For a moment Marie Lou hesitated, her eyes round with surprise, staring at the butler. In the last hour she had heard so much about this strange and terrifying visitor, but it had not occurred to her for one instant that she might be called upon to face him in the flesh so soon.
Her first impulse was to send upstairs for Richard, but like many people who possess extremely small bodies, her brain was exceptionally quick. Rex and the Duke were both absent, and, if she sent for Richard, Simon would be left alone—the one thing that De Richleau had been so insistent should not be allowed to happen. True, she and Richard would have the principal enemy under observation themselves, but he had allies. It flashed upon her that this girl Tanith was one perhaps and had purposely decoyed Rex away to the inn. Mocata might have others already waiting to lure Simon out of the house while they were busy talking to him. Almost instantly her mind was made up. Richard must not leave Simon, so she would have to interview Mocata on her own.
‘Show him in,’ she told the butler evenly. ‘But if I ring you are to come at once—immediately, you understand?’
‘Certainly, madam.’ Malin softly withdrew, while Marie Lou seated herself in an armchair with her back to the light and within easy reach of the bell-push.
Mocata was shown in, and she studied him curiously. He was dressed in a suit of grey tweeds and wore a black stock tie. His head, large, bald and shiny, reminded her of an enormous egg, and the several folds of his heavy chin protruded above his stiff collar.
‘I do hope you’ll forgive me, Mrs Eaton,’ he began in a voice that was musical and charming, ‘for calling on you without any invitation. But you may perhaps have heard my name.’
She nodded slightly, carefully ignoring the hand which he half extended as she motioned him to the armchair on the opposite side of the fireplace. Marie Lou knew nothing of Esoteric Doctrines, but quite enough from the peasants’ superstitions which had been rife in the little village where she had lived, an outcast of the Russian Revolution, to be aware that she must not touch this man, nor offer him any form of refreshment while he was in her house.
The afternoon sunshine played full upon Mocata’s pink, fleshy countenance as he went on. ‘I thought perhaps that would be the case. Whether the facts have been rightly represented to you, I don’t know, but Simon Aron is a very dear friend of mine, and during his recent illness I have been taking care of him.’
‘I see,’ she answered guardedly. ‘Well, it was hardly put to me in that way, but what is the purpose of your visit?’
‘I understand that Simon is with you now?’
‘Yes,’ she replied briefly, feeling that it was senseless to deny it, ‘and his visit to us will continue for some little time.’
He smiled then, and with a little shock Marie Lou suddenly caught herself thinking that he was really quite an attractive person. His strange light-coloured eyes showed a strong intelligence and, to her surprise, a glint of the most friendly humour, which almost suggested that he was about to conspire with her in some amusing undertaking. His lisping voice, too, was strangely pleasant and restful to listen to as he spoke again in perfect English periods, only a curious intonation of the vowel sounds indicating his French extraction.
‘The country air would no doubt be excellent for him, and I am certain that nothing could be more charming for him than your hospitality. Unfortunately there are certain matters, of which you naturally know nothing, but which make it quite imperative that I should take him back to London tonight.’
‘I am afraid that is quite impossible.’
‘I see,’ Mocata looked thoughtfully for a moment at his large elastic-sided boots. ‘I feared that you might take this attitude to begin with, because I imagine our friend De Richleau has been filling the heads of your husband and yourself with the most preposterous nonsense. I don’t propose to go into that now or his reason for it, but I do ask you to believe me, Mrs Eaton, when I say that Simon will be in very considerable danger if you do not allow me to take him back into my care.’
‘No danger will come to him as long as he is in my house,’ said Marie Lou firmly.
‘Ah, my dear young lady,’ he sighed a little wistfully. ‘I can hardly expect anyone like yourself to understand precisely what will happen to our poor Simon if he remains here, but his mental state has been unsatisfactory for some little time, and I alone can cure him of his lamentable condition. Chocolates!’ he added suddenly and irrelevantly as his eyes rested upon a large box on a nearby table. ‘You’ll think me terribly rude, but may I? I simply adore chocolates.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Marie Lou replied without the flicker of an eyelash, ‘but that box is empty. Do go on with what you were saying about Simon.’
Mocata withdrew his hand, feeling himself unable to challenge her statement by opening the box to see, and Marie Lou found it difficult to repress a smile as he made a comically rueful face like some greedy schoolboy who has been disappointed of a slice of cake.
‘Really!’ he exclaimed. ‘What a pity. May I put it in the waste-paper basket for you then? To leave it about is such a terrible temptation for people like myself.’ Before she could stop him he had reached out again and picked up the box, realising immediately by its weight that she had lied to him.
‘No, please,’ she put out her hand and almost snatched the box from his pudgy fingers. ‘I gave it to my little girl to put her marbles in, we mustn’t throw it away.’ The box gave a faint rustle as she laid it down beside her, so she added swiftly: ‘She puts each one in the little paper cups that the chocolates are packed in and arranges them in rows. She would be terribly distressed if they were upset.’
Mocata was not deceived by that ingenious fiction. He guessed at once her true reason for denying him the chocolates and was quick to realise that in this lovely young woman, who stood no taller than a well-grown child, he was up against a far cleverer antagonist than he had at first supposed. However, he was amply satisfied with the progress he had made so far, sensing that her first antagonism had already given way to a guarded interest. He must talk to her a little, his eyes and voice would do the rest. For a moment they stared at each other in silence. Then he opened his attack in a new direction.
‘Mrs Eaton, it is quite obvious to me that you distrust me and, after what your friends have told you, I am not surprised. But your intelligence emboldens me to think that I am likely to serve my purpose better by putting my cards on the table than by beating about the bush.’
‘It will make no difference what you do,’ said Marie Lou quietly.
He ignored the remark and went on in his low, slightly lisping voice. ‘I do not propose to discuss with you the rights or wrongs of practising the Magic Art. I will confine myself to saying that I am a practitioner of some experience and Simon, who has interested himself in these things for the past few months, shows great promise of one day achieving considerable powers. Monsieur De Richleau has probably led you to suppose that I am a most evil person. But in fairness to myself I must protest that such a view of me is quite untrue. In magic, there is neither good nor evil. It is only the science of causing change to occur by means of will. The rather sinister reputation attaching to it is easily accounted for by the fact that it had to be practised in secret for many centuries owing to the ban placed upon it by the Church. Anything which is done in secret naturally begets a reputation for mystery and, since it dare not face the light of day, the reverse of good. Few people understand anything of these mysteries, and I can hardly assume that you have more than vague impressions gathered from casual reading; but at least I imagine you will have heard that genuine adepts in The Secret art have the power to call certain entities, which are not understood or admitted by the profane, into actual being.
‘Now these are perfectly harmless as long as they are under the control of the practitioner, just as a qualified electrician stands no risk in adjusting a powerful electric battery from which a child, who played foolishly with it, might receive a serious shock or even death. This analogy applies to the work Simon and I are engaged upon. We have called a certain entity into being just as workers in another sphere might have constructed an electrical machine. It needs both of us to operate this thing with skill and safety, but if I am to be left to handle it alone, the forces which we have engendered will undoubtedly escape and do the very gravest harm both to Simon and myself. Have I made the position clear?’
‘Yes,’ murmured Marie Lou. During that long explanatory speech he had been regarding her with a steady stare, and as she listened to his quiet, cultured voice expressing what seemed such obvious truths, she felt her whole reaction to his personality changing. It suddenly seemed to her absurd that this nice, charming gentleman in the neat grey suit could be dangerous to anyone. His face seemed to have lost its puffy appearance even while he was speaking, and now her eyes beheld it as only hairless, pink and clean like that of some elderly divine.
‘I am so glad,’ he went on in his even, silky tone. ‘I felt quite sure that if you allowed me a few moments I could clear up this misunderstanding which has only risen through the over-eagerness of your old friend the Duke, and that charming young American, to protect Simon from some purely imaginary danger. If I had only had the opportunity to explain to them personally I am quite convinced that I should have been able to save them a great deal of worry, but I only met them for a few moments one evening at Simon’s house. It is a charming little place that, and he very kindly permits me to share it with him while I am in England. If you are in London during the next few weeks, I do hope that you will come and see us there. We both know without asking that Simon would be delighted, and it would give me the very greatest pleasure to show you my collection of perfumes, which I always take with me when I travel.
‘As a matter of fact, I am rather an expert in the art of blending perfumes, and quite a number of my women friends have allowed me to make a special scent for them. It is a delicate art, and interesting, because each woman should have her own perfume made to conform to her aura and personality. You have an outstanding individuality, Mrs Eaton, and it would be a very great pleasure if you would allow me some time to see if I could not compound something really distinctive in that way for you.’
‘It sounds most interesting,’ Marie Lou’s voice was low and Mocata’s eyes still held hers. Really, she felt, despite his bulk, he was a most attractive person, and she had been quite stupid to be a little frightened of him when he first entered the room. The May sunshine came in gently-moving shafts through the foliage of a tree outside the window, so that the dappled light played upon his face, and it was that, she thought, which gave her the illusion that his unblinking eyes were larger than when she had first looked into them.
‘When will the Duke be back?’ he asked softly. ‘Unfortunately, my visit today must be a brief one, but I should so much have liked to talk this matter over quietly with him before I go.’
‘I don’t know,’ Marie Lou found herself answering. ‘But I’m afraid he won’t be back before six.’
‘And our American friend, the young giant,’ he prompted her.
‘I’ve no idea. He has gone down to the village.’
‘I see. What a pity, but of course your husband is here entertaining Simon, is he not?’
‘Yes, they are upstairs together.’
‘Well, presently I should like to explain to your husband, just as I have to you, how very important it is that I should take Simon back with me tonight, but I wonder first if I might beg a glass of water. Walking from the village has given me quite a thirst.’
‘Of course,’ Marie Lou rose to her feet automatically and pressed the bell. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer a cup of tea or a glass of wine and some biscuits?’ she added, completely now under the strange influence that radiated from him.
‘You are most kind, but just a glass of water and a biscuit if I may.’
Malin already stood in the doorway and Marie Lou gave orders for these slender refreshments. Then she sat down again, and Mocata’s talk flowed on easily and glibly, while her ears became more and more attuned to that faint, musical, lisping intonation.
The butler appeared with water and biscuits on a tray and set them down beside Mocata, but for the moment he took no notice of it. Instead he looked again at Marie Lou, and said: ‘I do hope you’ll forgive me asking, but have you recently been ill? You are looking as though you were terribly run down and very, very tired.’
‘No,’ said Marie Lou slowly. ‘I haven’t been ill.’ But at that moment her limbs seemed to relax where she was sitting and her heavy eyelids weighed upon her eyes. For some unaccountable reason, she felt an intense longing to shut them altogether and fall asleep.
Mocata watched her with a faint smile curving his full mouth. He had her under his dominance now and knew it. Another moment and she would be asleep. It would be easy to carry her into the next room and leave her there, ring for the servant, ask him to find his master and when Richard arrived, say that she had gone out into the garden to find him. Then another of those quiet little talks which he knew so well how to handle, even when people were openly antagonistic to him to begin with, and the master of the house would also pass into a quiet, untroubled sleep. Then he would simply call Simon by his will and they would leave the house together.
Marie Lou’s eyes flickered and shut. With a shake of her head she jerked them open again. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said sleepily. ‘But I am tired, most awfully tired. What was it that you were talking about?’
Mocata’s eyes seemed enormous to her now, as they held her own with a solemn, dreamy look. ‘We shall not talk any more,’ he said. ‘You will sleep, and at four o’clock on the afternoon of 7th May, you will call on me at Simon’s house in St. John’s Wood.’
Marie Lou’s heavy lashes fell on her rounded cheeks again, but next second her eyes were wide open, for the door was flung back and Fleur came scampering into the room.
‘Darling, what is it?’ Marie Lou struggled wide awake and Mocata snapped his plump fingers with a little angry, disappointed gesture. The sudden entrance of the child had broken the current of delicate vibrations.
‘Mummy–mummy,’ Fleur panted. ‘Daddy sent me to find you. We’se playing hosses in the garden, an’ Uncle Simon says he’s a dwagon, an’ not a hoss at all. Daddy says you’re to come and tell him diffwent.’
‘So this is your little daughter? What a lovely child,’ Mocata said amiably, stretching out a hand to Fleur. ‘Come here, my …’
But Marie Lou cut short his sentence as full realisation of the danger to which she had exposed herself flooded her mind. ‘Don’t you touch her!’ she cried, snatching up the child with blazing eyes. ‘Don’t you dare!’
‘Really, Mrs Eaton,’ he raised his eyebrows in mild protest. ‘Surely you cannot think that I meant to hurt the child? I thought too, that we were beginning to understand each other so well.’
‘You beast,’ Marie Lou cried angrily as she jabbed her finger on the bell. ‘You tried to hypnotise me.’
‘What nonsense,’ he smiled good-humouredly. ‘You were a little tired, but I fear I bored you rather with a long dissertation upon things which can hardly interest a woman so young and charming as yourself. It was most stupid of me, and I hardly wonder that you nearly fell asleep.’
As Malin arrived on the scene she thrust Fleur into the astonished butler’s arms and gasped: ‘Fetch Mr Eaton—he’s in the garden—quickly—at once.’
The butler hurried off with Fleur and Mocata turned on her. His eyes had gone cold and steely. ‘It is vital that I should at least see Simon before I leave this house.’
‘You shan’t,’ she stormed. ‘You had better go before my husband comes. D’you hear?’ Then she found herself looking at him again, and quickly jerked her head away so that she should not see his eyes, yet she caught his gesture as he stooped to pick up the glass of water from the table.
Furious now at the way she had been tricked into ordering it for him, and determining that he should not drink, she sprang forward and before he could stop her, dashed the little table to the ground. The plate caught the carafe as it fell and smashed it into a dozen pieces, the biscuits scattered and the water spread in a shallow, widening lake upon the carpet. Mocata swung round with an angry snarl. This small, sensuous, catlike creature had cheated him at the last, and the placid, kindly expression of his face changed to one of hideous demoniacal fury. His eyes, muddled now with all the foulness of his true nature, stripped and flayed her, threatening a thousand unspeakable abominations in their unwinking stare as she faced him across the fallen table.
Suddenly, with a fresh access of terror, Marie Lou cowered back, bringing up her hands to shield her face from those revolting eyeballs. Then a quick voice in the doorway exclaimed: ‘Hello! What is all this?’
‘Richard,’ she gasped. ‘Richard, it’s Mocata! I saw him because I thought you’d better stay with Simon, but he tried to hypnotise me. Have him thrown out. Oh, have him thrown out.’
The muscles in Richard’s lean face tightened as he caught the look of terror in his wife’s eyes and, thrusting her aside, he took a quick step towards Mocata. ‘If you weren’t twice my age and in my house, I’d smash your face in,’ he said savagely. ‘And that won’t stop me either unless you get out thundering quick.’
With almost incredible swiftness Mocata had his anger under control. His face was benign and smiling once more, as he shrugged, showing no trace of panic. ‘I’m afraid your wife is a little upset,’ he said mildly. ‘It is this spring weather, and while we were talking together, she nearly fell asleep. Having heard all sorts of extraordinary things about me from your friends, she scared herself into thinking that I tried to hypnotise her. I apologise profoundly for having caused her one moment’s distress.’
‘I don’t believe one word of that,’ replied Richard. ‘Now kindly leave the house.’
Mocata shrugged again. ‘You are being very unreasonable, Mr Eaton. I called this afternoon in order to take Simon Aron back to London.’
‘Well, you’re not going to.’
‘Please,’ Mocata held up his protesting hand. ‘Hear me for one moment. The whole situation has been most gravely misrepresented to you, as I explained to your wife, and if she hadn’t suddenly started to imagine things we should be discussing it quite amicably now. In fact, I even asked her to send for you, as she will tell you herself.’
‘It was a trick,’ cried Marie Lou angrily. ‘Don’t look at his eyes, Richard, and for God’s sake turn him out!’
‘You hear,’ Richard’s voice held a threatening note and his face was white. ‘You had better go before I lose my temper.’
‘It’s a pity that you are so pig-headed, my young friend,’ Mocata snapped icily. ‘By retaining Simon here, you are bringing extreme peril on both him and on yourself. But since you refuse to be reasonable and let me take him with me, let me at least have five minutes’ conversation with him alone.’
‘Not five seconds,’ Richard stood aside from the door and motioned through it for Mocata to pass into the hall.
‘All right! If that is your final word!’ Mocata drew himself up. He seemed to grow in size and strength even as he stood there. A terrible force and energy suddenly began to shake his obese body. They felt it radiating from him as his words came low and clear like the whispering splash of death-cold drops falling from icicles upon a frozen lake.
‘Then I will send the Messenger to your house tonight and he shall take Simon from you alive or dead!’
‘Get out,’ gritted Richard between his teeth. ‘Damn you get out!’
Without another word Mocata left them. Marie Lou crossed herself, and with Richard’s arm about her shoulder they followed him to the door.
He did not turn or once look back, but plodded heavily, a very ordinary figure now, down the long, sunlit drive.
Richard suddenly felt Marie Lou’s small body tremble against him, and with a little cry of fright she buried her head on his shoulder. ‘Oh, darling,’ she wailed. ‘I’m frightened of that man—frightened. Did you see?’
‘See what, my sweet?’ he asked, a little puzzled.
‘Why!’ sobbed Marie Lou. ‘He is walking in the sunshine, but he has no shadow!’