‘You were saying a little while ago that if Isobel had still been alive and you had abjured to put yourself right with her, you thought that her love would have protected you from all but the loss of your worldly wealth. Surely, although she is now a spirit, her love would continue to protect you?’
‘No.’ Beddows’ voice was firm. ‘For all I know, during those last months she may have believed that I had deliberately jilted her, and died hating me. I can’t afford to chance that. There is one thing and one thing only that could protect me. That is to cheat Satan by getting back the Pact I signed with him.’
John’s muscles tensed. ‘D’you know where it is?’
‘Copely-Syle has it.’
‘I naturally supposed so; but he wouldn’t carry it about on him. I mean, do you know where he keeps it?’
‘I don’t know for certain, but I can give a good guess. It is a hundred to one that after offering it up he would place a document of that kind under the Satanic altar in his crypt.’
‘Then …’ John hesitated.
Beddows flung out his hands in a violent gesture of protest. ‘No, no! Don’t think of it. Forget what I said! You’re young and healthy! You should have many years of happiness ahead of you. There are plenty of other girls in the world besides Ellen. You would be crazy to try to raise that altar. You would be blasted where you stood. If you did survive you would be found as a gibbering idiot in the morning. I wouldn’t let my worst enemy attempt to get that Pact.’
Slowly John stood up. ‘If I do get it, and give it to you to destroy, will you swear to me by your love for Isobel immediately to abjure Satan?’
A shudder ran through Beddows. With eyes distended by horror he stared up at John. For a moment he was silent, then he gasped, ‘All right! I swear. But I warned you: I warned you! You’ll be going to your death.’
Chapter 22
The Devil’s Altar
The palms of John’s hands were already sweating. His memory of the impotence and fear he had felt when in the crypt twenty-four hours earlier was still vivid in his mind; yet he had made his decision the moment Beddows had spoken of the Pact as the price on which he must insist for his cooperation.
John had come there determined to secure that cooperation somehow; not only because it could bring to nought the Canon’s attempt to get Christina out of prison during the night that was already upon them, but also because on that depended her whole future. To save her from an abominable death at the hands of Copely-Syle was the overriding consideration for the moment, but even success in that could later prove a barren victory if she were to continue to be the nightly victim of evil cravings which, now she was out in the world, must soon lead her to become cynically immoral, decadent, unscrupulous and, perhaps, criminal. Only her father could save her from that by ratting on his bargain with the Devil. Since his price for that was the Pact, he must have it.
The mere idea of going into the crypt again filled John with terrifying qualms. He felt that to argue the matter further could only weaken his resolution, and that in immediate action lay his sole hope of maintaining it long enough to force himself to enter that Satanic stronghold when he got there; so he said abruptly: ‘Perhaps you are right, and I’ll be dead in an hour. If not, I’ll be back here.’ Then he turned towards the door.
‘Hi!’ C.B. called after him. ‘If we’ve got to do this thing, we had better take some weapons with us.’
‘You are not in this!’ John’s voice was made surly by fear. ‘This is my show. You stay where you are.’
‘Is it likely?’ C.B. grunted. ‘I’ve never liked anything less in my life; but how could I ever face your mother if I let you go alone?’ Turning to Beddows, he said, ‘These cups in the valleys of the pentacle have Holy water in them, haven’t they? Where’s the rest of it?’
Reaching behind him into the tea-chest, Beddows produced a quart bottle half full. As he handed it over, C.B. asked: ‘Have you any spare horse-shoes?’
‘No. I’m afraid not.’
‘That’s a pity,’ muttered C.B. ‘And I daren’t deprive you of any of your defences, in case something gets at you while we are away. I suppose you haven’t got a crucifix in the house?’
Beddows shook his head. ‘Of course not! I could hardly bear to look at one, and it would burn me if I touched it. As it was I had to be mighty careful when I poured the Holy water out: if I had spilt any on my hands it would have scalded me.’
John was already at the door. Without another glance at Beddows, C.B. joined him and they hurried downstairs. When they reached the hall John made for the baize door, but C.B. called after him: ‘Hold your horses! We’ve got to forge a few Astral weapons before we leave here. I wish to goodness we had a little time to make proper preparations. We ought to have necklaces of garlic and asafoetida grass, not to mention purifying ourselves with the smoke of sweet herbs and putting on clean underclothes. Still, we must do the best we can.’
As he spoke he led the way through the breakfast room to the pantry, and began to pull open its rows of drawers one after another. In one he found string and scissors, in another a bundle of firewood. Handing them to John, he said: ‘Here, take these. Use four of the sticks to make two crosses. Bind them together with the string and attach long loops to them so that we can hang them round our necks.’
In a corner of the room were stacked several crates. The top ones contained quart bottles of beer, but underneath he found one holding small bottles of lemonade. Taking two of them, he opened and emptied them at the sink, then refilled them with Holy water and corked them roughly with tight wads of screwed-up newspaper.
‘Put this in your pocket,’ he said, handing one of them to John. ‘And don’t use it until I tell you to.’ The other he pocketed himself.
Picking up a broom that stood behind the door, he wrenched out the long handle, then laid it over a Windsor chair and snapped it in two pieces about one third of the way up. With another length of string he lashed them together, so that they formed a large cross to carry in the hand. After a quick look round, he went to the further door that led to the rear quarters of the house, opened it and said: ‘I am going to hunt round for something with which to prise up the altar slab. In the meantime pull down some curtains, soak them with water and carry them out to the car. Unbolt the front door and go out by that. It will save time.’
John did as he was told, and he was still piling the sopping mess on the floor in front of the back seat when C.B. rejoined him, carrying a steel case-opener. As he held it out, he remarked, ‘This is not much bigger than my own jemmy, but the best thing I could find. You take it, and I’ll carry the cross.’
As they got in the car and he started up the engine, John said, ‘I take it the wet things are for throwing down the furnace chimney?’
‘Yes. We’ve been lucky here in finding that the Jutsons go to bed early; but it’s only just eleven o’clock; so that servant of the Canon’s may still be up. I had thought of going to the front door and knocking him out as soon as he answered it. We would be almost sure of having the free run of the place then, as it is most unlikely that anyone who performs the Canon’s tricks would have any other servants living in; but the door to the crypt is of iron and has a Chubb lock. As Copely-Syle keeps the key to it on him we wouldn’t be able to get in that way; so I think we would do better to ignore the Egyptian and go straight in down the chimney.’
A few minutes’ drive brought them to The Priory. Pulling up a hundred yards short of it, John parked the car under the trees that overhung the road, and they got out. A light wind had risen, keeping off more rain, but the sky was four-fifths scudding cloud and it was only when the moon broke through at intervals for a minute or two that there was enough light for them to see their way at all clearly.
Carrying the sopping curtains between them, they broke through the hedge into the coppice and approached the house by the route that John had taken the previous night. On reaching the crypt they dumped their burden and made a brie
f reconnaissance round the house and back. No light showed in any of the windows; so it looked as if the Egyptian had gone to bed. C.B., as the taller, gave John a leg up, passed him the bundle of curtains, and scrambled on to the roof after him. In single file they crossed it to the chimney.
‘Now,’ said C.B. in a low voice, ‘I needn’t stress the fact that we are going into great danger. We must kneel down and pray.’
Side by side they went down on their knees, and remained so in silence for a few minutes.
If anything nasty comes at you cry aloud, “In the name of Jesus Christ I defy thee, Satan.”
John dropped the curtains down the wide chimney mouth. As they fell on the furnace at its bottom with a faint thud, he made to follow them; but C.B. pushed him firmly aside. ‘No, John. I am carrying the cross; so you must let me be the leader of this party. What is more, if at any time I tell you to get out, you will get out, and not stop to argue about it. By doing so you will not only save yourself, but will be able to bring help, with at least some chance of saving me later. Is that clear?’
As John nodded, C.B. swung his long legs over the chimney lip, found the first rungs inside and disappeared down it. Dropping the last few feet, he landed on the wet curtains. Beneath them the coke made a crunching sound, but the fire was dull and he scarcely felt its heat as he jumped off it.
The crypt was in darkness. Holding the cross in his left hand, he pulled his torch from his pocket with his right and switched it on. The instant he could see his way, he ran up the steps that led to the iron door and brushed down all the switches beside it, flooding the central aisle of the crypt with light. Pushing the torch back in his pocket he turned, planted his back firmly against the door, and only then let his glance rove round the vaulted chamber.
There was less change in it than he had expected from what Inspector Fuller had implied. The curtains at the far end, embroidered with the Goat of Mendes and the Woman with Seven Breasts, were gone; so were the sorcerer’s robes, the altar cloth, the black candle, and the broken crucifix with the bat nailed upside down on it: but the sword, the chalice and the book still reposed upon the altar slab, looking not inappropriate in the role of harmless ornaments. The skeleton still dangled grotesquely from its wire and the mummy-case lay undisturbed beneath the nearest table; but both were the sort of exhibits that might be found in the museum-workshop of any amateur scientist. That also applied to the astrolabe, the six out of the seven great glass jars that had contained the homunculi, and the bottles, measures, balances and retorts that loaded the four long refectory tables.
One sweeping glance was enough for C.B. to take that much in, and he had hardly had time to register it before John thumped down on the furnace, sprang off it and pulled the now steaming curtains after him. Neither had the least intention of staying there one moment longer than they had to, and both simultaneously started forward towards the altar. They had taken only two steps when a cock crowed.
The cock’s raucous challenge, seeming unnaturally loud as it echoed from the stone arches overhead, sounded like the voice of doom. The two men halted in their tracks. The blood rushed to their hearts. Fearfully they jerked white faces round towards the left-hand aisle and the shadowy tier of cages behind the row of pillars, from which the crowing came.
There was nothing really terrifying about the sound itself—it was hearing it so unexpectedly in those surroundings. They had forgotten that although, according to the inspector’s account, the Canon had disposed of all his maimed animals, he had not removed the chickens, doves and other fowl which he used for sacrifices. In the darkness they had all been silently sleeping, till the sudden switching on of the lights had aroused them to chirp and flutter in a false dawn.
As realisation dawned upon the two intruders, that this was no demon giving tongue in the likeness of a bird, they let go their breath and breathed again; but only for a moment. Something moved swiftly behind one of the pillars. Both of them glimpsed the quick, furtive jump of a shadowy body, but neither could have said what it was. Instead of advancing further, they remained there, staring apprehensively at the base of the pillar behind which it had disappeared.
Before they could make up their minds to leave it unaccounted for in their rear, their attention was distracted to the roof. A faint squeaking sounded up in the shadows above the row of lights. There was a sudden movement up there too, then the squeaking ceased.
‘Come on!’ said John. ‘We’re wasting time.’
As he spoke the thing behind the pillar moved again. It sprang out into the open, a yard ahead of them, right in their path. Their gasps merged into sighs of relief. It was an obscene and ugly creature, but appeared to be no more than an exceptionally large toad.
John took another step forward. His foot had not reached the ground when something hurtled at his head from above, like a small dive-bomber. He gave a cry of fear and ducked, but caught a swift sight of the thing as it streaked downward between his upturned face and the nearest light. As he did so he upbraided himself for showing such funk, when the squeaking should have told him that the creatures above the lights were only bats.
Next moment he had cause for real terror. The toad had been watching him with bright, jewel-like, unwinking eyes. Suddenly its mouth opened and it laughed.
That deep unholy chuckle, coming from a reptile, sent chills rippling down both their spines. Instinctively they backed towards the steps.
‘We’ve got to go forward,’ said C.B. hoarsely. ‘If we lose our nerve now, we’re finished.’
In two paces they recovered their lost ground; but the toad held his. Then an extraordinary thing happened. Its outline blurred and it crepitated until it turned into a yellowish-green ball of gaseous matter. An instant later there were two toads squatting where there had been only one before.
With unbelieving eyes they stared at the twin creatures begotten so mysteriously. As they did so they heard a swish in the air above them, and this time two bats came hurtling at their heads. Both of them ducked; the two toads laughed, wobbled into whirling balls and became four.
It was at that moment that the lights went out.
For a few seconds they were blinded by the darkness; then they became conscious of a glow behind them. Swinging round they saw that the door had opened, and the Canon’s servant stood framed in it.
It occurred to them only then that he must have a key to the door in order to keep the furnace going and feed the birds. What had brought him on the scene they could not guess. They had been in the crypt for about two minutes. It was possible that he had heard the cock crow, or seen a line of light below the door, or simply come to stoke the furnace up for the night, or perhaps been summoned as the guardian of the place by some occult signal. They could only be certain that it was he who had turned out the lights; for, as they swung upon him, he still had his dark hand on the two lowest switches.
After the unnerving episode of the toad a human enemy held few terrors for the nocturnal intruders. The Egyptian was as tall as C.B. and the flowing white burnous which concealed his limbs gave him the appearance of being considerably more powerful; yet without a second’s hesitation John tensed his muscles to spring up the steps towards him.
C.B. did likewise, then swiftly averted his gaze and shouted a warning. ‘Don’t look at his eyes! Don’t look at his eyes!’
It came too late. John was already staring straight into his white-rimmed eyeballs. The reason why he had switched out the lights instantly became clear. It was to prevent them dazzling him and to enable his eyes to become luminous in the semi-darkness. In his coffee-coloured face they now showed up brilliantly. They held John’s gaze so that he could not draw it away, and seemed to increase in size with extraordinary swiftness. To his fury and amazement his body made a futile jerk, but he was incapable of launching himself up the stone stairway. The eyes that bored into his grew bigger and bigger, until they merged and became one great blinding circle of light. An intolerable pain shot through his head, his k
nees gave under him and he crumpled up on the lowest step.
The Egyptian had overcome him in a matter of seconds by catching his glance as he was about to jump. But C.B., after one glimpse of the baleful light in the man’s eyes, had torn his own away. Riveting his gaze on the stone flags of the floor for a moment, he concentrated both his mental and physical strength. Swiftly, he muttered a short prayer; then, without raising his glance, he hurled himself at the Egyptian’s legs.
John had at that second collapsed. Having dealt successfully with one intruder, the Egyptian turned on the other. But he had time only to kick C.B. in the chest. The force of the kick would have broken C.B.’s breast-bone had the man been wearing boots, but he had on only soft leather sandals. The jolt was no worse than a punch from a pugilist wearing boxing gloves; yet that was bad enough. It shook C.B. sufficiently to make him gasp and boggle his tackle. Instead of getting the man beneath the knees, he succeeded in grasping him only by one ankle. Tightening his grip, he drew a deep breath, then threw his weight backward.
The Egyptian’s foot flew from beneath him and he crashed to the ground. Without losing a second he kicked out with his other foot. It caught C.B. on the head and sent him reeling down the steps. But John, now freed for a few seconds from the paralysing effect of that hypnotic stare, was on his feet again. He still grasped in his right hand the steel case-opener that he had been holding when he came down the chimney. Rushing up the steps he beat wildly at the servant with it just as he was struggling back on to his feet. One blow caught him on the shoulder, and he let out a yell of pain. The second landed on his forehead. Without another sound, he went down like a poleaxed bullock.
To the Devil, a Daughter Page 35
