Dennis Wheatley - The Devil Rides Out

He paused for a moment then gave a jerky little bow. ‘Madame et Messieurs, permit me to introduce myself. I am le Chef de la Surete, Daudet. Monsieur le Duc, I arrest you as an enemy of the Government upon the old charge. The rest of you I shall hold with him, as persons suspected of kidnapping and the murder of young children at the practice of infamous rites.’

CHAPTER XXXII

THE GATEWAY OF THE PIT

For ten seconds the friends stood there staring at the detective. Castelnau’s presence gave them the key to this grotesque but highly dangerous situation. Mocata must have left the warehouse at almost the same time they had left the banker’s apartment. Perhaps their taxis had even passed within a few feet of each other, racing in opposite directions. Tanith had proved right after all when she had told them that she could see Mocata talking with Castelnau that night in his flat.

Mocata had found the banker there, released and revived him, and then listened to his story; realising at once that, since it was possible for De Richleau to hypnotise Castelnau against his will, it would be easy for him to do the same to Simon, learn the hiding place of the Talisman, and follow him to it.

Now that they had discovered the secret Satanic temple which was his headquarters in Paris, the place would be useless to him and only a source of danger. Unmentionable crimes had been committed there, and it would be far too great a risk for him ever to visit it again. Then the brilliant decision that, since the place had to be abandoned, he could at least use it to destroy his enemies.

The whole thing flashed through De Richleau’s brain in those few seconds. Mocata’s first idea that, if only he could get the police to the warehouse before they left it, he would have involved them in all the crimes associated with such a place and thrown them off his trail for good. Next, the vital question, how to get the police there in time. Would they act at once if Castelnau were sent to tell them a tale about Satanic orgies or only laugh at him? What practical crime could his enemies be charged with? Then the perfect inspiration. If the authorities were told that De Richleau, the Royalist exile, was a party to the business they would not lose a second, but seize on it as a heavensent opportunity to throw discredit upon their political opponents. What a magnificent scandal for the Government Press to handle.

‘Secret Royalist Society practises Black Art’—‘Satanic Temple raided at Asnieres’—‘Notorious exile arrested while performing Blasphemous Rites’. The Duke could see the scurrilous headlines and hear the newsboy’s cry.

And the trick had worked. They had actually been discovered in that house of hell with Simon in the tell-tale robes, seated before the altar, while he performed what must certainly have appeared to the police as some evil ceremony and the other three had stood there, forming a small congregation.

How could they possibly hope to persuade the tall, suspicious-eyed Monsieur le Chef de la Surete Daudet of their innocence, much less get him to agree to their immediate release. Yet, as they stood there, Mocata was on his way to the place where he kept his special plane, if not already aboard it. Night flying would have no terrors for him who, if he wished, could invoke the elements to his aid. Fleur would be with him and he meant to murder her as certainly as they stood there. His determination to secure the return of Tanith made the sacrifice of a baptised child imperative, and before another twenty-four hours had gone he would be in possession of the Talisman of Set, bringing upon the world God alone knew what horrors of war, famine, disablement and death.

De Richleau knew that there was only one thing for it—even if he was shot down there and then—he sprang like a panther at the Chef de la Surete’s throat.

The detective fired from his hip. Flame stabbed the semi-darkness of the vault. The crash hit their eardrums like the explosion of a slab of gelignite. The bullet seared through the Duke’s left arm, but his attack hurled the Police-Chief to the ground.

Simon and Marie Lou flung themselves simultaneously upon the old detective Verrier. The thoughts which had passed through De Richleau’s mind in those breathless seconds had also raced through hers. If they submitted to arrest their last hope would be gone of saving her beloved Fleur.

Richard had no chance to pull his gun. The third man had grabbed him round the body but Rex rapped the policeman on the back of the head with his iron bar. The man grunted and toppled sideways on the chancel steps.

Rex leapt over the body straight for Castelnau. Quick as a flash, the banker turned and ran, his long legs flicking past each other as he bounded down the empty aisle, but Rex’s legs were even longer. He caught the Satanist at the entrance of the passage and grabbed him by the back of the neck. Castelnau tore himself away and stood panting for a second, half crouching with bared teeth, his back against the wall. Then for the second time that night Rex’s leg-of-mutton fist took him on the chin and he slid to the ground like a pole-axed ox.

De Richleau, his wounded arm hanging limp and useless, writhed beneath the Chef de la Surete who had one hand on his throat and with the other was groping for his fallen gun.

His fingers closed upon it. He jerked it up and fired at Richard, who was dashing to De Richleau’s help. The shot went thudding into the belly of the Satanic Goat above the altar. Next second the heavy prie-dieu which Richard had swung aloft came crashing down upon the Police-Chief’s head.

Rex only paused to see that the banker was completely knocked out, then rushed back to the struggling mass of bodies below the altar steps.

Simon and Marie Lou had managed the little man between them. Almost insane with worry for her child, her thumb nails were dug into his neck and, while he screeched with pain, Simon was lashing his hands behind his back.

Richard was pulling the Duke out from beneath the unconscious Chef de la Surete’s body. Rex lent a ready hand and then, panting with their exertions, they surveyed the scene of their short but desperate encounter.

‘Holy smoke! That’s done me a whole heap of good,’ Rex grinned at Richard. ‘I’m almost feeling like my normal self again.’

‘The odds were with us but we owe our escape to Greyeyes’ pluck.’ Richard looked swiftly at the Duke. ‘Let’s see that wound, old chap. I hope to God the bullet didn’t smash the bone.’

‘I don’t think so—grazed it though and the muscle’s badly torn.’ De Richleau closed his eyes and his face twisted at a stab of pain as they lifted his arm to cut the coat sleeve away.

‘I know what you must be feeling,’ Simon sympathised. ‘I’ll never forget the pain of the wound I got that night we discovered the secret of the Forbidden Territory.’

‘Don’t fuss round me,’ muttered the Duke, ‘but get that damned priest’s robe off. If these people don’t return to the Surete more police will come to look for them. We’ve got to get out of here— quick.’

In frantic haste Marie Lou bandaged the wound while Richard made a sling and the other two wrenched off the clothes of the detective that Rex had knocked out. Simon scrambled into them and, as he snatched up the man’s overcoat, the others were already hurrying towards the entrance to the passage at the far end of the temple.

Richard rushed Marie Lou along the dark corridor and they tumbled up the flight of steps. Everything seemed to fade again after those awful moments when they had been so near arrest. She felt the cold air of the wharf-side damp upon her cheeks— they were running down the narrow passage between the high brick walls—back in the gloomy square where the old woman still sat crouched upon the steps near the squalid cafe. Rex had taken her other arm and, her feet treading the pavements automatically, they were hastening through endless, sordid, fogbound streets. They crossed the bridge over the Seine and, at last, under the railway arches at Courcelles, found a taxi. When next she was conscious of her surroundings they were in a little room at the airport and the four men were poring over maps. Snatches of the conversation came to her vaguely.