‘Yes, he can. The car cannot be found. He says that it has been stolen. That may be true, or it may be that he has hidden it somewhere, owing to his anxiety to make everyone believe that nothing much out of the ordinary occurred during this trip on which he acted as your driver.’
‘I can’t understand why he should be so unhelpful.’
The lawyer shrugged. ‘I can. Firstly, as I’ve told you, he believes that he’ll get good marks if he can prevent his boss from being connected in any way with black magic, and very bad ones if he fails to do so. Secondly and more important, he can have very little doubt that Nella Nathan was killed by Satanists to keep her from giving them away; and he is scared that if he opens his mouth too wide they will have a crack at him.’
‘If we could get Don Caesar back, I feel sure he would give evidence in our favour. He is not the sort of man to stand by and see two friends condemned unjustly, just because a few stupid people might get the wrong end of the stick and think he had some connection with Satanists. After all, he helped us when we were getting the girl away from them.’
‘Do you know where he is?’
‘No. He was going first to London I think; then on to Switzerland to get some ski-ing. But his office must know.’
‘I will get on to it and find out. Then, if matters go badly, we could cable him. That is, if you really feel we should be justified in asking him to abandon his holiday and return. You see, he could only repeat what you told him about having witnessed a Sabbat, and that is not evidence. His giving you some of his wife’s clothes proves nothing, and I gather he did not even see the woman. In any case, he knows nothing about what happened later at the Hilton; and that is the crux of the matter.’
‘You’re right,’ Richard admitted gloomily. ‘Still, we have our alibis. May God bless Miss Van Ryn.’
An hour later, the two friends were taken into Court. Phillips from the British Embassy was present and with him an interpreter who, for Richard’s benefit, translated every stage of the proceedings into English.
The prosecutor made an opening statement, then called a doctor who had carried out an autopsy on Nella’s body. He deposed the cause of her death, described her mutilation and affirmed that she had been violently raped a short while before her death.
Next came the cleaning woman who had been in the main passage. She was middle-aged, with a workworn face and humble manner. She gave her evidence clearly, but in a singsong tone that suggested she was reciting lines she had been taught. Simon thought it probable that she was being controlled from some distance by a powerful hypnotist, but there was no way of testing that. She stated firmly that it was Richard and Simon whom she had seen come out of Nella’s room at about six a.m., and that she could not be mistaken.
The desk clerk related how Richard and Simon had brought Nella to the hotel, booked a room for her and taken her up in the lift. No one else had come in and booked a room that night after they had done so.
A floor waiter testified that, when taking away the breakfast tray from the sitting room of the accused’s suite, he had also collected three used glasses.
A policeman from Valparaiso described how he had detained the accused as they were about to board a steamer bound for Callao.
A woman clerk from the office of L.A.N. related how Richard had enquired there, within a few minutes of the office opening on Wednesday the 18th, about flights that day to La Paz and Lima.
Finally, the senior police officer who had interrogated them after they had been brought back to Santiago, read a long statement, showing how the replies to the questions he had asked the accused conflicted with evidence already given.
Cunliffe then made a statement on behalf of his clients. At his first mention of Satanism, a rustle of excited interest ran round the Court, and the pencils of the reporters at the Press table began to fly. As this was not a trial, but only a preliminary hearing before a magistrate to determine whether there was a case against the accused, Cunliffe’s statement was no more than a brief résumé of events as described by Richard and Simon, after they had withdrawn the statement they had made to the police.
McTavish was then called. He ran true to the form Cunliffe had predicted he would show. He said that his Chief had ordered him to investigate the house of Señor Lincoln B. Glasshill and the nature of the parties held there. He had done so, but had no reason to suppose that they had any connection with Satanism. On Tuesday, the 17th, his Chief had ordered him to drive Señors Eaton and Aron out to the house late at night. He had done so. They had told him to pull up in a lane behind the house, then had left the car and disappeared into a screen of trees that bordered the estate. They had been absent for the best part of two hours. When they reappeared they were running and, with them, had a young woman. Pushing her into the car, they had ordered him to take them back to the city. When he had asked them what had been going on, they had replied to the effect that a wild party was being held in the garden of the house, and that it had proved too wild for the young lady. They had said nothing about witchcraft or black magic. During the drive the woman had not spoken. He had dropped the three of them at the Hilton Hotel shortly after two o’clock in the morning.
Cunliffe made no attempt to trap McTavish into contradicting himself, neither did the prosecutor cross-examine him. Such questioning to test the veracity of witnesses would be carried out by Counsel if the case was sent to trial.
When Miranda was led to the stand there was a new stir of interest. She gave her evidence in a low, firm voice, frankly stating that Simon was not only her fiancé, but also her lover and that, on the night in question, he had spent the hours between about three o’clock and seven in bed with her. As she stood down, a hush ensued that, in a subtle way, conveyed the sympathy of those present for the blind girl who had publicly declared her frailty to protect the man she loved.
Miss Pinney followed her. Unlike McTavish and Miranda who, although they intended to perjure themselves, had both taken the oath without hesitation, the companion held the Bible by a corner and well away from her, as though she almost expected it to burst into flames. Cunliffe took her through her evidence as quickly as possible; but she faltered several times in her replies, and spoke in such a low voice that twice the magistrate had to ask her, through the interpreter, to speak up.
It was clear to Richard and Simon that her Nonconformist conscience was giving her a very bad time. The latter wondered how Miranda had ever succeeded in persuading her to participate in this deception, and it occurred to him that Pinney had perhaps consented only because, being a Van Ryn, Miranda was very rich and had promised to settle a large enough sum of money on her to ensure her a comfortable old age.
But the fact remained that she had made a far from good impression, and the two accused were not surprised when the magistrate ruled that they should be sent for trial.
Greatly depressed, they were taken back to their cell. Shortly afterwards, Cunliffe came to see them. Angrily, he said, ‘After Miss Van Ryn’s evidence, I thought we were going to get away with it; but that sanctimonious companion of hers bitched everything up. When she had faltered through her piece, anyone could see they had both been lying, and it must have been obvious to the magistrate that Mr Aron’s fiancée had courageously hatched this little plot in the hope of clearing you both.’
Neither Simon nor Richard sought to disabuse him of his belief, and he then proceeded to cheer them up by going on, ‘But you must not be despondent. We have plenty of shots in our locker yet. I’ll see to it that the Pinney woman makes a much better showing when she next gives evidence; and Counsel will take McTavish to pieces. Now that Lincoln B. Glasshill has been brought into it, we can subpoena him and the couple who look after his house. He’ll have to give an account of those parties he holds. Plenty of people can be brought to testify that they take place, so something may come out of that. I’ll have that cleaning woman investigated, too. If it is found that she’s spending much more money than she normally would, we’ll
insist on knowing where she got it, and may be able to show that she was bribed to give false evidence.’
When Cunliffe had left them, they held an inquest on the morning’s proceedings, and the conclusions they reached were less optimistic than his. Richard summed up the situation by saying:
‘What he fails to realise is that the people we are up against have occult power. I’ll swear that cleaning woman was under hypnotic control from a distance, and they’re much too clever to allow her to be trapped. Counsel won’t shake Philo either. They’ve got him where they want him, and they’ll keep him there. Our side can subpoena Lincoln B. Glasshill, but you can be certain we’ll get nothing out of him; and Pinney is a hopelessly weak reed. Since her mind is in such a state of doubt and distress, it must be open to the Satanists. They will work on her while she is sleeping, and it would not surprise me if, at our trial, she suddenly breaks down and confesses that she has been lying.’
‘Ummm,’ Simon agreed. ‘How I wish we had Greyeyes with us. I don’t mean involved in our muddle, but on hand to help us. By pitting his occult powers against von Thumm and Co., I’m sure he’d turn the tables on them and, somehow, get us off.’
‘Yes. The big mistake we made was not cabling him to come out the moment we realised that Rex had become involved in a black magic set-up.’
‘I did think of it. But we had no chance. We didn’t know for certain that Glasshill’s parties were Sabbats until Tuesday night. Everything happened so quickly after that. Wednesday morning we were on the run.’
‘D’you think it’s too late to send him an S.O.S.?’
‘ ’Fraid so. Cunliffe’s just told us that our trial should come on in a week. Our dear Duke will still be in Corfu, staying with those people whose villa he’s thinking of buying. Could send a cable, but it would take the best part of a day to reach him. Shouldn’t think for a moment that there’s an air service yet to an out-of-the-way place like Corfu. He’d have to go by ship and rail to Rome; and from there it’s a three or four day flight out to Santiago.’
Richard sighed. ‘No, I’m afraid it’s not on. The odds are that even if our trial were not over by the time he got here, at best he’d have very little time to work in.’
During the next few days, both Miranda and Cunliffe paid them several visits. The lawyer reported that he had secured a Court order to search Glasshill’s house; but, when it was executed, nothing incriminating was found there. As McTavish reported earlier, the couple who lived there were either deaf and dumb, or acting the part of deaf-mutes. From the descriptions given to them it now occurred to Simon that they might be Zombies. In any case, they were completely useless to the defence. Still worse, the day after the magistrate’s hearing, Lincoln B. Glasshill, evidently deciding that whatever course the trial might take, it would do his reputation no good to be interrogated as a witness, had left Santiago for an unknown destination.
Miranda brought the prisoners luxuries to eat and drink and spent every walking hour cudgelling her wits for new ways in which to help them. She had Pinney take her to Philo’s lodging, upbraided him furiously for having borne false witness, then offered him a huge bribe to give a true account of what he knew. But he had told her frankly that he believed it to be more than his life was worth to accept it. She had then spent a thousand dollars inserting large advertisements in all the papers, offering ten thousand dollars’ reward to anyone who could give information leading to the whereabouts of Philo’s bullet-riddled car.
On the morning of Friday the 27th, the prisoners were taken, as so often before, to the interviewing room. They expected to find either Miranda and Pinney or Cunliffe waiting for them there. Instead, to their amazement, it was de Richleau who stood behind the bare table.
With fervour and delight, the three old friends embraced. To the eager questioning of the prisoners about how he came to be in Santiago, the Duke replied:
‘I learned that you were in serious trouble through a dream or, rather, when I was up on the third level of the Astral plane. Naturally, I left Corfu immediately for Rome, and had myself flown out. I arrived yesterday afternoon, got particulars of the trouble you are in and your lawyer’s address from the British Embassy, then went to see him. He gave me all the facts as far as they are known.’
‘What do you think of our chances?’ Richard asked quickly.
De Richleau frowned. ‘Not very good at the moment, I’m afraid. But I may be able to help. I told Cunliffe that I was gifted with clairvoyant powers and that, if he could arrange for me to go into a trance in the room in which this woman was murdered, I might be able to visualise the crime as it took place. If I could succeed in doing that, I would be able to give a description of her murderers, and that could lead to their being traced.’
He broke off for a moment then, a smile lighting up his grey, yellow-flecked eyes, went on, ‘It has been arranged with the hotel people and the police that I should make the attempt this afternoon.’
For half an hour he remained with them, while they told him of their endeavours in Buenos Aires, Punta Arenas and Santiago, to trace Rex. Then he left them, infinitely more cheerful than they had been for many days.
That evening Cunliffe came to see them. He said that the Duke had telephoned to say that his session at the hotel had produced results which would justify another hearing by a magistrate, before the case came up for trial. In view of the sensation the case was causing, consent had been given to this new evidence being heard in court the following morning.
On the Saturday, at ten o’clock, the prisoners were again in the dock. Shortly afterwards de Richleau, a calm, impressive figure, took the witness stand. After the formalities were completed, he gave an account of the arrangements made with the management of the hotel, and continued:
‘I succeeded in establishing contact with the spirit of the dead woman. She described to me how she had been murdered by two men, one of whom was a Negro and the other, she thought, an Arab. I then asked her about her relations with Mr Aron and Mr Eaton. She related how they had helped her to escape from the Sabbat, spoke of her gratitude to them and directed my attention to the Bible in the drawer of the bedside table. Coming out of my trance, I telephoned down to the manager and he came up with two police officers. They are here, and will inform you of what followed.’
A police lieutenant replaced de Richleau on the stand. He testified to having joined the Duke in the bedroom and having taken the Bible from the drawer. Producing it, he opened the book and held it up, to show some writing in pencil on the inside of the cover, then handed it to the interpreter, who translated into Spanish what had been written there. It read:
‘I am terrified. I’ll never forget the horror I went through tonight. I would probably have been killed at that ghastly party if the two Englishmen had not got me away. He has promised to pay for me to get back to the States. But I’ve an awful premonition that I’m fated to die here. Those fiends will come after me, and kill me if they can, to stop me from telling what I know about them. Oh, God help me! Have mercy on me!’
As the interpreter lowered the book there fell a brief, tense silence; then the magistrate dismissed the case.
Half an hour later, Simon, Richard, Miranda and Pinney were with the Duke in the suite he had taken at the Hilton. Unutterably relieved, carefree and laughing, they were toasting one another in champagne. As Simon set down his glass, he grinned at de Richleau and said:
‘Lucky it didn’t occur to anyone that, as you were left alone in Nella’s room, you might have written that piece in the Bible. Don’t see how you could have proved you hadn’t.’
The Duke threw back his head and laughed. ‘With your subtle mind you’d make an excellent detective, Simon. As a matter of fact, you are right. I did succeed in contacting Nella on the Astral; but the poor woman was still hopelessly confused and quite unhelpful. As No one could have produced a specimen of her handwriting; I was able to write that piece in the Bible for her. To risk you and Richard being found guilty was unt
hinkable.’
His statement was greeted with cries of surprise, admiration and gratitude.
Waving them aside, his face again became grave as he said. ‘But now you two are out of the wood, we have other things to think of. Since it has emerged that we are up against Satanists, it has become more urgent than ever to find our dear friend, Rex.’
11
A Perilous Journey
That night, after dinner, the three friends held a conference. While still in prison Simon and Richard had given the Duke the main facts about their hunt for Rex. Now they filled in the details. When they had done, he said:
‘Since Nella Nathan actually saw Rex up at this headquarters on the Sala de Uyuni, the obvious course is for us to go there. As the best part of a month has elapsed since she saw him, he may now be somewhere else; but, even should that be so, it is our only chance of picking up his trail.’
‘To go there is what Simon and I intended to do, if we had not been arrested when about to leave Valparaiso,’ Richard said. ‘I can’t help wondering, though, whether it really was Rex the Nathan woman saw. It seemed so extraordinary that he should have been up in that place as a free man and, apparently, on excellent terms with the big-shot there.’
Simon turned on him. ‘Nella more or less described Rex. On asking the name of the man she was looking at, she was told it was him. That couldn’t be coincidence. And we agreed, you remember, that this place Sala being right off the map, it might be possible to detain someone there without locking him up.’
‘It was that I had in mind when I said that Rex may now be somewhere else,’ put in the Duke. They may have thought he couldn’t escape; but if he had the free use of those big limbs of his, I’d back him to get away from any place other than a locked cell.’
‘How shall we go?’ Richard enquired. ‘Rail or road? The Sala is well over a thousand miles from here as the crow flies and, of course, very much further by either rail or road. I spent half an hour before dinner going into alternatives. By rail we must go up the coast to Arica, inland for two hundred and fifty miles across the Andes to La Paz, then south. The only town of any size within a hundred miles of the Sala is Ouoro. After that the railway runs on the eastern side of Lago de Poopo. It’s the hell of a long lake and the northern end of the Sala is on its western side; so it might be better to stick to the railway for another eighty miles and get off at a small place called Sevaruyo. By road, we’d have to make an immense detour through the Andes valleys, via Mendoza and Villa Maria to Cordoba; but from there we’d have the Pan-American highway, which runs almost due north, and it would take us within about seventy-five miles of the southern end of the Sala.’
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