The Satanist

by Dennis Wheatley

  The Indian halted, swung round and asked nervously; 'Who are you? What do you mean by that?'

  'I'm Lord Larne,' said Barney in a friendly voice. 'You remember me. We met two or three times at Mrs. Wardeel's. I won't keep you a minute, but I want a word with you.'

  'This ees not a good time. It ees not convenient.'

  'It is for me.' Barney gave the guffaw of a fool. 'You might not think it, but I'm a bit of an amateur detective. Sorry to trouble you, and all that, but having traced you here I want to know what goes on in the big house down at the end of this alley.'

  'That ees not your business,' declared Ratnadatta angrily. 'You haf no right to ask. Leave me. . . .'

  'No right at all,' Barney agreed cheerfully. 'But I'm itching with curiosity, so unless you tell, I'm going in with you.' He produced his pistol and showed it to Ratnadatta. 'See, I've got my rod, so no one's going to stop me. Stop me and buy one, eh? Ha! Ha!'

  The Indian took a quick step back, but Barney suddenly grabbed him by the arm, and went on, 'My car is just round the corner. Let's go and sit in it and have a quiet cigarette while you tell me. I won't keep you more than a few minutes. Come on.'

  As Barney had hoped, Ratnadatta, supposing him to be no more than a nosey young idiot who, as a member of the privileged classes, perhaps enjoyed some degree of protection for such lawless frolics, decided that it would be better to humour him than to risk a scene on the doorstep of the mansion which would draw attention to it.

  The avoidance of a scene had also been Barney's object in adopting his role of an inquisitive buffoon. While they walked along to his car, he could almost hear the Indian's brain ticking as it hastily endeavoured to formulate a plausible, non-criminal, but intriguingly mystic reason for the meeting he had been about to attend. But he was given no opportunity to produce it. No sooner were they both in the car than Barney, having achieved his object, switched on the ignition, let in the clutch and drove off.

  'Hi!' exclaimed Ratnadatta. 'What do you do? Where are you taking me?'

  'For a ride,' replied Barney. 'To a place where we can talk without interruption. We'll be there in less than ten minutes.'

  'Stop!' cried the Indian. 'I do not wish to go! Plees, you let me get out.'

  'No, sweetheart. Alive or dead, you are coming with me.'

  'You are mad!'

  'Yes, I am. With you. So you had better shut up. I showed you my gun. I'd welcome an excuse to put a bullet into your guts.'

  Completely bewildered by this unforeseen encounter, and now extremely frightened, Ratnadatta, breathing heavily, fell silent. The car had already reached the embankment and was heading towards Battersea Bridge. They crossed it and ran swiftly through the streets on the south side of the river to Barnes Common. Driving across it along a track that led past the cemetery, Barney pulled up in a deserted spot and said tersely, 'Get out.'

  'You are mad,' Ratnadatta said again as, quaking with fear, he eased himself out on to the grass. 'Plees, Lord Larne, I do you no harm. Why haf you bring me to this place?'

  Barney jumped from the car and came quickly round its bonnet. Grabbing Ratnadatta by the lapel of his coat, he cried in a harsh voice that no longer had the least suggestion of the detective-crazy idiot in it: 'I've brought you here because I mean to beat hell out of you. I know all about your Satanic Temple and the way you act as a tout for it.'

  'No! No!' Ratnadatta gasped. 'It ees not true! White Magic! We practise White Magic only. Also I invite only those peoples weech ask to come.'

  'You filthy, lecherous, lying swine! You lured Mrs. Mauriac there a week ago. Don't dare to deny it. What did you do to her, eh?'

  'Nothing! Not me! I take oath.'

  'You're lying!' Barney raised his fist. 'Tell me the truth or I'll smash your ugly face in.'

  'Plees! No! No!' wheezed the Indian. 'My neck. I have been struck great blow. It rick my neck. You strike again and it ees too much. Perhaps you kill me, then you hang.'

  'So that's why you are wearing that bandage. But don't think a ricked neck is going to protect you from me. I know plenty of ways to make you squirm without killing you.' As Barney spoke he struck the Indian a sharp blow on the muscle of the upper arm with the hard edge of his palm.

  Ratnadatta let out a yelp, and Barney went on, 'Now, you are going to tell me the truth or I'll pulp every muscle in your body. Mrs. Mauriac has been absent from her flat for a week. She left it with you, and you took her to that hell-dive where you hold your orgies. I want to know whereabouts in it you are keeping her. You are going to describe the inside of the place to me, so that when I get into it I can go straight to her.'

  'She go with me there on Saturday. Yes, I admit. But she haf left it again same night.'

  'Stop lying!' Barney struck him a second blow on the muscle.

  'I tell no lie!' the Indian gulped. 'This ees truth! I swear so! I take oath! She ees taken away by another member off the Brotherhood.'

  'Why? Who was he? Tell me his name!'

  'He ees an American. A Colonel off their Air Force.'

  'I don't believe you!'

  'It ees true. Listen plees, listen.' Ratnadatta began to ring his hands and burst into a spate of words. 'I giff you good reason why I not lie. This ees same man who struck me great blow. For four days I am in hospital. Then I come out. I wish to put curse upon him for what he haf done to me. To do that I must find out about him. His real name and where he live. I make opportunity to get quick look at secret records. In list off visiting Brothers against name for magics Twisting Snake, I find name Colonel Henrik George Washington, United States Air Force, Fulgoham, Cambs. Post Office tell me Cambs. mean Cambridgeshire. Yesterday I go there and make much enquiries. It ees a big camp with many great aeroplanes, buildings, huts and all; but this Colonel does not live there. He has private house not far off, near Six Miles Bottoms, weech is called the Cedars. I go there. It ees good size, pretty house, in little park. Now I haf seen I can make bad magic for him there. This is truth; all truth. A friend I am not man to betray; but for this Colonel I haf great hate.'

  Barney had to admit to himself that the chapter and verse produced by the Indian in support of his story made it highly plausible. But, to test it further, he said: 'I'm not letting you go back to the Temple tonight and I have means of getting into it myself. If I go in and find that you have been holding Mrs. Mauriac as a prisoner there after all, I'll keep you locked in a cellar till you die of thirst, then throw your body in the river. Now you know what to expect if you have been lying; do you still stick to your story?'

  'Yes, my Lord; I stick,' Ratnadatta replied without hesitation. 'In the Temple she ees not. She was there for two, three hours, no more; then the American haf taken her away.'

  'To this house of his in Cambridgeshire?'

  'Yes. It ees there that he live, and he had big car.'

  'It doesn't follow that he took her down there.'

  'No; but plees, it ees very best bet. At London hotel she ees perhaps not willing to stay with him. Perhaps she make ugly scene and lands him in bad trouble.'

  'He took her away by force, then?'

  After a moment's hesitation, Ratnadatta replied, 'On Saturday night it was arrange for her to become initiate. To one part of ceremony she make objection. The American haf eye for her all along. She see that and he ees big man, very big; so she ask him to take her home. That ees against rules off Brotherhood. There ees a fight and he carry her off. But he ees not what you call Knight Errant. He do this because he want her for himself.'

  'So it was a case of rogues falling out?' A lump had risen in Barney's throat. It was all he could do to prevent himself from smashing his fist into the Satanist's face, as he went on, 'You quarrelled about who should have her, and the American got the best of it. Bejasus! I've a mind to kill you here and now.'

  'No, my Lord, no!' the Indian whined, shrinking back. 'I only obey order off Master off our Lodge to prevent her being taken away. We should haf discuss matter more, agree to postponement off in
itiation; perhaps decide that she ees not suitable after all to become Sister off us. But she refuse to listen, she show great temper, then row starts. Perhaps too she thinks the American fine man, and would haf been willing to go with him anyway. That I do not know. But believe me plees, that he has her in his house in Cambs. was her fault. Yes, indeed, she bring that on own self.'

  'You seem quite convinced that she is still there.'

  Ratnadatta shrugged. 'How can I say? But you haf tell me that she has not returned to her flat. So all points that she ees still with him.'

  After a moment's consideration Barney decided that the odds were all upon the Indian's being right. He was obviously lying in his own defence about the part he had played on the previous Saturday night but, if he had cooked up this story about the American Colonel with the object of sending his captor off to Cambridgeshire on a wild-goose chase, he would have said that the day before he had actually seen Mary at the house called the Cedars. In this case the very fact that he would not swear to her being there made his account more likely to be trustworthy. From the afternoon onward Barney had been thinking of little else than the moment when he could bring Mary safely back to her flat. If she was no longer at the house in Cremorne, as far as he was concerned the raid on it could only prove a bitter disappointment. To bank on Ratnadatta's having told the truth now seemed the better bet. Grabbing the trembling Indian by the arm, he said:

  'All right; get back into the car.'

  Ratnadatta, holding his head rigid, wriggled in and, as Barney slammed the door on his side, asked anxiously, 'Plees, my Lord; what do you mean to do with me?'

  'You'll see,' came the terse reply; and no further word was spoken until, ten minutes later, they pulled up outside Fulham Police Station.

  Ordering the Indian to get out, Barney marched him into the Station, produced his official pass, showed it to the Duty Sergeant and said: 'I am charging this man with kidnapping a Mrs. Margot Mauriac at or about six p.m. on Saturday last, 30th April.'

  'It ees not true,' quavered Ratnadatta, his face now a dirty shade of grey. 'This man, he ees mad. He carries a pistol and haf threaten me with it.'

  The Sergeant ignored him, and wrote out the charge. Looking the wretched Satanist full in the face, Barney went on, 'You may add, Sergeant, that the name Margot Mauriac was an alias for Mary Morden.'

  Instantly Ratnadatta realized the terrible implication that lay behind that disclosure. His mouth dropped open, his eyes grew wide with horrified despair. Barney then administered the coup de grâce.

  'I hope that soon we shall be able to prefer a further charge against this man of participation in the murder of the lady's husband.' At that, Ratnadatta gave a loud groan, put a hand over his eyes and, his knees buckling, slid to the floor in a dead faint.

  While two constables picked him up and carried him away to a cell, Barney completed the formalities. He then asked the Sergeant to telephone a message to Special Branch for immediate relay by wireless to Inspector Thompson. It was simply to the effect that he would not, after all, be participating in the raid, so the Inspector must take over the job of doing his utmost to secure the incriminating photographs.

  Immediately he was back in his car he got out his maps and soon located Fulgoham as a village near the southern end of the county and about five miles east-south-east of Cambridge. It was barely fifty miles from the centre of London and only just over half an hour had elapsed since he had waylaid Ratnadatta in the cul-de-sac. He reckoned that if he stepped on it, he should get to Fulgoham well before eleven o'clock.

  At this hour the roads, apart from those in west-central London, were fairly free of traffic, so he decided it would be quicker to go by way of Kensington and Cricklewood until he struck the North Circular Road beyond Golders Green. There he turned north-east and made good going along the broad by-pass till he reached the Great Cambridge Road which took him to within a few miles of his destination.

  In Fulgoham village there were still a number of American Servicemen about, mostly with girls whom they had picked up in Cambridge and brought out for the evening on motor cycles or in small cars. After enquiring of several men for Colonel Washington's house, Barney found a Top Sergeant who was able to give him definite directions to it. The Cedars lay two miles further on along the road to Six Mile Bottom. It was on the right side of the road and a white-painted, five barred gate stood at the entrance of a drive leading to it.

  Barney heaved a sigh of relief. The fact that Colonel Washington was known in Fulgoham and that he lived at the Cedars on the road to Six Mile Bottom was the first confirmation he had had that Ratnadatta had not been lying; at all events as far as the Colonel was concerned. It now remained to see if he was right in his belief that Mary had been taken to the house and was still there.

  Fifty yards past the gate, Barney ran his car on to the grass verge, pulled up and got out. Fully aware that he was now about to enter on a desperate venture, he made certain that his pistol was in working order, then walked to the gate, opened it, slipped through and shut it softly behind him.

  The drive was only about a hundred yards long, and there was sufficient moonlight for him to see the house at the end of it. Ratnadatta had thought it pretty, but it was in fact an Edwardian monstrosity of jumbled roofs and half-timbered stucco.

  Stepping on to the grass beside the drive, and taking such cover as he could from groups of shrubs, he cautiously made his way forward. Chinks of light showed between the drawn curtains in some of the downstairs windows; so when he was within twenty yards of the house he began to skirt round it. At the back, from what he guessed to be the kitchen windows, chinks of light were also showing.

  This indication that the inmates of the place were all still awake made him decide that he must postpone breaking in until later; but for hours past his mind had been obsessed with the thought of freeing Mary so, having made his way right round the house, he could not resist the temptation to creep up to a big bow window on the right of the front door, and see if he could get a glimpse of the room on the off-chance that she was in it.

  The gravel crunched faintly under his feet as he tiptoed across the drive, but he felt confident that the sound would be drowned by that of a radio which came from the room towards which he was stealthily making his way. He reached the bay window and spent some minutes trying to get a view of the room, but all he could see through the chinks were strips of carpet and the legs of a chair. Greatly disappointed and still wondering if Mary was in the room, he backed away towards the front porch.

  Suddenly a dark shape leapt from it. Footfalls grated harshly twice on the gravel behind him. His hand went to his automatic but, before he could swing round or draw it, he was struck on the back of the head. Stars and circles whirled before his eyes, his knees gave way and he fell to the ground unconscious.

  19. The night of her life

  Mary's first conscious thought on waking on the previous Sunday morning had been that she was in a strange bed. The feel of the sheets, warm but slightly slippery, told her that. She opened her eyes and caught her breath. They were black satin. For a moment she gazed across them at the side of the room she was facing. In its centre there was a bay window with drawn curtains, but bright light filtering between them showed it to be broad day outside. An ornate dressing-table made of pale grey wood stood in the embrasure; its stool and two chairs which were also within her view matched it, showing that it formed part of an expensive modern suite.

  Her heart began to beat more rapidly. Cautiously she turned over, feeling certain already of what she would see. There, on the pillow next to hers was a man's head. The hair on it was crew-cut and so fair as to be almost white. The face was turned towards her but inclined downwards, its lower part concealed by the top of the folded sheet. Under the hair-line there was a good forehead - broad rather than high - two thick, fair eyebrows and, between them, a great hooked nose. Her bedfellow was fast asleep and breathing so gently that she had to listen to catch the sound.


  Chaotic memories of the previous night's events were now tumbling about in her mind: Abaddon, with his strangler's fit upon him, gripping her by the throat; Ratnadatta wearing her murdered husband's shoes; Pope Honorius forcing her to swallow the aphrodisiac; the middle-aged grey-haired man for whom she had been made to play the role of prophetess; Ratnadatta again, and her desperate struggle with him; her boundless relief when she found herself outside the temple in the cool night air, and believed that the American was going to take her home. But he hadn't. Instead he had suddenly decided to compound with his infernal master for not attending the Walpurgis Eve Sabbat by performing some special sacrifice on his own. Then he had said that he would give her the night of her life. Well, in a sense, he had.

  As he had headed the car back and turned north-west along the Fulham Road, she knew that after the act which she had so rashly just put on - of appearing disappointed that he meant only to run her home then return to the Temple - she could not possibly revoke on that and suddenly declare that she felt too tired for love-making. She knew instinctively too that, even if she had attempted to make him change his mind, now he had decided to take her down to the country nothing she could say would stop him.

  There had remained only the possibility of catching her rescuer off his guard and making her escape. But of succeeding in that, her chances were far less good than they had been when she had thought of getting away from Ratnadatta earlier that evening. Then it had been daylight and she could have seen any policeman they were going to pass a hundred yards before they reached him; now it was dark. Then they had been in a taxi so, had she decided on desperate measures, she could have called on the driver for aid; now she was in a private car, alone with her captor. One thing only could favour an attempt by her to get away from him. That was the car's being held up by the lights at a main cross-road for some minutes. Even if she failed to get the door open and scramble out before he grabbed her and pulled her back, if she shouted for help while the car was still stationary, someone might have come to her assistance.