The Devil Rides Out (24 page)

‘You let him hypnotise you, too, of course?'

‘Yes, in order to get these financial results.'

‘I thought as much,' De Richleau nodded, ‘And after you had allowed him to do it willingly for some little time he was able to block out your own mentality entirely and govern your every thought. That's why you've failed to realise what's been going on. It is just as though he'd been keeping you drugged the whole time.'

‘Um,' Simon agreed miserably. ‘It makes me positively sick to think of it, but I suppose he has been gradually preparing me for this Ritual to Saturn which he meant to perform two nights ago and …' He broke off suddenly as Rex appeared between two of the great monoliths.

Grinning from ear to ear, Rex displayed his purchases for their inspection. A pair of grey flannel shorts, a khaki shirt, black and white check worsted stockings, a gaudy tie of revolting magenta hue, a pair of waders, a cricket cap quartered in alternate triangular sections of orange and mauve, and a short, dark blue bicyclist's cape.

‘Only things I could get,' he volunteered cheerfully. ‘The people who run the local Co-op don't live on the premises, so I had to knock up a sports outfitter.'

De Richleau sat back and roared with laughter while Simon fingered the bizarre assortment of garments doubtfully. ‘You're joking Rex,' he protested with a sheepish grin. ‘I can't return to London in this get-up.'

‘We're not going to London,' the Duke announced. ‘But to Cardinals Folly.'

‘What–to Marie Lou's?' Rex looked at him sharply. ‘How did you come to get that idea …'

‘Something that Simon said just after you left us.'

Simon shook his head jerkily. ‘I don't like it–not a little bit. I'd never forgive myself if I brought danger into their home.'

‘You will do as you're told my friend,' De Richleau's voice brooked no further argument. ‘Richard and Marie Lou are the most mentally healthy couple that I know. The atmosphere of their sane and happy household will
be the very best protection we could find for you and all of us are certain of a warm welcome. No harm will come to them if we exercise reasonable precautions, and the help of their right-thinking minds will give us the extra strength we need. Besides, they are about the only people to whom we can explain the whole situation without being taken for madmen. Now hurry up and array yourself like the champion of next year's Olympic games.'

With a shrug of his narrow shoulders Simon disappeared behind the stones while Rex added: ‘That's right. I ordered ham and eggs to be got ready at the local inn and I'm mighty anxious to start in on them.'

‘Eggs and fruit,' cut in the Duke, ‘but no ham for any of us. It is essential that we should avoid meat for the moment. If we are to retain our Astral strength our physical bodies must undergo a semi-fast at least.'

Rex groaned. ‘Why, oh, why dear Simon, did you ever go hunting Talisman and let your friends in for this? When I went to Russia after the Shulimoff jewels and you came to get me out of trouble, at least it didn't prevent your feeding decently when you had the chance.'

‘That reminds me,' De Richleau threw over his shoulder in the direction where Simon was struggling into his comical garments. ‘What is this Talisman? Rex mentioned it last night.'

‘It's the reason why Mocata is certain to make every effort to get possession of me again,' Simon's voice came back. ‘It is buried somewhere, and adepts of the Left Hand Path have been seeking it for centuries. It conveys almost limitless powers upon its possessor and Mocata has discovered that its whereabouts will be revealed if he can practise the ritual to Saturn in conjunction with Mars with someone who was born in a certain year at the hour of the conjunction. There can't be many such, but for my sins I happen to be one, and even if he can find others they might not be suitable for various reasons.'

‘Yes, I realise that. But what is the Talisman?'

‘I don't really know. Except for conducting my business on the lines suggested by Mocata, I don't think my brain has been functioning at all in the last two months. But it's called the Talisman of Set.'

‘What!' The Duke sprang to his feet as Simon appeared grotesquely attired in his incongruous new clothes, his long knees protruding beneath the shorts, the absurd cricket cap set at a rakish angle on his head, and the cycling cloak flapping about his shoulders.

Rex dissolved into tears of laughter, but the Duke's grim face quickly sobered his mirth.

‘The Talisman of Set,' De Richleau repeated almost in a whisper.

‘Yes, it has something to do with four horsemen I think, but what on earth's the matter?' Simon's big mouth fell open in dismay at the sight of the Duke's horror-stricken eyes.

‘It has indeed! The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,' De Richleau grated out. ‘War, Plague, Famine and Death. We all know what happened the last time those four terrible entities were unleashed to cloud the brains of statesmen and rulers.'

‘You're referring to the Great War I take it.' Rex said soberly.

‘Of course, and every adept knows that it started because one of the most terrible Satanists who ever lived found one of the secret gateways through which to release the four horsemen.'

‘I thought the Germans got a bit above themselves,' Rex hazarded,
‘although it seems that lots of other folks were pretty well as much to blame.'

‘You fool!' De Richleau suddenly swung upon him. ‘Germany did not make the War. It came out of Russia. It was Russia who instigated the murder at Sarajevo, Russia who backed Serbia to resist Austria's demands, Russia who mobilised first and Russia who invaded Germany. The monk Rasputin was the evil genius behind it all. He was the greatest Black Magician that the world has known for centuries. It was he who found one of the gateways through which to let forth the four horsemen that they might wallow in blood and destruction–and I know the Talisman of Set to be another. Europe is ripe now for any trouble and if they are loosened again, it will be final Armageddon. This is no longer a personal matter of protecting Simon. We've got to kill Mocata before he can secure the Talisman and prevent his plunging the world into another war.'

Richard Eaton read the telegram a second time:

Eat no lunch this vitally important Simon ill Rex and I bringing him down to you this afternoon Marie Lou must stop eating too kiss Fleur love all –De Richleau.

He passed one hand over the smooth brown hair which grew from his broad forehead in an attractive widow's peak, and handed the wire to his wife with a puzzled smile.

‘This is from the Duke. Do you think he has gone crazy, or what?'

‘
What,
darling,' said Marie Lou promptly. ‘Definitely
what.
If he stood on his handsome head in Piccadilly and the whole world told me he was crazy I should still maintain that dear old Greyeyes was quite sane.'

‘But really,' Richard protested. ‘No lunch–and you told me that the shrimps from Morecambe Bay came in this morning. I was looking forward …'

‘My sweet!' Marie Lou gave a delicious gurgle of laughter as she flung one arm round his neck and drew him down on to the sofa beside her. ‘What a glutton you are. You simply live for your tummy.'

He nuzzled his head against her thick chestnut curls. ‘I don't. I eat only in order to maintain sufficient strength to deal with you.'

‘Liar,' she pushed him away suddenly. ‘There must be some reason for this extraordinary wire, and poor Simon ill, too! What can it mean?'

‘God knows! Anyhow, it seems that: virtuous and upright wife orders preparations of rooms for guests while miserable worm husband goes down into dark dirty cellar to select liquid sustenance for same.' Richard paused for a moment. A wicked little smile hovered round his lips as he looked at Marie Lou curled up on the sofa, with her slim legs tucked under her like a very lovely Persian kitten, then he added thoughtfully: ‘I think tonight perhaps we might give them a little of the Chateau Lafite ‘99.'

‘Don't you dare,' she cried, springing to her feet. ‘You know that it's my favourite.'

‘Got you–got you,' chanted Richard merrily. ‘Who's a glutton now?'

‘You beast,' she pouted deliciously, and for the thousandth time since he had brought her out of Russia her husband felt himself go a little giddy as his eyes rested on the perfection of her heart-shaped face, the delicately flushed cheeks and the heavy-lidded blue eyes. With a sudden movement, he jerked her to him and picked her up in his arms.

‘Richard–put me down–stop.' Her slightly husky voice rose to a higher note in a breathless gasp of protest.

‘Not until you kiss me.'

‘All right.'

He let her slide down to her feet, and although he was not a tall man, she was so diminutive that she had to stand on tiptoe to reach her arms round his neck.

‘There,' she declared, after he had crushed her soft lips under his. ‘Now go and play with your bottles, but spare the Lafite, beloved. That's our own special wine, and you mustn't even give it to our dearest friends–unless it's for Simon and he's really ill.'

‘I won't,' he promised. ‘But whatever I give them, we shall all be tight if we're not to be allowed to eat anything. I wish to goodness I knew what De Richleau is driving at.'

‘Something it is worth our while to take notice of, you may be certain. Greyeyes never does anything without a purpose. He's a wily old fox if ever there was one in this world.'

‘Yes–wily's the word,' Richard agreed. ‘But it's nearly lunchtime now, and I'm hungry. Surely we're not going to take serious notice of this absurd telegram?'

‘Richard!' Marie Lou had curled herself up on the sofa again. But now she sat forward suddenly, almost closing her big eyes with their long curved lashes. ‘I do think we ought to do as he says, but I was looking round the strawberry house this morning.'

‘Oh were you!' He suppressed a smile. ‘And picking a few just to see how they were getting on, I don't mind betting.'

‘Three,' she answered gravely. ‘And they are ripening beautifully. Now if we took a little cream and a little sugar, it wouldn't be cheating really to go and have another look at them instead of having lunch–would it?'

‘No,' said Richard with equal gravity. ‘But we have an ancient custom in England when a girl takes a man to pick the first strawberries.'

‘But, darling, you have so many ancient customs and they nearly always end in kissing.'

‘Do you dislike them on that account?'

‘No.' She smiled, extending a small, strong hand by which he pulled her to her feet. ‘I think that is one of the reasons why I enjoy so much having become an Englishwoman.'

They left Marie Lou's comfortable little sitting-room and, pausing for a moment for her to pull on a pair of gum-boots while Richard gave orders cancelling their luncheon, went out into the garden through the great octagonal library.

The house was a rambling old mansion, parts of which dated back to the thirteenth century and the library, being one of the oldest portions of it, was
sunk into the ground so that they had to go up half a dozen steps from its french windows on to the long terrace, which ran the whole length of the southern side of the house.

A grey stone balustrade patched with moss and lichens separated the terrace from the garden and, from the former, two sets of steps led down to a broad, velvety lawn. An ancient cedar graced the greensward towards the east end of the mansion where the kitchen quarters lay, hiding the roofs of the glass-houses and the walled garden with its espaliered peach and nectarine trees.

At the bottom of the lawn tall yew hedges shut in the outer circle of the maze, beyond which lay the rose garden and the swimming-pool. To the right, just visible from the library windows, a gravel walk separated the lawn from a gently sloping bank, called the Botticelli Garden. It was so named because in spring it had all the beauty of the Italian master's paintings. Dwarf trees of apple, plum, and cherry, standing no more than six feet high and separated by ten yards or more from each other, stood covered with white and pink blossom while, rising from the grass up the shelving bank, clumps of polyanthus, pheasant's-eye narcissus, forget-me-nots and daffodils were planted one to the square yard.

This spring garden was in full bloom now, and the effect of the bright colours against the delicate green of the young grass was almost incredibly lovely. To walk up and down that two hundred yard stretch of green starred by its many-hued clumps of flowers with Richard beside her was, Marie Lou thought, as near to Heaven as she would ever get. Yet she spent even more time in the long walk that lay beyond it, for that was her own, in which the head gardener was never allowed to interfere. It consisted of two glorious herbaceous borders rising to steep hedges on either side, and ending at an old sun-dial beyond which lay the pond garden, sinking in rectangular stages to a pool where blue lotus flowers and white water-lilies floated serenely in the sunshine.

As they came out on to the terrace, there were shrieks of ‘Mummy–Mummy,' and a diminutive copy of Marie Lou, dressed in a Russian peasant costume with wide puffed sleeves of lawn and a slashed vest of colourful embroidery threaded with gold, came hurtling across the grass. Her mother and father went down the steps of the terrace to meet her, and as she arrived like a small whirlwind Richard swung her up shoulder high in his arms.

‘What is it Fleur d'amour?' he asked, with simulated concern calling her by the nick-name that he had invented for her. ‘Have you crashed the scooter again or is it that Nanny's been a wicked girl today?'

‘No–no,' the child cried, her blue eyes, seeming enormous in that tiny face, opened wide with concern. ‘Jim's hurted hisself.'