No steps having been taken by Ratnadatta to find out why she had failed to attend the last meeting at Mrs. Wardeel’s had lulled Mary into a false sense of security; so suddenly to come upon him there was a most unpleasant shock. Her heart began to hammer wildly. Concealing her agitation as well as she could, she returned his ‘Good evening.’
He had come to his feet and, fixing her with his round brown eyes, through the thick-lensed spectacles, he asked: ‘Why haf you not come to Mrs. Wardeel’s on Tuesday?’
In a voice that sounded firmer than she had expected, she replied: ‘I couldn’t. I ate something for lunch that day that upset me. It made me quite ill, and by the evening I was running a temperature.’
To her relief he did not appear to have detected that she was lying. Instead, he smiled his toothy smile and said: ‘To hear that I am sorry. But I see you haf quite recovered. That ees good, very good; because I haf pleasant news for you. Soon now you are given the test weech ees the second stage towards your initiation.’
Mary strove to control her rising panic. Barney might be a rotten little twister, but he had convinced her that to have anything further to do with Ratnadatta would be asking for real trouble. She must get out of it somehow, give him the soft answer that turneth away wrath, then go into hiding before the date he had evidently come to make with her. Keeping her voice level she asked:
‘When is it to be?’
‘Why, tonight,’ he replied in evident surprise that she had not understood that from what he had said. ‘I telephone you this morning, I telephone you this afternoon, and both times you haf been out. So I come to fetch you. For this you receive instruction before the meeting. Perhaps we arrive a little early; but for me to go and come back for you in half-an-hour ees no point.’
‘I … I’ve been out all day, and I’d like to change my clothes,’ she faltered.
‘It is unnecessary. You change at the Temple; bath too, if you wish. Come, plees, with me now.’
Desperately she sought in her mind for a way to get rid of him even for ten minutes so that she could make a bolt for it before he returned. But to say that she must go up to her flat before she went out was useless. He would wait for her down there in the hall. Yet she could think of nothing else.
Suddenly she remembered her crucifix. As Barney had suggested, she was carrying it in her handbag. He had been confident that using it would enable her to defy Ratnadatta. She must nerve herself to get it out, hold it in front of the Indian’s face and order him to leave the house.
Opening her bag, she fumbled for it; but on looking down, her glance fell on the shoes Ratnadatta was wearing. They were of brown leather and hand-made; but, across the toe-cap of the left one, there was a dark scar that no amount of polishing had been able to remove.
Mary’s downcast eyes dilated. For a moment they remained riveted upon the scarred toe-cap with the same fascinated horror that a bird’s eyes are held by a snake.
‘Come,’ said Ratnadatta, a shade impatiently. ‘There ees nothing for you to be frightened off. Why do you hesitate?’
Her fingers had found the crucifix but they did not grip it. With a supreme effort, she fought down an impulse to let her mouth open in a scream. She would have known anywhere the shoes that Ratnadatta had on. They had belonged to her dead husband.
Taking a sudden resolution, she withdrew her hand from the crucifix and closed her bag. Then, in a husky voice that belied her words, she said: ‘I’m not frightened. It’s only that I was not expecting you this evening. Let’s get a taxi.’
Shoes had been one of Teddy’s few extravagances. It had been his custom to have a pair made for him once a year by Lobb of St. James’s Street, and this last pair had been spoiled by an infuriating accident. The second time he had had them on he had been putting a broken kitchen plate in the dustbin; the lid of the bin had dropped back unexpectedly, knocking the pieces of plate from his hand, and the largest had fallen on the toe-cap, making an inch-long gash across the highly glazed leather. She had polished the shoe afterwards a dozen times in the hope of working the scar out, but it remained as a dark streak that there was no disguising, so he had said that he would take the shoe back to Lobb’s and have a new toe-cap put on. That had been about a month before his death, and during those last weeks his mind had been so pre-occupied with the work on which he was engaged that he had never done so. And now Ratnadatta was wearing those shoes.
It was the proof of what Mary had long suspected. Teddy had met his death at the hands of the Brotherhood of the Ram. More, it showed that Ratnadatta had been personally concerned in his murder. The Indian must have noticed that Teddy had about the same size feet as himself, suddenly coveted the pair of fine, almost new, hand-made shoes and exchanged them for his own before Teddy’s body had been taken down to the docks.
In another moment Mary would have drawn the crucifix from her bag and defied Ratnadatta, but this sudden revelation caused an immediate change in her mental attitude. Fear of what might happen to her if she involved herself further with the Brotherhood, and an increasing sense of the hopelessness of pitting her wits against such a powerful organisation, had determined her to keep her promise to Barney, for his having let her down had no bearing on that: but now, her five weeks of anxious probing had suddenly brought results so definite that she could not possibly ignore them. In less than a minute, she had nerved herself afresh to take up once more her dangerous task. No matter what befell her, she must continue her association with the Satanist and worm her way into their confidence until she obtained the full story of Teddy’s murder.
Still in a daze, she accompanied Ratnadatta out into the street and, after waiting a few minutes, they got a passing taxi. Her previous visits to the Temple had been after dark, but they were on their way there much earlier now and it was still daylight; so he turned to her and said:
‘To blindfold you this evening would not be good. The taximan perhaps see and think something funny. Almost now you are one off us, so no great matter if you know where the Temple ees. Should you fail in test, then I hypnotise you and you forget place to weech you haf been taken. If your failure off test ees not too bad, perhaps you be permitted later to take a second time. But you will not fail. I haf full confidence.’
His words had the effect on Mary of a further shot of a stimulating drug. That she was to be allowed to know the whereabouts of the Temple came as a swift first payment for her renewed resolution to carry on with her dangerous mission. It determined her to face the test boldly and go through with it if she possibly could; so that afterwards there would be no question of depriving her of that valuable knowledge. But her mind was still half engaged on the shoes.
After Verney had broken the news of Teddy’s death to her, Inspector Thompson of the Special Branch had called and informed her that he was conducting the official enquiry. She had given him all the help she could by making a long statement and, on two subsequent occasions before she left Wimbledon, he had come to the flat again to ask her further questions. On one of these he had told her that, in due course, Teddy’s clothes would be returned to her but for the time being they wished to keep them at the Yard to complete various tests, and she had thought no more of the matter.
Now she realised that, had the clothes been sent back, or shown to her, she would at once have spotted that the shoes taken from Teddy’s feet were not his own; whereas the police, having no reason to suppose that a substitution had taken place, must still be ignorant of that fact. It dawned on her then that not only did Ratnadatta’s possession of Teddy’s shoes indicate that he had been an accomplice in the murder; those that the police held were almost certain to be his and, if so, they constituted most damning evidence against him. They were a rope round his neck, and she now had only to let Colonel Verney know of her discovery for it to lead to the Indian’s arrest.
This thought fired a train of new ones. She need not become a Sister of the Ram, after all. By another visit to the Temple she could have hoped only to pick up a hint. No one there would tell her what had actually happened to Teddy until they knew her well enough to trust her fully. To get that far she would have to submit to initiation and attend several more meetings. Even then she might not secure anything approaching such concrete evidence as was provided by this exchange of shoes. A merciful God had taken her will for the deed, sparing her the ordeal of debasing herself and participating further horrible blasphemies. The job she had set herself to do was as good as done. She need not even go again to the Temple that evening – only she could manage to get away from Ratnadatta.
Bener still – the idea sprang to her mind – have him arrested. As soon as she saw a policeman she would hammer on the taxi window for the driver to stop and shout to the policeman for help. When he come running up she would identify the shoes on Ratnadatta’s feet as her husband’s denounce him as a murderer, and have him taken into custody.
The taxi had headed south down Collingham Road and was now running through the Boltons. It was a quiet residential district, but she hoped that she would sight a policeman either as they crossed, or turned into, the busy Fulham Road.
Before they reached it, another thought struck her. What if the policeman refused to believe her? Ratnadatta was no fool. It was certain he would say that she was suffering from delusions and he was taking her to a nursing home, or some such story. Could the policeman refuse to take them to the Station? That seemed unlikely. Yet he might. And, if he did, on that one cast she would have lost everything. She could refuse to re-enter the taxi with Ratnadatta but, before she could get hold of Colonel Verney, the Indian would have got rid of the tell-tale shoes and be calling on the Great Ram to exert his terrible powers against her.
Reluctantly she decided that she dared not risk such a gamble. She must free herself from Ratnadatta in some other way, so that he would have no suspicion that she was anything other than he believed her to be. Then she would go straight to Colonel Verney.
A sudden illness was the thing. A pretended heart attack? No, that would be overdoing it. She had assured Ratnadatta, when he had questioned her about her health on the evening when he had given her dinner, that physically she was as sound as a bell. At the time she had wondered why he had asked, but later realised that he had done so as a precaution against having a young woman on his hands who might collapse from fright at the sight of the black imp. But a faint. She could preface it by saying she felt ill owing to overwork. The reluctance she had shown to come with him would substantiate that. If she pretended to pass out for long enough, that should do the trick. It could be taken as certain that he had not told the taxi man to drive up to the mansion, and he could not carry her the last quarter of a mile; so he would have no option but to take her home.
By this time they had traversed Park Walk, and were crossing the Kings Road towards the river. As they reached the Chelsea Embankment and turned south-west along it, another thought struck her. She was being taken to the Temple with her eyes unbandaged. If she played her bluff and it succeeded she would lose the chance of finding out where the mansion lay. And she had no idea where Ratnadatta lived. The police should be able to pick him up at Mrs. Wardeel’s on the coming Tuesday evening; but, even under intensive questioning, he might refuse to disclose the whereabouts of the Temple and to give any information about his fellow Satanists, some of whom must have been his accomplices in Teddy’s murder.
Henry of Navarre, she remembered, had cynically remarked that ‘Paris was worth a Mass’. Compressing her lips she decided that to ensure the round-up of the Brotherhood would be compensation enough for almost any degrading act she might be called on to perform as an earnest of her willingness to serve Satan. Ratnadatta had repeatedly assured her that her initiation would not come until later, and he had even said a few minutes back that he expected her business to be through soon after nine. He had not lied to her about last time, so she had no reason to suppose that he was doing so now.
All being well, if Colonel Verney was at home she could be with him by ten o’clock. It should not take him long to get Scotland Yard moving. By eleven, or half past at the latest, a police cordon could be thrown round the Temple; they would raid the place, catch the Brotherhood of the Ram near-naked in the midst of their Saturday, celebrations and, by midnight, have the whole evil crew in the bag.
Mary had barely made up her mind to take anything that might be coming to her during the next hour and a half in order to achieve this master stroke, when the taxi turned away from the river, ran for a few hundred yards up a sidestreet, and slowed to a stop. Since the night on which she had been received as a neophyte she had realised that the Temple could not be so far away from Sloane Square as North London but, all the same, she was surprised to find that it was actually within ten minutes’ drive of Cromwell Road. Having taken her resolve, she made no demur about getting out and, after Ratnadatta had paid off the taxi, walking with him through the mean streets to the entrance to the alley which was now familiar to her.
In the courtyard at its end no cars were yet parked and, now that she saw the front of the mansion for the first time in daylight, she realised more fully how abandoned it appeared. Obviously none of its windows had been opened for many years. Some of the panes of glass were cracked and others missing. In the corners, generations of spiders had spun their webs and, in two places where panes were missing, sparrows had built nests. Behind all the grimy windows were stout wooden shutters that had once been painted white, but were now grey with dirt and mottled where the paint was peeling from them.
As Mary went up the cracked stone steps with Ratnadatta, she was intrigued to see at one side of the front door a small board on which faded capitals announced ‘KEMSON’S DEPOSITORY FOR TITLE DEEDS’, and underneath in script, ‘Antiquarian Society for Estate Research. Meetings Saturdays 9.00 p.m.’ It struck her as a clever cover for the permanently closed windows – as a casual observer would have assumed that behind them were rooms stacked high with dusty files – and for the Satanists who gathered there on Saturday nights since, despite the derelict appearance of the house, people in the immediate neighbourhood must have known that it was occupied and that on certain evenings both cars and pedestrians turned down the cul-de-sac to it.
Next moment, as Ratnadatta rang the bell, her mind was again filled with nervous fears about the test they intended to give her. Barney had said that to play with Black Magic was to play with filth as well as fire, and she knew that he was right. Whatever they asked her to do would, she felt sure, be against her conscience, and it might call for some act so physically disgusting that nausea would render her unable to accomplish it. Now, with a sudden sick feeling of apprehension, she followed Ratnadatta out from behind the blackout curtain into the brightly lit hall. But there she learnt that she was at least to be given a short respite. As one of the Negro footmen advanced to take their coats, the Indian waved him aside and said to her:
‘We haf some while to wait, and it ees a fine evening. We go to the garden and if not too cold sit there a little.’ Then he took her along a passage to the back of the house and out through a door that opened on to a balustraded terrace from which three flights of steps, flanked with lead urns, led down to a lower level. Not unnaturally, Mary had expected to find the back of the house as derelict as its front, and the garden a tangle of weeds or, at best, a starved lawn with a few struggling trees and shrubs; but, on the contrary, it was as beautiful as any garden in a city could be.
The tall walls enclosed an area of about half an acre and above them could be seen only a few chimney-pots of neighbouring houses. There was no grass, for the garden was laid out in the Italian style with gravel walks, flower beds with box edgings, carved stone seats, fountains, trellissed arbours and many fine pieces of statuary. Down its middle ran a pleached alley; to one side there was a large swimming pool; on the other, an open area of equal size, paved with a mosaic in many colours, in the centre of which stood a stone plinth carrying a head crowned with a wreath.
The swimming pool was still empty and none of the flowers with which the beds were planted yet out; but, even so, on this last day of April, after several hours of sun, this wonderfully sheltered spot was a pleasant place to stroll in. After walking down the alley they came back across the open space and, waving a pudgy hand about it, Ratnadatta said:
‘To here on summer evenings, when fine, divans are brought out. It ees a good place, very good, for feast and revel. You will much enjoy.’ Then he pointed to the head on the plinth that dominated the mosaic-paved area, and added: ‘That ees Our Lord Satan in his aspect off Pan. That he smiles ees symbolic off the happiness he take in our pleasure.’
Mary gave the head one glance, then looked quickly away. It was unquestionably a wonderful work of art, for she could almost have sworn that it was alive; and it was smiling. But the thick, sensual lips, pointed, cynically laughing eyes, and bushy brows beneath the laurel crowned curls from which little horns curved up were those of a satyr, and she had never seen anything inanimate that seemed imbued with so much evil.
They returned to the terrace and sat down at an iron table to which a tray of drinks had been brought out for them by one of the Negro footmen. Ratnadatta offered Mary a glass of the dark wine that she had had before, and she accepted without hesitation. Her one glance into the eyes of the sculptured Pan head, which should have been blank but had seemed alive with cruel mirth, had made her feel that she badly needed a drink. Moreover, she could not free her mind from dread that the test she must soon take would require of her some act shameful or obscene and knowing already the subtle properties of the herb-scented wine, she hoped that, as before, it would temporarily blunt her sense of decency.
In an effort to divert her thoughts, she asked Ratnadatta, ‘What do you do about the servants here? This garden is beautifully kept, and there are the footmen and, I suppose, others to prepare the food for your feasts. I can hardly imagine you would make them all initiates, yet they must know a lot about what goes on. How do you ensure that they are to be trusted?’
He smiled. ‘Do you know what ees called Zombie?’
‘I … I think so,’ she stammered, appalled at the picture the word conjured up for her. ‘They are dead people who have been brought to life again, aren’t they? I once read a book about the West Indies, and it described how Voodoo witch-doctors took corpses from graves the night after they had been buried, then did something to them which restored enough life to them to work afterwards in the fields as slaves.’
Ratnadatta nodded. ‘You are right nearly, but not quite. Such haf not died but been given drug. It makes victim fall into coma and seem dead. Burial ees very soon in hot countries, so it ees not difficult to restore animation after trance off only a few hours. But this drug also destroys many cells of victim’s brain. He loses memory, so becomes dumb and no longer knows who he ees; so unable to go home or make trouble. He ees human animal. Fit for work and with understanding enough to obey simple order, but no more.’
‘And the servants here are…’ Mary suppressed a shudder, ‘are Zombies?’
‘As nearly as making no difference. They are all Negro but haf not been buried. They are given drug to destroy memory, but not so much as to make them animal. In this way they remain capable off more useful service.’
‘If they have some intelligence left, I should have thought they would try to escape.’
‘Oddwhiles one has urge to, but always he betray it by restless manner. He ees then hypnotised by Abaddon and feels Impulse no more. But they haf women; Negresses for work in kitchen and to clean, who haf been drugged same as men. They haf drink, good food, and the work ees light. Life here for them ees good, very good; and for one to become wishing to see what ees outside so pleasant prison happens very seldom.’
Mary almost found herself subscribing to the idea that these servants were better off where they were than they would have been if free and struggling in some slum for a meagre living. But the thought that they had been robbed of their identities and, no doubt, in many cases separated for ever from their loved ones far outweighed the fact of their material well-being.
It then occurred to her that, if she slipped up, the soul-destroying drug might be administered to her. With a fresh surge of inward terror she recalled Ratnadatta’s telling her barely half-an-hour before that should she fail in her test he would hypnotise her into forgetting where the Temple was situated. Supposing she not only failed the test but, during it, gave away the fact that she had come there as a spy? There would then be no question of allowing her to attempt a second test in a week or a fortnight’s time. For their own protection they would have to eliminate from her mind every memory of her connection with the Brotherhood.
During her induction as a neophyte she had feared that if she refused to deny Christ they would murder her. They might still do so if she gave herself away. The drug provided an alternative means of silencing her, but one almost as terrible, for the results it would have did not bear contemplating.
She wondered now how she had managed to get so far without putting a foot wrong. Abaddon had read the fears and doubts in her mind but accepted them as not unusual in a young woman. That he and Ratnadatta had not used their psychic powers to probe deeper into her mentality could only be because they had no reason to suspect that she was deceiving them. Fervently she prayed that she might be given the wit and courage to keep up the deception during her coming trial. Reaching out for her glass she swiftly drank the rest of her wine.
Ratnadatta had, for the past few minutes, been telling her more about Zombies, but she had not taken in his words. Now, as he refilled her glass, she made an effort to concentrate on what he was saying. He went on to describe certain Voodoo ceremonies. Twilight was falling and it was becoming a shade colder, but they sat on there for another quarter of an hour. Then one of the footmen came out on to the terrace. He did not speak but simply bowed to Ratnadatta.
Mary gave the man a sidelong glance. His face looked like a mask and his eyes had a glazed appearance. Now she knew the reason for his complete lack of expression, the idea that he was little more than a walking corpse filled her with horror. But Ratnadatta was saying, ‘Come, plees; Abaddon ees ready for us,’ so she accompanied him into the house.
The benign-looking High Priest was in his library. As on the previous occasion that Mary had been taken to him there he was wearing a dark grey suit. He came forward to welcome her, led her to a chair and said:
‘My child, you are looking more beautiful than ever. You will serve most admirably the purpose I have in mind.’
This reference to her good looks did nothing to lessen Mary’s apprehension about what they might mean to do with her, but she managed to smile at him as he went on: ‘You will no doubt know that in many ancient Temples there were Priestesses who at times were called on to prophesy. That is the case here; and it is our custom to choose the most beautiful among our Sisters for such work. Tonight, in a little over an hour’s time, a prophecy has been promised to a certain person, and it must be made. Unhappily our Sister Catherine de Medici, who was to make it, was suddenly taken ill last night. Among us there are, of course, a number of other lovely women on whom I could have called; but this morning the thought of you, my dear Circe, crossed my mind. It seemed an admirable opportunity to test your worthiness for advancement; so I sent for you to take Catherine’s place.’
‘Thank you,’ Mary replied a little uncertainly. If to play the part of a Priestess was all that was required to her, that was a great relief after the kind of ordeals her imagination had conjured up; but as she was no true Satanist, she thought it unlikely that the Devil would inspire her, so she hurried on. ‘But I’ve never attempted to prophesy. Perhaps I wouldn’t be able to, however hard I try.’
Abaddon held up a slim-fingered, beautifully kept hand. ‘My child, you have no need to concern yourself on that score. It is I who do the prophesying here. You have only to learn by heart the words I shall give you, and at the right time let them emerge from your lovely mouth.’
With a silent sigh of relief, Mary nodded. The plump pink face opposite her smiled and the melodious voice went on. ‘We will refer to him who has been promised a prophesy as Mr. X. As poor Catherine is ill, we will tell him that but add that her sense of duty is so strong that she will still prophesy for him, although weak and in bed.
‘Why…’ Mary began, but he cut her short with a frown.
‘It is not for you, child, to question the way in which I think it best to conduct Our Lord Satan’s business. You will take her place, be put to bed, and you will pretend extreme weakness. When you speak, your voice must be so low that Mr. X will have to bend right over you to catch your words. You understand?’
‘Yes,’ Mary now assented at once, although she was greatly puzzled in trying to deduce a reason for this curious and, apparently, unnecessary procedure.
‘Now listen carefully.’ Abaddon leaned over his desk towards her. ‘When Mr. X comes into the room you will be in bed, lying on your back, with the sheets up to your chin, and your eyes closed. He will place his finger tips on your forehead and probably say a few words of greeting. You will not reply, but slowly and in silence count up to two hundred. Should he ask you any question during that time you will make no answer to it. When you have counted two hundred you will flutter your eyes open and whisper the following words.’
Abaddon then gave her some half-dozen sentences which she was to speak at intervals in such a low voice that Mr. X would have to bring his face down close to hers to hear what she said. But there was also a final stage to the prophecy. Before pronouncing the last sentence, she was suddenly to throw the bed clothes right back, sit up, smile at Mr. X, exclaim the words in a much stronger voice and, as she did so, cast her right arm round his neck.
More puzzled than ever, Mary nodded again. Obviously, some sinister deception lay behind the orders she was being given; but she felt that it was ‘hers not to reason why’, and that if no more than this was required of her to pass her test she would be getting off extremely lightly.
The High Priest now went over the whole proceeding again from start to finish, then he made her repeat twice every word she had to say, and yet a third time run through the whole without any prompting. Apparently satisfied, he looked across at Ratnadatta and said:
‘Go, Sásín, fetch Pope Honorius to us.’
Ratnadatta left the room and, a few minutes later, when the door opened again, Mary expected to see him return with another man. Instead, he was accompanied by a tall thin woman of middle age, dressed all in white. Her garments gave her the appearance of a nun, except that she wore her coif far back on her head, so that her ash-blonde hair, parted Madonna style, showed in front. She was not wearing a mask and her features were of striking classical beauty. Abaddon said to Mary:
‘Our sister, Pope Honorius, is the High Priestess of this Lodge. She instructs our younger Priestesses in their work, and will give you further coaching in the way you must behave tonight.’ To the tall woman he said: ‘This is the neophyte, Circe. I trust you agree with me that she is well fitted for our purpose?’
Having seen the newcomer in the distance during her first visit to the Temple Mary had, after a moment, recognised her. She gave Mary a cold appraising glance, then replied:
‘You were right, Abaddon. With those eyes, that mouth and such a figure, she could seduce a saint. She should prove very useful to us.’
Her words were spoken with such complete detachment that they constituted a high compliment, but to Mary they spelt only a renewal of anxious foreboding. She wondered if the woman had in mind only making use of her for the Devil’s work after she had become an initiate, or if their as yet undisclosed intention was to order her to attempt the seduction of Mr. X that night.
Abaddon turned his pale blue eyes on Mary, gave her a long searching glance, and asked: ‘Do you feel confident that you can do that which is required of you? If not, you must say so now. I will excuse you from it, have an experienced Priestess perform the work, and give you some other test. This is an important matter and should you fail in it you will incur my anger. Answer me frankly, and without fear.’
Mary had a good memory, so she was not troubled by qualms that she might forget her lines. If there was no more behind the test than had so far been revealed, it should prove easy of accomplishment, and the alternative to it might be the performance of some act of the kind she had dreaded. In consequence, she replied firmly:
‘I shall find no difficulty in doing as you wish, and am grateful to you for this opportunity you have given me to prove that I am worthy of advancement.’
Both Abaddon and Ratnadatta nodded their pleased appreciation of her apparent keenness to play the part designed for her; and even the High Priestess’s hard but beautiful mouth curved into a faint smile, as she said:
‘Come with me then, Circe, and I will prepare you for your first appearance as the mouthpiece of our Master.’
Mary followed her out and accompanied her upstairs to the second floor. There they entered a sitting-room beyond which were a bedroom and a bathroom. The whole suite was furnished in a style seen only in the houses of the very rich or a hotel of the first rank. Beautiful Aubusson carpets covered the floors, and the walls were panelled with toile de jouie. In the sitting-room the chairs, settee and escritoire were of Louis Quinze satin wood; two Buhl cabinets containing fine pieces of Sevres and Dresden flanked a marble mantelpiece, and in each of the panels hung a coloured print after Fragonard. The bedroom furniture had a ground of pale blue on which were painted garlands of flowers, and all its carved edges were pricked out in gold; the sheets on the bed were of the finest lawn and, from a coronet supported by two gilded cupids, drapes of muslin spangled with gold stars curved down to either side of its head. By contrast the bathroom was entirely modern, with tiled walls and a large low porcelain bath, and was equipped with a great variety of sprays, towels, powders and perfumes.
Mary knew that a small number of people were fortunate enough to live in such surroundings, but she had never before been in so luxurious a suite herself; and, as her eyes roved over its delights, her companion said: ‘I can guess what you are thinking, my dear. “What fun it would be to spend a night here with a lover of your choice.” Well, if you play your part this evening without bungling it, you shall. We have several other suites similar to this for those who prefer to take their pleasure in private rather than join in our Saturnalias. Would you like a bath? There is plenty of time, and if you have been out all day it will refresh you.’
‘Yes, I think I would,’ Mary replied.
‘Then I will run one for you while you undress. Put all your things away in the wardrobe. Nothing must be left about to indicate that you are an ordinary woman. To make her prophecies more impressive a Priestess should surround herself with mystery.’
When the bath was running, the tall, coldly beautiful woman came back into the bedroom, and Mary said to her: ‘Abaddon told me that the Brothers and Sisters of the Ram all take the names of wizards and witches who actually lived in the past; so it came as a great surprise to me when he called you by the name of a Pope.’
A faint smile touched the finely chiselled lips of the High Priestess. ‘My dear, I fear you are still very ignorant. For many centuries after Christ the Impostor, nearly all the Christian Bishops knew enough of the truth to follow the Old religion in secret, and many Popes served Our Lord Satan well. Pope Leo the Great and Pope Silvester II both enjoyed His special protection, and Pope Honorius was the greatest magician of them all. It was he who wrote Le Grimoire which, with the Clavicule of Solomon, is the most profound work on the Secret Art ever produced.’
By this time Mary had undressed, and for the next ten minutes she luxuriated in the warm, scented water of the big bath, her enjoyment now only a little marred by thoughts of what the next hour might hold for her. The test she was being given seemed simple enough of accomplishment, and there was nothing about it to disgust or frighten her; yet, all the same, she could not rid herself of an uneasy premonition that it might develop into something much more unpleasant than she had any reason to expect.
As she got out of the bath she was trying to assure herself that her fears were groundless, that by nine o’clock, or half-past at the latest, she would have left this haunt of evil for the last time, be breathing again the clean air of the streets and, soon afterwards, be giving Colonel Verney all the information he needed to swoop upon and arrest Teddy’s murderers.
Wrapped in a huge bath-sheet she returned to the bedroom and said to Honorius, ‘As I’m to go to bed I must have a nightie. I take it there is one here you can lend me?’
The High Priestess shook her head. ‘For this affair you will not wear one. An essential part of Abaddon’s design is that when you sit up in bed and put one arm round Mr. X’s neck you should be naked.’
Mary blanched. She knew only too well the effect that the sight of her nude body had on men. This was just the sort of thing she had feared. It must be part of their plan that Mr. X should attempt to rape her.