The Mystery of Room 75 by Fred M. White — Read

Wendover came quietly down from his post of observation and crept back into bed. His discovery had not surprised him; indeed, he had expected something of the kind, though it had come quicker than he had anticipated, and it confirmed his worst suspicions. He had not expected, of course, to blunder straight away upon the identity of the man with the throbbing lip, but he had looked forward to little trouble in finding some member of the Brotherhood concealed behind that white turban and that luxuriant black beard.

Up to a certain point everything was clear enough. There was no doubt that Garcia, posing as the Rev. James Ogilvy was clear in his mind as to what he was doing, and, beyond question, he had penetrated the Indian's disguise. He knew, of course, that he was dealing with the man with the throbbing lip, and would not rest until he was out of the way. Once this was done there was only the man with the orange-colored hair to be dealt with, and Wendover did not doubt that he was not very far away. There might be others, of course, standing between Garcia and the precious contents of the safe, but Wendover had always had a feeling that he had come in contact with every surviving member of the Brotherhood on that eventful evening nine months ago, when they had all met in room No. 75.