‘That’s awfully good of you, and I couldn’t be more grateful,’ Richard said. They then rejoined the others by the swimming pool.
The following morning Simon, Richard, Miranda and Pinney went for another drive; this time round the centre of the city and up its broadest boulevard–named after Bernardo O’Higgins—the Chilean hero who had led the war against the Spanish, which had gained Chile her independence–then along the river Mapocho, the banks of which were carefully tended lawns, bright with beds of flowers and flowering shrubs.
On the way back, Richard asked to be dropped off at the Carro Santa Lucia. It was a four-hundred-foot-high hill, which had once been the citadel of Santiago, but was now a most picturesque public park. Innumerable winding paths led up to the ancient ruin that crowned it, and Richard was interested to see that, on the benches in the many shady nooks along the paths, there were quite a number of teenage couples who were obviously courting; but all of them were behaving most decorously, just sitting silently, and holding hands.
He got back to the Hilton in time for a swim in the roof-top pool, then he and his friends lunched together and afterwards spent a good part of the afternoon dozing on their beds. In due course, they all dined together; but the meal was rather a silent one, as Richard and Simon were secretly speculating on what they might find out within the next few hours.
At half past ten, Philo McTavish picked them up. Neither Richard nor Simon had taken a very good view of McTavish. No doubt, his long nose was excellent for sniffing out news; but the sandy hair he had inherited from his father’s side of his family seemed the only thing Scottish about him. His black eyes had a slightly shifty look, and his handshake was clammy. Nevertheless, they were grateful to Don Caesar for having placed him and his car at their disposal; as, to get a sight of the barbecue, they might have to leave the car for some time; and to do that from a hired car out in the country in the middle of the night would have been difficult to explain to their driver.
As the journalist drove them through the streets of the city, Richard asked him:
‘While doing your job, have you ever come across any evidence that there are Satanist gatherings in Santiago?’
The Scottish-educated Chilean laughed. ‘Good gracious, no, Mr Eaton. As in every city, there are a few old crones who are credited with practising witchcraft, but I’ve never heard of their getting together to hold a Sabbat. What with their radios, motor-cycles and self-service stores, most of the people who live in Santiago are much too modern-minded to believe in that sort of thing.’
‘That applies to most other countries now,’ Richard replied. ‘But the fact remains that Satanism is still practised in them.’
‘If you say so, Señor, I will take your word for it. But any educated person would now look on believing in the Devil as nonsense.’
‘Of course they would, if they think of the Devil as people did in the Middle Ages: a terrifying apparition with horns, hooves and a spiked tail. But that was only a form his emissaries took as suitable to the beliefs of the period. Now that people have so many things, other than religion, to occupy their minds, they naturally give little thought to the powers of good and evil. That is because they are not tuned in to such influences. But it does not mean that the Devil no longer exists.’
To Richard’s surprise McTavish replied, ‘If not by nationality, by heredity and education I’m a down-to-earth Scot. I can accept that the Devil is still stooging round tempting people with this an’ that in exchange for their immortal souls.’
‘May I ask if you are a Christian?’
‘Aye, I’m certainly that.’
‘Then, if you believe in God, you cannot logically disbelieve in the Devil, because he was part of the original Creation. What is more, when Lucifer was cast out of Heaven, God gave him this world as his province. That is made abundantly clear in the New Testament, in the passage where Satan took Jesus Christ up into a high place, showed him all the cities and the fertile valleys and said, “All this will I give to Thee if Thou wilt bow down to me.” He couldn’t have offered something that wasn’t his to give.’
‘I suppose that is so.’
‘It certainly is. And it’s a great mistake to imagine that the Devil went out of business with the coming of the scientific age. He simply went underground, and adapted his methods to modern conditions. One of his names is “Lord of Misrule”, and his object is to destroy all law and order among mankind. What could do that more effectively than the creation of wars, in which countless thousands of people legally murder one another, and there follows widespread arson, pillage, rape and anarchy? In the present century, the Devil has brought about two world wars and a score of minor ones, by bemusing the minds of statesmen and about the best interests of their peoples; so it seems to me that he has surpassed himself.’
‘Am I right, Señor, in thinking you have formed the idea that these parties given by Glasshill are some form of Sabbat?’
Suddenly it struck Richard that, should that prove the case, it would be just as well to keep McTavish in ignorance of the fact. Although Don Caesar had banned any account of what they found out being published, McTavish might, if the story had the making of a juicy scandal, sell it to a friend for publication in another paper. After a moment, he replied, ‘It’s just possible; but I doubt it. Otherwise, surely you or one of your colleagues would have picked up some rumour about Satanic rites being practised in Santiago.’
At a little before eleven o’clock, the car was running over a country road that led towards the lower slopes of the Andes. McTavish pointed to a group of trees a few hundred yards ahead on the right, and said, ‘That is the place, Señor. Just before we reach it there is a track leading off. Would you have me take it so that I dinna’ have to wait for you in the main road an’ perhaps be noticed by people in other cars driving up to the entrance?’
‘Yes,’ Richard agreed. ‘But pull up somewhere wide enough to reverse the car so that, if necessary, we can make a quick getaway.’
Two hundred yards down a curving lane, that followed the belt of trees surrounding the grounds of the house, McTavish halted the car. As Richard got out, he said, ‘I’m afraid you may have a long wait: an hour at least, perhaps a bit more.’
McTavish shrugged. ‘Don’t worry, Señor. Wi’ me I’ve a book to read, an’ a flask wi’ a drop in it.’
Simon followed Richard out of the car. He was carrying an attaché case which contained certain items he had procured earlier in the day, and which they might need in an emergency. The moonlight enabled them to see their way without trouble between the trees and patches of undergrowth. After they had penetrated the screen for some twenty feet, they came upon the tall wire fence that McTavish had said surrounded the property, when he had described it at the Union Club. Against the possibility that it might be electrified, Simon had brought rubber gloves. Getting them out, he put them on and held two of the strands wide apart, so that Richard could get through without touching them. Then Richard took the gloves and held the wires apart so that Simon could follow him. Cautiously they advanced through the belt of trees. On the far side of the fence it was some sixty feet in depth. When they reached its further edge, they were able to look out across a wide expanse of lawn to the house, which was about two hundred yards distant. It was a long, low building, with turrets at each corner, suggesting that it had been built in Victorian times. All the ground-floor windows were lit, and a few in the upper storey. Only light curtains had been drawn across them, and through these moving shadows could be seen here and there, showing that considerable activity was going on inside the rooms. Outside the back of the house trestle tables had been erected below a long verandah. On the far side was an ornamental lake. In the centre of the row of tables, two had been put side by side to form a broader platform, and upon it were two large elbow chairs.
As Simon surveyed the scene, he said in a low voice, ‘Strange sort of dinner party, for two people to sit on top of the table.’
‘
They may be thrones,’ Richard whispered back. ‘Anyhow, if it is to be a Sabbat, the setting is right. That lake serves the purpose of the traditional pond near which such ceremonies must be held.’
After about ten minutes, four men came out of the house. They wore sombreros and the breeches and jack-boots of herdsmen; but each of them carried a Sten gun. Separating, they walked off in different directions towards the screen of trees.
‘Come on,’ said Richard quickly. They’re about to search the grounds in case some curious neighbour is snooping, to find out what goes on here. We must hide, or we’ll be for it.’
Here and there among the trees there were groups of bushes and tangled undergrowth. Simon had already turned and was tiptoeing his way back towards the fence. Just inside it they chose two patches of thick bramble-covered saplings, and wriggled down behind them. Presently they caught the sound of heavy footfalls snapping fallen twigs and rustling dry leaves. Slowly the footsteps grew nearer. Now and again they stopped. Evidently the man was halting every ten yards or so, to peer from side to side as he advanced.
Simon could hear his own heart pounding. Neither he nor Richard was armed. If they were caught they would be at the gunman’s mercy. Anything could happen to them then. South America was not like Europe. Many people habitually went about armed, and nearly everyone kept a pistol in his car as a precaution against a hold-up in a sparsely-populated district. Shootings were everyday occurrences, and the police took scant notice of them, unless someone important was involved.
Holding their breath, they lay absolutely still. Fortunately, the clumps of undergrowth were so numerous that the searcher could not make a close examination of them all, and the trees prevented the moonlight from coming through except here and there in irregular patches.
After what seemed an age, the guard passed their hiding places and his footsteps faded into the distance. With sighs of relief they came gingerly to their feet. Having listened intently for a long moment, they crept back to the place from which they had retreated; but now they lay down there, in case their silhouettes should be spotted among the trees.
While they had been crouching behind their cover, they had caught the intermittent beat of drums. As they looked towards the house again, they saw that eight Negroes had emerged from it and were seated in a group on the verandah. It was difficult to see them clearly, as they were partially in the shadow cast by the verandah roof, but they appeared to be a band, mainly of drummers and some with other instruments, who were tuning up. The sounds they made gradually merged into a steady rhythm.
Other figures began to come out from the house; but at first sight they did not appear to be human beings. All of them were wearing costumes that made them look like animals, reptiles or enormous insects. There were leopards, wolves, jackals, pigs, cats, dogs of various kinds, a bull, a frog, a ram, several huge blue-bottles and mosquitoes. Many of them were wearing headdresses in keeping with their costumes, all the others were masked. They came out of the house carrying dishes piled high with food, and dozens of bottles of wine, with which they proceeded to furnish the long tables.
‘Going to be a Sabbat,’ Simon whispered. ‘Give you a hundred to one on that.’
‘Not taking you,’ Richard replied promptly. ‘But how Rex got himself mixed up in this devilish business beats me. It’s not as though he were ignorant of such matters. He was with us on that awful night, years ago, when, as near as damn it, Satan broke through the pentacle in which we were all cowering in the library of Cardinal’s Folly.’
‘Ummm. We’ve no proof yet, though, that Rex is involved.’
‘Can you doubt it? He was the Sinegiest woman’s lover. She must be up to the neck in this. It’s a sure thing now that this must be the “barbecue” at which she and von Thumm are to meet tonight. It’s clear, too, that when we asked him if he knew what had happened to Rex, he took alarm, sent us down to the Sinegiest, then concocted a yarn for her to spin that would cause us to call off our search for Rex. Somehow they’ve got hold of him. It’s quite on the cards that he is here tonight, and one of that crowd of creatures laying the tables.’
‘What do we do if we spot him? We just might, as he’s a head and shoulders taller than most people.’
Richard gave a heavy sigh. ‘What the hell can we do? Unarmed, we wouldn’t stand an earthly if we went in against that mob. If we could get McTavish’s car through the fence, we might charge them in it, as Greyeyes did when we pulled you out of that Sabbat on Salisbury Plain. But there’s no possible way of getting the car in here. Even if we could, the odds are that those boys with the Sten guns would riddle us with bullets before we could get away.’
As Richard finished speaking, he turned, crawled back a few yards into the trees, then stood up. Glancing over his shoulder, Simon whispered, ‘Where are you off to?’
‘Speaking of those gunmen brought to my mind that one of them may come on us unexpectedly, so it would be as well to have to hand something with which we could at least defend ourselves.’
After some minutes he returned, carrying two pieces of fallen branch that would serve as rough clubs, and gave one to Simon. By then the drums were being beaten with a steady rhythm that was gradually increasing in tempo. Also, a glow that they had noticed on the far side of the house had increased to a lurid glare, and it could be assumed that food was being cooked there. Meanwhile, the men and women in fantastic disguises had taken their places round the table.
With a final crash of drums, the band suddenly ceased playing. Complete silence fell. There was a stir on the verandah. Two figures emerged from it and walked down the steps. One was evidently a man clad as a goat, with a head-dress from which rose four instead of two, great, curved horns. The other was a tall, fair-haired woman stark naked.
Simultaneously Richard and Simon recognised the woman as Silvia Sinegiest. Nude, her broad shoulders and superb figure were displayed to the best possible advantage.
‘My God, she’s beautiful!’ Richard muttered. ‘She must be pretty chilly, though, in spite of the warm night.’
‘She doesn’t need clothes for this,’ Simon murmured back. ‘Surely you remember? The Devil’s people can create a warm atmosphere or a mist that will envelop them whenever they wish. Look at the man playing the Goat of Mendes. From his height and lopsided walk, one would know him anywhere as von Thumm.’
The two figures, holding hands, advanced to the centre table and mounted by some concealed steps on to it. When they reached the two big elbow chairs, they halted in front of them and a great shout of salutation went up from the assembled company. Silvia remained standing there, but the goat turned about and bent down to rest his forelegs on the seat of the chair, revealing that the back of his costume had been cut away to expose his posterior. The other participants then filed past, in turn performing the revolting Osculum inflame by kissing the man-goat’s fundamental orifice.
Meanwhile, Simon had been fumbling in his attaché case, and took from it two necklaces made of small roots strung together. Passing one to Richard, he said, ‘Now we’re certain what we’re in for, we’d better put these on.’ The roots were garlic, and Richard loathed both its taste and smell; but he knew that it was a most powerful protection against evil forces, so he slipped the necklace over his head without protest.
When the procession past the goat was over and all the beast-clad men and women were back in their original places at the tables, the band started up again. But this time the drums were only subsidiary to a weird, tuneless cacophony of notes from a lyre, a trumpet and Pan pipes. It was the signal for the feast to begin. There were already many cold dishes on the table. To these there were now added steaming tureens of hot food brought from round the far corner of the house. No knives, forks, spoons or plates were used, and the company fell upon the edibles as though they were starving: grabbing up handfuls of food and cramming it into the mouths of themselves or their neighbours, then seizing the bottles and drinking from them.
This disgusting e
xhibition of gluttony continued for the best part of half an hour; then, at a signal from the goat, the band stopped playing. A tall man clad as a black panther rose from one end of the long table, drew a basket from beneath it and held it aloft. A great shout went up, then complete silence fell. At the same moment a hugely fat woman, wearing a cloak of feathers and the mask of a vulture, came to her feet at the other end of the table, and held on high a silver vessel shaped like a phallus. From opposite ends of the table the two advanced, until they met in front of the naked Silvia, and the goatskin-clad von Thumm, who both rose from their thrones. The vulture-woman handed up to Silvia the big silver vessel modelled on a male organ, and the panther-man handed up to her companion something which he took from the basket. For a moment Richard and Simon could not see what it was that the panther-man had presented. Then, as he bowed and moved aside, they saw that it was a child.
Oh God!’ gasped Simon. ‘They’re going to sacrifice it! We’ve got to stop them! We must!’ He started to scramble to his feet.
Richard grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. ‘Stay where you are, you bloody fool!’ he hissed into Simon’s ear. ‘We haven’t a hope in hell of saving the child. We’d only be murdered ourselves, and to no purpose. Those gunmen are lurking somewhere among these trees. They’d shoot us down before we were halfway across the lawn.’
With a groan, Simon sank back and shut his eyes.
Gateway to Hell Page 9