Dennis Wheatley: The Devil Rides Out

‘Oh, come,’ a quick smile spread over Rex’s ugly, attractive face. ‘That’s a gross exaggeration. What’s the harm if Simon wants to try out a few old parlour games?’

‘Parlour games!’ De Richleau took him up sharply. ‘My dear Rex, I fear your prowess in aeroplanes and racing cars hardly qualifies you to judge the soul-destroying powers of these ancient cults.’

‘Thanks. I’m not quite a half-wit, and plenty of spiritualistic seances take place in the States, but I’ve never heard of anyone as sane as Simon going bats because of them yet.’

Simon nodded his narrow head slowly up and down. ‘Of course —Rex is right, and you’re only making a mountain out of a molehill.’

‘As you like,’ De Richleau shrugged. ‘In that case will you permit us to stay and participate in your operations tonight?’

‘Ner—I’m sorry, but you’re not members of our Circle.’

‘No matter. We have already met most of your friends downstairs, surely they will not object to our presence on just this one occasion?’

‘Ner.’ Simon shook his head again. ‘Our number is made up.’

‘I see, you are already thirteen, is that it? Now listen, Simon.’ The Duke laid his hands gently on the young Jew’s shoulders. ‘One of the reasons why my friendship with Rex and yourself has developed into such a splendid intimacy, is because I have always refrained from stressing my age and greater experience, but tonight I break the rule. My conscious life, since we both left our schools, has been nearly three times as long as yours and, in addition, although I have never told you of it, I made a deep study of these esoteric doctrines years ago when I lived in the East. I beg of you, as I have never begged for anything in my life before, that you should give up whatever quest you are engaged upon and leave this house with us immediately.’

For a moment Simon seemed to waver. All his faith in De Richleau’s judgment, knowledge, and love for him, urged him to agree, but at that moment Mocata’s musical lisping voice cut in upon the silence, calling from the landing just below :

‘Simon, the others have come. It is time.’

‘Coming,’ called Simon, then he looked at the two friends with whom he had risked his life in the ‘Forbidden Territory’. ‘I can’t,’ he said with an effort. ‘You heard—it’s too late to back out now.’

‘Then let us remain—please,’ begged the Duke.

‘No, I’m sorry.’ A new firmness had crept into Simon’s tone, ‘But I must ask you to go now.’

‘Very well.’

De Richleau stepped forward as though to shake hands then, with almost incredible swiftness, his arm flew back and next second his fist caught Simon a smashing blow full beneath the jaw.

The action was so sudden, so unexpected, that Simon was caught completely off his guard. For a fraction of time he was lifted from his feet, then he crashed senseless on his back and slid spread-eagled across the polished floor.

‘Have you gone crazy?’ ejaculated Rex.

‘No—we’ve got to get him out of here—save him from himself —don’t argue! Quick!’ Already De Richleau was kneeling by the crumpled body of his friend.

Rex needed no further urging. He had been in too many tight corners with the Duke to doubt the wisdom of his decisions however strange his actions might appear. In one quick heave he dragged Simon’s limp form across his shoulders and started for the stairs.

‘Steady!’ ordered the Duke. ‘I’ll go first and tackle anyone who tries to stop us. You get him to the car—Understand?’

‘What if they raise the house? You’ll never be able to tackle the whole bunch on your own?’

‘In that case drop him, I’ll get him out somehow, while you protect my rear. Come on!’

With De Richleau leading they crept down the first flight of stairs. On the landing he paused and peered cautiously over the banisters. No sound came from below. ‘Rex,’ he whispered.

‘Yep.’

‘If that black servant I told you of appears, for God’s sake don’t look at his eyes. Watch his hands and hit him in the belly.’

‘O.K.’

A moment later they were down the second flight. The hall was empty and only a vague murmur of conversation came to them from behind the double doors that led to the salon.

‘Quick!’ urged the Duke. ‘Mocata may come out to look for him any moment.’

‘Right.’ Rex, bent double beneath his burden, plunged down the last stairs, and De Richleau was already halfway across the hall when the dumb servant suddenly appeared from the vestibule.

For a second he stood there, his sallow face a mask of blank surprise then, side-stepping the Duke with the agility of a rugby forward, he lowered his bullet head and charged Rex with silent animal ferocity.

‘Got you,’ snapped De Richleau, for although the man had dodged with lightning speed he had caught his wrist in passing. Then flinging his whole weight upon it as he turned, he jerked the fellow clean off his feet and sent him spinning head foremost against the wall.

As his head hit the panelling the mute gave an uncouth grunt, and rolled over on the floor, but he staggered up again and dashed towards the salon. Rex and the Duke were already pounding down the tiled path and in another second they had flung themselves into the lane through the entrance in the garden wall.

‘Thank God,’ gasped the Duke as he wrenched open the door of the Hispano. ‘I believe that hellish crew would have killed us rather than let us get Simon out of there alive.’

‘Well, I suppose you do know what you’re at,’ Rex muttered as he propped Simon up on the back seat of the car. ‘But I’m not certain you’re safe to be with.’

‘Home,’ ordered De Richleau curtly to the footman, who was hiding his astonishment at their sudden exit by hastily tucking the rug over their knees. Then he smiled at Rex a trifle grimly. ‘I suppose I do seem a little mad to you, but you can’t possibly be expected to appreciate what a horribly serious business this is. I’ll explain later.’

In a few moments they had left the gloom of the quiet streets behind and were once more running through well-lit ways towards Mayfair, but Simon was still unconscious when they pulled up in Curzon Street before Errol House.

‘I’ll take him,’ volunteered Rex. ‘The less the servants have to do with this the better,’ and picking up Simon in his strong arms as though he had been a baby, he carried him straight upstairs to the first floor where De Richleau’s flat was situated.

‘Put him in the library,’ said the Duke, who had paused to murmur something about a sudden illness to the porter, when he arrived on the landing a moment later. ‘I’ll get something to bring him round from the bathroom.’

Rex nodded obediently, and carried Simon into that room in the Curzon Street flat which was so memorable for those who had been privileged to visit it, not so much on account of its size and decorations, but for the unique collection of rare and beautiful objects which it contained. A Tibetan Buddha seated upon the Lotus; bronze figurines from ancient Greece; beautifully chased rapiers of Toledo steel, and Moorish pistols inlaid with turquoise and gold; ikons from Holy Russia set with semi-precious stones and curiously carved ivories from the East.

As Rex laid Simon upon the wide sofa he glanced around him with an interest unappeased by a hundred visits, at the walls lined shoulder high with beautifully bound books, and at the lovely old colour prints, interspersed with priceless historical documents and maps, which hung above them.

De Richleau, when he joined him, produced a small crystal bottle which he held beneath Simon’s beak-like nose. ‘No good trying to talk to him tonight,’ he remarked, ‘but I want to bring him round sufficiently to put him to sleep again.’