Dennis Wheatley - The Satanist

Mary, with still vivid memories of her late husband's nightmares, in which he had mentioned an Indian, had encouraged Ratnadatta's advances from her first visit to Mrs. Wardeel's, in the hope that he might be the man Teddy had had on his mind; and now, while listening to Barney's small-talk about the meeting, she was congratulating herself on being, as she believed, on the right track, and having an appointment to meet Ratnadatta privately on Saturday, which might enable her definitely to link him with the crime.

Barney had already decided that he, too, must cultivate the Indian with the object of also putting himself in the way of securing an invitation to join this more secret circle; but that would take time, and the lovely Mrs. Margot Mauriac, with whom he was walking, was already on the brink of receiving such an invitation. If, therefore, he could keep in touch with her, that might prove a short cut to learning a lot more about Ratnadatta. And in this instance, he felt with pleasurable anticipation that, for once, duty opened a most attractive prospect.

In consequence, when they reached the tall old house half-way along the Cromwell Road, in which Mary had rented a furnished flat on the fourth floor, he said with his most winning manner:

'You know, I really have found this evening thrilling. It has opened up all sorts of new speculations and ideas in my mind. But I don't know a soul with whom I can discuss them - that is, except yourself. Would you ... I know it's awful cheek on such a short acquaintance . . . but would you have dinner with me one night? I've got to attend a business meeting tomorrow evening, but what about Thursday or Friday? Please say yes?�

For a moment she looked straight at him; then, with a rather tight-lipped smile, she said, 'All right then. If you like. Let's make it Thursday.'

'Splendid!' he laughed. 'I'll call for you here at seven-thirty.'

A shade awkwardly they shook hands. She turned away, and as she walked up the steps to the porch, he waved her a cheerful 'Good night'.

Mary had not been taken in by his apparent eagerness to discuss the occult. She knew too well the way a man looks at a woman when she has suddenly aroused a physical interest in him. As she went upstairs to her flat, she was thinking:

'You rotten little cad. So you'd like to try to seduce me again! Lord Larne indeed! I suppose you've found that posing as a Lord makes it easier for you to put girls in the family way then leave them in the lurch. All right, Mr. Barney Sullivan. This time it is I who will lead you up the garden path. I'll play you until you're near crazy to have me, then drop you like a brick.'

CHAPTER V THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE RAM

Barney gave considerable thought to where he should take Mary to dinner on the Thursday. It had to be a restaurant at which he was not known as Mr. Sullivan. That left open to him most of the more expensive places; for although his salary, coupled with the allowance his uncle made him, enabled him to live quite comfortably, he was not well enough off to go to them except occasionally when he was on a job and the bill, or a good part of it, could be charged up to his expense account. In this case that applied, and he wanted to do Mary well; moreover, he wanted to dance with her afterwards. But he had said nothing about that and spoken only of a quiet dinner; so, even if he turned up in a black tie, the odds were that she would not be wearing the sort of clothes in which she would be happy for him to take her to the Berkeley or the Savoy. At length he decided to go in a dark suit and take her to the Hungaria, as he had been there only a few times as a member of other people's parties, the food and band were good, and evening dress optional. So, using his title, he rang up and booked a table.

She was ready for him when he called for her in a taxi, and, as he expected, was dressed in a cocktail frock. At the sight of her his pulses quickened slightly, for she struck him as even better looking than as he had seen her in his thoughts during the past two days. Nevertheless, their evening together did not run with anything like the smoothness that he had hoped.

The reason for that was not far to seek. Ostensibly they were a well-matched young couple out for the sole purpose of enjoying one another's company; but actually each of them was deliberately deceiving the other, and finding it necessary to lie about nearly every question that cropped up.

Both, in preparation for the meeting, had thought out a false past and present for themselves. Barney had decided to take the role of the late Lord Larne's eldest son, who had been killed with his father in the aeroplane crash. He said that he had spent most of his life in Kenya and was over in England only on a long visit to go into the possibilities of opening a new Travel Agency, with London tie-ups, in Nairobi.

Mary, one of whose fairly regular and more pleasant sources of income during her black year in Dublin had been a Customs Officer, now gave her late husband that role; adding, as an explanation of her name, that he had been quite a lot older than herself, come to England with the Free French and, after the war, taken British nationality. She said that he had died two years earlier as a result of a heavy crate, not properly secured to a crane, falling upon him; and, lest her faint suggestion of an Irish accent should stir old memories in Barney's mind, she told him that she was 'Liverpool' Irish and had been brought up in that city.

Her occupation she gave as a free-lance model, and in that there was a substratum of truth. She had picked up the rudiments of such work from her mother, who had eked out her earnings as an actress in that way, and had herself a few times earned a small fee for showing dresses in one of Dublin's less expensive shops; so, during the past fortnight, she had taken it up again to supplement her pension and, now that she was older and had more poise, the agent she had gone to had already found no difficulty in getting her several bookings.

But on both sides the past was a subject giving constant rise to unexpected questions calling for swiftly thought up lies by way of answer; so neither of them could be natural and at ease. Moreover the ostensible reason for their meeting - to talk of the occult - failed to bridge the gap because she knew little more about it than he did. In consequence, finding her decidedly reluctant to say much about herself, he was reduced during the latter part of dinner to giving her accounts of the doings of the Mau-Mau, while praying that she had not read the book upon which he was drawing for experiences as though they were his own.

However, when they took the floor, matters improved somewhat, for he was a naturally good dancer and she had been a professional. They spoke little but each found in the other an excellent partner and thoroughly enjoyed the smooth rhythm. While they danced the best part of two hours sped swiftly by, and by then the fact that they were both playing a part had slipped to the back of their minds. Feeling now that he could open up on a matter that concerned her personally with less chance of her resenting it, a little before midnight Barney ordered more coffee and liqueurs then asked her:

'How well do you know that Indian chap who was at the meeting?'

'Mr. Ratnadatta?' Her voice was casual. 'Oh, he's just one of several acquaintances I've made at Mrs. Wardeel's; although, as a matter of fact, I've learnt more from talking to him after the meetings than at them. But why do you ask?'

'Well . . .' Barney hesitated a second. 'I suppose I ought not to have listened to your conversation with him; but I couldn't help overhearing him offer to take you to some much more advanced occult circle, of which he is a member.'

'He didn't. He only said he would consider doing so after he had had another talk with me.'