every other way it's sheer, preposterous nonsense.'
'I only hope that you may continue to think so, Rex, but I fear
you may have reason to alter your views before we're through. Let's
continue our search-shall we?'
'Fine-though I've a hunch it's a pity we didn't call hi the cops
at the beginning.'
They examined the instruments, but all of them were beyond
suspicion of any secret purpose, and then a square revolving
bookcase, but it held only trigonometry tables and charts of the
heavens,
'Damn it, there must be something hi this place!' De Richleau
muttered, 'Swords or cups or devils' bibles. They couldn't perform
their rituals without them.'
'Maybe they took their impedimenta with them when they quit.'
'Perhaps, but I'd like even to see the place in which they kept
it. You never know what they may have left behind. Try tapping all
round the walls, Rex, and I'll do the floor. There's almost certain
to be a secret cache somewhere.'
For some minutes they pursued their search in silence, only their
repeated knockings breaking the stillness of the empty house. Then
Rex gave a sudden joyful shout. 'Here, quick-it's hollow under
here!'
Together they pulled aside an early seventeenth-century chart of
the Macrocosm by Robert Fludd, and after fumbling for a moment found
the secret spring. The panel slid back with a click.
In the recess some four feet deep reposed a strange collection of
articles: a wand of hazelwood, a crystal set in gold, a torch with a
pointed end so that it could be stuck upright in the ground, candle-
sticks, a short sword, two great books, a dagger with a blade curved
like a sickle moon, a ring, a chalice and an old bronze lamp, formed
out of twisted human figures, which had nine wicks. All had
pentacles, planetary signs, and other strange symbols engraved upon
them, and each had the polish which is a sign of great age coupled
with frequent usage.
'Got them!' snapped the Duke. 'By Jove, I'm glad we stayed, Rex!
These things are incredibly rare, and each a power in itself through
association with past mysteries. It is a thousand to one against
their having others, and without them their claws will be clipped
from working any serious evil against us.'
As he spoke De Richleau Lifted out the two ancient volumes. One
had a binding of worked copper on which were chased designs and
characters. Its leaves, which were made from the bark of young
trees, were covered with very clear writing done with an iron point.
The text of the other was painted on vellum yellowed by time, and
its binding supported by great scrolled silver clasps.
'Wonderful copies,' the Duke murmured, with all the enthusiasm of
a bibliophile. 'The Clavicule of Solomon and The Grimoire of Pope
Honorius. They are not the muddled recast versions of the
seventeenth century either, but far, far older. This Clavicule on
cork may be of almost any age, and is to the Black Art what the
Codex Sinaiticus and such early versions are to Christianity.'
'Well, maybe Mocata didn't figure we'd stay to search this place
when we found Simon wasn't here, but it doesn't say much for all his
clairvoyant powers you make such a song about for him to let us get
away with his whole magician's box of tricks. Say! where's that
draught coming from?' Rex suddenly clapped a hand on the back of his
neck.
The Duke thrust the two books back and swung round as if he had
been stung. He had felt it at the same instant-a sudden chill wind
which increased to a rushing icy blast, so cold that it stung his
hands and face like burning fire. The electric lights flickered and
went dim, so that only the faint red glow of the wires showed in the
globes. The great room was plunged in shadow and a violet mist began
to rise out of the middle of the pentacle, swirling with incredible
rapidity like some dust devil of the desert., It gathered height and
bulk, spread and took form.
The lights flickered again and then went out, but the violet mist
had a queer phosphorescent glow of its own. By it they could see the
cabalistic bookcase, like a dark shadow beyond it, through the
luminous mist. An awful stench of decay, which yet had something
sweet and cloying about it, filled their nostrils as they gazed,
sick and almost retching with repulsion, at a grey face that was
taking shape about seven feet from the floor. The eyes were fixed
upon them, malicious and intent? The eyeballs whitened but the face
went dark. Under it the mist was gathering into shoulders, torso,
hips.
Before they could choke for breath the materialisation had
completed. Clad in flowing robes of white, Mocata's black servant
towered above them. His astral body was just as the Duke had seen it
in the flesh, from tip to toe a full six foot eight, and the eyes,
slanting inward, burned upon them like live coals of fire.
6
The Secret Art
Rex was not frightened in the ordinary meaning of the word. He
was past the state in which he could have ducked, or screamed, or
run. He stood there rigid, numbered by the icy chill that radiated
from the figure in the pentagram, a tiny pulse throbbed in his
forehead, and his knees seemed to grow weak beneath him. A clear,
silvery voice beat in his ears: 'Do not look at his eyes!-do not
look at his eyes I-do not look at his eyes!'-an urgent repetition of
De Richleau's warning to him, but try as he would, he could not drag
his gaze from the malignant yellow pupils which burned in the black
face.
Unable to stir, hand or foot, he watched the ab-human figure grow
in breadth and height, its white draperies billowing with a strange
silent motion as they rose from the violet mist that obscured the
feet, until it overflowed the circles that ringed the pentagram and
seemed to fill the lofty chamber like a veritable Djin. The room
reeked with the sickly, cloying stench which he had heard of but
never thought to know-the abominable affluvium of embodied evil.
Suddenly red rays began to glint from the baleful slanting eyes,
and Rex found himself quivering from head to foot. He tried
desperately to pray: 'Our Father which art in Heaven-
hallowed-hallowed-hallowed . . .' but the words which he had not
used for so long would not come; the vibrations, surging through his
body, as though he were holding the terminals of a powerful electric
battery, seemed to cut them off. His left knee began to jerk. His
foot lifted. He strove to raise his arms to cover his face, but they
remained fixed to his sides as though held by invisible steel bands.
He tried to cry out, to throw himself backwards, but, despite every
atom of will which he could muster, a relentless force was drawing
him towards the silent, menacing figure. Almost before he realised
it he had taken a pace forward.
Through that timeless interval of seconds, days or weeks, after
the violet mist first appeared, De Richleau stood within a foot of
Rex, his eyes riveted upon the ground. He would not even allow
himself to ascertain in what form the apparition had taken shape.
The sudden deathly cold, the flicker of the lights as the room was
plunged in darkness, the noisome odour, were enough to tell him that
an entity of supreme evil was abroad.
With racing thoughts, he cursed his foolhardiness in ever
entering the accursed house without doing all things proper for
their protection. It was so many years since he had had any dealings
with the occult that his acute anxiety for Simon had caused him to
minimise the appalling risk they would run. What folly could have
possessed him, he wondered miserably, to allow Rex, whose ignorance
and scepticism would make him doubly vulnerable, to accompany him.
Despite his advancing age, the Duke would have given five precious
years of his life for an assurance that Rex was staring at the
parquet floor, momentarily riveted by fear perhaps, yet still free
from the malevolent influence which was streaming in pulsing waves
from the circle; but Rex was not-instinctively De Richleau knew that
his eyes were fixed on the Thing-and a ghastly dread caused little
beads of icy perspiration to break out on his forehead.
Then he felt, rather than saw, Rex move. Next second he heard his
footfall and knew that he was walking towards the pentagram. With
trembling lips he began to mutter strange sentences of Persian,
Greek and Hebrew, dimly remembered from his studies of the
past-calling-calling-urgently- imperatively, upon the Power of Light
for guidance and protection. Almost instantly the memory that he had
slipped the jewelled swastika into his waistcoat pocket when Max
returned it, flashed into his mind-and he knew that his prayer was
answered. His fingers closed on the jewel. His arms shot out. It
glittered for a second in the violet light, then came to rest in the
centre of the circle.
A piercing scream, desperate with anger, fear, and pain, like
that of a beast seared with a white-hot iron, blasted the silence.
The lights flickered again so that the wires showed red-came on-went
out-and flickered once more, as though two mighty forces were
struggling for possession of the current.
The chill wind died so suddenly that it seemed as if a blanket of
warm air had descended on their faces-but even while that hideous
screech was still ringing through the chamber De Richleau grabbed
Rex by the arm and dragged him towards the door. Next second the
control of both had snapped and they were plunging down the stairs
with an utter recklessness born of sheer terror.
Rex slipped on the lower landing and sprawled down the last
flight on his back. The Duke came bounding after, six stairs at a
time, and fell beside him. Together they scrambled to their
feet-dashed through the library-out of the french-windows-and across
the lawn.
With the agility of lemurs they swung up the branches of the
laburnum-on to the wall-and dropped to the far side. Then they
pelted down the lane as fast as their legs could carry them, and on
until a full street away they paused, breathless and panting, to
face each other under the friendly glow of a street lamp.
De Richleau's breath came in choking gasps. It was years since he
had subjected himself to such physical exertion, and his face was
grey from the strain which it had put upon him. Rex found his
evening collar limp from the sweat which had streamed from him in
his terror, but his lungs were easing rapidly, and he was the first
to recover.
'God! we're mighty lucky to be out of that!'
The Duke nodded, still unable to speak.
'I take back every word I said,' Rex went on hurriedly. 'I don't
think I've ever been real scared of anything in my life before-but
that was hellish!'
'I panicked too-towards the end-couldn't help it, but I should
never have taken you into that place-never,' De Rich-leau muttered
repentantly as they set off down the street.
'Since we've got out safe it's all to the good. I've a real idea
what we're up against now.'
The Duke drew Rex's arm through his own with a friendly gesture.
Far from desiring to say 'I told you so!' he was regretting that he
had been so impatient with Rex's previous unbelief, Most people he
knew regarded devil worship and the cultivation of mystic powers as
sheer superstitions due to the ignorance of the Middle Ages. It had
been too much to expect Rex to accept his contention that their sane
and sober friend Simon was mixed up in such practices, but now he
had actually witnessed a true instance of Saiitii De Richleau felt
that his co-operation would be ten times as valuable as before.
In the St. John's Wood Road they picked up a belated taxi, and on
the way back to Curzon Street he questioned Rex carefully as to the
form the Thing had taken. When he had heard the description he
nodded, 'It was Mocata's black servant, undoubtedly.'
'What did you say he was?'
'A Malagasy. They are a strange people. Half Negro and half
Polynesian. A great migration took place many centuries ago from the
South Seas to the East African Coast by way of the Malay Peninsula
and Ceylon. Incredible though it may seem, they covered fifteen
thousand miles of open ocean in their canoes, and most of them
settled in Madagascar, where they intermarried with the aborigines
and produced this half-breed type, which often has the worst
characteristics of both races.'
'And Madagascar is the home of Voodoo-isn't it?'
'Yes. Perhaps he is a Witch doctor himself . . , and yet I wonder
. . .'The Duke broke off as the taxi drew up before Errol House.
As they entered the big library Rex glanced at the clock and saw
that it was a Little after three. Not a particularly late hour for
him, since he often danced until the night clubs emptied, nor for De
Richleau, who believed that the one time when men opened their minds
and conversation became really interesting was in the quiet hours
before the dawn. Yet both were so exhausted by their ordeal that
they felt as though a month had passed since they sat down to
dinner.
Rex remade the remnants of the fire while the Duke mixed the
drinks and uncovered the sandwiches which Max always left for him.
Then they both sank into armchairs and renewed the discussion, for
despite their weariness, neither had any thought of bed. The peril
in which Simon stood was far too urgent.
'You were postulating that he might be a Madagascar Witch
doctor,' Rex began. 'But I've a hunch I've read some place that such
fellows have no power over whites, and surely that is so, else how
could settlers in Africa and places keep the blacks under?'
'Broadly speaking, you are right, and the explanation is simple.
What we call Magic-Black or White-is the Science and Art of Causing
Change to occur in conformity with Will, Any required Change may be
effected by the application of the proper kind and degree of Force
in the proper manner and through the proper medium. Naturally, for
causing any Change it is requisite to have the practical ability to
set the necessary Forces in right motion, but it is even more
important to have a thorough qualitative and quantitative
understanding of the conditions. Very few white men can really get
inside a Negro's mind and know exactly what he is thinking-and even
fewer blacks can appreciate a white's mentality. In consequence, it
is infinitely harder for the Wills of either to work on the other
than on men of their own kind.
'Another factor which adds to the difficulty of a Negroid or
Mongolian Sorcerer working his spells upon a European is the
question of vibrations. Their variation in human beings is governed
largely by the part of the earth's surface in which birth took
place. To use a simple analogy, some races have long wave lengths
and others short-and the greater the variation the more difficult it
is for a malignant will to influence that of an intended victim.
Were it otherwise, you may be certain that the white races, who have
neglected spiritual growth for material achievement, would never
have come to dominate the world as they do today.'
'Yet that devil of Mocata's got me down all right. Ugh!' Rex
shuddered slightly at the recollection.
True-but I was only speaking generally. There are exceptions, and
in the highest grades-the Ipsissimus, the Magus and the Magister
Templi-those who have passed the Abyss, colour and race no longer
remain a bar, so such Masters can work their will upon any lesser
human unless he is protected by a power of equal strength. This
associate of Mocata's may be one of the great Adepts of the Left
Hand Path. However, what I was really wondering was-is he a human
being at all?'
'But you said you saw him yourself-when you paid a call on Simon
weeks back.'
'I thought I saw him-so at first I assumed that the Thing you saw
tonight was his astral body, sent by Mocata to prevent our removing
his collection of Devil's baubles; but perhaps what we both saw was
a disembodied entity, an actual Satanic power which is not governed
by Mocata, but has gained entry to our world from the other side
through his evil practices,'
'Oh Lord!' Rex groaned. 'All this stuff is so new, so fantastic,
so utterly impossible to me-I just can't grasp it; though don't
think I'm doubting now. Whether it was an astral body or what you
say, I saw it all right, and it wasn't a case of any stupid parlour
tricks-I'll swear to that. It was so evil that my bones just turned
to water on me in sheer blue funk-and there's poor Simon all mixed
up in this. Say, now-what the hell are we to do?'
De Richleau sat forward suddenly. 'I wish to God I knew what was
at the bottom of this business. I am certain that it is something
pretty foul for them to have gone to the lengths of getting hold of
a normal man like Simon but, if it is the last thing we ever do,
we've got to find him and get him away from these people.'
'But how?' Rex flung wide his arms. 'Where can we even start in
on the hope of picking up the trail? Simon's a lone wolf-always has
been. He's got no father; his mother lives abroad; unlike so many
Jews, he hasn't even got a heap of relatives who we can dig out and
question?'
'Yes, that is the trouble. Of course he is almost certain to be
with Mocata, but I don't see how we are to set about finding
somebody who knows Mocata either. If only we had the address of any
of those people who were there this evening we might...'
'I've got it!' cried Rex, leaping to his feet. 'We'll trace him
through Tanith.'
7
De Richleau Plans a Campaign
'Tanith,' the Duke repeated; 'but you don't know where she is, do
you?'
'Sure.' Rex laughed, for the first time in several hours. 'Having
got acquainted with her after all this while, I wouldn't be such a
fool as to quit that party without nailing her address.'
'I must confess that I'm surprised she gave it to you.'
'She hadn't fallen to it that I wasn't one of their bunch-then!
She's staying at Claridges.'
'Do you think you can get hold of her?'
'Don't you worry-I meant to, anyhow.'
'You must be careful, Rex. This woman is very lovely, I know-but
she's probably damnably dangerous.'
'I've never been scared of a female yet, and surely these people
can't do me much harm in broad daylight?'
'No, except for ordinary human trickery they are almost powerless
between sunrise and sunset.'
Tine. Then I'll go right round to Claridges as soon as she is
likely to be awake tomorrow-today, rather.'
'You don't know her real name though, do you?'
'I should worry. There aren't two girls like her staying at
Claridges-there aren't two like her in all London.'
De Richleau stood up and began to pace the floor like some huge
cat. 'What do you intend to say to her?' he asked at length.
'Why, that we're just worried stiff about Simon-and that it's
absolutely imperative that she should help us out. I'll give her a
frank undertaking not to do anything against Mocata or any of her
pals if she'll come clean with me-though Heaven knows I can't think
she's got any real friends in a crowd like that.'
'Rex! Rex!' The Duke smiled affectionately down into the honest
attractive, ugly face of the young giant stretched in the armchair.
'And what, may I ask, do you intend to do should this lovely lady
refuse to tell you anything?'
'I can threaten to call in the cops, I suppose, though I'd just
hate to do anything like that on her.'
De Richleau gave his eloquent expressive shrug. 'My dear fellow,
unless we can get some actual evidence of ordinary criminal
activities against Mocata and his friends, the police are absolutely
ruled out of this affair-and she would know it.'
'I don't see why,' Rex protested stubbornly. 'These people have
kidnapped Simon, that's what it boils down to, and that's as much a
crime as running a dope joint or white slaving.'
'Perhaps, and if they had hit him on the head our problem would
be easy. The difficulty is that to all outward appearances he has
joined them willingly and in his right mind. Only we know that he is
acting under some powerful and evil influence which has been brought
to bear on him, and how in the world are you going to charge anyone
with raising the devil-or its equivalent-in a modern police court?'
'Well, what do you suggest?'
'Listen.' The Duke perched himself on the arm of Rex's chair.
'Even if this girl is an innocent party like Simon, she will not
tell you anything willingly-she will be too frightened. As a matter
of fact, now that she knows you are not a member of their infernal
circle it is doubtful if she will even see you, but if she
does-well, you've got to get hold of her somehow.'
'I'll certainly have a try-but it's not all that easy to kidnap
people in a city Like London.'
'I don't mean that exactly, but rather that you should induce
her, by fair means or foul, to accompany you to some place where I
can talk to her at my leisure. If she is only a neophyte I know
enough of this dangerous business to frighten her out of her wits.
If she is something more there will be a mental tussle, and I may
learn something from the cards which she is forced to throw on the
table.'
'O.K. I'll pull every gun I know to persuade her into coming here
with me for a cocktail.'
De Richleau shook his head. 'No, I'm afraid that won't do,
immediately she realised the reason she had been brought here she
would insist on leaving, and we couldn't stop her. If we tried she
would break a window and yell Murder! We have got to get her to a
place where she will see at once the futility of trying to call for
outside help. I have itl Do you think you could get her down to
Pangbourne?'
'What? To that river place of yours?'
'Yes; I haven't been down there yet this year, but I can send Max
down first thing in the morning to open it up and give it an
airing.'
'You talk as though I were falling off a log to get a girl to
come boating on the Thames at what's practically a first meet
ing-can't you weigh in and lend a hand yourself?'
'No. I shall be at the British Museum most of the day. It is so
many years since I studied the occult that there are a thousand
things I have forgotten. It is absolutely imperative that I should
immerse myself in some of the old key works for a few hours and rub
up my knowledge of protective measures. I must leave you to handle
the girl, Rex, and remember, Simon's safety will depend almost
wholly on your success. Get her there somehow, and I'll join you in
the late afternoon-say about six.'
Rex grinned. 'It's about as stiff a proposition as sending me in
your place to study the Cabbala, but I'll do rny best.'
'Of course you will.' The Duke began to pace hurriedly up and
down again. 'But go gently with her-I beg you. Avoid any questions
about this horrible business as you would the plague. Play the
lover. Be just the nice young man who has fallen in love with a
beautiful girl. If she asks you about our having abducted Simon from
the party, say you were completely in the dark about it. That you
have known me for years-and that I sprung some story on you about
his having fallen into the hands of a gang of blackmailers, so you
just blindly followed my lead without a second thought. Not a word
to her about the supernatural-you know nothing of that. You must be
as incredulous as you were with me when I first talked to you of it.
And, above all, if you can get her to Pang-bourne, don't let her
know that I am coming down.'
'Surely-I get the line you want me to play all right.'
'Good. You see, if I can only squeeze some information out of her
which will enable us to find out where Mocata is living, we will go
down and keep the place under observation for a day or two. He is
almost certain to have Simon with him. We will note the times that
Mocata leaves the house and plan our raid accordingly. If we can get
Simon into our hands again I swear Mocata shan't get him back a
second time.'
That's certainly the idea.'
'There is only one thing I am really frightened of.' 'What's
that?'
De Richleau paused opposite Rex's chair. 'What I heard this
evening of Simon's approaching change of name-to Abraham, you
remember. That, of course, would be after Abraham the Jew, a very
famous and learned mystic of the early centuries. He wrote a book
which is said to be the most informative ever compiled concerning
the Great Work. It was lost sight of for several hundred years, but
early in the fifteenth century came into the possession of a
Parisian bookseller named Nicolas Flamel who, by its aid, performed
many curious rites. Flamel was buried in some magnificence, and a
few years later certain persons who were anxious to obtain his
secrets opened his grave to find the book which was supposed to have
been buried with him. Neither Flamel nor the book was there, and
there is even some evidence to show that he was still living a
hundred years later in Turkey, which is by no means unbelievable to
those who have any real knowledge of the strange powers acquired by
the true initiate such as those in the higher orders of the Yoga
sects. That is the last we know of the Book of Abraham the Jew, but
it seems that Simon is about to take his name in the service of the
Invisible.'
'Well-what'll happen then?'
'That he will be given over entirely to the Power of Evil, be
cause he will renounce his early teaching and receive his re-baptism
at the hands of a high adept of the Left Hand Path. Until that is
done we can still save him, because all the invisible powers of Good
will be fighting on our side, but after-they will withdraw, and what
we call the Soul of Simon Aron will be dragged down into the Pit.'
'Are you sure of that? Baptism into the Christian Faith doesn't
ensure one going to Heaven, why should this other sprinkling be a
guarantee of anyone going to Hell?'
'It's such a big question, Rex, but briefly it is like this.
Heaven and Hell are only symbolical of growth to Light or
disintegration to Darkness. By Christian-or any other true religious
baptism, we renounce the Devil and all his Works, thereby erecting a
barrier which it is difficult for Evil forces to surmount, but
anyone who accepts Satanic baptism does exactly the reverse. They
wilfully destroy the barrier of astral Light which is our natural
protection and offer themselves as a medium through which the powers
of Darkness may operate on mankind.
'They are tempted to it, of course, by the belief that it will
give them supernatural powers over their fellow-men, but few of them
realise the appalling danger. There is no such person as the Devil,
but there are vast numbers of Earthbound spirits, Elementals, and
Evil Intelligences of the Outer Circle floating in our midst. Nobody
who has even the most elementary knowledge of the Occult can doubt
that. They are blind and ignorant, and except for the last, under
comparatively rare circumstances, not in the least dangerous to any
normal man or woman who leads a reasonably upright life, but they
never cease to search in a fumbling way for some gateway back into
existence as we know it. The surrender of one's own volition gives
it to them, and, if you need an example, you only have to think of
the many terrible crimes which are perpetrated when reason and will
are entirely absent owing to excess of alcohol. An Elemental seizes
upon the unresisting intelligence of the human and forces them to
some appalling deed which is utterly against their natural
instincts.
'That, then, is the danger. While apparently only passing through
an ancient barbarous and disgusting ritual, the Satanist, by
accepting baptism, surrenders his will to the domination of powers
which he believes he will be able to use for his own ends, but in
actual fact he becomes the spiritual slave of an Elemental, and for
ever after is nothing but the instrument of its evil purposes.'
'When do you figure they'll try to do this thing?'
'Not for a week or so, I trust. It is essential that it should
take place at a real Sabbat, when at least one Coven of thirteen is
present, and after our having broken up their gathering tonight I
hardly think they will risk meeting again for some little time,
unless there is some extraordinary reason why they should.'
'That gives us a breathing space then; but what's worrying me is
that it's so early in the year to ask a young woman to go picnicking
on the river.'
'Why? The sunshine for the last few days has been magnificent.'
'Still, it's only April 29th-the 30th, I mean.'
'What!' De Richleau stood there with a new and terrible anxiety
burning in his eyes. 'Good God! I never realised!'
'What's the trouble?'
'Why, that was only one Coven we saw tonight, and there are
probably a dozen scattered over England. The whole pack are probably
on their way by now to the great annual gathering. It's a certainty
they will take Simon with them. They'd never miss the chance of
giving him his Devil's Christening at the Grand Sabbat of the year.'
'What in the world are you talking about?' Rex hoisted himself
swiftly out of his chair.
'Don't you understand, man?' De Richleau gripped him by the
shoulder. 'On the last night of April every peasant in Europe still
double-locks his doors. Every latent force for Evil in the world is
abroad. We've got to get hold of Simon in the next twenty hours.
This coming night-April 30th-is Saint Walburga's Eve.'
8
Rex Van Ryn Opens the Attack
Six hours later, Rex, still drowsy with sleep, lowered himself
into the Duke's sunken bath. It was a very handsome bathroom some
fifteen feet by twelve; black glass, crystal mirrors, and chromium-
plated fittings made up the scheme of decoration.
Some people might have considered it a little too striking to be
in perfect taste, but De Richleau did not subscribe to the canon
which has branded ostentation as vulgarity in the last few
generations, and robbed nobility of any glamour which it may have
possessed in more spacious days.
His forbears had ridden with thirty-two footmen before them, and
it caused him considerable regret that modern conditions made it
impossible for him to drive in his Hispano with no more than one
seated beside his chauffeur on the box. Fortunately his resources
were considerable and his brain sufficiently astute to make good, in
most years, the inroads which the tax gatherers made upon them.
'After him,' of course 'the Deluge' as he very fully recognised, but
with reasonable good fortune he considered that private ownership
would last out his time, at least in England where he had made his
home; and so he continued to do all things on a scale suitable to a
De Richleau, with the additional lavishness of one who had had a
Russian mother, as far as the restrictions of twentieth-century
democracy would allow.
Rex, however, had used the Duke's ?1,000 bathroom a number of
times before, and his only concern at the moment was to wonder
vaguely what he was doing there on this occasion and why he had such
an appalling hangover. Never, since he had been given two glasses of
bad liquor in the old days when his country laboured under
prohibition, had he felt so desperately ill.
A giant sponge placed on the top of his curly head brought him
temporary relief and full consciousness of the events which had
taken place the night before. Of course it was that ghastly
experience he had been through in Simon's empty house that had
sapped him of his vitality and left him in this wretched state. He
remembered that he had kept up all right until they got back to
Curzon Street, and even after, during a long conversation with the
Duke; then, he supposed, he must have petered out from sheer nervous
exhaustion.
He lay back in the warm, faintly scented water, and gave himself
a mental shaking. The thought that he must have fainted shocked him
profoundly. He had driven racing cars at 200 miles an hour, had his
colours for the Cresta run, had flown a plane 1,500 miles, right out
of the Forbidden Territory down to Kiev in one hop. He had shot men
and been shot at in return both in Russia and in Cuba, where he had
found himself mixed up with the Revolution, but never before had he
been in a real funk about anything, much less collapsed like a spine
less fool.
He recalled with sickening vividness, that loathsome, striking
manifestation of embodied evil that had come upon them- and his
thoughts flew to Simon. How could their shy nervous, charming friend
have got himself mixed up in all this devilry? For Rex had no doubts
now that, incredible as it might seem, the Duke was right, and Satan
worship still a living force in modern cities, just as the infernal
Voodoo cult was still secretly practised by the Negroes in the
Southern States of his own country. He thought again of their first
visit to Simon's house as unwelcome guests at that strange party. Of
the Albino, the old Countess D'Urfe, the sinister Chinaman, and then
of Tanith, except for Simon the only normal person present, and felt
convinced that, but for the intervention of De Richleau some
abominable ceremony would certainly have taken place, although he
had laughed at the suggestion at the time.
Sitting up he began to soap himself vigorously while he restated
the situation briefly in his mind. One: Mocata was an adept of what
De Richleau called the Left Hand Path, and for some reason unknown
he had gained control over Simon. Two: owing to their intervention
the Satanists had abandoned Simon's house-taking him with them.
Three: Simon was shortly to be baptised into the Black Brotherhood,
after which, according to the Duke, he would be past all help. Four:
today was May Day Eve when, according to the Duke, the Grind Sabbat
of the year took place. Five: following from four, it was almost a
certainty that Mocata would seize this opportunity of the Walpurgis
Nacht celebrations to have Simon re-christened. Six: in the next
twelve hours therefore, Mocata had to be traced and Simon taken from
him. Seven: the only possibility of getting on Mocata's trail lay in
obtaining information by prayers, cajolery, or threats from Tanith.
Rex stopped soaping and groaned aloud at the thought that the one
woman he had been wanting to meet for years should be mixed up in
this revolting business. He loathed deception in any form and
resented intensely the necessity for practising it on her, but De
Richleau's last instructions to him were still clear in his mind,
and the one thing which stood out above all others, was the fact of
his old and clear friend being in some intangible but terrible
peril.
Feeling slightly better by the time he had shaved and dressed, he
noted from the windows of the flat that at least they had been
blessed with a glorious day. Summer was in the air and there seemed
a promise of that lovely fortnight which sometimes graces England in
early May.
To his surprise he found that De Richleau, who habitually was not
visible before twelve, had left the fiat at half-past eight.
Evidently he meant to put in a long day among the ancient
manuscripts at the British Museum, rubbing up his knowledge of
strange cults and protective measures against what he termed the Ab-
human monsters of the Outer Circle.
Max proffered breakfast, but Rex declined it until, with a hurt
expression, the servant produced his favourite omelet.
'The chef will be so disappointed, sir,' he said.
Reluctantly Rex sat down to eat while Max, busy with the coffee-
pot, permitted himself a hidden smile. He had had orders from the
Duke, and His Excellency was a wily man. None knew that better than
his personal servitor, the faithful Max.
Noting that Rex had finished, he produced a wine-glass full of
some frothy mixture on a salver. 'His Excellency said, sir.' he
stated blandly, 'that he finds this uncommon good for his neuralgia.
I was distressed to hear that you are sometimes a sufferer too, and
if you'd try it the taste is, if I may say so, not
unpleasant-somewhat resembling that of granadillas I believe.'
With a suspicious look Rex drank the quite palatable potion while
Max added suavely: 'Some gentleman prefer prairie-oysters I am told,
but I've a feeling, sir, that His Excellency knows best.'
'You old humbug.' Rex grinned as he replaced the glass. 'Anyhow
last night wasn't the sort of party you think-I wish to God it had
been.'
'No, sir! Well, that's most regrettable I'm sure, but I had a
feeling that Mr. Aron was not quite in his usual form, if I may so
express it-when he er-joined us after dinner.'
'Yes-of course you put Simon to bed-I'd forgotten that.'
Max quickly lowered his eyes. He was quite certain that his
innocent action the night before had been connected in some way with
Simon Aron's sudden disappearance from the bedroom later, and felt
that for once he had done the wrong thing, so he deftly turned the
conversation. 'His Excellency instructed me to tell you, sir, that
the touring Rolls is entirely at your disposal and the second
chauffeur if you wish to use him.'
'No-I'll drive myself; have it brought round right away- will
you?'
'Very good, sir, and now if you will excuse me I must leave at
once in order to get down to Pangbourne and prepare the house for
your reception.'
'O.K., Max-See-yer-later-I hope.' Rex picked up a cigarette. He
was feeling better already. 'A whole heap better,' he thought, as he
wondered what potent corpse-reviver lay hidden in the creamy depths
of De Richleau's so-called neuralgia tonic. Then he sat down to plan
out his line of attack on the lady at Claridges.
If he could only talk to her he felt that he would be able to
intrigue her into a friendly attitude. He could, of course, easily
find out her real name from the bureau of the hotel, but the snag
was that if he sent up his name and asked to see her the chances
were all against her granting him an interview. After all, by
kidnapping Simon, he and the Duke had wrecked the meeting of her
Circle the night before, and if she was at all intimately associated
with Mocata, she probably regarded him with considerable hostility.
Only personal contact could overcome that, so he must not risk any
rebuff through the medium of bell-hops, but accept it only if given
by her after he had managed to see her face to face.
His plan, therefore, eventually boiled down to marching on
Claridges, planting himself in a comfortable chair within view of
the lifts and sitting there until Tanith made her appearance. He
admitted to himself that his proposed campaign was conspicuously
lacking in brilliance but, he argued, few women staying in a London
hotel would remain in their rooms all day, so if he sat there long
enough it was almost certain that an opportunity would occur for him
to tackle her direct. If she did turn him down-well, De Richleau
wasn't the only person in the world who had ideas-and Rex flattered
himself that he would think of something.
Immediately the Rolls was reported at the door, he left the flat
and drove round to Claridges in it. A short conversation with a
friendly commissionaire ensured that there would be no trouble if
the car was left parked outside, even for a considerable time, for
Rex thought it necessary to have it close at hand since he might
need it at any moment.
As he entered the hotel from the Davies Street entrance he noted
with relief that it was only a little after ten. It was unlikely
that Tanith would have gone out for the day so early, and he settled
himself to wait for an indefinite period with cheerful optimism in
the almost empty lounge. After a moment it occurred to him that
somebody might come up to him and inquire his business if he was
forced to stay there for any length of time, but an underporter,
passing at the moment, gave him a swift smile and little bow of
recognition, so he trusted that having been identified as an
occasional client of the place he would not be unduly molested.
He began to consider what words he should use if, and when,
Tanith did step out of the lifts, and had just decided on a formula
which contained the requisite proportions of respect, subtle
admiration, and gaiety when a small boy in buttons came marching
with a carefree swing down the corridor.
'Mister Vine Rine-Mister Vine Rine,' he chanted in a monotonous
treble.
Rex looked at the boy suspiciously. The sound had a queer
resemblance to the parody of his own name as he had often heard it
shrilled out by bell-hops in clubs and hotel lounges. Yet no one
could possibly be aware of his presence at Claridges that
morning-except, of course, the Duke. At the thought that De Richleau
might be endeavouring to get in touch with him for some urgent
reason he turned, and at the same moment the page sidetracked
towards him.
'Mr. Van Ryn, sir?' he inquired, dropping into normal speech.
'Yes.' Rex nodded.
Then to his utter astonishment the boy announced: 'The lady
you've called to see sent down to say she's sorry to keep you
waiting, but she'll join you in about fifteen minutes.'
With his mouth slightly open Rex stared stupidly at the page
until that infant turned and strutted away. He did not doubt that
the message came from Tanith-who else could have sent it, yet how
the deuce did she know that he was there? Perhaps she had seen him
drive up from her window -that seemed the only reasonable
explanation. Anyhow that 'she was sorry to keep him waiting' sounded
almost too good to be true.
Recovering a little he stood up, marched out into Brook Street
and purchased a great sheaf of lilac from a florist's a few doors
down. Returning with it to the hotel he suddenly realised that he
still did not know Tanith's real name, but catching sight of the boy
who had paged him, he beckoned him over.
'Here boy-take these up to the lady's room with Mr. Van Ryn's
compliments.' Then he resumed his seat near the lift with happy
confidence.
Five minutes later the lift opened. An elderly woman leaning upon
a tall ebony cane stepped out. At the first glance Rex recognised
the parrot-peaked nose, the nut-cracker chin and the piercing black
eyes of the old Countess D'Urfe. Before he had time to collect his
wits she had advanced upon him and extended a plump, beringed hand.
'Monsieur Van Ryn,' she croaked. 'It is charming that you should
call upon me-sank you a thousand times for those lovely flowers.'
9
The Countess D'Urfe Talks of Many Curious Things
'Ha! ha!-not a bit of it-it's great to see you again.'
Rex gave a weak imitation of a laugh. He had only spoken to the
old crone for two minutes on the previous evening and that, when he
had first arrived at Simon's party, for the purpose of detaching
Tanith from her. Even if she had seen him drive up to Claridges what
in the world could have made her imagine that he had come to visit
herl If only he hadn't sent up that lilac he might have politely
excused himself-but he could hardly tell her now that he had meant
it for someone else.
'And how is Monseigneur le Due this morning?' the old lady
inquired, sinking into a chair he placed for her.
'He asked me to present his homage, Madame,' Rex lied quickly,
instinctively picking a phrase which De Richleau might have used
himself.
'Ca, c'est tres gentille.'E is a charming man-charming an' 'is
cigars they are superb,' The Countess D'Urfe' produced a square case
from her bag and drew out a fat, dark Havana. As Rex applied a match
she went on slowly: 'But it ees not right that one Circle should
make interference with the operations of another. What 'ave you to
say of your be'aviour lars' night my young frien'?'
'My hat,' thought Rex, 'the old beldame fancies we're an opposing
faction in the same line of business-I'll have to use this if I
can;' so he answered slowly: 'We were mighty sorry to have to do
what we did, but we needed Simon Aron for our own purposes.'
'So!-you also make search for the Talisman then?'
'Sure-that is, the Duke's taking a big interest in it.'
'Which of us are not-and 'oo but le petit Juif shall lead us to
it.'
'That's true.'
'Ave you yet attempted the Rite to Saturn?'
'Yes, but things didn't pan out quite as we thought they would,'
Rex replied cautiously, -not having the faintest idea what they were
talking about.
'You 'ave satisfy yourselves that the aloes and mastic were
fresh, eh?' The wicked old eyes bored into his.
'I only hope that you may continue to think so, Rex, but I fear
you may have reason to alter your views before we're through. Let's
continue our search-shall we?'
'Fine-though I've a hunch it's a pity we didn't call hi the cops
at the beginning.'
They examined the instruments, but all of them were beyond
suspicion of any secret purpose, and then a square revolving
bookcase, but it held only trigonometry tables and charts of the
heavens,
'Damn it, there must be something hi this place!' De Richleau
muttered, 'Swords or cups or devils' bibles. They couldn't perform
their rituals without them.'
'Maybe they took their impedimenta with them when they quit.'
'Perhaps, but I'd like even to see the place in which they kept
it. You never know what they may have left behind. Try tapping all
round the walls, Rex, and I'll do the floor. There's almost certain
to be a secret cache somewhere.'
For some minutes they pursued their search in silence, only their
repeated knockings breaking the stillness of the empty house. Then
Rex gave a sudden joyful shout. 'Here, quick-it's hollow under
here!'
Together they pulled aside an early seventeenth-century chart of
the Macrocosm by Robert Fludd, and after fumbling for a moment found
the secret spring. The panel slid back with a click.
In the recess some four feet deep reposed a strange collection of
articles: a wand of hazelwood, a crystal set in gold, a torch with a
pointed end so that it could be stuck upright in the ground, candle-
sticks, a short sword, two great books, a dagger with a blade curved
like a sickle moon, a ring, a chalice and an old bronze lamp, formed
out of twisted human figures, which had nine wicks. All had
pentacles, planetary signs, and other strange symbols engraved upon
them, and each had the polish which is a sign of great age coupled
with frequent usage.
'Got them!' snapped the Duke. 'By Jove, I'm glad we stayed, Rex!
These things are incredibly rare, and each a power in itself through
association with past mysteries. It is a thousand to one against
their having others, and without them their claws will be clipped
from working any serious evil against us.'
As he spoke De Richleau Lifted out the two ancient volumes. One
had a binding of worked copper on which were chased designs and
characters. Its leaves, which were made from the bark of young
trees, were covered with very clear writing done with an iron point.
The text of the other was painted on vellum yellowed by time, and
its binding supported by great scrolled silver clasps.
'Wonderful copies,' the Duke murmured, with all the enthusiasm of
a bibliophile. 'The Clavicule of Solomon and The Grimoire of Pope
Honorius. They are not the muddled recast versions of the
seventeenth century either, but far, far older. This Clavicule on
cork may be of almost any age, and is to the Black Art what the
Codex Sinaiticus and such early versions are to Christianity.'
'Well, maybe Mocata didn't figure we'd stay to search this place
when we found Simon wasn't here, but it doesn't say much for all his
clairvoyant powers you make such a song about for him to let us get
away with his whole magician's box of tricks. Say! where's that
draught coming from?' Rex suddenly clapped a hand on the back of his
neck.
The Duke thrust the two books back and swung round as if he had
been stung. He had felt it at the same instant-a sudden chill wind
which increased to a rushing icy blast, so cold that it stung his
hands and face like burning fire. The electric lights flickered and
went dim, so that only the faint red glow of the wires showed in the
globes. The great room was plunged in shadow and a violet mist began
to rise out of the middle of the pentacle, swirling with incredible
rapidity like some dust devil of the desert., It gathered height and
bulk, spread and took form.
The lights flickered again and then went out, but the violet mist
had a queer phosphorescent glow of its own. By it they could see the
cabalistic bookcase, like a dark shadow beyond it, through the
luminous mist. An awful stench of decay, which yet had something
sweet and cloying about it, filled their nostrils as they gazed,
sick and almost retching with repulsion, at a grey face that was
taking shape about seven feet from the floor. The eyes were fixed
upon them, malicious and intent? The eyeballs whitened but the face
went dark. Under it the mist was gathering into shoulders, torso,
hips.
Before they could choke for breath the materialisation had
completed. Clad in flowing robes of white, Mocata's black servant
towered above them. His astral body was just as the Duke had seen it
in the flesh, from tip to toe a full six foot eight, and the eyes,
slanting inward, burned upon them like live coals of fire.
6
The Secret Art
Rex was not frightened in the ordinary meaning of the word. He
was past the state in which he could have ducked, or screamed, or
run. He stood there rigid, numbered by the icy chill that radiated
from the figure in the pentagram, a tiny pulse throbbed in his
forehead, and his knees seemed to grow weak beneath him. A clear,
silvery voice beat in his ears: 'Do not look at his eyes!-do not
look at his eyes I-do not look at his eyes!'-an urgent repetition of
De Richleau's warning to him, but try as he would, he could not drag
his gaze from the malignant yellow pupils which burned in the black
face.
Unable to stir, hand or foot, he watched the ab-human figure grow
in breadth and height, its white draperies billowing with a strange
silent motion as they rose from the violet mist that obscured the
feet, until it overflowed the circles that ringed the pentagram and
seemed to fill the lofty chamber like a veritable Djin. The room
reeked with the sickly, cloying stench which he had heard of but
never thought to know-the abominable affluvium of embodied evil.
Suddenly red rays began to glint from the baleful slanting eyes,
and Rex found himself quivering from head to foot. He tried
desperately to pray: 'Our Father which art in Heaven-
hallowed-hallowed-hallowed . . .' but the words which he had not
used for so long would not come; the vibrations, surging through his
body, as though he were holding the terminals of a powerful electric
battery, seemed to cut them off. His left knee began to jerk. His
foot lifted. He strove to raise his arms to cover his face, but they
remained fixed to his sides as though held by invisible steel bands.
He tried to cry out, to throw himself backwards, but, despite every
atom of will which he could muster, a relentless force was drawing
him towards the silent, menacing figure. Almost before he realised
it he had taken a pace forward.
Through that timeless interval of seconds, days or weeks, after
the violet mist first appeared, De Richleau stood within a foot of
Rex, his eyes riveted upon the ground. He would not even allow
himself to ascertain in what form the apparition had taken shape.
The sudden deathly cold, the flicker of the lights as the room was
plunged in darkness, the noisome odour, were enough to tell him that
an entity of supreme evil was abroad.
With racing thoughts, he cursed his foolhardiness in ever
entering the accursed house without doing all things proper for
their protection. It was so many years since he had had any dealings
with the occult that his acute anxiety for Simon had caused him to
minimise the appalling risk they would run. What folly could have
possessed him, he wondered miserably, to allow Rex, whose ignorance
and scepticism would make him doubly vulnerable, to accompany him.
Despite his advancing age, the Duke would have given five precious
years of his life for an assurance that Rex was staring at the
parquet floor, momentarily riveted by fear perhaps, yet still free
from the malevolent influence which was streaming in pulsing waves
from the circle; but Rex was not-instinctively De Richleau knew that
his eyes were fixed on the Thing-and a ghastly dread caused little
beads of icy perspiration to break out on his forehead.
Then he felt, rather than saw, Rex move. Next second he heard his
footfall and knew that he was walking towards the pentagram. With
trembling lips he began to mutter strange sentences of Persian,
Greek and Hebrew, dimly remembered from his studies of the
past-calling-calling-urgently- imperatively, upon the Power of Light
for guidance and protection. Almost instantly the memory that he had
slipped the jewelled swastika into his waistcoat pocket when Max
returned it, flashed into his mind-and he knew that his prayer was
answered. His fingers closed on the jewel. His arms shot out. It
glittered for a second in the violet light, then came to rest in the
centre of the circle.
A piercing scream, desperate with anger, fear, and pain, like
that of a beast seared with a white-hot iron, blasted the silence.
The lights flickered again so that the wires showed red-came on-went
out-and flickered once more, as though two mighty forces were
struggling for possession of the current.
The chill wind died so suddenly that it seemed as if a blanket of
warm air had descended on their faces-but even while that hideous
screech was still ringing through the chamber De Richleau grabbed
Rex by the arm and dragged him towards the door. Next second the
control of both had snapped and they were plunging down the stairs
with an utter recklessness born of sheer terror.
Rex slipped on the lower landing and sprawled down the last
flight on his back. The Duke came bounding after, six stairs at a
time, and fell beside him. Together they scrambled to their
feet-dashed through the library-out of the french-windows-and across
the lawn.
With the agility of lemurs they swung up the branches of the
laburnum-on to the wall-and dropped to the far side. Then they
pelted down the lane as fast as their legs could carry them, and on
until a full street away they paused, breathless and panting, to
face each other under the friendly glow of a street lamp.
De Richleau's breath came in choking gasps. It was years since he
had subjected himself to such physical exertion, and his face was
grey from the strain which it had put upon him. Rex found his
evening collar limp from the sweat which had streamed from him in
his terror, but his lungs were easing rapidly, and he was the first
to recover.
'God! we're mighty lucky to be out of that!'
The Duke nodded, still unable to speak.
'I take back every word I said,' Rex went on hurriedly. 'I don't
think I've ever been real scared of anything in my life before-but
that was hellish!'
'I panicked too-towards the end-couldn't help it, but I should
never have taken you into that place-never,' De Rich-leau muttered
repentantly as they set off down the street.
'Since we've got out safe it's all to the good. I've a real idea
what we're up against now.'
The Duke drew Rex's arm through his own with a friendly gesture.
Far from desiring to say 'I told you so!' he was regretting that he
had been so impatient with Rex's previous unbelief, Most people he
knew regarded devil worship and the cultivation of mystic powers as
sheer superstitions due to the ignorance of the Middle Ages. It had
been too much to expect Rex to accept his contention that their sane
and sober friend Simon was mixed up in such practices, but now he
had actually witnessed a true instance of Saiitii De Richleau felt
that his co-operation would be ten times as valuable as before.
In the St. John's Wood Road they picked up a belated taxi, and on
the way back to Curzon Street he questioned Rex carefully as to the
form the Thing had taken. When he had heard the description he
nodded, 'It was Mocata's black servant, undoubtedly.'
'What did you say he was?'
'A Malagasy. They are a strange people. Half Negro and half
Polynesian. A great migration took place many centuries ago from the
South Seas to the East African Coast by way of the Malay Peninsula
and Ceylon. Incredible though it may seem, they covered fifteen
thousand miles of open ocean in their canoes, and most of them
settled in Madagascar, where they intermarried with the aborigines
and produced this half-breed type, which often has the worst
characteristics of both races.'
'And Madagascar is the home of Voodoo-isn't it?'
'Yes. Perhaps he is a Witch doctor himself . . , and yet I wonder
. . .'The Duke broke off as the taxi drew up before Errol House.
As they entered the big library Rex glanced at the clock and saw
that it was a Little after three. Not a particularly late hour for
him, since he often danced until the night clubs emptied, nor for De
Richleau, who believed that the one time when men opened their minds
and conversation became really interesting was in the quiet hours
before the dawn. Yet both were so exhausted by their ordeal that
they felt as though a month had passed since they sat down to
dinner.
Rex remade the remnants of the fire while the Duke mixed the
drinks and uncovered the sandwiches which Max always left for him.
Then they both sank into armchairs and renewed the discussion, for
despite their weariness, neither had any thought of bed. The peril
in which Simon stood was far too urgent.
'You were postulating that he might be a Madagascar Witch
doctor,' Rex began. 'But I've a hunch I've read some place that such
fellows have no power over whites, and surely that is so, else how
could settlers in Africa and places keep the blacks under?'
'Broadly speaking, you are right, and the explanation is simple.
What we call Magic-Black or White-is the Science and Art of Causing
Change to occur in conformity with Will, Any required Change may be
effected by the application of the proper kind and degree of Force
in the proper manner and through the proper medium. Naturally, for
causing any Change it is requisite to have the practical ability to
set the necessary Forces in right motion, but it is even more
important to have a thorough qualitative and quantitative
understanding of the conditions. Very few white men can really get
inside a Negro's mind and know exactly what he is thinking-and even
fewer blacks can appreciate a white's mentality. In consequence, it
is infinitely harder for the Wills of either to work on the other
than on men of their own kind.
'Another factor which adds to the difficulty of a Negroid or
Mongolian Sorcerer working his spells upon a European is the
question of vibrations. Their variation in human beings is governed
largely by the part of the earth's surface in which birth took
place. To use a simple analogy, some races have long wave lengths
and others short-and the greater the variation the more difficult it
is for a malignant will to influence that of an intended victim.
Were it otherwise, you may be certain that the white races, who have
neglected spiritual growth for material achievement, would never
have come to dominate the world as they do today.'
'Yet that devil of Mocata's got me down all right. Ugh!' Rex
shuddered slightly at the recollection.
True-but I was only speaking generally. There are exceptions, and
in the highest grades-the Ipsissimus, the Magus and the Magister
Templi-those who have passed the Abyss, colour and race no longer
remain a bar, so such Masters can work their will upon any lesser
human unless he is protected by a power of equal strength. This
associate of Mocata's may be one of the great Adepts of the Left
Hand Path. However, what I was really wondering was-is he a human
being at all?'
'But you said you saw him yourself-when you paid a call on Simon
weeks back.'
'I thought I saw him-so at first I assumed that the Thing you saw
tonight was his astral body, sent by Mocata to prevent our removing
his collection of Devil's baubles; but perhaps what we both saw was
a disembodied entity, an actual Satanic power which is not governed
by Mocata, but has gained entry to our world from the other side
through his evil practices,'
'Oh Lord!' Rex groaned. 'All this stuff is so new, so fantastic,
so utterly impossible to me-I just can't grasp it; though don't
think I'm doubting now. Whether it was an astral body or what you
say, I saw it all right, and it wasn't a case of any stupid parlour
tricks-I'll swear to that. It was so evil that my bones just turned
to water on me in sheer blue funk-and there's poor Simon all mixed
up in this. Say, now-what the hell are we to do?'
De Richleau sat forward suddenly. 'I wish to God I knew what was
at the bottom of this business. I am certain that it is something
pretty foul for them to have gone to the lengths of getting hold of
a normal man like Simon but, if it is the last thing we ever do,
we've got to find him and get him away from these people.'
'But how?' Rex flung wide his arms. 'Where can we even start in
on the hope of picking up the trail? Simon's a lone wolf-always has
been. He's got no father; his mother lives abroad; unlike so many
Jews, he hasn't even got a heap of relatives who we can dig out and
question?'
'Yes, that is the trouble. Of course he is almost certain to be
with Mocata, but I don't see how we are to set about finding
somebody who knows Mocata either. If only we had the address of any
of those people who were there this evening we might...'
'I've got it!' cried Rex, leaping to his feet. 'We'll trace him
through Tanith.'
7
De Richleau Plans a Campaign
'Tanith,' the Duke repeated; 'but you don't know where she is, do
you?'
'Sure.' Rex laughed, for the first time in several hours. 'Having
got acquainted with her after all this while, I wouldn't be such a
fool as to quit that party without nailing her address.'
'I must confess that I'm surprised she gave it to you.'
'She hadn't fallen to it that I wasn't one of their bunch-then!
She's staying at Claridges.'
'Do you think you can get hold of her?'
'Don't you worry-I meant to, anyhow.'
'You must be careful, Rex. This woman is very lovely, I know-but
she's probably damnably dangerous.'
'I've never been scared of a female yet, and surely these people
can't do me much harm in broad daylight?'
'No, except for ordinary human trickery they are almost powerless
between sunrise and sunset.'
Tine. Then I'll go right round to Claridges as soon as she is
likely to be awake tomorrow-today, rather.'
'You don't know her real name though, do you?'
'I should worry. There aren't two girls like her staying at
Claridges-there aren't two like her in all London.'
De Richleau stood up and began to pace the floor like some huge
cat. 'What do you intend to say to her?' he asked at length.
'Why, that we're just worried stiff about Simon-and that it's
absolutely imperative that she should help us out. I'll give her a
frank undertaking not to do anything against Mocata or any of her
pals if she'll come clean with me-though Heaven knows I can't think
she's got any real friends in a crowd like that.'
'Rex! Rex!' The Duke smiled affectionately down into the honest
attractive, ugly face of the young giant stretched in the armchair.
'And what, may I ask, do you intend to do should this lovely lady
refuse to tell you anything?'
'I can threaten to call in the cops, I suppose, though I'd just
hate to do anything like that on her.'
De Richleau gave his eloquent expressive shrug. 'My dear fellow,
unless we can get some actual evidence of ordinary criminal
activities against Mocata and his friends, the police are absolutely
ruled out of this affair-and she would know it.'
'I don't see why,' Rex protested stubbornly. 'These people have
kidnapped Simon, that's what it boils down to, and that's as much a
crime as running a dope joint or white slaving.'
'Perhaps, and if they had hit him on the head our problem would
be easy. The difficulty is that to all outward appearances he has
joined them willingly and in his right mind. Only we know that he is
acting under some powerful and evil influence which has been brought
to bear on him, and how in the world are you going to charge anyone
with raising the devil-or its equivalent-in a modern police court?'
'Well, what do you suggest?'
'Listen.' The Duke perched himself on the arm of Rex's chair.
'Even if this girl is an innocent party like Simon, she will not
tell you anything willingly-she will be too frightened. As a matter
of fact, now that she knows you are not a member of their infernal
circle it is doubtful if she will even see you, but if she
does-well, you've got to get hold of her somehow.'
'I'll certainly have a try-but it's not all that easy to kidnap
people in a city Like London.'
'I don't mean that exactly, but rather that you should induce
her, by fair means or foul, to accompany you to some place where I
can talk to her at my leisure. If she is only a neophyte I know
enough of this dangerous business to frighten her out of her wits.
If she is something more there will be a mental tussle, and I may
learn something from the cards which she is forced to throw on the
table.'
'O.K. I'll pull every gun I know to persuade her into coming here
with me for a cocktail.'
De Richleau shook his head. 'No, I'm afraid that won't do,
immediately she realised the reason she had been brought here she
would insist on leaving, and we couldn't stop her. If we tried she
would break a window and yell Murder! We have got to get her to a
place where she will see at once the futility of trying to call for
outside help. I have itl Do you think you could get her down to
Pangbourne?'
'What? To that river place of yours?'
'Yes; I haven't been down there yet this year, but I can send Max
down first thing in the morning to open it up and give it an
airing.'
'You talk as though I were falling off a log to get a girl to
come boating on the Thames at what's practically a first meet
ing-can't you weigh in and lend a hand yourself?'
'No. I shall be at the British Museum most of the day. It is so
many years since I studied the occult that there are a thousand
things I have forgotten. It is absolutely imperative that I should
immerse myself in some of the old key works for a few hours and rub
up my knowledge of protective measures. I must leave you to handle
the girl, Rex, and remember, Simon's safety will depend almost
wholly on your success. Get her there somehow, and I'll join you in
the late afternoon-say about six.'
Rex grinned. 'It's about as stiff a proposition as sending me in
your place to study the Cabbala, but I'll do rny best.'
'Of course you will.' The Duke began to pace hurriedly up and
down again. 'But go gently with her-I beg you. Avoid any questions
about this horrible business as you would the plague. Play the
lover. Be just the nice young man who has fallen in love with a
beautiful girl. If she asks you about our having abducted Simon from
the party, say you were completely in the dark about it. That you
have known me for years-and that I sprung some story on you about
his having fallen into the hands of a gang of blackmailers, so you
just blindly followed my lead without a second thought. Not a word
to her about the supernatural-you know nothing of that. You must be
as incredulous as you were with me when I first talked to you of it.
And, above all, if you can get her to Pang-bourne, don't let her
know that I am coming down.'
'Surely-I get the line you want me to play all right.'
'Good. You see, if I can only squeeze some information out of her
which will enable us to find out where Mocata is living, we will go
down and keep the place under observation for a day or two. He is
almost certain to have Simon with him. We will note the times that
Mocata leaves the house and plan our raid accordingly. If we can get
Simon into our hands again I swear Mocata shan't get him back a
second time.'
That's certainly the idea.'
'There is only one thing I am really frightened of.' 'What's
that?'
De Richleau paused opposite Rex's chair. 'What I heard this
evening of Simon's approaching change of name-to Abraham, you
remember. That, of course, would be after Abraham the Jew, a very
famous and learned mystic of the early centuries. He wrote a book
which is said to be the most informative ever compiled concerning
the Great Work. It was lost sight of for several hundred years, but
early in the fifteenth century came into the possession of a
Parisian bookseller named Nicolas Flamel who, by its aid, performed
many curious rites. Flamel was buried in some magnificence, and a
few years later certain persons who were anxious to obtain his
secrets opened his grave to find the book which was supposed to have
been buried with him. Neither Flamel nor the book was there, and
there is even some evidence to show that he was still living a
hundred years later in Turkey, which is by no means unbelievable to
those who have any real knowledge of the strange powers acquired by
the true initiate such as those in the higher orders of the Yoga
sects. That is the last we know of the Book of Abraham the Jew, but
it seems that Simon is about to take his name in the service of the
Invisible.'
'Well-what'll happen then?'
'That he will be given over entirely to the Power of Evil, be
cause he will renounce his early teaching and receive his re-baptism
at the hands of a high adept of the Left Hand Path. Until that is
done we can still save him, because all the invisible powers of Good
will be fighting on our side, but after-they will withdraw, and what
we call the Soul of Simon Aron will be dragged down into the Pit.'
'Are you sure of that? Baptism into the Christian Faith doesn't
ensure one going to Heaven, why should this other sprinkling be a
guarantee of anyone going to Hell?'
'It's such a big question, Rex, but briefly it is like this.
Heaven and Hell are only symbolical of growth to Light or
disintegration to Darkness. By Christian-or any other true religious
baptism, we renounce the Devil and all his Works, thereby erecting a
barrier which it is difficult for Evil forces to surmount, but
anyone who accepts Satanic baptism does exactly the reverse. They
wilfully destroy the barrier of astral Light which is our natural
protection and offer themselves as a medium through which the powers
of Darkness may operate on mankind.
'They are tempted to it, of course, by the belief that it will
give them supernatural powers over their fellow-men, but few of them
realise the appalling danger. There is no such person as the Devil,
but there are vast numbers of Earthbound spirits, Elementals, and
Evil Intelligences of the Outer Circle floating in our midst. Nobody
who has even the most elementary knowledge of the Occult can doubt
that. They are blind and ignorant, and except for the last, under
comparatively rare circumstances, not in the least dangerous to any
normal man or woman who leads a reasonably upright life, but they
never cease to search in a fumbling way for some gateway back into
existence as we know it. The surrender of one's own volition gives
it to them, and, if you need an example, you only have to think of
the many terrible crimes which are perpetrated when reason and will
are entirely absent owing to excess of alcohol. An Elemental seizes
upon the unresisting intelligence of the human and forces them to
some appalling deed which is utterly against their natural
instincts.
'That, then, is the danger. While apparently only passing through
an ancient barbarous and disgusting ritual, the Satanist, by
accepting baptism, surrenders his will to the domination of powers
which he believes he will be able to use for his own ends, but in
actual fact he becomes the spiritual slave of an Elemental, and for
ever after is nothing but the instrument of its evil purposes.'
'When do you figure they'll try to do this thing?'
'Not for a week or so, I trust. It is essential that it should
take place at a real Sabbat, when at least one Coven of thirteen is
present, and after our having broken up their gathering tonight I
hardly think they will risk meeting again for some little time,
unless there is some extraordinary reason why they should.'
'That gives us a breathing space then; but what's worrying me is
that it's so early in the year to ask a young woman to go picnicking
on the river.'
'Why? The sunshine for the last few days has been magnificent.'
'Still, it's only April 29th-the 30th, I mean.'
'What!' De Richleau stood there with a new and terrible anxiety
burning in his eyes. 'Good God! I never realised!'
'What's the trouble?'
'Why, that was only one Coven we saw tonight, and there are
probably a dozen scattered over England. The whole pack are probably
on their way by now to the great annual gathering. It's a certainty
they will take Simon with them. They'd never miss the chance of
giving him his Devil's Christening at the Grand Sabbat of the year.'
'What in the world are you talking about?' Rex hoisted himself
swiftly out of his chair.
'Don't you understand, man?' De Richleau gripped him by the
shoulder. 'On the last night of April every peasant in Europe still
double-locks his doors. Every latent force for Evil in the world is
abroad. We've got to get hold of Simon in the next twenty hours.
This coming night-April 30th-is Saint Walburga's Eve.'
8
Rex Van Ryn Opens the Attack
Six hours later, Rex, still drowsy with sleep, lowered himself
into the Duke's sunken bath. It was a very handsome bathroom some
fifteen feet by twelve; black glass, crystal mirrors, and chromium-
plated fittings made up the scheme of decoration.
Some people might have considered it a little too striking to be
in perfect taste, but De Richleau did not subscribe to the canon
which has branded ostentation as vulgarity in the last few
generations, and robbed nobility of any glamour which it may have
possessed in more spacious days.
His forbears had ridden with thirty-two footmen before them, and
it caused him considerable regret that modern conditions made it
impossible for him to drive in his Hispano with no more than one
seated beside his chauffeur on the box. Fortunately his resources
were considerable and his brain sufficiently astute to make good, in
most years, the inroads which the tax gatherers made upon them.
'After him,' of course 'the Deluge' as he very fully recognised, but
with reasonable good fortune he considered that private ownership
would last out his time, at least in England where he had made his
home; and so he continued to do all things on a scale suitable to a
De Richleau, with the additional lavishness of one who had had a
Russian mother, as far as the restrictions of twentieth-century
democracy would allow.
Rex, however, had used the Duke's ?1,000 bathroom a number of
times before, and his only concern at the moment was to wonder
vaguely what he was doing there on this occasion and why he had such
an appalling hangover. Never, since he had been given two glasses of
bad liquor in the old days when his country laboured under
prohibition, had he felt so desperately ill.
A giant sponge placed on the top of his curly head brought him
temporary relief and full consciousness of the events which had
taken place the night before. Of course it was that ghastly
experience he had been through in Simon's empty house that had
sapped him of his vitality and left him in this wretched state. He
remembered that he had kept up all right until they got back to
Curzon Street, and even after, during a long conversation with the
Duke; then, he supposed, he must have petered out from sheer nervous
exhaustion.
He lay back in the warm, faintly scented water, and gave himself
a mental shaking. The thought that he must have fainted shocked him
profoundly. He had driven racing cars at 200 miles an hour, had his
colours for the Cresta run, had flown a plane 1,500 miles, right out
of the Forbidden Territory down to Kiev in one hop. He had shot men
and been shot at in return both in Russia and in Cuba, where he had
found himself mixed up with the Revolution, but never before had he
been in a real funk about anything, much less collapsed like a spine
less fool.
He recalled with sickening vividness, that loathsome, striking
manifestation of embodied evil that had come upon them- and his
thoughts flew to Simon. How could their shy nervous, charming friend
have got himself mixed up in all this devilry? For Rex had no doubts
now that, incredible as it might seem, the Duke was right, and Satan
worship still a living force in modern cities, just as the infernal
Voodoo cult was still secretly practised by the Negroes in the
Southern States of his own country. He thought again of their first
visit to Simon's house as unwelcome guests at that strange party. Of
the Albino, the old Countess D'Urfe, the sinister Chinaman, and then
of Tanith, except for Simon the only normal person present, and felt
convinced that, but for the intervention of De Richleau some
abominable ceremony would certainly have taken place, although he
had laughed at the suggestion at the time.
Sitting up he began to soap himself vigorously while he restated
the situation briefly in his mind. One: Mocata was an adept of what
De Richleau called the Left Hand Path, and for some reason unknown
he had gained control over Simon. Two: owing to their intervention
the Satanists had abandoned Simon's house-taking him with them.
Three: Simon was shortly to be baptised into the Black Brotherhood,
after which, according to the Duke, he would be past all help. Four:
today was May Day Eve when, according to the Duke, the Grind Sabbat
of the year took place. Five: following from four, it was almost a
certainty that Mocata would seize this opportunity of the Walpurgis
Nacht celebrations to have Simon re-christened. Six: in the next
twelve hours therefore, Mocata had to be traced and Simon taken from
him. Seven: the only possibility of getting on Mocata's trail lay in
obtaining information by prayers, cajolery, or threats from Tanith.
Rex stopped soaping and groaned aloud at the thought that the one
woman he had been wanting to meet for years should be mixed up in
this revolting business. He loathed deception in any form and
resented intensely the necessity for practising it on her, but De
Richleau's last instructions to him were still clear in his mind,
and the one thing which stood out above all others, was the fact of
his old and clear friend being in some intangible but terrible
peril.
Feeling slightly better by the time he had shaved and dressed, he
noted from the windows of the flat that at least they had been
blessed with a glorious day. Summer was in the air and there seemed
a promise of that lovely fortnight which sometimes graces England in
early May.
To his surprise he found that De Richleau, who habitually was not
visible before twelve, had left the fiat at half-past eight.
Evidently he meant to put in a long day among the ancient
manuscripts at the British Museum, rubbing up his knowledge of
strange cults and protective measures against what he termed the Ab-
human monsters of the Outer Circle.
Max proffered breakfast, but Rex declined it until, with a hurt
expression, the servant produced his favourite omelet.
'The chef will be so disappointed, sir,' he said.
Reluctantly Rex sat down to eat while Max, busy with the coffee-
pot, permitted himself a hidden smile. He had had orders from the
Duke, and His Excellency was a wily man. None knew that better than
his personal servitor, the faithful Max.
Noting that Rex had finished, he produced a wine-glass full of
some frothy mixture on a salver. 'His Excellency said, sir.' he
stated blandly, 'that he finds this uncommon good for his neuralgia.
I was distressed to hear that you are sometimes a sufferer too, and
if you'd try it the taste is, if I may say so, not
unpleasant-somewhat resembling that of granadillas I believe.'
With a suspicious look Rex drank the quite palatable potion while
Max added suavely: 'Some gentleman prefer prairie-oysters I am told,
but I've a feeling, sir, that His Excellency knows best.'
'You old humbug.' Rex grinned as he replaced the glass. 'Anyhow
last night wasn't the sort of party you think-I wish to God it had
been.'
'No, sir! Well, that's most regrettable I'm sure, but I had a
feeling that Mr. Aron was not quite in his usual form, if I may so
express it-when he er-joined us after dinner.'
'Yes-of course you put Simon to bed-I'd forgotten that.'
Max quickly lowered his eyes. He was quite certain that his
innocent action the night before had been connected in some way with
Simon Aron's sudden disappearance from the bedroom later, and felt
that for once he had done the wrong thing, so he deftly turned the
conversation. 'His Excellency instructed me to tell you, sir, that
the touring Rolls is entirely at your disposal and the second
chauffeur if you wish to use him.'
'No-I'll drive myself; have it brought round right away- will
you?'
'Very good, sir, and now if you will excuse me I must leave at
once in order to get down to Pangbourne and prepare the house for
your reception.'
'O.K., Max-See-yer-later-I hope.' Rex picked up a cigarette. He
was feeling better already. 'A whole heap better,' he thought, as he
wondered what potent corpse-reviver lay hidden in the creamy depths
of De Richleau's so-called neuralgia tonic. Then he sat down to plan
out his line of attack on the lady at Claridges.
If he could only talk to her he felt that he would be able to
intrigue her into a friendly attitude. He could, of course, easily
find out her real name from the bureau of the hotel, but the snag
was that if he sent up his name and asked to see her the chances
were all against her granting him an interview. After all, by
kidnapping Simon, he and the Duke had wrecked the meeting of her
Circle the night before, and if she was at all intimately associated
with Mocata, she probably regarded him with considerable hostility.
Only personal contact could overcome that, so he must not risk any
rebuff through the medium of bell-hops, but accept it only if given
by her after he had managed to see her face to face.
His plan, therefore, eventually boiled down to marching on
Claridges, planting himself in a comfortable chair within view of
the lifts and sitting there until Tanith made her appearance. He
admitted to himself that his proposed campaign was conspicuously
lacking in brilliance but, he argued, few women staying in a London
hotel would remain in their rooms all day, so if he sat there long
enough it was almost certain that an opportunity would occur for him
to tackle her direct. If she did turn him down-well, De Richleau
wasn't the only person in the world who had ideas-and Rex flattered
himself that he would think of something.
Immediately the Rolls was reported at the door, he left the flat
and drove round to Claridges in it. A short conversation with a
friendly commissionaire ensured that there would be no trouble if
the car was left parked outside, even for a considerable time, for
Rex thought it necessary to have it close at hand since he might
need it at any moment.
As he entered the hotel from the Davies Street entrance he noted
with relief that it was only a little after ten. It was unlikely
that Tanith would have gone out for the day so early, and he settled
himself to wait for an indefinite period with cheerful optimism in
the almost empty lounge. After a moment it occurred to him that
somebody might come up to him and inquire his business if he was
forced to stay there for any length of time, but an underporter,
passing at the moment, gave him a swift smile and little bow of
recognition, so he trusted that having been identified as an
occasional client of the place he would not be unduly molested.
He began to consider what words he should use if, and when,
Tanith did step out of the lifts, and had just decided on a formula
which contained the requisite proportions of respect, subtle
admiration, and gaiety when a small boy in buttons came marching
with a carefree swing down the corridor.
'Mister Vine Rine-Mister Vine Rine,' he chanted in a monotonous
treble.
Rex looked at the boy suspiciously. The sound had a queer
resemblance to the parody of his own name as he had often heard it
shrilled out by bell-hops in clubs and hotel lounges. Yet no one
could possibly be aware of his presence at Claridges that
morning-except, of course, the Duke. At the thought that De Richleau
might be endeavouring to get in touch with him for some urgent
reason he turned, and at the same moment the page sidetracked
towards him.
'Mr. Van Ryn, sir?' he inquired, dropping into normal speech.
'Yes.' Rex nodded.
Then to his utter astonishment the boy announced: 'The lady
you've called to see sent down to say she's sorry to keep you
waiting, but she'll join you in about fifteen minutes.'
With his mouth slightly open Rex stared stupidly at the page
until that infant turned and strutted away. He did not doubt that
the message came from Tanith-who else could have sent it, yet how
the deuce did she know that he was there? Perhaps she had seen him
drive up from her window -that seemed the only reasonable
explanation. Anyhow that 'she was sorry to keep him waiting' sounded
almost too good to be true.
Recovering a little he stood up, marched out into Brook Street
and purchased a great sheaf of lilac from a florist's a few doors
down. Returning with it to the hotel he suddenly realised that he
still did not know Tanith's real name, but catching sight of the boy
who had paged him, he beckoned him over.
'Here boy-take these up to the lady's room with Mr. Van Ryn's
compliments.' Then he resumed his seat near the lift with happy
confidence.
Five minutes later the lift opened. An elderly woman leaning upon
a tall ebony cane stepped out. At the first glance Rex recognised
the parrot-peaked nose, the nut-cracker chin and the piercing black
eyes of the old Countess D'Urfe. Before he had time to collect his
wits she had advanced upon him and extended a plump, beringed hand.
'Monsieur Van Ryn,' she croaked. 'It is charming that you should
call upon me-sank you a thousand times for those lovely flowers.'
9
The Countess D'Urfe Talks of Many Curious Things
'Ha! ha!-not a bit of it-it's great to see you again.'
Rex gave a weak imitation of a laugh. He had only spoken to the
old crone for two minutes on the previous evening and that, when he
had first arrived at Simon's party, for the purpose of detaching
Tanith from her. Even if she had seen him drive up to Claridges what
in the world could have made her imagine that he had come to visit
herl If only he hadn't sent up that lilac he might have politely
excused himself-but he could hardly tell her now that he had meant
it for someone else.
'And how is Monseigneur le Due this morning?' the old lady
inquired, sinking into a chair he placed for her.
'He asked me to present his homage, Madame,' Rex lied quickly,
instinctively picking a phrase which De Richleau might have used
himself.
'Ca, c'est tres gentille.'E is a charming man-charming an' 'is
cigars they are superb,' The Countess D'Urfe' produced a square case
from her bag and drew out a fat, dark Havana. As Rex applied a match
she went on slowly: 'But it ees not right that one Circle should
make interference with the operations of another. What 'ave you to
say of your be'aviour lars' night my young frien'?'
'My hat,' thought Rex, 'the old beldame fancies we're an opposing
faction in the same line of business-I'll have to use this if I
can;' so he answered slowly: 'We were mighty sorry to have to do
what we did, but we needed Simon Aron for our own purposes.'
'So!-you also make search for the Talisman then?'
'Sure-that is, the Duke's taking a big interest in it.'
'Which of us are not-and 'oo but le petit Juif shall lead us to
it.'
'That's true.'
'Ave you yet attempted the Rite to Saturn?'
'Yes, but things didn't pan out quite as we thought they would,'
Rex replied cautiously, -not having the faintest idea what they were
talking about.
'You 'ave satisfy yourselves that the aloes and mastic were
fresh, eh?' The wicked old eyes bored into his.