The Winged Bull

by Dion Fortune

  To his immense relief he heard a latch-key being inserted in the door, and rose to welcome his employer. But when the door opened it was not Brangwyn who stood there, but a complete stranger, a heavily built, pock-marked mulatto, and over his shoulder Murchison caught a glimpse of the narrow, pallid face of the man he had seen at the station. A low moaning noise came from the girl huddled in the chair.

  Murchison placed himself between her and the newcomers, completely hiding her from their eyes with his heavy bulk.

  ‘Sorry, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘but Mr Brangwyn’s instructions are that no one is to be admitted to the flat in his absence, so I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.’

  The mulatto paused and surveyed him with an air of studied insolence. ‘And who might you be?’

  ‘Mr Brangwyn’s secretary, and his instructions are that no one comes into the flat in his absence, so I’d be glad if you’d go.’

  ‘And do you know who I am?’

  ‘No, sir. Don’t know anything about you.’

  ‘Do you imagine Mr Brangwyn would have given me a key to this flat if he didn’t expect me to make use of it?’

  ‘There are other ways of getting hold of a key than having it given you. You are a stranger to me, and I don’t propose to take any chances on you. If you don’t go, I’m afraid I’ll have to throw you out.’

  The mulatto blew his chest out and looked round at his companion. They were both tall men, and the one who appeared to be the leader of the expedition looked as if he had been an athlete before time and debauchery had taken toll of him.

  ‘Do you imagine you could throw us out?’ he inquired, with an unpleasant smile.

  Murchison measured them with his eye. Ursula’s acquaintance was considerably younger than himself, and looked active, but had not the weight to be a formidable antagonist for a man of his bulk. The other man was both bigger and heavier, and could probably give a good account of himself for a short time, but would wind quickly, if his nose was any indicator of his way of living. Between them, however, they might take some throwing out single-handed. There would certainly be a considerable mess before they were gone. There was only one way to do it, and that was to take them by surprise. Without giving the slightest hint of his intention, Murchison charged, and with an old rugby forward’s trick of the shoulder took the stranger in the chest and sent him over backwards, taking his companion with him like a ninepin, and Murchison slammed the door behind them. A series of fearful bumps told of the manner in which they were descending the stairs. It was only in the dead silence that supervened that it occurred to Murchison to wonder whether any necks had been broken.

  He opened the door and looked out cautiously. The heap at the bottom of the stairs lay unpleasantly quietly upon the mat just inside the street door, which stood wide open. He stood debating what to do until a shadow blocked the doorway and a policeman’s helmet was silhouetted against the sunshine outside.

  ‘What’s all this about, gentlemen?’ he demanded, surveying the tangle at his feet, which was at last beginning to stir feebly.

  ‘They tried to force an entry, constable,’ replied Murchison from the stairhead, ‘and my instructions were to chuck ‘em out if they wouldn’t go quietly, and I’ve done it; but I didn’t mean to chuck ‘em down the stairs.’

  ‘You seem to have done it pretty thoroughly, sir,’ said the policeman bending down and trying to disentangle the heap on the mat. Ursula’s friend sat up and blinked dazedly.

  ‘Well, gentlemen,’ said the policeman, ‘as this disturbance has taken place on private premises, it’s nothing to do with me unless you call me in.’ And be looked inquiringly from one to the other.

  ‘Well, I don’t quite know what to do, constable,’ said Murchison. ‘This isn’t my house, you see. I’ve only been left in charge of it, so to speak. It’s for my employer to say what’s to be done.’

  ‘I’d better have the names and addresses,’ said the policeman, getting out his note-book, to Murchison’s great satisfaction, who learnt that the younger man’s name was Frank Fouldes, with an address in Chelsea, and the mulatto was Hugo Astley; whereupon Murchison pricked up his ears, for the name was not unknown to him in connection with a series of lurid revelations in one of the less reputable Sabbath journals.

  ‘Address, please,’ said the constable, inexorable as fate.

  ‘The Ritz,’ replied the man on the mat haughtily.

  Murchison gave a sudden laugh from the top of the stairs. Astley looked up at the sound, and there came into his face an expression so fiendish that Murchison’s laugh was arrested in mid-career, leaving him open-mouthed. If ever the Prince of Darkness appeared in human form, he was sitting on the door-mat now. Murchison was prepared to believe anything of this man, even what the Sunday paper said of him.

  ‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ said the policeman, ‘now, unless you’re hurt, you’d better move along.’

  The got up reluctantly and limped away, dusting themselves down as they went, the policeman watching them round the corner. Not until they were safely out of sight did he turn to Murchison and ask his name.

  The policeman, after the manner of policemen, was noncommittal; but it did not require a very shrewd observer to deduce that Hugo Astley was well known, but not well liked, in official circles. With Frank Fouldes he did not seem to be familiar, but Murchison gathered that it had not done Fouldes any good in the eyes of the law to have been found lying on the same door-mat with Hugo Astley.

  Murchison returned up the stairs and found Ursula Brangwyn sitting up in the big chair looking considerably more normal than she had done since the incident at the station.

  Murchison grinned cheerfully at her. ‘That’s disposed of them,’ said he. ‘Second trick to us, I think.’

  ‘Yes, for the moment,’ said the girl. ‘But they won’t leave it at that; and Hugo Astley will never forgive you.’

  A key sounded in the lock again, and Murchison spun round, but it was Brangwyn this time, who gave a whistle of surprise as he saw his sister sitting there, looking white and shaken.

  ‘We’ve had a spot of trouble,’ replied Murchison. ‘A chap called Frank Fouldes turned up at the station as I was seeing Miss Brangwyn off, and made himself unpleasant.’

  Brangwyn raised his eyebrows and looked at his sister closely. ‘Ursula, my child,’ he said, ‘run off to your own quarters. You are better out of it.’ The girl rose silently and obeyed him.

  Brangwyn dropped into the chair she bad vacated. ‘Now then, Murchison,’ he said, ‘let’s begin at the beginning and have it slowly. What did Fouldes do at the station that upset Ursula?’

  ‘He didn’t exactly do anything. He just said “Hullo,” and looked at her, and she conked completely out. Came all over dazed. I saw something was up, so I hauled her out of the carriage and got her into the refreshment-room and gave her some brandy.’

  ‘What was your impression of the transaction?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know much about hypnotism, but it looked uncommonly like it to me. I should say he’d been in the habit of hypnotizing her, and had got her thoroughly under his thumb, so that now he’s only got to look at her and off she goes. It was an ugly thing to see.’

  Brangwyn nodded. ‘That’s the best diagnosis we’ve had yet, and I’ve taken her to half Harley Street. They scout the idea of hypnosis, and want to psycho-analyse her for infantile repressions. What happened next?’

  ‘I brought her back here. I talked to her a bit, and she was beginning to perk up a little when I heard a key in the door, and thought it was you. But it was these two blighters, and we had a bit of a fracas. I threw them down the stairs. A policeman arrived, took our names and addresses and saw them on their way.’

  ‘What was your impression of Astley?’

  ‘Well, whatever Fouldes is playing at with your sister, it’s Astley who’s at the bottom of it, not Fouldes. I shouldn’t be surprised if Fouldes is only one degree better off than your sister.’

&n
bsp; ‘There are one or two things that puzzle me, however,’ said Brangwyn. ‘How did Fouldes know that Ursula was travelling by that train?’

  ‘And how did he get hold of your keys?’

  ‘Yes, how indeed?’

  ‘A traitor in the camp?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Who served breakfast? You were discussing the matter at the breakfast table. There’s a service hatch, or something, behind that curtain, isn’t there?’

  ‘Yes, if the service hatch had been left open, anyone who wanted to could have heard what was said. I’ll get hold of Luigi. There’ll be a murder done in the restaurant before nightfall if it’s one of his people.’

  ‘Nasty business for Miss Brangwyn.’

  ‘Very nasty indeed, poor child. Astley’s a most dangerous brute. Look what he’s done to Fouldes. When I first knew Fouldes he was a decent, straight chap; a bit impressionable and apt to throw his weight about, but not an ounce of vice in him; and look at him now!’

  ‘Do you think it’s wise to leave your sister alone too long?’

  ‘No, my dear fellow, you’re quite right, it isn’t. Will you go and fetch her while I phone Luigi for lunch?’

  ‘Right-o,’ said Murchison. He went off up the winding stairs and knocked on the door of Ursula Brangwyn’s sitting-room. Getting no answer, he opened the door and walked in. She lay face downwards in a crumpled heap on the sofa.

  ‘Miss Brangwyn?’ he said, but there was no reply.

  He walked over to her and laid a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Lunch is ready,’ and shook her gently.

  She gave a shudder, and burrowed deeper into the cushions. It was no use standing on ceremony, thought Murchison. He sought for an arm, laid hold of it, and began to pull. She sat up and gazed at him quite unresentfully. ‘Come on,’ he said, and with Ursula towing limply behind him started for the stairs. The small cold fingers in his big hand caught at his heart. It was so like a child’s hand.

  Between them they got Ursula Brangwyn to take some food, and after the meal they tucked her up on a sofa at the far side of the big lounge, where she immediately seemed to fall asleep, and themselves settled down by the fire, talking in low voices so as not to disturb her.

  ‘I think I had better explain things a bit,’ said Brangwyn. ‘I had not meant to do so just yet, but they have come up to a head so quickly that there is nothing else for it. Of course, you understand that all this is in strict confidence?’

  Brangwyn paused, and seemed to be collecting his thoughts. He gave his companion a cigarette and lit one himself, and they smoked in silence for a short time.

  ‘It’s not very easy to know where to begin,’ said the older man at length. ‘There is so much to explain, and unless you know the ideas underlying it all you will not make head or tail of it; and I don’t want to give you a lecture. You must ask questions as I go along if there is anything you don’t understand.’

  Murchison gave his usual taciturn grunt. Brangwyn continued:

  ‘You know I am interested in psychology, and you also know that I am interested in the old pagan religions. I wonder whether you realize that there must have been certain aspects of psychology that were known in those times, and are known to primitive peoples today, which Harley Street knows nothing about?’

  ‘They knew a thing or two, those old priests,’ said Murchison. ‘Especially the Egyptians.’

  Brangwyn nodded. ‘Some of them dangerous, like that’ — he indicated the muffled form on the couch with a gesture — ‘and some of them very valuable — like your invocation of Pan. When I came in for some money after my mother’s death I travelled in the East and elsewhere, investigating these things. And I saw some things that have to be seen to be believed. Most people would call them occult. That is, if you give the world occult its ordinary meaning as supernatural. In my opinion they are simply the powers of the trained human mind — and the mind side of nature.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Murchison.

  ‘Has it ever occurred to you that there might be an invisible reality behind appearances?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve known that ever since I can remember. During the War I could feel the soul of the German nation.’

  ‘Did you feel the British group-soul, too?’ asked Brangwyn.

  ‘Yes, I felt it all right.’ Murchison paused. ‘It was that I drew on when I went over the top berserk.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Difficult to describe.’ Murchison pulled at his cigarette and exhaled clouds of smoke. ‘It was as if imagination became real and there was tremendous pressure of life within me. I could have gone through anything.’

  They smoked for a time in silence. Brangwyn was seriously alarmed by his sister’s relapse. All the carefully built-up gain of months had been swept away by one look from the man who had caused all the trouble, and she was as bad as ever she had been. Worse, in fact; for he liked this apathy and stupor a great deal less than any amount of excitement.

  It was an exceedingly difficult thing he had to do. He had counted upon teaching and training Murchison over a period of time; some weeks at least, before he asked for anything in the way of active co-operation from him. But his hand was forced by Ursula’s collapse, and something had got to be done at once. He could no longer leave her safely hidden away among the Welsh mountains. Things wouldn’t wait.

  ‘When you went over the top, you experienced a kind of “divine inebriation,” as the ancients called it. It is emotion which is the self-starter in all these cases of divine inebriation — the lifting of one out of oneself into a wider consciousness.’

  ‘I don’t know about wider consciousness,’ said Murchison. ‘I wasn’t conscious of anything except what was going on. But I felt a tremendous increase in the pressure of life inside me, as it were; and, as I said, I could have gone through a brick wall when the power was on me.’

  ‘Has it ever occurred to you that there might be a technique for inducing that emotion and so producing those states of mind at will?’

  ‘A trick, you mean?’

  ‘No, I don’t call it a trick. I mean understanding the psychology of it, so that you can bring it about and intensify and concentrate it.’

  ‘It would be mighty interesting if it were possible, but rather dangerous, I should say. You would want to know what you were about.’

  ‘Don’t you need to do that with anything that has got any power behind it? You can’t come to much harm pushing a pram, but you can come a mighty smash in a high-powered car. All the same, the car is the better vehicle, provided you have the nerve to handle it; if not, you are better off with the pram — or in it.’

  Murchison glanced across the room towards the sofa. ‘Is that an example of a psychological car-smash?’ he asked.

  ‘It is,’ said Brangwyn, ‘and I want you to drive the breakdown lorry, if you’ll be so good.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can,’ said Murchison, and Brangwyn felt that there was more in those few quiet words than in most men’s oaths and protestations. For, although Murchison had kept his head, he suspected that he had been more than a little upset by the scenes they had been through during the last few hours. He was obviously unused to any intimate relationship with Women. He did not know what to do with them, or how to take them. He was ill at ease and selfconscious.

  It was Murchison who broke the silence first.

  ‘You think that Fouldes, Astley and Co. have been making use of Miss Brangwyn as part of their technique for inducing emotion, and smashed her in the process?’

  ‘Yes, that is about it. Or, rather, it was I who smashed her, and smashed her deliberately, rather than let them finish what they were doing; on the same principle that one runs a car into the hedge and takes a minor smash when it gets out of control on a hill rather than wait for the major smash at the bottom. What I want you to do is to help get her back on to the road again, take her steadily down the hill and steer her roun
d the bend at the bottom, and then she ought to be able to get along under her own power.’

  He watched his companion closely while giving this explanation, which explained much or little according to the way it was taken.

  Murchison sat silent for a. while. ‘What kind of emotion were they working for when the smash occurred?’

  ‘That is a little difficult to answer briefly. I’ll tell you the history of the transaction, and then you will understand it better.

  ‘When I came back from my travels in the East, some years after my father’s death, I heard that a little step-sister, whom I had never seen, was going to enter a convent, and that my consent as her trustee was necessary, as she was under age. It seemed to me a ghastly thing for a child like that to be put away for life without ever knowing what life was like. So I made it my business to stymie that transaction from the financial point of view, and when the convent found that she wasn’t going to be the gilded pill they thought she was, they coughed her up quite willingly, and I had a leggy little colt of seventeen on my hands to bring up as best I could.

  ‘I found her intensely devout and intensely ignorant, but I soon cured that. I talked to her straight, man to man, plain, unbowdierized physiology and psychology and sociology, and she took to it like a duck to water, and made all the adjustments to life she had any need to. Until this wretched business with Fouldes and Astley came along she was a singularly harmonious nature.

  ‘She ran round here, and at another house I had before this, and read all my books, and met all my friends, and sat curled up on that sofa she is asleep on now, and heard all their talk, and educated herself pretty rapidly; and all the enthusiasm she had previously had for religion turned on to the researches I am doing, which are really, at bottom, my religion.

  ‘She helped me a very great deal in very many ways, for a woman’s approach to these things differs somewhat to a man’s, and there are some things she can do that he can’t, and he has to have her help.’

  ‘I suppose she was your pythoness,’ said Murchison.