‘Not at all, sir,’ Mr. Wilkes bent, quiet-voiced, deferential, priest-like, benign. ‘My wife will be very happy to cook you a little dinner. What would you care for now? Fish is a little difficult in these parts, except when I know that I have guests staying and can order in advance, and game, of course, is unfortunately out of season. But a nice young duckling perhaps, or a chicken? My wife, if I may say so, does a very good Chicken Maryland, sir, of which our American visitors have been kind enough to express their approval from time to time.’
‘Chicken Maryland,’ exclaimed Rex. ‘That sounds grand to me. How about you, honey?’
Tanith nodded. ‘Lovely, if only it is not going to take too long.’
‘Some twenty minutes, madam. Not more. Mrs. Wilkes will see to it right away, and in the meantime, I’ve just had in a very nice piece of smoked salmon, which comes to me from a London house. I could recommend that if “you would like to start your dinner fairly soon.’
Rex nodded, and the aged Wilkes went on amiably: ‘And now, sirto drink? Red wine, if I might make so bold would be best with the grill, perhaps. I have a little of the Clos de Vougoet 1920 left, which Mr. Richard Eaton was good enough to compliment me on when he dined here last, and his Lordship, my late master, always used to say that he found a glass of Justerini’s Amontillado before a meal lent an edge to the appetite.’
For a second Rex wavered. He recalled De Richleau’s prohibition against alcohol, but he had been far from satisfied by the brief rest which he had snatched that morning and was feeling all the strain now of the events which had taken place in the last forty-eight hours. Tanith, too, was looking pale and drawn, despite her sleep. A bottle of good burgundy was the very thing they needed to give them fresh strength and courage. He could have sunk half a dozen cocktails with the greatest ease and pleasure, but by denying himself spirits, he felt that he was at least carrying out the kernel of the Duke’s instructions. Good wine could surely harm no oneso he acquiesced.
A quarter of an hour later, he was seated opposite to Tanith at a little corner table in the dining-room, munching fresh, warm toast and the smoked salmon with hungry relish, while the neat little maid ministered to their wants, and the pontifical Mr. Wilkes hovered eagle-eyed in the background. The chicken was admirably cooked, and the wine lent an additional flavour by the fact that his palate was unusually clean and fresh from having denied himself those cocktails before the meal.
When the chicken was served, Mr. Wilkes murmured something about a sweet and Rex, gazing entranced into Tanith’s big eyes, nodded vaguely. Which sign of assent resulted, a little later, in the production of a flaming omelette au kirsch. Then Wilkes came forward once more, with a suggestion that the dinner should be rounded off by allowing him to decant a bottle of his Cockburn’s ‘08. But here, Rex was firm. The burgundy had served its purpose, stimulated his brain and put fresh life into his body. To drink a vintage port after it would have been pleasant he knew, but certain to destroy the good effect and cause him to feel sleepy. So he resisted Mr. Wilkes’s blandishments.
After the meal Rex tried to get on to Cardinals Folly again but the line was still reported out of order, so he scribbled a note to Richard, saying that he was safe and well and would ring them in the morning, then asked Wilkes to have it sent up to the house by hand.
When the landlord had left them, they moved back into the lounge and discussed how they should pass the night. Tanith was as insistent as ever that under no circumstances should Rex leave her to herself, even if she asked him later on to do so. She felt that her only hope of safety lay in remaining with him beside her until the morning, so it was decided that they should spend the night together in the empty lounge.
Tanith had already booked a room and so, to make all things orderly in the mind of the good Mr. Wilkes, Rex booked another, but told the landlord that, as Tanith suffered from insomnia, they would probably remain in the lounge until very late, and so he was not to bother about them when he locked up. As a gesture he also borrowed from Wilkes a pack of cards, saying that they meant to pass an hour or two playing nap.
The fire was made up and they settled down comfortably under the shelter of the big mantel in the inglenook with a little table before them upon which they spread out the cards for appearance’ sake. But no sooner had the maid withdrawn than they had their arms about each other once more and blissfully oblivious of their surroundings, began that delightful first exchange of confidences about their previous lives, which is such a blissful hour for all lovers.
Rex would have been in the seventh heaven but for the thought of this terrible business in which Tanith had got herself involved and the threat of Mocata’s power hanging like a sword of Damocles above her head.
Again and again, from a variety of subjects and experiences ranging the world over, and from their childhood to the present day, they found themselves continually and inexplicably caught back to that macabre subject which both were seeking to avoid. In the end, both surrendered to it and allowed the thoughts which were uppermost in their minds to enter their conversation freely.
‘I’m still hopelessly at sea about this business,’ Rex confessed. ‘It’s all so alien, so bizarre, so utterly fantastic. I know I wasn’t dreaming last night or the night before. I know that if Simon hadn’t got himself into trouble I wouldn’t be holding your loveliness in my arms right now. Yet, every time I think of it, I feel that I must have been imagining things, and that it just simply can’t be true.’
‘It is, my dear,’ she pressed his hand gently. ‘That is just the horror of it. If it were any ordinary tangible peril, it wouldn’t be quite so terrifying. It wouldn’t be quite so bad even if we were living in the Middle Ages. Then at least, I could seek sanctuary in some convent where the nuns would understand and the priests, who were learned in such matters, exert themselves to protect me. But in these days of modern scepticism there is no one I can turn to; police and clergymen and doctors would all think me insane. I only have you and after last night I’m frightened, Rex, frightened.’ A sudden flush mounted to her cheeks again.
I know, I know,’ Rex soothed her gently. ‘But you must try all you know not to be. I’ve a feeling that you’re scaring yourself more than is really necessary. I’ll agree that Mocata might hypnotise you if he got you on your own again, and maybe use you in some way to get poor Simon back into his net, but what could he actually do to you beyond that? He’s not going to take a chance on murdering anybody, so that the police could take a hand, even if he had sufficient motive to want to try.’
‘I am afraid you don’t understand, dearest,’ she murmured gently. ‘A Satanist who is as far along the Path as Mocata does not need a motive to do murder, unless you can call malicious pleasure in the deed a motive in itself, and my having left him in the lurch at such a critical time is quite sufficient to anger him into bringing about my death.’
‘I tell you, sweet, he’ll never risk doing murder. In this country it is far too dangerous a game.’
‘But his murders are not like ordinary murders. He can kill from a distance if he likes.’
‘Whatby sticking pins in a little wax figure with your name scratched on it, or letting it melt away before the fire until you pine and die?’
‘That is one way, but he is more likely to use the blood of white mice.’
‘How in the world do you mean?’
‘I don’t know very much about it except what I have picked up from Madame D’Urfe and a few other people. They say that when a very advanced adept wishes to kill someone, he feeds a white mouse on some of the holy waters that they compel people to steal from churches for them. The sacrilegious aspect of the thing is very important, you see. Then they perform the Catholic ceremony of baptism over the mouse, christening it with the same name as that of their intended victim. That creates an affinity between the mouse and the person far stronger than carving their name on any image.’