Dennis Wheatley: The Devil Rides Out

‘Why, certainly not, we wouldn’t even have come in if that servant of yours hadn’t taken us for some other folks you’re expecting.’ But despite their apparent unwillingness to intrude, neither of the two made any gesture of withdrawal and, mentally, De Richleau gave Simon full marks for the way in which he accepted their obviously unwelcome presence.

‘I’m most terribly sorry about dinner tonight,’ ha was proclaiming earnestly. ‘Meant to rest for my bridge, I simply have to these days, to be any good—even forgot till six o’clock that I had these people coming.’

‘How fortunate for you Simon that your larder is so well stocked.’ The Duke could not resist the gentle dig as his glance fell on a long buffet spread with a collation which would have rivalled the cold table in any great hotel.

‘I phoned Ferraro,’ parried Simon glibly. ‘The Berkeley never lets me down. Would have asked you to drop in, but er — with this meeting on I felt you’d be bored.’

‘Bored! Not a bit, but we are keeping you from your other guests.’ With an airy gesture De Richleau waved his hand in the direction of the inner room.

‘Sure,’ agreed Rex heartily, as he laid a large hand on Simon’s arm and gently propelled him towards the salon. ‘Don’t you worry about us; we’ll just take a glass of wine off you and fade away.’ His eyes were fixed again on the pale oval face of the girl.

Simon’s glance flickered swiftly towards the Duke, who ignored, with a guileless smile, his obvious reluctance for them to meet his other friends, and noted with amusement that he avoided any proper introduction.

‘Er — er — two very old friends of mine,’ he said, with his little nervous cough as he interchanged a swift look with a fleshy, moon-faced man whom De Richleau knew to be Mocata.

‘Well, well, how nice,’ the bald man lisped with unsmiling eyes. ‘It is a pleasure always to welcome any friends of Simon’s.’

De Richleau gave him a frigid bow and thought of reminding him coldly that Simon’s welcome was sufficient in his own house, but for the moment it was policy to hide his antagonism so he replied politely that Mocata was most kind, then, with the ease which characterised all his movements, he turned his attention to an elderly lady who was seated near by.

She was a woman of advanced age but fine presence, richly dressed and almost weighed down with heavy jewellery. Between her fingers she held the stub of a fat cigar at which she was puffing vigorously.

‘Madame.’ The Duke drew a case containing the long Hoyos from his pocket and bent towards her. ‘Your cigar is almost finished, permit me to offer you one of mine.’

She regarded him for a moment with piercingly bright eyes, then stretched out a fat, beringed hand. ‘Sank you, Monsieur, I see you are a connoisseur.’ With her beaked, parrot nose she sniffed at the cigar appreciatively. ‘But I ‘ave not seen you at our other meetings, what ees your name?’

‘De Richleau, Madame, and yours?’

‘Ah ! De Richleau ! a maestro indeed.’ She nodded heavily. ‘Je suis Madame D’Urfe, you will ‘ave heard of me.’

‘But certainly.’ The Duke bowed again. ‘Do you think we shall have a good meeting tonight?’

‘If the sky clears we should learn much,’ answered the old lady cryptically.

‘Ho! Ho!’ thought the Duke. ‘We are about to make use of Simon’s observatory it seems. Good, let us learn more.’ But before he could pump the elderly Frenchwoman further, Simon deftly interrupted the conversation and drew him away.

‘So you have taken up the study of the stars, my friend,’ remarked the Duke as his host led him to the buffet.

‘Oh, er — yes. Find astronomy very interesting, you know. Have some caviare?’ Simon’s eyes flickered anxiously towards Rex, who was deeply in conversation with the girl.

As he admired her burnished hair and slumbrous eyes, for a moment the Duke was reminded of a Botticelli painting. She had, he thought, that angel look with nothing Christian in it peculiar to women born out of their time, the golden virgin to the outward eye whose veins were filled with unlit fire. A rare cinquecento type who should have lived in the Italy of the Borgais. Then he turned again to Simon. ‘It was because of the observatory then that you acquired this house, I suppose?’

‘Yes. You must come up one night and we’ll watch a few stars together.’ Something of the old warmth had crept into Simon’s tone and he was obviously in earnest as he offered the invitation, but the Duke was not deceived into believing that he was welcome on the present occasion.

‘Thank you, I should enjoy that,’ he said promptly, while over Simon’s shoulder he studied the other two men who made up the party. One, a tall, fair fellow, stood talking to Mocata. His thin, flaxen hair brushed flatly back, and whose queer, light eyes proclaimed him an Albino; the other, a stout man dressed in green plaid and ginger kilt, was walking softly up and down with his hands clasped behind his back, muttering to himself inaudibly. His wild, flowing white hair and curious costume suggested an Irish bard.

‘Altogether a most unprepossessing lot,’ thought the Duke, and his opinion was not improved by three new arrivals. A grave-faced Chinaman wearing the robes of a Mandarin, whose slit eyes betrayed a cold, merciless nature: a Eurasian with only one arm, the left, and a tall, thin woman with a scraggy throat and beetling eyebrows which met across the bridge of her nose.

Mocata received them as though he were the host, but as the tall woman bore down on Simon he promptly left the Duke, who guessed that the move was to get out of earshot. However, the lady’s greeting in a high-pitched Middle Western accent came clearly to him.

‘Waal, Simon, all excitement about what we’ll learn tonight? It should help a heap, this being your natal conjunction.’

‘Ha ! Ha !’ said De Richleau to himself. ‘Now I begin to understand a little and I like this party even less.’ Then, with the idea of trying to verify his surmise, he turned towards the one-armed Eurasian, but Simon—apparently guessing his intention—quickly excused himself to the American woman, and cut off the Duke’s advance.

‘So, my young friend,’ thought De Richleau, ‘you mean to prevent me from obtaining any further information about this strange gathering, do you? All right! I’ll twist your tail a little,’ and he remarked sweetly:

‘Did you say that you were interested in Astronomy or Astrology, Simon. There is a distinct difference you know?’

‘Oh, Astronomy, of course.’ Simon ran a finger down his long, beak-like nose. ‘It is nice to see you again—have some more champagne?’

‘Thank you, no, later perhaps,’ The Duke smothered a smile as he caught Mocata, who had overheard him, exchange a quick look with Simon.

‘Wish this were an ordinary meeting,’ Simon said, a moment later, with an uneasy frown. ‘Then I’d ask you to stay, but we’re going through the Society’s annual balance-sheet tonight—and you and Rex not being members you know… .’

‘Quite, quite, my dear fellow, of course,’ De Richleau agreed amicably, while to himself he thought: ‘That’s a nasty fence young sly-boots has put up to me, but I’ll be damned if I go before I find out for certain what I came for.’ Then he added in a cheerful whisper : ‘I should have gone before but Rex seems so interested in the young woman in green, I want to give him as long as possible.’

‘My dear chap,’ Simon protested, ‘I feel horribly embarrassed at having to ask you to go at all.’

A fat, oily-looking Babu in a salmon-pink turban and gown had just arrived and was shaking hands with Mocata; behind him came a red-faced Teuton, who suffered the deformity of a hare lip.