William Le Queux (continued 5)

“Until what?”

“Well, until an event occurred which transformed our friendship.”

“What event?”

Again the pair exchanged glances. She was apparently trying to obtain permission from him to expose to me the whole truth. At that moment I felt assured that this woman I had so fondly loved was playing me false, and, after all, this popular preacher was her real lover. Certain circumstances appeared to point to it, for her confusion was apparent; she knew not what to admit, nor what to deny.

He shrugged his shoulders in dumb motion, as though he were careless, but this action apparently gave her confidence, and she turned to me again, saying—

“Any explanation you demand, Mr Yelverton will no doubt give to you.”

“No, no,” Jack cried, addressing her. “It’s quite impossible. You know full well that I’m utterly in ignorance of the truth, and that you alone can explain, if you will.”

She bit her lips, and endeavoured to recover her self-possession. Her illness had weakened her, and rendered her curiously nervous, so that the least emotion visibly affected her.

“Yes,” I added, “you are concealing a secret from me, Muriel, and I, who am to be your husband, demand to know what it is. Tell me!”

“If you had asked me this a few days ago,” she answered, after a pause, “I could only have given you a negative answer. But I have overheard Mr Yelverton’s confession to you, and now that I am strong again, I am determined that neither he nor you shall longer remain in doubt regarding the mystery surrounding Aline Cloud.”

“What is it?” I cried excitedly. “Tell us quickly.”

“No,” she answered, with a wave of the hand. “In this affair we must exercise patience, or those who are guilty will assuredly escape us. Besides, we have to ensure our own safety also.”

“Our own safety!” Jack echoed. “What do you mean?”

“Have I not narrowly escaped death?” she asked. “If we are not wary, another attempt, perhaps more successful, may be made.”

“You anticipate assassination because those who are guilty are aware that you are now in possession of their secret?” I cried. “Then let us act in union with care and discretion. What has caused you to preserve your silence until now?”

“Circumstances which rendered my secrecy imperative,” she answered. “Until now I only entertained suspicions; but these have been confirmed, therefore to me the truth is apparent. In order, however, for us to solve the mystery, it is necessary that you should both obey me implicitly, without asking any questions, for to some of your demands I should be compelled to give false answers. Trust in me, both of you, and I will reveal to you something stranger than you have ever dreamed.”

“We do trust you,” we both answered with one accord.

“I’m ready to act in any manner you direct,” I added.

“And you will not fear, even though a plot may be laid against your life?” she inquired with concern.

“I fear nothing while I have my revolver in my pocket,” I answered, as coolly as I could. “Both of us are ready and anxious to carry out any plan you may form.”

“But of what character is the plan?” asked the vicar, with natural caution.

“It’s Friday to-day,” she observed, disregarding his question. “Tell me when Aline will next visit you.”

“On Sunday. She has written to-day saying that she will attend the service on Sunday evening.”

“You will preach?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered evasively. “I may be away.”

“You mean that by that time you may have resigned and left the Church,” I said quickly. “No, Jack. Don’t think of such a thing. Muriel know? more than she has told us, and if she will assist us, I have no doubt that the mystery will be cleared up, and the guilty brought to punishment.”

“Do you wish me to preach on Sunday?” Yelverton asked of my beloved.

“Certainly,” was her response. “But, tell me—she never remains after the evening service, does she?”

“No, never,” he replied. “By the time I’m out of the vestry she has always departed. It seems as though her quick, impetuous nature will not allow her to await me.”

“Then preach on Sunday night, and leave the remainder to me,” she said.

“You appear to know all her movements,” Yelverton observed. “Where does she go usually after church?”

“Her destination is always the same—a secret one. But remain patient,” she added, a strange look in her dark eyes, as though she were intent upon a fierce and terrible revenge. “You are her lover, and have discovered, as others have done, that she is possessed of a spirit of evil that holds you appalled in wonder. Her actions are truly astounding, yet the truth, when revealed, will be more startling and more bewildering than any of the strange things which have already happened.”

“And you promise to explain everything?” I asked in breathless eagerness.

“No. I cannot promise that. I will furnish you with the necessary clue to the solution of the mystery, but even I myself know not all the facts.”

Both of us tried to obtain from her some further information regarding Aline, but without avail. She remained absolutely mute, likewise refusing to reveal the identity of her would-be assassin. That she had met him face to face upon the stairs she admitted, but in response to my inquiries declared that the time was not yet ripe for the denunciation, and urged us to remain in patience.

This we did until at last Sunday night came. At about half-past six I accompanied my beloved in a cab to a small and very dismal little street in the immediate vicinity of St. Peter’s, one of those mean, drab thoroughfares which abound in South London; and when at length the service concluded, we stood together in the gloom waiting for Aline’s striking figure to emerge among the congregation.

At last she came, dressed neatly in black, her fair hair well coiled beneath a neat black toque, and in her hand her tiny prayer-book, with the ivory cross upon the cover. She walked straight in our direction without, of course, dreaming of our presence, but outside the smoke-blackened railings of the churchyard she paused for a moment beneath the street-lamp to glance at the little jewelled watch pinned upon her breast. Her lover’s sermon had been a trifle longer than usual, therefore, on noting the time, she at once hurried away along the narrow little street towards the Walworth Road, in order, apparently, to keep some mysterious appointment.

“Come!” Muriel said. “Let us follow her!” And together we walked on, eagerly keeping her well in sight in the crowd of dispersing worshippers.

My heart beat wildly in those moments, for I knew we were upon the verge of some extraordinary discovery, the nature of which my beloved had predicted would be stranger than we had dreamed.

Chapter Twenty Three.

In the Shadow.

Ere we had gained the Walworth Road, Yelverton, so breathless in his haste that he could scarce gasp “Good night” to the small crowd who saluted him as he passed, overtook us.

“Where is she?” he inquired.

“There—in front of us, standing on the kerb,” I answered, halting in order to escape observation. “She’s evidently waiting for an omnibus.”

My surmise proved true, for a few moments later she entered one of those green omnibuses which ply to Camberwell Green, and the moment the conveyance moved off again Muriel, turning to me quickly, said—

“We must now lose no time, but take a cab at once to Herne Hill.”

We therefore hailed the first four-wheeler, and in one of those most terrible of all conveyances which ply for hire in London—vehicles known in the vernacular as “fever-traps”—we made our way with much rattle and jolting along the Camberwell Road, past Camberwell Green, and up Denmark Hill.

The cab deposited us on the brow of the hill at the corner of that steep road, Red Post Hill, one of the few thoroughfares untouched by the modern builder, and together we descended Herne Hill until we came to a great old house standing back in its own grounds, with large trees around it, and approached by a broad carriage drive. It had undoubtedly been an important residence a century ago, but in the darkness I could discern that weeds had been allowed to grow upon the drive, that shutters closed the windows of the ground floor, that pieces of paper, straw, and other rubbish, the flotsam and jetsam of the street, lay upon the moss-grown steps leading to the front door, and the large board which announced that the desirable site was for sale “for building purposes” told conclusively how the neighbourhood had decayed until it was being gradually swallowed up by overgrown, overcrowded Camberwell.

The double gates rusting on their hinges were secured together by a chain and formidable padlock, but following Muriel we went to a small side door in the high wall, which she opened with a key, admitting us, closing it, and locking it after her.

Within the old tangled garden, where the shrubs, weeds, and flowers had grown wild and unpruned for years, all was silent as the grave. The old place, partly overgrown with ivy, which had almost hidden several of the windows, looked grim and ghostly in the gloom, for the moon was hidden behind a bank of fleecy cloud, and only shed a mystic half-light, which added to rather than decreased the sense of forlorn dreariness which oppressed one. By the aspect of the place it appeared as though it had remained untenanted for fully ten years.

As I stood with my two companions, in the deep shadow, preserving the strict silence which Muriel had now imposed upon us, I confess to entertaining some misgivings. There was a weirdness about the whole affair which I did not like, and I felt a foreboding of some vague evil which I could not define.

With a whispered word of caution Muriel crept forward, treading noiselessly on the carpet of weeds which had hidden the gravel, and skirting the house, swiftly approached a door at the side, evidently once the tradesmen’s entrance.

“Hush!” she whispered, “make no noise. If we were discovered here it would be fatal to all our plans—fatal, indeed, to us!”

Noiselessly she opened the door with her key, while we stood behind her, scarce daring to breathe, and then we all three passed silently into a small, dark passage, down which we groped our way, after Muriel had again locked the door behind her.

I thought I heard a movement at my back like the swish of silk, but next instant reassured myself that it must be a rat disturbed by our intrusion. The place was silent as the tomb, for upon the passage were the remains of some old cocoa-nut matting, which deadened the sound of our footsteps as we crept forward to our unknown goal.

Jack whispered an inquiry to her, but gripping his arm, she answered—

“Not a word! While you are here speak not a word, nor utter any exclamation. Prepare yourselves for amazing surprises, but control yourselves so as to remain silent on witnessing them.”

Suddenly she halted, passed her hands quietly over some panelling in the long, narrow passage which seemed to run the whole length of the house, and searched in the darkness for something she could not at first discover. At length she found what she sought, a small door, apparently concealed in the panelling, and through this we passed, down some winding stone steps where the air was foul and damp, and the walls seemed overgrown with fungi.

We were descending into a cellar. Was Muriel about to reveal to us the hidden evidence of some terrible crime? I shuddered, for the darkness was appalling. We could only feel our way lightly with our hands, taking care not to stumble nor to create any noise.

Of a sudden, I saw straight before me five circular rays of light which together formed themselves into a star, and as we approached we found that before us was a partition of wood, and that these round rays were of the light from a chamber beyond shining through what were apparently air-holes.

“Now!” whispered Muriel, hoarsely. “Utter not a sound, but look within!”

I placed my eye at one of the holes and gazed through. What I witnessed there held me dumb with terror. I stood rigid, open-mouthed, not daring to breathe. The scene was, as Muriel had predicted, stranger than any in my wildest dreams.

Chapter Twenty Four.

The Evil-Doers.

Truly our gaze encountered a scene of the most bewildering and terrible description. Within, was a spacious cellar-like chamber, the walls of which were hung with black whereon were curious devices in white, and around in sconces were burning candles of black wax. At the end, opposite where we stood, was a church Communion-table whereon burnt long, black candles, and before it stood a kind of low stool with a large cushion of black velvet upon it. All was black save the strange designs upon the walls, while the candles shed a curious mystic light upon the whole apartment, illuminating the central object so weirdly that our startled eyes were riveted upon it. This object, placed immediately over the altar, was nothing less than a great effigy of Satan, with a leering grin upon his ghastly features, holding in one hand an apple, and in the other a wine-bottle. In the eyes there burned a blood-red light, and the protruding tongue, as he laughed, seemed pointed as that of a serpent. It was hideous; and I heartily wished myself out of that noisome place.

Suddenly I saw something which paralysed me with terror. The effigy moved. What I had believed to be but a statue, bent down and uttered some words to a thin, pale-faced man who had at that instant entered by the door on the opposite side of the chamber.

“Look!” gasped Yelverton. “Look! It is living!”

But Muriel placed her hand upon his mouth, demanding that he should preserve silence and not risk our lives.

The newcomer spat into a marble bowl of water like that placed at the door of the Roman Catholic churches, whereupon Satan gave vent to a laugh so hideous that it sent a chill through me. Next second, some eight or ten others, men and women, entered, each expectorating into the holy water as sign of contempt for all things sacred.

With bated breath we watched. For several years there had been hints in the press of the establishment in London of a cult of Satan, but very few believed it. Yet here we were actual witnesses that Diabolism did exist among us. This age is indeed a decadent one, for according to the facts which had already leaked out the terribly profane doctrine of Satan consisted of a kind of reversed Christianity, it being inferred, from the condition of the world at the present time, that the mastery of the moment rests with the evil principle, and that the beneficent Deity is at a disadvantage. The Diabolists, therefore, while believing that the Deity reigns, declare that he is the author of human misery, and they therefore take sides with Satan in the cause of humanity. According to those who have come out of this cultus, the worshippers co-operate with Satan to insure his triumph, and they believe that he communicates with them to encourage and strengthen them.

Such, briefly, is the belief of the modern Diabolists, and such is the latest acmé of profanity established among the greatest and most civilised nation on the earth.

As we watched, our eyes strained to witness everything, we saw infamous rites performed, rites which caused us both to shudder in horror; yet curiously enough Muriel looked upon them calmly, without betraying the slightest fear. Those who assembled were, for the most part, well dressed, and presently the Evil One upon the pedestal reached forth his hand and rang a small bell. Next instant there entered two acolytes bearing a ciborium, which they placed upon the altar. Then, after repeating a prayer to Satan in Latin, in imitation of a Christian prayer, the worshippers with one accord fell upon their knees in adoration of the Evil One.

The scene was strangely weird, but utterly horrible, for on regaining their feet all formed a row and filed past the altar, each taking up a dagger, and as they passed stabbed the consecrated host within the casket. Then, at sign from the hideous man upon the pedestal, a Satanic liturgy was chanted, and a brazier was lit by the acolyte in the centre of the chamber, when each worshipper producing a crucifix spat three times upon it and cast it into the fire, while Satan laughed in triumph and they cried aloud to him in adoration. To witness such Pagan rites as these, where every element of Christianity was held up to ridicule, was sickening. A feeling of nausea crept over me when I heard these men and women anathematise the Deity, and the infamous and degrading ceremonies caused me to shudder.

Suddenly there was a stir among the members of this evil cult at that moment kneeling, for a woman slowly entered, veiled, followed by a masked man in a long, black vestment, bearing on the breast an effigy of Satan. A silence fell, deep and complete, for the woman in her flowing robes of black stood before the stool in front of the altar and raised her bare white arms above her head.

She was evidently the priestess of the cult, for I watched her stand before the stool, while the priest with the assistance of an acolyte brought out a huge crucifix of black and silver and placed it before her. Then he also produced a bag of black silk containing something which moved within, and deposited it at her feet.

When he had done this, and all was in readiness, she knelt upon the cushion, and placed her back as a reading-desk for him, while he went through the ceremony of the Black Mass, an appalling profanity impossible to here describe.

When at length this had been concluded, the woman rose and, bending, took from the bag the object that had been writhing within it. Eagerly we strained our eyes, and were amazed to see that it was a black cat. With a loud cry to Satan as ruler of the world, she took a long, thin dagger from her belt and plunged it into the animal, which expired almost without a struggle. Then, with a swift, dexterous movement she cut out the heart, and with its blood defiled the crucifix, an action which was applauded by the onlookers, now increased in number, and greeted with a loud laugh by the hideous representative of Evil at the end of that foul, terrible place.

Next second, however, a circumstance occurred which rendered our concealment impossible. The priestess with a swift movement tore her veil from her face, while the priest took off his mask.

The two faces revealed caused us to utter exclamations of surprise which at once rendered concealment no longer possible.

The priestess was none other than Aline Cloud, and the priest the bony-faced scoundrel Hibbert, whom Muriel had loved!

“We are discovered!” my love gasped. “Be careful, or your lives may be taken. These people are desperate.”

Both Jack and myself drew our revolvers in an instant, and ere we knew how it occurred, a door opened, and we found ourselves within the Temple of Evil, struggling in the confusion which had been caused. The man who had posed as Satan, director of the cult, had sprung down to earth in a moment, shouting to some hidden person to close all egress and bearing in his hand the gleaming dagger with which the worshippers had stabbed the sacred elements within the ciborium.

Aline, when she had recognised us, gave a shriek and stood glaring at her lover, pale as death. Jack, tall, and strong as a lion, stood in the garb of the Christian Church within that foul den of the Diabolists and with a loud voice called upon them to remain quiet and listen.

But at that instant I saw in the eyes of Satan a dangerous expression, and with a curse he sprang at Muriel with his knife, and would have struck her dead had I not been quick enough to arrest the blow and point my revolver at his head.

“Would you,” she cried, “attempt my life a second time? See!” and she pointed to me. “This man is my lover; and for your cowardly attempt to kill me you shall answer to him.”

“And this was the man who attacked you?” I cried, as he flinched beneath my aim. “It is only what might be expected of a man who masquerades as the Evil One.”

“You!” I heard Yelverton cry in a voice which showed how bitter was his regret, as he faced Aline, who in her long, black robe stood trembling and unsteady before him. “Then this is the truth,” he cried hoarsely. “You are the priestess of Satan!”

“Ah, yes!” she cried. “But first hear me before you condemn me! And you, Clifton,” she added, turning to me. “Hear me, and when you have listened try and regard me with sympathy and pity. I know I am unworthy of regard, wretched outcast that I am; but I have acted under compulsion. I swear I have!”

“Enough!” roughly cried the director of those profane rites, who had posed above the altar regarding all with satisfaction. “There has been treachery; and you, our brothers and sisters, must decide the fate of those who have dared to enter with the spy.”

“Silence!” I cried, handling my revolver determinedly. “First let us hear the statement of this priestess of yours. The first person who lays hands on either of us pays for it with his life.”

I was a pretty dead shot, and at that moment was desperate.

“Listen!” Aline cried, addressing Jack, “and I will tell you. Three years ago I was living with my father in Montgeron when I became acquainted with a man who one night persuaded me to go with him to a house in Paris, and there by his trickery I was initiated as a Diabolist. It was partly because of a passing fancy for him, and partly because of the mysteries surrounding it, that I became a member of the infamous cult; yet soon I hated the awful rites, and the revulsion of feeling within me caused me to embrace Christianity, so that when at length my father died, and I escaped from this man and came to England, I was received into the English Church. Then you know how we met, and I loved you. My father had left me fairly well off, and as atonement for my sin in worshipping Satan I devoted the greater part of my money to charity in the poorer districts of London. Suddenly, however, this man, who was one of the elders of the cult of Satan in Paris, found me in London, and a branch having been established here, he compelled me under threats of exposure to you of my association with this abominable sect, to return to them and become their priestess. Thus, powerless beneath his influence, I loved you and worshipped at your church, yet on each Sunday night compelled to come here and assist at the Black Mass of the Evil One. Can you imagine what my feelings have been? Can you fully realise the awful pangs of conscience when, fearing God as I do, I have knelt upon yonder cushion compelled to profane His name, because of my love for you and the fear that if you knew the truth you would cast me aside? Yes,” she cried wildly, her face blanched and haggard, “I loved you, Jack!” and staggering forward she fell upon her knees before him in penitence.

“It is astounding!” he exclaimed. “Satan himself has sent you into my life, for you are his priestess.”

“But tell me,” I cried, addressing the kneeling woman. “Explain your object in so mystifying me, and how it was that at your touch any holy emblems were reduced to ashes?”

“It is part of our creed,” she answered. “Each Diabolist on placing upon himself the Bond of Black takes an oath to steal crucifixes, Bibles, prayer-books, communion-cups, sacramental wine, or anything sacred to the worship of God, in order that they may be defiled or destroyed in the Temple of Satan. You have already seen the holy water, and the consecrated host, defiled, and each of the crucifixes burned in this brazier have been stolen by those who had destroyed them as offerings to the King of Evil.”

“But mine was destroyed by fire—as was also the chalice at St. Peter’s,” I observed.

“No; in order to mystify those who follow Christianity the Diabolists have established a system by which the ashes of various objects burned in the brazier are afterwards supplied to the votaries of Satan, and when any sacred objects are stolen the ashes are substituted. Being carried in a bag of chamois-leather, they are warmed by the heat of the body, and hence, increased mystery is added by the ashes, when discovered, being warm.”

“Then you stole my crucifix in order that it should be burnt here!” I exclaimed, amazed.

“Yes. The chalice, too, was melted in that brazier, as well as objects from the rooms of your poor friend Morgan.”

“Morgan!” I cried, interrupting. “He was murdered! Tell us the truth.”

“Yes,” answered the unhappy woman, hoarsely. “He was murdered.”

“Who was the assassin?” I inquired quickly.

“I do not know,” she answered, looking boldly at me. “I myself have tried to discover, but cannot.”

“But how do you reconcile your assertion that he died at Monte Carlo with the fact that he was assassinated in London?” I demanded.

“I felt assured that he committed suicide there, for I saw him carried out of the rooms dying. But, from further information which I have since obtained from the Administration there, I have found that he lay ill for some weeks in a hospital at Nice, and afterwards recovered sufficiently to be able to return to London. The Administration are always reticent upon the subject of suicides, and it was their refusal to give me any information when I applied on the day following the tragic affair that led me to believe that your friend had died and been buried in a nameless grave in the suicides’ cemetery at La Turbie.”

“Why did you so deceive me regarding your address at Hampstead?” I inquired. “Surely there could have been no necessity for doing that?”

“Yes, there was,” she replied. “I was compelled to act as I did. In the house of Mrs Popejoy was a valuable ring belonging to the Pope which he had given to the Ambassador of France together with his blessing. This ring had been traced by the cult of Satan to this lady’s possession, and it was arranged that I should enter the house as her companion and secure it. I did so on the night when you escorted me to that house, and the ring is now upon the hand of the chief of the order—the man yonder who personifies the King of Evil.”

“Extraordinary!” I exclaimed when I had heard her explanation. “Your ingenuity at deception was truly marvellous.”

“Yes,” she answered, “but my actions were not my own voluntary ones. They were directed by the leader of the sect in whose power I have been held, unable to extricate myself for fear of exposure and a terrible denunciation. But it is all at an end now,” she added in despair. “You have all of you witnessed my awful degradation, and how I have committed the deadly sins. For me what forgiveness can there be; for what may I hope?”

“Hope for the forgiveness of the man who loves you,” I answered, glancing at Yelverton, who remained rigid and silent, his face white as death.

But she only burst into tears, and grasping her lover’s hand pressed it to her lips, murmuring some broken words imploring pity.

“And you, Muriel?” I asked, turning to my beloved who was standing at my side shielded from the wrath of these angry people by my revolver. “How is it that you have been enabled to expose this most extraordinary state of affairs?”

“But for one thing I should never have dared to bring you here,” she answered, looking at me openly. “I was jealous of Aline, because I thought you loved her, and was therefore content that she should suffer all the tortures of the mind which she has suffered, being compelled to bow before Satan and ridicule the Faith. I refused your offer of marriage because I believed you loved her, and in pique I allowed this man Hibbert to admire me. I—”

“Then you are a Diabolist yourself?” I gasped, dismayed.

“Yes. It was Hibbert who induced me to allow myself to become initiated. Truth to tell, I was curious to witness the strange rites of which he told me, but as soon as I found myself fettered by the Bond of Black I repented, and wished to come out of the terrible cult whose faith is in profanity and whose deeds are wickedness. Like Aline, I have been compelled to steal prayer-books, Bibles, and sacred objects, all of which have been defiled and consumed. I dared not tell you of my association with these Satanists, hence my constant silence regarding matters upon which you have desired explanation.”

“But what caused you to so suddenly abandon Hibbert and return to me?” I asked, recollecting my curious compact with Aline.

“A discovery which I made—a revelation which, by Aline’s instigation, was made to me,” she answered. “I know full well how she bought your silence by promising that I should return to you. I came, and you believed, because of that, she was possessed of power supernatural. It is the object of every worshipper of Satan to cause the outside world to believe that he or she is endowed with a miraculous power by the Evil One, hence the manner in which ashes are substituted for the holy objects stolen. Aline, like myself, was compelled by the oath she had taken to impose upon you, upon Roddy Morgan, upon her lover, nay, upon every one about her, until they believed her endowed with power not possessed by any other living being.”

“Yes,” Aline interrupted, “what Muriel tells you is the truth. At my will this man Hibbert forsook her, and she returned to you because she was no longer jealous of me. And you believed that I committed the crime!” she said reproachfully. “You suspected that I killed the man who had been so kind to me.”

“I certainly did believe so. All the evidence seemed to point to the fact that Roddy was killed by some secret means, and that the person who visited him was yourself. I found the button of one of your gloves there.”

Slowly she rose to her feet, and seeing how grave was her lover’s face she turned again to me, saying, in a tremulous voice—

“Yes, I know, it is useless for me to now conceal the truth. On leaving you that morning I went there and saw him. He opened the door himself, and I remained about a quarter of an hour. We had not met since I had seen him carried out of the rooms at Monte Carlo, and the reason of my visit was to ascertain whether what you alleged, namely, that he was still alive, was true. I fully expected to find that this man who was passing as Roddy Morgan was an impostor, but discovered that he was no doubt the same person with whom I had been acquainted at Monte Carlo. My aunt, with whom I was on the Riviera, liked him very much, and I confess that only by his attempted suicide was a match between us prevented. In that brief space, while I remained there, he again told me that he loved me, but I explained that I had now formed another attachment, a statement which threw him into a fit of deep despondency. His man was out, therefore he went himself into an adjoining room to get me a glass of wine, and while he was absent I stole a rosary from a casket, depositing ashes in its place. Then I drank the wine, and left him, promising to call soon, but giving him plainly to understand that although we might be friends, we could never again be lovers.”

“And then?” I asked gravely.

“Ah! I have no knowledge of what occurred after that,” she said. “I have endeavoured to fathom the mystery, but have failed. That poor Roddy was murdered is absolutely certain.”

“You refused his love because of your affection for me, Aline!” Jack exclaimed, in a low, broken voice, for this discovery that she worshipped the power which he held in greatest hatred had utterly crushed and appalled him. Truly he had spoken the truth on that night in Duddington when he had told me that the Devil had sent her into his life to arrest the good deeds he was endeavouring to perform.

“Yes,” she answered, looking up into his dark, grave face with eyes fall of tears. “You know, Jack, that I have ever been true to you. I have been forced to act like this; compelled to commit a profanity which has horrified me, and made to exercise the ingenious trickery which was born of the fertile resources of this man beneath whose thrall I have been held.”

“It’s a lie!” cried the hideous fellow who personified the Evil One. His very appearance caused us to shudder. “You are one of us—our priestess. Was it not you, yourself, who suggested to our brothers the Sacrifice of the Cat?”

“Yes,” cried half a dozen voices, “it was Aline who suggested it.”

“At your instigation,” she answered boldly. “You first broached the subject and then induced me to suggest it. I’ve been your catspaw from the very moment we first met at Montgeron, and you took me to the Temple of Satan at Passy. From that day I have known not a moment’s peace; the spirit of Satan has entered my soul, and I’ve existed in an awful torment of mind, like that prepared for the wicked.”

Chapter Twenty Five.

Conclusion.

The faces of that excited group seemed as demoniacal as the power they had worshipped, and about me I heard ominous words—words which caused me to grip my weapon resolutely. My arm was still around Muriel’s waist, for I saw that another attempt would probably be made upon her, so incensed were they that she should have betrayed them. The cult of Satan worships in secret, hiding their infamous rites in underground temples—as well they may—and the votaries of the Evil One are under oath not to divulge the whereabouts of the Devil’s dwelling-place or the character of their blasphemies and outrages, on penalty of death. Truly this religion of darkness, springing as it has done from the drawing-rooms of debased Paris, is a terrible and awful spectacle in our present enlightened age.

I glanced around. The doors were closed, and there were only two of us armed, while the daggers used for the piercing of the sacred element were gleaming in several hands. They now numbered nearly a dozen to each of us, and I knew that if we had to defend the two women we loved we should be compelled to fight desperately.

“Forgive me!” implored Aline, looking into her lover’s face. “I swear that I have always loved you, and that I have been what you believed me to be, an honest woman. Tell me,” she cried, falling again upon her knees before him. “Tell me, Jack, that you will forgive me, now that you know all.”

“I do not know all,” he answered, in a hard voice. “You confess to having visited Morgan immediately before his death.”

“But I did not commit the crime!” she said wildly. “I am innocent—innocent!”

Some jeering laughter greeted this terribly earnest protest. Those around, mostly better-class people, judging from their dress and speech, now took a keen delight in her disgrace and grief.

“He was her lover, and she killed him when she knew that he had not died at Monte Carlo!” somebody exclaimed. “She wanted to marry the parson.”

“It’s untrue. I swear it is!” she cried. “We had flirted at Monte Carlo, but I had no thought beyond his friendship. When I left him on that fatal morning we parted the best of friends. Not until next day did I know of his strange death, then reported in the papers.”

At the moment Muriel, who had remained silent and motionless, as if listening intently, suddenly disengaged herself from my embrace, and walking boldly forward, exclaimed in a loud, firm voice—

“Enough! The mystery of poor Roddy’s death shall no longer cause your estrangement from your lover, Aline. Listen!” Then turning to me, she added: “You will remember that once, about eighteen months ago, when I was having tea one Sunday at your rooms, Roddy called, and you introduced us.”

“Yes,” I cried, suddenly remembering. “I had always believed that you were unacquainted, but I remember quite well now.”

“A few days later I met him in Oxford Street, and from that time we were friends, although I saw but very little of him. One day, however, by a word I let drop, he suspected that I was connected with this terrible cult of Evil, and at once asked me to reveal some of its secrets, because he was about to ask a question in Parliament upon the subject, and wished to obtain reliable information. The asking of a question upon such a subject would, he knew, cause a great sensation, and if not armed with facts he must bring himself into ridicule. Well, I confess that I told him something of the rites, and afterwards, at his urgent request, brought him here by the secret way through which I brought you to-night. Unfortunately, however, his presence was detected, and his identity established; although at the time I had no idea that such was the case.”

I noticed how the white-faced band of Satanists exchanged glances of fear as they listened to her words spoken clearly and fearlessly. She, too, glanced round at them with a look of hatred and defiance.

“The day on which he accompanied me here was,” she continued, “three days prior to his death. I was in the habit of meeting him at railway stations of an evening and imparting to him various information until he knew almost as much of the ways and doings of the Diabolists as I did myself. We had an arrangement by which, if he was unable to keep an appointment, his man should come and bring me a letter with a blank sheet of paper, by which I should know that to keep the appointment was impossible. We met at railway stations for two reasons: first, because the Satanists should not discover my dealings with this Member of Parliament who would, in a few days, startle England with his statements; and, secondly, because you, Clifton, should not call and find me with your friend.”

“Extraordinary!” I ejaculated. “Then the note taken by Ash to the King’s Cross terminus was meant for you?”

“Certainly,” she responded. “I, however, mistook the hour of our appointment, and having that day obtained information that the Satanists had discovered that he had been present, I hastened to warn him of his danger. Too eager to wait and keep the appointment, and fearing lest harm should befall him, I went straight to his chambers, arriving, I suppose, immediately after Aline had left. The door was ajar, so pushing it open I entered. There were strange sounds in the sitting-room, and in order to discover the reason of them I slipped behind one of the bedroom doors to listen. Scarce, however, had I done this when there were hurrying footsteps in the passage as a man went out. I believed the footsteps to be yours, Clifton. Then when he had descended the stairs I crept on into Roddy’s room, but drew back horrified a second later. I was too late. He was dying. I tried to rouse him, but he clutched my dress so frantically that he tore it and held a piece of black chiffon in his clenched hand. He had, I knew, been poisoned, and in the paroxysm his agony was frightful. Powerless, I stood beside him for a few moments until the last spark of life had left, then reproaching myself bitterly for my tardiness, I flew from the house, fearing lest suspicion should fall upon me. I was witness of that crime, and to ease my conscience I confessed to Mr Yelverton, then curate at St. Michael’s, all that I knew, although being a member of the Church, I made no mention of my association with the cult. He knew the truth.”

“Then tell me who was the murderer?” I cried.

“I believed the murderer to be my lover, Clifton Cleeve,” she answered. “But here, in this place, I overheard a confession, and discovered that the man who committed the cowardly crime in order to conceal the existence of this cult of Evil is the same who, having ascertained that I was witness of his crime and might denounce him, afterwards sought to silence me also,” she answered; and pointing to the man who personified Satan, added, “It is that man—Francis Vidit—the man under whose iron thraldom both Aline and myself have been compelled to commit the profanity that has terrified us; the man whose heart is as black with wickedness as that of the Evil One he now represents. He is the murderer of Roddy Morgan!”

The villainous-looking fellow made a dash forward with a second knife in his hand, but in an instant both Jack’s revolver and my own were at his head and he fell behind, flinching.

“Hold back!” I cried. “Drop that knife this instant, or by Heaven! I’ll put a bullet through you!”

At that moment, while he stood glaring at me, Muriel placed something to her mouth and blew shrilly. It was a police whistle.

In a second the door was burst open, and an inspector in uniform, a detective and several constables, sprang into the room, creating a confusion utterly indescribable. Their entry was so sudden that everybody stood dumbfounded.

In the detective I recognised Priestly, the man who had had in hand the inquiries regarding Roddy’s death, and in a moment saw how cleverly Muriel had arranged the details of her revenge.

“Arrest that man!” she cried, pointing to the cringing ruffian before us. “That man, Francis Vidit, I declare to be the murderer of Mr Morgan!”

Two constables stepped forward quickly, but the man whose Satanic garb was so hideous, uttered a terrible curse, and with his face livid, turned quickly and attacked the men with the knife in his hand. In his desperation he was powerful as a lion, but in a few moments the inspector and the others had overpowered him, and he stood before us held helpless within their grasp.

It was no doubt a smart capture, and the police owed it to Muriel’s calmness and careful arrangements.

“Let my hand go!” the wretched man cried. “I want to get my handkerchief to wipe my face. Don’t hold me so tight; I shan’t hurt you,” he laughed with a hoarse, hideous laugh, which sounded through the place.

Then, with a sudden twist, he freed his hand, and ere they could stop him he had placed something in his mouth and swallowed it.

“You can do what you like with me now, you fools!” he shrieked wildly. “I have no fear of you!”

“Look!” cried Muriel. “See his face! He has poisoned himself!”

All gazed at him, and we saw by the spasmodic working of the muscles of his features that what she said was quite true. The agonies of poisoning had already seized him, and his haggard face, fast swelling, was horrible to behold. For a few moments he writhed in the grasp of the officers, while we all looked on in silence, appalled at the frightful picture he presented; until suddenly, with a piercing shriek, he seemed to stretch out his limbs rigid and straight. Then all the light of a sudden died from his hideously distorted features, and the men in whose grip he was knew by the dead weight upon them that they held only a corpse.

No further need is there to dwell upon the ghastly events of that fateful night, a night that will live within my memory for ever; nor need I describe how we all four left that den of Satan in company with the police. Suffice it to say that the self-destruction of Francis Vidit caused the disbandment of that disgraceful Pagan sect which fortunately found so little support in Christian England. Although the police were, by these revelations of Muriel’s, made aware of the existence of Satanism in London, the suicide of their head made it unnecessary for any details of the cultus diabolicus to be given to the public through the medium of the sensational Press.

At first the revulsion of feeling within me caused me, I confess, to hesitate whether to take as wife a woman who had actually been a votary of Satan, but on calmer reflection, as I drove back to Charing Cross Mansions with my loved one at my side, I saw plainly how she had been victimised and held powerless beneath the terrible thraldom of this murderer Vidit and his accomplice Hibbert, who had without doubt both carried on these practices with a view to gain the subscriptions of those who joined the cult. That she was pure, honest, and upright I had never doubted, and moved to sympathy when I remembered how bitterly she had suffered, I yielded to her entreaty to be forgiven, feeling convinced of her assertion that her suspicion that I was guilty of the murder of my friend was the cause of her casting me aside and acting as she did.

Just a year has now gone by, and it has been full of changes, for my father dying suddenly, Tixover Hall has come to me, and with Muriel as my wife we live in the old place in perfect contentment and happiness. Jack Yelverton, too, has modified his views regarding the marriage of the clergy, for Aline is now his wife, and in the good work among the poor of the dismal, overcrowded parish of St. Peter’s, which he pursues with such untiring energy, she, once the priestess of Satan, is now his greatest helpmate. She is trying to make atonement for the flagrant sins she committed before God, and certainly if the ministration of His Word and righteousness of heart will atone for the profanity to which she once was forced because of her love for the man who is now her husband, then a great and blessed forgiveness will be hers.

The means by which poor Roddy’s life was taken have remained an entire mystery until the other day, when Muriel explained how the man Vidit, being an expert toxicologist, once made certain experiments in that old house on Herne Hill, and from these it seemed clear that the poison—apparently one of those extremely deadly ones known to the mediaeval alchemists, a single drop of which is fatal—was flung suddenly into the eye of his victim while he spoke with him, causing instant blindness, general paralysis, and a swift, agonising death. It was the consequent discoloration of the eyes which had so puzzled the doctors.

We, however, in our blissful new-found joy seldom refer to those dark days when the shadow of evil was upon us. Happily they have passed, and are over, for Muriel has broken for ever that most terrible tie which held her aloof from God and man—the Bond of Black.

The End.

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Preface

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Chapter 1

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Chapter 2

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Chapter 3

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Chapter 4

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Chapter 5

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Chapter 6

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Chapter 7

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Chapter 8

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Chapter 9

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Chapter 10

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Chapter 11

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Chapter 12

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Chapter 13

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Chapter 14

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Chapter 15

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Chapter 16

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Chapter 17

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Chapter 18

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Chapter 19

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Chapter 20

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Chapter 21

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Chapter 22

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Chapter 23

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Chapter 24

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Chapter 25

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