The tall, elaborately carved door was opened by a bald, elderly man-servant in a black alpaca coat. Rex gave his name, and the servant looked past him with dark, inquiring eyes at the others.
‘These are friends of mine who’re seeing Monsieur Castelnau on the same business,’ Rex said abruptly, stepping into the long, narrow hall. ‘Is he in?’
‘Yes, monsieur, and he is expecting you. This way, if you please.’
Marie Lou perched herself on a high couch of Cordova leather, while the other three followed the back of the alpaca jacket down the corridor. Another tall, carved door was thrown open, and they entered a wide, dimly-lit salon, furnished in the old style of French elegance: gilt ormolu, tapestries, bric-à-brac, and a painted ceiling where cupids disported themselves among roseate flowers.
Castelnau stood, cold, thin, angular and hatchet-faced, with his back to a large porcelain stove. He was dressed in the clothes which he had worn at the banquet. The wide, watered silk ribbon with the garish colours of some foreign order cut across his shirt front, and a number of decorations were pinned to the lapel of his evening coat.
‘Monsieur Van Ryn.’ He barely touched Rex’s hand with his cold fingers and went on in his own language. ‘It is a pleasure to receive you. I know your house well by reputation, and from time to time in the past my own firm has had some dealings with yours.’ Then he glanced at the others sharply. ‘These gentlemen are, I assume, associated with you in this business?’
‘They are.’ Rex introduced them briefly ‘The Duke de Richleau—Mr Richard Eaton.’
Castelnau’s eyebrows lifted a fraction as he studied the Duke’s face with new interest. ‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘Monsieur le Duc must pardon me if I did not recognise him at first. It is many years since we have met, and I was under the impression that he had never found the air of Paris good for him; but perhaps I am indiscreet to make any reference to that old trouble.’
‘The business which has brought me is urgent, monsieur.’ De Richleau replied suavely. ‘Therefore I elected to ignore the ban which a Government of bourgeois and socialists placed upon me.’
‘A grave step, monsieur, since the police of France have a notoriously long memory. Particularly at the present time when the Government has cause to regard all politicals who are not of its party with suspicion. However,’ the banker bowed slightly, ‘that, of course, is your own affair entirely. Be seated, gentlemen. I am at your service.’
None of the three accepted the proffered invitation, and Rex said abruptly: ‘The bullion deal I spoke of when I called you on the telephone was only an excuse to secure this interview. The three of us have come here tonight because we know that you are associated with Mocata.’
The Frenchman stared at him in blank surprise and was just about to burst into angry protest when Rex hurried on. ‘It’ll cut no ice to deny it. We know too much. The night before last we saw you at that joint in Chilbury, and afterwards with the rest of those filthy swine doing the devil’s business on Salisbury Plain. You’re a Satanist, and you’re going to tell us all you know about your leader.’
Castelnau’s dark eyes glittered dangerously in his long, white face. They shifted with a sudden furtive glance towards an open escritoire.
Before he could move, Richard’s voice came quiet but steely. ‘Stay where you are. I’ve got you covered, and I’ll shoot you like a dog if you flicker an eyelid.’
De Richleau caught the banker’s glance, and with his quick, cat-like step had reached the ornate desk. He pulled out a few drawers, and then found the weapon that he felt certain must be there. It was a tiny .2 pistol, but deadly enough. Having assured himself that it was loaded, he pointed it at the Satanist. ‘Now,’ he said, icily, ‘are you prepared to talk, or must I make you?’
Castelnau shrugged, then looked down at his feet. ‘You cannot make me,’ he replied with a quiet confidence, ‘but if you tell me what you wish to know, I may possibly give you the information you require in order to get rid of you.’
‘First, what do you know of Mocata’s history?’
‘Very little, but sufficient to assure you that you are exceedingly ill-advised if, as it appears, you intend to pit yourself against him.’
‘To hell with that!’ Rex snapped angrily; ‘get on with the story.’
‘Just as you wish. It is the Canon Damien Mocata to whom you refer, of course. When he was younger he was an officiating priest at some church in Lyons, I believe. He was always a difficult person, and his intellectual gifts made a thorn in the sides of his superiors. Then there was some scandal and he left the Church; but long before that he had become an occultist of exceptional powers. I met him some years ago and became interested in his operations. Your apparent disapproval of them does not distress me in the least. I find their theory an exceptionally interesting study, and their practice of the greatest assistance in governing my business transactions. Mocata lives in Paris for a good portion of the year, and I see him from time to time socially in addition to our meetings for esoteric purposes. I think that is all that I can tell you.’
‘When did you see him last?’ asked the Duke.
‘At Chilbury two nights ago, when we gathered again after the break-up of our meeting. I suppose you were responsible for that?’ Castelnau’s thin lips broke into a ghost of a smile. ‘If so, believe me, you will pay for it.’
‘You have not seen him then today—this evening?’
‘No, I did not even know that he had returned to Paris.’ There was a ring in the banker’s voice which made it difficult for his questioners to doubt that he was telling them the truth.
‘Where does he live when he is in Paris?’ the Duke enquired.
‘I do not know. I have visited him at many places. Often he stays with various friends, who are also interested in his practices, but he has no permanent address. The people with whom he was staying last left Paris some months ago for the Argentine, so I have no idea where you are likely to find him now.’
‘Where do you meet him when these Satanic gatherings take place?’
‘I am sorry but I can’t tell you.’ The Frenchman’s voice was firm.
De Richleau padded softly forward and thrust the little pistol into Castelnau’s ribs, just under his heart. ‘I am afraid you’ve got to,’ he purred silkily. ‘The matter that we are engaged upon is urgent.’
The banker held his ground, and to outward appearances remained unruffled at the threat. ‘It is no good,’ he said quietly, ‘I cannot do it, even if you intend to murder me. Each one of us goes into a self-induced hypnotic trance before proceeding to these meetings, and wakes upon his arrival. In my conscious state I have no idea how I get there; so this apache attitude of yours is completely useless.’
‘I see.’ De Richleau nodded slowly and withdrew the automatic. ‘However, you are going to tell me just the same, because it happens that I am something of a hypnotist. I shall put you under now, and we shall proceed to follow all the stages of your unconscious journey.’
For the first time Castelnau’s face showed a trace of fear.
‘You can’t,’ he muttered quickly. ‘I won’t let you.’
De Richleau shrugged. ‘Your opposition will make it slightly more difficult, but I shall do it, nevertheless. However, as it may take some time, we will make fresh arrangements in order to ensure that we are not disturbed. Press the bell, and when your servant comes, give him definite instructions that as we shall be engaged in a long conference, upon no pretext whatsoever are you to be disturbed.’
‘And if I refuse?’ Castelnau’s dark eyes suddenly flashed rebellion.
‘Then you will never live to give another order. The affair we are engaged upon is desperate, and whatever the consequences may be, I shall shoot you like the rat you are. Now ring.’ De Richleau put the pistol in his pocket but still held the banker covered, and after a moment’s hesitation Castelnau pressed the bell.
‘You, Richard,’ the Duke said in a sharp whisper, ‘will leave us when the servant has taken his instructions. Wait for us with Marie Lou in the entrance hall. You have your gun. Prevent anyone leaving the apartment until we have finished. Open the door to anyone who rings yourself, and if Mocata arrives, as he may at any moment, don’t argue—shoot. I take all responsibility.’
‘I am only waiting for the chance,’ said Richard grimly, just as the servant entered.
Castelnau gave his orders in an even voice, with one eye upon the Duke’s pocket, then Richard, in his normal voice, remarked casually:
‘Well, since the matter is confidential, I had better wait outside with my wife until you are through,’ and followed the elderly alpaca-coated man out into the hall.
‘Rex,’ De Richleau lost not an instant once the door was closed. ‘Take that telephone receiver off its stand so that we are not interrupted by any calls. And you,’ he turned to the banker, ‘sit down in that chair.’
‘I won’t!’ exclaimed Castelnau furiously. ‘This is abominable. You invade my apartment like brigands. I give you such information as I can, but what you are about to do will bring me into danger, and I refuse—I refuse, I tell you.’
‘I shall neither argue with you nor kill you,’ De Richleau answered frigidly. ‘You are too valuable to me alive. Rex, knock him out!’
Castelnau swung round and threw up his arms in a gesture of defence, but Rex broke through his guard. The young American’s mighty fist caught him on the side of the jaw and he crumpled up, a still heap on his own hearth-rug.
When the banker came to he found himself sitting in a straight chair; his hands were lashed to the back and his ankles to the legs with the curtain cords. His head ached abominably and he saw De Richleau standing opposite to him, smiling relentlessly down into his face.
‘Now,’ said the Duke, ‘look into my eyes. The sooner we get this business over the sooner you will be able to get to bed and nurse your sore head. I am about to place you under, and you are going to tell us what you do when you go to these Satanic meetings.’
Castelnau quickly closed his eyes and lowered his head on to his chest, resisting De Richleau’s powerful suggestion with all the force of his will.
‘This doesn’t look to me as though it’s going to be any too easy,’ Rex muttered dubiously. ‘I’ve always thought that it was impossible to hypnotise people if they were unwilling. You’d better let me put the half-Nelson on him until he becomes more amenable and sees reason.’
‘That might make him agree verbally,’ De Richleau replied, ‘but it won’t stop him lying to us afterwards, and it is quite possible to hypnotise people against their will. It is often done to lunatics in asylums. Get behind him now, hold back his head and lift his eyelids with your fingers so that he cannot close them. We’ve got to find out about this place. It is our only hope of getting on to Mocata.’
Rex did as he was bid. The Duke stood before the chair, his steel-grey eyes fastened without a flicker upon those of the unwilling Satanist.
Time passed, and every now and then De Richleau’s voice broke the silence of the quiet, dimly-lit room. ‘You are tired now, you will sleep. I command you.’ But all his efforts were unavailing. The Satanist sat there rigid and determined not to succumb.
The ormolu clock upon the mantelpiece ticked with a steady, monotonous note, until Rex was filled with the mad desire to throw something at it. The hands crawled round the white enamelled dial; its silvery chime rang out, marking the hours eleven, twelve, one. Still the Frenchman endured De Richleau’s steady gaze. He knew that they were expecting Mocata to arrive at his apartment. Mocata was immensely powerful. If only he could hold out until then the whole position might be saved. With a fixed determination not to give in, his eyelids held back by Rex’s forefingers, he stared blankly at De Richleau’s chin.
Outside, on the sofa of Cordova leather, Richard and Marie Lou sat side by side. It seemed to her again that she must be dreaming. The whole fantastic business of this flight to Paris and their dinner at the Vert Galant had been utterly unreal. It could not be real now that Mocata was somewhere in this city preparing to kill her darling Fleur in some ungodly rite, while she sat there with Richard in that strange, silent apartment and the night hours laboured on.
She thought that she slept a little, but she was not certain. Ever since she had fainted in the pentacle and come to with the sensation that she was above Cardinals Folly, floating in the soundless ether, all her movements had been automatic and her vision of their doings distorted, so that whole sections of time were blotted out from her mind, and only these glimpses of strange places and faces seemed to register.
The black-coated servant appeared once at the far end of the corridor, but seeing them still there, disappeared again.
Almost the whole of that long wait Richard sat with his eyes glued to the front door, his hand clasped ready on the pistol in his pocket, expecting the ring that would announce Mocata’s arrival.
He too felt that somehow this person, grown desperate from an unbearable injury and lusting with the desire to kill, regardless of laws and consequences, could not possibly be himself. With every movement that he made he expected to wake and find himself safely in bed at Cardinals Folly, with Marie Lou snuggled down close against him and Fleur peacefully asleep only a few doors away.
Had he wholly believed that Fleur had been taken from him and that he was never to see her again, he could not possibly have endured those dreary hours of enforced idleness while the Duke battled with Castelnau. He would have been forced to interrupt them or at least leave his post to watch their proceedings, for his inactivity would have become unbearable.
In the richly furnished salon, Rex and the Duke continued their long-sustained effort without a second’s intermission. The clock struck two, and as Rex stood behind the Frenchman’s chair, shifting his weight from foot to foot now and then, he seemed at times to drop off into a sort of half-sleep where he stood.
At last, a little after two, he was roused to a fresh attention by a sudden sob breaking from the dry lips of the banker.
‘I will not let you, I will not,’ he cried hysterically, and then began to struggle violently with the curtain cords that tied him to the chair.
‘You will,’ De Richleau told him firmly, the pupils of his grey eyes now distended and gleaming with an unnatural light.
Castelnau suddenly ceased to struggle; a cold sweat broke out on his bony forehead, and his head sagged on his neck, but Rex held it firmly and continued to press back his eyelids so that it was impossible for him to escape the Duke’s relentless stare.
He began to sob then, like a child who is being beaten, and at last De Richleau knew that he had broken the Frenchman’s will. In another ten minutes Rex was able to remove his fingers from the banker’s eyelids for he no longer had the power to close them, but sat there gazing at De Richleau with an imbecile glare.
In a low voice the Duke began to question him and, after one last feeble effort at resistance, it all came out. The meeting place was in a cellar below a deserted warehouse on the banks of the Seine at Asnières. They secured full directions as to the way to reach it and how to get into it when they arrived.
As Castelnau answered the last question, De Richleau glanced at the clock. ‘Three and a quarter hours,’ he said with a sigh of weariness. ‘Still, it might well have taken longer in a case like this.’
‘What’ll we do with him?’ Rex motioned towards the Frenchman who, with his head fallen forward on his chest, was now sound asleep.
‘Leave him there,’ answered the Duke abruptly. ‘The servants will find him in the morning, and he’s so exhausted that he will sleep until then. But stuff your handkerchief in his mouth just in case he wakes and tries to make any trouble for us. Be quick!’
Castelnau did not even blink an eyelid as Rex gagged him. They left him there and hurried out to the others.
‘Come on!’ cried the Duke.
‘What about Mocata?’ Richard asked. ‘If we leave here we may miss him.’
‘We must chance that.’ De Richleau pulled open the door and made for the stairs.
As they dashed down the long flights he flung over his shoulder: ‘Tanith may have been wrong. Messages from the Astral plane are often unreliable about time. As it does not exist there, they have difficulty in judging it. She may have seen him here a week hence or in the past even. It’s so late now that I doubt if he will turn up tonight. Anyhow, we got out of Castelnau the place where he’s most likely to be, and God knows what he may be doing if he is there. We’ve got to hurry!’ They fled after him out of the silent building.
Round the corner they managed to pick up a taxi and, at the promise of a big tip, the man got every ounce out of his engine as he whirled the four harassed-looking people away through the murky streets up towards the Boulevard de Clichy. Topping the hill, they descended again towards the Seine, crossed the river and entered Asnières.
In that outlying slum of Paris with its wharves and warehouses, narrow, sordid-looking streets and dimly-lit passages, there was little movement at that hour of the morning. They paid off the taxi outside a closed café which faced upon a dirty-looking square. A market wagon rumbled past with its driver huddled on the seat above the horses, his cape drawn close to protect him from the damp mist rising from the river. The bedraggled figure of a woman was huddled upon the steps of a shop with ‘Tabac’ in faded blue letters above it, but otherwise there was no sign of life.
Turning up the collars of their coats and shivering afresh from the damp chill of the drifting fog, they followed the Duke’s lead along an evil-looking street of tumbledown dwelling houses. Then, between two high walls, along a narrow passage where the rays of a solitary lamp, struggling through grimy glass, were barely sufficient to dispel a small circle of gloom in its own area. When they had passed it the rest was darkness, foul smells, greasy mud squishing from beneath their feet, and wisps of mist curling cold about their faces.
At the end of that long dark alley-way they came out upon a deserted wharf. De Richleau turned to the left and the others followed. To one side of them the steep face of a tall brick building, from which chains and pulleys hung in slack festoons, towered up into the darkness. On the other, a few feet away, the river surged, oily, turgid, yellow and horrible as it hurried to the sea.
As if in a fresh phase of their nightmare, they stumbled forward over planks, hawsers and pieces of old iron, the neglected debris of the riverside, until fifty yards farther, De Richleau halted.
‘This is it,’ he announced, fumbling with a rusty padlock. ‘Castelnau hadn’t got a key and so we’ll have to break this thing. Hunt around, and see if you can find a piece of iron that we can use as a jemmy. The longer the better. It will give us more purchase.’
They rummaged round in the semi-darkness, broken only by a riverside light some distance away along the wharf and the masthead lanterns of a few long barges anchored out on the swiftly flowing waters.
‘This do?’ Richard pulled a rusty lever from a winch and, grabbing it from him, the Duke thrust the narrow end into the hoop of the padlock.
‘Now then,’ he said, as he gripped the cold, moist iron, ‘steady pressure isn’t any good. It needs a violent jerk, so when I say “go!” we must all throw our weight on the bar together. Ready? Go!’
They heaved downwards. There was a sudden snap. The tongue of the padlock had been wrenched out of the lock. De Richleau removed it from the chain and in another moment they had the tall wooden door open.
Once inside, De Richleau struck a match, and while he shaded it with his hands the others looked about them. From what little they could see, the place appeared to be empty. They moved quickly forward, striking more matches as they went, in the direction where Castelnau had told them they would find a trap-door leading to the cellars.
In a far corner they halted. ‘Stand back all of you,’ whispered Rex, and while the Duke held up a light he pulled at the second in a row of upright iron girders, apparently built in to strengthen the wall. As Castelnau had said in his trance, it was a secret lever to operate the trap. The girder came forward and a large square of flooring lifted noiselessly on well-oiled hinges.
De Richleau blew out his match and produced the small automatic which he had taken from the banker. ‘I will go first,’ he said, ‘and you, Rex, follow me. Richard, you have the other gun so you had better come last. You can look after Marie Lou and protect our rear. No noise now, because if we’re lucky our man is here.’
Feeling about with his foot he ascertained that a flight of stairs led downwards. His shoes made no noise, and it was evident that they were covered with a thick carpet. Swiftly, but cautiously, he began to descend the flight and the others followed him down into the pitchy darkness.
At the bottom of the stairs they groped their way along a tunnel until the Duke was brought up sharply by a wooden partition at which it seemed to end. He fumbled for the handle, thinking that it was a door. The sides were as smooth and polished as the centre, yet it moved gently under his touch, and after a moment he found it to be a sliding panel. With the faintest click of ball bearings it slid back on its runners.
Straining their eyes they peered into the great apartment upon which it opened. A hundred feet long, at least, and thirty wide, it stretched out before them. Two lines of thick pillars, acting as supporters to the roof above, and rows of chairs divided in the centre by an aisle which led up to a distant altar, gave it the appearance of a big private chapel. It was lit by one solitary lamp which hung suspended before the altar, and that distant beacon did not penetrate to the shadows in which they stood.
On tiptoe and with their weapons ready they moved forward along the wall. De Richleau peered from side to side as he advanced, his pistol levelled. Rex crept along beside him, the iron winch lever which they had used to smash the padlock gripped tight in his big fist. At any moment they expected their presence to be discovered.
As they crept nearer to the hanging lamp, they saw that the place had been furnished with the utmost luxury and elegance for those unholy meetings. It was, indeed, a superbly equipped temple for the worship of the Devil. Above the altar a great and horrible representation of the Goat of Mendes, worked in the loveliest coloured silks, leered down at them; its eyes were two red stones which had been inset in the tapestry. They flickered with dull malevolence in the dim light of the solitary lamp.
On the side walls were pictures of men, women and beasts practising obscenities only possible of conception in the brain of a mad artist. Below the enormous central figure, which had hideous, distorted, human faces protruding from its elbows, knees and belly, was a great altar of glistening red stone, worked and inlaid with other coloured metals in the Italian fashion. Upon it reposed the ancient ‘devil’s bibles’ containing all liturgies of hell; broken crucifixes and desecrated chalices stolen from churches and profaned here at the meetings of the Satanists.
Luxurious armchairs, upholstered in red velvet and gold with elaborate canopies of lace above, such as High Prelates use in cathedrals when assisting at important ceremonies, flanked the altar on either side. Below the steps to the short chancel, on a level with where they stood, were arranged rows and rows of cushioned prie-dieux for the accommodation of the worshippers.
No sound or movement disturbed the stillness of the heavy incense-laden air and, with a sinking of the heart, De Richleau knew that they had lost their man. He had gambled blindly upon Tanith’s message and she had proved wrong as to time. Mocata might not be in Paris for days to come; perhaps he had divined their journey and, knowing that he would be unmolested while they were abroad, returned to Simon’s house where, even now, he might by foully murdering poor little Fleur. It seemed that their last hope had gone.
Then as they stepped from the side aisle they suddenly saw a thing that had been hidden from them by the rows of chair backs—a body, clad in a long white robe with mystic signs embroidered on it in black and red, lay spreadeagled, face downwards on the floor, at the bottom of the chancel steps.
‘It’s Simon!’ breathed the Duke.
‘Oh, hell, they’ve killed him!’ Rex ran forward and knelt beside the body of their friend. They turned him over and felt his heart. It was beating slowly but rhythmically. The Duke pulled out of his waistcoat pocket a little bottle, without which he never travelled, and held it beneath Simon’s nose. He shuddered suddenly and his eyes opened, staring up at them.
‘Simon, darling, Simon. It’s us–we—re here.’ Marie Lou grasped his limp hands between her own.
He shuddered again and struggled into a sitting position. ‘What—what’s happened?’ he murmured, but his voice was normal.
‘You left us, you dear, pig-headed ass!’ exclaimed Richard. ‘Gave yourself up and ruined our whole plan of campaign. What’s happened to you? That’s what we want to know.’
‘Well, I met him.’ Simon gave the ghost of a smile. ‘And he took me to Paris in his plane. Then to some place down on the riverside.’ He gazed round and added quickly: ‘But this is it. How did you get here?’
‘Never mind that,’ De Richleau urged him. ‘Have you seen Fleur?’
‘Yes. He sent a car for me, and when I reached the plane she was already in it. We had an argument and he swore he’d keep his word unless I went through with this.’
‘The ritual to Saturn?’ asked De Richleau.
‘Um. He said that if I’d do it without making any fuss he’d let me take Fleur out of here immediately afterwards and back to England.’
‘He’s double-crossed you, as we thought he would,’ Rex grunted. ‘There’s not a soul in this place. He’s quit, and taken Fleur with him. Can’t you say where he’ll be likely to make for?’
‘Ner.’ Simon shook his head. ‘Directly we started on the ritual he put me under. I let him, but of course he would have done that anyway. The last I saw of Fleur she was sound asleep in that armchair and the next thing I knew you were all staring down at me just now.’
‘If you completed the ritual, Mocata knows now where the Talisman is,’ De Richleau said abruptly.
‘Yes,’ Simon nodded.
‘Then he will have gone to wherever it is from here.’
‘Of course,’ Richard cut in. ‘That’s his main objective. He wouldn’t lose a second.’
‘Then Simon must know the place to which he’s gone.’
‘How’s that? I don’t quite get you.’ Rex looked at the Duke with a puzzled frown.
‘In his subconscious, I mean. Our only hope now is for me to put Simon under again and make him repeat every word that he said when the ritual was performed. That will give us the hiding-place of the Talisman and the place to which I’ll stake my life Mocata is heading at the present moment. Are you game, Simon?’
‘Yes, of course. You know that I would do anything to help.’
‘Right.’ The Duke took him by the arm and pushed him gently. ‘Sit down in that chair to the right of the altar and we’ll go ahead.’
Simon settled himself and leaned back on the comfortable cushions, his white robe with its esoteric designs in black and red settling about his feet like the long skirts of a woman. De Richleau made a few swift passes. ‘Sleep, Simon,’ he commanded.
Simon’s eyelids trembled and closed. After a moment he began to breathe deeply and regularly. The Duke went on: ‘You are in this temple with Mocata. The ritual to Saturn is about to begin. Repeat the words that he made you speak then.’
Dreamily but easily, Simon spoke the words of power which were utterly meaningless to Richard, Rex and Marie Lou, who stood, a tensely anxious audience, at the bottom of the chancel steps.
‘On,’ commanded De Richleau. ‘Jump a quarter of an hour.’ Simon spoke again, more sentences incomprehensible to the uninitiated.
‘On again,’ commanded De Richleau. ‘Another quarter of an hour has passed.’
‘—was built above the place where the Talisman is buried,’ said Simon. ‘It will be found in the earth beneath the right hand stone of the altar.’
‘Go back one minute,’ ordered De Richleau, and Simon spoke once more.
‘—Attila’s death the Greek secreted it and took it to his own country. In the city of Yanina, upon his return, he became possessed of devils and was handed over to the brethren at the monastery above Metsovo, which stands in the mountains twenty miles east of the city. They failed to cast out the spirits which inhabited his body and so imprisoned him in an underground cell and there, before he died, he buried the Talisman. Seven years later the dungeons were demolished and the crypt built in their place on the same site, with the great church above it. The Talisman remained undisturbed in its original hiding place. Its power gradually pervaded the whole of the Brotherhood, filling it with lechery and greed, so that it disintegrated and was finally disbanded before the invasion by the Turks. The chapel to the left in the crypt was built above the place where the Talisman is buried.’
‘Stop,’ ordered the Duke. ‘Awake now.’
‘By Jove, we’ve got it!’ exclaimed Rex. But as he spoke a slight noise behind them made him swing upon his heel.
Four figures stood there in the shadows. The tallest suddenly stepped forward.
Richard’s hand leapt to his gun but the tall man snapped: ‘Stand still, mon vieux, I have you covered,’ and they saw that he held an automatic.
The other two strangers came forward. The fourth was Castelnau.
The leader of the party turned to a little old man, who stood beside him wearing an out-of-date bowler hat that came almost down to his ears, then nodded towards the Duke.
‘Is that De Richleau, Verrier? You should be able to recognise him, since he was in your time.’
‘Oui monsieur” declared the little old man. ‘That is the famous Royalist who caused us so much trouble when I was young. I would know his face again anywhere.’
‘Bon! All this is very interesting.’ The tall, hard-eyed man glanced from the obscene pictures on the walls to the magnificent appurtenances of Satanic worship upon the altar, and went on in a silky tone: ‘I have had an idea for some time that a secret society has been practising devil worship in Paris and is responsible for certain disappearances, but I could never lay my hands on them before. Now I have got five of you red-handed.’
He paused for a moment then gave a jerky little bow. ‘Madame et Messieurs, permit me to introduce myself. I am le Chef de la Sûreté, Daudet. Monsieur le Duc, I arrest you as an enemy of the Government upon the old charge. The rest of you I shall hold with him, as persons suspected of kidnapping and the murder of young children at the practice of infamous rites.’