“There was a certain saying of the Blaan Seer’s, however, which always puzzled me, and other people to whom I have spoken concerning it. But in the light of recent occurrences I think its meaning becomes abundantly plain … All Brion McShenog’s prophecies were in Gaelic, of course, but a fairly literal translation of the particular one I have in mind is as follows:
“‘And the day shall come when the dread death by the mistletoe shall again creep amid the fair valleys. And men seeking power and knowledge to break the ancient spells shall be stricken swiftly to the earth and on their bodies no cut nor wound shall be found. But a wanderer with a head of flame shall arise in the land, and he shall smite the evil prophets, and a fair, sleek-headed churchman shall raze their idols to the ground.’
“We have a wanderer here to-night,” said Professor Campbell, ‘‘with a head of flame, and we have a fair, sleek-headed churchman … An instinctive feeling has grown upon me since reading to-day’s article in the Campbeltown Gazette concerning the murder of the Reverend Archibald Allan that MacPherson and Nicholson are those upon whom we must depend to bring ultimate victory to our cause. I have done all I can, but I am old, and other members of the Society are for the most part frail. MacPherson and Nicholson are young, with the fire of youth in their veins and the will to resist the magic of Na Daoine Deadh Ghinn.”
*
The Rev. Duncan Nicholson and James exchanged level glances. To the latter the
Professor’s words were not so startling as they might have been in other circumstances; for, ever since his first meeting with O’Hare, he had felt that some great issue rested on his broad shoulders — that soon he would meet O’Hare face to face and alone, when a final struggle would take place between their wills and bodies. And, for James, O’Hare and the terrible cult of which he had just learned had somehow become almost synonymous.
It was a queer instinct which had taken possession of the minds of the Professor and of the editor of the Gazette; for both were outwardly of ordinary and matter-of-fact characteristics. Yet it is the strange and inexplicable heritage of the Celt that he should see visions and have mad, true premonitions. And Professor Campbell and John James MacPherson were of Gaelic stock and of a lineage as old as that of the Pharaohs.
But there was something unsatisfactory to James that he should have as partner in this mysterious trust the Rev. Duncan Nicholson. He knew that Nicholson loved Eileen, and he thought that Eileen loved the young minister. And the thought was bitter as the taste of blaes. He could admire Nicholson as a man of upright character and extreme physical fitness; but he could not bring himself to like him or to take him into his confidence … because of Eileen.
“The police,” resumed Professor Campbell in clipped, staccato tones, as if his strength were again failing, “will now aid members of our Society in watching the shrines of the cults. Hitherto we were alone — at most only two of us in each region where sacrifice might be taking place, and we dared not venture near, lest our presence should be discovered and the future work of the Society jeopardised. But by this moment the police in every part of Britain will be informed of the plan which we recommend for the general annihilation of the ‘well-meaning ones.ʼ It may be that there are members of the cult in the ranks of the police. There may be members around this table to-night. But I must take these risks. We have done all in our power to ensure that the persons to whom we tell our story have absolutely no connection with Na Daoine Deadh Ghinn. Our plan is this:
“On Wednesday evening, as I have indicated, the lesser festivals will be held at these places of worship. The victims to be captured for sacrifice — including myself in all probability — must be allowed to be taken without suspicions being aroused in the minds of members of the cult that anyone is aware of the true reason for the disappearance of their captives. It is almost certain that we shall not be molested until the very morning of the festival, for those who died on Tuesday must have been waylaid late in that very day. The police and voluntary helpers will surround the shrines before the hour appointed for the holding of this festival, and our investigations have proved that while the Midsummer’s Eve Festival is held round about eight o’clock on our summer time — depending on the phase of the moon — the lesser festival is commenced at midnight, or one o’clock on Thursday morning by summer time. The devotees will thus be surprised preparing for their sacrifices.”
The Professor stopped. Then he added slowly: “And their age-old crimes will not go unpunished.” The concentrated hatred in his voice chilled Jamesʼs very soul. If the cult were relentless in its activities, here was a member of a society equally relentless and terrible in its fight for right and Christ.
“We recommend this plan,” continued the Professor in a low monotone, “because, while we are aware of the identity of the great majority of the devotees, there are others whom we have not yet unmasked. Here in Blaan, for instance, we know that the great High Priest of the cult has his home; but who he is and where he lives I have failed to discover. He may be moving about among us every day, a respected citizen and friend; or he may remain hidden, a recluse, hating the world and Christianity, and weaving his spells against us … He at any rate must be taken and slain as one would slay an adder. O’Hare and Muldoon, of course, you yourselves know as being connected with the ritual. O’Hare we have heard of before in different parts of the country, though I think this must be his first appearance in Kintyre. He is chief of the hereditary band of executioners … Na Luchd Bais, they are termed in my old books. Muldoon is one of his numerous retinue of assistants. They are mercenaries — paid to carry out the behests of the High Priests … ” He broke off abruptly, obviously labouring under some strong emotion. Then he said:
“By following this plan the risk of arresting only a few of the murders at a time, thus allowing the remainder all over the kingdom to escape from our hands, will be eliminated. You agree, Mr. MacLean?”
Utter silence fell on the room. The whole story as told by Professor Campbell was an amazing, incredible revelation which rendered his guests for a short space of time incapable of comment. It was as if some astronomer had suddenly declared his proof of an invasion of the earth by an army of Martians.
“I do,” replied the Fiscal heavily at last.
Great beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, and his hands trembled. The Chief Constable was pale as a sheet, while Dr. Black’s pugnacious jaw had a weak droop. Inspector McMillan wrung his thick hands aimlessly; but Detective-Inspector McKay was rigid and immovable. James and the Rev. Duncan Nicholson gazed at each other across the glittering table, each as if he were trying to probe the thoughts of the other.
“Will you tell us, Professor, where that place of worship is situated in Blaan?” asked the Fiscal, speaking precisely in an effort to control his voice.
“I discovered it about ten days ago,” answered the old man, “and though I have never actually visited the place, I know it must be the meeting-place of local members of the cult. It has been such for centuries. There is a passage in The Book of Dalriada which explains … which explains — ’’
Suddenly Professor Campbell had ceased to talk.
An eerie stillness descended on the room, like the stillness which immediately precedes the appearance on the stage of a star performer. The whole atmosphere became impregnated with a hidden tense menace. The old man’s cheeks were ashen, and his eyes stared unseeingly at Eileen’s vacant chair.
“Who are the people of Kintyre whom you have identified as members of the cult?” It was Mr. Archibald MacLean who had spoken again, his words harsh with impatience and a nameless dread. “Quick, Professor! Tell us! Quick! Before it is too late!”
Professor Campbell clawed at his stiff white collar and half rose in his chair. His mouth worked convulsively. His round chest heaved and fell as he breathed in painful gusts.
“What in heaven’s name — ” began Dr. Black.
The Professor mouthed something inaudible, and then his speech
came in a torrent.
“I cannot! I cannot!” he shrieked. “They are strangling me! They are coming for me! I cannot fight their magic — ”
James’s horrified eyes were suddenly glued on the black oblongs of the bay windows behind their host and a chill finger of terror ran downward along his spine. Slowly the sashes were swinging inwards.
*
Those who sat that night around the dining-table in Dalbeg House have never been able to give a rational idea of the paralytic sensation which possessed their minds and bodies during the next few moments. Professor Campbell himself, when he discussed the problem some time later, gave the feeling a certain high-sounding and scientific name; but even he was so unacquainted with the science of hypnotism that he could only say that their brief period of inactivity had been caused by some tremendous effort of will on the part of one of the beings that they presently saw. It was, in any case, proof positive of the magic power possessed by Na Daoine Deadh Ghinh, and removed any doubts which may have lingered in the minds of his guests concerning the veracity of his narrative.
It seemed that in a single instant three gigantic men were standing at the back of Professor Campbell’s chair. In the centre of the group was a white-robed figure, with a face, unlike any human face that James or the others had ever seen before. It was thin as death, and the high cheekbones stood out in white relief. The beaked nose and narrow chin were prominent, and white teeth gleamed between bared red lips. But it was the eyes which held the Professor’s guests motionless and terrified. They glared out beneath shaggy eyebrows like the eyes of a huge snake.
On either side of this creature was an unknown giant — hawk-faced, dark — and O’Hare.
“Come!” said the white-robed figure.
A rustle ran round the table as if the guests strove to break the power that held them immovable in their chairs.
“Come!” said the tall, bony man once more.,
And Professor Campbell rose as if in a trance, and walked out through the windows into the darkness of the garden, led by O’Hare and his companion.
The spell of the presence of the white-robed figure still held the seven men grouped around the table in a state of indecision, and James saw the eyes in the death-mask face staring straight into his own. The man in the white garment raised two long arms, as a minister raises his arms to pronounce a benediction, and the folds of his robe fell in long, broad streamers from his bony, hairless wrists. His mighty voice boomed out across the room, and as he spoke it was as if a blinding light flashed athwart James’s vision.
“The curse of Balor be upon you, wanderer of the flaming head!”
He turned and had almost vanished into the darkness beyond the windows, when Detective-Inspector McKay acted at last.
The policeman shot from his pocket, and the two vicious revolver shots were deafening in the confined space. The flashes spurted from the round hole in his jacket.
And it was then that James realised to the full the seriousness of the situation. For, after his shooting, Detective-Inspector McKay’s stern face twisted horribly, and he burst into hysterical laughter.
“My God!” he cried. “I struck him twice at point-blank range! And he just walked on!”
“He just walked on!” gasped Major Dallas. •
The rest were afraid to glance at one another.
*
It seemed an eternity before James shook himself like a terrier and rose swiftly from the table.
“Eileen!” he roared, careless that he used her first name. “Nicholson, see that she is safe! McKay — we must follow them!”
He felt strong, now that his terror had passed. His wits had cleared, and they were strung up to fighting pitch. He forced from his mind the memory of McKay’s words. It was as if the terrible curse that the white-robed man had pronounced upon him had burned away all indecision and foreboding, leaving his spirit tempered and fine.
McKay, his rigorous training in self-control coming to the rescue, jerked himself back to realities, though his hands still shook as if with fever. He and James dashed to the windows and leaped out into the garden, as the Rev. Duncan Nicholson ran swiftly to the door of the room.
Outside it was still and quiet, save for the sough of the sea on the beach near by. A slip of moon was shining in the east. James caught sight of a white flicker far down the broad avenue.
“There they are!” he cried.
He and McKay had now been joined by Major Dallas and Inspector McMillan; but as they sprinted down the drive, the latter two were quickly outdistanced.
James and the policeman had still some three hundred yards to go to reach the gate on to the main road, when the roar of a motor-car engine split the sea-filled quiet. They stopped short.
“They’re taking my car!’’ panted James.
Headlights stabbed the luminous darkness and wavered in the sky, and the old Morris rattled on to the road. It gathered speed as its driver raced through the gears. And then by degrees the sound of the engine died away in the distance.
James and his companions stood bareheaded, breathless and helpless on the drive. The car had gone southwards, in the direction of the great Kiel Headland.
“They’ve beaten us,” said James unnecessarily. “For the moment, at any rate.”
“We must ʼphone up MacLeod to keep a watch for that car going through Campbeltown,” Inspector McMillan still retained his instincts. “They cannot leave the parish in any other way, except by boat.”
“I am afraid it will be almost impossible to trace them,” returned Major Dallas. “Probably we have seen the mysterious High Priest himself, and at any rate I have no doubt but that Professor Campbell will be taken to the High Priest’s secret and undiscovered dwelling — which, as we have learned, is in Blaan.”
James suddenly swore.
“What about Miss Campbell?” he exclaimed.
He strode off quickly, back towards the dark bulk of the house, the others following closely behind him. They were met on the front-door steps by Eileen, who was accompanied by the Rev. Duncan Nicholson, the Fiscal and Dr. Black.
“They got away!”
James spoke dully, but with relief that Eileen was still with them. Inspector McMillan hurried to the telephone, which stood upon a small shelf in the hallway.
James saw that Eileen leaned against the Rev. Duncan Nicholson for support. The latter had put his arm round her slim body, and his ruddy face, though paler than usual, was tender in his solicitude.
She did not weep, but her eyes were bright with tears.
“Poor Daddy!” she murmured at last in a low voice. “He was expecting this. He told me that before next Wednesday he might be taken away. But we did not think it would happen so soon.”
“You know about the cult?” asked James rather bluntly. He hated that tender look on the face of the young minister.
“I do,” answered Eileen. “I was an agent in London of Daddy’s society.”
“Then you will know of the plan recommended by the Society for the simultaneous arrest of all the members of the cult on Wednesday?” It was the Fiscal who put the question.
“Yes. But — ”
“I know,” said James. “But we cannot be sure now that no harm will come to your father till then.”
Eileen put a small white hand to her forehead. The Rev. Duncan Nicholson’s arm tightened around her waist.
“We cannot fail to find him, Eileen,” he said in his quiet, persuasive manner. “It is clear that they do not mean to hurt him just yet, at any rate, or they would not have gone to such pains over his capture. And surely within a few hours we shall discover a scheme to release him. Please don’t worry too much.”
But the same thought was in the minds of all of them: a revolver bullet had struck one of the enemy, and had produced not the slightest effect.
“By the way,” interposed Dr. Black, who had rejoined the group after a short absence. “Where is Miss Dwyer?”
Eileen started.
> “Is she not still in the drawing-room?” she asked. “I left her there when I rushed out to discover the meaning of the shots in the other room. I met Duncan in the hall … Since then I had forgotten her.”
“I have just been in the drawing-room,” said Dr. Black, “and Miss Dwyer is not to be seen.”
“Can Millicent have been taken too!” cried Eileen. “Oh, this is horrible … horrible!”
“She did not leave by the front door at any rate.” Dr. Black was positive. “But the drawing-room windows are open.”
“They were closed while Millicent and I chatted there after dinner.”
Eileen’s voice was steadier now, and James thought he had never seen such a brave-tilted little chin. What her inner feelings must have been at that moment he could understand, and his heart was sore for her. He wished he could have comforted her as the Rev. Duncan Nicholson was doing. The latter’s attempt at calmness seemed to be communicated to her by the very touch of his hand on her arm … There was something in the public-school training after all, thought James. But how he disliked Nicholson!
Inspector McMillan joined them, his ’phone call to the Campbeltown police station being completed. Detective-Inspector McKay motioned to him, and they went round the corner of the house into the garden. James and the Chief Constable accompanied them. The C.I.D. man snapped on a small electric torch which he had been carrying in his hip-pocket.
Below the swinging sashes of the drawing-room window was a narrow strip of pebbled pathway, which gleamed white in the light from the room. Beyond the path was a long stretch of cultivated ground where grew a profusion of young rose-bushes set well apart. It was the soft earth of this plot which McKay raked methodically with his torchlight.
The wavering beam came to rest on a point immediately opposite the window.
“There!” said McKay, and James saw a tangle of footprints deeply impressed on the brown soil.
Death by the Mistletoe Page 8
