Colin Wilson - Ritual in the Dark

But you still think Austin really killed this man?

I… think… When you said it, I remembered my dream. Suddenly, I was certain. You see, sometimes my dreams are accurate…

How do you account for that?

I don't try. It just happens sometimes.

They had arrived at the gates of Miss Quincey's driveway. Sorme could see a light in the sitting-room. He said:

Good. She's in, anyway. We'll have to talk about this when we come out.

Glasp said indifferently: All right.

I'd better try and contact Austin too. He ought to be warned.

Glasp looked at him as he opened the gate. He asked casually:

Ought he?

Through the glass panel he saw the kitchen door was open; her voice was speaking to someone.

It looks as if she's got a visitor.

F- it, Glasp said. We should have rung.

Shall we go?

Miss Quincey came out of the kitchen. She called:

Is anybody there?

Sorme rang the bell. She said:

Gerard! Oh, hello, Oliver!

She stood there, looking with surprise from one to the other, holding the door. Sorme felt the awkwardness.

We… just thought we'd come in and say hello. We happened to be over this way…

I've got Brother Robbins here for supper. But come in…

Sorme said hastily:

Er, no… didn't realise it'd be inconvenient. We won't come in now… I don't want to interrupt…

She seemed to recover her self-possession.

That's all right. Come in for a few minutes, anyway. I'm making a cup of tea.

Sorme thought hard for some reason to get away; without looking at Glasp, he knew he was doing the same. Nothing occurred to him. He said lamely:

Well, thanks. But we won't stay long. We're meeting someone in half an hour…

Glasp followed him into the hall. He had not spoken so far. Miss Quincey said:

It's nice to see you again, Oliver. It's a very long time. Take your coat off. Oliver, I think you've met Brother Robbins.

Brother Robbins heaved himself out of an easy chair, and advanced with an over-cordial smile. As Miss Quincey introduced them, he shook their hands with a tight, moist handclasp. Sorme found himself thinking: My God, Dale Carnegie standing for President; the fruity, slightly Cockney voice poured warmth and a smell of onions over him.

I've told you about Gerard, Miss Quincey said.

I'm most delighted to meet you, Brother Robbins said.

At first glance, he struck Sorme as a curious combination of a well-to-do grocer and a shady bookmaker. He was a foot shorter than Sorme, with a fleshy face and pot belly. His clothes looked slightly rumpled and grease-stained, but his shirt collar was immaculately starched, and an old school tie looked newly washed and ironed. Sorme conceived an immediate and keen dislike for him.

You're the young man who's thinking of joining us? Brother Robbins said.

Sorme looked with surprise at Miss Quincey. She interposed:

I don't think he's made up his mind yet!

Ah no. Quite.

Brother Robbins sat down again. Glasp stood there, looking sulky and out of place. Brother Robbins suddenly caught his eye, and said:

And I've heard you are too, Mr Gasp.

Glasp.

Ah… I beg your pardon. You paint, don't you?

Yes.

Miss Quincey said: Will you both have tea?

Er… no thanks, Sorme said. Not for me.

Nor me, Glasp said.

Sorme followed her into the kitchen. He said:

I think we'd better go…

All right. But stay a few minutes. You don't want poor Brother Robbins to think he has the plague.

All right.

Won't you have some tea?

We've been drinking beer.

Oh… I'm afraid I can't offer you beer. Not while Brother Robbins is here.

Would he disapprove?

Miss Quincey hesitated; she said:

Perhaps he wouldn't. I don't know. Do you want beer?

Sorme's inclination was to refuse; she had phrased the question in a way that made it difficult to accept. This irritated him, striking him as a challenge. He said:

I'd prefer it to tea.

Then perhaps you'd ask Oliver if he'd like beer.

Glasp was scowling at the carpet as he came in. Sorme said:

Gertrude says there's some beer if you'd prefer it.

Glasp shook his head.

No? I'm having beer.

He looked at Brother Robbins, and asked politely:

I hope you don't object.

Brother Robbins seemed to accept the question as natural, as if he was an old lady in a railway carriage being asked if she minds cigar smoke. He said genially:

Oh, not at all. Not in the least.

For you, Oliver?

Glasp said, with a bad grace: OK.

Sorme returned in a few moments with two lager glasses of light ale, ice-cold from the refrigerator. He was thirsty after the walk up the hill, and drank as much as he could before his throat froze. Brother Robbins asked:

Do you two drink a lot?

Sorme sensed that Glasp was about to make a rude retort. He said hastily:

No, not a lot. We don't get together very often. Do you drink?

No. But not because I disapprove of it. I just don't like the taste.

Something in his manner stung Sorme to irritation. Brother Robbins was speaking with the elaborate courtesy of a prison visitor: he managed to imply that beer drinking was a particularly squalid vice which he was too broad minded to condemn. Sorme emptied his glass defiantly and went into the kitchen for another bottle. Miss Quincey said, with a sort of horror:

You've drunk that already?

I was thirsty. May I?

He helped himself from the refrigerator. When he turned round, he met a worried and reproachful look; she seemed to suspect that he intended to start a drunken brawl. He said pointedly:

We'll go in a minute.

Oh no! Don't think that! I just don't want… Stay as long as you like.

Thanks.

He went back, taking the bottle.

Glasp was answering some question in an indistinguishable mumble. Brother Robbins looked relieved to see Sorme again. He said:

Let me see — you were a Roman Catholic, weren't you?

No.

Church of England?

No. I'm an existentialist.

Yes? But er… I meant… religion.

I know. That's what I meant.

Oh. I don't think I've come across that sect. Is it a new one?

Not really.

Who was the founder?

A Dane named Kierkegaard.

And do they believe in the redeeming power of Jesus Christ?

Kierkegaard did, certainly.

Ah, but did he also believe in Luther's justification by faith?

Oh no! He always attacked the established Church. He thought men ought to live like Christ instead of relying on the Church…

Good! Then he was on the right path! The trouble with most people today is that they don't realise the importance of obeying the laws of God. They think it's enough just to accept them. They don't seem to realise that the Bible has given us a strict code of conduct to cover every aspect of our lives.

Sorme nodded ponderously. His silence seemed to encourage Brother Robbins; he leaned forward, and switched on his Dale Carnegie smile again.

You ought to come to our Bible classes. I'm sure you'd enjoy them.

I'm sure I would, Sorme said insincerely.

Abruptly, Glasp spoke; he was sitting up and glowering belligerently at Brother Robbins.

Is it true you people expect the end of the world any day now?

Brother Robbins turned to Glasp, and smiled winningly, as if Glasp had just paid him a compliment.

It is. Not, of course, any day. The Book of the Revelation indicates that it will be within the next thirty years.

And that everyone in the world will be destroyed except the Jehovah's Witnesses?

The Bible tells us so.

Glasp gave a contemptuous grunt and relaxed into his chair. In spite of his dislike of Brother Robbins, Sorme immediately reacted in his favour. He said quickly: