Roger walked down the area steps and pulled the bell chain. A few minutes later the door was opened by a footman in a striped waistcoat and shirt sleeves.
In a gruff voice Roger said to him, ‘I am one of the Viceroy’s police agents from up at the castle. Are all the servants in?’
‘Yes,’ replied the man, with a scared look. ‘It is having our bite of supper we are.’
Having judged the time of his call carefully, that was what Roger had hoped for, and he said, ‘Good. Take me to them and I’ll see you all together.’
The footman led him down a smelly passage, past the open door of a kitchen and into a room beyond it at the back of the house. Only one other man and three females were seated at a table, confirming Mr. Knight’s statement that Lady Luggala was by no means well off, or she would have had a bigger staff. It transpired that the footman also acted as butler; the other man, an uncouth-looking lout, did the chores, the eldest woman was the cook, a pretty girl in her twenties combined the duties of lady’s maid and housemaid, and a teenaged drab did the scrubbing.
The three senior servants all had lilting Irish accents, the other two could speak only Erse. It was from the footman and the lady’s maid that Roger got the information he wanted, and without their even asking to see his papers, as his manner of speaking told them that he was English, and his having said he came from the castle filled them with awe.
They confirmed that Lady Luggala and Jemima had arrived from England with Susan in mid-February. In mid-March all three had left Dublin in a hired coach, as her ladyship did not keep one of her own, but she had not said where they were going. Two days later Lady Luggala had returned alone. Then, one afternoon toward the end of March, a young English milord had called and spent over two hours with her ladyship. Two evenings later she had entertained both the young lord and a tall, lean priest to dinner. After the meal the priest and the young lord had driven off together in the priest’s coach, but the servants had no idea where. Since then they had not seen either of the young ladies nor the English milord, and her ladyship had had no other guests to stay.
Roger then asked if any of them knew a woman named Katie O’Brien and, if so, when they had last seen her.
All of them shook their heads, with the exception of the middle-aged cook, who had been in Lady Luggala’s service much longer than the others. She replied that in the old days, before her ladyship went to live in London, she had a friend of that name, who came frequently to see her; but since her return they had neither seen nor heard anything of Mrs. O’Brien.
Convinced that he could learn no more from them, Roger enquired if her ladyship was alone upstairs. When they said that she was, he bade the footman put on his jacket and take him up to her. But, before leaving the room, as a precaution against the cook having lied and perhaps leaving as soon as his back was turned, to warn the witch that Lady Luggala was being questioned by the police, he said sternly:
‘All of you will remain here until I come downstairs. If any of you leave the house you will be charged with aiding and abetting a very serious crime.’
They could not know it to be an empty threat, and cowed into silence they resumed their supper of potatoes, bread and pickles.
Upstairs, outside the door of the drawing room, the footman asked whom he should announce, but Roger ignored him, pushed him aside, walked into the room and shut the door behind him.
Maureen Luggala was lying on a chaise longue, wearing a negligée and reading a French paper-back novel. At Roger’s entrance she dropped the book, stared up in surprise and demanded:
‘Who … who are you?’
Roger made a leg and replied with deceptive courtesy. ‘May it please Your Ladyship, I am a government agent from London, and it is my duty to question you on a very serious matter.’
‘I … I don’t understand,’ she faltered.
‘The name Katie O’Brien will not be unknown to Your Ladyship?’
‘I … yes. I knew her when I lived in Dublin some years ago.’
‘And more recently when you both lived in London.’
Maureen Luggala came to her feet, pulled her negligée round her and said angrily, ‘With whom I am acquainted has nothing to do with you, and I have committed no crime to be questioned in this manner.’
‘My superiors are of a different opinion, milady,’ Roger smiled a little grimly. ‘A regular visitor to Mrs. O’Brien’s house in Islington was a Dutchman, named Cornelius Quelp. You, too, were a regular visitor, and you met him there.’
The blood drained from Maureen’s face, so that the patches of rouge on her cheeks stood out and she pressed one hand over her wildly beating heart.
‘Quelp was arrested as an enemy agent, tried, convicted and is now in prison,’ Roger went on inexorably. ‘We have recently come upon evidence, milady, that you supplied him with information to the detriment of the safety of the realm.’
‘I … no,’ she gasped. ‘I told him nothing of importance. Perhaps I talked foolishly, but I had no idea that he was an enemy agent.’
Roger had no evidence, but his bluff had succeeded. ‘Quelp will testify that you did know,’ he declared harshly. ‘And your assertion that the information was of no importance is untrue. Otherwise you would not have been paid for it, as you were through Coutts Bank by Mrs. O’Brien.’
His stricken victim collapsed on to the chaise longue and covered her face with her hands. Then after a moment she withdrew them and panted, ‘’Tis not true. The money was not for that. I am far from rich and was taking a daughter out in fashionable London society. Katie O’Brien is the girl’s god-mother, and she helped to finance me.’
Drawing a paper from his pocket, Roger told her sternly, ‘At your trial you will have the opportunity of trying to persuade the jury of your innocence, but I’d wager big odds on it that you will fail. And I have here a warrant for your arrest.’
‘No!’ Her voice quavered and tears began to run down her cheeks. ‘No, please! I’ve done no real harm. I’m certain of it. And the war is over. I’d be ruined, ruined!’
‘That would be only justice, since you have been responsible for the ruin of others,’ Roger snapped. Then, abandoning his rôle of a government official, he sat down in an armchair, crossed his legs and went on in a quieter tone, ‘And now we will talk of that. I am wearing these clothes only because they are better suited for questioning your servants than my usual attire, which might have made them doubt my being a police agent.’
She looked up quickly, with new hope in her pale blue eyes. ‘Then you are not … All this …’
‘Oh, yes I am,’ he asserted quickly. ‘I will show you the papers I carry if you wish. But I have assumed the rôle only temporarily. Although we have never met, my name is not unknown to you. It is Roger Brook.’
She stared at him aghast. ‘Then … then you are Susan’s father.’
He nodded. ‘And god-father to the Earl of St. Ermins. My primary purpose in coming here is to find out what has become of them. I am convinced that you know and could take me to them.’
‘No!’ she shook her head violently. ‘I cannot. I’ve no idea where they are. The two girls left me against my wish. And I’ve not seen the young Earl since I left London.’
‘You are lying, woman. That was the story you told the Duchess of Kew in your letter to her, but I know the truth. I had it out of your servants before I came up here. The girls left this house with you in mid-March in a hired coach, and St. Ermins also left here with, presumably, a friend of yours—a priest—on the 29th of that month.’
She shuddered. ‘I know! I know! It was stupid of me not to realise that you would have found out. But I can’t take you to them, I can’t!’
‘You can, and you will,’ snarled Roger.
‘I dare not. They are with the O’Brien woman, of course. You must have guessed that. If I betrayed the place where she is, she’d put a curse on me.’
‘I’ll take care of her. You have only to take me to the place where she has gone to earth, and leave the rest to me.’
‘I won’t! I’d rather die! She knows my weakness. She’d render me incapable of ever pleasuring a man again.’
Roger stood up, grasped her by the wrist, pulled her to her feet and shook her. ‘I, too, have that power. If the witch remains in ignorance of who led me to her you’ll have naught to fear from her, and I’ll tear up this warrant I have for your arrest. Refuse, and I’ll execute it. You’ll sleep tonight in one of the dungeons below Dublin Castle. Then you’ll be tried and condemned to penal servitude. When you have served a year or two with the female scum of the city, such looks as you have will have been replaced by lacklustre eyes, scrofulous grey hair and the wrinkled face of an old crone. Maybe you will catch typhus and die in prison. If you do come out alive, you’ll have to haunt the lowest taverns to find even a drunken dock rat who’ll be bemused enough to sleep with you.’
‘You awful man,’ she whimpered. ‘How can you threaten a woman like me with such a terrible fate? Have you no pity?’
‘None,’ he retorted, shaking her again. ‘None for lecherous bitches of your ilk who corrupt young people, and trade them to a priestess of the Devil in return for opportunities to gratify your lust. Come now! Make up your mind. Do you give me the information I require, or do I send you to live on skilly and stitch mail bags for a term of years? The choice is yours.’
Falling back on the couch, she sobbed, ‘I … I’ll do as you demand. But it is already night, and the place is far from here—thirty miles at the least.’
‘In that case we’ll need a coach, and had best postpone our journey until tomorrow. But foster no illusion that you will succeed in playing me any tricks. I propose to hold you incommunicado for the night. Now show me the way to your bedroom.’
Stifling her sobs, she led the way from the room and upstairs to the second floor. Her bedroom was at the back of the house. Roger walked over to one of the windows and looked down. Below, in the semi-darkness, he could make out a small, paved garden. Satisfied that there was no way down to it and that the window was much too high for her to risk a drop, he recrossed the room to the door, removed the key from the inside and transferred it to the outside. Then he said to her:
‘For tonight you must dispense with the services of your maid, as I have no intention of giving you the chance to smuggle out a letter or message. I am about to lock you in here, and I shall give the servants orders that if you ring your bell they are not to answer it. Moreover, I do not mean to leave the house. I’ll doss down in one of your spare bedrooms. You are to be up and dressed in travelling clothes by eight o’clock. I will by then have made arrangements for our journey.’
As she stared at him in silent dismay, she was not a pretty sight. Her eyelash black had run and her cheeks looked raddled. She had clearly gone to pieces, and he felt confident that she would give him no trouble. But he was taking no chances; so, having locked her door behind him and put the key in his pocket, he went down to the basement to deal with the servants.
They were still sitting round the table talking in low voices in Erse. As he entered the room they fell silent and looked up at him apprehensively. He gave them a smile and said pleasantly:
‘I have questioned her ladyship and I am now satisfied that none of you is involved in the serious crime of which she is accused. Providing that you obey my orders, you have nothing to fear.’ Taking the paper from his pocket he handed it to the footman and went on, ‘As proof of my authority, here is the warrant for her ladyship’s arrest.’
The man took it, stared at it a moment, then murmuring, ‘It’s no great one at the readin’ I am,’ he passed it to the lady’s maid, who slowly read it aloud before handing it back to Roger.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Had I arrived here earlier I should have taken her ladyship to the Castle for the night. As things are, it will be more convenient for her to remain here locked in her bedroom. If she rings her bell, none of you is to answer it. In the morning you,’ he pointed to the cook, ‘will prepare two breakfast trays by seven o’clock. You,’ he pointed to the maid, ‘will take one up and leave it outside her ladyship’s door and put the other in the dining room for me. Tomorrow I have to take her ladyship some thirty miles into the country to confront a confederate. You,’ he pointed at the footman, ‘will go out and secure for me a two-horse coach from a livery stables, with a coachman prepared to drive that distance. It is to be here, in front of the house, at eight o’clock.’
He produced a guinea from his waistcoat pocket, gave it to the cook and said, ‘In the depths of the country it may not be possible for us to get a decent midday meal, so when you have finished cooking breakfast I wish you to go out and get some things for me. At one of the better hostelries nearby you should be able to buy a ready-cooked chicken or duck, with some slices of ham and a cake or some pastries, also two bottles of red wine. We’ll need butter and bread as well. Pack them all into a basket, with plates and cutlery, so that they are ready for me when we set off. There should be a few shillings change. You may keep them for your trouble.’
Delighted at such a windfall, she smilingly bobbed him her thanks as he added, ‘You may now all stay up or go to bed as you wish. But none of you is to leave the house before tomorrow morning.’
From the beginning he had thought it most unlikely that any of this group of servants would have the temerity to challenge his authority; now, having shown them the warrant he felt confident that none of them would sneak out in the night to inform the police that a stranger had come to the house, browbeaten them and locked their mistress in her bedroom.
Going up to the second floor he found the room opposite Maureen Luggala’s to be another bedroom. The bed was not made up, but folded blankets and sheets lay beneath the coverlet. Well satisfied with his evening’s work, but still desperately worried about Susan and Charles, he partially undressed, made the bed and, still wearing his underclothes, settled down for the night.
In the morning he woke early, but remained in bed until his turnip watch told him that it was half-past six. That he was unable to shave or do his hair annoyed him, but he was able to wash as an ewer of water stood in a basin in one corner of the room. By the time he had dressed it was seven o’clock and, on going out onto the landing, he saw that a breakfast tray had been set down outside Maureen’s door. Unlocking it, he pushed the tray inside and called out to her, ‘Here is your breakfast. We start in an hour’s time. Be ready by then. I dislike being kept waiting.’
Downstairs in the dining room the pretty maid served him, and he found that the cook had done him well: a fried herring with two poached eggs to follow, and the remains of a cold sirloin on the side-board in case he still felt hungry. But he scarcely noticed what he was eating, because his mind was so occupied by thoughts of his coming encounter with the witch.
A little before eight o’clock he went down to the basement, inspected the picnic basket and had it brought up to the hall, then he went upstairs to fetch Maureen Luggala. She was sitting waiting for him with, he was pleased to see, a cowed look on her face, for he had feared that during the night her terror of the witch could have caused her to change her mind and he might have considerable trouble in making her obey him.
‘I have a coach below,’ he said. ‘Where shall I tell the man to take us?’
‘Along the road through County Wicklow, that leads to Tullow,’ she replied tonelessly.
‘Good. You can tell the servants as we go through the hall that you expect to be back in a few days. In no circumstances are you to mention my name in front of them. Susan stayed here and I do not wish them to connect me with her. I gave them no name, and they know me only as a police agent.’
‘How long shall I be away?’ she asked anxiously. ‘That … that is if Katie O’Brien does not keep me with her and enslave me.’
‘You need not fear that; for I do not intend that you should even see her. Provided you behave yourself and do as I tell you, you should be home again before very long.’
With a sigh of relief she led the way out of the room. In the hall she spoke a few quick words to her maid. Roger told the coachman the road to take, then handed her into the coach. The footman put the basket on the opposite seat and closed the door. As they drove off Roger smiled to himself. His blackmail had succeeded.
The way lay almost due south and on leaving Dublin they passed through Donnybrook Fair. In view of their anything but friendly relations, for the two of them to have to travel together for a considerable distance created an awkward situation, and for the first few miles they sat side by side in silence. But as they passed Galloping Green, with its solitary inn and smithy, Roger found his speculations about what might have happened to Susan so worrying that, to divert his mind from them, he decided to break the strain, and asked Maureen if she had found life in Dublin dull after having lived for several years in London.
She readily responded that she missed the magnificent spectacles provided by the great entertainments given by London’s wealthiest hostesses, but she had many old friends in Dublin and found the quieter social life there very pleasant.
From that point on they exchanged remarks intermittently, and she told him the names of the Anglo-Irish nobles whose mansions lay behind the long, stone walls they passed, and pointed out to him as they approached, features of interest such as Bray Head and the rushing Dargle river. There were stretches of beautiful, bright green grass, on which small flocks of sheep grazed, but no sign of cultivation.
About twelve miles from Dublin the narrow road became more winding as it entered the upward slopes to the Wicklow mountains, with the Sugar Loaf high above the ivy-covered trees on the right. A little further on a track to their left led toward the monastic settlement of Glendalough to which, Maureen said, the religious came from all over Ireland.
From that point onward the slopes became steeper, with deep, wooded valleys made very picturesque by granite boulders lying among the trees which were now showing their young spring leaves of tender green. Climbing all the time at walking pace, they eventually emerged from the trees on to high, flat moorland where heather grew between clumps of gorse. Then came more patches of woodland from which they came out on to another wide stretch of moorland, known as Featherbed Mountain. Maureen told him that Dublin drew a large part of its peat for fires from there.
As they crossed this area for a mile or so, they passed through low cloud, but came out of it to see on their left a deep valley in which lay the lochs Tay and Dan and a river where, here and there, white foam cascaded over clumps of rocks. Half a mile further on Roger noticed two stone pillars, evidently a gateway, but from which the gate had disappeared. The road veered off half right from them.
A moment later Maureen called to the coachman to pull up, then she turned to Roger and pointed to the gateway. ‘It is here. There is a steep drive down for over a mile. At the bottom of the valley lies the loch, and near its edge, the castle.’
‘What is this place called?’ Roger asked.
‘Luggala,’ she replied. ‘The castle was the ancestral home of my late husband’s family. He took me to see over it once, shortly after we were married. It is little but a ruin now. Only a few rooms are habitable, but it seemed a good place for Katie to go into hiding, because she was in trouble.’
Roger nodded. ‘Yes. I knew about that. And you are right. In the past two miles we haven’t passed even a cottage. I’ve rarely seen a more desolate piece of country.’ Poking his head out of the window, he told the coachman to drive past the gate and on.
‘Where are we going,’ she asked anxiously.
‘To find a suitable spot in which to have our meal. It is just on one o’clock, and we’ve been on the road for nearly five hours, so I am now hungry.’
Evidently glad that he had not decided to have their meal there in front of the gateway, she did not demur; and they drove on for the best part of two miles, until they came to another wood. There Roger halted the coach, picked up the basket and prepared to get out.
‘What are you about to do?’ she leaned forward quickly. ‘Surely we can eat here in the coach?’
He shook his head. ‘No. As it is a fine day I prefer the woods. There will probably be some wild flowers: dwarf daffodils, anemones and kingcups.’
Reluctantly she allowed him to hand her out, and accompanied him about thirty yards along a path into the wood. There, evidently fearing that he intended to avenge himself on her for having given his daughter into the power of the witch, and anxious to remain in sight of the coachman, she halted and said, ‘This will serve. I do not wish to go any further.’
‘You will do as I tell you,’ he said sharply. ‘I have promised that I will not harm you or prevent your returning to Dublin. Come now, or as an alternative I’ll take you with me to visit Katie O’Brien.’
She shuddered, gasped, ‘No! No!’ and hurried after him until he had led her deep into the wood, at least a quarter of a mile from the stony, rutted track which was termed a road.
Sitting down on a grassy bank at one side of a small clearing, they ate their meal in silence, and shared one bottle of the wine. Roger then stood up, wrapped a chicken thigh and a large piece of cake in paper, put them in one of his capacious pockets and the second bottle of wine in the other. Smiling at her, he said:
‘Here, my lady, we part. The odds are that you will have to walk a good part of the way back to Dublin before you can get a lift. Anyway it is as good as certain that you will have to spend tonight out on the moor.’
As she began to protest, he cut her short. ‘For iniquities of which you have been guilty I am letting you off very lightly. And should I learn later that you lost your way in the darkness, fell in a ditch and broke your neck, it would not cause me one moment’s loss of sleep.’
Turning his back on her he set off at a gentle run to ensure that, should she follow him, he would reach the coach well ahead of her. When he reached it, he said to the coachman:
‘The lady who was with me is spending the night with friends who have a house on the far side of the wood. Take me back now to that gateway where the road bends, and set me down there.’
The man gave him a curious glance, but did as he was bade. On leaving the coach Roger told him that he was also staying the night with friends in the neighbourhood, then paid him off, gave him a lavish tip and sent him back to Dublin.
Roger had grudged the time he had given to getting rid of Maureen Luggala; but he had felt it a precaution he dared not neglect because, had he left her the use of the coach, it was possible that, to make her peace with Katie O’Brien, she might have driven to the castle by some other route and warned the witch that he was on his way there. But, as he stood for a moment in the stone gateway, he realised that he had lost nothing, because he had time on his hands. It was barely three o’clock, so there were several hours of daylight yet in which to reconnoitre the place and, impatient as he was to learn what had happened to Susan and whether Charles was there, it would have been stupidly rash to attempt to enter the castle until he had the full cover of night.
The grass-grown drive led steeply down, bordered on both sides by screens of trees: pines, beeches and laurels. Beyond them on the right the ground rose abruptly, but on the left it shelved down to a deep valley, on the far side of which, a mile or more away, rose another greenish hillside speckled with white stone boulders.
As he proceeded, his footfalls made no sound on the bright green grass. No bird was singing and the silence seemed uncanny. The drive snaked down, becoming still steeper after every curve, so that he doubted whether a coach, empty and drawn by fewer than four horses could ever have got up it. After descending for half a mile, between the trunks of the trees on his left he caught his first glimpse of the loch far below in the valley. His eyes alert for any sign of movement, he covered another half mile. That brought him to some thirty feet above the level of the lake, over the edge of which some outward sloping trees projected. Through a gap between their leafy branches he saw a part of the ruined castle. Another few hundred paces brought him to the end of the drive. It emerged into a small, flat, triangular area with trees here and there, bounded on three sides by steep hillsides. On the fourth side lay the long loch and the castle rose from its nearest end.
Keeping well under cover Roger stood looking at it for several minutes, taking in every detail. He decided that either it had been built on a small island, or hundreds of tons of rough stone had been dumped in the lake to form its foundations, for it appeared to be entirely surrounded by water, which served the purpose of a moat. From where he stood the nearest part of the castle was about forty yards from the shore, at the edge of which showed a rim, only about two feet in depth, of what looked liked sand, but might be silt. The main building was very old and the greater part of it had fallen into ruin. One tower still stood, but the much lower jagged edges of others showed where they had broken off. Gaping holes appeared here and there in the battlements, and a wall had collapsed revealing the empty interior of a lofty chamber.
The place showed no sign at all of being inhabited. No wind ruffled the surface of the lake or stirred the branches of the trees. Everything was so utterly still that it was vaguely sinister. As far as Roger could see along the valley there was no other habitation or evidence of life, and the castle could not be seen from the road on the high ground along which he had come in the coach. Surrounded as it was by desolate mountains and moorland, and not having been lived in for many years, even people who knew of its existence would be unlikely to suspect that it was being used as a hide-out; so it would have been next to impossible to find a better one.
Selecting a group of bushes among which he could sit concealed, yet continue to keep an eye on the castle, he settled down to his long wait. The hours dragged by while he remained there speculating fruitlessly on what might happen when he entered the castle. Would he find Susan sane, or driven mad through the hellish domination of the witch? And what of Charles? Would he be there, a willing participant of whatever went on, or was his disappearance due to his death in some unguessable mishap?
At last the shadows began to fall. When they were deep enough Roger made his way cautiously from tree to tree across the flat ground, until he could see the other side of the castle. There, an even greater part of the building had collapsed from age. A whole section had fallen outward, so that hundreds of slabs of the granite with which it had been built now formed a rocky causeway, slanting down from a height of about forty feet at the castle end until only odd corners of its last stones projected out of the shallow water about twenty feet from the shore.
At one side, the high pyramid of stones at the castle end ran down to partly cover a landing place, to which a rowing boat was moored. Beyond the boat rose a high, arched doorway, and the light was still good enough for Roger to see that it was iron-bound and solid, so there was little hope of his being able to force it.
Seeking some other means of entrance, he moved further along the shore. Just beyond the peak of the great pile of fallen stones, the building took a different form, due to a wing that had evidently been added many centuries later. The part that Roger could see consisted only of a single, flat-roofed storey about thirty-five feet above the water. There were two diamond-paned windows in it, suggesting the late seventeenth century. One of them was a little open. Although he could not see round the corner, he guessed that this new wing continued on there, as all the rooms would then have a lovely view right down the lake, and this must be the part of the castle still occupied. Yet, as with the derelict ruin, there was no sign of life, and the sinister silence remained unbroken.
Choosing another spot where he could watch without being seen, he again sat down, took out his leg of chicken and bottle of wine and slowly ate his supper. By the time he had finished full darkness had fallen, but he had no intention of attempting to enter the castle until the inmates could be expected to be asleep.
At about eight o’clock the two windows became dimly lit, and a form only vaguely seen through the diamond panes drew curtains across them. Chinks of faint light continued to show between the curtains; then, about an hour later, the windows became dark again. Judging by the time, Roger assumed the windows gave on to the dining room, and that the witch and her companions had just finished their evening meal, so would soon be going to bed. Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, he gave them another two hours before standing up, stretching himself and making sure that the pistol he had thrust into his belt was properly primed.
By then the moon had come up, but it was on the far side of the castle, so the side opposite him was still in deep shadow. Advancing toward the lake, he cautiously took a few steps into the water, in case what he had taken to be sand proved to be treacherous boggy mud, but the bottom was firm and the water shallow. He was barely knee deep in it when he reached the nearest stones of the rough causeway.
From there on he clambered up from block to block, on his hands and knees because many of the big stones were covered with moss and provided only a precarious foothold. It took him a quarter of an hour to get to the top; but once there, by leaning sideways he was near enough to the partly open window to get a grip on the sill.
Balancing carefully on his slippery perch, he stretched out a hand to the window, and pulled it back. Grasping the sill he gave a spring, dangled by both hands for a moment, then hauled himself up and landed on his chest with his head inside the room. Next moment he swore violently under his breath. The butt of the pistol had struck the underledge of the stone sill, and been knocked out of his belt. He heard it clatter as it bounced from rock to rock below. Two-thirds of his body still hung dangerously out of the window. One false move and he would have a very nasty fall, breaking some bones if not his neck. First things first. He gave a swift wriggle and flung his arms forward. It brought him half-way through the window, and he was safe.
Only then did his mind turn fully to the seriousness of his loss. Dare he go further, now that he was unarmed? Could he retrieve his pistol? No, that was next to impossible. If he dropped back, he would almost certainly fail to land safely and go rolling down the great heap of rugged stones. Besides, even given the luck to escape that, what hope would he have of finding the pistol in the dark?
Grimly he realised that he dared not risk a drop. He had no option now but to go forward. Two thoughts swiftly followed to console him a little. At least the pistol had not roused the inmates of the castle by going off, and in old castles skilfully arranged groups of weapons nearly always decorated the walls. From one of them he might arm himself with a sword, mace or dagger.
Even when he pushed aside the curtain, no glimmer of light penetrated the diamond panes of the window as the moonlight did not shine on that side of the castle. The room was in complete darkness, and he could not get any idea of its size. Stretching out his hands, he felt the floor, then pulled his legs through the window, squirmed round and stood up. For a full minute he remained where he was. No sound broke the stillness except that of his own breathing. Cautiously he took two steps forward, his hands stretched out before him. When he was well clear of the curtains he fished out his tinder box and a piece of candle, and struck a light. The flame had barely touched the wick of the candle when there came a rustling sound and a voice said sharply:
‘Who is that?’
The voice was that of a girl. As the candle flared, he saw her. Surrounded by dark hair her face was a white blob. She was sitting up in an iron bedstead and the light gleamed on the brass knobs at its foot. Again she cried, ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’
‘Be quiet!’ Roger said quickly. ‘I mean you no harm. But if you rouse the house, I’ll shoot you.’
As he spoke he walked forward so that he could see her better. At the same time he got an impression of the room. It was large and lofty and furnished only with a table on which was a mirror, a hanging cupboard, a round-lidded trunk and a single chair. Evidently it had not formerly been a bedroom, but had been turned into a temporary one.
Since he was holding the candle she could see him better than he could see her. Suddenly she exclaimed, ‘I know you now! You are Susan’s father, Mr. Brook.’
‘I am,’ he replied, ‘and you are Miss Jemima Luggala.’
She nodded, gave a heavy sigh, then whispered, ‘Thank God you’ve come! Susan and I were in despair. We’d given up all hope of being rescued from the witch.’
Roger looked at her in surprise, walked forward, lit another candle that stood beside her bed and said with a frown, ‘I was under the impression that you and Susan had left your mother against her will, to come and live here with Katie O’Brien.’
‘So that’s what she told you?’ Jemima’s dark eyes flashed with anger. ‘It is a lie. I’ve no reason to love my mother, Mr. Brook. She is mean, greedy and a nymphomaniac. Not being well off, she has always grudged the money for my keep and clothes, so she had no scruples about getting rid of me, and was glad of the chance to make a bargain with the witch. Have you ever heard of the New Hell Fire Club?’
‘I have. Your mother used to frequent it when she lived in London and, I have reason to suppose, participated in the orgies that took place there.’
‘She did. Katie O’Brien told me so. But when my mother left England she was deprived of that outlet for her lusts. That is why she followed the witch to Ireland. Katie had to go into hiding here, but that does not prevent her from still casting spells. They made a foul compact. By her magic arts Katie would provide my mother with a succession of lovers, and in return Susan and I were sold to the witch.’
‘Oh, come!’ Roger protested. ‘You and Susan are not children, but fully grown women. You cannot expect me to believe that both of you allowed your mother to hand you over to anyone against your wills.’
Jemima stared angrily at him. ‘Mr. Brook, I wonder that any man can be so dense. Naturally, we should have refused to go had we had the chance. My mother put a drug into the hot milk we always drink before going to bed at night. When we regained our senses, we were in bed in this castle and as it is surrounded by water we could not attempt to get away.’
‘So that is the way it was,’ said Roger thoughtfully. ‘And what of Charles St. Ermins? Was he drugged and brought here, too?’
‘My Lord St. Ermins!’ Jemima looked surprised. ‘No, why should he have been? What has he to do with this?’
‘He came to Dublin some three weeks ago to search for Susan and take her home; but disappeared two days later.’
‘I know naught of that. I thought him to be still in Spain.’
Roger was greatly puzzled. From all he had heard of Jemima, he had thought it probable that she was in part at least responsible for Susan’s having fallen into Katie O’Brien’s clutches. Georgina had said that the girl had both dominated her mother and achieved a great influence over Susan. Yet her account of her mother’s bargain with the witch was highly plausible, because it was so in keeping with what he had learnt of Maureen Luggala’s character. But what could have happened to Charles? That had become an even deeper mystery. Maureen had neither the brains nor the ability to put him out of the way; so, if he was not here, where could he possibly have got to? Another mystery was, if the girls had not become sister witches of the O’Brien’s, why was she keeping them here? Of what value were they to her? After a moment he said:
‘You maintain that your mother virtually sold you and Susan to Katie O’Brien, and that you are prisoners. What good can it do her to hold two young girls captive?’
Jemima gave him a slightly pitying look. ‘It is evident, Mr. Brook, that you have little knowledge of Satanism. For the most important of all occult ceremonies by which great power can be obtained, the use of the body of a virgin is essential.’ Suddenly, in a rush of words she burst out, ‘It is this we are both dreading so terribly. That’s why I was so overjoyed when I recognised you tonight and realised that you had come to rescue Susan. You’ll take me with you too, won’t you? Please! Please! I implore you to.’
The pleading look on the girl’s face was so earnest that Roger felt much he had heard or assumed about her must be wrong. It was quite possible that she had been maligned and trapped. It dawned upon him then that there was a way in which he could put her to the test, and he asked:
‘Where is Susan?’
‘In another temporarily furnished room like this, also on this floor but on the other side of the castle.’
‘Could you take me to her?’
‘Yes. No-one will be about at this hour, and she is not locked in. Katie is confident that both of us are too frightened of the curse she would put upon us if we tried to escape.’
‘Very well, then. Take me to Susan. If I can get her out, I’ll take you too.’
‘Oh, thanks be to God!’ Jemima gasped. ‘May He forever bless you!’ Slipping out of bed she swiftly put on a chamber robe, picked up her candlestick and walked quickly to the door. Roger blew out the candle he was holding, nipped the wick and followed her out into a gloomy passage.
With Jemima leading, shielding the flame of her candle from the draught with one hand, they walked on tiptoe down a long corridor. Roger followed a few paces behind her, with every sense alert. The girl’s plea for protection, and apparent anxiety to escape from the witch had impressed him. Yet he was worried by doubts about the wisdom of having accepted her as an ally, although she must be aware that if she led him into a trap she would be the first victim of it, for he had only to leap forward to strike her down. Again he felt bitter regret at having lost his pistol, but he now had no choice other than to trust her and, if she did betray him, he could at least fell her with a blow on the back of the neck from which she would not easily recover.
At the end of the corridor they entered a large, lofty hall. By the light of the single candle Roger could not see the walls, but he was aware that a gallery ran round it and in passing he glimpsed a few pieces of heavy furniture.
At the far end of the hall they entered another passage. On that side of the castle, shafts of full moonlight came through the tall windows, but they were so begrimed with the dirt of ages that it was impossible to see out of them. Nevertheless, Roger could see enough to realise that this part of the building was in almost total ruin. As they advanced, holes showed in the roof, a bat flitted by, the undrawn curtains hung beside the windows in moth-eaten rags. Here and there great festoons of cobwebs hung from the ceiling and swayed gently in the draught they made in passing.
They turned into another corridor and then another. No sound reached them but that of the sudden scuttling of a rat. Yet Roger remained uneasy, still fearful that Jemima might be leading him into a trap. Why, he wondered, should her bedroom be where it was, while Susan’s was so far from it, in the ruined part of the castle? The silence was eerie, the whole atmosphere of the place fraught with evil.
Another bat sailed by. Roger started back. Jemima turned and smiled at him. About fifteen feet further on she suddenly took two quick paces forward, threw up her free hand and pressed it against an iron flambeau holder on the wall, then gave a sardonic laugh.
Without a second’s warning, the floor beneath Roger gave way. His feet slid from under him. He fell backward on to a steep, sloping ramp. Instinctively he threw out both his hands sideways, to stop himself from sliding further. They met only flat, cold stone. There was nothing he could cling to. Smoothly, his weight carried him down, down, down, down into the stygian darkness.