‘Don’t you think they’d laugh?’ said Ann, doubtfully.
‘Possibly,’ answered Peter, grimly. ‘But, whether they laugh or not, I’m going to put the matter up to Donaldson in the morning. Now we’d better get a move on, hadn’t we, or we shall be late at the Sherwoods’ . . .?’
Chapter Six
Peter would have enjoyed the evening at the Sherwoods better if his mind had not kept niggling at Ann’s theory. The conversation ebbed and flowed around him, but he only heard parts of it. The Sherwoods must have noticed his abstraction, but they said nothing, neither did Ann, though she knew the cause of it. Only once did Peter give his wholehearted attention to what was going on, and that was when Anthony took him to see the collection of rare books on witchcraft he had accumulated. There were between forty and fifty, and they covered every conceivable aspect of the subject. There were two which interested Peter immensely, and he asked if he might be allowed to borrow them for a day or two. Sherwood gave his permission readily, and when, getting on for midnight, he and Ann took their departure, the two bulky volumes by Doctor Montague Summers went with them. Peter sat up for the greater part of the night dipping into the contents . . .
Chapter Seven
Detective-Inspector Donaldson was surprised to receive a visit from Peter on the following morning. His surprise showed in his eyes, mingled with a questioning look that said: ‘Hello. What’s the idea, I wonder?’ What he actually did say was:
‘Good morning, sir. Sit down, please.’
Peter sat down in the chair which he indicated.
‘I haven’t come to make a confession,’ he said, remembering the last time he had seen the inspector.
‘No, sir?’ remarked Donaldson, stolidly. ‘I didn’t really think that you had, sir . . .’
‘I’ve come,’ said Peter, ‘to offer a suggestion. You’ll probably think that it’s wildly ridiculous, but it’s my opinion that there’s something in it . . .’
‘I’m prepared to listen to anything you have to say, sir,’ said the inspector, politely. Peter offered him a cigarette, took one himself, and began to talk. He talked without interruption for nearly fifteen minutes while Donaldson listened. Contrary to his expectations, the inspector did not treat the idea as ridiculous, or fantastic. When Peter had finished, he looked at him gravely for a moment in silence.
‘You know, sir,’ he said, at last, ‘I’ve had some experience of this thing you mention. There was a case in the West End of London about three years ago, and I was in charge of it. Nasty business it was, though it was a mild form to this, if what you suggest is right, and I’m inclined to believe it may be. The whole thing was hushed up because there were some pretty well-known names involved . . .’
‘I believe it is still practised more than people think,’ said Peter. ‘Particularly on the Continent — France and Germany, and some of the Balkan states. There’s been one or two cases in America also.’
The inspector nodded.
‘Quite a lot of it isn’t the genuine article at all,’ he said. ‘This case I mentioned to you just now wasn’t. It was quite near enough, all the same, to make your flesh creep and leave a very nasty taste in your mouth.’ He passed the tip of his tongue over his lips as though some of the nasty taste still remained. ‘I was very glad to get shot of it, I can tell you. We consulted an authority on the subject at the time, and he told me all about it. It’s a horrid, filthy business and I can’t understand anyone getting mixed up in it, but they do, and the chief people concerned make quite a lot of money out of it . . .’
‘To a certain type it would provide a tremendous thrill,’ said Peter. ‘The traditional rites of the cult cover a multitude of sins, among the least of which is the opportunity for unbridled obscenity and sensual indulgence. That is the appeal which the foul, black cult of Satan-worship has for the morally corrupt. There are, I should imagine, very few genuine Satanists belonging to these — covens is, I believe, the right word — and by genuine Satanist I mean a person who really believes in, and worships, the Devil. The majority of the devotees are attracted because the cult provides an excuse for advanced sexual orgies — all the wild abandon and obscene orgies associated with the traditional Witches’ Sabbath and the horrible, abominable ritual of the Black Mass. In other words, the cult of Devil-worship offers vice in a new form: vice in fancy dress, coupled with the thrill of sheer diabolical wickedness for its own sake . . .’
‘Just the kind of thing, in fact, that would have appealed to the four people who were murdered, sir,’ said Inspector Donaldson, quietly. ‘They were, from what I have gathered so far, the ideal types. And, talking of genuine Satanists, you realize, Mr. Chard, that if this theory of yours is correct, and we’re not quite letting our imagination run away with us, there must be a genuine Satanist mixed up with it? If this is the reason for the lambs and the children, the ritual employed is the genuine article . . .’
‘Yes,’ agreed Peter. ‘Of course I realize that.’
‘Whoever is running this outfit,’ said the inspector, his face very stern and hard, ‘has gone the whole hog . . .’ He pulled a sheet of paper towards him and picked up a pencil. Taking a small diary from his pocket he consulted it, comparing certain pages in it with the transcript of Sergeant Porter’s notes which had been taken at the conference with the Chief Constable. Rapidly he jotted down some dates and looked up at Peter.
‘A bit significant, sir,’ he said, slowly. ‘These dates are what you asked for — when the children disappeared . . .’ He pushed the paper across the desk, and Peter picked it up. The first disappearance had taken place on the day before Good Friday, the second on the day before the eve of St. Michael and all Angels, the third two days before Midsummer Eve, or the Vigil of the Feast of St. John, the fourth on Christmas Eve, and the fifth, and last, little Joan Coxen, on the day before the Eve of All-Hallows.
‘This goes a long way to confirm the Satanist theory,’ said Peter. ‘These dates all coincide with a high festival of the Church. According to Doctor Montague Summers they are also dates associated with particularly vile and frenzied rites of the cult of Satan.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Donaldson. ‘Strange that you should mention Doctor Montague Summers. I’ll show you something.’ He opened a drawer in the desk and brought out a book. ‘This arrived by registered post for André Severac. It was never delivered, because on the morning it reached here, he was already dead.’ He handed the book across to Peter and he read in gilt lettering on the spine: Demonology and Witchcraft by Montague Summers.
‘There was another book by Summers in the bookcase in Laura Courtland’s sitting room,’ remarked Peter. ‘The History of Witchcraft . . .’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the inspector, ‘I saw it . . .’
‘It all adds up, doesn’t it?’ said Peter, and Donaldson nodded.
‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Let’s see what sort of a total we can get. It’s your opinion, and I must say that it’s getting to be mine, too, that there’s a coven of Satanists, or Devil-worshippers, in the district, to which Laura Courtland, Robin Mallory, Fay Bennett, and André Severac belonged. That, whether these people really believed in the Devil, or merely adopted the cult because it provided a new sensation, we are of the opinion that the full ritual was practised in all its ghastliness and hideousness, and that the disappearance and subsequent murders of five young children are the direct result of these horrible rites. Unfortunately, we’ve very little evidence to support this theory. We have no actual knowledge that such a coven exists, or that these people belonged to it. We don’t know of anybody else who may have belonged to it, or who the person is who is running it. All we have to go on is that such a theory provides an adequate motive for the murders of these children; that their various disappearances took place on dates that correspond with such a theory; that there was a book on witchcraft in the possession of Laura Courtland, and another book on the same subject, and by the same author, arrived by post from a firm of booksellers for An
dré Severac. That’s all . . .’
‘Not quite,’ interrupted Peter. ‘In the possession of both Laura Courtland and Fay Bennett was a brooch of platinum set with rubies . . .’ He produced the brooch from his pocket and explained how he had come by it.
‘This is the first I’ve heard about it,’ grunted Donaldson, examining the brooch with interest. ‘You’d no right to have removed this, sir, but we’ll let that go. What’s your idea about this?’
‘I think that the L stands for Lucifer,’ replied Peter, ‘and that it was a kind of badge of membership . . .’
‘H’m, that’s quite probable,’ said the inspector. ‘In which case there should be something similar for the men . . .’
‘Didn’t you find anything of the sort?’ asked Peter.
‘No,’ answered Donaldson. ‘Sergeant Porter made the search of their belongings and I don’t suppose, even if he had found anything of the sort, it would have conveyed much to him. In view of this I’ll have another look myself.’ He put the little brooch down on the desk in front of him. ‘You know,’ he went on, ‘this theory may be an explanation for what you might call one half of the case, but it doesn’t explain the other half; the finding of those four people, dead from poison, in that old cottage . . .’
‘Or how somebody walked over the snow without leaving any marks,’ remarked Peter, looking quizzically at him. ‘If you still have any lurking suspicion that it was me, or my wife, you’d better put the idea out of your mind once and for all . . .’
‘I’ve never actually accused either of you, sir,’ said Donaldson, noncommittally. ‘You must understand that I’m investigating a murder case, and it’s my job to look at it from every angle. That apparent impossibility of the snow has got to be explained, you know, sir. Until we can show how the person, whoever it was, did the trick, we couldn’t take the case before a jury — even if we knew his identity. By the way, we’ve found the car . . .’
‘Laura Courtland’s car?’ asked Peter, and the inspector nodded.
‘Abandoned in a clump of reeds by Hinton Broad,’ he said. ‘There was nothing in it to help us . . .’
‘Hinton Broad is a good way away from Witch’s House,’ said Peter. ‘The murderer must have driven it there.’ Again Donaldson nodded. ‘Laura Courtland probably called for the other three,’ went on Peter, thoughtfully, ‘and drove them to the place where they all got out and walked to the cottage . . .’
‘She didn’t call for the woman,’ interjected the inspector.
‘Fay Bennett, you mean?’ said Peter. ‘She may have gone round to Severac’s, or Mallory’s, and been picked up there. You know I’m beginning to understand that meal. Do you remember what the food consisted of?’
‘Kidneys and liver,’ said Donaldson.
‘Offal,’ said Peter, significantly. ‘Offal, inspector. And offal was the staple diet at the old Witches’ Sabbaths . . .’
‘By the Lord Harry, you’re right!’ ejaculated Donaldson, in startled agreement. ‘I remember reading about that when I was looking the subject up for this other case I was telling you about. Well, that’s another point in confirmation of your theory, Mr. Chard. D’you suppose this meeting at the cottage was a kind of Witches’ Sabbath?’
Peter shook his head.
‘No, not entirely,’ he answered. ‘I should say that it was more likely a sort of side party, hatched up between the four of them and the unknown fifth person. But I’m inclined to agree that it had the same objective. Since it was All-Hallows’ Eve, the main bulk of the Coven would be meeting in strength elsewhere. The cottage is quite unsuitable for the full ritual of the Black Mass, which they would scarcely omit to celebrate on such an occasion. I think the party at Witch’s House was arranged between them, unknown to the rest of the Satanic cult.’
Inspector Donaldson fumbled in his pocket and rather absently withdrew a packet of cigarettes. He stuck a cigarette between his lips and searched in the same absent-minded manner for his matches. Peter pulled out his lighter and flicked it into flame.
‘Oh, thanks,’ said the inspector. ‘Will you have a cigarette . . .?’
Peter took one and lit it.
‘I’m sorry,’ Donaldson went on. ‘I was thinking . . .’ He blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘Isn’t it essential for the full rites of the Black Mass to have a real, properly ordained clergyman . . .?’
‘Yes,’ said Peter, ‘or at least a properly consecrated Host, stolen from a Catholic church.’
Donaldson, with a puckered brow, pursed his lips.
‘That makes it a bit difficult, sir, doesn’t it?’ he remarked.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Peter. He looked at the glowing tip of his cigarette and then steadily at the detective. ‘I think I can suggest a person who might fit the bill.’
‘Yes, sir?’ said the inspector.
‘The Reverend Gilbert Ray,’ said Peter.
Chapter Eight
Detective-Inspector Donaldson deposited a cylinder of ash in a tray on his desk, very deliberately and carefully.
‘Have you,’ he said, after a pause, ‘any sound basis for that suggestion, sir?’
Peter shook his head.
‘Not that you would call sound,’ he answered. ‘Nothing that could be measured, or produced as evidence. My reasons are — well, not quite what would be designated psychological, but near enough to be described by that ill-used word.’
‘That’s a pity,’ said Donaldson. ‘But still it’s a pointer. Maybe we can find evidence if we have an idea in which direction to look. You think that the Reverend Gilbert Ray is at the head of this coven?’
‘I said might be,’ corrected Peter. ‘It isn’t without precedent, you know. There was the Reverend George Burroughs, the Abbé Guibourg . . . quite a number of depraved parsons in the history of witchcraft who held similar positions . . .’
‘It’s a very serious accusation . . .’ began Donaldson.
‘Suggestion,’ broke in Peter.
‘Well, then, suggestion, if you prefer it,’ said the detective. ‘It’s a very serious suggestion, and we shall have to move very carefully and make quite sure that there is no mistake. This fellow’s of French extraction, isn’t he?’
‘I believe so,’ said Peter.
‘Well, now,’ murmured Donaldson, pinching his chin, musingly, ‘let’s see where we’ve got to . . .’ He fixed his eyes on a corner of the ceiling and went on: ‘It’s your opinion that there’s a bunch of Satanists operating in the district and that Laura Courtland, Mallory, Severac, and Fay Bennett were members of the coven. You further suggest that the leading light in this bunch of devil-worshippers is the Reverend Gilbert Ray, curate of St. Mary’s. You believe that these people, in company with a number of others unknown, were responsible for the murder of these children and the killing of the lambs. Is that right?’
‘Baldly, yes,’ agreed Peter.
‘Then let’s see what evidence we’ve got to substantiate this theory,’ said Donaldson. He ticked off each point on his fingers as he continued, ‘One: Broadly it accounts for nearly all the facts as we know them. Two: The brooches belonging to Laura Courtland and Fay Bennett tend to confirm the supposition that they were members of a club or organization and the initial L on them could stand for Lucifer, another name for Satan. If anything similar is found among the belongings of the two men this supposition will be strengthened. Three: The meeting at the empty cottage took place on All-Hallows’ Eve, one of the great festivals associated with the Witches’ Sabbath. Four: At this meeting a meal was eaten consisting of offal, the staple food at all Satanistic orgies. Five: The dates on which the children disappeared correspond with a high festival of the Church on which there would be a full meeting of the coven and wild orgies from midnight to cockcrow. Six: The children were all killed in the same way, by the shedding of blood, which is necessary for the full rites of the Black Mass . . . It’s quite a formidable list, sir.’
‘Yes,’ said Peter. ‘I don’t think there’
s much doubt that Satanism is at the bottom of it . . .’
‘No more do I,’ said the Inspector. ‘But the difficulty is going to be to prove it. You realize that these four people being killed is going to put a stop to all the cult’s activities? They won’t dare go on with their hideous and abominable practices — at least not until the whole thing has died down.’
‘I suppose not,’ said Peter. ‘That’s one of the things that don’t fit, you know. Why were those four people killed?’
Donaldson pursed his lips.
‘Perhaps they were contemplating getting out,’ he said. ‘Once anybody has been initiated into a cult of this sort they have to stop in. They dare not let ’em go, because they know too much. They’ve seen things that the normal person would shrink away from in horror . . . I can tell you, Mr. Chard, that when I was working on that London case, some of the things I found made me feel physically sick and ill, and in comparison to this they were only playing at it. There’s a big money end to this kind of thing, you know, sir. The people who run it make a pretty packet. Membership is restricted to people with pots of money, and they have to pay heavily for their beastly pleasure . . .’
‘Which means that to be a successful proposition for the promoters, the membership of the coven must be fairly large,’ remarked Peter. ‘I say, wouldn’t there be a list of members, somewhere?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Donaldson nodded. ‘But where? You can bet that that’s been very carefully hidden. These people have to take the most elaborate precautions against betrayal, for they deal in crimes and abominations completely unknown to the average person. The greatest hold that the High Priest of Satanism has over his followers is blackmail. If they betray him, they betray themselves . . .’
They Walk in Darkness Page 16
