Dennis Wheatley - The Devil Rides Out

‘I’m so sorry,’ Marie Lou replied without the flicker of an eyelash, ‘but that box is empty. Do go on with what you were saying about Simon.’

Mocata withdrew his hand, feeling himself unable to challenge her statement by opening the box to see, and Marie Lou found it difficult to repress a smile as he made a comically rueful face like some greedy schoolboy who has been disappointed of a slice of cake.

‘Really!’ he exclaimed. ‘What a pity. May I put it in the waste-paper basket for you then? To leave it about is such a terrible temptation for people like myself.’ Before she could stop him he had reached out again and picked up the box, realising immediately by its weight that she had lied to him.

‘No, please,’ she put out her hand and almost snatched the box from his pudgy fingers. ‘I gave it to my little girl to put her marbles in—we mustn’t throw it away.’ The box gave a faint rustle as she laid it down beside her, so she added swiftly: ‘She puts each one in the little paper cups that the chocolates are packed in and arranges them in rows. She would be terribly distressed if they were upset.’

Mocata was not deceived by that ingenious fiction. He guessed at once her true reason for denying him the chocolates and was quick to realise that in this lovely young woman, who stood no taller than a well-grown child, he was up a far cleverer antagonist than he had at first supposed. However, he was amply satisfied with the progress he had made so far, sensing that her first antagonism had already given way to a guarded interest. For a moment they stared at each other in silence. Then he opened his attack in a new direction.

‘Mrs. Eaton, it is quite obvious to me that you distrust me and, after what your friends have told you, I am not surprised. But your intelligence emboldens me to think that I am likely to serve my purpose better by putting my cards on the table than by beating about the bush.’

‘It will make no difference what you do,’ said Marie Lou quietly.

He ignored the remark and went on in his low, slightly lisping voice. ‘I do not propose to discuss with you the rights or wrongs of practising the Magic Art. I will confine myself to saying that I am a practitioner of some experience and Simon, who has interested himself in these things for the past few months, shows great promise of one day achieving considerable powers. Monsieur De Richleau had probably led you to suppose that I am a most evil person. But in fairness to myself I must protest that such a view of me is quite untrue. In magic, there is neither good nor evil. It is only the science of causing change to occur by means of will. The rather sinister reputation attaching to it is easily accounted for by the fact that it had to be practised in secret for many centuries owing to the ban placed upon it by the Church. Anything which is done in secret naturally begets a reputation for mystery and, since it dare not face the light of day, the reverse of good. Few people understand anything of these mysteries, and I can hardly assume that you have more than vague impressions gathered from casual reading; but at least I imagine you will have heard that genuine adepts in the secret Art have the power to call certain entities, which are not understood or admitted by the profane, into actual being.

‘Now these are perfectly harmless as long as they are under the control of the practitioner, just as a qualified electrician stands no risk in adjusting a powerful electric battery from which a child, who played foolishly with it, might receive a serious shock or even death. This analogy applies to the work Simon and I are engaged upon. We have called a certain entity into being just as workers in another sphere might have constructed an electrical machine. It needs both of us to operate this thing with skill and safety, but if I am to be left to handle it alone, the forces which we have engendered will undoubtedly escape and do the very gravest harm both to Simon and myself. Have I made the position clear?’

‘Yes,’ murmured Marie Lou. During the long explanatory speech he had been regarding her with a steady stare, and as she listened to his quiet, cultured voice expressing what seemed such obvious truths, she felt her whole reaction to his personality changing. It suddenly seemed to her absurd that this nice, charming gentleman in the neat grey suit could be dangerous to anyone. His face seemed to have lost its puffy appearance even while he was speaking, and now her eyes beheld it as only hairless, pink and clean like that of some elderly divine.

‘I am so glad,’ he went on in his even, silky tone. ‘I felt quite sure that if you allowed me a few moments I could clear up this misunderstanding which has only arisen through the over-eagerness of your old friend the Duke, and that charming young American, to protect Simon from some purely imaginary danger. If I had only had the opportunity to explain to them personally I am quite convinced that I should have been able to save them a great deal of worry, but I only met them for a few moments one evening at Simon’s house. It is a charming little place that, and he very kindly permits me to share it with him while I am in England. If you are in London during the next few weeks, I do hope that you will come and see us there. We both know without asking that Simon would be delighted, and it would give me the very greatest pleasure to show you my collection of perfumes, which I always take with me when I travel.

‘As a matter of fact, I am rather an expert in the art of blending perfumes, and quite a number of my women friends have allowed me to make a special scent for them. It is a delicate art, and interesting, because each woman should have her own perfume made to conform to her aura and personality. You have an outstanding individuality, Mrs. Eaton, and it would be a very great pleasure if you would allow me some time to see if I could not compound something really distinctive in that way for you.’

‘It sounds most interesting.’ Marie Lou’s voice was low and Mocata’s eyes still held hers. Really, she felt, despite his bulk, he was a most attractive person, and she had been quite stupid to be a little frightened of him when he first entered the room. The May sunshine came in gently-moving shafts through the foliage of a tree outside the window, so that the dappled light played upon his face, and it was that, she thought, which gave her the illusion that his unblinking eyes were larger than when she had first looked into them.

‘When will the Duke be back?’ he asked softly. ‘Unfortunately, my visit today must be a brief one, but I should so much have liked to talk this matter over quietly with him before I go?’

‘I don’t know,’ Marie Lou found herself answering. ‘But I’m afraid he won’t be back before six.’

‘And our American friend—the young giant,’ he prompted her.

‘I’ve no idea. He has gone down to the village.’

‘I see. What a pity, but of course your husband is here entertaining Simon, is he not?’

‘Yes, they are upstairs together.’

‘Well, presently I should like to explain to your husband just as I have to you, how very important it is that I should take Simon back with me tonight, but I wonder first if I might beg a glass of water. Walking from the village has given me quite a thirst.’

‘Of course,’ Marie Lou rose to her feet automatically and pressed the bell. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer a cup of tea or a glass of wine and some biscuits?’ she added, completely now under the strange influence that radiated from him.

‘You are most kind, but just a glass of water and a biscuit if I may.’

Malin already stood in the doorway and Maire Lou gave orders for these slender refreshments. Then she sat down again, and Mocata’s talk flowed on easily and glibly, while her ears became more and more attuned to that faint musical lisping intonation.