Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Gabriel Syme's Secret

The carriage stopped in front of a very dreary beer house, and Gregory led his companions into it quickly.In a cramped, dimly lit single room, they sat down at a dirty wooden table with one leg.The room was small and dark, and in the darkness and twilight, the waiter who responded to the voice had a vague impression of his huge physique and beard, but his appearance was hard to see clearly. "Would you like a little supper?" Gregory asked politely. "The foie gras here is not very good, but I can recommend the wild fowl." Syme reacted coolly, thinking it was a joke, and he approved of some of the humor, saying with a kind of cultivated indifference: "Oh, get me a lobster with yolk sauce."

To his inexplicable surprise, the waiter just said "Of course, sir" and went to get it. "What are you drinking?" Gregory continued, with the same casual and apologetic look, "I just want a mint pancake; I've already had it. But the champagne is reliable. Allow me to fill you half a bottle first." Marmoli Champagne." "Thank you!" said the motionless Syme. "You are very kind." He chatted again incoherently, and was interrupted by the appearance of the lobster.Syme tasted the lobster, found it very good, and ate it quickly with a good appetite.

"Forgive my overly obvious affection!" he said to Gregory, laughing. "I rarely have the opportunity to have such a sweet dream. It is a novelty to me that nightmares can bring lobsters. Because usually It's two different things." "You are not in a dream, I assure you," said Gregory. "On the contrary, you are approaching the most real and exciting moment of your life. Oh, here comes your champagne! Indeed, I admit that the hotel There is a slight disproportion between the splendid interior and its austere exterior, but such is our humility. We are the most humble people who have ever lived on earth."

"Who are we?" Syme asked, draining the champagne in his glass. "Quite simply," replied Gregory, "we are the most serious anarchists you wouldn't believe." "Oh!" said Syme at once, "you're pretty good at drinking." "Yes, we take everything seriously!" replied Gregory.After a pause, he added: "If after a while the table starts to spin slightly, don't tip it over and you lose your champagne. I don't want you to be unfair to yourself." "Well, if I'm either drunk or mad," replied Syme with the utmost composure, "though I'm sure I can behave like a gentleman in both cases. May I smoke?"

"Of course!" Gregory said, taking out a box of cigars, "Suck mine." Syme picked up a cigar, took cigar scissors from his waistcoat pocket, cut off the root, put it in his mouth, lit it slowly, and exhaled a long cloud of smoke.He performed these rituals with rare composure, for almost before he began the movement the table on which he sat began to spin, first slowly, then rapidly, as if in a mad seance. "You mustn't mind," said Gregory, "it's a kind of screw." "Exactly," said Syme quietly. "A screw. A simple one!" The next moment, the smoke from his cigar zigzags through the room like smoke from a factory chimney going straight up, and the two of them, with their chair and table, shoot through the ground as if the earth swallowed them.They suddenly hit the ground floor like an elevator with its ropes cut.But when Gregory pushed open the two doors and a gleam of red light poured into the ground, Syme crossed his legs and smoked without the slightest alarm.

Gregory led him to a low arched passage leading to a red light.It was a crimson lamp as huge as a fireplace, fastened to a small, clunky iron door.There was a window in the door, or a grille, on which Gregory knocked five times.A dull foreign accent asked who he was.How many unexpected answers he gave: "Mr. Joseph Chamberlain." Then the heavy hinges began to move, and it was evident that this was some kind of password. The doorway shimmered like barbed wire.Looking closer, Syme saw that the flashing pattern consisted of closely packed rows of rifles and revolvers. "Forgive me for putting you through the clichés," said Gregory, "we must be very strict here."

"Oh, no apologies," said Syme, "I understand your passion for law and order." Then he stepped into a passage lined with steel weapons.His long blond hair and rather stylish long coat made him look extraordinarily vulnerable and eccentric as he walked down that glittering death avenue. They walked down several similar passages and finally entered a curious steel-clad hall with overhanging walls, almost spherical in shape but with rows of benches giving it a slightly science-lecture appearance.There were no rifles or pistols in this hall, but there were things hanging on the walls that looked like iron plant bulbs or iron bird eggs that were more suspicious and terrible.They're bombs, and this hall is constructed to look like the inside of a bomb.Syme wiped the ashes off the wall and went in.

"Now, my dear Mr. Syme," said Gregory, sitting boldly on the bench under the largest bomb, "now that we are comfortable, let us talk tactfully. Human language cannot comprehend you The reason I brought you here. It's one of those pretty arbitrary emotions, like jumping off a cliff or falling in love. Suffice it to say that you used to be one hell of a jerk, and, seriously, You're still loathsome. I'd break twenty oaths of secrecy for the pleasure of killing you. The way you light a cigar would make a priest break confessional secrecy. Well, you said you were pretty sure I wasn't a serious Anarchist. Does this place make you think I'm serious, then?"

"There seems to be a deep moral in this convivial atmosphere," agreed Syme. "May I ask you two questions? You needn't be afraid to tell me, because, as you recall, you were very clever in making me promise Don't tell the police and I'll keep my word. So I'm asking just out of curiosity. First of all, what's going on? What are you against? Do you want to abolish the government?" "Abolish God!" said Gregory, widening his feverish eyes, "we're not just going to overthrow despotism and police regulation; that anarchism does exist, but it's just a branch innovator. The deeper we dig, the harder we strike. We wish to negate the arbitrary distinctions of vice and virtue, of dignity and treachery, practiced by all those petty rebels. The stupid sentimentalists of the French Revolution talk of human rights! We hate rights as much as we hate evil! We have canceled right and wrong."

"And right and left," said Syme eagerly, "and I wish you'd get rid of them too. They're so annoying to me." "Your second question," Gregory snapped. "I'd love to," went on Syme, "that in all your present behavior and circumstances there is an attempt at undercover work. One of my aunts lived above a shop, and this is the first time I've found anyone Prefer to live under a tavern. You have a heavy iron door that you can't get through without condescending to call yourself Mr. Chamberlain. If I may say that you surround the place with iron and steel instruments, you are more impressive than you are at ease .May I ask you why, after you have taken so much trouble to hide yourself deep in the earth, why do you boast of all your secrets by talking about anarchism to all the foolish women of Sevron Manor?"

Gregory laughed. "The answer is simple," he said. "I told you I was a serious anarchist, but you didn't believe me, and they didn't believe me. They wouldn't believe me unless I brought them into this basement." will trust me." Syme smoked thoughtfully, watching him with interest.Gregory went on. "It's a story that might make you laugh," he said. "When I first started out as a neo-anarchist, I tried all sorts of respectable guises. I once dressed like a bishop. I Reading all about bishops in anarchist pamphlets like Superstition is Vampires and The Vicious Priest, where I take it for granted that bishops are weird, horrible old men who keep cruel secrets from humanity .I was misguided. When I first appeared in some living room in Bishop's gaiters, I cried out in a voice like thunder, 'Down! Down! Bossy human reason!' And they Found out I wasn't a bishop. I was arrested right away. I pretended to be a millionaire, but I defended Capital so hard that a fool could see that I was poor. Then I pretended to be a major, Now that I'm a humanitarian, I wish I had the breadth of knowledge to understand someone in that position, who celebrates violence like Nietzsche, prides himself on spectacular, crazy battles of nature, and understands the position of those people you know .I played the major with all my heart.I drew my sword and kept waving,absently shouting 'blood', like a man begging for wine. I often say 'let the weak die, that's the law', but the majors don't seem to be like that Fuck. So I was arrested again. In the end I turned in desperation to the chairman of the Anarchist Central Council, the greatest man in all of Europe." "What's his name?" asked Syme. "You wouldn't know," replied Gregory, "that's what made him great. Caesar and Napoleon used their gifts to make themselves famous, and then they became famous. He used his gifts to make himself silent." Nameless, and then he is unknown. But you only have to be in a room with him for five minutes, and you will see that Caesar and Napoleon are children compared to him." There was a moment of pale silence, and then he went on: "But whenever he gives advice, it's always as startling as a cautionary note and as pragmatic as the Bank of England. I asked him, 'What kind of What disguise can I hide from the world? What more dignified identity can I find than bishop and major?' He turned his inscrutable face to look at me. 'You want a safe disguise, don't you? ?You want a coat that will ensure you are harmless and that no one will look for bombs in it?' I nodded. He suddenly raised his lion-like voice. 'Well, then, dress like an anarchist, You fool!' the house shook as he roared. 'Then nobody expects you to do anything dangerous.' He turned his broad back to me and said nothing more. I took his advice , never regretted it. Day and night I preached blood and murder to those women, and then - oh my god - they let me push their prams." Syme sat, watching him with great respect from his large blue eyes. "You lied to me," said Syme, "that was a clever ruse." After a pause, he added: "What do you call your great Chairman?" "We all call him Sunday," Gregory replied simply. "You see, there are seven members of the Anarchist Central Council, and they are named after the week. He is called Sunday, and some of his admirers refer to He called it Bloody Sunday. It would be strange to mention this to you because on the very evening of your surprise visit (if I may say so) our London branch is meeting in this room to elect a representative to fill a vacancy on the council .The gentleman who in the past performed the difficult duties of Thursday with dignity and admiration has passed away suddenly. So, we will meet this evening to elect a successor." He stood up and paced the room with a kind of embarrassed smile step. "Somehow I feel like you're like my mother, Syme," he went on casually. "I feel like since you promise not to tell anyone, I can confide everything to you. In fact, I'm going to confide in you. One thing, this one I wouldn't even bother with the anarchists who are going to be in this room in ten minutes. Of course we're going to go through the form of an election, but I don't mind telling you about it The result is almost certain." He nodded modestly, "It is almost certain that I will be Thursday." "My dear friend," said Syme warmly, "I congratulate you. A great undertaking!" Gregory smiled disapprovingly, walked around, and quickly spoke again. "I actually have everything set up on this table," he said, "and it's going to be the shortest possible ceremony." Syme also went to the table and found on it a cane (which, if one looked closely, would reveal a sword with a sword in it), a large Colt revolver, a sandwich box, and a The daunting brandy bottle.Throw a heavy shawl or cloak over a chair at the table. "I'll just have to complete the electoral form," Gregory went on excitedly, "and then I'll grab this cloak and this cane, pocket the rest, and walk out the door of this cave. The door is by the river , there'll be a tugboat waiting for me, and—then—oh, ecstatically it will be Thursday!” He clenched his hands. Syme, who had sat down with his customary impertinent lethargy, rose again with an uncharacteristic hesitation. "Why?" he asked blankly, "do I think you're a decent person? Why am I as active as you, Gregory?" He paused, then added with a sense of novelty, "It's because you Such a fool?" After another thoughtful silence, Syme exclaimed: "Oh, hell! This is the most interesting situation in my life, and I will act accordingly. Gregory, I will keep to my death what I said to you before I came here. A promise made. Could you make me a similar small promise for my own safety?" "A promise?" Gregory asked in surprise. "Yes," said Syme, very gravely, "a promise. I swear to God I won't tell the police your secret. Can you swear on humanity or whatever savage thing you believe in that you won't tell my secret Tell those anarchists?" "Your secret?" Gregory asked, staring at him. "You have a secret?" "Yes," answered Syme, "I have a secret." After a pause, "Can you swear?" Gregory stared at him for a moment, then said suddenly: "You must have deluded me, but I'm also extremely curious about you. Well, I can swear not to tell those anarchists what you told me. But hurry, because they'll be there in two or three minutes." Syme rose slowly and put his long white hands into the pockets of his long gray trousers.Almost as soon as he did so, five knocks came from the grill outside, heralding the arrival of the first conspirators. "Well," said Syme slowly, "I'll tell you the truth, you and your Chairman aren't the only ones who know about your scheme to pretend to be an aimless poet. We learned it at Scotland Yard. It's been a plot for some time." Gregory tried to jump up, but he wobbled three times. "What did you say?" he asked viciously. "Yes," answered Syme curtly, "I'm a detective. But I think I hear your friends coming." The whisper of "Mr. Joseph Chamberlain" came from the door.It was repeated two or three times, then thirty times, and then the man who called himself Joseph Chamberlain was heard plodding down the corridor.

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