The Devil Rides Out (10 page)

To his surprise he found that De Richleau, who habitually was not visible before twelve, had left the flat at half-past eight. Evidently he meant to put in a long day among the ancient manuscripts at the British Museum, rubbing up his knowledge of strange cults and protective measures against what he termed the abhuman monsters of the Outer Circle.

Max proffered breakfast, but Rex declined it until, with a hurt expression, the servant produced his favourite omelet.

‘The chef will be so disappointed, sir,' he said.

Reluctantly Rex sat down to eat while Max, busy with the coffee-pot, permitted himself a hidden smile. He had had orders from the Duke, and His Excellency was a wily man. None knew that better than his personal servitor, the faithful Max.

Noting that Rex had finished, he produced a wine-glass full of some frothy mixture on a salver. ‘His Excellency said, sir,' he stated blandly, ‘that he finds this uncommonly good for his neuralgia. I was distressed to hear that you are sometimes a sufferer too, and if you'd try it the taste is, if I may say so, not unpleasant—somewhat resembling that of granadillas I believe.'

With a suspicious look Rex drank the quite palatable potion while Max added suavely: ‘Some gentlemen prefer prairie-oysters I am told, but I've a feeling, sir, that His Excellency knows best.'

‘You old humbug.' Rex grinned as he replaced the glass. ‘Anyhow last night wasn't the sort of party you think–I wish to God it had been.'

‘No, sir? Well, that's most regrettable I'm sure, but I had a feeling that Mr Aron was not quite in his usual form, if I may so express it, when he er–joined us after dinner.'

‘Yes, of course you put Simon to bed, I'd forgotten that.'

Max quickly lowered his eyes. He was quite certain that his innocent action the night before had been connected in some way with Simon Aron's sudden disappearance from the bedroom later, and felt that for once he had done the wrong thing, so he deftly turned the conversation. ‘His Excellency instructed me to tell you, sir, that the touring Rolls is entirely at your disposal and the second chauffeur if you wish to use him.'

‘No, I'll drive myself; have it brought round right away, will you?'

‘Very good, sir, and now if you will excuse me I must leave at once in order to get down to Pangbourne and prepare the house for your reception.'

‘Thank you, Max. See you later, I hope.' Rex picked up a cigarette. He was feeling better already. ‘A whole heap better,' he thought, as he wondered what potent corpse-reviver lay hidden in the creamy depths of De Richleau's so-called neuralgia tonic. Then he sat down to plan out his line of attack on the lady at Claridges.

If he could only talk to her he felt that he would be able to intrigue her into a friendly attitude. He could, of course, easily find out her real name from the bureau of the hotel, but the snag was that if he sent up his name and asked to see her the chances were all against her granting him an interview. After all, by kidnapping Simon, he and the Duke had wrecked the meeting of her Circle the night before, and if she was at all intimately associated with Mocata, she probably regarded him with considerable hostility. Only personal contact could overcome that, so he must not risk any rebuff through the medium of bell-hops, but accept it only if given by her after he had managed to see her face to face.

His plan, therefore, eventually boiled down to marching on Claridges, planting himself in a comfortable chair within view of the lifts and sitting there until Tanith made her appearance. He admitted to himself that his proposed campaign was conspicuously lacking in brilliance but, he argued, few women staying in a London hotel would remain in their rooms all day, so if he sat there long enough it was almost certain that an opportunity would occur for him to tackle her direct. If she did turn him down–well, De Richleau wasn't the only person in the world who had ideas–and Rex flattered himself that he would think of something.

Immediately the Rolls was reported at the door, he left the flat and drove round to Claridges in it. A short conversation with a friendly commissionaire ensured that there would be no trouble if the car was left parked outside, even for a considerable time, for Rex thought it necessary to have it close at hand since he might need it at any moment.

As he entered the hotel from the Davis Street entrance he noted with relief that it was only a little after ten. It was unlikely that Tanith would have gone out for the day so early, and he settled himself to wait for an indefinite period with cheerful optimism in the almost empty lounge. After a moment it occurred to him that somebody might come up to him and inquire his business if he was forced to stay there for any length of time, but an underporter, passing at the moment, gave him a swift smile and little bow of recognition, so he trusted that having been identified as an occasional client of the place he would not be unduly molested.

He began to consider what words he should use if, and when, Tanith did step out of the lifts, and had just decided on a formula which contained the requisite proportions of respect, subtle admiration, and gaiety when a small boy in buttons came marching with a carefree swing down the corridor.

‘Mister Vine Rine–Mister Vine Rine,' he chanted in a monotonous treble.

Rex looked at the boy suspiciously. The sound had a disconcerting resemblance to the parody of his own name as he had often heard it shrilled out by bell-hops in clubs and hotel lounges. Yet no one could possibly be aware of his presence at Claridges that morning–except, of course, the Duke. At the thought that De Richleau might be endeavouring to get in touch with him for some urgent reason he turned, and at the same moment the page sidetracked towards him.

‘Mr Van Ryn, sir?' he inquired, dropping into normal speech.

‘Yes.' Rex nodded.

Then to his utter astonishment the boy announced: ‘The lady you've called to see sent down to say she's sorry to keep you waiting, but she'll join you in about fifteen minutes.'

With his mouth slightly open Rex stared stupidly at the page until that infant turned and strutted away. He did not doubt that the message came from Tanith–who else could have sent it, yet how the deuce did she know that he was there? Perhaps she had seen him drive up from her window, that seemed the only reasonable explanation. Anyhow that ‘she was sorry to keep him waiting' sounded almost too good to be true.

Recovering a little he stood up, marched out into Brook Street and purchased a great sheaf of lilac from a florist's a few doors down. Returning with it to the hotel he suddenly realised that he still did not know Tanith's real name, but catching sight of the boy who had paged him, he
beckoned him over.

‘Here boy-take these up to the lady's room with Mr Van Ryn's compliments.' Then he resumed his seat near the lift with happy confidence.

Five minutes later the lift opened. An elderly woman leaning upon a tall ebony cane stepped out. At the first glance Rex recognised the parrot-peaked nose, the nut-cracker chin and the piercing black eyes of the old Countess D'Urfé. Before he had time to collect his wits she had advanced upon him and extended a plump, beringed hand.

‘Monsieur Van Ryn,' she croaked. ‘It is charming that you should call upon me–sank you a thousand times for those lovely flowers.'

‘Ha ha! Not a bit of it, it's great to see you again.'

Rex gave a weak imitation of a laugh. He had only spoken to the old crone for two minutes on the previous evening and that, when he had first arrived at Simon's party, for the purpose of detaching Tanith from her. Even if she had seen him drive up to Claridges what in the world could have made her imagine that he had come to visit
her?
If only he hadn't sent up that lilac he might have politely excused himself, but he could hardly tell her now that he had meant it for someone else.

‘And how is
Monseigneur le Duc
this morning?' the old lady inquired, sinking into a chair he placed for her.

‘He asked me to present his homage, Madame,' Rex lied quickly, instinctively picking a phrase which De Richleau might have used himself.

‘
Ca, c'est très gentille.
‘E is a charming man-charming an' ‘is cigars they are superb.' The Countess D'Urfé produced a square case from her bag and drew out a fat, dark Havana. As Rex applied a match she went on slowly: ‘But it ees not right that one Circle should make interference with the operations of another. What ‘ave you to say of your be'aviour lars' night my young frien'?'

‘My hat,' thought Rex, ‘the old beldame fancies we're an opposing faction in the same line of business–I'll have to use this if I can,' so he answered slowly: ‘We were mighty sorry to have to do what we did, but we needed Simon Aron for our own purposes.'

‘So! You also make search for the Talisman then?'

‘Sure–that is, the Duke's taking a big interest in it.'

‘Which of us are not–and ‘oo but
le petit Juif
shall lead us to it.'

‘That's true.'

‘'Ave you yet attempted the Rite to Saturn?'

‘Yes, but things didn't pan out quite as we thought they would,' Rex replied cautiously, not having the faintest idea what they were talking about.

‘You 'ave satisfy yourselves that the aloes and mastic were fresh, eh?' The wicked old eyes bored into his.

‘Yes, I'm certain of that,' he assured her.

‘You choose a time when the planet was in the 'ouse of Capricorn, of course?'

‘Oh, surely!'

‘An' you ‘ave not neglect to make Libation to Our Lady Babalon before'and?'

‘Oh, no, we wouldn't do that!'

‘Then per'aps your periods of silence were not long enough?'

‘Maybe that's so,' he admitted hurriedly, hoping to close this madhatter's conversation before he completely put his foot into it.

Countess D'Urfé nodded, then after drawing thoughtfully at her cigar she looked at him intently. ‘Silence,' she murmured. ‘Silence, that ees always essential in the Ritual of Saturn–but you 'ave much courage to thwart Mocata–'e is powerful, that one.'

‘Oh, we're not afraid of him,' Rex declared and, recalling the highest grade of operator from his conversation with De Richleau, he added: ‘You see the Duke knows all about this thing, he's an Ipsissimus.'

The old lady's eyes almost popped out of their sockets at this announcement, and Rex feared that he had gone too far, but she leaned forward and placed one of her jewelled claws upon his arm. An Ipsissimus!–an' I 'av studied the Great Work for forty years, yet I 'ave reached only the degree of Practicus. But no, 'e cannot be, or 'ow could 'e fail with the Rite to Saturn?'

‘I only said that it didn't pan out quite as we expected,' Rex hastened to remind her, ‘and for the full dress business he'd need Simon Aron anyway.'

‘Of course,' she nodded again and continued in an awestruck whisper, ‘an' De Richleau is then a real Master. You must be far advanced for one so young–that 'e allow you to work with 'im.'

He flicked the ash off his cigarette but maintained a cautious silence.

‘I am not–'ow you say–associated with Mocata long, since I 'ave arrive only recently in England, but De Richleau will cast 'im down into the Abyss–for 'ow shall'e prevail against one who is of ten circles and a single square?'

Rex nodded gravely.

‘Could I not—' her dark eyes filled with a new eagerness, ‘would it not be possible for me to prostrate before your frien'? If you spoke for me also, per'aps 'e would allow that I should occupy a minor place when 'e proceeds again to the invocation?'

‘Ho! Ho!' said Rex to himself, ‘so the old rat wants to scuttle from the sinking ship, does she. I ought to be able to turn this to our advantage,' while aloud he said with a lordly air: ‘All things are possible–but there would be certain conditions.'

‘Tell me' she muttered swiftly.

‘Well, there is this question of Simon Aron.'

‘What question? Now that you 'ave ‘im with you–you can do with 'im as you will.'

Rex quickly averted his gaze from the piercing black eyes. Evidently Mocata had turned the whole party out after they had got away with Simon. The old witch obviously had no idea that Mocata had regained possession of him later. In another second he would have given away their whole position by demanding Simon's whereabouts. Instead, searching his mind desperately for the right bits of gibberish he said: ‘When De Richleau again
proceeds to the invocation it is necessary that the vibrations of all present should be attuned to those of Simon Aron.'

‘No matter–willingly I will place myself in your 'ands for preparation.'

‘Then I'll put it up to him, but first I must obey his order and say a word to the lady who was with you at Aron's house last night–Tanith.' Having at last manoeuvred the conversation to this critical point, Rex mentally crossed his thumbs and offered up a prayer that he was right in assuming that they were staying at the hotel together.

She smiled, showing two rows of white false teeth. ‘I know it, and you must pardon, I beg, that we 'ave our little joke with you.'

‘Oh, don't worry about that,' he shrugged, wondering anxiously to what new mystery she was alluding, but to his relief she hurried on.

‘Each morning we look into the crystal an' when she see you walk into the 'otel she exclaim, “It is for me 'e comes–the tall American,” but we ‘ave no knowledge that you are more than a Neophyte or a Zelator at the most, so when you send up the flowers she say to me, “You shall go down to 'im instead an' after we will laugh at the discomfiture of this would-be lover.”'

The smile broadened on Rex's full mouth as he listened to the explanation of much that had been troubling him in the last hour, but it faded suddenly as he realised that, natural as it seemed compared to all this meaningless drivel which he had been exchanging with the old woman, it was in reality one more demonstration of the occult. These two women had
actually seen him
walk into the hotel lounge when they were sitting upstairs in their room peering into a piece of glass.