressing with rapidity.
“Seems that way,” I agreed. “What am I to do?”
“Sleep!” he answered succinctly. “I come to wake you after a while.” He jerked one of his monstrous thumbs in the direction of my chamber.
I needed no second invitation. Though I was thoroughly worried, fatigue of body overcame my anxiety. I just remember hearing the door slam as he went out.
Unspeakable dreams harassed me from the moment I closed my eyes. One of these stood out clearly from the fuddle. I was chasing a taxi that ran round and round in a big circle. Elise was inside, and I thought she was dying. Of a sudden, just as I hopped on the running board and tried to open the door, a yellow giant flourishing a war cross weighing many tons pushed the taxi, with me hanging on desperately, into the river.
I had fallen out of bed. As I slowly came to a realization of my position I found myself clutching the wooden foot of the bed, while blankets and comforter were wound around my neck. When I extricated myself i was conscious of an empty feeling. I looked at my watch. It was five-thirty in the afternoon!
Mitsui evidently was detained. I dressed, donning a tuxedo for the evening. Then, not daring to go out for fear of missing the valet, I ordered dinner in my rooms. Though I made this meal a sumptuous affair, not knowing when or where the next would occur, and ate just as slowly as possible, I still was alone at seven-thirty. An attempt to phone Hoffman, the only member of the project whom I had even the possibility of reaching, proved futile. Mr. Hoffman had not been seen at his studio apartment since the day previous, and had left no word concerning the time of his return.
A twenty minutes of eight I dared not wait any longer. Descending in the elevator, I walked to the corner of Jackson and Michigan, arriving just three minutes before the appointed time. A flood of cars was coming from the west, joining the great north and south artery in waves directed by the traffic policemen. As I watched the machines approaching, speculating on which would most likely be for me, a nondescript car of the type used by almost all the taxi companies swung from the eastbound throng and drew up at the curb. The door swung open as it stopped. “Mr. Trask?” inquired the driver.
“Yes!” Without waiting for a further invitation I jumped, closing the door behind me. It latched with a sinister click, unlike the ordinary door, suggesting imprisonment to my sharpened senses. Furtively I tried the catch but with the success I expected. It was locked, and I was irreparably committed to my adventure, whatever it might be. Even the cold hilt of the automatic in my jacket pocket could not bring back all of my assurance. Locked in this little moving coffin of a car they could do with Selwyn Trask just about as they pleased.
I had resolved to do my best to find out the car's approximate course and destination, but once inside I saw that I was to be allowed none of the usual sight-seeing incident to such a ride. The windows of the car were of frosted glass, and though I tried to lower one of the panes, this could not be done. In case of a necessity arising, I could shoot through the lock on one of the doors, but otherwise my escape was barred as effectually as my sight.
Months of cloud-flying had given me one sense more than I had possessed before that training, however, and this stood me in good stead now. As the car started I took out an envelope and pencil and followed the turnings roughly on paper. As I was used to gauging turns in clouds and mist where no landmark could be distinguished, I flattered myself that this taxi could not confuse me greatly; instead of turning a few degrees in one way or another, its activities were confined to right angles and circles in the width of a street itself.
At the start it turned into Michigan, southward. At the end of the first block I registered a swerve. Then came some of the mummery intended to throw me off the scent. The car performed what I judged to be a complete circle, and headed on westward. Before we had time to pass a full block, however, another turn came. This ought to be an alley, I said to myself. From the south entrance of the alley we emerged to perform more gyrations. Up one block, down another, completely circling a third, we worked gradually west and south, finally to straighten out in a direction I graphed as southerly on my envelope. Whatever might lie at the end of the journey, the driver certainly could not expect his fare to know much concerning the destination.
It took us nearly an hour of moderately rapid riding to come to the next turn. I guessed our rate to be fifteen miles an hour. This time, when we swung round a corner, I recognized that we had left the brick and asphalt for the more uneven surface of a country road. Just as I was marking this fact on the envelope, I felt the brakes applied. The light in the interior of the car went out, and we stopped. I hid the evidence I had collected, in my sock, and sat back.
A key clicked, and the left door of the taxi swung open. With a certain uneasiness I saw that all outside was in pitch darkness of a depth of shade never attained by night in any latitude. The car evidently had stopped inside some sort of building.
“All right, Mr. Trask!” A faint light, from what I deemed to be a tiny electric flash, illumined the car doorway, and a hand reached forward to assist me in alighting. I gripped it and stepped to the cement floor. As I did so the light was put out instantly. I felt rather than saw a group of dark figures waiting.
With dispatch a cloth cap that smelled like new brilliantine was placed on my head. From the front a flap was lowered; this fitted my face and neck, snapping with buttons behind. Apertures were left for eyes and nose, but that was all. Accompanying this mask was a long, loose robe, which they dropped over my head, making what really was a domino disguise.
“You understand the purpose of this organization, Mr. Trask?” The same colorless voice spoke again.
“I think so. It is for the purpose of entertainment.”
“Yes. You have been told of the rules of conduct you must follow, and the one penalty attached to attempted treachery or to carelessness?”
“Death?”
“Yes.” The voice acquiesced with a total lack of emphasis, quite as if my question-answer had dealt with a minor matter. This was the sort of talk to which I was used to listening, though it was far from what I had expected. Knowing a little about sophomore secret societies formed for purposes not dissimilar, and college fraternities with their folderol and bombastic nonsense, I had looked for skulls, flickering green lights, and solemn vows. Instead I was being told that even carelessness on my part would incur the penalty of death, and in the same tone as a grocer telling a customer that sugar had risen a cent a pound.
“Any information you may desire, that does not conflict with our main purpose of secrecy, will be furnished by an attendant. You will know these by their red masks. I wish to say once and for all that you will not find this a social club. Every member wishes to be left entirely to himself, and you will oblige by not attempting conversation on any topic. Also, nothing but cash is used here. Though we know you to be financially responsible, we are compelled to bar checks because of the difficulty in getting them cashed with perfect safety. When the time comes that you wish to go home, notify an attendant. He will do the rest. At five-thirty all must leave, except those who desire to remain all the next day. If you stay you cannot go home before the next midnight. Is that clear?”
“Yes; but suppose I want to come out here to-morrow night. How do I let you know?”
“Your next appointment must be made in advance, unless exceptional circumstances arise. Ordinarily you will notify the attendant at what time you will return, and he will do the rest. If for some reason you are away for an indeterminate period, you may let the man who introduced you know when you wish to come back.”
“All right, that's enough.”
“Guard!” My informant's tone changed quickly, summoning a subordinate. In a second another heavy cloth was thrown over my head, effectively shutting off any chance I might have had to see anything, and, from behind, hands went rapidly through my pockets. Nothing was disturbed, so far as I could judge, except my automatic.
“A gat, sir!” rumbled the heavy voice of my searcher.
“Take it. Give it to him again when he leaves.” The speaker evidently turned me. “Do not attempt to bring firearms of any description here again,” he said coldly. “You will be protected fully, and we wish no trouble arising from any quarter that we cannot handle quickly.”
I did not answer, for at that moment the guard propelled me forward a distance of eight or ten feet. Then he held me still, and I felt the floor on which I stood sink gradually. No noise whatever, except a slight scraping, accompanied this movement, but it kept on for perhaps twenty seconds. We were descending, probably in an electric elevator, but to what depth I could not imagine. Though an aviator gets fairly accustomed to determining turns made in the flying plane, he never advances much in his ability to “feel” rises and falls in altitude with any exactitude.
A clank of metal and a slight jolt announced that we had reached the bottom of the shaft. I was led from the platform, and heard the elevator rising behind me. Then the guard took me, faced me about, and gave me a slight shove.
“Walk ahead!” he commanded. I obeyed, feeling his hand upon my right shoulder. The reason for his staying behind soon made itself manifest. We were passing through a narrow sort of tunnel, of which the sides were only a few inches beyond my shoulders. I put out one hand to guide and found that the wall was smooth, and cold, probably of steel sheeting, as every few feet a row of rivets met my fingers. Our footsteps clanked loudly in the narrow confines, and this I judged that the roof of the tunnel could not be high above.
I counted the paces. These were thirteen in number when I was halted by the guard. He squeezed past, a door opened with slight noise, and I heard him whisper, “New one—number two eighty-six.”
He led me forward again, and the door closed. Then the heavy cloth was whisked from my head, and I was in the heart of one of the strangest assemblages in the world!