nction  properly
again  directly  he  set to busying himself with  the  maps  and
scales.
  The  Duke, sitting in the body of the machine with Marie  Lou,
felt that there was nothing he could say to comfort her, but  he
took her hand in his and held it between his own. From his quick
gesture she felt again his intense distress that he should  ever
have  been  the means of bringing her this terrible unhappiness,
so, to distract his thoughts, she put her mouth right up against
his ear and told him of the odd dream she had had; about reading
the  old  book. He gave her a curious glance and began to  shout
back at her.
  She  could  not catch all he said owing to the  noise  of  the
engine, but enough to tell that he was intensely interested.  He
seemed  to  think that she had been dreaming of the  famous  Red
Book  of  Appin,  a  wonderful treatise on Magic  owned  by  the
Stewards of Invernahyle, who were now extinct. The book had been
lost  and  not heard of for more than a hundred years,  but  her
description  of it, and the legend that it might  only  be  read
with  understanding by those who wore a circlet  of  iron  above
their brow made him insistent that it must be this which she had
seen in her dream. He pressed her to try and remember if she had
understood any portion of it.
  After  some trouble she managed to convey to him that she  had
read one sentence on a faded vellum page, and that although  the
lettering was quite different from anything which she  had  ever
seen before, she understood it at the time, but could not recall
the  meaning now. Then, as talking was so difficult,  they  fell
silent.
  At  a hundred miles an hour the plane soared above the English
counties,  but they took little heed of the fields  and  hedges,
woods  and  hills,  which  fled so swiftly  from  beneath  them.
Somehow  they  seemed  to have stepped out  of  their  old  life
altogether.  Time no longer existed for them, only the  will  to
arrive  at  their destination in order to be active once  again.
All  their thoughts were concentrated now upon Paris and the man
who  had  lost half his ear. Would he be there? Could they  find
him if he was? And would they arrive before Mocata?
  They  passed  over  the Northern end of  the  English  Channel
almost  without noticing it; Marie Lou felt a little shock  when
the plane banked steeply and Richard brought it circling down.
  The  sun was sinking behind great banks of cloud and,  as  the
plane  tilted, she saw that a thick mist lay below them in which
glowed dull patches of half-obscured light. Richard and Rex knew
them,  however,  to  be  fog flares of the  Le  Bourget  lauding
ground.
  A few seconds more and they had seen the last of the sunset. A
thin  greyness  closed  about them. One  of  the  flares  showed
bright,  and  the  plane bounded along the earth  until  Richard
brought it to a standstill.
  Almost  in a daze they answered the questions of the  officers
at  the  airport and passed the Customs, secured a  fast-looking
taxi  and,  packed  inside it, were heading for  the  centre  of
Paris.
  As  they  ran  through the streets, with  the  familiar  high-
pitched  note  of the taxi's horn continually sounding  and  the
subtle  smell of the epiceries in their nostrils-the very  scent
of  Paris-they noticed half-unconsciously that night had  fallen
once more.
  Here  and  there the electric sky-signs on the tall buildings,
advertising Savan Cadum or Byrrh, glowed dully through the murk,
and  the  lights of the cafes illuminated little spaces  of  the
boulevards  through which they passed, throwing up  the  figures
that sat sipping their aperitifs at the marble-topped tables and
dappling  the  young green of the stunted trees that  lined  the
pavements.
  None  of  them  spoke as the taxi swerved and rushed,  seeking
every opportunity to nose its way through the traffic. Only  Rex
leant  forward  once, soon after they left  the  aerodrome,  and
murmured:  'I told him the Ritz. We'll be able to hunt  up  this
bird's address when we get there.'
  They  ran  past the Opera, down the Boulevard de la Madeleine,
and turned left into the Place Vendome. The cab pulled up with a
jerk.  A liveried porter hurried forward to fling open the door,
and they scrambled out.
  'Pay him off, with a good tip,' Rex ordered the hotel servant.
'I' see-yer-later, inside.' Then he led the way into the hotel.
  One  of  the under-managers at the bureau recognised  him  and
came forward with a welcoming smile.
  'Monsieur  Van Ryn, what a pleasure! You require accomo-dation
for  your  party? How many rooms do you desire? I hope that  you
will stay with us some time.'
  Two single rooms and one double, with bathrooms, and we'd best
have a sitting-room on the same floor,' replied Rex curtly. 'How
long  we'll be staying I can't say. I've got urgent business  to
attend  to  this  trip. Do you happen to  know  a  banker  named
Castelnau-elderly man, grey-haired, with a hatchet  face,  who's
had a slice taken out of his left ear?'
  'Mais oui, monsieur. He lunches here frequently.'
  'Good. D'you know where he lives?'
  "For  the  moment, no, but I will ascertain. You permit?'  The
manager  moved briskly away and disappeared into the  office.  A
few  moments later he returned with a Paris telephone  directory
open in his hand.
  'This  will be it, monsieur, I think. Monsieur Laurent  Castel
nau,  72,  Maison Rambouillet, Pare Monceau. That is a block  of
flats. Do you wish to telephone his apartment?'
  'Sure,'  Rex nodded, 'Call him right away, please.'  Then,  as
the  Frenchman hurried off, he nodded quietly to the Duke: 'Best
leave this to me. I've got a hunch how to fix him.'
  'Go  ahead,' the Duke acquiesced. He had been keeping well  in
the  background, and now he smiled a little unhappily as he went
on in a low voice:
  'How  I  love Paris. The smell and the sight and the sound  of
it.  I have not been back here for fifteen years. The Government
have  never  forgiven  me for the part  that  I  played  in  the
Royalist rising which took place in the 90's. I was young  then.
How  long ago it all seems now. But never since have I dared  to
venture back to France, except a few times, secretly on the most
urgent  business. I believe the authorities would, still put  me
into  some  miserable fortress if they discovered me  on  French
soil.'
  'Oh, Greyeyes, dear! You ought never to have come.' Marie  Lou
turned   to  him  impulsively.  'With  all  these  awful  things
happening I had forgotten. Somehow I always think of.you  really
as  an Englishman, not as a French exile who lives in England as
the  next  best thing. It would be terrible if you were arrested
and tried as a political offender after all these years.'
  He  shrugged  and  smiled again. 'Don't worry,  Princess.  The
authorities  have almost forgotten my existence, I  expect,  and
the  only risk I run is in knowing so many people who constantly
travel  through France. If someone recognised me  and  spoke  my
name  too loud it is just possible that it might strike a  chord
in  some  police  spy's memory, but beyond that  there  is  very
little danger.
  They  sat down at a little table in the lounge while  Rex  was
telephoning. When he rejoined them he nodded cheerfully.
  'We're  in  luck,  and  Lord knows we  need  it.  I  spoke  to
Castelnau  himself,  used  the name of  my  old  man's  firm-The
Chesapeake Banking and Trust Corporation-and spun a yarn that he
had  sent me over on a special mission to Europe connected  with
the franc. Told him the whole thing was far too hush-hush for me
to  make a date to see him at his office tomorrow morning, where
his  clerks  might  recognise me as  the  representative  of  an
American  banking  house,  and  that  I  must  see  him  tonight
privately.  He  hedged a bit until I put it to him  that  I  had
power  to deal in real big figures, and he fell for that like  a
sucker. He couldn't see me yet though, because he's busy putting
on  his  party frock for some official banquet, but  he  figures
he'll  be  back at the apartment round about ten o'clock,  so  I
said I'd be along to state my business then.'
  To fill in time we might go upstairs and have a bath, remarked
Richard, feeling his bristly chin. 'Then we'd better go out  and
dine somewhere, though God knows, I've never felt less like food
in my life.'
  'All  right,'  De Richleau agreed, 'only let us  go  somewhere
quiet  for dinner. If we go to one of the smart places  it  will
add to the chance of my running into somebody that I know.'
  'What  about Le Vert Galant?' Richard suggested. 'It's on  the
right  bank down by La Cite, old-fashioned, quiet, but excellent
food, and you're unlikely to see the sort of people that we know
there in the evening.'
  'Is  that still running?' De Richleau smiled. 'Then let us  go
there  by  all means. It's just the place.' And they moved  over
towards the lift.
  Upstairs  they bathed and tidied themselves, but  almost  auto
matically,  for their uneasy sleep that morning seemed  to  have
done little to recruit their lowered energy. As though still  in
a  bad  dream,  Marie Lou undressed,' and dressed  again,  while
Richard moved about the room, for once apparently unconscious of
her  presence, silently and mechanically eliminating the  traces
of  the  journey. Then he submitted to the ministrations of  the
hotel barber with one curt order, that the man was to shave  him
and not to talk.
  Rex  finished first and wandered into their room, where he sat
uncomfortably perched upon a corner of the bed, but he stared at
his large feet the whole time that he sat there and did not make
any effort whatever at conversation.
  De  Richleau  joined them shortly afterwards, and  Marie  Lou,
rousing for a moment from her abject misery, noted with a little
start  how  spick  and  span  he had  become  again,  after  the
attentions  of the barber and his bath. He had produced  one  of
his  long  Hoyos,  and  appeared to be  smoking  it  with  quiet
enjoyment.  Richard  and  Rex,  despite  the  removal  of  their
incipient beards, still looked woebegone and haggard, as  though
they  had  not  slept  for days, and were  almost  contemplating
suicide,  but  the Duke still maintained his air  of  the  great
gentleman  for  whose  pleasure  and  satisfaction  this   whole
existence is ordered.
  Actually  his  appearance was no more than a mask  with  which
long  habit had accustomed him to disguise his emotions, and  at
heart  he was racked by an anxiety equal to that of any  of  the
others.  He  was  suppressing his  impatience  to  get  hold  of
Castelnau only by a supreme effort; his feet itched to be on the
move, and his fingers to be on the throat of the adversary;  but
as  he  came into the room he smiled round at them, kissed Marie
Lou's  hand with his usual gallantry, and presented a huge bunch
of white violets to her.
  'A few flowers, Princess, for your room.'
  Marie Lou took them without a word; the tears brimming in  her
eyes  spoke  her thanks that he should have thought  of  such  a
thing  at  such  a time, and his perfect naturalness  served  to
steady  them  all a little as they went down afterwards  in  the
lift.  Rex changed some money at the caisse, and they  went  out
into the night again.
  'Queer-isn't  it,' remarked Richard as he looked  out  of  the
taxi window at the fog-bound streets. 'I've always said what fun
it  is  to make a surprise visit for a couple of nights to Paris
-in  May. It's like stealing in on summer in advance-tea in  the
open  at Arrnenonville-a drive to Fontamebleau, with the  forest
at  its very best-and all that. 'I never thought I might come to
Paris one May like this.'
  'I've a feeling there's something wrong about it-or us,'  said
Rex  slowly. 'Those servants in the hotel back there didn't seem
any  more natural than the weather to me. It was as though I was
watching them act in some kind of play.'
  De  Richleau  nodded.  'Yes, I felt the same,  and  I  believe
Mocata  is  responsible. Perhaps he surrounded  Cardinals  Folly
with  a  strong  atmospheric force,  and  we  have  brought  the
vibrations  of  it  with us, or he may be interfering  with  our
auras  in  some  way. I'm only guessing, of  course,  and  can't
possibly explain it.'
  At   the  Vert  Galant  De  Richleau  ordered  dinner  without
reference to any of them. He was a great gourmet, and knew  from
past experience the dishes that pleased them best, but as a meal
it  was  one of the most dismal failures which it had ever  been
his misfortune to witness.
  He  knew  and  they knew that his apparent preoccupation  with
food  and  wine was nothing but a bluff; an attempt  to  smother
their anxiety and occupy their thoughts until the time to go  to
Castelnau's apartment should arrive, The cooking was  excellent,
the service everything that one could desire, and the cellar  of
Le  Vert  Galant  provided  wines to which  even  De  Richleau's
critical taste gave full approval, but their hearts were not  in
the business.
  They  toyed with the Lobster Cardinal, sent away the  Paujllac
Lamb untasted, and drank the wines as a beverage to steady their
nerves  rather  than with the consideration and  pleasure  which
they deserved.
  The  fat maiire d'hotel supervised the service of each  course
himself, and it passed his understanding how these three men and
the  beautiful  little  lady could show so little  appreciation.
With  hands  clasped upon a large stomach, he stood  before  the
Duke  and murmured his distress that the dishes they had ordered
should  not appear to please them, but the Duke waved him  away,
even  summoning up a little smile to assure him that it  was  no
fault  of  the  restaurant and only their  unfortunate  lack  of
appetite.
  Throughout the meal De Richleau talked unceasingly. He  was  a
born  raconteur, and ordinarily, with his charm and  wit,  could
hold  any audience enthralled. Tonight, despite his own anxiety,
he  made a supreme attempt to lift the burden from the shoulders
of   his  friends  by  exploiting  every  venue  of  memory  and
conversation,  but never in his life had his  efforts  met  with
such  a  cold  reception. In vain he attempted to  divert  their
thoughts,  laughing  a  little to himself,  as  he  reached  the
denouement in each of his stories, and hoping against hope  that
he  might raise a smile in those three anxious faces that  faced
him across the table.
  For Marie Lou the meal was just another phase of that horrible
nightmare  through which she had been passing  since  the  early
hours  of the morning. Mechanically she sampled the dishes which
were put before her, but each one seemed to taste the same,  and
after  a  few  mouthfuls  she  laid down  her  fork,  submitting
miserably  to  the frantic, gnawing thoughts which pervaded  her
whole being.
  Richard said nothing, ate little, and drank heavily. He was in
that  state  when he knew quite well that it was impossible  for
him  to  drink  too much. Great happiness or great distress  has
that  effect  upon certain men, and he was one  of  them.  Every
other  minute he glanced at the clock on the wall, as it  slowly
registered  the passage of time until they could set forth  once
more on their attempt to save his daughter.
  There  was still half an hour to go when the fruit and  brandy
were  placed  upon  the  table, and then  at  last  De  Richleau
surrendered.
  'I've  been  talking  utter nonsense all through  dinner,'  he
confessed  gravely; 'only to keep my thoughts off this  wretched
business, you understand. But now the time has come when we  can
speak of it again with some advantage. What do you intend to do,
Rex, when you see this man?'
  Marie  Lou lifted her eyes from the untasted grapes which  lay
upon her plate. 'You've been splendid, Greyeyes, dear. I haven't
been listening to you really, but a sentence here and there  has
been just enough to take my mind off a picture of the worst that
may happen, which keeps on haunting me.'
  He  smiled  across at her gratefully. 'I'm glad of that.  It's
the  least that I could try to do. But come now, Rex, let's hear
your plan.'
  'I've  hardly  got  one,' Rex confessed, shrugging  his  great
shoulders. 'We know he'll see me, and that's as far  as  I  have
figured it out. I presume it'll boil down to my jumping  on  him
after a pretty short discussion and threatening to gouge out his
eyeballs  with my hands unless he's prepared to come clean  with
everything he knows about Mocata.'
  De  Richleau  shook  his head. That is roughly  the  idea,  of
course, but there are certain to be servants in the flat, and we
must arrange it that you have a free field for your party.'
  'Can't  you  take us along with you?' Richard suggested.  'Say
that we're privately interested in this deal you're putting  up.
If  only  the  three  of us can get inside that  flat  God  help
anybody who tries to stop us forcing him to talk.'
  'Sure,'  Rex agreed. 'I see no sort of objection to  that.  We
can park Marie Lou at the Ritz again, on our way, before we beat
this fellow up.'
  'No!' Marie Lou gave a sudden dogged shake of her head. 'I  am
coming with you. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself, and
I  will  keep out of the way if there is any trouble. You cannot
ask me to go back to the hotel and sit there on my own while you
are  trying to obtain news of Fleur. I should go mad  and  fling
myself  out  of  the window. I've got to come, so  please  don't
argue about it.'
  Richard  took her hand and caressed it softly. 'Of course  you
shall, my sweet. It would be better, perhaps, for you not to  be
with  us  when we see Castelnau, but there's no reason  why  you
shouldn't wait for us in his hall.'
  De  Richleau  nodded.  "Yes, in the  circumstances  it  is  im
possible  to  leave Marie Lou behind, but about  these  servants
-did you bring that gun that you had last night with you?'
  'Yes,  I brought it through the Customs in my hip pocket,  and
it's fully loaded.'
  'Right.  Then  if necessary you can use it to  intimidate  the
servants  while Rex and I tackle Castelnau. It is a quarter  to.
Shall we go?'
  Rex sent for the bill and paid it, leaving a liberal tip which
soothed  the  dignity of the injured maitre d'hotel,  then  they
filed out of the restaurant.
  'Maison  Rambouillet,  Pare Monceau,'  De  Richleau  told  the
driver sharply as they climbed into the taxi, and not a word was
spoken  until the cab drew up before a palatial block of  modern
flats, facing on to the little green park where the children  of
the rich in Paris take their morning airing.
  'Monsieur Castelnau?' the Duke inquired of the concierge.
  This way, monsieur'; the man led them through a spacious stone
faced hall to the lift.
  It  shot up to the fifth floor and as he opened the gates, the
concierge pointed to a door upon the right.
  'Number  Seventy-two,'  he  said quietly.  'I  think  Monsieur
Castelnau has just come in.'
  The  gates clanged behind them, and the lift flashed  silently
down  again  to the ground floor. De Richleau gave Rex  a  swift
glance  and,  stepping towards the door of  Number  Seventy-two,
pressed the bell.


                               31

                   The Man With the Jagged Ear

  The  tall,  elaborately  carved door was  opened  by  a  bald,
elderly  man-servant in a black alpaca coat. Rex gave his  name,
and the servant looked past him with dark, inquiring eyes at the
others.
  'These are friends of mine who're seeing Monsieur Castelnau on
the  same business,' Rex said abruptly, stepping into the  long,
narrow hall. 'Is he in?'
  'Yes,  monsieur,  and he is expecting you. This  way,  if  you
please.'
  Marie  Lou perched herself on a high couch of Cordova leather,
while  the  other three followed the back of the  alpaca  jacket
down  the  corridor. Another tall, carved door was thrown  open,
and  they entered a wide, dimly-lit salon, furnished in the  old
style  of French elegance: gilt ormolu, tapestries, bric-a-brac,
and  a  painted ceiling where cupids disported themselves  among
roseate flowers.
  Castelnau  stood, cold, thin, angular and hatchet-faced,  with
his  back  to  a  large porcelain stove. He was dressed  in  the
clothes which he had worn at the banquet. The wide, watered silk
ribbon  with the garish colours of some foreign order cut across
his  shirt front and a number of decorations were pinned to  the
lapel of his evening coat.
  'Monsieur Van Ryn.' He barely touched Rex's hand with his cold
fingers  and  went on in his own language. 'It is a pleasure  to
receive you. I know your house well by reputation, and from time
to  time  in  the  past my own firm has had some  dealings  with
yours.'  Then he glanced at the others sharply. These  gentlemen
are, I assume, associated with you in this business?'
  'They  are.'  Rex  introduced  them  briefly.  'The  Duke   de
Richleau-Mr. Richard Eaton.'
  Castelnau's  eyebrows  lifted a fraction  as  he  studied  the
Duke's  face  with  new  interest.  'Of  course,'  he  murmured.
'Monsieur  le Due must pardon me if I did not recognise  him  at
first.  It is many years since we have met, and I was under  the
impression  that he had never found the air of  Paris  good  for
him;  but perhaps I am indiscreet to make any reference to  that
old trouble.'
  'The  business  which has brought me is urgent, monsieur,'  De
Richleau replied suavely. "Therefore I elected to ignore the ban
which a Government of bourgeois and socialists placed upon me.'
  'A  grave  step, monsieur, since the police of France  have  a
notoriously long memory. Particularly at the present  time  when
the Government has cause to regard all politicals who are not of
its  party  with suspicion. However,' the banker bowed slightly,
'that,  of  course,  is  your own affair  entirely.  Be  seated,
gentlemen. I am at your service.'
  None  of the three accepted the proffered invitation, and  Rex
said abruptly: 'The bullion deal I spoke of when I called you on
the  telephone was only an excuse to secure this interview.  The
three of us have come here tonight because we know that you  are
associated with Mocata.'
  The  Frenchman stared at him in blank surprise  and  was  just
about  to  burst into angry protest when Rex hurried on.  'It'll
cut  no ice to deny it. We know too much. The night before  last
we  saw  you at that joint in Chilbury, and afterwards with  the
rest  of  those  filthy  swine doing  the  devil's  business  on
Salisbury Plain. You're a Satanist, and you're going to tell  us
all you know about your leader.'
  Castelnau's dark eyes glittered dangerously in his long, white
face. They shifted with a sudden furtive glance towards an  open
escritoire.
  Before  he could move, Richard's voice came quiet but  steely.
'Stay  where you are. I've got you covered, and I'll  shoot  you
like a dog if you flicker an eyelid.'
  De  Richleau caught the banker's glance, and with  his  quick,
cat-like step had reached the ornate desk. He pulled out  a  few
drawers, and then found the weapon that he felt certain must  be
there.  It  was  a  tiny  .2 pistol, but deadly  enough.  Having
assured  himself  that  it was loaded,  he  pointed  it  at  the
Satanist. 'Now,' he said, icily, 'are you prepared to  talk,  or
must I make you?
  Castelnau shrugged, then looked down at his feet. 'You  cannot
make  me,' he replied with a quiet confidence, 'but if you  tell
me  what  you  wish  to  know,  I  may  possibly  give  you  the
information you require in order to get rid of you.'
  'First, what do you know of Mocata's history?'
  'Very  little, but sufficient to assure you that  you  are  ex
ceedingly  ill-advised  if, as it appears,  you  intend  to  pit
yourself against him.'
  To  hell  with that!' Rex snapped angrily; 'get  on  with  the
story.'
  'Just as you wish. It is the Canon Darnien Mocata to whom  you
refer,  of  course.  When he was younger he was  an  officiating
priest  at  some  church in Lyons, I believe. He  was  always  a
difficult person, and his intellectual gifts made a thorn in the
sides of his superiors. Then there was some scandal and he  left
the  Church;  but long before that he had become an occulist  of
exceptional  powers.  I  met  him  some  years  ago  and  became
interested in his operations. Your apparent disapproval of  them
does  not  distress  me  in the least. I find  their  theory  an
exceptionally  interesting  study, and  their  practice  of  the
greatest  assistance  in  governing  my  business  transactions.
Mocata lives in Paris for a good portion of the year, and I  see
him  from time to time socially in addition to our meetings  for
esoteric purposes. I think that is all that I can tell you.'
  'When did you see him last?' asked the Duke.
  'At  Chilbury two nights ago, when we gathered again after the
break-up  of  our  meeting, I suppose you were  responsible  for
that?' Castelnau's thin lips broke into a ghost of a smile,  'If
so, believe me, you will pay for it.'
  'You have not seen him then today-this evening?'
  'No, I did not even know that he had returned to Paris.' There
was a ring in the banker's voice which made it difficult for his
questioners to doubt that he was telling them the truth.
  'Where does he live when he is in Paris?' the Duke enquired.
  'I  do  not know. I have visited him at many places. Often  he
stays  with  various  friends, who are also  interested  in  his
practices, but he has no permanent address. The people with whom
he  was  staying  last  left  Paris  some  months  ago  for  the
Argentine,  so I have no idea where you are likely to  find  him
now.'
  'Where  do  you  meet him when these Satanic  gatherings  take
place?'
  'I  am sorry but I can't tell you.' The Frenchman's voice  was
firm.
  De  Richleau padded softly forward and thrust the little Mstol
into Castefnau's ribs, just under his heart. 'I am afraid 'ou've
got to,' he purred silkily. 'The matter that we are engaged upon
is urgent.'
  ,  The  banker  held  his ground, and to  outward  appearances
remained  unruffled  at the threat. 'It is  no  good,'  he  said
quietly,  I cannot do it, even if you intend to murder me.  Each
one  of  us  goes  into  a self-induced hypnotic  trance  before
proceeding to these meetings, and wakes upon his arrival. In  my
conscious  state I have no idea how I get there; so this  apache
attitude of yours is completely useless.'
  'I see.' De Richleau nodded slowly and withdrew the automatic.
'However,  you  are going to tell me just the same,  because  it
happens  that  I am something of a hypnotist. I  shall  put  you
under now, and we shall proceed to follow all the stages of your
unconscious journey.'
  For the first time Castelnau's face showed a trace of fear.
  'You can't,' he muttered quickly. 'I won't let you.'
  De  Richleau shrugged. 'Your opposition will make it  slightly
more difficult, but I shall do it, nevertheless. However, as  it
may take some time, we will make fresh arrangements in order  to
ensure that we are not disturbed. Press the bell, and when  your
servant  comes, give him definite instructions that as we  shall
be  engaged in a long conference, upon no pretext whatsoever are
you to be disturbed.'
  'And  if  I  refuse?' Castelnau's dark eyes  suddenly  flashed
rebellion.
  'Then you will never live to give another order. The affair we
are engaged upon is desperate, and whatever the consequences may
be,  I  shall  shoot  you like the rat you are.  Now  ring.'  De
Richleau put the pistol in his pocket but still held the  banker
covered,  and after a moment's hesitation Castelnau pressed  the
bell.
  'You,  Richard,' the Duke said in a sharp whisper, 'will leave
us when the servant has taken his instructions. Wait for us with
Marie  Lou  in  the  entrance hall. You have your  gun.  Prevent
anyone  leaving the apartment until we have finished.  Open  the
door to anyone who rings yourself, and if Mocata arrives, as  he
may   at   any   moment,   don't   argue-shoot.   I   take   all
responsibility.'
  'I  am only waiting for the chance,' said Richard grimly, just
as the servant entered.
  Castelnau gave his orders in an even voice, with one eye  upon
the  Duke's pocket, then Richard, in his normal voice,  remarked
casually:
  'Well,  since  the matter is confidential, I had  better  wait
outside  with rny wife until you are through,' and followed  the
elderly alpaca-coated man out into the hall.
  'Rex,'  De  Richleau lost not an instant  once  the  door  was
closed.  Take that telephone receiver off its stand so  that  we
are  not  interrupted by any calls. And you,' he turned  to  the
banker, 'sit down in that chair.'
  'I won't!' exclaimed Castelnau furiously. 'This is abominable.
You   invade  my  apartment  like  brigands.  I  give  you  such
information as I can, but what you are about to do will bring me
into danger, and I refuse-I refuse, I tell you.'
  'I  shall  neither argue with you nor kill you,'  De  Richleau
answered frigidly, 'You are too valuable to me alive. Rex, knock
him out!'
  Castelnau  swung round and threw up his arms in a  gesture  of
defence,  but Rex broke through his guard. The young  American's
mighty  fist  caught him on the side of the jaw and he  crumpled
up, a still heap on his own hearth-rug.
  When the banker came to he found himself sitting in a straight
chair;  his hands were lashed to the back and his ankles to  the
legs  with the curtain cords. His head ached abominably  and  he
saw  De  Richleau standing opposite to him, smiling relentlessly
down into his face.
  'Now,'  said the Duke, 'look into my eyes. The sooner  we  get
this business over the sooner you will be able to get to bed and
nurse your sore head. I am about to place you under, and you are
going  to  tell  us  what you do when you go  to  these  satanic
meetings.'
  For  answer Castelnau quickly closed his eyes and lowered  his
head   on   to  his  chest,  resisting  De  Richleau's  powerful
suggestion with all the force of his will.
  This  doesn't look to me as though it's going to  be  any  too
easy,' Rex muttered dubiously. 'I've always thought that it  was
impossible  to  hypnotise people if they were  unwilling.  You'd
better  let me put the half-Nelson on him until he becomes  more
amenable and sees reason.'
  'That  might  make  him agree verbally,' De Richleau  replied,
'but  it won't stop him lying to us afterwards, and it is  quite
possible  to  hypnotise people against their will. It  is  often
done  to lunatics in asylums. Get behind him now, hold back  his
head  and  lift his eyelids with your fingers so that he  cannot
close  them. We've got to find out about this place. It  is  our
only hope of geting on to Mocata.'
  Rex  did  as he was bid. The Duke stood before the chair,  his
steel-grey  eyes fastened without a flicker upon  those  of  the
unwilling Satanist.
  Time  passed, and every now and then De Richleau's voice broke
the  silence of the quiet, dimly-lit room. 'You are  tired  now,
you  will  sleep.  I  command you.' But  all  his  efforts  were
unavailing. The Satanist sat there rigid and determined  not  to
succumb.
  The  ormolu clock upon the mantelpiece ticked with  a  steady,
monotonous  note, until Rex was filled with the  mad  desire  to
throw  something  at  it.  The hands  crawled  round  the  white
enamelled  dial; its silvery chime rang out, marking  the  hours
eleven,  twelve, one. Still the Frenchman endured De  Richleau's
steady  gaze. He knew that they were expecting Mocata to  arrive
at  his  apartment. Mocata was immensely powerful.  If  only  he
could  hold  out until then the whole position might  be  saved.
With a fixed determination not to give in, his eyelids held back
by Rex's forefingers, he stared blankly at De Richleau's chin.
  Outside, on the sofa of Cordova leather, Richard and Marie Lou
sat  side  by  side. It seemed to her again  that  she  must  be
dreaming. The whole fantastic business of this flight  to  Paris
and their dinner at the Vert Galant had been utterly unreal.  It
could  not  be real now that Mocata was somewhere in  this  city
preparing to kill her darling Fleur in some ungodly rite,  while
she sat there with Richard in that strange, silent apartment and
the night hours laboured on.
  She  thought that she slept a little, but she was not certain.
Ever since she had fainted in the pentacle and come to with  the
sensation  that she was above Cardinals Folly, floating  in  the
soundless  ether, all her movements had been automatic  and  her
vision of their doings distorted, so that whole sections of time
were  blotted  out  from her mind, and only  these  glimpses  of
strange places and faces seemed to register.
  The  black-coated servant appeared once at the far end of  the
corridor, but seeing them still there, disappeared again.
  Almost  the whole of that long wait Richard sat with his  eyes
glued to the front door, his hand clasped ready on the pistol in
his  pocket,  expecting  the ring that would  announce  Mocata's
arrival.
  He  too felt that somehow this person, grown desperate from an
unbearable  injury  and  lusting with the  desire  to  kill,  re
gardless  of  laws  and  consequences,  could  not  possibly  be
himself.  With every movement that he made he expected  to  wake
and  find  himself safely in bed at Cardinals Foily, with  Marie
Lou  snuggled down close against him and Fleur peacefully asleep
only a few doors away.
  Had  he wholly believed that Fleur had been taken from him and
that  he was never to see her again, he could not possibly  have
endured  those dreary hours of enforced idleness while the  Duke
battled  with Castelnau. He would have been forced to  interrupt
them or at least leave his post to watch their proceedings,  for
his inactivity would have become unbearable.
  In  the  richly  furnished salon, Rex and the  Duke  continued
their long-sustained effort without a second's intermission. The
clock struck two, and as Rex stood behind the Frenchman's chair,
shifting his weight from foot to foot now and then, he seemed at
times to drop off into a sort of half-sleep where he stood.
  At  last,  a  little  after two, he  was  roused  to  a  fresh
attention  by  a sudden sob breaking from the dry  lips  of  the
banker.
  'I  will not let you, I will not,' he cried hysterically,  and
then  began  to struggle violently with the curtain  cords  that
tied him to the chair.
  'You  will,'  De Richleau told him firmly, the pupils  of  his
grey eyes now distended and gleaming with an unnatural light.
  Castelnau suddenly ceased to struggle; a cold sweat broke  out
on  his bony forehead, and his head sagged on his neck, but  Rex
held  it firmly and continued to press back his eyelids so  that
it was impossible for him to escape the Duke's relentless stare.
  He began to sob then, like a child who is being beaten, and at
last  De Richleau knew that he had broken the Frenchman's  will.
In  another ten minutes Rex was able to remove his fingers  from
the  banker's  eyelids for he no longer had the power  to  close
them,  but  sat  there gazing at De Richleau  with  an  imbecile
glare.
  In  a low voice the Duke began to question him and, after  one
last  feeble effort at resistance, it all came out. The  meeting
place was in a cellar below a deserted warehouse on the banks of
the Seme at Ashieres. They secured full directions as to the way
to reach it and how to get into it when they arrived.
  As  Castelnau answered the last question, De Richleau  glanced
at the clock. Three and a quarter hours,' he said with a sigh of
weariness.  'Still, it might well have taken longer  in  a  case
like this.'
  'What'll  we do with him?' Rex motioned towards the  Frenchman
who,  with  his head fallen forward on his chest, was now  sound
asleep.
  'Leave  him  there,' answered the Duke abruptly. The  servants
will find him in the morning, and he's so exhausted that he will
sleep until then. But stuff your handkerchief in his mouth  just
in  case  he  wakes  and tries to make any trouble  for  us.  Be
quick!'
  Castelnau did not even blink an eyelid as Rex gagged him. They
left him there and hurried out to the others.
  'Come on!' cried the Duke.
  'What about Mocata?' Richard asked. 'If we leave here we
  may  miss him.' 'We must chance that.' De Richleau pulled open
the door and
  made for the stairs.
  As  they  dashed  down  the long flights  he  flung  over  his
shoulder:  Tanith may have been wrong. Messages from the  astral
plane  are  often unreliable about time. As it  does  not  exist
there, they have difficulty in judging it. She may have seen him
here  a week hence or in the past even. It's so late now that  I
doubt  if  he  will  turn  up tonight. Anyhow,  we  got  out  of
Castelnau  the place where he's most likely to be-and God  knows
what  he may be doing if he is there. We've got to hurry!'  They
fled after him out of the silent building.
  Round  the corner they managed to pick up a taxi and,  at  the
promise of a big tip, the man got every ounce out of his  engine
as  he whirled the four harassed-looking people away through the
murky  streets up towards the Boulevard de Clichy.  Topping  the
hill,  they descended again towards the Seine, crossed the river
and entered Asnieres.
  In  that  outlying  slum of Paris with its  wharves  and  ware
houses,  narrow, sordid-looking streets and dimly-lit  passages,
there was little movement at that hour of the morning. They paid
off  the  taxi outside a closed cafe which faced upon  a  dirty-
looking  square.  A market wagon rumbled past  with  its  driver
huddled  on the seat above the horses, his cape drawn  close  to
protect  him  from  the damp mist rising  from  the  river.  The
bedraggled  figure of a woman was huddled upon the  steps  of  a
shop  with  Tabac' in faded blue letters above it, but otherwise
there was no sign of life.
  Turning  up  the  collars of their coats and shivering  afresh
from  the  damp  chill of the drifting fog,  they  followed  the
Duke's  lead along an evil-looking street of tumbledown dwelling
houses.  Then,  between two high walls, along a  narrow  passage
where  the  rays  of a solitary lamp, struggling  through  grimy
glass, were barely sufficient to dispel a small circle of  gloom
in  its own area. When they had passed it the rest was darkness,
foul  smells, greasy mud squishing from beneath their feet,  and
wisps of mist curling cold about their faces.
  At  the  end of that long dark alley-way they came out upon  a
deserted  wharf. De Richleau turned to the left and  the  others
followed.  To  one side of them the steep face of a  tall  brick
building,  from which chains and pulleys hung in slack festoons,
towered up into the darkness. On the other, a few feet away, the
river surged, oily, turgid, yellow and horrible as it hurried to
the sea.
  As  if  in  a  fresh phase of their nightmare,  they  stumbled
forward  over  planks,  hawsers and  pieces  of  old  iron,  the
neglected debris of the riverside, until fifty yards farther  on
De Richleau halted.
  'This  is  it,'  he announced, fumbling with a rusty  padlock.
'Castelnau  hadn't  got a key and so we'll have  to  break  this
thing. Hunt around, and see if you can find a piece of iron that
we  can  use as a jemmy. The longer the better. It will give  us
more purchase.'
  They  rummaged round in the semi-darkness, broken  only  by  a
riverside  light  some distance away along  the  wharf  and  the
masthead  lanterns  of a few long barges  anchored  out  on  the
swiftly flowing waters.
  This  do?'  Richard  pulled a rusty lever from  a  winch  and,
grabbing  it from him, the Duke thrust the narrow end  into  the
hoop of the padlock.
  'Now  then,'  he  said, as he gripped the  cold,  moist  iron,
'steady  pressure  isn't any good. It needs a violent  jerk,  so
when  I  say  "go!"  we must all throw our  weight  on  the  bar
together. Ready? Go!'
  They heaved downwards. There was a sudden snap. The tongue  of
the  padlock  had  been wrenched out of the  lock.  De  Richleau
removed  it  from the chain and in another moment they  had  the
tall wooden door open.
  Once  inside, De Richleau struck a match, and while he  shaded
it with his hands the others looked about them. From what little
they  could  see,  the place appeared to be  empty.  They  moved
quickly  forward,  striking more matches as they  went,  in  the
direction where Castelnau had told them they would find a  trap-
door leading to the cellars.
  In  a  far  corner they halted. 'Stand back all of you.'  whis
pered  Rex, and while the Duke held up a light he pulled at  the
second in a row of upright iron girders, apparently built in  to
strengthen the wall. As Castelnau had said in his trance, it was
a  secret lever to operate the trap. The girder came forward and
a  large  square  of flooring lifted noiselessly  on  well-oiled
hinges.
  De  Richleau  blew  out  his  match  and  produced  the  small
automatic which he had taken from the banker. 'I will go first,'
he  said, 'and you, Rex, follow me. Richard, you have the  other
gun  so  you had better come last. You can look after Marie  Lou
and  protect our rear. No noise now, because if we're lucky  our
man is here.'
  Feeling  about with his foot he ascertained that a  flight  of
stairs  led  downwards. His shoes made  no  noise,  and  it  was
evident .that they were covered with a thick carpet. Swiftly but
cautiously  he  began to descend the flight and the  others  fol
lowed him down into the pitchy darkness.
  At  the  bottom of the stairs they groped their  way  along  a
tunnel  until  the  Duke  was brought up  sharply  by  a  wooden
partition at which it seemed to end. He fumbled for the  handle,
thinking  that  it  was a door. The sides  were  as  smooth  and
polished as the centre, yet it moved gently under his touch, and
after  a  moment  he found it to be a sliding  panel.  With  the
faintest click of ball bearings it slid back on its runners.
  Straining their eyes they peered into the great apartment upon
which  it opened. A hundred feet long at least and thirty  wide,
it stretched out before them. Two lines of thick pillars, acting
as  supporters to the roof above, and rows of chairs divided  in
the centre by an aisle which led up to a distant altar, gave  it
the  appearance  of  a big private chapel. It  was  lit  by  one
solitary  lamp which hung suspended before the altar,  and  that
distant  beacon did not penetrate to the shadows in  which  they
stood.
  On  tiptoe  and  with their weapons ready they  moved  forward
along  the  wail. De Richleau peered from side  to  side  as  he
advanced, his pistol levelled. Rex crept along beside  him,  the
iron  winch  lever  which they had used  to  smash  the  padlock
gripped tight in his big fist. At any moment they expected their
presence to be discovered.
  As  they  crept nearer to the hanging lamp, they saw that  the
place had been furnished with the utmost luxury and elegance for
those  unholy  meetings.  It was, indeed,  a  superbly  equipped
temple for the worship of the Devil. Above the altar a great and
horrible  representation of the Goat of Mendes,  worked  in  the
loveliest coloured silks, leered down at them; its eyes were two
red  stones which had been inset in the tapestry. They flickered
with dull malevolence in the dim light of the solitary lamp.
  On  the  side  walls were pictures of men,  women  and  beasts
practising obscenities only possible of conception in the  brain
of  a rnad artist. Below the enormous central figure, which  had
hideous,  distorted,  human faces protruding  from  its  elbows,
knees  and  belly,  was a great altar of glistening  red  stone,
worked  and  inlaid with other coloured metals  in  the  Italian
fashion. Upon it reposed the ancient 'devil's bibles' containing
all liturgies of hell; broken crucifixes and desecrated chalices
stolen  from churches and profaned here at the meetings  of  the
Satanists.
  Luxurious  armchairs upholstered in red velvet and  gold  with
eleborate canopies of Jace above, such as High Prelates  use  in
cathedrals  when assisting at important ceremonies, flanked  the
altar on either side. Below the steps to the short chancel, on a
level  with  where they stood, were arranged rows  and  rows  of
cushioned prie-dieux for the accommodation of the worshippers.
  No  sound  or  movement disturbed the stillness of  the  heavy
incense  laden air and with a sinking of the heart  De  Richleau
knew  that they had lost their man. He had gambled blindly  upon
Tanith's  message and she had proved wrong as  to  time.  Mocata
might  not be in Paris for days to come; perhaps he had  divined
their  journey  and, knowing that he would be  unmolested  while
they were abroad, returned to Simon's house where, even now,  he
might  be  foully murdering poor little Fleur.  It  seemed  that
their last hope had gone.
  Then  as they stepped from the side aisle they suddenly saw  a
thing  that  had  been hidden from them by  the  rows  of  chair
backs-a  body,  clad  in  a long white robe  with  mystic  signs
embroidered  on  it  in  black and red, lay  spreadeagled,  face
downwards on the floor, at the bottom of the chancel steps,
  'It's Simon!' breathed the Duke.
  'Oh,  hell,  they've killed him!' Rex ran  forward  and  knelt
beside  the body of their friend. They turned him over and  felt
his  heart.  It  was beating slowly but rhythmically.  The  Duke
pulled  out  of  his waistcoat pocket a little  bottle,  without
which  he never travelled, and held it beneath Simon's nose.  He
shuddered suddenly and his eyes opened, staring up at them.
  'Simon, darling, Simon. It's us-we're here.' Marie Lou grasped
his limp hands between her own.
  He  shuddered  again  and struggled into a  sitting  position.
'What-what's happened?' he murmured, but his voice was normal.
  'You  left  us, you dear, pig-headed ass!' exclaimed  Richard.
'Gave  yourself up and ruined our whole plan of campaign. What's
happened to you! That's what we want to know.'
  'Well,  I met him.' Simon gave the ghost of a smile.  'And  he
took  me to Paris in his plane. Then to some place down  on  the
riverside.' He gazed round and added quickly: 'But this  is  it.
How did you get here?'
  'Never  mind  that,'  De Richleau urged him.  'Have  you  seen
Fleur?'
  'Yes.  He sent a car for me, and when I reached the plane  she
was already in it. We had an argument and he swore he'd keep his
word unless I went through with this.'
  The ritual to Saturn?' asked De Richleau.
  'Um.  He  said that if I'd do it without making any fuss  he'd
let me take Fleur out of here immediately afterwards and back to
England.'
  'He's  double-crossed  you,  as we  thought  he.  would,'  Rex
grunted. 'There's not a soul in this place. He's quit, and taken
Fleur  with  him. Can't you say where he'll be  likely  to  make
for?'
  'Ner.'  Simon  shook his head. 'Directly  we  started  on  the
ritual  he put me under. I let him, but of course he would  have
done  that anyway. The last I saw of Fleur' she was sound asleep
in  that armchair and the next thing I knew you were all staring
down at me just now.'
  'If  you  completed  the ritual, Mocata knows  now  where  the
Talisman is,' De Richleau said abruptly.
  'Yes,' Simon nodded.
  'Then he will have gone to wherever it is-from here.'
  'Of  course,'  Richard cut in. 'That's his main objective.  He
wouldn't lose a second.'
  Then Simon must know the place to which he's gone.'
  'How's  that? I don't quite get you.' Rex looked at  the  Duke
with a puzzled frown.
  'In  his subconscious, I mean. Our only hope now is for me  to
put  Simon  under again and make him repeat every word  that  he
said when the ritual was performed. That will give us the hiding-
place of the Talisman and the place to which I'll stake my  life
Mocata is heading at the present moment. Are you game, Simon?'
  'Yes, of course. You know that I would do anything to help.'
  'Right.'  The Duke took him by the arm and pushed him  gently.
'Sit  down in that chair to the right of the altar and we'll  go
ahead.'
  Simon  settled  himself  and leaned back  on  the  comfortable
cushions, his white robe with its esoteric designs in black  and
red settling about his feet like the long skirts of a woman.  De
Richleau made a few swift passes. 'Sleep, Simon,' he commanded.
  Simon's  eyelids trembled and closed. After a moment he  began
to  breathe deeply and regularly. The Duke went on: 'You are  in
this temple with Mocata. The ritual to Saturn is about to begin.
Repeat the words that he made you speak then.'
  Dreamily but easily, Simon spoke the words of power which were
utterly meaningless to Richard, -Rex and Marie Lou, who stood, a
tensely anxious audience, at the bottom of the chancel steps.
  'On,'  commanded  De Richleau. 'Jump a quarter  of  an  hour.'
Simon  spoke  again,  more  sentences  incomprehensible  to  the
uninitiate.
  'On again,' commanded De Richleau. 'Another quarter of an hour
has passed.'
  '--was  built above the place where the Talisman  is  buried,'
said  Simon.  'It will be found in the earth beneath  the  right
hand stone of the altar.'
  'Go  back  one minute,' ordered De Richleau, and  Simon  spoke
once more.
  '--Attila's death the Greek secreted it and took it to his own
country.  In  the  city of Yanina, upon his  return,  he  became
possessed of devils and was handed over to the brethren  at  the
monastery  above  Metsovo, which stands in the mountains  twenty
miles  east  of  the city. They failed to cast out  the  spirits
which inhabited his body and so imprisoned him in an underground
cell  and  there, before he died, he buried the Talisman.  Seven
years later the dungeons were demolished and the crypt built  in
their  place on the same site, with the great church  above  it.
The  Talisman remained undisturbed in its original hiding place.
Its  power  gradually  pervaded the whole  of  the  Brotherhood,
filling it with lechery and greed, so that it disintegrated  and
was  finally  disbanded before the invasion by the  Turks-.  The
chapel to the left in the crypt was built above the place  where
the Talisman is buried.'
  'Stop,' ordered the Duke. 'Awake now.'
  'By  Jove,  we've got it!' exclaimed Rex. But as  he  spoke  a
slight noise behind them made him swing upon his heel.
  Four  figures stood there in the shadows. The tallest suddenly
stepped forward.
  Richard's  hand  leapt to his gun but the  tall  man  snapped:
'Stand still, man vieux, I have you covered,' and they saw  that
he held an automatic.
  The   other  two  strangers  came  forward.  The  fourth   was
Castelnau.
  The  leader of the party turned to a little old man, who stood
beside  him  wearing an out-of-date bowler hat that came  almost
down to his ears, then nodded towards the Duke.
  'Is that De Richleau, Verrier? You should be able to recognise
him, since he was in your time.'
  'Oui  monsieur,'  declared the little old man.  'That  is  the
famous  Royalist who caused us so much trouble when I was young.
I would know his face again anywhere.'
  'Son!  All this is very interesting.' The tall, hard-eyed  man
glanced  from  the  obscene pictures on the  walls  to  the  mag
nificent  appurtenances of Satanic worship upon the  altar,  and
went  on in a silky tone: 'I have had an idea for some time that
a  secret society has been practising devil worship in Paris and
is responsible for certain disappearances, but I could never lay
my hands on them before. Now I have got five of you red-handed.'
  He  paused for a moment then gave a jerky little bow.  'Madame
et  Messieurs, permit me to introduce myself. I am le Chef de la
Surete, Daudet. Monsieur le Due, I arrest you as an enemy of the
Government  upon the old charge. The rest of you  I  shall  hold
with  him, as persons suspected of kidnapping and the murder  of
young children at the practice of infamous rites.'


                               32

                     The Gateway of the Pit

  For  ten  seconds the friends stood there staring  at  the  de
tective.  Castelnau's presence gave them the key to this  grotes
que  but  highly dangerous situation. Mocata must have left  the
warehouse  at  almost the same time they had left  the  banker's
apartment. Perhaps their taxis had even passed within a few feet
of  each other, racing in opposite directions. Tanith had proved
right after all when she had told them that she could see Mocata
talking with Castelnau that night in his flat.
  Mocata  had found the banker there, released and revived  him,
and then listened to his story; realising at once that, since it
was  possible for De Richleau to hypnotise Castelnau against his
will,  it  would be easy for him to do the same to Simon,  learn
the hiding place of the Talisman, and follow him to it.
  Now  that they had discovered the secret Satanic temple  which
was his headquarters in Paris, the place would be useless to him
and  only  a  source of danger. Unmentionable  crimes  had  been
committed there, and it would be far too great a risk  for  him,
ever  to visit it again. Then the brilliant decision that, since
the  place  had  to be abandoned, he could at least  use  it  to
destroy his enemies.
  The  whole thing flashed through De Richleau's brain in  those
few  seconds. Mocata's first idea that, if only he could get the
police  to  the  warehouse before they left it,  he  would  have
involved them in all the crimes associated with such a place and
thrown  them  off his trail for good. Next, the vital  question,
how  to get the police there in time. Would they act at once  if
Castelnau were sent to tell them a tale about Satanic orgies  or
only  laugh  at him? What practical crime could his  enemies  be
charged  with? Then the perfect inspiration. If the  authorities
were  told that De Richleau, the Royalist exile, was a party  to
the business they would not lose a second, but seize on it as  a
heaven-sent opportunity to throw discredit upon their  political
opponents.  What a magnificent scandal for the Government  Press
to    handle.   'Secret   Royalist   Society   practises   Black
Art'-'Satanic  Temple  raided  at  Asnieres'-  'Notorious  exile
arrested while performing Blasphemous Rites.' The Duke could see
the scurrilous headlines and hear the newsboy's cry.
  And the trick had worked. They had actually been discovered in
that  house  of  hell with Simon in the tell-tale robes,  seated
before  the  altar, while he performed what must certainly  have
appeared to the police as some evil ceremony and the other three
had stood there, forming a small congregation.
  How could they possibly hope to persuade the tall, suspicious-
eyed  Monsier  le  Chef de la Surete Daudet of their  innocence,
much  less get him to agree to their immediate release? Yet,  as
they  stood there, Mocata was on his way to the place  where  he
kept  his special plane, if not already aboard it. Night  flying
would  have  no terrors for him who, if he wished, could  invoke
the elements to his aid. Fleur would be with him and he meant to
murder  her  as certainly as they stood there. His determination
to  secure the return of Tanith made the sacrifice of a baptised
child imperative, and before another twenty-four hours had  gone
he  would be in possession of the Talisman of Set, bringing upon
the   world  God  alone  knew  what  horrors  of  war,   famine,
disablement and death.
  De  Richleau knew that there was only one thing for it-even if
he  was shot down there and then-he sprang like a panther at the
Chef de la Surete's throat.
  The  detective  fired from his hip. Flame  stabbed  the  semi-
darkness  of  the vault. The crash hit their eardrums  like  the
explosion of a slab of gelignite. The bullet seared through  the
Duke's  left arm, but his attack hurled the Police-Chief to  the
ground.
  Simon  and Marie Lou flung themselves simultaneously upon  the
old detective Verrier. The thoughts which had passed through  De
Richleau's  mind  in  those breathless seconds  had  also  raced
through hers. If they submitted to arrest their last hope  would
be gone of saving her beloved Fleur.
  Richard  had  no  chance to pull his gun. The  third  man  had
grabbed him round the body but Rex rapped the policeman  on  the
back  of the head with his iron bar. The man grunted and toppled
on the the chancel steps.
  Rex  leapt  over the body straight for Castelnau. Quick  as  a
flash,  the  banker turned and ran, his long legs flicking  past
each  other  as he bounded down the empty aisle, but Rex's  legs
were even longer. He caught the Satanist at the entrance of  the
passage and grabbed him by the back of the neck. Castelnau  tore
himself away and stood panting for a second, half crouching with
bared teeth, his back against the wall. Then for the second time
that night Rex's leg-of-mutton fist took him on the chin and  he
slid to the ground like a pole-axed ox.
  De Richleau, his wounded arm hanging limp and useless, writhed
beneath the Chef de la Surete who had one hand on his throat and
with the other was groping for his fallen gun.
  His  fingers  closed upon it. He jerked it  up  and  fired  at
Richard,  who was dashing to De Richleau's help. The  shot  went
thudding  into  the belly of the Satanic Goat above  the  altar.
Next  second  the heavy prie-dieu which Richard had swung  aloft
came crashing down upon the Police-Chief's head.
  Rex  only paused to see that the banker was completely knocked
out, then rushed back to the struggling mass of bodies below the
altar steps.
  Simon  and Marie Lou had managed the little man between  them.
Almost insane with worry for her child, her thumb nails were dug
into  his  neck  and, while he screeched with  pain,  Simon  was
lashing his hands behind his back.
  Richard  was pulling the Duke out from beneath the unconscious
Chef  de  la  Surete's  body. Rex lent a ready  hand  and  then,
panting  with their exertions, they surveyed the scene of  their
short but desperate encounter.
  'Holy smoke! That's done me a whole heap of good,' Rex grinned
at Richard. 'I'm almost feeling like my normal self again.'
  'The  odds  were  with us but we owe our escape  to  Greyeyes'
pluck.'  Richard  looked swiftly at the Duke.  'Let's  see  that
wound,  old  chap.  I hope to God the bullet  didn't  smash  the
bone.'
  'I  don't  think  so-grazed it though, and the muscle's  badly
torn.'  De  Richleau closed his eyes and his face twisted  at  a
stab of pain as they lifted his arm to cut the coat sleeve away.
  'I  know  what  you  must be feeling,' Simon sympathised.  Til
never  forget  the  pain of the wound I got that  night  we  dis
covered the secret of the Forbidden Territory.'
  'Don't fuss round me,' muttered the Duke, 'but get that damned
priest's  robe off. If these people don't return to  the  Surete
more police will come to look for them. We've got to get out  of
here-quick.'
  In  frantic  haste Marie Lou bandaged the wound while  Richard
made  a sling and the other two wrenched off the clothes of  the
detective  that Rex had knocked out. Simon scrambled  into  them
and,  as  he  snatched up the man's overcoat,  the  others  were
already hurrying towards the entrance to the passage at the  far
end'of the temple.
  Richard  rushed  Marie Lou along the dark  corridor  and  they
tumbled up the flight of steps. Everything seemed to fade  again
after those awful moments when they had been so near arrest. She
felt  the  cold air of the wharf-side damp upon her  cheeks-they
were  running  down the narrow passage between  the  high  brick
walls-back  in the gloomy square where the old woman  still  sat
crouched upon the steps near the squalid cafe. Rex had taken her
other  arm  and,  her feet treading the pavements automatically,
they  were hastening through endless, sordid, fog-bound streets.
They  crossed the bridge over the Seine and, at last, under  the
railway  arches at Courcel-les, found a taxi. When next she  was
conscious of her surroundings they were in a little room at  the
airport and the four men were poring over maps. Snatches of  the
conversation came to her vaguely.
  Twelve  hundred miles-more. Northern Greece. You cannot  cross
the  Alps-make  for Vienna, then south to Trieste-  no,  Vienna-
Agram-Fiume. From Agram we can fly down the valley of the  River
Save;  otherwise  we should have to cross the Dolomites.  That's
right!  Then  follow  the coastline of  the  Adriatic  for  five
hundred  miles south-east to Corfu. Yanina is about fifty  miles
inland  from  there.  You can follow the  course  of  the  river
Kalamans  through  the mountains-Shall we be  able  to  land  at
Yanina, though-yes, look, the map shows that it's on a big lake.
The  circuit  of the shore must be fifteen miles  at  least.  It
can't all be precipitous-certain to be sandy stretches along  it
somewhere-how  far do you make it to Metsovo from  there?-twenty
miles  as the crow flies. That means thirty at least in  such  a
mountainous  district. The monastery is a few miles  beyond,  on
Mount Peristeri-pretty useful mountain-look. The map gives it as
seven  thousand five hundred feet-we must abandon the  plane  at
Yanina.  If  we're lucky we'll get a car as far  as  Metsova-God
knows  what the roads will be like-after that we'll have to  use
horses  in  any case. How soon do you reckon you  can  make  it,
Richard?'
  'Fourteen  hundred  miles. We should be in Vienna  by  midday.
Fiume,  say,  half-past two. I ought to  make  Vanina  by  eight
o'clock  with Rex taking turn and turn about flying  the  plane.
After that it depends on what fresh transport we can get.'
  Next,  they  were in the plane again-lifting out of  fog-bound
Paris to a marvellous dawn, which gilded the edges of the clouds
and streaked the sky with rose and purple and lemon.
  Richard  was flying the plane in a kind of trance,  yet  never
for a moment losing sight of important landmarks or the dials by
which he adjusted his controls. The others slept.
  When  Marie Lou roused, the plane was at rest near a long line
of  hangars dimly glimpsed through another ghostly fog.  Someone
said  'Stuttgart' and then she saw Simon standing on the  ground
below her, conversing in German with an airport official.
  'A  big,  grey,  private plane,' he was saying urgently.  'The
pilot  is  a  short, square-shouldered fellow; the passengers  a
big, fat, baldheaded man and a little girl.'
  Marie  Lou  leaned forward eagerly but she did not  catch  the
airport man's reply. A moment later Simon was climbing into  the
plane and saying to the Duke:
  'He must be taking the same route, but he's an hour and a half
ahead  of  us. I expect he had his own car in Paris. That  would
have  saved  him  time while we were hunting for  that  wretched
taxi.'
  Rex  had taken over the controls and they were in the air once
more.  Richard was sitting next to Marie Lou, sound asleep.  For
an  endless time they seemed to soar through a cloudless sky  of
pale,  translucent blue. She, too, must have dropped off  again,
for sl.e was not conscious of their landing at Vienna, only when
she woke in the early afternoon that the pilots had changed over
and Richard was back at the controls.
  'Yet, in some curious way, although she had not actually  been
aware  of  their  landing, fragments of their conversation  must
have  penetrated her sleep at the time. She knew that there  had
also  been  fog at Vienna, and that Mocata had left the  airport
there  only  an hour before them, so in the journey  from  Paris
they had managed to gain half an hour on him.
  The  engine  droned  on, its deep note soothing  their  frayed
nerves. Richard hardly knew that he was flying, although he used
all  the  skill at his command. It seemed as though  some  other
force  was  driving the aeroplane on and that  he  was  standing
outside it as a spectator. All his faculties were numbed and his
anxiety  for  Fleur deadened by an intense absorption  with  the
question of speed-speed-speed.
  At  Fiume  there was no trace of fog. Glorious sunshine,  warm
and  lifegiving,  flooded  the  aerodrome,  making  the  hangars
shimmer in the distance. The Duke crawled out from the couch  of
rugs and cushions that had been made up in the back of the cabin
to  accommodate  a fifth passenger, and chosen by  him  as  more
comfortable  for  his  wounded arm. He questioned  the  landing-
ground officials in fluent Italian, but without success.
  'From  Vienna Mocata must have taken another route,'  he  told
Richard  as  he  climbed back. 'Perhaps a  short  cut  over  the
Dinarie Alps or by way of Sarajevo. If so he will have more than
made  up his half hour lead again. I feared as much when  I  saw
that  there was no fog here. I can't explain it but  I  have  an
idea  that he is able to surround us with it, yet only  when  we
follow him to places where he has been quite recently himself.'
  Rex  took over for the long lap down the Dalmatian coast above
the  countless islands that fringe the Yugoslavian mainland  and
lay beneath them in the sparkling Adriatic Sea.
  They  slept again, all except Rex who, a crack pilot, was  now
handling the machine with superb skill.
  As  he  flew  the plane half his thoughts were  centred  about
Tanith.  He  could see her there, lying cold and  dead,  in  the
library a thousand miles away at Cardinals Folly. That dream  of
happiness had been so brief. Never again would he see the sudden
smile  break  out  like sunshine rising over mountains  on  that
beautiful,  calm  face. Never again hear  the  husky,  melodious
voice  whispering terms of endearment. Never again -never again!
But he was on the trail of her murderer and if he died for it he
meant to make that inhuman monster pay.
  The  Adriatic  merged Into the Ionian Sea. The endless  rugged
coastline  rushed past below them on their left;  its  mountains
rising  steeply  to  the  interior of  Albania,  and  its  vales
breaking them here and there to run down to little white fishing
villages on the seashore. Villages that in Roman times had  been
great centres of population through the constant passage of  mer
chandise, soldiers, scholars, travellers between Brindisi,  upon
the heel of Italy, and the Peninsula of Greece.
  Then they were over Corfu. Banking steeply, he headed for  the
mainland  and picked up the northern mouth of the River Kalamas.
The  deep  blue  of  the sea flecked by its  tiny  white  crests
vanished  behind  them. Twisting and turning,  the  plane  drove
upwards  above  desolate valleys where  the  river  trickled,  a
streak of silver in the evening light. The sun sank behind  them
into  the  distant sea. They were heading for the huge chain  of
mountains, which forms the backbone of Greece.
  A  mist was rising which obscured the long, empty patches  and
rare cultivated fields below. The Sight faded, its last rays lit
a great distant snow-capped crest which crowned the watershed.
  A  lake  lay below them, placid and calm in the evening  light
but glimpsed only through the banks of fog. At its south-western
end  the white buildings of a town were vaguely discernible  now
and  then  as Rex circled slowly, searching for a landing-place.
Suddenly, through a gap in the billowing whitish-grey,  his  eye
caught a big plane standing in a level field.
  'That's Mocata's machine,' yelled Simon who was in the cockpit
beside him.
  Rex  banked again and, coming into the wind, brought  them  to
earth  within fifty yards of it. The others roused and scrambled
out.
  The  mist which Rex had first perceived, a quarter of an  hour
before,  from his great altitude, now hemmed them  in  on  every
side.
  A  man  came forward from a low, solitary hangar as the  plane
landed.  De  Richleau saw him, a vague figure, half obscured  by
the  tenuous veils of mist; went over to him and said,  when  he
rejoined them:
  'That  fellow is a French mechanic. He tells me Mocata  landed
only  half an hour ago. He came in from Monastir but had trouble
in  the mountains, which delayed him; nobody but a maniac  or  a
superman would try and get through that way at all. This  fellow
thinks that he cah get us a car; he runs the airport, such as it
is, and we're darned lucky to find any facilities here at all.'
  Richard had just woken from a long sleep. Before he knew  what
was happening he found that they were all packed into an ancient
open Ford with a tattered hood. Simon was on one side of him and
Marie Lou on the other. Rex squatted on the floor of the car  at
their feet and De Richleau was in front beside the driver.
  They  could  not see more than twenty yards ahead.  The  lamps
made little impression upon the gloom before them. The road  was
a  sandy  track,  fringed at the sides  with  coarse  grass  and
boulders. No houses, cottages or white-walled gardens broke  the
monotony  of  the  way  as  they rattled  and  bumped,  mounting
continuously up long, curved gradients.
  De  Richleau peered ahead into the murk. Occasional rifts gave
him glimpses of the rocky mountains round which they climbed or,
upon the other side, a cliff edge falling sheer to a mist-filled
valley.
  He,  too, could only remember episodes from that wild journey;
an  unendurable  weariness had pressed upon him  once  they  had
boarded  the plane and left Paris. Even his powers of  endurance
had  failed at last and he had slept during the greater part  of
their fourteen hundred mile flight. He was still sleepy now  and
only  half  awake as that unknown demon driver, who had  hurried
them  with  few words into the rickety Ford, crouched  over  his
wheel  and  pressed  the car, rocketing  from  hairpin  bend  to
hairpin bend, onwards and upwards.
  The  last  light  had  been shut out by the  lower  ranges  of
mountains  behind  them  as they wound  their  way  through  the
valleys  to  the  greater peaks which, unseen in  the  mist  and
darkness, they knew lay towering to the skies towards the  east.
Deep  ruts in the track, where mountain torrents cut it  in  the
winter  cascading downwards to the lower levels,  made  the  way
hideously uneven. The car jolted and bounded, skidding violently
from  time to time, loose shale and pebbles rocketing  from  its
back tyres as it took the dangerous bends.
  In  the back Richard, Marie Lou and Simon lurched, swayed, and
bumped each other as they crouched in silent misery, their teeth
chattering with the cold of the chill night that was  now  about
them in those lofty regions...
  They  were in a room, a strange, low-ceilinged, eastern  room,
with a great, heavy, wooden door, under which they could see the
fog  wreathing upwards in the light of a solitary oil  lamp  set
upon  a rough-hewn table. Bunches of onions and strips of  dried
meat  hung from the low rafters. The earthen floor of the  place
was  cold  underfoot. On a deep window recess in  a  thick  wall
stood  a  crude earthenware jug, and a platter with  a  loaf  of
coarse bread upon it, which was covered by a bead-edged piece of
muslin.
  Marie Lou roused to find herself drinking coarse, red wine out
of a thick, glass tumbler. She saw Rex sitting on a wooden bench
against the wall, staring before him with unseeing eyes  at  the
grimy window. The others stood talking round the lopsided table.
A  peasant  woman, with a scarf about her head, whose  face  she
could  not see, appeared to be arguing with them. Marie Lou  had
an  idea that it was about money, since De Richleau held a small
pile  of notes in his hand. Then the peasant woman was gone  and
the  others were talking together again. She caught a few  words
here and there,
  'I  thought it was a ruin . . . inhabited still . . . they beg
us not to go there . . . not of an official order or anything to
do with the Greek Church. They look on them as heathens here . .
. associates of Mocata's?-- No, more like a community of outlaws
who  have  taken refuge there under the disguise of a  religious
brotherhood . . . Talisman has affected them, perhaps. Forty  or
fifty  of  them.  The people here shun the  place  even  in  the
daytime, and at night none of them would venture near it at  any
price.  .  . . You managed to get a driver?-- Yes, of  a  kind--
What's wrong with him?-- I don't know. The woman didn't seem  to
trust  him, but I had great difficulty in understanding  her  at
all--  Sort of bad man of the village, eh? . . . Have  to  trust
him if no one else will take us.'
  De  Richleau passed his hand across his eyes. What was it that
they had been talking about? He was so tired, so terribly tired.
There  had been a peasant woman, with whom he had talked of  the
ruined  monastery up in the mountains. She seemed to  be  filled
with  horror of the place and had implored him again  and  again
not  to go. He began to wonder how they had conversed. He  could
make  himself understood in most European languages, but he  had
very  little knowledge of modern Greek; but that did not  matter
they must get on- get on...
  The others were standing round him like a lot of ghosts in the
narrow,  fog-filled  village street.  A  little  hunchback  with
bright,  sharp eyes was peering at him. The fellow wore  a  dark
sombrero,  and  a  black  cloak, covering  his  malformed  body,
dangled to his feet; the light from the semi-circular window  of
the inn was just sufficient to illuminate his face. A great, old-
fashioned  carriage, with two lean, ill-matched horses harnessed
to it, stood waiting.
  They  piled  into  it.  The musty smell  of  the  straw-filled
cushions  came  strongly to their nostrils. The  hunchback  gave
them one curious, cunning look from his bright eyes, and climbed
upon  the box. The lumberiag vehicle began to rock from side  to
side.  The  one-storeyed,  flat-topped  houses  in  the  village
disappeared behind them and were swallowed up in the mist.
  They  forded  a swift but shallow river outside  the  village,
then  the  roadway  gave place to a stony track.  Ghostlike  and
silent,  walls  of  rock loomed up on either  side.  The  horses
ceased  trotting and fell into a steady, laboured walk,  hauling
the  great,  unwieldy barouche from bend to bend  up  the  rock-
strewn way into the fastness of the mountains.
  Simon's  teeth  were chattering. That damp, clinging  greyness
seemed  to enter into his very bones. He tried to remember  what
day  it  was and at what hour they had left Paris. Was  it  last
night or the night before or the night before that? He could not
remember and gave it up.
  The way seemed interminable. No one spoke. The carriage jolted
on,  the  hunchback  crouched upon his  seat,  the  lean  horses
pulling gallantly. The curve of the road ahead was always hidden
from  them and no sooner had they passed it than they lost sight
of the curve behind.
  At  last the carriage halted. The driver climbed down off  his
box  and pointed upwards, as they stumbled out on the track.  De
Richleau  was  thrusting money into his hand. He  and  his  aged
vehicle disappeared in the shadows. Richard looked back to catch
a  last glimpse of it and it suddenly struck him then how  queer
it was that the carriage had no lamps.
  The  rest were pressing on, stumbling and slithering  as  they
followed  the way which had now become no more than  a  footpath
leading upwards between the huge rocks.
  After a little, the gloom seemed to lighten and they perceived
stars  above  their  heads. Then, Founding a rugged  promontory,
they  saw  the age-old monastery standing out against the  night
sky upon the mountain slope above.
  It  was  huge and dark and silent, with steep walls rising  on
two sides from a precipice. A great dome, like an inverted bowl,
rose  in  its centre, but a portion of it had fallen in and  the
jagged edges showed plainly against the deep blue of the starlit
night beyond.
  With  renewed  courage they staggered on  up  the  steep  rise
toward  the great semi-circular arch of the entrance. The  gates
stood open wide, rotted and fallen from their hinges. No sign of
life  greeted  their  appearance  as  they  passed  through  the
spacious courtyard.
  Instinctively  they  made for the main  building  above  which
curved the broken arc of the ruined Byzantine dome. That must be
the Church, and the crypt would lie below it.
  They  crossed the broken pavements of the forecourt, the  Duke
leaning  heavily  on Rex's arm. He nodded towards  a  few  faint
lights  which came from a row of outbuildings. Rex followed  his
glance  in  silence and they hurried on. That was evidently  the
best-preserved  portion of the ruin, in  which  these  so-called
monks  resided. A gross laugh, followed by the sound of smashing
glass and then a hoarse voice cursing, came from that direction,
confirming their thought.
  All  the  way  up  from  the inn half-formed  fears  had  been
troubling  De  Richleau that they might fall foul of  this  ill-
omened  brotherhood.  He assumed them to  be  little  less  than
robbers under a thin disguise, who probably eked out a miserable
existence  by levying toll in corn and oil and goats' milk  upon
the  neighbouring peasantry, but this great pile upon the slopes
of  Mount Peristeri was so much more vast than anything that  he
had  imagined. A matter of fifty men might easily be lost  among
its rambling courts and buildings.
  They  advanced through another great courtyard, surrounded  by
ruined colonnades which were visible only by the faint starlight
from  above. Built by some early Christian saint, when Byzantium
was  still  an Empire and Western Europe labouring  through  the
semi-barbarous  night of the Dark Ages, the colossal  ruin  must
once  have housed thousands of earnest men, all engaged  day  by
day  in pious study, or various active tasks to provide for that
great  community.  Now it was as dead as those  African  temples
which have been overgrown by jungle, only a small fragment of it
occupied by a small band of dissolute uncultured rogues.
  In  wonder  and awe they passed up the broad flight of  steps,
through  the vast portico on which the elaborate carvings,  worn
and disfigured by time, were just discernible, into the body  of
the Church.
  The  starlight, filtering dimly through the great rent in  the
dome a hundred feet above their heads, was barely sufficient  to
light  their way as they scrambled over broken pillars and heaps
of  debris round the walls until they found a low door. From it,
a  flight  of steps led down into the Stygian blackness  of  the
volts below.
  Marie  Lou,  stumbling along half-bemused  between  Simon  and
Richard,  found herself wondering what they could  be  doing  in
this  ancient ruin, then memory flooded back. It was here, below
them, that the Talisman of Set was buried. There had been no fog
in  the  courtyard  outside so they must have got  there  before
Mocata  after all-but where was Fleur? She was going to  die-she
felt that she was dying-but first she must find Fleur.
  The  others  had  halted  and Richard  noticed  then  that  De
Richleau  was  carrying  an  old-fashioned  lantern,  which   he
supposed  he had borrowed at the inn. The Duke lit the stump  of
candle  that was inside it and led the way down those  time-worn
stairs.  The  others,  treading  instinctively  on  tiptoe,  now
followed him into the stale, musty darkness.
  At  the  bottom of the steps they came out into a low, vaulted
crypt which, by the faint light of the lantern, seemed to spread
interminably under the flagstones of the Church;
  De Richleau turned to the east, judging the altar of the crypt
to  be  situated below the one in the Church above, but when  he
had  traversed twenty yards he halted suddenly. A  black,  solid
mass blocked their path in the centre of the vault.
  'Of  course,' Marie Lou heard him murmur. 'I forgot that  this
place  was built such centuries ago. Altars were placed  in  the
centre of churches then. This must be it.'
  'We've beaten him to it, then,' Rex's voice came with a little
note of triumph.
  'Perhaps  he couldn't get anyone to drive him up from  Metsovo
at this hour of night,' Richard suggested. 'Our man was supposed
to  be  mad, or something, and they said that no one else  would
go.'
  'Those  stones are going to take some shifting.' Rex took  the
lantern and bent to examine the black slabs of the solid, oblong
altar,
  'Are  you certain that this is the right one?' Richard  asked.
'My  brain  seems to be going. I can't remember things  properly
any more but I thought when we got the information from Simon in
his trance he said something about a side-chapel in the crypt.'
  No  one answered. While his words were still ringing in  their
ears each one of them suddenly felt that he was being overlooked
from behind.
  Rex  dropped the lantern, De Richleau swung round,  Marie  Lou
gave  a  faint cry. A dull light had appeared only ten paces  in
their  rear.  Leading to it they saw a short  flight  of  steps.
Beyond, a chapel with a smaller altar, from which the right-hand
stone  had  been  wrenched. And there, standing before  it,  was
Mocata.
  With  a  bellow of fury, Rex started forward, but the Satanist
suddenly raised his left hand. In it he held a small black cigar-
shaped  thing, which was slightly curved. About it there  was  a
phosphorescent  glow,  so that, despite the  semi-darkness,  the
very  blackness  of the thing itself stood out clear  and  sharp
against  its surrounding aura of misty light. The rays  from  it
seemed  to  impinge upon then' bodies, instantly checking  their
advance.   They   found  themselves  transfixed-brought   to   a
standstill in a running group-half-way between the central altar
and the chapel steps.
  Without uttering a word, Mocata came down the steps and slowly
walked round them, carrying the thing which they now guessed  to
be the Talisman aloft in his left hand. A glowing phosphorescent
circle appeared on the damp stone flags in his tracks and, as he
completed the circuit, they felt their limbs relax.
  Again they rushed at him, but were brought up with a jerk.  It
was impossible to break out of that magic circle in which he had
confined them.
  With  slow  steps,  the Satanist returned to  the  chapel  and
proceeded to light a row of black candles upon the broken  altar
there.  Then, with a little gasp of unutterable fear, Marie  Lou
saw  that Fleur was crouching in a dark corner near the upturned
earth from which the Talisman had been recovered.
  'Fleur-darling!'  she cried imploringly,  stretching  out  her
arms,  but the child did not seem to hear. With round  eyes  she
knelt  there near the altar, staring out towards the crypt,  but
apparently seeing nothing.
  Mocata  lit some incense in a censer and swung it rhythmically
before the broken altar,murmuring strange invocations.
  He  moved so smoothly and silently that he might have  been  a
phantom but for the lisping intonation of his low musical voice.
Then  Fleur  began to cry, and the sobbing of the child  had  an
unmistakable  reality  which tore at the  very  fibre  of  their
hearts.
  Again and again they tried to break out of the circle, but  at
last,  forced  to give up their frantic attempts, they  crouched
together straining against the invisible barrier, watching  with
fear-distended eyes as a gradual materialisation began  to  form
in the clouds of incense above the altar stone.
  At  first  it seemed to be the face of Mocata's black familiar
that  Rex  had  seen  in  Simon's  house,  but  it  changed  and
lengthened. A pointed beard appeared on the chin and four  great
curved  horns  sprouted from the head. Soon it became  definite,
clear  and  solid. That monstrous, shaggy beast  that  had  held
court  on Salisbury Plain, the veritable Goat of Mendes,  glared
at  them  with  its  red, baleful, slanting  eyes,  and  belched
foetid, deathly breaths from its cavernous nostrils.
  Mocata raised the Talisman and set it upon the forehead of the
Beast,  laying  it lengthwise upon the flat, bald,  bony  skull,
where  it blazed like some magnificent jewel which had a strange
black centre. Then he stooped, seized the child and, tearing off
her  clothes,  flung her naked body full length upon  the  altar
beneath the raised fore-hooves of the Goat.
  Sick   with  apprehension  and  frantic  with  distress,   the
prisoners  in the circle heard the sorcerer begin to intone  the
terrible lines of the Black Mass.
  Horrified  but  powerless, they watched the  swinging  of  the
censer,  the  chanting  of  the  blasphemous  prayers,  and  the
blessing  of  the dagger by the Goat, knowing that  at  the  con
clusion of the awful ceremony, the perverted maniac playing  the
part  of the devil's priest would rip the child open from throat
to groin while offering her soul to Hell.
  Half  crazy with fear, they saw Mocata pick up the  knife  and
raise his arm above the little body, about to strike.


                               33

                     Death of a Man Unknown,
                       From Natural Causes

  Rex stood with the sweat pouring down his face. The muscles of
his arms jerked convulsively. His whole will was concentrated in
an  effort  to fling himself forward, up the steps; yet,  except
for  the tremors which ran through his body, the invisible power
held him motionless in its grip.
  De  Richleau prayed. Silent but inceasing, his soundless words
vibrated  on the ether. He knew the futility of any  attempt  at
physical  intervention,  and doubted now  if  his  supplications
could avail when pitted against such a terrible manifestation of
evil as the Goat of Mendes.
  Richard  crouched near him, his face white and bloodless,  his
eyes  staring. His arms were stretched out, as though to  snatch
Fleur  away  or  in an appeal for mercy, but he could  not  move
them.
  Marie  Lou had one hand resting on his shoulder. She was  past
fear  for  herself, past all thought of that terrible end  which
might  come  to them in a few moments, past even the  horror  of
losing  Richard  should they all be blotted out  in  some  awful
final darkness.
  She  did  not  pray or strive to dash towards her  child.  The
pulsing  of  her  heart seemed to be temporarily suspended.  Her
brain  was  working with that strange clarity which  only  comes
upon  those  rare occasions when danger appears to  be  so  over
whelming  that there is no possible escape. Into her mind  there
came  a  clear-cut picture of herself as she  had  been  in  her
dream,  holding what De Richleau said was the great Red Book  of
Appin. Her fingers could feel the very cover again with its soft
hairy skin.
  Simon  dropped to his knees between the Duke and Rex. He  made
an  effort to cast himself forward but rocked very slightly from
side  to side, stricken with an agony of misery and remorse.  It
was  his folly which had led his friends into this terrible pass
and  now  he did the only thing he could to make atonement.  His
brain no longer clouded, but with full knowledge of the enormity
of  the  thing,  he offered himself silently  to  the  Power  of
Darkness if Fleur might be spared.
  Mocata  paused for a moment, the knife still poised above  the
body  of  the  child,  to  turn and look  at  him.  The  thought
vibration had been so strong that he had caught it, but  he  had
already  drawn all that he needed out of Simon. Slowly his  pale
lips  crumpled in a cruel smile. He shook his head in  rejection
of the offer and raised the knife again.
  The Duke's hand jerked up in a frantic effort to stay the blow
by  the sign of the cross, but it was struck down to his side by
one  of the rays from the Talisman, just as though some powerful
physical force had hit it.
  Richard's  jaws opened as though about to shout but  no  sound
issued from them.
  With a supreme effort Rex lowered his head to charge, but  the
invisible  weight  of  twenty  men  seemed  to  force  back  his
shoulders.
  Before the mental eyes of Marie Lou the Red Book of Appin  lay
open.  Again  she  saw the stained vellum  page  and  the  faded
writing in strange characters upon it. And once more as  in  her
drearn  she  could understand the one sentence: 'They  only  who
Love  without  Desire shall have power granted to  them  in  the
Darkest Hour.'
  Then her lips opened. With no knowledge of its meaning, and  a
certainty  that  she  had  never seen it  written  or  heard  it
pronounced   before,  she  spoke  a  strange  word-having   five
syllables.
  The  effect  was  instantaneous. The whole chamber  rocked  as
though  shaken  by an earthquake. The walls receded,  the  floor
began to spin. The crypt gyrated with such terrifying speed that
the  occupants of the circle clutched frantically at each  other
to  save  themselves from falling. The altar candles swayed  and
danced  before  their distended eyes. The Talisman  of  Set  was
swept from between the horns of the monstrous Goat, and bouncing
down the steps of the chapel, came to rest on the stone flags at
De Richleau's feet.
  Mocata  staggered back. The Goat reared up on  its  hind  legs
above him. A terrible neighing sound came from its nostrils  and
the  slanting  eyes  swivelled in their sockets;  their  baleful
light  flashing round the chamber. The Beast seemed to grow  and
expand  until  it was towering above them all as they  crouched,
petrified with fear. The stench of its foetid breath poured from
between  the  bared teeth until they were retching with  nausea.
Mocata's  knife clattered upon the stones as he raised his  arms
in  frantic terror to defend himself. The awful thing  which  he
had  called up out of the Pit gave a final screaming  neigh  and
struck  with  one of its great fore-hooves. He was  thrown  with
frightful  force  to  the  floor, where  he  lay  sprawled  head
downmost on the chapel steps.
  There  was  a  thunderous  crash as though  the  heavens  were
opening.  The crypt ceased to rock and spin. The Satanic  figure
dissolved in upon itself. For a fraction of time the watchers in
the  circle saw the black human face of the Malagasy,  distorted
with pain and rage, where that of the Goat had been before. Then
that too disappeared behind a veil of curling smoke.
  The  black  candles on the altar flickered and went  out.  The
chamber  remained lit only by the phosphorescent glow  from  the
Talisman. De Richleau had snatched it from the floor and held it
in  his open hand. By its faint light they saw Fleur sit up. She
gave  a  little wail and slid from the low altar  stone  to  the
ground;  then she stood gaping towards her mother, yet her  eyes
were  round  and sightless like those of one who  walks  in  her
sleep.
  Suddenly an utter silence beyond human understanding descended
like  a cloak and closed in from the shadows that were all about
them.
  Almost imperceptibly a faint unearthly music, coming from some
immense  distance, reached their ears. At first it sounded  like
the  splashing  of  spring  water  in  a  rock-bound  cave,  but
gradually  it  grew in volume, and swelled into a strange  chant
rendered  by boys' voices of unimaginable purity. All  fear  had
gone  from  them as, one by one, they fell upon their knees  and
listened  entranced to the wonder and the beauty of that  litany
of praise. Yet all their eyes were riveted on Fleur.
  The  child  walked very slowly forward but, as  she  advanced,
some extraordinary change was taking place about her. The little
body,  naked  a moment before, became clothed in a golden  mist.
Her  shoulders  broadened and she grew in height.  Her  features
became partially obscured, then they lost their infant roundness
and took on the bony structure of an adult. The diaphanous cloud
of  light  gradually materialised into the graceful folds  of  a
long,   yellow,  silken  robe.  The  dark  curls  on  the   head
disappeared leaving a high, beautifully proportioned skull.
  As  the  chant  ceased on a great note of exultation  all  sem
blance to the child had vanished. In her place a full-grown  man
stood  before  them. From his dress he had the appearance  of  a
Thibetan  Lama,  but  his esthetic face was  as  much  Aryan  as
Mongolian, blending the highest characteristics of the two;  and
just as it seemed that he had passed the barriers of race, so he
also appeared to have cast off the shackles of worldly time. His
countenance  showed all the health and vigour of a  man  in  the
great  years when he has come to full physical development,  and
yet  it  had the added beauty which is only seen in  that  of  a
frail, scholarly divine who has devoted a whole lifetime to  the
search for wisdom. The grave eyes which were bent upon them held
Strength,  Knowledge,  and  Power,  together  with  an  infinite
tenderness and angelic compassion unknown to mortal man.
  The apparition did not speak by word of mouth. Yet each one of
the  kneeling group heard the low, silver, bell-like voice  with
perfect clearness.
  'I  am a Lord of Light nearing perfection after many lives, It
is  wrong  that  you should draw me from my meditations  in  the
Hidden Valley-yet I pardon you because your need was great.  One
here  has imperilled the flame of Life by seeking to use  hidden
mysteries for an evil purpose; another also, who lies beyond the
waters,  has  been stricken in her earthly body  for  that  same
reason.  The  love you bear each other has been  a  barrier  and
protection,  yet would it have availed you nothing  had  it  not
been  for She who is the Mother. The Preserver barkens  ever  to
the  prayer which goes forth innocent of all self-desire and so,
for  a  moment,  I  am permitted to appear 'to you  through  the
medium  of  this  child  whose thoughts know  no  impurity.  The
Adversary has been driven back to the dark Halls of Shaitan  and
shall  trouble  you no more. Live out the days of your  allotted
span. Peace be upon you and about you. Sleep and Return.'
  For a moment it seemed that they had been ripped right out  of
the crypt and were looking down into it. The circle had become a
flaming  sun.  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 monastery. The great  ruin
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   circling   in    the    soundless
stratosphere-beings 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 Cardinals
Folly  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.
  He saw that Simon's eyes were free from that terrible maniacal
glare,  but  that  he  still lay bound  in  the  centre  of  the
pentacle.
  As  he bent forward and hastily began to untie Simon's turning
they  saw him. Tall-haggard-distraught-a dark fondling  her  and
murmuring. 'We're safe, darling-safe.'
  'She-she's  not dead-is she?' It was Rex's voice, and  turning
they  saw him. Tall-haggard-distraught-a dark silhouette against
the  early  morning light which filtered in through the  french-
windows-bearing Tanith's body in his arms.
  Marie  Lou  sprang up with a little wailing cry. With  Richard
behind her she raced across the room and through the door in the
wall which concealed the staircase to the nursery.
  The  Duke hurried over to Rex. Simon kicked his feet free  and
stood up, exclaiming: 'I"ve had a most extraordinary dream.'
  'About  all of us going to Paris?' asked De Richleau,  as  the
three  of them lowered Tanith's body to the floor, 'and then  on
to a ruined monastery in northern Greece?'
  'That's it-but how-did you know?'
  'Because I had the same myself-if it was a dream!'
  An  hysterical  laugh came from the stairway and  next  moment
Marie  Lou was beside them, great tears streaming down her face,
but Fleur clutched safely in her arms.
  The  child, freshly woken from her sleep, gazed at  them  with
wide,  blue  eyes,  and then she said: 'Fleur  wants  to  go  to
Simon.'
  The Duke was examining Tanith. Simon rose from beside him. His
eyes held all the love that surged in the great heart which beat
between his narrow shoulders. He covered his short-sighted  eyes
with  his  hands  for  a second then backed  away.  'No,  Fleur,
darling-I've been-I'm still ill you know.'
  'Nonsense-that's all over,' Richard cried quickly, 'go on- for
God's sake take her-Marie Lou's going to faint.'
  'Oh, Richard! Richard!' As Simon grabbed the child, Marie  Lou
swayed  towards her husband, and leaning on him drew her fingers
softly  down his face. 'I will be all right in a moment -but  it
was a dream-wasn't it?'
  'She's  alive!' exclaimed the Duke suddenly, his hand  pressed
below Tanith's heart. 'Quick, Rex-some brandy.'
  'Of course, dearest,' Richard was comforting Marie Lou. 'We've
never  been out of this room-look, except Rex, we are  still  in
pyjamas.'
  'Why,  yes-I  thought-- Oh, but look at this poor  girl!'  She
slipped from his arms and knelt beside Tanith.
  Rex  came  crashing  back  with a decanter  and  a  glass.  De
Richleau  snatched  the  brandy from  him.  Marie  Lou  piliowed
Tanith's head upon her knees and Richard held her chin.  Between
them they succeeded in getting a little of the spirit down  her
throat; a spasm crossed her face and then her eyes opened.
  'Thank God!' breathed Rex. 'Thank God.'
  She  smiled  and  whispered his name, as  the  natural  colour
flooded back into her face.
  'Never-never have I had such a terrible nightmare!'  exclaimed
Marie  Lou.  'We were in a crypt-and that awful man  was  there.
He...'
  'So you dreamed it too!' Simon interrupted. 'About you finding
me at that warehouse in Asnieres and the Paris police?'
  'That's  it,' said Richard. 'It's amazing that we  should  all
have dreamed the same thing but there's no other explanation for
it.  None  of  us  can possibly have left this  house  since  we
settled down in the pentacle-- Yes, last night!'
  'Then  I've certainly been dreaming too.' Rex lifted his  eyes
for  a moment from Tanith's face. 'It must have started with  me
when I fell asleep at the inn-or earlier, for I'd have sworn  De
Richleau  and  I were out all the night before careering  around
half of England to stop some devilry.'
  'We  were,'  said  the  Duke slowly. 'Tanith's  presence  here
proves  that,  but she was never dead except in our  dream,  and
that  started when you arrived here with her in your  arms.  The
Satanists at Simon's house, our visit there afterwards, and  the
Sabbat  were all facts. It was only last night, while our bodies
slept,  that our subconscious selves were drawn out of  them  to
continue the struggle with Mocata on another plane.'
  'Mocata!' Simon echoed. 'But-but if we've been dreaming he  is
still alive.'
  'No,  he is dead.' The quiet, sure statement came from  Tanith
as she sat up, and taking Rex's hand scrambled to her feet.
  'How is it you're so certain?' he asked huskily.
  'I  can  see him. He is not far from here-lying head downwards
on some steps.'
  That's  how  we saw him in the dream,' said Richard,  but  she
shook her head.
  'No,  I. had no dream, I remember nothing after Mocata entered
my  room  at  the inn and forced me to sleep-but you  will  find
him-somewhere quite near the house-out there.'
  'The  age-old law,' De Richfeau murmured. 'A life for  a  life
and a soul for a soul. Yes, since you have been restored to us I
am quite certain that he will have paid the penalty.'
  Simon  nodded.  'Then we're really free of this  nightmare  at
last?'
  'Yes. Dream or no dream, the Lord of Light who appeared to  us
drove  back the Power of Darkness, and promised that  we  should
all live unmolested by it to the end of our allotted span. Come,
Richard,'  the Duke took his host's arm, 'let us find our  coats
and  take  a look round the garden-then we shall have done  with
this horrible business.'
  As  they  moved away Tanith smiled up at Rex. 'Did you  really
mean what you said last night?'
  'Did  I mean it!' he cried, seizing both her hands. 'Just  you
let me show you how!'
  'Simon,' said Marie Lou pointedly, 'that child will catch  her
death of cold in nothing but her nightie-do take her back to the
nursery  while  I get the servants to hurry forward  breakfast.'
And  the old familiar happy smile parted his wide mouth as Fleur
took a flying leap into his arms.
  Tanith's  face grew a little wistful as Rex drew her  to  him.
'My  darling,' she hesitated, 'you know that it will be only for
a little time, about eight months-no more.'
  'Nonsense!' he laughed. 'You were certainly dead to all of  us
last  night,  so  your prophecy's been fulfilled  and  the  evil
lifted-we're both going to live together for a hundred years.'
  She  hid  her  face against his shoulder, not quite  believing
yet,  but  a  new hope dawning in her heart, from his  certainty
that  she  had passed through the Valley of the Shadow and  come
out  again upon the other side. Her happiness, and his, demanded
that she accept his view and act henceforth as though the danger
to her life was past.
  'Then  if  you  want them, my days are yours,'  she  murmured,
'whatever their number may be.'
  There  was no trace of fog and a fair, true dawn was  breaking
when, outside the library windows, De Richleau and Richard found
Mocata's  body. It lay on the stone steps which fed  up  to  the
terrace, sprawling head downwards, in the early light of the Ma