The Devil Rides Out

‘See what, my sweet?’ he asked, a little puzzled.

‘Why!’ sobbed Marie Lou. ‘He is walking in the sunshine— but he has no shadow!’

CHAPTER XXIII

THE PRIDE OF PEACOCKS

The inn which served the village near Cardinals Folly was almost as old as the house. At one period it had been a hostelry of some importance, but the changing system of highways in the eighteenth century had left it denuded of the coaching traffic and doomed from then on to cater only for the modest wants of the small local population. It had been added to and altered many times; for one long period falling almost wholly into disrepair, since its revenue was insufficient for its upkeep, and so it had remained until a few years earlier upon the retirement of Mr. Jeremiah Wilkes, the ex-valet of a wealthy peer who lived not far distant.

Only the fact that Mr. Wilkes suffered from chronic sciatica, which rendered it impossible for him to travel any more with his old master, had made his retirement necessary, and through those long years of packing just the right garments that his lordship might need for Cowes, Scotland or the French Riviera and exercising his incomparable facility for obtaining the most comfortable seats upon trains which were already full, he had always had it in the back of his mind that he would like to be the proprietor of a gentlemanly ‘house’.

When the question of his retirement had been discussed, and Jeremiah had named the ambition of his old age, his master had most generously suggested the purchase and restoration of the old inn, but voiced his doubts of Jeremiah’s ability to run it at a profit; stating that capital was very necessary to the success of any business, and adding in his innocence that he did not feel Jeremiah could have saved a sufficient sum despite the long period of his employment.

In this, of course, his lordship was entirely wrong. Jeremiah’s wage might have been a modest one but, while protecting his master from many generations of minor thieves, he had gathered in the time-honoured perquisites which were his due and, since he had stoutly resisted the efforts of his fellow servants to interest him in ‘the horses’, he owned investments in property which would have considerably amazed his master.

Mr. Wilkes, therefore, had modestly stated that he thought he might manage providing that his lordship would be good enough to send him such friends or their retainers as could not be accommodated at the Court when shooting parties and suchlike were in progress. This having been arranged satisfactorily, Mr. Wilkes underwent the metamorphosis from a gentleman’s gentleman to host of The Pride of Peacocks.

Very soon the old inn began to thrive again; quietly, of course, since it was no road-house for noisy motorists. But it became well known among a certain select few who enjoyed a peaceful week-end in lovely scenery, and Mr. Wilkes’s admirable attention to these, together with his wife’s considerable knowledge of the culinary art, never caused them to question their Monday morning bill.

Jeremiah had further added to the attraction of the place by stocking a cellar with variety and taste from his lordship’s London wine merchant on terms extremely advantageous to himself, and moreover to the added well-being of the neighbourhood. The hideous and childish tyranny of licensing hours never affected him in the least for the simple reason that all his customers were personal friends, including, of course, the magistrates upon the local bench, and had some officious policeman from the town ever questioned the fact that gentlemen were to be found there quite frequently in the middle of the afternoon taking a little modest refreshment, they would have quailed under the astonished and supercilious glance of the good Mr. Wilkes, together with the freezing statement that this was no monetary transaction, but the gentlemen concerned were doing him the honour to give him their opinion upon his latest purchase in the way of port.

In short, it will be gathered that this ancient hostelry could provide all the comfort which any reasonable person might demand, and was something a little out of the ordinary for a village inn. Rex, of course, knew the place well from his previous visits to Cardinals Folly and, a little out of breath from the pace at which he had come, hurried into the low, comfortably furnished lounge, the old oak beams of which almost came down to his head.

Tanith was there alone. Immediately she saw him she jumped up from her chair and ran to meet him, gripping both his hands in hers with a strength surprising for her slender fingers.

She was pale and weary. Her green linen dress was stained and mired from her terrible journey on the previous night, although obviously she had done her best to tidy herself. Her eyes were shadowed from strain and lack of sleep, seeming unnaturally large, and she trembled slightly as she clutched at him.

‘Oh, thank God you’ve come!’ she cried.

‘But how did you know I was at Cardinals Folly?’ he asked her quickly.

‘My dear,’ she sank down in the chair again, drawing her hand wearily across her eyes. ‘I am terribly sorry about last night. I think I was mad when I stole your car and tried to get to the Sabbat. I crashed, of course, but I expect you will have heard about that—and then I did the last five miles on foot’

‘Good God! Do you mean to say you got there after all?’

She nodded and told him of that nightmare walk from Easterton to the Satanic Festival. As she came to the part in her story where, against her will, she had been drawn down into the valley, her eyes once more expressed the hideous terror which she had felt.

‘I could not help myself,’ she said. ‘I tried to resist with all my mind but my feet simply moved against my will. Then, for a moment, I thought that the heavens had opened and an angry God had suddenly decided to strike those blasphemous people dead. There was a noise like thunder and two giant eyes like those of some nightmare monster seemed to leap out of the darkness right at me. I screamed, I think, and jumped aside. I remember falling and springing up again. The power that had held my feet seemed to have been suddenly released and I fled up the hill in absolute panic. When I got to the top I tripped over something and then I must have fainted.’

Rex smiled. ‘That was us in the car,’ he said. ‘But how did you know where to find me?’

‘It was not very difficult,’ she told him. ‘When I came to, I was lying on the grass and there wasn’t a sound to show that there was a living soul within miles of me. I started off at a run without the faintest idea where I was going—my only thought being to get away from that terrible valley. Then when I was absolutely exhausted I fell again, and I must have been so done in that I slept for a little in a ditch.

‘When I woke up, it was morning and I found that I was quite near a main road. I limped along it not knowing what I should come to and then I saw houses and a straggling street and, after a little, I discovered that I had walked into Devizes.

‘I went into the centre of the town and was about to go into an hotel when I realised that I had no money; but I had a brooch, so I found a jeweller’s and sold it to them—or rather, they agreed to advance me twenty pounds, because I didn’t want to part with it and it must be worth at least a hundred. An awfully nice old man there agreed to keep it as security until I could send him the money on from London. Then I did go to the hotel, took a room and tried to think things over.

‘Such an extraordinary lot seemed to have happened since you took me off in your car from Claridges yesterday that at first I could not get things straight at all, but one thing stood out absolutely clearly. Whether it was you or the vision of my mother, I don’t know, but my whole outlook had changed completely. How I could ever have allowed myself to listen to Madame D’Urfe and do the things I’ve done I just can’t think. But I know now that I’ve been in the most awful danger, and that I must try and get free of Mocata somehow. Anyone would think me mad, and possibly I am, to come to you like this when I hardly know you, but the whole thing has been absolutely outside all ordinary experience. I am terribly alone, Rex, and you are the only person in the world that I can turn to.’

She sank back in her chair almost exhausted with the effort of endeavouring to impress him with her feelings, but he leant forward and, taking one of her hands in his great leg-of-mutton fist, squeezed it gently.

‘There, there, my sweet.’ Speaking from his heart he used the endearment quite naturally and unconsciously. ‘You did the right thing every time. Don’t you worry any more. Nobody is going to hurt a hair of your head now you’ve got here safely. But how in the world did you do it?’

Her eyes opened again and she smiled faintly. ‘My only hope was to throw myself on your protection, so I had to find you somehow and that part wasn’t difficult. All systems of divination are merely so many methods of obscuring the outer vision, in order that the inner may become clear. Tea-leaves, crystals, melting wax, lees of wine, cards, water, entrails, birds, sieve-turning, sand and all the rest.

‘I wanted sleep terribly when I got up to that hotel bedroom, but I knew that I mustn’t allow myself to, so I took some paper from the lounge, and borrowed a pencil. Then I threw myself into a trance with the paper before me and the pencil in my hand. When I looked at it again I had quite enough information scribbled down to enable me to follow you here.’

Rex accepted this amazing explanation quite calmly. Had he been told such a thing a few days before he would have considered it fantastic, but it never even occurred to him that it was in any way extraordinary that a woman desiring to know his whereabouts should throw herself into a trance and employ automatic writing.

He glanced at the old grandfather clock which stood ticking away in a corner of the low-raftered room. Half an hour had sped by already and he was feeling guilty now at having left Simon. He would never be able to forgive himself if, in his absence, any harm befell his friend. Now that he knew Tanith was safe he must get back to Cardinals Folly, so he announced abruptly: ‘I’m mighty sorry, but I’ve got Simon to look after so I can’t stay here much longer.’

‘Oh, Rex,’ her eyes held his imploringly. ‘You must not unless you take me with you. If you leave me alone, Mocata will be certain to get me.’

For a moment Rex hesitated miserably, wrestling with the quandary that faced him. If Tanith was telling the truth, he couldn’t possibly leave her to be drawn back by that terrible power of evil. But was she? So far she had been Mocata’s puppet. How much truth was there in this pretended change of heart? Had Mocata planted her there in order to lure him deliberately away from Simon’s side.

It occurred to him that he might take her back with him to Cardinals Folly, for if she was speaking the truth she was in the same case as Simon. They could keep the two of them together and concentrate their forces against the black magician. But he dismissed the idea almost as soon as it entered his mind. To do so would be playing Mocata’s game with a vengeance. If Tanith were acting consciously or unconsciously under his influence, God alone knew what powers she might possess to aid her master once they accepted her as a friend in their midst. If he took her there it would be like introducing one of the enemy into a beleaguered fortress.

‘What are you afraid might happen if I leave you?’ he asked suddenly.

‘You can’t—you mustn’t,’ her eyes pleaded with him. ‘Not only for my own sake, but your friends’ as well. Mocata has a hundred means of knowing where Simon is and where I am too. He may arrive here at any moment. It’s no good pretending, Rex. I know beyond any question that I cannot resist him and he’ll work through me, however much my will is set against it. He’s told me a dozen times that he had never met a woman who is such a successful medium for him as myself. So you can be certain that he is on his way here now.’

‘What d’you think he’ll do when he turns up?’

‘He will throw me into a trance and call Simon to him. Then if Simon fails to come Mocata may curse him through me.’

Rex shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. De Richleau’s a wily old bird. He’ll turn the curse aside some way.’

‘But you don’t seem to understand,’ she sobbed. ‘If a cure is sent out it must lodge somewhere, and if it fails to reach its objective because there is an equally strong influence working against it, the vibrations recoil and impinge upon the sender.’

‘Steady now.’ He took her hands and tried to soothe her. ‘If that is so I guess we couldn’t find a better way to tickle up Mocata.’

‘No—no! He never does these things himself—at least I have never known him to—just in case he fails, because then he would have to pay the penalty. Instead, he uses other people—hypnotises them and makes them throw out the thought or the wish. That is what he will do to me. If he succeeds, you will no longer be able to protect Simon, and if he fails, it is I who will pay the price. That is why you’ve just got to stay with me and prevent him using me as his instrument.’

‘Holy smoke! Then we’re in a proper jam!’ Rex’s brain was working swiftly. If she were telling the truth, she was in real danger. If not, at least Simon still had Richard and Marie Lou to take care of him until the Duke’s return.

All his chivalry and his love for her which seemed to have blossomed overnight welled up and told him that he must chance her honesty and remain there to protect her. ‘All right, I’ll stay,’ he said after a moment.

‘Oh, thank God!’ she sighed. ‘Thank God!’

‘But tell me,’ he went on, ‘just why is it you’re such a kingpin medium to this man. What about old Madame D’Urfe and the rest. Can’t he do his stuff through them?’

Tanith looked at him through tear-dimmed eyes and shook her head. ‘Not in the same way. You see there is rather an unusual link between us. My number is twenty and so is his.’

Rex frowned. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ he asked in a puzzled voice.

‘I mean our astrological numbers,’ she replied quietly. ‘Give me a piece of paper, and I will show you.’

Rex handed her a few sheets from a nearby table and a pencil from his waistcoat pocket, then she quickly drew out a list of the numerical values to the letters of the alphabet:

A=1 K=2 S=3

B=2 L=3 T=4

C=3 M=4 U=6

D=4 N=5 V=6

E=5 O=7 W=6

F=8 P=8 X=5

G=3 Q=1 Y=1

H=5 R=2 Z=7

I or J=1

‘There!’ she went on. ‘By substituting numbers for the letters in anyone’s name and adding them up you get their occult number which indicates the planet that influences them most in all spiritual affairs. It must be the name by which they are most generally known—even if it is a pet name. Now look!’

M=4 T=4

O=7 A=1

C=3 N=5

A=1 I=1

T=4 T=4

A=1 H=5

____ ____

20 2+0 = 2 20 2 + 0 = 2

____ ____

‘You see how closely our vibrations are attuned. Two is the value of the Moon, to which both he and I are subject, and any names having a total numerical value which would reduce by progressive additions to two, such as eleven or twenty-nine or thirty-eight or forty-seven, would give us some affinity, but that they actually add up to the same compound number shows that we are attuned to a very remarkable degree. That is why I have proved such an exceptionally good medium for him to work through.’

‘But you are utterly different from him,’ Rex protested.

‘Of course,’ she nodded gravely. ‘One’s birth date gives the material number, which is generally that of another planet and modifies the influence of the spiritual number considerably. As it happens mine is May 2nd—again a two you see, so I am an almost pure type. Moon people are intensely imaginative, artistic, romantic, gentle by nature and not very strong physically. They are rather over-sensitive and lacking in self-confidence, unsettled too, and liable to be continually changing their plans, but most of them, of course, have some balancing factor. Mocata gets all his imaginative and psychic qualities from the Moon, but his birthday is April 24th which adds up to six, and six being the number of Venus, he is very strongly influenced by that planet. Venus people are extremely magnetic. They attract others easily and are usually loved and worshipped by those under them, but very often they are obstinate and unyielding. It is that in his nature which balances the weakness of the Moon and makes him so determined in carrying out his plans.’

‘What do I come under?’ Rex asked with sudden curiosity. ‘My names are so short that I’m generally known by all three.’

‘Again Tanith took the paper and quickly worked out the equivalent of his name.

R = 2

E = 5

X = 5

_____ = 12

V = 6

A = 1

N = 5

_____ = 12

R = 2

Y = 1

N = 5

____ = 8

____

32 and 3+2=5

She looked at him sharply. ‘Yes, I am not surprised. Five is a fortunate and magic number which comes under Mercury. Such people are versatile and mercurial, quick in thought and decision, impulsive in action and detest plodding work. They make friends easily with every type and have a wonderful elasticity of character which can recover at once from any setback. Even though I do not know you well, I am certain that all this is true of you. I expect you are a born speculator as well and every type of risk attracts you.’

‘That certainly is so,’ Rex grinned as he went on thoughtfully : ‘But I should have thought that there was a good bit of the Sun about you because you have such strong individuality and you are so definite in your views.’

‘I was born on the 19th of August if that gives you a line.’

She smiled. ‘Yes, 19 is 1+9 which equals ten and 1+0 equals 1, the number of the Sun. So I was right, and it is that part of you which I think attracts me so much. Sun and Moon people always get on well together.’

‘I don’t know anything about that,’ Rex said softly. ‘But I’m dead sure I could never see too much of you.’

She lifted her eyes from his quickly as though almost in fright and to break the pause that followed he asked: ‘What number is Simon associated with?’

‘He was born under Saturn as we know only too well, and his occult number is certain to be the Saturnian eight,’ Tanith replied promptly, scribbling the name and numbers on the paper.

S=3

I=1

M=4

O-7

N=5

––=20

A=1

R=2

O=7

N=5_

____ = 15

___

35 and 3 + 5 = 8

‘By Jove! That’s queer,’ Rex murmured as he saw the name worked out quite simply to the number she had predicted.

‘He is a typical number eight person too,’ she went on. ‘They have deep intense natures and are often lonely at heart because they are frequently misunderstood. Sometimes they play a most important part on life’s stage and nearly always a fatalistic one. They are almost fanatically loyal to persons they are fond of or causes they take up, and carry things through regardless of making enemies. It is not a fortunate number to be born under as a rule, and such people usually become great successes or great failures.’

Rex drew the paper towards him, and taking the pencil from her began to work out for himself the numerical symbols of De Richleau, Richard Eaton and Mary Lou.

‘This is amazing,’ Tanith exclaimed when he had finished. ‘The Duke not only comes under the eight like Simon, but their compound number—thirty-five—is the same as well. He should have immense influence with Simon through that affinity, just as Mocata has over me, and the nine in his name gives him the additional qualities of the born leader, independence, success, courage and determination. If anyone in the world can save your friend, that extraordinary combination of strength and sympathy will enable De Richleau to do so.’

‘But d’you see that the names Richleau and Ryn boil down to eight as well, linking us both with Simon. That’s strange isn’t it?’

‘Not altogether. Any numerologist who knew of your devotion to each other would expect to find some such affinity in your numbers. You will see, too, that you other friend, Richard Eaton, is a four person, which accounts for his sympathy towards you. The eight is formed by two halves or circles and, four being the half of eight, persons with those numbers will always incline

towards each other. Then his wife, like myself, is a two which again linked to all four of you because it is divisible into eight.’

Rex nodded. ‘It’s the strangest mystery I’ve met up with in the whale of a while. There isn’t a single odd number in the whole series, but tell me, would this combination of eights be a good thing d’you reckon—or no?’

‘It is very, very potent,’ she said slowly. ‘888 is the number given to Our Lord by students of Occultism in His aspect as the Redeemer. Add them together and you get twenty-four. 2+4=6 which is the number of Venus, the representative of Love. That is the complete opposite of 666 which Revelations give as the number of the Beast. The three sixes add to eighteen, and 1+8=9, the symbol of Mars—De Richleau’s secondary quality which makes him a great leader and fighter, but in its pure state represents Destruction, Force and War.’

At the mention of War, Rex’s whole mind was jerked from the quiet, comfortable, old-fashioned inn parlour to a mental picture of De Richleau as he stood only a few hours before with the light of dawn breaking over Stonehenge. He saw again the Duke’s grey face and unnaturally bright eyes as he spoke of the Talisman of Set; that terrible gateway out of Hell through which, if Mocata found it, those dread four horsemen would come riding, invisible but all-powerful, to poison the thoughts of peace-loving people and manipulate unscrupulous statesmen, influencing them to plunge Europe into fresh calamity.

Not only had they to fight Mocata for Simon’s safety and Tanith’s as well but, murder though it might be to people lacking in understanding, they had to kill him even if they were forced to sacrifice themselves.

With sudden clarity Rex saw that Tanith’s appeal for protection offered a golden opportunity to carry the war into the enemy’s camp. She was so certain that Mocata would appear to claim her, and De Richleau had stated positively that while daylight lasted the Satanist was no more powerful than any other thug.

‘Why,’ Rex thought, with a quick tightening of his great muscles, ‘should he not seize Mocata by force when he arrived; then send for the Duke to decide what they should do with him.’

Only one difficulty seemed to stand in the way. He could hardly attack a visitor and hold him prisoner in The Pride of Peacocks. Mr. Wilkes might object to that. But apparently Mocata could find Tanith with equal ease wherever she was, so she must be got out of the inn to some place where the business could be done without interference.

For a moment the thought of Cardinals Folly entered his mind again, but if he once took Tanith there, they could hardly turn her out later on, and she might become a highly dangerous focus in the coming night; besides, Mocata might not care to risk a visit to the house in daylight with the odds so heavily against him, and that would ruin the whole plan. Then he remembered the woods at the bottom of the garden behind the inn. If he took Tanith there and Mocata did turn up he would have a perfectly free hand in dealing with him. He glanced across at Tanith and suggested casually: ‘What about a little stroll?’

She shook her fair head, and lay back with half-closed eyes in the armchair. ‘I would love’ to, but I am so terribly tired. I had no proper sleep you know last night’

He nodded. ‘We didn’t get much either. We were sitting around Stonehenge the best part of the time till dawn. After that we went into Amesbury where the Duke took a room. The people there must have thought us a queer party—one room for three people and beds being specially shifted into it at half-past seven in the morning, but he was insistent that we shouldn’t leave Simon for a second. So we had about four hours shut-eye on those three beds, all tied together by our wrists and ankles; but it’s a glorious afternoon and the woods round here are just lovely now it’s May.’

‘If you like.’ She rose sleepily. ‘I dare not go to sleep in any case. You mustn’t let me until tomorrow morning. After midnight it will be May 2nd, the mystic two again you see, and my birthday. So during the dark hours tonight I shall be passing into my fatal day. It may be good or evil, but in such circumstances it is almost certain to bring some crisis in my life, and I’m afraid, Rex, terribly afraid.’

He drew her arm protectively through his and led her out through the back door into the pleasant garden which boasted two large, gay archery targets, a pastime that Jeremiah Wilkes had seen fit to institute for the amusement of the local gentry, deriving considerable profit therefrom when they bet each other numerous rounds of drinks upon their prowess with the six-foot bow.

A deep border of dark wallflowers sent out their heady scent at the farther end of the lawn and beyond them the garden opened on to a natural wooded glade. A small stream marked the boundary of Mr. Wilkes’s domain and when they reached it, Rex passed his arm round Tanith’s body, lifted her before she could protest, and with one spring of his long legs cleared the brook. She did not struggle from his grasp, but looked up at him curiously as she lay placid in his arms.

‘You must be very strong,’ she said. ‘Most men can lift a woman, but it can’t be easy to jump a five-foot brook with one.’

‘I’m strong enough,’ he smiled into her face, not attempting to put her down. ‘Strong enough for both of us. You needn’t worry.’ Then, still carrying her in his arms, he walked on into the depths of the wood until the fresh, green beech trees hid them from the windows of the inn.

‘You will get awfully tired,’ she said lazily. ‘Not me,’ he declared, shaking his head. ‘You may be tall, but you’re only a featherweight. I could carry you a mile if I wanted, and it wouldn’t hurt me any.’

‘You needn’t,’ she smiled up at him. ‘You can put me down now and we’ll sit under the trees. It’s lovely here. You were quite right—much nicer than the inn.’

He laid her down very gently on a sloping bank, but instead of rising, knelt above her with one arm still about her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. ‘You love me,’ he said suddenly. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she confessed with troubled shadows brooding in her golden eyes. ‘I do. But you mustn’t love me, Rex. You know what I told you yesterday. I’m going to die. I’m going to die soon—before the year is out.’

‘You’re not,’ he said, almost fiercely. ‘We’ll break this devil Mocata—De Richleau will, I’m certain.’

‘But, my dear, it’s nothing to do with him,’ she protested sadly. ‘It’s just Fate, and you haven’t known me long, so it’s not too late yet for you to keep a hold on yourself. You mustn’t love me, because if you do, it will only make you terribly unhappy when I die.

‘You’re not going to die,’ he repeated, and then he laughed suddenly, boyishly, all his mercurial nature rising to dispel such gloomy thoughts. ‘If we both die tomorrow,’ he said suddenly, ‘we’ve still got today, and I love you, Tanith. That’s all there is to it.’

Her arms crept up about his neck and with sudden strength she kissed him on his mouth.

He grabbed her then, his lips seeking hers again and again, while he muttered little phrases of endearment, pouring out all the agony of anxiety that he had felt for her during the past night and the long run from Amesbury in the morning. She clung to him, laughing a little hysterically although she was not far from tears. This strange new happiness was overwhelming to her, flooding her whole being now with a desperate desire to live; to put behind her those nightmare dreams from which she had woken shuddering in the past months at visions of herself torn and bleeding, the victim of some horrible railway accident, or trapped upon the top storey of a blazing building with no alternative but to leap into the street below. For a moment it almost seemed to her that no real foundation existed for the dread which had haunted her since childhood. She was young, healthy and full of life. Why should she not enjoy to the full all the normal pleasures of life with this strong, merry-eyed man who had come so suddenly into her existence.

Again and again he assured her that all those thoughts of fatality being certain to overtake her were absurd. He told her that once she was out of Europe she would see things differently; the menace of the old superstition-ridden countries would drop away and that, in his lovely old home in the southern states, they would be able to laugh at Fate together.

Tanith did not really believe him. Her habit of mind had grown so strongly upon her; but she could not bring herself to argue against his happy auguries, or spoil those moments of glorious delight as they both confessed their passion for each other.

As he held her in his arms a marvellous langour began to steal through all her limbs. ‘Rex,’ she said softly. ‘I’m utterly done in with this on top of all the rest. I haven’t slept for nearly thirty-six hours. I ought not to now, but I’ll never be able to stay awake tonight unless I do. No harm can come to me while you’re with me, can it?’

‘No,’ he said huskily. ‘Neither man nor devil shall harm you while I’m around. You poor sweet, you must be just about at the end of your tether. Go to sleep now—just as you are.’

With a little sigh she turned over, nestling her fair head into the crook of his arm, where he sat with his back propped up against a tree-trunk. In another moment she was sound asleep.

The afternoon drew into evening. Rex’s arms and legs were cold and stiff, but he would not move for fear of waking her. A new anxiety began to trouble him. Mocata had not appeared, and what would they think had become of him at Cardinals Folly? Marie Lou knew he had gone to the inn, and they would probably have rung up by now. But, like a fool, he had neglected to leave any message for them.

The shadows fell, but still there was no sign of Mocata, and the imps of doubt once more began to fill Rex’s mind with horrible speculations as to the truth of Tanith’s story. Had she consciously or unconsciously lured him from Simon’s side on purpose ? Simon would be safe enough with Richard and Marie Lou, and De Richleau had promised to rejoin them before dusk—but perhaps Mocata was plotting some evil to prevent the Duke’s return. If that were so—Rex shivered slightly at the thought—Richard knew nothing of those mysterious protective barriers with which it would be so necessary to surround Simon in the coming night —and he, who at least knew what had been done the night before—would be absent. By his desertion of his post poor Simon might fall an easy prey to the malefic influence of the Satanist.

He thought more than once of rousing Tanith, but she looked so peaceful, so happy, so lovely there, breathing gently and resting in his strong arms with all her limbs relaxed that he could not bring himself to do it. The shadows lengthened, night drew on, and at last darkness fell with Tanith still sleeping. The night of the ordeal had come and they were alone in the forest.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SCEPTICISM OF RICHARD EATON

At a quarter to six, De Richleau arrived back at Cardinals Folly and Richard, meeting him in the hall, told him of Mocata’s visit.

‘I am not altogether surprised,’ the Duke admitted sombrely. ‘He must be pretty desperate to come here in daylight on the chance of seeing Simon, but of course, he is working against time—now. Did he threaten to return?’

‘Yes.’ Richard launched into full particulars of the Satanist’s attempt on Marie Lou and the conversation that had followed. As he talked he studied De Richleau’s face, struck by his anxious harassed expression. Never before had he thought of the Duke as old, but now for the first time it was brought home to him that De Richleau must be nearly double his own age. And this evening he showed it. He seemed somehow to have shrunk in stature, but perhaps that was because he was standing with bent shoulders as though some invisible load was borne upon them. Richard was so impressed by that tired, lined face that he found himself ending quite seriously: ‘Do you really think he can work some devilry tonight?’

De Richleau nodded. ‘I am certain of it, and I’m worried, Richard. My luck was out today. Father Brandon, whom I went to see, was unfortunately away. He has a great knowledge of this terrible “other world” that we are up against, and knowing me well, would have helped us, but the young priest I saw in his place would not entrust me with the Host, nor could I persuade him to come with it himself, and that is the only certain protection against the sort of thing Mocata may send against us.’

‘We’ll manage somehow,’ Richard smiled, trying to cheer him.

‘Yes, we’ve got to.’ A note of the old determination came into De Richleau’s voice. ‘Since the Church cannot help us we must rely upon my knowledge of Esoteric formulas. Fortunately, I have the most important aids with me already, but I should be glad if you would send down to the village blacksmith for five

horseshoes. Tell whoever you send, that they must be brand new — that is essential.’

At this apparently childish request for horseshoes all Richard’s scepticism welled up with renewed force, but he concealed it with his usual tact and agreed readily enough. Then, the mention of the village having reminded him of Rex, he told the Duke how their friend had been called away to the Inn.

De Richleau’s face fell suddenly. ‘I thought Rex had more sense!’ he exclaimed bitterly. ‘We must telephone at once.’

Richard got on to Mr. Wilkes, but the landlord could give them little information. A lady had arrived at about three, and the American gentleman had joined her shortly after. Then they had gone out into the garden and he had seen nothing of them since.

De Richleau shrugged angrily. ‘The young fool! I should have thought that he would have seen enough of this horror by now to realise the danger of going off with that young woman. It’s a hundred to one that she is Mocata’s puppet if nothing else. I only pray to God that he turns up again before nightfall. Where is Simon now?’

‘With Marie Lou. They are upstairs in the nursery, I think— watching Fleur bathed and put to bed.’

‘Good. Let us go up then. Fleur can help us very greatly in protecting him tonight.’

‘Fleur!’ exclaimed Richard in amazement.

The Duke nodded. ‘The prayers of a virgin woman are amazingly powerful in such instances, and the younger she is the stronger her vibrations. You see, a little child like Fleur who is old enough to pray, but absolutely unspoiled in any way, is the nearest that any human being can get to absolute purity. You will remember the words of Our Lord : “Except ye become as little children ye shall not enter into the Kingdom of Heaven”. You have no objection I take it?’

‘None,’ agreed Richard quickly. ‘Saying a prayer for Simon cannot possibly harm the child in any way. We’ll go up through the library.’

Seven sides of the great octagonal room were covered ceiling high with books and the eighth consisted of wide french windows through which half a dozen stone steps, leading up to the terrace, could be seen and beyond, a portion of the garden.

Richard led the way to one of the book-lined walls and pressed the gilded cardinal’s hat upon a morocco binding. A low doorway masked by dummy bookbacks, swung open disclosing a narrow spiral stairway hewn out of the solid wall. They ascended the stone steps and a moment later entered Fleur’s nursery on the floor above, through a sliding panel in the wall.

When they arrived the nursery was empty, but in the bathroom beyond they found Simon, with Nanny’s apron tied about his waist, quite solemnly bathing Fleur while Marie Lou sat on the edge of the bath and chortled with laughter.

It was an operation which Simon had performed on every visit that he had made to Cardinals Folly so Fleur was used to the business and regarded it as a definite treat; but this tubbing of his friend’s child was a privilege which De Richleau had never claimed, and as he entered Fleur suddenly exhibited signs of maidenly modesty surprising in one so young.

‘Oh, Mummy,’ she exclaimed. ‘He mussent see me, muss he, ‘cause he’s a man.’ On which the whole party gave way to a fit of laughter.

‘Sen’ him away!’ yelled the excited Fleur, standing up and clutching an enormous bath sponge to her chest.

De Richleau’s firm mouth twitched with his old humour, as he apologised most gravely and backed into the nursery beside Richard. A few minutes later the others joined them, and the Duke held a hurried conversation in whispers with Marie Lou.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘If it will help, do just what you think. I will get rid of Nanny for a few minutes.’

Walking over, he smiled down at Fleur. ‘Does Mummy watch you say your prayers every night?’ he asked gently.

‘Oh, yes,’ she lisped. ‘And you shall all hear me now.’

He smiled again. ‘Have you ever heard her say hers?’

Fleur thought hard for a moment, ‘No,’ she shook her dark head and the big blue eyes looked up at him seriously. ‘Mummy says her prayers to Daddy when I’se asleep.’

He nodded quietly. ‘Well, we’re all going to say them together tonight.’

‘Ooo,’ cooed Fleur. ‘Lovely. It’ll be just as though we’se playing a new game, won’t it?’

‘Not a game, dearest,’ interjected Marie Lou quietly. ‘Because prayers are serious, and we mean them.’

‘Yes, we mean them very much tonight, but we could all kneel down in a circle couldn’t we and put Uncle Simon in the middle?’

‘Jus’ like kiss-in-thering,’ added Fleur.

‘That’s right,’ the Duke agreed, ‘or Postman’s Knock. And you shall be the postman. But this is very serious, and instead of touching him on the shoulder, you must hold his hand very tight.’

They knelt down then and Fleur extended her pudgy palm to Simon, but the Duke gently laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘Your left hand, my angel, in Uncle Simon’s right You shall say your prayers first, just as you always do, and then I shall say one for all of us afterwards.’

The first few lines of the Our Father came tumbling out from the child’s lips in a little breathless spate as they knelt with bowed heads and closed eyes. Then there was a short hesitation, a prompting whisper from Marie Lou, and an equally breathless ending. After that, the little personal supplication for Mummy and Daddy and Uncle Simon and Uncle Rex and Uncle Greyeyes and dear Nanny were hurried through with considerably more gusto.

‘Now,’ whispered De Richleau, ‘I want you to repeat everything I say word for word after me,’ and in a low, clear voice he offered up an entreaty that the Father of All would forgive His servants their sins and strengthen them to resist temptation, keeping at bay by His limitless power all evil things that walked in darkness, and bring them safely by His especial mercy to see again the glory of the morning light.

When all was done and Fleur, tucked up and kissed, left between Mr. Edward Bear and Golliwog, the others filed downstairs to Marie Lou’s cosy sitting-room.

De Richleau was worried about Rex, but a further phone call to the inn failed to elicit any further information. He had not returned, and they sat round silently, a little subdued. Richard, vaguely miserable because it was sherry time and the Duke had once again firmly prohibited the drinking of any alcohol, asked at length: ‘Well, what do you wish us to do now?’

‘We should have a light supper fairly early,’ De Richleau announced. ‘And after, I should like you to make it quite clear to Malin that none of the servants are to come into this wing of the house until tomorrow morning. Say, if you like, that I am going to conduct some all-night experiments with a new wireless or television apparatus, but in no circumstances must we be disturbed or any doors opened and shut.’

‘Hadn’t we … er … better disconnect the telephone as well?’ Simon hazarded. ‘In case it rings after we’ve settled down.’

‘Yes, with Richard’s permission I will attend to that myself.’

‘Do, if you like, and I’ll see to the servants,’ Richard agreed placidly. ‘But what do you call a light supper?’

‘Just enough to keep up our strength. A little fish if you have it. If not eggs will do, with vegetables or a salad and some fruit, but no meat or game and, of course, no wine.’

Richard grunted. ‘That sounds a jolly dinner I must say. I suppose you wouldn’t like to shave my head as well, or get us all to don hair shirts if we could find them. I’m hungry as a hunter, and owing to your telegram, we had no lunch.’

The Duke smiled tolerantly. ‘I am sorry, Richard, but this thing is deadly serious. I am afraid you haven’t realised quite how serious yet. If you had seen what Rex and I did last night, I’m certain that you wouldn’t breathe a word of protest about these small discomforts, and realise at once that I am acting for the best.’

‘No,’ Richard confessed. ‘Quite frankly, I find it very difficult to believe that we haven’t all gone bug-house with this talk of witches and wizards and magic and what-not at the present day.’

‘Yet you saw Mocata yourself this afternoon.’

‘I saw an unpleasant, pasty-faced intruder I agree, but to credit him with all the powers that you suggest is rather more than I can stomach at the moment.’

‘Oh, Richard!’ Marie Lou broke in. ‘Greyeyes is right. That man is horrible. And to say that people do not believe in witches at the present day is absurd. Everybody knows that there are witches just as there have always been.’

‘Eh!’ Richard looked at his lovely wife in quick surprise. ‘Have you caught this nonsense from the others already? I’ve never heard you air this belief before.’

‘Of course not,’ she said a little sharply. ‘It is unlucky to talk of such things, but one knows about them all the same. Of witches in Siberia I could tell you much—things that I have seen with my own eyes.’

‘Tell us, Marie Lou,’ urged the Duke. He felt that in their present situation scepticism might prove highly dangerous. If Richard did not believe in the powers that threatened them, he might relax in following out the instructions for their protection and commit some casual carelessness, bringing, possibly, a terrible danger upon them all. He knew how very highly Richard esteemed his wife’s sound common sense. It was far better to let her convince him than to press arguments on Richard himself.

‘There was a witch in Romanovsk,’ Marie Lou proceeded. ‘An old woman who lived alone in a house just outside the village. No one, not even the Red Guards, with all their bluster about having liquidated God and the Devil, would pass her cottage alone at night. In Russia there are many such and one in nearly every village. You would call her a wise woman as well perhaps, for she could cure people of many sicknesses and I have seen her stop the flow of blood from a bad wound almost instantly. The village girls used to go to her to have their fortunes told and, when they could afford it, to buy charms or philtres to make the young men they liked fall in love with them. Often, too, they would go back again afterwards when they became pregnant and buy the drugs which would secure their release from that unhappy situation. But she was greatly feared, for everyone knew that she could also put a blight on crops and send a murrain on the cattle of those who displeased her. It was even whispered that she could cause men and women to sicken and die if any enemy paid her a high enough price to make it worth her while.’

‘If that is so I wonder they didn’t lynch her,’ said Richard quietly.

‘They did in the end. They would not have dared to do that themselves. But a farmer whom she had inflicted with a plague of lice appealed to the local commissar and he went with twenty men to her house one day. All the villagers, and I among them— for I was only a little girl then and naturally curious—went with them in a frightened crowd hanging well behind. They brought the old woman out and examined her, and having proved she was a witch, the commissar had her shot against her cottage wall.’

‘How did they prove it?’ Richard asked sceptically.

‘Why—because she had the marks of course.’

‘What marks?’

‘When they stripped her they found that she had a teat under her left arm, and that is a certain sign.’

De Richleau nodded. ‘To feed her familiar with, of course. Was it a cat?’

Marie Lou shook her head. ‘No. In this case, it was a great big fat toad that she used to keep in a little cage.’

‘Oh, come!’ Richard protested. ‘This is fantastic. They slaughtered the poor old woman just because she had some malformation and kept an unusual pet.’

‘No, no,’ Marie Lou assured him. ‘They found the Devil’s mark on her thigh and they swam her in the village pond. It was very horrible, but it was all quite conclusive.’

‘The Devil’s mark!’ interjected Simon suddenly. ‘I’ve never heard of that,’ and the Duke answered promptly:

‘It is believed that the Devil or his representative touches these people at their baptism during some Satanic orgy and that spot is for ever afterwards free from pain. In the old witch trials, they used to hunt for it by sticking pins into the suspected person because the place does not differ in appearance from any other portion of the body.’

Marie Lou nodded her curly head. ‘That’s right. They bandaged this old woman’s eyes so that she could not see what part of her they were sticking the pin into and then they began to prick her gently in first one place and then another. Of course she cried out each time the pin went in, but after about twenty cries, the head man of the village pushed the pin into her left thigh and she didn’t make a sound. He took it out then and stuck it in again, but still she did not cry out at all so he pushed it in right up to the head, and she didn’t know he’d even touched her. So you see, everyone was quite satisfied then that she was a witch.’

‘Well you may have been,’ Richard said slowly. ‘It seems a horribly barbarous affair in any case. I dare say the old woman deserved all she got, but it’s pretty queer evidence to shoot anyone on.’

‘Er … Richard… .’ Simon leaned forward suddenly. ‘Do you believe in curses?’

‘What—the old bell and book business! Not much. Why?’

‘Because the actual working of a curse is evidence of the supernatural.’

‘They’re mostly old wives’ tales of coincidences I think.’

‘How about the Mackintosh of Moy?’

‘Oh, Scotland is riddled with that sort of thing. But what is supposed to have happened to the Mackintosh?’

‘Well, this was in seventeen something,’ Simon replied slowly. ‘The story goes that he was present at a witch burning or jilted one—I forget exactly. Anyhow she put a curse on him and it went like this:

Mackintosh, Mackintosh, Mackintosh of Moy If you ever have a son he shall never have a boy.’

Richard smiled. ‘And what happened then?’ ‘Well, whether the story’s true or not I can’t say, but its a fact that the Chieftainship of the Clan has gone all over the shop ever since. Look it up in the records of the Clans if you doubt me.’

‘My dear chap, you’ll have to produce something far more concrete than that to convince me.’

‘All right,’ Marie Lou gazed at him steadily out of her large blue eyes. ‘You know very little about such things, Richard, but in Russia people are much closer to nature and everyone there still accepts the supernatural and diabolic possession as part of ordinary life. Only about a year before you brought me to England they caught a were-wolf in a village less than fifty miles from where I lived.’

He moved over to the sofa and, taking her hand, patted it gently. ‘Surely, darling, you don’t really ask me to believe that a man can actually turn into a beast—leave his bed in the middle of the night to go out hunting—then return and go to his work in the morning as a normal man again?’

‘Certainly,’ Marie Lou nodded solemnly. ‘Wolves, as you know, nearly always hunt in packs, but that part of the country had been troubled for months by a lone wolf which seemed possessed of far more than normal cunning. It killed sheep and dogs and two young children. Then it killed an old woman. She was found with her throat bitten out, but she had been ravished too, so that’s how they knew that it must be a were-wolf. At last it attacked a woodman and he wounded it in the shoulder with his axe. Next day a wretched half-imbecile creature, a sort of village idiot, died suddenly, and when the women went to prepare his body for burial they found that he had died from loss of blood and that there was a great wound in his right shoulder just where the woodman had struck the wolf. After that there were no other cases of slaughtered sheep or people being done to death. So it was quite clear that he was the were-wolf.’

Richard looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Of course,’ he remarked, ‘the man may have done all that, without actually changing his shape at all. If anyone is bitten by a mad dog and gets hydrophobia, they bark, howl, gnash their teeth and behave just as though they were dogs and certainly believe at the time that they are. Lycanthropy, of which this poor devil seems to have been the victim, may be some rare disease of the same kind.’ Marie Lou shrugged lightly and stood up. ‘Well, if you won’t believe me—there it is. I don’t know enough to argue with you, only what I believe myself, so I shall go and order supper.’

As the door closed behind her the Duke said quietly: ‘That may be a possible explanation, Richard, but there is an enormous mass of evidence in the jurisprudence of every country to suggest that actual shape shifting does occur at times. The form varies of course. In Greece it is often of the were-boar that one hears. In Africa of the were-hyena, and were-leopard. China has the were-fox; India the were-tiger; and Egypt the were-jackal. But even as near home as Surrey I could introduce you to a friend of mine, a doctor who practises among the country people, who will vouch for it that the older cottagers are still unshakable in their belief that certain people are were-hares, and have power to change their shape at particular phases of the moon.’

‘If you really believe these fantastic stories,’ Richard smiled a little grimly, ‘perhaps you can give me some reasonable explanation as to what makes such things possible.’

‘By all means.’ De Richleau hoisted himself out of his chair and began to pace softly up and down the fine, silk Persian prayer rug before the fireplace while he expounded again the Esoteric doctrine just as he had to Rex two nights before.

Simon and Richard listened in silence until the Duke spoke of the eternal fight which, hidden from human eyes, has been waged from time immemorial between the Powers of Light and the Powers of Darkness. Then the latter, his serious interest really aroused for the first time, exclaimed:

‘Surely you are proclaiming the Manichaean heresy? The Manichees believed in the Two Principals, Light and Darkness, and the Three Moments, Past, Present and Future. They taught that in the Past Light and Darkness had been separate; then that Darkness invaded Light and became mingled with it, creating the Present and this world in which evil is mixed with good. They preached the practice of aestheticism as the means of freeing the light imprisoned in human clay so that in some distant Future Light and Darkness might be completely separated again.’

The Duke’s lean face lit with a quick smile. ‘Exactly, my friend! The Manichees had a credo to that effect.

Day by day diminishes

The number of Soul below

As they are distilled and mount above.

The basis of the belief is far, far older of course, pre-Egyptian at the least, but where before it was a jealously guarded mystery the Persian Mani proclaimed it to the world.’

‘It became a serious rival to Christianity at one time, didn’t it?’

‘Um,’ Simon took up the argument. ‘And it survived despite the most terrible persecution by the Christians. Mani was crucified in the third century after Christ and, by their own creed, his followers were not allowed to enlist converts. Yet somehow it spread in secret. The Albigenses followed it in Southern France in the twelfth century until they were stamped out. Then in the thirteenth, a thousand years after Mani’s death, it swept Bohemia. A form of it was still practised there by certain sects as late as the 1840’s and even today many thinking people scattered all over the world believe that ii holds the core of the only true religion.’

‘Yes, I can understand that,’ Richard agreed. ‘Brahminism, Budism, Taoism, all the great philosophies which have passed beyond the ordinary limited religions with a personal God are connected up with the Prana, Light, and the Universal Life Stream, but that is a very different matter to asking me to believe in were-wolves and witches.’

‘They only came into the discussion because they illustrate certain manifestations of supernatural Evil,’ De Richleau protested; ‘just as the appearance of wounds similar to those of Christ upon the Cross in the flesh of exceptionally pious people may be taken as evidence for the existence of supernatural Good. Eminent surgeons have testified again and again that stigmata are not due to trickery. It is a changing of the material body by the holy saints in their endeavour to approximate to its highest form, that of Our Lord, so, I contend, base natures, with the assistance of the Power of Darkness, may at times succeed in altering their form to that of were-beasts. Whether they change their shape entirely it is impossible to say because at death they always revert to human form, but the belief is world-wide and the evidence so abundant that it cannot lightly be put aside. In any case what you call madness is actually a very definite form of diabolic possession which seizes upon these miserable people and causes them to act with the same savagery as the animal they believe themselves for the time to be. Of its existence, no one who has read the immense literature upon it, can possibly doubt.’

‘Perhaps,’ Richard admitted grudgingly. ‘But apart from Marie Lou’s story, all the evidence is centuries old and mixed up with every sort of superstition and fairy story. In the depths of the Siberian forests or the Indian jungle the belief in such things may perhaps stimulate some poor benighted wretch to act the part now and again and so perpetuate the legend. But you cannot cite me a case in which a number of people have sworn to such happenings in a really civilised country in modern times!’

‘Can’t I?’ De Richleau laughed grimly. ‘What about the affair at Utterheim near Strasbourg. The farms in the neighbourhood had been troubled by a lone wolf for weeks. The Garde-Cham-petre was sent out to get it. He tracked it down. It attacked him and he fired—killing it dead. Then he found himself bending over the body of a local youth. That unfortunate rural policeman was tried for murder, but he swore by all that was holy that it was a wolf at which he had shot, and the entire population of the village came forward to give evidence on his behalf —that the dead man had boasted time and again of his power to change his shape.’

‘Is that a fifteenth or sixteenth century story?’ murmured Richard.

‘Neither. It occurred in November, 1925.’

CHAPTER XXV

THE TALISMAN OF SET

For a while longer De Richleau strode up and down, patiently answering Richard’s questions and ramming home his arguments for a belief in the power of the supernatural to affect mankind until, when Marie Lou rejoined them, Richard’s brown eyes no longer held the half-mocking humour which had twinkled in them an hour before.

The Duke’s explanation had been so clear and lucid, his earnestness so compelling that the younger man was at least forced to suspend judgment, and even found himself toying with the idea that Simon might really be threatened by some very dangerous and potent force which it would need all their courage to resist during the dark hours that lay ahead.

It was eight o’clock now. Twilight had fallen and the trees at the bottom of the garden were already merged in shadow. Yet with the coming of darkness they were not filled with any fresh access of fear. It seemed that their long talk had elucidated the position and even strengthened the bond between them. Like men who are about to go into physical battle, they were alert and expectant but a little subdued, and realised that their strongest hope lay in putting their absolute trust in each other.

At Marie Lou’s suggestion they went into the dining-room and sat down to cold supper which had already been laid out Having eaten so lightly during the day, their natural inclination was to make a heavy meal but, without any further caution from De Richleau, they all appreciated now that the situation was sufficiently serious to make restraint imperative. Even Richard denied himself a second helping of his favourite Morecombe Bay shrimps which had arrived that morning.

When they had finished the Duke leant over to him. ‘I think the library would be the best place to conduct my experiments, and I shall require the largest jug you have full of fresh water, some glasses, and it would be best to leave the fruit.’

‘By all means,’ Richard agreed, glancing towards his butler. ‘See to that please, Malin—will you.’ He then went on to give clear and definite instructions that they were not to be disturbed on any pretext until the morning, and concluded with an order that the table should be cleared right away.

With a bland unruffled countenance the man signified his understanding and motioned to his footman to begin clearing the table. So bland in fact was his expression that it would have been difficult for them to visualise him half an hour later in the privacy of the housekeeper’s room declaring with a knowing wink:

‘In my opinion it’s spooks they’re after—the old chap’s got no television set. And behaving like a lot of heathens with not a drop of drink to their dinner. Think of that with young Simon there who’s so mighty particular about his hock. But spiritualists always is that way. I only hope it doesn’t get ‘em bad or what’s going to happen to the wine bill I’d like to know?’

When Richard had very pointedly wished his henchman ‘good night,’ they moved into the library and De Richleau, who knew the room well, surveyed it with fresh interest.

Comfortable sofas and large armchairs stood about the uneven polished oak of the floor. A pair of globes occupied two angles of the book-lined walls, and a great oval mahogany writing-table of Chippendale design stood before the wide french window. Owing to its sunken position in the old wing of the house the lighting of the room was dim even on a summer’s day. Yet its atmosphere was by no means gloomy. A log fire upon a twelve-inch pile of ashes was kept burning in the wide fireplace all through the year, and at night, when the curtains were drawn and the room lit with the soft radiance of the concealed ceiling lights, which Richard had installed, it was a friendly, restful place well suited for quiet work or idle conversation.

‘We must strip the room—furniture, curtains, everything!’ said the Duke. ‘And I shall need brooms and a mop to polish the floor.’

The three men then began moving the furniture out into the hall while Marie Lou fetched a selection of implements from the house-maid’s closet.

For a quarter of an hour they worked in silence until nothing remained in the big library except the serried rows of gilt-tooled books.

‘My apologies for even doubting the efficiency of your staff!’ the Duke smiled at Marie Lou. ‘But I would like the room gone over thoroughly, particularly the floor, since evil emanations can fasten on the least trace of dust to assist their materialisation.

Would you see to it, Princess, while I telephone the inn again to find out if Rex has returned.’

‘Of course, Greyeyes, dear,’ said Marie Lou and, with Richard’s and Simon’s help, she set about dusting, sweeping and polishing until, when De Richleau rejoined them, the boards were so scrupulously clean that they could have eaten from them.

‘No news of Rex, worse luck,’ he announced with a frown. ‘And I’ve had to disconnect the telephone now in case a call makes Malin think it necessary to disregard his instructions. We had better go upstairs and change next.’

‘What into?’ Richard inquired.

‘Pyjamas. I hope you .have a good supply. You see none of us tonight must wear any garment which has been even slightly soiled. Human impurities are bound to linger in one’s clothes even if they have only been worn for a few hours, and it is just upon such things that elementals fasten most readily.’

‘Shan’t we be awfully cold ?’ hazarded Simon with an unhappy look.

‘I’ll fit you out with shooting stockings and an overcoat,’ Richard volunteered.

‘Stockings if you like, provided that they are fresh from the wash—but no overcoats, dressing-gowns or shoes,’ said the Duke. ‘However, there is no reason why we should not wear a couple of suits apiece of Richard’s underclothes, beneath the pyjamas, to keep us warm. The essential point is that everything must be absolutely clean.’

The whole party then migrated upstairs, the men congregating in Richard’s dressing-room where they ransacked his wardrobe for suitable attire. Marie Lou joined them a little later looking divinely pretty in peach silk pyjamas and silk stockings into the tops of which, above the knee, the bottoms of her pyjamas were neatly tucked.

‘Now for a raid on the linen cupboard,’ said De Richleau. ‘Cushions, being soiled already, are useless to us, but I am dreading that hard floor so we will take down as many sheets as we can carry, clean bath towels and blankets too. Then we shall have some sort of couch to sit on.’

In the library once more, they set down their bundles and De Richleau produced his suitcase, taking from it a piece of chalk, a length of string, and a foot-rule. Marking a spot in the centre of the room, he asked Marie Lou to hold the end of the string to it, measuring off exactly seven feet and then, using her as a pivot, he drew a large circle in chalk upon the floor.

Next, the string was lengthened and an outer circle drawn. Then the most difficult part of the operation began. A five-rayed star had to be made with its points touching the outer circle and its valleys resting upon the inner. But, as the Duke explained, while such a defence can be highly potent if it is constructed with geometrical accuracy, should the angles vary to any marked degree or the distance of the apexes from the central point differ more than a fraction, the pentacle would prove not only useless but even dangerous.

For half an hour they measured and checked with string and rule and marking chalk; but Richard proved useful here, for all his life he had been an expert with maps and plans and was even something of an amateur architect. At last the broad chalk lines were drawn to the Duke’s satisfaction, forming the magical five-pointed star, in which it was his intention that they should remain while darkness lasted.

He then chalked in, with careful spacing round the rim of the inner circle, the powerful excorcism:

In nomina Pa ?tris et Fi ? lii et Spiritus ? Sanecti! ? El Elohym ? Sother ? Emmanuel ? Sabaoth ? Agia ? Tetragammaton ? Agyos ? Otheos ? Ischiros ? —and, after reference to an old book which he had brought with him, drew certain curious and ancient symbols in the valleys and the mounts of the microcosmic star.

Simon, whose recent experiences had taught him something of pentacles, recognised ten of them, as Cabbalistic signs taken from the Sephirotic Tree; Kether, Binah, Ceburah, Hod, Malchut and the rest. But others, like the Eye of Horus, were of Egyptian origin, and others again in some ancient Aryan script which he did not understand.

When the skeleton of this astral fortress was completed, the clean bedding was laid out beside it for them to rest upon, and De Richleau produced further impedimenta from his case.

With lengths of asafoetida grass and blue wax he sealed the windows, the door leading to the hall, and that concealed in the bookshelves which led to the nursery above, each at both sides and at the tops and at the bottoms, making the sign of the Cross in holy water over every seal as he completed it.

Then he ordered the others inside the pentacle, examined the switches by the door to assure himself that every possible light in the room was on, made up the fire with a great pile of logs so that it would last well through the night and there be no question of their having to leave the circle to replenish it and, joining them where they had squatted down on the thick mat of blankets, produced five little silver cups, which he proceeded to fill two-thirds full with Holy water. These he placed, one in each valley of the pentacle.

Then, taking five long white tapering candles, such as are offered by devotees to the Saints in Catholic Churches, he lit them from an old-fashioned tinder-box and set them upright, one at each apex of the five-pointed star. In their rear he placed the five brand new horseshoes which Richard had secured from the village with their horns pointing outward, and beyond each vase of holy water he set a dried mandrake, four females and one male, the male being in the valley to the north.

These complicated formulas for the erection of outward barriers being at last finished, the Duke turned his attention to the individual protection of his friends and himself. Four long wreaths of garlic flowers were strung together and each of the party placed one about his neck. Rosaries, with little golden crucifixes attached, were distributed, medals of Saint Benedict holding the Cross in his right hand and the Holy Rule in his left, and phials of salt and mercury; lengths of the asafoetida grass were again tied round Simon’s wrists and ankles, and he was placed in their midst facing towards the north. The Duke then performed the final rites of sealing the nine openings of each of their bodies.

All this performance had entirely failed to impress Richard. In fact, it tended to revive his earlier scepticism. It was his private belief that a blackmailing gang were playing tricks upon Simon and the Duke so, before coming downstairs, he had tucked a loaded automatic comfortably away beneath his pyjama jacket. In deference to De Richleau’s obvious concern that nothing soiled should be brought within the circle he had first, half-ashamedly, cleansed the weapon in a bath of spirit but, if Mr. Mocata was so ill-advised as to break into his house that night with the intention of staging any funny business, he meant to use it. After a little pause he looked cheerfully round at the others. ‘Well—here we are! What happens now?’

‘We have ample room here,’ replied De Richleau, ‘so there is no reason why we should not lie down with our feet towards the rim of the circle and try to get some sleep, but there are certain instructions I would like to give you before we settle down.’

‘I never felt less like sleep in my life,’ remarked Simon.

‘Nor I,’ agreed Richard. ‘It’s early yet and if only Marie Lou weren’t here I’d tell you some bawdy stories to keep you gay.’

‘Don’t mind me, darling,’ cooed Marie Lou. ‘I’m human— even if you are right about my having an angelic face.’

‘No!’ He shook his head quickly. ‘Somehow they fail to amuse me when you’re about. That’s why I never tell you any. It needs men on their own sitting round a bottle of something to get the best of a bawdy jest. My God ! I wish we’d got a bottle of brandy with us now!’

‘Mean pig,’ she murmured amiably, snuggling up against him. ‘If Greyeyes and Simon didn’t know you so well they would think you nothing but an awful little drunk from the way you talk, whereas you’re a nice person really.’

‘Am I? Well, anyway, it’s fine that you should think so.’ He fondled her short curly hair with his long fingers. ‘My present lust for liquor is only because I’ve been done out of my fair ration today. But what shall we talk about? Greyeyes—this Talisman that all the bother centres on—tell us about it before you give us your final orders for the night.’

‘You know the legend of Isis and Osiris?’ the Duke asked.

‘Yes—vaguely,’ Richard replied. ‘They were the King and Queen of Heaven who came to earth in human form and taught the Egyptians all they knew, weren’t they? The old business of a fair-haired god arriving among a dusky people and importing all sorts of new ideas about agriculture and architecture and justice—in fact—what we call civilisation.’

De Richleau nodded. ‘That is so. But I mean the story of how Osiris came to die?’

‘He was murdered, wasn’t he?’ volunteered Simon. ‘But I’ve forgotten how.’

‘Well, this is the account which has been handed down to us through many thousands of years. Osiris was, apparently, as Richard says, a fair-haired, light-skinned man, alien to the Egyptian race, who became their King and, ruling them with great intelligence, brought them many blessings. But he had a brother named Set—and here again you get the two principals of Good and Evil, Light and Darkness—for Set was a dark man. The legend is, of course, apocryphal up to a point but, eliminating the overlay of myth with which the priests later embroidered it, the whole story had such a genuine ring of human tragedy that it is very difficult to doubt that these two men and the woman Isis actually lived, as the progenitors of a Royal dynasty, in the Nile valley long before the Pyramids were built.

‘It always amazes me, whenever I re-read the story in the Greek Classics, how Set, particularly, stands out as a definite and living figure after all these countless generations. The characters in our seventeenth century plays even are quite unreal to us now —with a very few exceptions; but Set remains, timeless and unchanging, the charming but unscrupulous rogue who might have entertained you with lavish hospitality and brilliant conversation yesterday—yet would do you down without the least compunction if he met you in the street tomorrow.

‘He was tall and slim and dark and handsome; a fine athlete and a great hunter, but a cultured, amusing person too, and a boon companion who knew how to carry his wine at table. The type whose lapses men are always ready to condone on account of their delightful personality, and those wickedness women persuade themselves is only waywardness—while they succumb almost at a glance to that dark male virility.

‘Set was younger than Osiris and jealous of his authority. Then he fell in love with Isis, his brother’s wife. The old story of the human triangle you see, or rather the original, for all others in the whole literature of the world which deal with the same subjects are plagiarisms. Set conspired, therefore, to slay the King and seize his wife and power for himself.

‘To assassinate Osiris openly would have been a difficult matter because he was always surrounded by the other nobles, who loved him and knew that he kept the peace while the land flourished and grew prosperous. Set knew that they would defend the King’s person with their lives, and he was faced with another problem too. Osiris was a god, and even if he could lure him to a place where the deed could be done in secret, he dared not spill one drop of the divine blood.

‘He planned then a superlatively clever murder. You all know that the Egyptians considered this present life to be only an interlude and that almost from the age at which they could think at all their thoughts were largely focused on the life to come. Many of them spent their entire fortune upon preparing some magnificent place of burial for themselves, and at every banquet, when the slaves served the dessert, the head wine butler carried round a miniature coffin with a skeleton inside to remind the guests that death was waiting round the corner for them all.

‘With diabolical cunning, Set utilised the national preoccupation with death and ceremonial burial to ensnare his brother. First, by a clever piece of trickery he secured Osiris’s exact measurements. Then he had made the most beautiful sarcophagus that had ever been seen. It was a great heavy chest of fine cedar wood with the figures of the forty-two assessors of the dead, who form the jury of the gods, painted in lapis blue, and the minutest hieroglyphics in black and red; line upon line of them reciting the most effective protections against black magic, and every requisite line of ritual from the great Book of the Dead.

‘As soon as this wonderful coffin was completed, Set prepared a great banquet to which he invited Osiris and seventy-two of the younger nobles, all of whom he had corrupted and drawn one by one into his conspiracy.

‘Then on the night of the feast he had the beautiful sarcophagus placed in a small anteroom through which every guest had to pass on his arrival.

‘You can imagine how envious they were when they saw it, and how each commented on the excellence of the workmanship and the artistry of the designs—Osiris no less than the others.

‘They dined, drank heavily of wine, watched the Egyptian dancing girls, saw Ethiopian contortionists, and listened to the best stringed music of the day. Then as a final hospitality to his guests, the Prince Set rose from his couch and proclaimed:

‘“You have all seen the sarcophagus which stands in the little anteroom, and it is my wish that one of you should receive it as a gift. He whom it fits may take it with my blessing.”

‘Picture to yourselves the nobles as they scrambled up from their couches, thrusting the dancing girls aside, and elbowing their way out into the anteroom, each hoping that the princely gift might fall to him.

‘One after another they got inside and lay down, but not one of them fitted it exactly. Then Set led Osiris into the anteroom and, waving his hand towards the handsome chest said with a little laugh : “Why don’t you try it brother. It is worthy of a King. Even of the Lord of the Two Lands, the Upper and the Lower Nile.”

‘With a smile Osiris lowered himself into the masterpiece. And behold, it fitted his tall, broad-shouldered body to a hair’s breadth. No sooner was he inside than the principal conspirators, who were in the secret, rushed forward with the weighty lid. In frantic haste they nailed it down and poured molten lead upon it, so that Osiris may have survived an hour in agony but died at last of suffocation.

‘Set thus succeeded in his treacherous design of killing his brother without spilling one drop of his blood. He and his turbulent followers then hastened to their chariots, rode forth, and seized the Kingdom. But Isis was warned in time and managed to escape.

The coffer had been left with Osiris in it and, the Egyptian religion being so strongly bound up with the worship of the dead, it was vital to Set’s newly established authority that the body should be disposed of at the earliest possible moment. Otherwise, if the priests got hold of it, they would bury it in state and erect a mighty shrine to the dead King’s memory which would form a rallying point for all the best elements in the Kingdom where they would league themselves against the murderer.

‘Next morning, therefore, immediately he got home, Set had the chest cast into the Nile. But Isis recovered it, and after certain magical ceremonies, succeeded in impregnating herself by means of her husband’s dead body. Then she fled to the papyrus marshes of the Delta, taking Osiris’ body with her in the chest since there was no time to give it proper burial.

‘When Set learned what had happened, he swore that he would hunt Isis down and kill her, and that he would find Osiris’ body and destroy it for ever.

‘Again now, in the story, we get one of those strange glimpses of happenings many thousands of years ago which we can see more clearly than the things of yesterday.

‘In a few phrases it is recounted how Set searched for months in vain, and then one night, the pregnant ex-Queen Isis, now a destitute refugee alone and unattended, is seated beneath a cluster of palm trees in the desert. Her husband’s body, roughly embalmed, is in the wooden chest beside her and she is conscious of the movements of the child she bears. Suddenly her sorrowful meditations are disturbed by a distant rumble breaking the stillness of the night. The noise increases to a drumming thunder as a party of horsemen come galloping across the sand. Isis runs for cover to a nearby papyrus swamp and crouches waist high in the water watching from amidst the reeds. The dusky riders come thundering past. She sees that it is Set and his dissolute nobles hunting by the brilliant light of the Egyptian moon. One of them recognises the chest. With cries of triumph they fling themselves from their saddles, break it to pieces and drag out the body of Osiris. Hidden there, fearful and trembling, Isis watches Set’s dark, proud profile as he orders the body to be torn into fourteen pieces and the parts distributed throughout the length and breadth of the Kingdom so that they might never be brought together again.

‘Years later, Horus, the son of Isis, the Great God, the Hawk of Light, who restored its blessings to mankind and lifted again the veil of darkness that Set’s treachery had brought to dim the world, became the master of the Kingdom. Then Isis roamed the country seeking for the dismembered portions of her husband. She did not attempt to assemble them again, but wherever she found one she erected a great temple to his memory. In all, she succeeded in finding thirteen pieces of the body, but the fourteenth she never found. That Set had carefully embalmed and kept himself. It was for this reason that, although Horus defeated Set three times in battle he was never able to slay him. The portion that Set retained was the most potent of all charms—the phallus of the dead god, his brother.

‘In the secret histories of esoterism it is stated that it has since been heard of many times. For long periods through the ages it has been completely lost. But whenever it is found it brings calamity upon the world, and that is the thing which we have to prevent Mocata securing at all costs today—the Talisman of Set.’

When De Richleau had ceased speaking, they sat silent for a while until Marie Lou said softly : ‘I am feeling rather tired now, Greyeyes, dear, and I think I’d like to rest, even if it is impossible to sleep with all these lights.’

‘All right. Then I’ll say what I have to Princess. But please, all of you’ — the Duke paused to look at each of them in turn — ‘listen carefully, because this is vitally serious.

‘What may happen I have no idea. Perhaps nothing at all and the worst we’ll have to face is an uncomfortable night. But Mocata threatened to get Simon away from us by hook or by crook, and I feel certain that he meant it. I cannot tell you what form his attack is likely to take, but I am sure he will literally do his damnedest to break us up and get Simon out of our care tonight.

‘He may send the most terrible powers against us, but there is one thing above all others that I want you to remember. As long as we stay inside this pentacle we shall be safe, but if any of us sets one foot outside it we risk eternal damnation.

‘We may be called upon to witness the sort of horrors which it is difficult for you to conceive. I mean visions such as you have read of in Gustave Flaubert’s Temptation of Saint Anthony, or seen in pictures of the old Flemish masters such as Brueghel. But they cannot do us the least harm as long as we remain where we are.

‘Again, we may see nothing, but the attack may develop in a far more subtle form. That is to say, inside ourselves. Any, or all of us, may find our reason being undermined by insidious argument so that we may start telling each other that there is nothing in the world to be frightened of and that we are true fools to spend a miserable night sitting here when we might all be comfortably in bed upstairs. If that happens, it is a lie. Even if I appear to change my mind and tell you that I have thought of new arrangements which would be safer, you must not believe me because it will not be my true self speaking. It may be that an awful thirst will come upon us. That is why I have had this big jug of water brought in. We may be assailed by hunger, but to meet that we have the fruit. It is possible that we may be afflicted with earache or some other bodily pain which, ordinarily, would make us want to go upstairs to seek relief. If that happens we’ve just got to stick it till the morning.

‘Poor old Simon is likely to be afflicted worst because the campaign will centre on an attempt to make him break out of the circle. But we’ve got to stop him—by force, if need be. There are two main defences which we can bring into play if any manifestations do take place, as I fear they may.

‘One is the Blue vibration. Shut your eyes and try to think of yourselves as standing in an oval of blue light. The oval is your aura, and the colour blue exceedingly potent in all things pertaining to the spirit; the other is prayer. Do not endeavour to make up complicated prayers or your words may become muddled and you will find yourself saying something that you do not mean. Confine yourselves to saying over and over again: “Oh, Lord, protect me! Oh, Lord, protect me!” and not only say it but think it with all the power of your will, visualising, if you can, Our Lord upon the Cross with blue light streaming from His body towards yourselves; but if you think you see Him outside this pentacle beckoning you to safety while some terrible thing threatens you from the other side, still you must remain within.’

As De Richleau finished there was a murmur of assent. Then Richard, with an arm about Marie Lou’s shoulders said quietly: ‘I understand, and we’ll do everything you say.’

‘Thank you. Now, Simon,’ the Duke went on, ‘I want you to say clearly and distinctly seven times, “Om meni padme aum.” That is the invocation to manathaer—your higher self.’

Simon did as he was bid, then they knelt together and each offered a silent prayer that the Power of Light might guard and protect them from all uncleanness, and that each might be granted strength to aid the others should they be faced with any peril.

They lay down then and tried to rest despite the burning candles and the soft glow of the electric light. Sleep was utterly impossible to them in such circumstances. Yet no one there had more to say upon the point that mattered and, after a little time, no one felt that they could break the stillness by endeavouring to make ordinary conversation.

The steady ticking of a clock came faintly from somewhere in the depths of the house. Occasionally a log fell with a loud plop and hissed for a moment in the fire grate. Then the little noises of the night were hushed, and an immense silence, brooding and mysterious, seemed to have fallen upon them. In some strange way it did not seem as though the quiet octagonal room was any longer a portion of the house or that outside the window lay the friendly, well-cared-for garden that they knew so well. Watchful, listening, intent, they lay silent, waiting to see what the night would bring.

CHAPTER XXVI

REX LEARNS OF THE UNDEAD

Tanith slept peacefully, curled up in Rex’s arms, her golden head pillowed upon his chest. For a little time anxious thoughts occupied his mind. He reproached himself for having left Simon, and the gnawing worm of doubt raised its head again to whisper that Tanith had planned to lure him away from protecting his friend, but he dismissed such thoughts almost immediately. Simon would be safe enough in the care of Richard and Marie Lou. Tanith was alone and needed him, and he soon convinced himself that in remaining there he was breaking a lance against the enemy as well, by preventing Mocata securing her again to assist him, all unwillingly, in his hostilities.

The shadows lengthened and the patches of sunlight dimmed, yet still Tanith slept on—the sleep of utter exhaustion—brought about by the terrible nervous crises through which she had passed from hour to hour during the previous day, the past night, and that morning, in her attempt to seek safety with him.

With infinite precaution not to disturb her he looked at his watch and found that the time was nearly eight o’clock. De Richleau should be back by now and after all it was unlikely that Mocata could prevent his return before sundown. De Richleau might have lost his nerve for a few moments the night before, but he had retrieved it brilliantly in that headlong dash at the wheel of the Hispano down into the hellish valley where the Satanists practised their grim rites. Now that they had secured Simon safe and sound once more, Rex had an utter faith that De Richleau would fight to the last ditch, with all the skill and cunning of his subtle brain, and that stubborn, tenacious courage that Rex knew so well, before he would surrender their friend to the evil powers again.

It was dark now; even the afterglow had faded, leaving the trees as vague, dark sentinels in that silent wood. The undergrowth was massed in bulky shadows and the colour had faded from the grasses and wild-flowers on the green, mossy bank where he lay with Tanith breathing so evenly in his embrace.

His back and arms were aching from his strained position but he sat on while the moments fled, sleepy himself now, yet determined not to give way to the temptation, even to doze, lest silent evil should steal upon them where they lay.

Another hour crept by and then Tanith stirred slightly. Another moment, and she had raised her head, shaking the tumbled golden hair back from her face and blinking up at him a little out of sleepy eyes.

‘Rex, where are we?’ she murmured indistinctly. ‘What has happened? I’ve had an awful dream.’

He smiled down at her and kissed her full on the lips.

‘Together,’ he said. ‘That’s all that matters, isn’t it? But if you must know, we’re in the wood behind the road-house.’

‘Of course,’ she gave a little gasp, and hurriedly began to tidy herself. ‘But we can’t stay here all night’

The thought of taking her back to Cardinals Folly occurred to him again, but in these timeless hours he had witnessed so many things he would have thought impossible a few days before that he dismissed the idea at once. Tanith, he felt convinced, was not lying to him. She was genuinely repentant and terrified of Mocata. But who could say what strange powers that sinister man might not be able to exercise over her at a distance. He dared not risk it. However, she was certainly right in saying that they could not stay where they were all night.

‘We’d best go back to the road-house,’ he suggested. ‘They will be able to knock us up a meal, and after, it’ll be time enough, to figure out what we mean to do.’

‘Yes,’ she sighed a little. ‘I am hungry now—terribly hungry. Do let us go back and see if they can find us something to eat’

Her arm through his, their fingers laced together, they walked back the quarter of a mile to the little stream which separated the wood from the inn garden. He lifted her over it again and when they reached the house of the Pride of Peacocks they found that it was already half-past nine.

Knowing that his friends would be anxious about him, Rex tried to telephone immediately he got in, but the village exchange told him that the line to Cardinals Folly was out of order. Then he sent the trim maid for Mr. Wilkes, and when that worthy arrived on the scene, inquired if it was too late for them to have a hot meal.

‘Not at all, sir,’ Mr. Wilkes bent, quiet-voiced, deferential, priest-like, benign. ‘My wife will be very happy to cook you a little dinner. What would you care for now? Fish is a little difficult in these parts, except when I know that I have guests staying and can order in advance, and game, of course, is unfortunately out of season. But a nice young duckling perhaps, or a chicken? My wife, if I may say so, does a very good Chicken Maryland, sir, of which our American visitors have been kind enough to express their approval from time to time.’

‘Chicken Maryland,’ exclaimed Rex. ‘That sounds grand to me. How about you, honey?’

Tanith nodded. ‘Lovely, if only it is not going to take too long.’

‘Some twenty minutes, madam. Not more. Mrs. Wilkes will see to it right away, and in the meantime, I’ve just had in a very nice piece of smoked salmon, which comes to me from a London house. I could recommend that if “you would like to start your dinner fairly soon.’

Rex nodded, and the aged Wilkes went on amiably: ‘And now, sir—to drink? Red wine, if I might make so bold would be best with the grill, perhaps. I have a little of the Clos de Vougoet 1920 left, which Mr. Richard Eaton was good enough to compliment me on when he dined here last, and his Lordship, my late master, always used to say that he found a glass of Justerini’s Amontillado before a meal lent an edge to the appetite.’

For a second Rex wavered. He recalled De Richleau’s prohibition against alcohol, but he had been far from satisfied by the brief rest which he had snatched that morning and was feeling all the strain now of the events which had taken place in the last forty-eight hours. Tanith, too, was looking pale and drawn, despite her sleep. A bottle of good burgundy was the very thing they needed to give them fresh strength and courage. He could have sunk half a dozen cocktails with the greatest ease and pleasure, but by denying himself spirits, he felt that he was at least carrying out the kernel of the Duke’s instructions. Good wine could surely harm no one—so he acquiesced.

A quarter of an hour later, he was seated opposite to Tanith at a little corner table in the dining-room, munching fresh, warm toast and the smoked salmon with hungry relish, while the neat little maid ministered to their wants, and the pontifical Mr. Wilkes hovered eagle-eyed in the background. The chicken was admirably cooked, and the wine lent an additional flavour by the fact that his palate was unusually clean and fresh from having denied himself those cocktails before the meal.

When the chicken was served, Mr. Wilkes murmured something about a sweet and Rex, gazing entranced into Tanith’s big eyes, nodded vaguely. Which sign of assent resulted, a little later, in the production of a flaming omelette au kirsch. Then Wilkes came forward once more, with a suggestion that the dinner should be rounded off by allowing him to decant a bottle of his Cockburn’s ‘08. But here, Rex was firm. The burgundy had served its purpose, stimulated his brain and put fresh life into his body. To drink a vintage port after it would have been pleasant he knew, but certain to destroy the good effect and cause him to feel sleepy. So he resisted Mr. Wilkes’s blandishments.

After the meal Rex tried to get on to Cardinals Folly again but the line was still reported out of order, so he scribbled a note to Richard, saying that he was safe and well and would ring them in the morning, then asked Wilkes to have it sent up to the house by hand.

When the landlord had left them, they moved back into the lounge and discussed how they should pass the night. Tanith was as insistent as ever that under no circumstances should Rex leave her to herself, even if she asked him later on to do so. She felt that her only hope of safety lay in remaining with him beside her until the morning, so it was decided that they should spend the night together in the empty lounge.

Tanith had already booked a room and so, to make all things orderly in the mind of the good Mr. Wilkes, Rex booked another, but told the landlord that, as Tanith suffered from insomnia, they would probably remain in the lounge until very late, and so he was not to bother about them when he locked up. As a gesture he also borrowed from Wilkes a pack of cards, saying that they meant to pass an hour or two playing nap.

The fire was made up and they settled down comfortably under the shelter of the big mantel in the inglenook with a little table before them upon which they spread out the cards for appearance’ sake. But no sooner had the maid withdrawn than they had their arms about each other once more and blissfully oblivious of their surroundings, began that delightful first exchange of confidences about their previous lives, which is such a blissful hour for all lovers.

Rex would have been in the seventh heaven but for the thought of this terrible business in which Tanith had got herself involved and the threat of Mocata’s power hanging like a sword of Damocles above her head.

Again and again, from a variety of subjects and experiences ranging the world over, and from their childhood to the present day, they found themselves continually and inexplicably caught back to that macabre subject which both were seeking to avoid. In the end, both surrendered to it and allowed the thoughts which were uppermost in their minds to enter their conversation freely.

‘I’m still hopelessly at sea about this business,’ Rex confessed. ‘It’s all so alien, so bizarre, so utterly fantastic. I know I wasn’t dreaming last night or the night before. I know that if Simon hadn’t got himself into trouble I wouldn’t be holding your loveliness in my arms right now. Yet, every time I think of it, I feel that I must have been imagining things, and that it just simply can’t be true.’

‘It is, my dear,’ she pressed his hand gently. ‘That is just the horror of it. If it were any ordinary tangible peril, it wouldn’t be quite so terrifying. It wouldn’t be quite so bad even if we were living in the Middle Ages. Then at least, I could seek sanctuary in some convent where the nuns would understand and the priests, who were learned in such matters, exert themselves to protect me. But in these days of modern scepticism there is no one I can turn to; police and clergymen and doctors would all think me insane. I only have you and after last night I’m frightened, Rex, frightened.’ A sudden flush mounted to her cheeks again.

I know, I know,’ Rex soothed her gently. ‘But you must try all you know not to be. I’ve a feeling that you’re scaring yourself more than is really necessary. I’ll agree that Mocata might hypnotise you if he got you on your own again, and maybe use you in some way to get poor Simon back into his net, but what could he actually do to you beyond that? He’s not going to take a chance on murdering anybody, so that the police could take a hand, even if he had sufficient motive to want to try.’

‘I am afraid you don’t understand, dearest,’ she murmured gently. ‘A Satanist who is as far along the Path as Mocata does not need a motive to do murder, unless you can call malicious pleasure in the deed a motive in itself, and my having left him in the lurch at such a critical time is quite sufficient to anger him into bringing about my death.’

‘I tell you, sweet, he’ll never risk doing murder. In this country it is far too dangerous a game.’

‘But his murders are not like ordinary murders. He can kill from a distance if he likes.’

‘What—by sticking pins in a little wax figure with your name scratched on it, or letting it melt away before the fire until you pine and die?’

‘That is one way, but he is more likely to use the blood of white mice.’

‘How in the world do you mean?’

‘I don’t know very much about it except what I have picked up from Madame D’Urfe and a few other people. They say that when a very advanced adept wishes to kill someone, he feeds a white mouse on some of the holy waters that they compel people to steal from churches for them. The sacrilegious aspect of the thing is very important, you see. Then they perform the Catholic ceremony of baptism over the mouse, christening it with the same name as that of their intended victim. That creates an affinity between the mouse and the person far stronger than carving their name on any image.’

‘Then they kill the mouse, eh?’

‘No, I don’t think so. They draw off some of its blood, impregnate that with their malefic will, vaporise it, and call up an elemental to feed upon its essence. Then they perform a mystic transfusion in their victim’s veins causing the elemental to poison them. But, Rex–—’

‘Yes, my sweet.’

‘It is not that I am afraid to die. In any case, as I have told you, there is no hope of my living out the year, but that has not troubled me for a long time now. It is what may come after that terrifies me so.’

‘Surely he can’t harm anybody once they’re dead,’ Rex protested.

‘But he can,’ Tanith burst out with a little cry of distress and fear. ‘If he kills me that way, he can make me dead to the world, but I shall live on as an undead, and that would be horrible.’

Rex passed his hand wearily across his eyes. ‘Don’t speak in riddles, treasure. What is this thing you’re frightened of? Just tell me now in ordinary, plain English.’

‘All right. I suppose you have heard of a vampire.’

‘Why, yes. I’ve read of them in fiction. They’re supposed to come out of their graves every night and drink the blood of human beings, aren’t they? Until they’re found out, then their graves are opened up for a priest to cut off their head and drive stakes through their hearts. Is that what you call an undead?’

Tanith nodded slowly. ‘Yes, that is an undead—a foul, revolting thing, a living corpse that creeps through the night like a great white slug, and a body bloated from drinking people’s blood. But have you never read of them in other books beside nightmare fiction?’

‘No. I wouldn’t exactly say I have as far as I can remember. The Duke would know all about them for a certainty—and Richard Eaton too, I expect—because they’re both great readers. But I’m just an ordinary chap who’s content to take his reading from the popular novelists who can turn out a good, interesting story. Do you mean to tell me seriously that such creatures have ever existed outside the thriller writer’s imagination?’

‘I do. In the Carpathians, where I come from, the whole countryside is riddled with vampire stories from real life. You hear of them in Poland and Hungary and Roumania, too. All through Middle Europe and right down into the Balkan countries there have been endless cases of such revolting Satanic manifestations. Anyone there will tell you that time and again, when graves have been opened on suspicion, the corpses of vampires have been found, months after burial without the slightest sign of decay, their flesh pink and flushed, their eyes wide-open, bright and staring. The only difference to their previous appearance is the way in which their canine teeth have grown long and pointed. Often, even, they have been found with fresh blood trickling out of the sides of their mouths.’

‘Say, that sounds pretty grim,’ Rex exclaimed with a little shudder. ‘I reckon De Richleau would explain that by saying that the person was possessed before he died and that after, although the actual soul passed on, the evil spirit continued to make a doss-house of its borrowed body. But I can’t think that anything so awful would ever happen to you.’

‘It might, my dear. That is what scares me so. And if Mocata did get hold of me again he would not need to perform those ghastly rites with impregnated blood. He could just throw me into the hypnotic state and, after he had made me do all he wished, allow some terrible thing to take possession of me at once. The elemental would still remain in my body when he killed me, and I should become one of those loathsome creatures—the un-dead, if that happened, this very night.’

‘Stop! I can’t bear to think of it,’ Rex drew her quickly to him again. ‘But he shan’t get hold of you. We’ll fight him till all’s blue, and I’m going to marry you tomorrow so that I can be with you constantly. We’ll apply for a special licence first thing in the morning.’

She nodded, and a new light of hope came into her eyes. ‘If you wish it, Rex,’ she whispered, ‘and I do believe that by your love and strength, you can save me. But you mustn’t leave me for a single second tonight, and we mustn’t sleep a wink. Listen!’

She paused a moment as the bell in the village steeple chimed the twelve strokes of midnight, which came to them clearly in the stillness of the quiet room. ‘It is the second of May now— my fatal day.’

He smiled indulgently. ‘Sure, I won’t leave you, and we won’t sleep either. One of us might drop off if we were all alone, but together we’ll prod each other into keeping awake. Though I just can’t think that’ll be necessary, with all the million things I’ve got to tell you about your sweet self.’

She stood up then, raising her arms to smooth back her hair, and making a graceful slender silhouette against the flickering flames of the heaped-up fire.

‘No. The night will slip away before we know it,’ she agreed more cheerfully. ‘Because I’ve got a thousand things to tell you too. I must just slip upstairs to powder my nose now, and when I come back, we’ll settle down in earnest to make a night of it together.’

A quick frown crossed his face. ‘I thought you said I wasn’t to let you leave me even for a second. I don’t like your going upstairs alone at all.’

‘But, my dear!’ Tanith gave a little laugh, ‘I can hardly take you with me, and I shan’t be gone more than a few moments.’

Rex nodded, reassured as he saw her standing there, smiling down at him in the firelight so happy and normal in every way. He felt certain that he would know at once if Mocata was trying to exert his power on her from a distance, by that strange faraway look which had come into her eyes and the fanatical note that had raised the pitch of her voice each time she had spoken of the imperative necessity of her reaching the meeting-place for the Sabbat on the previous day. There was not the faintest suggestion of that other will, imposed upon her own, in her face or voice now, and obviously it would have been childish to attempt to prevent her carrying out so sensible a suggestion before settling down. The best part of six hours must elapse before daylight began to filter greyly through the old-fashioned bow window at the far end of the room.

‘All right,’ he laughed. ‘I’ll give you five minutes by that clock —but no more, remember, and if you’re not down then, I’ll come up and get you.’

‘Dear lover!’ she stopped suddenly and kissed him, then slipped out of the room closing the door softly behind her.

Rex lay back, spreading his great limbs now in the comfortable corner of the inglenook, and stretching out his long legs to the glow of the log fire. He wasn’t sleepy, which amazed him when he thought how little sleep he had had since he woke in his stateroom on the giant Cunarder the morning of the day that he dined with De Richleau. That seemed ages ago now, weeks, months, years. So many things had happened, so many new and staggering thoughts come to seethe and ferment in his brain, yet Simon’s party had been held only a bare two nights before.

His hand moved lazily to his hip pocket to get a cigarette, but half way to it he abandoned the attempt as too much trouble, wriggling down instead more comfortably among the cushions.

He wasn’t sleepy—not a bit. His brain had never been more active and his thoughts turned for a moment to his friends at Cardinals Folly. They, too, would be wide awake, braced, no doubt, under De Richleau’s determined leadership, to face an attack from the powers of evil. De Richleau must be feeling pretty sleepy he thought. Neither of them had had more than three hours that morning after their exhausting night. They hadn’t got to bed much before dawn the night before either, and the Duke had been up, according to Max, at seven in order to be at the British Museum directly it opened. Say six hours in sixty. That wasn’t much, but De Richleau was an old campaigner and he would stick it all right, Rex had no doubt.

He glanced at the clock, thinking it almost time that Tanith should rejoin him, but saw that the slow-moving hand had only advanced two minutes. ‘Amazing how time drags when one is watching it,’ he thought, and his mind wandered on to the reflection that he had been mighty wise not to drink anything but that one glass of sherry and the burgundy for dinner. He would probably have been horribly drowsy by now if he had been fool enough to fall for the cocktails or the port. But he wasn’t sleepy—not a bit.

His mind began to form little mental pictures of some of those strange episodes which he had lived through in the last two days—old Madame D’Urfe smoking her cigar and then Tanith; Max arranging the cushions in De Richleau’s electric canoe at Pangbourne, and then Tanith again. That plausible old humbug Wilkes serving the Clos de Vougoet with meticulous care— mighty fine thing he made out of this pub no doubt—and then Tanith once more, sitting opposite him at table, with the soft glow of the shaded electric lamp lighting her oval face and throwing strange shadows in the silken web of her golden hair.

He glanced at the clock again—another minute had crawled by, and then he pictured Tanith as he had seen her only a few moments before, bending to kiss him, her face warm and flushed by the firelight, and those strange, deep, age-old eyes of hers smiling tenderly into his beneath their heavy, half-lowered lids. It must be this strange wonderful love for her, he thought, which kept him so alive and alert, for ordinarily his healthy body demanded its fair share of sleep and he would have been nodding his head off by this time. He could still see those glorious golden eyes of hers smiling into his. The face above them was indistinct and vague, but they remained clear and shining in the shadows on the far side of the fireplace. The eyes were changing now a little—losing their colour and fading from gold to grey and then to a pale-ish blue. Yet their brightness seemed to increase and they grew bigger as he held them with his mental gaze.

He thought for a second of glancing at the clock again. It seemed that Tanith had left him ages ago now, but judging by the time it had taken for that long hand to crawl through three minutes space he felt that it could hardly yet have covered the other two. Besides, he did not want to lose the focus of those strange, bright eyes which he could see so plainly when he half closed his own.

Rex wasn’t sleepy—not a bit. But time is an illusion, and Rex never afterwards knew how long he sat awake there in the semi-darkness. Perhaps during the first portion of his watch some strange power deluded his vision and the clock had in reality moved on while he only thought that the minutes dragged so heavily. In any case, those eyes that watched him from the shadows were his last conscious thought, and next moment Rex was sound asleep.

CHAPTER XXVII

WITHIN THE PENTACLE

While Rex slumbered evenly and peacefully before the dying fire in the lounge of the Pride of Peacocks, Richard, Marie Lou, the Duke and Simon waited in the pentacle, on the floor of the library at Cardinals Folly, for the dreary hours of night to drag their way to morning.

They lay with their heads towards the centre of the circle and their feet towards the rim, forming a human cross, but although they did not speak for a long time after they had settled down, none of them managed to drop off to sleep.

The layer of clean sheets and blankets beneath them was pleasant enough to rest on for a while, but the hard, unyielding floorboards under it soon began to cause them discomfort. The bright flames of the burning candles and the steady glow of the electric light showed pink through their closed eyelids, making repose difficult, and they were all keyed up to varying degrees of anxious expectancy.

Marie Lou was restless and miserable. Nothing but her fondness for Simon, and the Duke’s plea that the presence of Richard and herself would help enormously in his protection, would have induced her to play any part in such proceedings. Her firm belief in the supernatural filled her with grim forebodings, and she tried in vain to shut out her fears by sleep. Every little noise that broke the brooding stillness, the creaking of a beam as the old house eased itself upon its foundations, or the whisper of the breeze as it rustled the leaves of the trees in the garden, caused her to start wide awake again, her muscles taut with alarm and apprehension.

Richard did not attempt to sleep. He lay revolving a number of problems in his mind. Fleur d’amour’s birthday was in a couple of weeks’ time. The child was easy, but a present for Marie Lou was a different question. It must be something that she wanted and yet a surprise. A difficult matter when she already had everything with which his fine fortune could endow her, and jewellery was not only banal but absurd. The sale of the lesser stones among the Shulimoff treasure, which they had brought out of Russia, had realised enough to provide her with a handsome independent income and her retention of the finer gems alone equipped her magnificently in that direction. He toyed with the idea of buying her a two-year-old. He was not a racing man but she was fond of horses and it would be fun for her to see her own run at the lesser meetings.

After a while he turned restlessly on to his tummy, and began to ponder this wretched muddle into which Simon had got himself. The more he thought about it the less he could subscribe to the Duke’s obvious beliefs. That so-called Black Magic was still practised in most of the Continental capitals and many of the great cities in America, he knew. He had even met a man, a few years before, who had told him that he had attended a celebration of the Black Mass at a house in the Earls Court district of London, yet he could not credit that it had been anything more than a flimsy excuse for a crowd of intellectual decadents to get disgustingly drunk and participate in a wholesale sexual orgy. Simon was not that sort, or a fool either, so it was certainly queer that he should have got himself mixed up with such beastliness.

Richard turned over again, yawned, glanced at his friend whom, he decided, he had never seen look more normal, and wondered if, out of courtesy to the Duke, he could possibly continue to play his part in this tedious farce until morning.

The banishing rituals which De Richleau had performed upon Simon the previous night at Stonehenge had certainly proved successful, and he had had a good sound sleep that afternoon. His brain was now quick and clear as it had been in the old days and, although Mocata’s threats were principally directed against himself, he was by far the most cheerful of the party. Despite his recent experience, his natural humour bubbling up very nearly caused him to laugh at the thought of them all lying on that hard floor because he had made an idiot of himself, and Richard’s obvious disgust at the discomforts imposed by the Duke caused him much amusement. Nevertheless, he recognised that his desire to laugh was mainly due to nervous tension, and accepted with full understanding the necessity for these extreme precautions. To think, for only a second, of how narrow his escape had been was enough to sober instantly any tendency to mirth and send a quick shudder through his limbs. He was only anxious now, having dragged his friends into this horrible affair, to cause them as little further trouble as possible by following the Duke’s leadership without question. With resolute determination he kept his thoughts away from any of his past dealings with Mocata and set himself to endure his comfortless couch with philosophic patience.

To outward appearances De Richleau slept. He lay perfectly still on his back breathing evenly and almost imperceptibly, but he had always been able to do with very little sleep. Actually lie was recruiting his forces in a manner that was not possible to the others. That gentle rhythmic breathing, perfectly but unconsciously timed from long practice, was the way of the Raja Yoga, which he had learned when young, and all the time he visualised himself, the others, the whole room as blue—blue—blue, the colour vibration which gives love and sympathy and spiritual attainment. Yet he was conscious of every tiny movement made by the others; the gentle sighing of the breeze outside, and the occasional plop of burning logs as they fell into the embers. For over two hours he barely moved a muscle but all his senses remained watchful and alert.

The night seemed never-ending. Outside the wind dropped and a steady rain began to fall, dripping with monotonous regularity from the eaves on to the terrace. Richard became more and more sore from the hard floor. He was tired now and bored by this apparently senseless vigil. He thought that it must be about half-past one, and daylight would not come to release them from their voluntary prison before half-past five or six. That meant another four hours of this acute and momentarily increasing discomfort. As he tossed and turned it grew upon him with ever-increasing force how stupid and futile this whole affair seemed to be. De Richleau was so obviously the victim of a gang of clever tricksters, and his wide reading on obscure subjects had caused his imagination to run away with him. To pander to such folly any longer simply was not good enough. With these thoughts now dominating his mind Richard suddenly sat up.

‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I’m sick of this. A joke’s a joke, but we’ve had no lunch and precious little dinner, and I haven’t had a drink all day. Some of you have got far too lively an imagination, and we are making utter fools of ourselves. We had better go upstairs. If you’re really frightened of anything happening to Simon, we could easily shift our beds into one room and all sleep within a hand’s reach of each other. Nobody will be able to get at him then. But frankly, at the moment, I think we’re behaving like a lot of lunatics.’

De Richleau rose with a jerk and gave him a sharp look from beneath his grey slanting devil’s eyebrows. ‘Something’s beginning to happen,’ he told himself swiftly. ‘They’re working upon Richard, because he’s the most sceptical amongst us, to try and make him break up the pentacle.’ Aloud he said quietly: ‘So you’re still unconvinced that Simon is in real danger, Richard?’

‘Yes, I am.’ Richard’s voice held an angry aggressive note quite foreign to his normal manner. ‘I regard this Black Magic business as stupid nonsense. If you could cite me a single case where so-called magicians have actually done their stuff before sane people it would be different. But they’re charlatans—every one of them. Take Cagliostro—he was supposed to make gold but nobody ever saw any of it, and when the Inquisition got hold of him they bunged him in a dungeon in Rome and he died there in abject misery. His Black Magic couldn’t even procure him a hunk of bread. Look at Catherine de Medici. She was a witch on the grand scale if ever there was one—built a special tower at Vincennes for Cosimo Ruggeri, an Italian sorcerer. They used to slit up babies and practise all sorts of abominations there together night after night to ensure the death of Henry of Navarre and the birth of children to her own sons. But it didn’t do her a ha’porth of good. All four died childless so that at last, despite all her bloody sacrifices, the House of Valois was extinct, and Henry, the hated Bearnais, became King of France after all. Come nearer home if you like. Take that absurd Eliphas Levi who was supposed to be the Grand High Whatnot in Victorian times. Did you ever read his book, The Doctrine and Ritual of Magic? In his introduction he professes that he is going to tell you all about the game and that he’s written a really practical book, by the aid of which anybody who likes can raise the devil, and perform all sorts of monkey tricks. He drools on for hundreds of pages about fiery swords and tetragrams and the terrible aqua poffana, but does he tell you anything? Not a blessed thing. Once it comes to a showdown he hedges like the crook he was and tells you that such mysteries are far too terrible and dangerous to be entrusted to the profane. Mysterious balderdash my friend. I’m going to have a good strong nightcap and go to bed.’

Marie Lou looked at him in amazement. Never before had she heard Richard denounce any subject with such passion and venom. Ordinarily, he possessed an extremely open mind and, if he doubted any statement, confined himself to a kindly but slightly cynical expression of disbelief. It was extraordinary that he should suddenly forget even his admirable manners and be downright rude to one of his greatest friends.

De Richleau studied his face with quiet understanding and as Richard stood up he stood up too, laying his hand upon the younger man’s shoulder. ‘Richard,’ he said. ‘You think I’m a superstitious fool, don’t you?’

‘No!’ Richard shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Only that you’ve been through a pretty difficult time and, quite frankly, that your imagination is a bit overstrained at the moment.’

The Duke smiled. ‘All right, perhaps you are correct, but we have been friends for a long time now and this business tonight has not interfered with our friendship in any way, has it?’

‘Why, of course not. You know that.’

‘Then, if I begged of you to do something for my sake, just because of that friendship, you would do it, wouldn’t you?’

‘Certainly I would,’ Richard’s hesitation was hardly perceptible and the Duke cut in quickly, taking him at his word.

‘Good! Then we will agree that Black Magic may be nothing but a childish superstition. Yet I happen to be frightened of it, so I ask you, my friend, who is not bothered with such stupid fears to stay with me tonight—and not move outside this pentacle.’

Richard shrugged again, and then smiled ruefully… .

‘You’ve caught me properly now so I must make the best of it; quite obviously if you say that, it is impossible for me to refuse.’

‘Thank you,’ De Richleau murmured as they both sat down again, and to himself he thought: ‘That’s the first move of the game to me.’ Then as a fresh silence fell upon the party, he began to ruminate upon the strangeness of the fact that elementals and malicious spirits may be very powerful, but their nature is so low and their intelligence so limited that they can nearly always be trapped by the divine spark of reason which is the salvation of mankind. The snare was such an obvious one and yet Richard’s true nature had reasserted itself so rapidly that the force, which had moved him to try and break up their circle for its benefit, had been scotched almost before it had had a chance to operate.

They settled down again but in some subtle way the atmosphere had changed. The fire glowed red on its great pile of ashes, the candles burned unflickeringly in the five points of the star, and the electric globes above the cornices still lit every corner of the room with a soft diffused radiance, yet the four friends made no further pretence of trying to sleep. Instead they sat back to back, while the moments passed, creeping with leaden feet towards the dawn.

Marie Lou was perplexed and worried by Richard’s outburst, De Richleau tense with a new expectancy, now he felt that psychic forces were actually moving within the room. Stealthy— invisible—but powerful; he knew them to be feeling their way from bay to bay of the pentacle, seeking for any imperfection in the barrier he had erected, just as a strong current swirls and eddies about the jagged fissures of a reef searching for an entrance into a lagoon.

Simon sat crouched, his hands clasped round his knees staring, apparently with unseeing eyes, at the long lines of books. It seemed that he was listening intently and the Duke watched him with special care, knowing that he was the weak spot of their defence. Presently, his voice a little hoarse, Simon spoke:

‘I’m awfully thirsty. I wish we’d got a drink.’

De Richleau smiled, a little grimly. Another of the minor manifestations—the evil was working upon Simon now but only to give another instance of its brutish stupidity. It overlooked the fact that he had provided for such an emergency with that big carafe of water in the centre of the pentacle. The fact that it had caused Simon to forget its presence was of little moment. ‘Here you are, my friend,’ he said, pouring out a glass. ‘This will quench your thirst.’

Simon sipped it and put it aside with a shake of his narrow head. ‘Do you use well-water, Richard?’ he asked jerkily. ‘This stuff tastes beastly to me — brackish and stale.’

‘Ah!’ thought De Richleau. ‘That’s the line they are trying, is it? Well, I can defeat them there,’ and taking Simon’s glass he poured the contents back into the carafe. Then he picked up his bottle of Lourdes water. There was very little in it now for the bulk of it had been used to fill the five cups which stood in the vales of the pentagram—but enough—and he sprinkled a few drops into the water in the carafe.

Richard was speaking—instinctively now in a lowered voice —assuring Simon that they always used Burrows Malvern for drinking purposes, when the Duke filled the glass again and handed it back to Simon. ‘Now try that.’

Simon sipped again and nodded quickly. ‘Um, that seems quite different. I think it must have been my imagination before,’ and he drank off the contents of the glass.

Again for a long period no one spoke. Only the scraping of a mouse behind the wainscot, sounding abnormally loud, jarred upon the stillness. That frantic insistent gnawing frayed Marie Lou’s nerves to such a pitch that she wanted to scream, but after a while that, too, ceased and the heavy silence, pregnant with suspense, enveloped them once more. Even the gentle patter on the window-panes was no longer there to remind them of healthy, normal things, for the rain had stopped, and in that soundless room the only movement was the soft flicker of the logs, piled high in the wide fireplace.

It seemed that they had been crouching in that pentacle for nights on end and that their frugal dinner lay days away. Their discomfort had been dulled into a miserable apathy and they were drowsy now after these hours of strained uneventful watching. Richard lay down again to try and snatch a little sleep. The Duke alone remained alert. He knew that this long interval of inactivity on the part of the malefic powers was only a snare designed to give them a false sense of security before the renewal of the attack. At length he shifted his position slightly, and as he did so he chanced to glance upwards at the ceiling. Suddenly it seemed to him that the lights were not quite so bright as they had been. It might be his imagination, due to the fact that he was anticipating trouble, but somehow he felt certain that the ceiling had been brighter when he had looked at it before. In quick alarm he roused the others.

Simon nodded, realising why De Richleau had touched him on the shoulder and confirming his suspicion. Then with straining eyes, they all watched the cornice, where the concealed lights ran round the wall above the top of the bookshelves.

The action was so slow, that each of them felt their eyes must be deceiving them, and yet an inner conviction told them that it was true. Shadows had appeared where no shadows were before. Slowly but surely the current was failing and the lights dimming as they watched.

There was something strangely terrifying now about that quiet room. It was orderly and peaceful, just as Richard knew it day by day, except for the absence of the furniture. No nebulous ghostlike figure had risen up to confront them, but there, as the minutes passed, they were faced with an unaccountable phenomenon—those bright electric globes hidden from their sight were gradually but unquestionably being dimmed.

The shadows from the bookcases lengthened. The centre of the ceiling became a dusky patch. Gradually, gradually, as with caught breath they watched, the room was being plunged in darkness. Soundless and stealthy, that black shadow upon the ceiling grew in size and the binding of the books became obscure where they had before been bright until, after what seemed an eternity of time, no light remained save only the faintest line just above the rim of the top bookshelf, the five candles burning steadily in the points of the five-starred pentagram, and the dying fire.

Richard shuddered suddenly. ‘My God! It’s cold,’ he exclaimed, drawing Marie Lou towards him. The Duke nodded, silent and watchful. He felt that sinister chill draught beginning to flow upon the back of his neck, and his scalp prickled as he swung round with a sudden jerk to face it.

There was nothing to be seen—only the vague outline of the bookcases rising high and stark towards the ceiling where the dull ribbon of light still glowed. The flames of the candles were bent now at an angle under the increasing strength of the cold invisible air current that pressed steadily upon them.

De Richleau began to intone a prayer. The wind ceased as suddenly as it had begun, but a moment later it began to play upon them again—this time from a different quarter.

The Duke resumed his prayer—the wind checked—and then came with renewed force from another angle. He swung to meet it but it was at his back again.

A faint, low moaning became perceptible as he unholy blast began to circle round the pentacle. Round and round it swirled with ever-increasing strength and violence, beating up out of the shadows in sudden wild gusts of arctic iciness, and tearing at them with chill, invisible, clutching fingers, so that it seemed as if they were standing in the very vortex of a cyclone. The candles flickered wildly—and went out.

Richard, his scepticism badly shaken, quickly pushed Marie Lou to one side and whipped out his matches. He struck one, and got the nearest candle alight again but, as he turned to the next, that cold damp evil wind came once more, chilling the perspiration that had broken out upon his forehead, snuffing the candle that he had re-lit and the half-burnt match which he still held between his fingers.

He lit another and it spluttered out almost before the wood had-caught—another—and another, but they would not burn.

He glimpsed Simon’s face for an instant, white, set, ghastly, the eyeballs protruding unnaturally as he knelt staring out into the shadows—then the whole centre of the room was plunged into darkness.

‘We must hold hands,’ whispered the Duke, ‘Quick, it will strengthen our resistance,’ and in the murk they fumbled for each other’s fingers, all standing up now, until they formed a little ring in the very centre of the pentagram, hand clasped in hand and bodies back to back.

The whirling hurricane ceased as suddenly as it had begun. An unnatural stillness descended on the room again. Then without warning, an uncontrollable fit of trembling took possession of Marie Lou.

‘Steady, my sweet,’ breathed Richard, gripping her hand more tightly, ‘you’ll be all right in a minute.’ He thought that she was suffering from the effect of that awful cold which had penetrated the thin garments of them all, but she was standing facing the grate and her knees shook under her as she stammered out:

‘But look—the fire.’

Simon was behind her but the Duke and Richard, who were on either side, turned their heads and saw the thing that had caused her such excess of terror. The piled-up logs had flared into fresh life as that strange rushing wind had circled round the room, but now the flames had died down and, as their eyes rested upon it, they saw that the red-hot embers were turning black. It was as though some monstrous invisible hand was dabbing at it, then, almost in a second, every spark of light in that great, glowing fire was quenched.

‘Pray,’ urged the Duke, ‘for God’s sake, pray.’

After a little their eyes grew accustomed to this new darkness. The electric globes hidden behind the cornice were not quite dead. They flickered and seemed about to fail entirely every few moments, yet always the power exerted against them seemed just not quite enough, for their area of light would increase again, so that the shadows across the ceiling and below the books were driven back. The four friends waited with pounding hearts as they watched that silent struggle between light and darkness and the swaying of the shadows backwards and forwards, that ringed them in.

For what seemed an immeasurable time they stood in silent apprehension, praying that the last gleam of light would hold out, then, shattering that eerie silence like the sound of guns there came three swift, loud knocks upon the window-pane.

‘Who’s that?’ snapped Richard.

‘Stay still,’ hissed the Duke.

A voice came suddenly from outside the garden. It was clear and unmistakable. Each one of them recognised it instantly as that of Rex.

‘Say, I saw your light burning. Come on and let me in.’

With a little sigh of relief at the breaking of the tension, Richard let go Marie Lou’s hand and took a step forward. But the Duke grabbed his shoulder and jerked him back :

‘Don’t be a fool,’ he rasped. ‘It’s a trap.’

‘Come on now. What the heck is keeping you?’ the voice demanded. ‘It’s mighty cold out here, let me in quick.’

Richard alone remained momentarily unconvinced that it was a superhuman agency at work. The others felt a shiver of horror run through their limbs at that perfect imitation of Rex’s voice, which they were convinced was a manifestation of some terrible entity endeavouring to trick them into leaving their carefully constructed defence.

‘Richard,’ the voice came again, angrily now. ‘It’s Rex I tell you—Rex. Stop all this fooling and get this door undone.’ But the four figures in the pentacle now remained tense, silent and unresponsive.

The voice spoke no more and once again there was a long interval of silence.

De Richleau feared that the Adversary was gathering his forces for a direct attack and it was that, above all other things, which filled him with dread. He was reasonably confident that his own intelligence would serve to sense out and avoid any fresh pitfalls which might be set, providing the others would obey his bidding and remain steadfast in their determination not to leave the pentacle, but he had failed in his attempt to secure the holy wafers of the Blessed Sacrament that afternoon, the lights were all but overcome, the sacred candles had been snuffed out. The holy waters, horseshoes, garlic and the pentacle itself might only prove a partial defence if the dark entities which were about them made an open and determined assault.

‘What’s that!’ exclaimed Simon and they swung round to face the new danger. The shadows were massing into deeper blackness in one corner of the room. Something was moving there.

A dim phosphorescent blob began to glow in the darkness; shimmering and spreading into a great hummock, its outline gradually became clearer. It was not a man form nor yet an animal, but heaved there on the floor like some monstrous living sack. It had no eyes or face but from it there radiated a terrible malefic intelligence.

Suddenly there ceased to be anything ghostlike about it. The Thing had a whitish pimply skin, leprous and unclean, like some huge silver slug. Waves of Satanic power rippled through its spineless body, causing it to throb and work continuously like a great mass of new-made dough. A horrible stench of decay and corruption filled the room; for as it writhed it exuded a slimy poisonous moisture which trickled in little rivulets across the polished floor. It was solid, terribly real, a living thing. They could even see long, single golden hairs, separated from each other by ulcerous patches of skin, quivering and waving as they rose on end from its flabby body—and suddenly it began to laugh at them, a low, horrid, chuckling laugh.

Marie Lou reeled against Richard, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth and biting into it to prevent a scream.

His eyes were staring, a cold perspiration broke out upon his face.

De Richleau knew that it was a Saiitii manifestation of the most powerful and dangerous kind. His nails bit into the palms of his hands as he watched that shapeless mass, silver white and putrescent, heave and ferment.

Suddenly it moved, with the rapidity of a cat, yet they heard the squelching sound as it leapt along the floor, leaving a wet slimy trail in its wake, that poisoned the air like foul gases given off by animal remains.

They spun round to face it, then it laughed again, mocking them with that quiet, diabolical chuckle that had the power to fill them with such utter dread.

It lay for a moment near the window pulsating with demoniac energy like some enormous livid heart. Then it leapt again back to the place where it had been before.

Shuddering at the thought of that ghastliness springing upon their backs they turned with lightning speed to meet it, but it only lay here wobbling and crepitating with unholy glee.

‘Oh, God!’ gasped Richard.

The masked door which led up to the nursery was slowly opening. A line of white appeared in the gap from near the floor to about three feet in height. It broadened as the low door swung back noiselessly upon its hinges, and Marie Lou gave a terrified cry: ‘It’s Fleur!’

The men, too, instantly recognised the little body, in the white nightgown, vaguely outlined against the blackness of the shadows, as the face with its dark aureole of curling hair became clear.

The Thing was only two yards from the child. With hideous merriment it chuckled evilly, and flopping forward, decreased the distance by a half.

With one swift movement, De Richleau flung his arm about Marie Lou’s neck and jerked her backwards, her chin gripped fast in the crook of his elbow. ‘It’s not Fleur,’ he cried desperately. ‘Only some awful thing which has taken her shape to deceive you.’

‘Of course it’s Fleur—she’s walking in her sleep!’ Richard started forward to spring towards the child, but De Richleau grabbed his arm with his free hand and wrenched him back.

‘It’s not,’ he insisted in an agonised whisper. ‘Richard, I beg you! Have a little faith in me! Look at her face—it’s blue! Oh, Lord protect us!’

At that positive suggestion, thrown out with such vital force at a moment of supreme emotional tension, it did appear to them for an instant that the child’s face had a corpse-like bluish tinge then, upon the swift plea for Divine aid, the lines of the figure seemed to blur and tremble. The Thing laughed, but this time with thwarted malice, a high-pitched, angry, furious note. Then both the child and that nameless Thing became transparent and faded. The silent heavy darkness, undisturbed by sound or movement, settled all about them once again.

With a gasp of relief the straining Duke released his prisoners. ‘Now do you believe me?’ he muttered hoarsely, but there was no time for them to reply. The next attack developed almost instantly.

Simon was crouched in the middle of the circle. Marie Lou felt his body trembling against her thigh. She put her hand on his shoulder to steady him and found that he was shaking like an epileptic in a fit.

He began to gibber. Great shudders shook his frame from head to toe and suddenly he burst into heart-rending sobs.

‘What is it, Simon?’ She bent towards him quickly, but he took no notice of her and crouched there on all fours like a dog until, with a sudden jerk, he pulled himself upright and began to mutter :

‘I won’t — I won’t I say — I won’t. D’you hear–– You mustn’t make me—no—no––No!’ Then with a reeling drunken motion he staggered forward in the direction of the window.

But Marie Lou was too quick for him and flung both arms about his neck.

‘Simon darling—Simon,’ she panted. ‘You mustn’t leave us.’

For a moment he remained still, then, his body twisted violently as though his limbs were animated by some terrible inhuman force, and he flung her from him. The mild, good-natured smile had left his face and it seemed, in the faint light which still glowed from the cornice, that he had become an utterly changed personality—his mouth hung open showing the bared teeth in a snarl of ferocious rage—his eyes glinted hot and dangerous with the glare of insanity—a little dribble of saliva ran down his chin.

‘Quick, Richard,’ cried the Duke. ‘They’ve got him—for God’s sake pull him down!’

Richard had seen enough now to destroy his scepticism for life. He followed De Richleau’s lead, grappling frantically with Simon, and all three of them crashed struggling to the floor.

‘Oh, God,’ sobbed Marie Lou. ‘Oh, God, dear God!’

Simon’s breath came in great gasps as though his chest would burst. He fought and struggled like a maniac, but Richard, desperate now, kneed him in the stomach and between them they managed to hold him down. Then De Richleau, who, fearing such an attack, had had the forethought to provide himself with chords, succeeded in tying his wrists and ankles.

Richard rose panting from the struggle, smoothed back his dark hair, and huskily said to the Duke: ‘I take it all back. I’m sorry if I’ve been an extra nuisance to you.’

De Richleau patted him on the elbow. He could not smile for his eyes were flickering, even as Richard spoke, from corner to corner of that grim, darkened room, seeking, yet dreading, some new form in which the Adversary might attempt their undoing.

All three linked their arms together and stood, with Simon’s body squirming at their feet, jerking their heads from side to side in nervous expectancy. They had not long to wait. Indistinct at first, but certain after a moment, there was a stirring in the blackness near the door. Some new horror was forming out there in the shadows beyond the pointers of the pentacle—just on a level with their heads.

Their grip upon each other tightened as they fought desperately to recruit their courage. Marie Lou stood between the others, her eyes wide and distended, as she watched this fresh manifestation gradually take shape and gain solidity.

Her scalp began to prickle beneath her chestnut curls. The Thing was forming into a long, dark, beastlike face. Two tiny points of light appeared in it just above the level of her eyes. She felt the short hairs at the back of her skull lift of their own volition like the hackles of a dog.

The points of light grew in size and intensity. They were eyes. Round, protuberant and burning with a fiery glow, they bored into hers, watching her with a horrible unwinking stare.

She wanted desperately to break away and run, but her knees sagged beneath her. The head of the Beast merged into powerful shoulders and the blackness below solidified into strong thick legs.

‘It’s a horse!’ gasped Richard. ‘A riderless horse.’

De Richleau groaned. It was a horse indeed. A great black stallion and it had no rider that was visible to them, but he knew its terrible significance. Mocata, grown desperate by his failure to wrest Simon from their keeping had abandoned the attempt and in savage revenge, now sent the Angel of Death himself to claim them.

A saddle of crimson leather was strapped upon the stallion’s back, the pressure of invisible feet held the long stirrup leathers rigid to its flanks, and unseen hands held the reins taut a few inches above its withers. The Duke knew well enough that no human who has beheld that dread rider in all his sombre glory has ever lived to tell of it. If that dark Presence broke into the pentacle they would see him all too certainly, but at the price of death.

The sweat streaming down his face, Richard held his ground, staring with fascinated horror at the muzzle of the beast. The fleshy nose wrinkled, the lips drew back, baring two rows of yellowish teeth. It champed its silver bit. Flecks of foam, white and real, dripped from its loose mouth.

It snorted violently and its heated breath came like two clouds of steam from its quivering nostrils warm and damp on his face. He heard De Richleau praying, frantically, unceasingly, and tried to follow suit.

The stallion whinnied, tossed its head and backed into the bookcases drawn by the power of those unseen hands, its mighty hoofs ringing loud on the boards. Then, as though rowelled by knife-edged spurs, it launched upon them.

Marie Lou screamed and tried to tear herself from De Richleau’s grip, but his slim fingers were like a steel vice upon her arm. He remained there, ashen-faced but rigid, fronting the huge beast which seemed about to trample all three of them underfoot.

As it plunged forward the only thought which penetrated Richard’s brain was to protect Marie Lou. Instead of leaping back, he sprang in front of her with his automatic levelled and pressed the trigger.

The crash of the explosion sounded like a thunderclap in that confined space. Again—again—again, he fired while blinding flashes lit the room as though with streaks of lightning. For a succession of seconds the whole library was as bright as day and the gilded bookbacks stood out so clearly that De Richleau could even read the titles across the empty space where, so lately, the great horse had been.

The silence that descended on them when Richard ceased fire was so intense that they could hear each other breathing, and for the moment they were plunged in utter darkness.

After that glaring succession of flashes from his shots, the little rivers of light around the cornice seemed to have shrunk to the glimmer of nightlights coming beneath heavy curtains. They could no longer even see each other’s figures as they crouched together in the ring.

The thought of the servants flashed for a second into Richard’s mind. The shooting was bound to have fetched them out of bed. If they came down their presence might put an end to this ghastly business. But the minutes passed. No welcome sound of running feet came to break that horrid stillness that had closed in upon them once more. With damp hands he fingered his automatic and found that the magazine was empty. In his frantic terror he had loosed off every one of the eight shots.

How long they remained there, tense with horror, peering again into those awful shadows, they never knew, yet each became suddenly aware that the steed of the Dark Angel, who had been sent out from the underworld to bring about their destruction, was steadily re-forming.

The red eyes began to glow in the long dark face. The body lengthened. The stallion’s hoof-beats rang upon the floor as it stamped with impatience to be unleashed. The very smell of the stable was in the room. That gleaming harness stood out plain and clear. The reins rose sharply from its polished bit to bend uncannily in that invisible grip above its saddle bow. The black beast snorted, reared high into the air, and then the crouching humans faced that terrifying charge again.

The Duke felt Marie Lou sway against him, clutch at his shoulder, and slip to the floor. The strain had proved too great and she had fainted. He could do nothing for her—the beast was actually upon them.

It baulked, upon the very edge of the pentacle, its fore hoofs slithering upon the polished floor, its back legs crashing under it as though faced with some invisible barrier.

With a neigh of fright and pain it flung up its powerful head as though its face had been brought into contact with a red-hot bar. It backed away champing and whinnying until its steaming hindquarters pressed against the book-lined wall.

Richard stooped to clasp Marie Lou’s limp body. In their fear they had all unconsciously retreated from the middle to the edge of the circle. As he knelt his foot caught one of the cups of Holy Water set in the vales of the pentacle. It toppled over. The water spilled and ran to waste upon the floor.

Instantly a roar of savage triumph filled the room, coming from beneath their feet. The ab-human monster from the outer circle—that obscene sack-like Thing—appeared again. Its body vibrated with tremendous rapidity. It screamed at them with positively frantic glee. With incredible speed the stallion was swung by its invisible rider at the gap in the protective barrier. The black beast plunged, scattering the gutted candles and dried mandrake, then reared above them, its great, dark belly on a level with their heads, its enormous hoofs poised in mid-air about to batter out their brains.

For one awful second it hovered there while Richard crouched, gazing upward, his arms locked tight round the unconscious Marie Lou. De Richleau stood his ground above them both, the sweat pouring in great rivulets down his lean face.

Almost, it seemed, the end had come. Then the Duke used his final resource, and did a thing which shall never be done except in the direst emergency when the very soul is in peril of destruction. In a clear sharp voice he pronounced the last two lines of the dread Sussamma Ritual.

A streak of light seemed to curl for a second round the stallion’s body, as though it had been struck with unerring aim, caught in the toils of some gigantic whip-lash and hurled back. The Thing disintegrated instantly in sizzling atoms of opalescent light. The horse dissolved into the silent shadows.

Those mysterious and unconquerable powers, the Lords of Light, the Timeless Ones, had answered; compelled by those mystic words to leave their eternal contemplation of Supreme Beatitude for a fraction of earthly time, to intervene for the salvation of those four small flickering flames that burned in the beleaguered humans.

An utter silence descended upon the room. It was so still that De Richleau could hear Richard’s heart pounding in his breast. Yet he knew that by that extreme invocation they had been carried out of their bodies on to the fifth Astral plane. His conscious brain told him that it was improbable that they would ever get back. To call upon the very essence of light requires almost superhuman courage, for Prana possesses an energy and force utterly beyond the understanding of the human mind. As it can shatter darkness in a manner beside which a million candle-power searchlight becomes a pallid beam, so it can attract all lesser light to itself and carry it to realms undreamed of by infinitesimal man.

For a moment it seemed that they had been ripped right out of the room and were looking down into it. The pentacle had become a flaming star. Their bodies were dark shadows grouped in its centre. The peace and silence of death surged over them in great saturating waves. They were above the house. Cardinals Folly became a black speck in the distance. Then everything faded.

Time ceased, and it seemed that for a thousand thousand years they floated, atoms of radiant matter in an immense immeasurable void—circling for ever in the soundless stratosphere —being shut off from every feeling and sensation, as though travelling with effortless impulse five hundred fathoms deep below the current levels of some uncharted sea.

Then, after a passage of eons in human time they saw the house again, infinitely far beneath them, their bodies lying in the pentacle and that darkened room. In an utter eerie silence the dust of centuries was falling … falling. Softly, impalpably, like infinitely tiny particles of swansdown, it seemed to cover them, the room, and all that was in it, with a fine grey powder.

De Richleau raised his head. It seemed to him that he had been on a long journey and then slept for many days. He passed his hand across his eyes and saw the familiar bookshelves in the semi-darkened library. The bulbs above the cornice flickered and the lights came full on.

Marie Lou had come to and was struggling to her knees while Richard fondled her with trembling hands, and murmured : ‘We’re safe, darling—safe.’

Simon’s eyes were free now from that terrible maniacal glare. The Duke had no memory of having unloosened his bonds but he knelt beside them looking as normal as he had when they had first entered upon that terrible weaponless battle:

‘Yes, we’re safe—and Mocata is finished,’ De Richleau passed a hand over his eyes as if they were still clouded. ‘The Angel of Death was sent against us tonight, but he failed to get us, and he will never return empty-handed to his dark Kingdom. Mocata summoned him so Mocata must pay the penalty.’

‘Are—are you sure of that?’ Simon’s jaw dropped suddenly.

‘Certain. The age-old law of retaliation cannot fail to operate. He will be dead before the morning.’

‘But—but,’ Simon stammered. ‘Don’t you realise that Mocata never does these things himself! He throws other people into a hypnotic trance and makes them do his devilish business for him. One of the poor wretches who are in his power will have to pay for this night’s work.’

Even as he spoke there came the sound of running footsteps along the flagstones of the terrace. A rending crash as a heavy boot landed violently on the woodwork of the french windows.

They burst open, and framed in them stood no vision but Rex himself. Haggard, dishevelled, hollow-eyed, his face a ghastly mask of panic, fear and fury.

He stood there for a moment staring at them as though they were ghosts. In his arms he held the body of a woman; her fair hair tumbled across his right arm, and her long silk-stockinged legs dangled limply from the other.

Suddenly two great tears welled up into his eyes and trickled slowly down his furrowed cheeks. Then as he laid the body gently on the floor they saw that it was Tanith, and knew, by her strange unnatural stillness, that she was dead.

CHAPTER XXVIII

NECROMANCY

‘Oh Rex!’ Marie Lou dropped to her knees beside Tanith, knowing that this must be the girl of whom he had raved to her that afternoon. ‘How awful for you!’

‘How did this happen?’ the Duke demanded. It was imperative that he should know at once every move in the enemy’s game, and the urgent note in his voice helped to pull Rex together.

‘I hardly know,’ he gasped out. ‘She got me along because she was scared stiff of that swine Mocata. I couldn’t call you up this afternoon and later when I tried your line was blocked, but I had to stay with her. We were going to pass the night together in the parlour, but round about midnight she left me and then —oh, God ! I fell asleep.’

‘How long did you sleep for?’ asked Richard quickly.

‘Several hours, I reckon. I was about all in after yesterday, but the second I woke I dashed up to her room and there she was, dressed as she is now—lying asleep, I figured—in an armchair. I tried to wake her but I couldn’t. Then I got real scared— grabbed hold of her—and beat it down those stairs six at a time. You’ve just no notion how frantic I was to get out of that place, and next thing I knew—I saw your light and came busting in here. She—she’s not dead, is she?’

‘Oh, Rex, you poor darling,’ Marie Lou stammered as she chafed Tanith’s cold hands. ‘I—I’m afraid––’

‘She isn’t—she can’t be!’ he protested wildly. ‘That fiend’s only thrown her into a trance or something.’

Richard had taken a little mirror from Marie Lou’s bag. He held it against Tanith’s bloodless lips. No trace of moisture marred its surface. Then he pressed his hand beneath her breast.

‘Her heart’s stopped beating,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’m sorry, old chap, but—well, I’m afraid you’ve got to face it.’

‘The old-fashioned tests of death are not conclusive,’ Simon whispered to the Duke. ‘Scientists say now that even arteries can be cut and fail to bleed, but life still remains in the body. They’ve all come round to the belief that we’re animated by a sort of atomic energy—call it the soul if you like—and that the body may retain that vital spark without showing the least sign of life. Mightn’t it be some form of catalepsy like that?’

‘Of course,’ De Richleau agreed. ‘It has been proved time and again that the senses are only imperfect vessels for collecting impressions. There is something else which can see when the eyes are closed and hear while the body is being painlessly cut to ribbons under an anaesthetic. All the modern experimenters agree that there are many states in which the body is not wholly alive or wholly dead, but I fear there is little hope in this case. You see we know that Mocata used her as his catspaw, so the poor girl has been forced to pay the price of failure. I haven’t a single doubt that she is dead.’

Rex caught his last words and swung upon him frantically. ‘God! this is frightful. I—I tried to kid myself but I think I knew it the moment I picked her up. Her prophecy’s come true then.’ He passed his hand over his eyes. ‘I can’t quite take it in yet—this and all of you seem terribly unreal—but is she really dead? She was so mighty scared that if she died some awful thing might remain to animate her body.’

‘She is dead as we know death,’ said Richard softly. ‘So what could remain?’

‘I know what he means,’ the Duke remarked abruptly. ‘He is afraid that an elemental may have taken possession of her corpse. If so drastic measures will be necessary.’

‘No!’ Rex shook his head violently. ‘If you’re thinking of cutting off her head and driving a stake through her heart, I won’t have it. She’s mine, I tell you—mine!’

‘Better that than the poor soul should suffer the agony of seeing its body come out of the grave at night to fatten itself on human blood,’ De Richleau murmured. ‘But there are certain tests, and we can soon find out. Bring her over here.’

Simon and Richard lifted the body and carried it over to the mat of sheets and blankets in the centre of the pentacle, while De Richleau fiddled for a moment among his impedimenta.

‘The Undead,’ he said slowly, ‘have certain inhibitions. They can pass as human, but they cannot eat human food and they cannot cross running water except at sunset and sunrise. Garlic is a most fearsome thing to them, so that they scream if only touched by it, and the Cross of course, is anathema. We will see if she reacts to them.’

As he spoke he took the wreath of garlic flowers from round his neck and placed it about Tanith’s. Then he made the sign of the Cross above her and laid his little gold crucifix upon her lips.

The others stood round, watching the scene with horrified fascination. Tanith lay there, calm and still, her pale face shadowed by the golden hair, her tawny eyes now closed under the heavy, blue-veined lids, the long, curved eyelashes falling upon her cheeks. She had the look of death and yet, as De Richleau set about his grim task, it seemed to them that her eyelids might flicker open at any moment. Yet, when the garlic flowers were draped upon her, she remained there cold and immobile, and when the little crucifix was laid upon her lips she showed no consciousness of it, even by the twitching of the tiniest muscle.

‘She’s dead, Rex, absolutely dead,’ De Richleau stood up again. ‘So, my poor boy, at least your worst fears will not be realised. Her soul has left her body but no evil entity has taken possession of it. I am certain of that now.’

A new hush fell upon the room. Tanith looked, if possible, even more beautiful in death than she had in life, so that .they marvelled at her loveliness. Rex crouched beside her, utterly stricken by this tragic ending to all the wonderful hopes and plans which had seethed in his mind the previous afternoon after she had told him that she loved him. He had known her by sight for so long, dreamed of her so often, yet having gained her love a merciless fate had deprived him of it after only a few hours of happiness. It was unfair—unfair. Suddenly he buried his face in his hands, his great shoulders shook, and for the first time in his life he gave way to a passion of bitter tears.

The rest stood by him in silent sympathy. There was nothing which they could say or do. Marie Lou attempted to soothe his anguish by gently stroking his rebellious hair, but he jerked his head away with a quick angry movement. Only a few hours before in those sunlit woods, Tanith had run her fingers through his curls again and again during the ecstasy of the dawning of their passion for each other, and the thought that she would never do so any more filled him with almost unbearable grief and misery.

After a while the Duke turned helplessly away and Simon, catching his eye, beckoned him over towards the open window out of earshot from the others. The seemingly endless night still lay upon the garden, and now a light mist had risen. Wisps of it were creeping down the steps from the terrace and curling into the room. De Richleau shivered and refastened the windows to shut them out.

‘What is it?’ he asked quickly.

‘I—er—suppose there is no chance of her being made animate again?’ hazarded Simon.

‘None. If there had been anything there it would never have been able to bear the garlic and the crucifix without giving some indication of its presence.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of that. The vital organs aren’t injured in any way as far as we know, and rigor mortis has not set in yet. I felt her hand just now and the fingers are as flexible as mine.’

De Richleau shrugged. ‘That makes no difference. Rigor mortis may have been delayed for a variety of reasons but she will be as stiff as a board in a few hours’ time just the same. Of course her state does resemble that of a person who has been drowned, in a way, but only superficially; and if you are thinking that we might bring her back to life by artificial respiration I can assure you that there is not a chance. It would only be a terrible unkindness to hold out such false hopes to poor Rex.’

‘Ner—you don’t see what I’m driving at.’ Simon’s dark eyes flickered quickly from De Richleau’s face to the silent group in the centre of the pentagram and then back again. ‘No ordinary doctor could do anything for her, I know that well enough, but since her body is still in the intermediate stage there are a few people in this world who could, and I was wondering if you––’

‘What!’ The Duke started suddenly then went on in a whisper: ‘Do you mean that I should try and bring her back?’

‘Um,’ Simon nodded his head jerkily up and down. ‘If you know the drill—and you seem to know so much about the great secrets—I thought it just on the cards you might?’

De Richleau looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘I know something of the ritual,’ he confessed at length, ‘but I have never seen it done, and in any case it’s a terrible responsibility.’

At that moment there was a faint sighing as the breeze rippled the leaves of the trees out in the garden. Both men heard it and they looked at each other questioningly.

‘Her soul can’t be very far away yet,’ whispered Simon.

‘No,’ the Duke agreed reluctantly. ‘But I don’t like it, Simon. The dead are not meant to be called back. They do not come willingly. If I attempted this and succeed it would only be by the force of incredibly powerful conjurations which the soul dare not disobey, and we are not justified in taking such steps. Besides, what good could it do ? At best, I should not be able to bring her back for more than a few moments.’

‘Of course, I know that; but you still don’t seem to get my idea,’ Simon went on hurriedly. ‘As far as Rex is concerned, poor chap, she’s gone for good and all, but I was thinking of Mocata. You were hammering it into us last night for all you were worth that it’s up to us to destroy him before he has the chance to secure the Talisman. Surely this is our opportunity. In Tanith’s present physical state her spirit can’t have gone far from her body. If you could bring it back for a few moments, or even get her to talk, don’t you see that she’ll be able to tell us how best to try and scotch Mocata. From the astral plane, where she is now, her vision and insight are limitless, so she’ll be able to help us in a way that she never could have done before.’

‘That’s different,’ De Richleau’s pale face lit with a tired smile. ‘And you are right, Simon. I have been under such a strain for the past few hours that I had forgotten the thing that matters most of all. I would never consent to attempt it for any other purpose, but to prevent suffering and death coming to countless millions of people we are justified in anything. I’ll speak to Rex.’

Rex nodded despondently, numb now with misery, when the Duke had explained what he meant to try and do. ‘Just as you like,’ he said slowly. ‘It won’t hurt in any way, though—I mean her soul—will it?’

‘No,’ De Richleau assured him. ‘In the ordinary way it might. To recall the soul of a dead person is to risk interfering with their karma, but Tanith has virtually been murdered and, although it is not the way of the spirit to seek revenge against people for things which may have happened in this life, it is almost a certainty that she is actually wanting to come back for just long enough to tell us how to defeat Mocata, because of her love for you.’

‘All right, then,’ Rex muttered, ‘only let’s get over with it as quickly as we can.’

‘I’m afraid it will take some time,’ De Richleau warned him, ‘and even then it may not be successful, but the issues at stake are so vital, you must try and put aside your personal grief for a bit.’

He began to clear the pentacle of all the things which he had used the previous evening to form protective barriers, the holy water, the little cups, the horseshoes, placing them with the garlic and dried mandrake back in the suitcase. He then took from it seven small metal trays, a wooden platter, and a box of powdered incense; and pouring a little heap of the dark powder on the platter went up to Rex.

‘I’m afraid I’ve got to trouble you if we’re going to see this through.’

‘Trouble away,’ said Rex grimly, with a flash of his old spirit. ‘You know I’m with you in anything which is likely to let me get my hands on that devil’s throat.’

‘Good.’ The Duke took out his pocket knife and held the blade for a moment in the flame of a match. ‘You’ve seen enough of this business now to know that I don’t do anything without a purpose, and I want a little of your blood. I will use my own if you like but yours is far more likely to have the desired effect, since you felt so strongly in this poor girl and she, apparently, for you.’

‘Go ahead.’ Rex pulled up his cuff and bared his forearm, but De Richleau shook his head.

‘No. Your finger will do, and it will hardly be more than a pin-prick. I only need a few drops.’

With a swift movement he took Rex’s left hand and, having made a slight incision in the little finger, squeezed out seven drops of blood on to the incense.

Then he walked over to Tanith and, kneeling down, took seven long golden hairs from her head. Next he proceeded to form the mixture of incense and blood into a paste out of which he made seven cones, in each of which was coiled one of Tanith’s long golden hairs.

With Richard’s assistance he carefully oriented the body so that her feet were pointing towards the north and drew a fresh, chalk circle, just large enough to contain her and the bedding, seven feet in diameter.

‘Now if you will turn your backs, please,’ he told them all, ‘I will proceed with the preparations.’

For a few moments they gazed obediently at the book-lined walls while he did certain curious things, and when he bade them turn again he was placing the seven cones of incense on the seven little metal trays, each engraved with the Seal of Solomon, in various positions round the body.

‘We shall remain outside the circle this time,’ he explained, ‘so that the spirit, if it comes, is contained within it. Should some evil entity endeavour to impersonate her soul it will thus be confined within the circle and unable to get at us.’

He lit the seven cones of incense, completed the barrier round about the body with numerous fresh signs, and then, walking over to the doorway, switched out the lights.

The fire was quite dead now, and the candles had never been re-lit, but after a moment a faint greyness began to filter through the french windows. The light was just sufficient for them to see each other as ghostly forms moving in the darkness, while the body, lying in the circle, was barely visible, its position being indicated by the seven tiny points of light from the cones of incense burning round it.

Simon laid an unsteady hand on the Duke’s arm. ‘Is it—is it— quite safe to do this ? I mean, mightn’t Mocata have another cut at us now we’re in the dark and no longer have the protection of the pentacle?’

‘No,’ De Richleau answered decisively ‘He played his last card tonight when he sent the Dark Angel against us and caused Tanith’s death. That stupendous operation will have exhausted his magical powers for the time being at least. Come over here, all of you, and sit down on the floor in a circle.’

Leading them over to Tanith’s feet he arranged them so that Rex and Marie Lou both had their backs to the body and would be spared the sight of any manifestations which might take place about it. He sat facing it himself, with Richard and Simon upon either side of him; all five of them clasped hands.

Then he told them that they must preserve complete quiet and under no circumstance break the circle they had formed. He warned them too, that if they felt a sudden cold they were not to be frightened by it as they had been of the horrible wind which had swirled so uncannily in that room a few hours before. It would be caused by the ectoplasm which might be drawn from Tanith’s body and, he went on to add, if a voice addressed them they were not to answer. He would do any talking which was necessary and they were to remain absolutely still until he gave orders that the circle should be broken up.

They sat there, hand in hand, in silence, while it seemed that an age was passing. The square frame of the window gradually lightened, but so very slowly that it was barely perceptible, and if dawn was breaking at last upon the countryside it was shut out from them by the grey, ghostly fog.

The cones of incense burned slowly, giving out a strange, acrid smell, mixed with some queer and sickly eastern perfume. From their position in the circle Richard and Simon could see the faint wreaths of smoke curling up for a few inches above the tiny points of light to disappear above, lost in the darkness. Tanith’s body lay still and motionless, a shadowy outline upon the thin mat of makeshift bedding.

De Richleau had closed his eyes and bowed his head upon his chest. Once more he was practising that rhythmic, inaudible Raja Yoga breathing, which has such power to recruit strength or to send it forth, and he was using it now while he concentrated on calling the spirit of Tanith to him.

Richard watched the. body with curious expectancy. His experience of the last few hours had been too recent for him to collate his thoughts, and while he had so sturdily rejected the idea of Black Magic the night before he would more or less have accepted the fact of Spiritualism. It was a much more general modern belief, and this business as far as he could see, except in a few minor particulars such as the incense compounded with blood, was very similar to the spiritualistic seances of which he had often heard. The only real difference being that, in this instance, they had a newly dead body to operate on and therefore were far more likely to get results. As time wore on, however, he became doubtful, for if their earlier vigil had lasted many hours this one, now that he was utterly weary, seemed like a succession of nights.

It was Simon who first became aware that something was happening. He was watching the seven cones of incense intently, and it seemed to him that the one which was farthest from him, set at Tanith’s head, gave out a greater amount of smoke than the rest. Then he realised that he could see the cone more clearly and that the eddying curls of aromatic vapour which it sent up had taken on a bluish hue which the rest had not.

He pressed De Richleau’s hand and the Duke raised his head. Richard too had seen it, and as they watched, a faint blue light became definitely perceptible.

It gradually solidified into a ball about two inches in diameter and moved slowly forward from the head until it reached the centre of Tanith’s body. There it remained for a while, growing in brightness and intensity until it had become a strong blue light. Then it rose a little and hovered in the air above her, so that by its glow they could clearly see the curves of her figure and her pale, beautiful face, lit by that strange radiance.

Intensely alert now, they sat still and watchful, until the ball of light began to lose colour and diffuse itself over a wider area.

The smoke of the incense wreathed up towards it from the seven metal platters, and it seemed to gather this into itself, forming from it the vague outline of a head and shoulders, still cloudy and transparent but, after another few moments, definitely recognisable as an outline of the bust of the figure which lay motionless beneath it.

With pounding hearts they watched for new developments, and now it seemed that the whole process of materialisation was hurried forward in a few seconds. The bust joined itself, by throwing out a shadowy torso, to the hips of the dead body, the face and shoulders solidified until the features were distinct, and the whole became surrounded by an aureole of light.

Upon the strained silence there came the faintest whisper of a voice:

‘You called me. I am here.’

‘Are you in truth, Tanith?’ De Richleau asked softly.

‘I am.’

‘Do you acknowledge our Lord Jesus Christ?’

‘I do.’

A sigh of relief escaped De Richleau, for he knew that no impersonating elemental would ever dare to testify in such a manner, and he proceeded quietly:

‘Do you come here of your own free will, or do you wish to depart?’

‘I come because you called, but I am glad to come.’

‘There is one here whose grief for your passing is very great. He does not seek to draw you back, but he wishes to know if it is your desire to help him in the protection of his friends and the destruction of evil for the well-being of the world.’

‘It is my desire.’

‘Will you tell us all that you can of the man Mocata which may prove of help?’

‘I cannot, for I am circumscribed by the Law, but you may ask me what you will and, because you have summoned me, I am bound by your command to answer.’

‘What is he doing now?’

‘Plotting fresh evil against you.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘He is quite near you.’

‘Can you tell me where?’

‘I do not know. I cannot see distinctly, for he covers himself with a cloak of darkness, but he is still in your neighbourhood.’

‘In the village?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Where will he be this time tomorrow?’

‘In Paris.’

‘What do you see him doing in Paris?’

‘I see him talking with a man who has lost a portion of his left ear. It is in a tall building. They are both very angry.’

‘Will he stay in Paris for long?’

‘No. I see him moving at great speed towards the rising sun.’

‘Where do you see him next?’

‘Under the earth.’

‘Do you mean that he is dead—to us?’

‘No. He is in a stone-flagged vault beneath a building which is very very old. The place radiates evil. The red vibrations are so powerful that I cannot see what he does there. The light which surrounds me now protects me from such sights.’

‘What is he planning now?’

‘To draw me back.’

‘Do you mean that he is endeavouring to restore your soul to your body?’

‘Yes. He is already bitterly regretting that in his anger against you he risked the severance of the two. He could force me to be of great service to him on your plane but he cannot do so on this.’

‘But is it possible for him to bring you back — permanently?’

‘Yes. If he acts at once. While the moon is still in her dark quarter.’

‘Is it your wish to return?’

‘No, not unless I were free of him — but I have no choice. My soul is in pawn until the coming of the new moon. After that I shall pass on unless he has succeeded.’

‘How will he set about this thing?’

‘There is only one way. The full performance of the Black Mass.’

‘You mean with the sacrifice of a Christian child?’

‘Yes. It is the age-old law, a soul for a soul. That is the only way and the soul of a baptised child will be accepted in exchange for mine. Then if my body remains uninjured I shall be compelled to return to it.’

‘What are–—’

The Duke’s next question was cut short by Rex, who could stand the strain no longer. He did not know that De Richleau was only conversing with Tanith’s astral body and thought that he had succeeded in restoring the corpse which lay behind him, at least to temporary life again.

‘Tanith!’ he cried, breaking the circle and flinging himself round. ‘Tanith!’

In a fraction of time the vision disintegrated and disappeared. His eyes blazing with anger, De Richleau sprang to his feet.

‘You fool!’ he thundered. ‘You stupid fool.’ In the pale light of dawn which was now at last just filtering through the fog, he glared at Rex. Then, as they stood there, angry recriminations about to burst from their lips, the whole party were arrested in their every movement and remained transfixed.

A shrill, clear cry had cut like a knife into the heavy, incense-laden atmosphere, coming from the room above.

‘That’s Fleur,’ gasped Marie Lou. ‘My precious, what is it?’

In an instant, she was dashing across the room to the little door in the bookshelves which led to the staircase up to the nursery. Yet Richard was before her.

In two bounds he had reached the door and was fumbling for the catch. His trembling fingers found it. He gave a violent jerk. The little metal ring which served to open it came away in his hand.

Precious moments were lost as they clawed at the bookbacks. At last it swung free. Richard pushed Marie Lou through ahead of him and followed, pressing at her heels. The others stumbled up the old stone stairs in frantic haste behind them.

They reached the night nursery. Rex ran to the window. It was wide open. The grey mist blanketed the garden outside. Marie Lou dashed to the cot. The sheets were tumbled. The imprint of a little body lay there fresh and warm—but Fleur was gone.

CHAPTER XXIX

SIMON ARON TAKES A VIEW

‘Here’s the way they went,’ cried Rex. ‘There’s a ladder under this window.’

‘Then for God’s sake get after him,’ Richard shouted, racing across the room. ‘If that damn door hadn’t stuck we’d have caught him red-handed—he can’t have got far.’

Rex was already on the terrace below, Simon shinned down the ladder and Richard flung his leg over the sill of the window to follow.

Marie Lou was left alone with De Richleau in the nursery. She stared at him with round, tearless eyes, utterly overcome by this new calamity. The Duke stared back, shaken to the very depths by this appalling thing which he had brought upon his friends. He wanted most desperately to comfort and console her, but realised how hopelessly inadequate anything that he could say would be. The thought of that child having been seized by the Satanist, to be offered up in some ghastly sacrifice, was utterly unbearable.

‘Princess,’ he managed to stammer, ‘Princess.’ But further words would not come, and for once in his life he found himself powerless to deal with a situation.

Marie Lou just stood there motionless and staring, held rigid by such extreme distress that she could no longer think coherently.

With a tremendous effort De Richleau pulled himself together. He knew that he had earned any opprobrium that she and Richard might choose to heap upon him for having used their house as a refuge, stated that no harm could befall them if they followed his instructions, and yet been the means of perhaps causing the death of the child whom they both idolised. But it was no time to offer himself for the whipping-post now. They must act, and quickly.

‘Where is nurse?’ he shot out hoarsely.

‘In—in her room.’ Marie Lou turned to a door at the end of the room which stood ajar.

‘It’s extraordinary that she should not have woken with all this noise,’ De Richleau strode over and thrust it open.

In Fleur’s nursery a greyness blurred the outlines of the furniture and shadowed the corners of the room, but in the nurse’s bedroom the curtains being drawn, it was still completely dark.

The Duke jerked on the electric light and saw at once that Fleur’s nannie was lying peacefully asleep in bed. He walked over and touched her swiftly on the shoulder. ‘Wake up,’ he said, ‘wake up!’

She did not stir, and Marie Lou, who had followed him into the room, peered at the woman’s face anxiously, then cried on a louder note: ‘Wake up, nannie ! Wake up!’

De Richleau shook the nurse roughly now, but her head rolled helplessly upon her shoulders and her eyes remained tightly shut.

‘She’s been drugged, I suppose,’ Marie Lou said miserably.

‘I don’t think so.’ The Duke bent over and sniffed. ‘There is no smell of chloroform or anything here. It’s more likely that Mocata plunged her into a deep hypnotic sleep directly he arrived. Best leave her,’ he added after a moment. ‘She’ll wake in due course, and obviously she cannot tell us anything if she has been in a heavy induced sleep all the time.’

They returned to the nursery and the Duke switched on the lights there to make a thorough examination. Almost at once his eye fell on a paper which lay at the foot of Fleur’s empty cot. He snatched it up and quickly scanned the close, typewritten lines.

Please do not worry about the little girl. She will be returned to you tomorrow morning providing that certain conditions are complied with. These are as follows:

In this exceptional case I have been compelled to resort to unusual methods which bring me within the scope of the law. I have no doubt, therefore, that one of you will suggest calling in the police to trace the child. Any such action might embarrass my operations and therefore you are not to even consider such a proceeding. You cannot doubt by now that I have ways and means of informing myself regarding all your actions and, in the event of your disobeying my injunction in this respect, I shall immediately take steps which will ensure that you never recover the child alive.

My failure last night was regrettable, since it has caused the death of a young woman recently discovered by me as an exceptional medium, for whom I might have had some further use. Mr. Van Ryn removed her body while I slept and it is now in your keeping; I am anxious that every care should be taken of it. You will leave the body just as it is in your library until further instructions and refrain from taking any steps towards a coroner’s examination or its burial. If you disobey me in this matter, I shall command certain forces at my disposal, of which Monsieur Le Duc de Richleau may be able to inform you, to take possession of it.

All of you will confine yourselves in the library during the coming day, giving such reasons as you choose to your servants that you are not to be disturbed.

Lastly, my friend Simon Aron is to rejoin me for the continuance of those experiments in which we are engaged. He will leave the house alone at mid-day and proceed on foot to the cross-roads which lie a mile and a half to the south-west of Cardinals Folly, where I shall arrange for him to be met, and, having surrendered himself to my representative, he must agree to give me his willing co-operation in the ritual to Satan tonight, which is necessary for the re-discovery of the Talisman of Set.

If any of these injunctions are disregarded in the least degree, you already know the penalty, but if they are carried out to my entire satisfaction, Simon Aron shall return to you sane and well after I have carried out my operations, and the child shall be restored as innocent and happy as she was yesterday.

Marie Lou read the document over De Richleau’s shoulder. ‘Oh, what are we to do?’ she wailed, wringing her hands together. ‘Greyeyes, this is too awful. What are we going to do?’

‘God knows,’ De Richleau muttered miserably. ‘He has the whip hand of us now with a vengeance. The devil of it is that I don’t trust his promise to return the child even if Simon is game to sacrifice himself.’

At that moment Simon’s head appeared above the window sill, and he scrambled up the last rungs of the ladder into the room.

‘Well!’ the Duke shot at him, but Simon shook his head.

‘The three of us have been round the grounds but in this filthy fog it’s impossible to see any distance. He’s got clean away by now.’

‘I feared as much,’ the Duke murmured despondently, and with a new access of miserable unhappiness, he watched Richard climb into the room.

‘Not a trace,’ Richard exclaimed hoarsely. ‘No footmarks, even on the flower beds, to show which way he went. Where the hell is nurse? I’ll sack that woman for her damned incompetence. With her door ajar, there’s no excuse for her not having heard Fleur cry out.’

‘It was not her fault,’ said De Richleau mildly. ‘Mocata threw her into a deep sleep and she is sleeping still.. Until the time he has set it will be impossible to rouse her.’

Rex followed the others through the window, muttering angrily: ‘This filthy mist! A dozen toughs might be racketing round the garden, but we’d never get a sight of them. Is it supposed to be daylight yet, or isn’t it?’

Simon glanced at the clock on the nursery mantelpiece. ‘According to this it’s only ten to five. Surely it must be later than that.’

‘It’s stopped,’ announced Richard, ‘but it can’t be much after half-past six, or the servants would be getting up, and when I ran round the far side of the house just now, there were no lights in their windows.’

‘All the better,’ said the Duke abruptly. ‘Mocata’s left a letter, Richard, with certain instructions which he orders us to carry out if Fleur is to remain unharmed.’

‘Let’s see it,’ Richard held out his hand.

De Richleau hesitated. ‘I’d rather you read it when we are downstairs again, if you don’t mind. It doesn’t help us for the present and there are certain things which we should do at once —before the servants start moving about.’

‘Good Lord, man! I mean to have the lot of them out of bed inside five minutes. We shall need their help.’

‘I wish, instead, that while I connect the telephone again and see if I can find out anything from the inn, you would write a brief note to Malin saying that our experiments are still in progress and that we are to be left undisturbed in this wing of the house for the whole day.’

‘If you think I’m going to stay here twiddling my thumbs while Fleur’s in danger—you’re crazy!’ cried Richard indignantly.

The Duke knew that his suggestion of continued inactivity must make this apparent negligence seem even worse, but he had never yet been known to lose his head in a crisis and he managed to keep his voice quiet and even.

‘I would like you to see this letter first and talk it over with Marie Lou before you do anything reckless. In any case Tanith’s body is still downstairs. It must remain there’ for the moment and that is quite sufficient reason for the servants to be kept away from the library. You, Rex, go along to the kitchen, take Simon with you, and between you bring us back the best cold meal that you can muster. We’re all half starved, and fasting has its limits of usefulness, even in an affair like this.’

Marie Lou stood there listening to the argument. She could not really believe that this awful thing had actually happened to her. If she had lost Fleur she would die. Even Richard would never be able to console her. It simply could not be true. The four men were phantoms—talking—talking, yet she could see every object in the room with a curious supernormal clarity. Strange that she had never noticed one handle on the old walnut chest of drawers to be odd before, or that one of the wires in the fireguard protruded a little. Fleur might cut herself if she fell against it. She must tell nannie to have it seen to tomorrow. Yet all the time these thoughts were drifting through her mind she was conscious of what the others were saying and of an urgent need to comfort De Richleau. Her poor ‘Greyeyes’ was feeling desperately unhappy, she knew, and held himself entirely responsible for this terrible thing which could not possibly be true. When he mentioned breakfast she said at once: ‘I will go down and cook you some eggs or something.’

‘No, no, my dear,’ De Richleau looked round and then lowered his eyes quickly, his heart wrung at the sight of her dead-white face. ‘Please go down to the library and read this letter of Mocata’s through again quietly with Richard. Then you can talk it over together and will have made up your minds what you think best by the time the rest of us get back.’

Richard gave in to the Duke’s wishes for the moment. They all descended to the ground floor again and, when the other three had gone off to the kitchen quarters, he remained with Marie Lou and read Mocata’s letter quickly.

As he finished he looked up at her in miserable indecision. ‘My poor sweet. This is ghastly for you.’

‘It’s just as bad for you,’ she said softly. Then, with a little cry, she flung her arms round his neck. ‘Oh, Richard, darling, what are we to do?’

‘Dearest,’ he hugged her to him, soothing her gently as best he could now that the storm had broken. Her small body heaved with desperate sobbing, while great tears ran down her cheeks, falling in large, damp splashes upon his hands and neck.

As he held her, murmuring little phrases of endearment and optimistic comfort, he thought her weeping would never cease. Her body trembled as it was swept with terrible emotion at the loss of her cherished Fleur.

‘Marie Lou, my angel,’ he whispered softly, ‘try and pull yourself together, do, or else you’ll have me breaking down as well in a minute. No harm can have happened to her yet, and it isn’t likely to until tonight at the earliest. Even then, he’ll think twice before he carries out his threat. Only a fool destroys his hostage to spite his enemy. Mocata may be every sort of a rogue, but he’s a civilised one at least, so he won’t maltreat her in any way, you can be sure of that, and if we only play our cards properly, we’ll get her back before it comes to any question of his carrying out this appalling threat.’

‘But what can we do, Richard? What can we do?’ she cried, looking at him wildly from large, tear-dimmed eyes.

‘Get after him the second the others come back,’ Richard declared promptly. ‘He’s human, isn’t he? He had to use a ladder to get up to the nursery just like any other thug. If we act at once we’ll have him under lock and key by nightfall.’

De Richleau’s quiet voice broke in from behind them. ‘You have decided, then, to call in the police?’

‘Of course.’ Richard turned to stare at him. ‘This is totally different from last night’s affair. It is a case of kidnapping, pure and simple, and I’m going to pull every gun I know to get the police of’ the whole country after him in the next half hour. If you’ve reconnected that line, I’ll get straight through to Scotland Yard—now.’

‘Yes, the telephone is all right. I’ve been through to the inn and had old Wilkes out of bed. He remembers Rex and Tanith dining there last night, of course, but when I described Mocata to him, he said he hadn’t seen anyone who answers to that description there at all, either yesterday or this morning. Have you written that letter for the servants?’

‘Not yet. I will.’ Richard left the library just as Simon and Rex came in, carrying a collection of plates and dishes on two trays, prominent upon which were a large China teapot and the half of a York ham.

‘Please don’t phone Scotland Yard just yet,’ Marie Lou called after Richard. ‘I simply must talk to you again before we burn our boats.’

The Duke gave her a sharp glance from under his grey eyebrows. ‘You are not then in favour of calling in the police?’

‘I don’t know what to do,’ she confessed miserably. ‘Richard is so sane and practical that I suppose he’s right, but you read the letter and I should never forgive myself if our calling in the police forced Mocata’s hand. Do you—do you really think that he has the power to find out if we go against his instructions?’

De Richleau nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. But Simon can tell you more of his capabilities in that direction than I can.’

Simon and Rex had put down their trays and were reading Mocata’s letter together. The former looked up swiftly.

‘Um. He can see things when he wants to in that mirror I told you of, and once he gets to London he’ll have half a dozen mediums that he can throw into a trance to pick us up. It will be child’s play for a man of his powers to find out if we leave this room.’

‘That’s my view,’ the Duke agreed. ‘And if we once turn to the police, we have either to go to them or else bring them here. Telephoning won’t be sufficient. They will want photographs of Fleur and to question every one concerned, so Mocata stands a pretty good chance of seeing us in conference with them, if he keeps us under psychic observation, whichever way we set to work.’