The Satanist (20 page)

For another three-quarters of an hour the Colonel rapidly read through an assortment of documents, then his buzzer went and his secretary said over the inter-com: ‘Mr Sullivan is here and would like to see you. He says it is rather important.’

‘Send him in,’ replied Verney, and a moment later he was greeting Barney. ‘Hello, young feller! Been in the wars?’

Barney’s eye was getting back to normal, but the flesh round it still showed discolouration. ‘No, Sir,’ he grinned. ‘Just a tiff with a stout fellow who didn’t like my politics.’

‘Well, what’s the news? It had better be pretty good, because I’ve got my plate extra full this morning.’

‘It is, Sir. I tried to get you Friday night, but they said you wouldn’t be back till this morning. I’ve got the low-down on the source from which the Commies draw their secret funds to prolong unofficial strikes.’

‘Have you indeed! Good work. Sit down and tell me more.’

‘There are about fifty men at a small factory out at Hendon who have been on strike for some weeks without Union backing. My Red pals on the District Committee haven’t made any secret of it from me that they are giving unofficial assistance to the strikers. On Friday, as I’m an out-of-work, I managed to get myself picked as one of the two bodyguards against a possible hold-up to go with the official who draws the money from the bank. We drove in a car to Floyds branch in Tottenham Court Road. There were two big bags of silver, so I and my opposite number took those while the Chief Scout locked up the notes in his brief case. To my disappointment he had pushed the cheque across the counter face down, but after the cashier had paid out a clerk came along to speak to him. He was still holding the cheque in his hand, but not looking at it. Without thinking he
turned it over and I succeeded in getting a squint at the side that mattered. It was drawn on the account of the Manual Workers’ Benevolent Society.’

‘Well done, partner. Nice work.’ C.B. flicked open his case and offered the long cigarettes. ‘I’ll see the right chap at the Treasury and ask him to find out for us who finances this Workers’ Benevolent. Under the Currency Regulations the banks are now obliged to disclose certain information when it is applied for officially. Copies of the Benevolent’s passbook sheets will give us its source of income, and that may well lead to something I’d very much like to know. Tell me now, what’s the latest on Tom Ruddy’s chances for Secretary-General of the C.G.T.?’

‘I’d say they’re jolly good. He was down here addressing a meeting of London delegates last night. Not being a delegate I wasn’t entitled to attend, but I thought it important to find out the form from a ring-side seat if I possibly could and I managed to wangle my way in on the ticket of a chap whose pocket I’d picked outside. It was pretty lively; plenty of heckling, of course, but Ruddy is used to that and, by and large, he put up a first-class performance. When the meeting was wound up, there could be no doubt that the majority of the delegates were all for him.’

‘That’s good to hear. If he can get himself elected I’m sure it will have a most stimulating effect on the workers who would like to oust their Communist representatives from other Trade Unions. Anything to report on your second string?’

‘I don’t quite get you, Sir?’

C.B. shrugged. ‘Your main assignment is to get me all the dope you can on Communist secret procedure-like running this account in the name of the Workers’ Benevolent. By second string, I mean following up any lead that might help us to solve Morden’s murder. When you were last here you had a hunch that his sudden interest in Theosophy would be worth investigating.’

‘Sure, and I did, Colonel.’ The Irishman came out quite spontaneously, as Barney ran a hand through his short dark
curls. ‘And ‘I’ve made a start on it. I couldn’t go to old Mother Wardeel’s last night, because of Ruddy’s meeting. But I went the week before. She is running what I’d guess to be quite a profitable racket with no harm to it. No doubt most of the stuff she puts on is faked, but it provides something to natter about for a bunch of mostly worthy types who have more time and money than sense. I made two contacts that may prove worth cultivating, though: a Babu and a very attractive young woman.’

An image of Mary immediately sprang to C.B.’s mind. As a lead to checking up if it were she that Barney had encountered, he raised a prawn-like eyebrow and remarked: ‘I shouldn’t have thought that sort of thing held much appeal for young people; she must have been quite an exception.’

‘Not as regards age. Of the twenty-odd women there, four or five were under thirty; and one was a tall blonde who might quite well have been a film starlet.’

This coincidence made Verney think it probable that Mary had balked at taking his tip to dye her beautiful golden hair, so was the blonde Barney had referred to; but, seeking to confirm this impression, he asked, ‘What type is this young woman in whom you are interesting yourself?’

‘She is a brunette. Brown as a Mediterranean mermaid, shoulder length hair that curls at the ends, eyebrows with a slightly satanic tilt, and a mouth as red as a pomegranate. She is a Mrs. Mauriac, and the widow of a Frenchman who was a Customs Officer.’

The description differed so greatly from C.B.’s memory of Mary Morden that he decided that, if she had carried out her intention of going to Mrs. Wardeel’s, she must be the film-starlet. Meanwhile Barney was going on, ‘She certainly is a poppet. That is, to look at. But she’s one of the most puzzling pieces one could come across in a long day’s march.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, she talks in a most sophisticated manner about the sort of games one would expect Satanists to get up to, yet
acts as if she were sweet seventeen and had never been kissed.’

‘It seems that she is very forthcoming to strangers; or else you must be quite a psychologist to have found all this out about her in one meeting at which a lot of other people were present.’

Barney grinned. ‘Oh no. Twice since I have taken her out to dinner.’

‘I see. And it is your intention to charge these outings up on your expense account?’

‘Certainly, Sir.’ Barney’s voice was firm. ‘And since she knows me as Lord Larne I had to do her jolly well. Besides, all work and no play, you know. But, joking apart, it really was for the good of the cause.’

‘Seeing how infernally tight the Government keeps us for money, you’ll have to justify that.’

‘I learned that she had been to a place that I believe to be a Satanic temple.’

C.B. smiled. ‘If it is, and you can take me to it, I’ll certainly have that chalked up to you as the price of one dinner.’

‘I can’t. I don’t know where it is. Neither does she.’

‘Was she doped before being taken there?’

‘No; blindfolded. And I may be barking up the wrong tree. Over dinner on Sunday night she was getting quite chatty about it. She described the interior of the place, a Brotherhood of masked, near-nude men and women, and various wonders performed by a priest dressed up like the Devil whom they call the Great Ram. Then she suddenly closed up like a clam; told me she had been pulling my leg and that really the place was only a joint where they practise Yoga.’

‘Do you know who took her there?’

‘Yes, Sir. That’s just the point. It was one of Mrs. Wardeel’s regular supporters: an Indian named Ratnadatta. He is the other bird I am interested in, because he’s too intelligent to waste his evenings stooging around with that sort of crowd unless he has some ulterior motive.’

‘You think he might be a sort of talent scout, keeping an eye out for likely suckers who could be made use of, one way or another, by some Black fraternity?’

‘That’s it, Sir. I heard him disparaging Mrs. Wardeel’s outfit to Mrs. Mauriac as no better than a children’s circus, and saying that, if she was really interested in the occult, he could show her some real grown-up stuff. That was a week ago last Tuesday, and on Saturday night she went to this place with him.’

‘And what do you deduce from all this?’

‘Well, Teddy Morden became a regular attendant at Mrs. Wardeel’s parties, didn’t he? Perhaps this Indian gent introduced him, too, into this sixth-form set-up. Maybe the whole thing is a mare’s nest, and Mrs. Mauriac really was pulling my leg about it being a Black Magic circle. But if she wasn’t, I think it’s on the cards that it was there that Morden got up against trouble.’

‘That’s fair enough. All right. I’ll O.K. both your dinners. What is your next move to be?’

Barney grinned. ‘I’m going after Mr. Ratnadatta. I’m certain he’s up to no good; and I mean to have the pants off him before he is much older.’

On Saturday Mary could settle to nothing. She had no engagements during the day, so after tidying her flat and doing her week-end shopping she had nothing to occupy her. In turn she tried the radio and reading a thriller, and abandoning both went out to see a film; but even that failed to hold her interest for more than a few minutes at a time. She simply could not keep her mind from speculating on what might happen to her that evening.

She endeavoured to fortify herself by remembering that Ratnadatta had been quite definite in his assurances that she would not be required to offer herself in service to the Temple until her initiation, and that before that there was a second stage to be gone through in which some token act of work in the interests of the Brotherhood had to be performed.

But how much reliance could she place on his word? She would have to trust herself to him again in that old mansion hidden in a slum, which was now the secret meeting place of depraved men and women. For the ceremony it was certain that she would have to go down into the temple among them. She would, almost certainly, be expected first to undress and don their uniform of only a mask, silver sandals and a transparent muslin cloak. She had no illusions about the emotions that the sight of herself aroused in men, often even quite respectable ones, when they saw her in a swimsuit on a bathing beach. What if some of the Brotherhood followed their own dictum, ‘Do what thou wilt shall be the Whole of the Law’ and set upon her? Even if Ratnadatta had the will to protect her, would he be able to do so? And why should they refrain from demanding of a neophyte what they might expect to be given willingly by an initiate?

Yet in the end, soon after nine o’clock, she found herself in a bus on the way to Sloane Square; for, late in the afternoon, several thoughts had come to her to allay her fears. Depraved as the members of the Brotherhood might be individually, they were under the orders of their High Priest Abaddon, and from his benevolent looks she believed he would protect her; they clearly set great value on the proper observance of their ceremonies, so were unlikely to depart from a set ritual; and surely Ratnadatta would not have spent so much time indoctrinating her unless his object was to make her a permanent disciple of the Devil, whereas that would be defeated if she were so treated that night that she refused ever again to go to a meeting. Moreover, once a neophyte, the probability was that she would be permitted to talk to other members of the Brotherhood,
and that would give her a chance to pursue her original intention of trying to find out if the Satanists had been responsible for Teddy’s terrible end.

At the Tube Station Ratnadatta was waiting for her. As he had directed, she had no obvious make-up on and had had her hair scragged back tightly into a bun; so, although she had tied a silk scarf round her head, she felt quite a sight. But his comment was one of approval.

They got into a taxi and again she allowed him to tie a handkerchief over her eyes. The drive seemed much shorter than when he had taken her to the Temple the previous Saturday and during it he said little, except to reaffirm that the cermony would be quite a brief one and added that, as it was to be the first item on the evening’s programme, he hoped to be able to drop her at Hyde Park Corner well before eleven o’clock. Again she wondered, with a nasty sinking feeling inside her, if he was telling the truth; but it was too late to back out now.

The taxi set them down in a different place from that at which they had got out before, but after a few minutes’ walk through streets that stank from the garbage that littered their gutters, they again turned into the cul-de-sac at the end of which lay the old mansion.

As soon as they were inside, the Indian led her across the fine hall to a room on the ground floor. Its walls were lined with books, some of which were handsomely bound and others that looked as if they were very old. It was heavily carpeted and richly furnished, so had the appearance of a wealthy man’s study, but some filing cabinets and a dictaphone and typewriter on a side table suggested that it was also used as a business office. Behind a heavily carved desk, which was bare except for a bronze copied from that retrieved from Pompeii and now in the secret museum at Naples, which depicts a satyr raping a goat, sat Abaddon.

The High Priest was wearing a dark lounge suit, and Mary thought that he looked more than ever like a Bishop. He stood up as she came in, came forward to meet her with
a charming smile, took her by the hand, led her to a chair, and said:

‘Welcome, my child.’ Then, with a glance at Ratnadatta. ‘Our Brother Sásín, here, has told me a lot about you. He believes that you are one of those who are old in time, and that your feet are truly set upon the right Path; so that you are worthy of advancement and to be granted, in due course, powers which will enable you to be of value in the service of Our Lord Satan. But first, I must examine you myself; for my consent to our acceptance of you as a neophyte is dependant on my confirming Sásín’s opinion.’

For some five minutes he put to her a number of questions which she answered in a low voice, replying to them all in the way she thought he would wish, on the basis of the instruction Ratnadatta had given her during their numerous talks.

Abaddon’s eyes were large, pale blue and steady. Once or twice, when she found a lie difficult to tell convincingly, she had a subconscious urge to look away from them, but found she was unable to. Under that intent gaze she almost panicked, feeling certain that he must detect the fact that she was not telling the truth about her convictions. But at last the catechism ended, and he appeared satisfied. Turning to Ratnadatta, he said: