‘Oh God!’ muttered John. ‘So far that fiend has won every trick, and soon there will be only a few locked doors between him and Christina. Is there nothing we can do to help in preventing him from getting at her?’
‘We can send a telegram warning Malouet that the Canon is on his way,’ C.B. suggested. ‘There is just a chance that the French police might pick him up on landing. If so, he could be arrested for Illegal Entry. But you can be sure that he has been in communication with de Grasse about flying out; so the seaplane will not come down at the Ile de Port Cros. De Grasse would not risk that. He will appreciate that since our visit to it yesterday morning Malouet may have got the police to keep it under observation; so he will have instructed Upson to land at one of his other haunts, where there is little chance of his being spotted. I’m afraid, John, that for tonight you’ll have to pin your faith on the French prison system; and believe me, it’s a pretty good one.’
‘I only hope you’re right. Anyhow, the sooner we send that telegram, the better.’ Leaning through the window of the car, John pulled a map from the pocket next to the driver’s seat. A glance at it showed that the nearest village was probably Great Oakley. They could not be certain of their exact position among the tangled creeks of Hansford Water, but judged the village to be between three and five miles distant. Having locked the car they set off there.
The sky was a uniform grey, but somewhere in the west the sun was now getting down towards the horizon, and as they began to trudge in that direction John wondered miserably how fate would deal with Christina during this last critical night before her birthday. He would have given a great deal to be with her or, that being out of the question, at least able to keep watch outside her prison; and his impotence riled him all the more from the fact that it was he who had taken the decision to remain in England to watch the Canon. C.B. had given him the choice early that afternoon, and had he chosen the alternative they could have been well on their way to Nice by now. Yet he knew that it was silly to blame himself for his blunder, as it had seemed the best course to take at the time.
It was half-past five when they reached Great Oakley and the light was fading. From the village pub they telephoned their telegram to Malouet, then put through a call to a garage in Colchester for a breakdown van with a searchlight. It picked them up at a quarter-past six and they returned to the marshes. They lost twenty minutes searching along several tracks for the point at which C.B.’s car had become ditched, but once they found it there was little difficulty in hauling the car out. Both of them now thought it unlikely that the seaplane would bring the Canon back and land again on the same stretch of water next day, but that possibility could not be ignored; so they intended asking the police to keep a watch on it. To do so meant going in to Colchester and, with the Canon gone, there no longer seemed any point in their sleeping at Little Bentford. In consequence, in the car with John at the wheel once more, they collected their bags from the Weavers Arms and drove to the market town. There John dropped C.B. off at the police station and went on to book rooms and order dinner at the Red Lion.
By then it was getting on for eight o’clock. Soon afterwards C.B. came in and they sat down to dine. While they ate, in low voices they reviewed the situation, and could not escape the fact that they had far graver grounds for depression than they had had when dining there the night before. Then, their only cause for gloom had been that their journey appeared to have been rendered futile by their failure to locate Beddows through his office. Now they had found him, but he had refused them his help. They had also found out a great deal about the Canon; above all, that he was not merely seeking to corrupt Christina but, if he could get hold of her, meant to kill her.
The thought of the night to come, and his utter helplessness during it, to which he must attempt to reconcile himself, had now been preying on John’s mind for four hours. He seemed obsessed with the idea that if only they could think of it, there must be some way in which they could either foil the Canon in his bid to get at Christina, or strengthen her mind to resist his influence.
C.B. could only suggest that they should rout out a parson, beg the keys of his church and pray for her in it. John said he would willingly spend the night on his knees, but had always believed that God helped those who helped themselves; and felt sure that there must be some active measure which might bring about more definite results. Yet it was the suggestion of prayer that gave him an idea, and after a moment he said: ‘I am still convinced that something could be done through Beddows. After all, he is much more than Christina’s physical father. As it was he who sold her to the Devil, he is her godfather as well—and not just in the modern sense of buying her a christening-mug and trying to remember to give her a quid on her birthdays. By inducting him as a Satanist the Canon took spiritual responsibility for him, and he in turn took spiritual responsibility for Christina. If we could only persuade him to pray to Jesus Christ for her tonight I believe we would achieve something really worth while.’
‘I get the idea,’ murmured C.B. dubiously. ‘As he admitted to us that it was having her baptised into the Satanic faith which makes her subject to evil influences during the hours of darkness, your theory is that if we could get him to recant she would no longer be subject to those influences.’
‘Exactly! Then, whatever success the Canon may have in casting spells on her jailers tonight, when it comes to willing her to leave her cell she would reject the thought and sit tight there.’
C.B. rubbed his big nose. ‘Your reasoning seems sound enough; but I’d as soon hope to jump Becher’s Brook on a donkey as get Beddows to do as you suggest. Do you realise that after all these years of battening on the fruits of evil he would have to abjure his Master? It isn’t even as if he really cares very deeply what happens to Christina. And the risk! If he forswears Satan now, it wouldn’t surprise me to see him struck dead by some form of seizure.’
‘Well, he has had his fling; and if he lives on he will be lucky if he escapes being hounded into a madhouse by the Canon. Providing he abjures, even if he does die, we shall have achieved our object, and I wouldn’t allow his life to weigh with me for one moment against Christina’s. I agree that it is a thousand to one against our being able to persuade him to rely on God’s mercy, but there is that one chance; and to make the attempt is a thousand times better than spending the night doing nothing.’
‘OK, partner.’ C.B. finished his port. ‘We’ll pay him another visit.’
Soon after ten they were again approaching The Grange. Now that they knew its owner was there they were indifferent to the possibility of the Jutsons hearing them and coming on the scene; so they drove straight up to the front door. But, knowing that their ring would not be answered, on getting out they walked round to the yard. No chinks of light showed between the curtains of the windows above the stable, and with no more than a glance at them they entered the house through the staircase window, the catch of which C.B. had forced the night before.
By the light of C.B.’s torch they proceeded through the baize door, across the hall and up the stairs. The atmosphere of the house was still chill and eerie, but tonight it did not fill them with the fears that had racked their nerves during their previous visit. Swinging themselves across the gap in the floorboards of the landing, they approached the upper flight of stairs. The clanking of the ape’s chain came clearly, telling that it had been freed—no doubt by Jutson when he had come up to give it fresh food and water that morning—so they expected to have to catch and bind it again. That proved unnecessary. The creature had evidently learnt its lesson, for the moment C.B. shone his torch it cowered away, chattering with fright, into the farthest corner of the upper landing. Keeping a wary eye on it, they climbed the stairs and sidled past to the door of the great attic. Its lock had not been repaired and the door opened at a touch.
Beyond it the scene was the same almost unbelievable one that would for ever remain engraved upon their memories. There sat the twentieth-century businessman cross-legged on his blankets, his back propped against the tea-chest, surrounded by the paraphernalia of mediaeval witchcraft, his form dimly lit by the unflickering blue light given off from the glass tubes of the pentacle that enclosed him.
This time he showed no fear of his visitors. Their approach had roused him from a doze, and after giving himself a little shake he said, none too cordially, ‘So it’s you two again. What d’you want now?’
C.B. felt that this was John’s party; so he waited for him to speak, and John, having decided on the way there that a tactful approach was essential to any hope of success, replied quietly: ‘A lot has happened since we saw you last night, Mr Beddows; so we thought we ought to come and report.’
‘Why? I’m not employing you.’ Beddows gave him a chilly stare.
‘No; but I’m sure you are not indifferent to Chris … to Ellen’s fate; otherwise you would not have gone to such trouble to hide her in the South of France. What is more, you are vitally concerned in the outcome of this affair yourself.’
‘I can’t stop you talking, if you want to,’ came the ungracious reply; ‘but if you think you are going to wheedle me into taking any action you might as well save your breath.’
‘We’ve come to you partly because we want your advice.’
‘All right.’ Beddows’ voice sounded as though he was slightly reassured. ‘Advice costs nothing. Go ahead.’
‘Thanks.’ Feeling a trifle awkward standing there, John took a step forward and sat down on the floor as near as he could get to Beddows while remaining outside the pentacle. As C.B. followed his example, he began to give an account of all that had happened that day. When he had done, he went on: ‘Now! One of the things we wanted to ask you, Mr Beddows, is can the Canon perform his ritual with the homunculus and Ellen anywhere, or will he have to bring them back to do the job tomorrow night in his own crypt?’
‘He needn’t bring them back, but he can’t do it anywhere. The ceremony must be performed on an altar that has been properly dedicated to the Lord Satan.’
‘We feared as much. Are there many such altars in the South of France?’
‘A certain number. There is at least one in every big city in the world. All over Europe they are scattered in the country parts too; mostly in ruined abbeys, old castles and such.’
‘Do you know the whereabouts of any of those on the Riviera?’
Beddows shook his head. ‘No; I’ve never attended a ceremony outside England.’
After a moment John asked, ‘What do you really think of the Canon’s prospects of getting Ellen out of prison?’
‘It is difficult to say. To do so he has got to temporarily paralyse a system. That is a far more formidable undertaking than enforcing sleep on the members of an ordinary household. No one of average powers would even attempt it; but he is an Ipsissimus, and there are few things impossible to a Mage of that highest grade. There is, too, one thing in his favour. If he can succeed in bemusing the jailers into unlocking the right doors, he will have no difficulty with Ellen. He will have only to call her on the Astral, and she will walk out.’
‘Yes; that is just what we fear. Can you suggest any means by which we might cause her to resist his will?’
‘Only a White Magician who has greater power than Copely-Syle could cause her to do that.’
‘Do you know of one?’
‘No. I’ve naturally kept clear of anyone I believed to be working on the Right Hand side.’
Again John paused, then he said, ‘I take it from what you were telling us last night that Ellen’s subservience to evil during the dark hours is not a part of her nature, but entirely due to the fact that you … you had her baptised into the Satanic faith?’
‘That’s so.’
‘If she were re-baptised into the Christian faith, would that destroy the influence that the Dark Powers have over her?’
‘No. There is no point in hiding the truth. It was I who sold her to the Devil; so only I can redeem her.’
‘How would you do that?’
Beddows gave a harsh laugh. ‘I wouldn’t! Is it likely? It would mean my abjuring Satan.’
‘But if you did? Say you abjured Satan here and now, on her behalf and on your own, would that take immediate effect? Would it result in her resisting when the Canon calls her tonight on the Astral, and remaining in her cell?’
‘Yes. The effect would be instantaneous. Of course, she would still be subject to hypnotic suggestion, like her jailers or anyone else, in normal circumstances in the future; but not tonight. Such an act would restore the powers of her Guardian Angel, who has been chained all these years. Once freed, he would give her everything he’d got, and throw an aura round her which would protect her from every harmful thought.’
Beddows ceased speaking for a moment, then added suddenly in an aggressive voice, ‘But don’t think what I’ve told you is going to get you anywhere. If you’ve come here to try to get me to abjure, you’ve backed the wrong horse. I’ve no intention of being struck dead by an apoplectic fit and frying for all Eternity.’
‘Is that what it would mean for you?’
‘Yes. Hell is real! Don’t you believe these modern parsons who are fools enough to tell their congregations otherwise. I know, because I’ve seen it. Copely-Syle showed it to me the night that he initiated me as a Neophyte of the Left Hand Path. And it is gaping wide with great tongues of flame for anyone like me—should I betray the Master.’
‘The mercy of God is infinite,’ said John quietly.
‘Maybe,’ sneered Beddows. ‘But not till after one has paid the price for what one has taken at Satan’s hands. God would leave me to burn for a thousand years before He even had a look at me. If you think I’d give a blank cheque of that kind to save Ellen you must be crazy.’
John remained silent long enough for Beddows to cool down, then he said, ‘There is another thing we wanted to ask you about. Last night you told us that for a time you gave up your engineering studies on account of a personal attachment. Would you tell us about that?’
‘Why? It has nothing whatever to do with this business of Copely-Syle and Ellen.’
‘I’m not so sure. I think it might have. Every major emotional experience in your life must have had some bearing on your present situation. Please tell us about it.’
Beddows shrugged. ‘Very well. Since I’ve told you the rest of the story, I may as well fill in the gap. When I first came here as chauffeur old Mrs Durnsford had a companion. She was a girl named Isobel—a frail, gentle little thing, but very beautiful and the sort that is too good for this world. The old girl made her life hell, but she had to grin and bear it. You see, she was a poor relation, with no other relatives to go to, and neither the training nor the stamina to take any other job; so she had no alternative to staying on here.
‘When I had been here for a bit Mrs Durnsford had the idea that I should teach Isobel to drive the car. She didn’t want to, and I didn’t want to teach her, as I thought it might result in my being given the sack; but it was an order. Things being like that, Isobel’s progress was not very fast; so I had plenty of opportunity to get to know her. At first she was very shy, but gradually we got to confiding in one another. I found then that behind her timid manner lay a wonderful mind, filled with courage, unselfishness and an infallible understanding of all the things that really matter.
‘She held that money, birth and position counted for nothing; that real happiness could be gained only by giving happiness to others; that God always provided for His children if they did the right thing; that one should never strive to pile up possessions, but only to make people kinder to one another; and that one should live from day to day, so that if death came unexpectedly one could face it with the certainty that one’s heart would weigh no more in the scales of judgment than the feather of truth.
‘I fell in love with her; and, although I have never understood why, she fell in love with me. When she had got the hang of driving the car sufficient for there to be no excuse to give her further lessons, we continued to meet, but in secret, at any odd times we could snatch. Naturally I had told her all about my engineering ambitions, but she wasn’t in favour of that. Partly because it would have meant living in a town, but more, really, because I had frankly admitted that my object in taking it up was solely to make money out of it.
‘She had money coming to her: not a lot, but enough. Under a trust Mrs Durnsford enjoyed the income on condition that she gave Isobel a home until she was twenty-five. It could not be touched before that, but then the capital had to be handed over with no strings attached. We had eighteen months to go, but we were content to wait. Isobel wanted to start a small school for children with needs. She would have given them the indoor lessons and I was to teach them gardening, carpentry, and a bit about the inside of cars, and generally run the place. That may sound very different from what I have made of my life, but I would have been far happier doing that. With those kiddies to look after there would have been more new interests every day than I get out of all my businesses; and no man could have been unhappy with Isobel for a wife.’
Beddows sighed heavily. ‘But it was not to be. Before Isobel was twenty-four she fell ill. She was so frail that I think she must always have had it in her, but she caught a chill and soon afterwards T.B. developed. After a bit they sent her to Switzerland, and I was distraught. But I managed to see her alone before she left. We swore we would love one another always and, of course, we promised to write frequently.
‘We did; and for the first few weeks I received her letters quite regular. They told me about the place, and the other patients; about the nice young doctor who was looking after her, and how she was sure she would be well enough to come home in time for Christmas. Then her letters grew more infrequent, and then they stopped altogether. If I’d been a town chap I suppose I would have telegraphed her to know what was wrong, but sending cables to foreign countries was away over the head of a young country feller like I was in those days. I put her silence down to the young doctor. You see, I’d never been able to convince myself that I was good enough for her; so I didn’t even write and ask her to let me know if she had changed her mind about marrying me. I just let my misery have free reign, and decided to stop writing till I heard from her again.
‘About three weeks went by like that; then one day, as Mrs Durnsford was getting into the car, she told me quite casual that Isobel was dead. It was a dirty, wicked lie—may her soul rot! But I never found that out until years later; in fact not until after she was dead herself. She had no near relatives, and when she died her executors sold off the whole contents of the house as well as the place. I had my own furniture, and I didn’t want any of hers; but I thought the shelves in the study would look a bit bare without some books, so I bought those at the sale. Naturally, the executors removed her private papers, but there was one lot they overlooked. I came on them soon after I moved in. They were with a pack of Tarot cards and a collection of witch’s-brew recipes in what was left of a big old family Bible that had had its middle cut out to form a box. Among them was a score of letters from Isobel to me that I had never had.
‘It was quite clear then what had happened. My post had always been delivered to the house with the rest of the letters before being brought across the yard to me by one of the maids. The old bitch must have seen a letter with Swiss stamps on addressed to me in Isobel’s writing, steamed it open and read it. In our letters we naturally wrote of our love for one another and of our future plans. The thought of people being happy and making life better for children have been poison to old Mother Durnsford. I bet she got no end of a kick out of sabotaging all our hopes. It would have been easy for her to intercept Isobel’s letters—a few at first, then all of them later on. That’s what she had done; and when she judged that she had got me really worried she both provided an explanation why I had not received any letters from Isobel for the past few weeks and gave me the knock out; because the inference was that for some time before her death Isobel had been too ill to write. Mother Durnsford had rounded the affair off nice and neatly the other end too. The envelope of Isobel’s last letter was marked “to await collection” and I saw from it that the old woman had written her saying that I’d gone away and left no address.
‘Even that was not the full measure of her malice. Naturally, after I thought Isobel was dead I went all to pieces for a bit. But I was young and healthy, and next spring I started to tumble Hettie evenings in the barn. I’ve told you how she got in the family way with Ellen and spilled the beans about it. That must have given Mother Durnsford a fine old laugh. I didn’t know it then, but she had learned from Isobel’s letters how anxious I was to educate and improve myself. Nothing could have been more likely to scotch that than to tie me up to a brainless little working-class slut who was going to have a kid, and would probably go on producing them like rabbits.
‘Well, it didn’t work out that way. But she succeeded in robbing me of Isobel; and you are quite right in your idea that losing her altered my whole life. I still don’t see, though, what that has to do with the Canon and Ellen.’
John had listened to Beddows’ love-story with intense interest, and now he asked, ‘Did you ever find out what happened to Isobel?’
‘Yes. After I found those letters I had enquiries made. There had been a world war in between, but they succeeded in tracing her up. She did die, but not till nearly a year after I believed her dead; and ever since I learned that I’ve been tortured by the belief that she just let herself die of a broken heart.’
‘Say she had lived, Mr Beddows, and you had found out sooner that she was still alive—would you have married her after your first wife died?’
‘Of course I would.’
‘But you couldn’t possibly have married a person as fine as she was, unless you had first forsworn the Devil. To have continued secretly as a Satanist would have robbed your marriage with her of all the genuine happiness you expected to derive from it.’
‘Yes. I see that,’ Beddows admitted slowly. ‘Still, love is the greatest protective force in existence. I think hers would have proved strong enough to shield me from all but loss of my worldly wealth. Anyhow, it’s true that I should have had to abjure in order to put myself right with her; and for her sake I would have risked anything.’
‘You must have loved her very deeply.’
‘More than anything in this world or the next.’
‘Then you will be able to understand how I feel, Mr Beddows, when I tell you that I love your daughter.’
Beddows raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that so? You haven’t known her very long, have you?’
‘No; but in the hours we have spent together much more has happened than during an ordinary courtship. We are already engaged to be married.’
For the first time a glint of humour showed in Beddows’ brown eyes as he asked, ‘Am I to take it that you’ve come here tonight to ask my consent?’
‘We should be glad to have your blessing,’ John answered seriously. ‘But first we need the help that only you can give. And you know how desperately we need it.’
‘I’m sorry. Indeed I am. But it’s no good harking back to that.’
‘Mr Beddows, you have just said that you loved Isobel more than anything in this world or the next. That implies that you still love her spirit. If it were here in this room tonight—as it well may be—and could speak to you, what would it say? You know as well as I do that it would beg you to become again the person it knew and loved. It would urge you to defy Satan in order to save your daughter and make possible the happiness of another pair of lovers.’
‘Yes,’ Beddows muttered. ‘That’s what it would say.’
‘Then if you still love her, do this for her sake.’
The eyes of the man in the pentacle suddenly blazed, and he shouted, ‘Damn you, stop torturing me! I can’t! I won’t! Get to hell out of here!’
After his long and skilful guidance of their talk, John had felt that he was almost on the verge of victory; so Beddows’ outburst came as a bitter disappointment. For a moment he remained silent, searching his mind for some last card that might yet win him over. To his distress he could think of nothing approaching the potency of the arguments he had already used; so he could only fall back upon what he felt to be a frail piece of reasoning, unlikely to alter a mind so evidently fixed by terror in its determination. Nevertheless he threw out the suggestion with no lessening of persistence.
‘You were saying a little while ago that if Isobel had still been alive and you had abjured to put yourself right with her, you thought that her love would have protected you from all but the loss of your worldly wealth. Surely, although she is now a spirit, her love would continue to protect you?’
‘No.’ Beddows’ voice was firm. ‘For all I know, during those last months she may have believed that I had deliberately jilted her, and died hating me. I can’t afford to chance that. There is one thing and one thing only that could protect me. That is to cheat Satan by getting back the Pact I signed with him.’
John’s muscles tensed. ‘D’you know where it is?’
‘Copely-Syle has it.’
‘I naturally supposed so; but he wouldn’t carry it about on him. I mean, do you know where he keeps it?’
‘I don’t know for certain, but I can give a good guess. It is a hundred to one that after offering it up he would place a document of that kind under the Satanic altar in his crypt.’
‘Then …’ John hesitated.
Beddows flung out his hands in a violent gesture of protest. ‘No, no! Don’t think of it. Forget what I said! You’re young and healthy! You should have many years of happiness ahead of you. There are plenty of other girls in the world besides Ellen. You would be crazy to try to raise that altar. You would be blasted where you stood. If you did survive you would be found as a gibbering idiot in the morning. I wouldn’t let my worst enemy attempt to get that Pact.’
Slowly John stood up. ‘If I do get it, and give it to you to destroy, will you swear to me by your love for Isobel immediately to abjure Satan?’
A shudder ran through Beddows. With eyes distended by horror he stared up at John. For a moment he was silent, then he gasped, ‘All right! I swear. But I warned you: I warned you! You’ll be going to your death.’