The Satanist mf-2 Read online

  'Very well. That's O.K. by me, Sir.'

  C.B. pushed a thick file across the desk, and said: 'Here is all the dope we've got so far. Take it to your office and spend the next two or three days going through it very thoroughly. Naturally I have a dozen other members of the firm hard at it, ferreting out the pasts of various' fellow-travellers, attending meetings, checking figures, and generally gathering information, but you'll be the only one to be planted on the inside in London as a real red-hot Red. Your line will be that you've just come over from Ireland. We'll provide you with all the background stuff - a Party card, membership cards of half-a-dozen Unions, and a list of the most promising branches at which to use them. Don't start anything until you have mastered that file, and when you have, let me know. Can I take it that you are clear on what I want you to do?'

  'Yes, Sir. I've to get you all I can on the methods used by Communists to become officials in the Unions, about rigged elections and where the money comes from to finance unofficial strikes.'

  'You've got it, young feller. Good luck to you.'

  'Thank you, Sir.' Barney Sullivan tucked the file under his arm and, with his cheerful face more serious than usual, left the room.

  As Barney went out, Verney again picked up the photograph of Morden's body. With set mouth he stared at it while thinking of the points that had emerged from the second autopsy, for which he had asked.

  Morden's ankles had been lashed together, but his wrists had not; they had been lashed separately to thick pieces of wood or iron. The marks of the cords that had bound his ankles did not make a straight line; they made a V pointing towards the feet, as though pressure had been exerted between them to drag the cords down where they met in the middle. Immediately below the point of the V there was severe bruising of both ankles, as though a thick stake, or peg, had been thrust between them. There had been no blood on the body when it was found, so obviously it had been washed after Morden's throat had been cut; but the second autopsy had revealed that while there was no trace of blood on Morden's body, there were still tiny particles of blood under his eyelids and in his hair.

  Inspector Thompson had been aware that Colonel Verney had given most of his time before the last war to checking up on the activities of Fascists, and that since the war he had given most of it to checking up on those of Communists. What the Inspector had not known was that, as C.B. was responsible for keeping tabs on all groups which might be engaged in any anti-social activity, it had included a number of secret societies that practised Black Magic. The knowledge that he had gained of such matters was, therefore, considerable.

  With a heavy sigh he put away the photograph. It was the marks on the legs that had first led him to suspect that Morden had been hung by his bound ankles from a stout peg between them, and now the particles of blood found in his hair confirmed that. Verney did not believe that the killing was the work of thugs in the dock area. In his own mind he now felt certain that Morden was the victim of a ritual murder, and had been crucified upside-down.

  CHAPTER II A WIDOW SEEKS REVENGE

  Colonel Verney lived for a good part of the year as a grass-widower. That was not because he was lacking in affection for his wife, but both of them had been over forty when they married and she had been loath to give up the charming little villa near St. Raphael, in the South of France, where she had made her home for the previous seven years.

  During those years, as Molly Fountain, she had built up a reputation for herself as a very competent writer of adventure stories and her work brought her quite a comfortable income. Had that been added to the Colonel's - since in Britain the incomes of husband and wife are assessed as one for tax purposes - the result would have been that they would have been compelled to pay away a big proportion of their joint earnings in income and super tax. By continuing to be domiciled in different countries they were better off by at least a thousand a year, which more than paid for frequent trips by one or other of them between London and St. Raphael and, moreover, enabled Molly to go on writing her books in the sunny, secluded retreat where inspiration seemed to come to her much more easily than in a city.

  The law allowed her to spend up to three months a year in England without becoming liable to tax, and Verney spent his leaves with her in France; added to which his work often necessitated his going to the Continent for consultations with his opposite numbers in other capitals, and sometimes she flew from Nice to Geneva, Paris, Rome or wherever it might be, to be with him. In consequence, a month rarely passed without their being able to have a few nights together or longer sessions of a fortnight or more; and for two middle-aged people, both of whose minds were largely occupied with their work, the arrangement had proved very satisfactory.

  Verney, too, was particularly fortunate as by this arrangement he had not even had to forgo the benefit of leaving his bachelor quarters, for a London home where he was made much of. The same month that he had married Molly, her son John had married Ellen Beddows, and Ellen had just inherited a handsome fortune from her father. John was doing well as a junior partner in a firm of interior decorators, but it was Ellen's money that had enabled them to start their married life in much better style than he would have been able to afford.

  They had bought one of the delightful new houses that were being built in Dovehouse Street, Chelsea; and behind it, at the far end of a pleasant little paved garden, it had another building which was virtually a self-contained flat. It consisted of a large, lofty studio with a small bedroom, bathroom and tiny kitchenette. As the house itself contained ample accommodation for the young couple, and they both adored C.B., they had insisted that he should come to live in the studio.

  This proved an admirable arrangement, for he enjoyed all the amenities of a home without always being on top of them. Moreover, as he continued his old practice of dining two or three nights a week at his club, they could when they wished ask other young couples to dinner without having him too as odd man out; and when they had larger parties he was always happy to place the big studio at their disposal.

  It had been on Monday, March 7th, that he had briefed Barney Sullivan, and on the following Sunday afternoon he had just settled himself down in the studio to read the papers, when John Fountain came across, put his head in at the door, and said: 'C.B., a young woman has called and is asking to see you. Her name is Mrs. Morden. What about it?'

  With a sigh C.B. lowered the paper. He knew that it must be Teddy Morden's widow, and felt that an interview with her would certainly be most painful for them both, the odds being that she had come to upbraid him for sending her husband to his death; but he quickly resigned himself to it.

  'All right, John. I'll see her.'

  John gave him a wicked grin. 'She's quite an eyeful - a ravishing blonde. Poor old Mumsie. What's it worth to you for me not to let on to her that you've got yourself a lovely girl-friend?'

  C.B. grinned back. 'That's quite enough of that, young feller. Bring her along.'

  'O.K. Chief. But my silence will cost you a case of Moet N.V.'

  Two minutes later Mrs. Morden stepped across the threshold of C.B.'s spacious book-lined sanctum. From behind her shoulder the irrepressible John winked at C.B. and made the V sign; then he quietly closed the door upon them.

  Mary Morden was twenty-three and John had not exaggerated her good looks. A small black hat enhanced the gold of her ripe-corn coloured hair, which she evidently kept long, as it was done up in two thick plaits at the back of her head, leaving fully exposed two unusually pretty little ears. Her eyebrows were rather thick, and she left them like that because they were so fair that, had they been plucked, they would hardly have shown; but below them were two almond-shaped eyes of that deep blue colour which is most usually seen in combination with the dark beauty of an Irish colleen. Her nose was straight, her mouth firm and her pointed chin slightly aggressive. She was fairly tall with a good bust that nicely balanced her hips, and she carried herself well. C.B., who had an eye for such things, decided that
her black and white check suit, although it fitted her well, was ready-made; but that her nylons were of fine quality. As she took the chair he placed for her, she crossed a pair of legs of which she had good reason to be proud, and he saw that they ended in small, neat feet.

  He had seen her before on two occasions. The last had been at Morden's funeral, and there he had only bowed to her as a veiled, pathetic figure. The first had been when he had had to go down to her flat at Wimbledon to break the news of her husband's death to her. It had been a Monday morning; she had been busy doing the weekly washing, and so had come out from the kitchen with her hair tied up in a scarf, wearing a faded blouse, tight blue jeans and a pair of down-at-heel slippers. She had little make-up on now, but she had had none at all on then, and a wisp of hair that had got loose from under the scarf had given her a slightly sluttish appearance. He had been struck by her fine eyes but failed to realize that she was a beauty before the news he brought confirmed her fears for Teddy, who had not been home since the afternoon of Saturday; upon which she had buried her face in her hands and burst into a passion of tears. To make the horrible job he had to do a little easier, he had first sought out Morden's brother and sister-in-law, and taken them with him. Having told Mrs. Morden of her husband's death as gently as he could, and provided her with ample money to meet any immediate necessities, he had left her with her relations by marriage.

  Now, as soon as she was seated, she said briskly: 'I do hope you will forgive me for spoiling your Sunday afternoon like this, Colonel Verney, but I thought it a likely time to catch you and, that in view of what I want to talk to you about, it was better that I should come to your home than to your office.'

  'You're not spoiling it,' he assured her with a smile. 'I was only glancing through the papers. I'm glad to see you and, if I may say so, looking so, er . . .'

  'You mean recovered from the shock,' she helped him out, 'Well, it's a fortnight now and one can't go on weeping ones eyes out for ever. It was a choice of either letting myself sink into a sort of morbid coma that might have gone on for months, or getting down to something that would occupy my time and mind, and I decided on the latter.'

  'Well done you. I'm delighted to hear it.' Offering her his cigarette case, he added: 'Tell me about this job you've got?'

  'What lovely long ones.' She took a cigarette and, after he had lit it for her, said: 'I haven't got it yet. That's why I'm here.'

  He raised his prawn-like eyebrows a fraction. 'I see. Well, if it's a reference you require I'd be delighted; but if you want me to find you a job that's rather a different matter. Still, if you'll tell me what qualifications you have, I'll do my best to . . .'

  'Thanks, but this isn't a case for either. I followed your wishes in telling my friends and neighbours that Teddy died of a heart-attack, but we know that he was murdered. You couldn't have concealed the truth from me, even if you had wanted to, because I had to be given his death certificate. I don't think that by nature I am vindictive, but Teddy meant . . . meant a lot to me. I want to help bring his murderer to justice.'

  'That's very understandable,' said C.B. gravely, 'but I'm afraid you would only be wasting your time. The police are doing everything possible, and even with all their resources they haven't yet got a clue.'

  'Then that is all the more reason why you should let me try my hand. If in a fortnight they have failed to get anywhere, it means that the trail has gone cold by now, so they are not very likely to. Fresh crimes are calling for the attention of the police every day; so they will give less and less time to Teddy's case, and after another few weeks shelve it.'

  'No case is ever closed until the criminal is caught.'

  Mary Morden made an impatient gesture. 'No, but after a while the file joins the hundreds of others on unsolved crimes and no one does any more about it.' Her strong jaw hardened suddenly and she added: 'But take me on and that won't happen. I'll stick to it for years if ...'

  'Take you on!' C.B. repeated, then he quickly shook his head. 'No, Mrs. Morden, I'm sorry, but that is quite out of the question. Even if I wanted to I couldn't. There are very definite rules governing procedure in my department.'

  'Oh, I didn't mean officially. That's why I thought it best to come here to see you. Then no one could suspect that I was working for you. And I don't want any pay. I'm not rolling in money, but I can manage on what I've got.'

  For a moment C.B. looked straight at the beautiful earnest face opposite him; then he shook his head again. 'Honestly, it's not possible. For you even to make a start I'd have to disclose to you the mission Teddy was employed upon, and that would mean letting you into all sorts of official secrets. I could lose my job for that. Besides, you would be exposing yourself to grave danger and that's a responsibility I'm not prepared to take.'

  She pulled a face, shrugged and made a move to stand up. 'Very well, Colonel Verney, I'm sorry to find you so un-cooperative and sorry to have wasted your time. I'll just have to set about the business on my own.'

  'Hey! Wait a mo', lady.' Conky Bill gestured her back into the chair. He was trying desperately to think of some way in which he could dissuade her from entering on an investigation that, at best, would mean months of futile endeavour and, at worst, the chance that she would run up against real trouble which would end in her becoming a lovely corpse.

  'Well!' she smiled suddenly. 'Are you thinking of changing your mind?'

  'No, M'am,' he replied promptly, getting to his feet. 'And I'm not likely to in a matter like this. I'm just going to make you a cup of tea.'

  'That's nice of you,' she conceded, and her smile broadened, showing two rows of strong, even teeth.

  He rather prided himself as a brewer of a good cup of tea, and some minutes later he emerged from his kitchenette with a tray on which reposed a pot of Earl Grey, milk, lemon, sugar and a plate of shortbread biscuits. Setting it down he said, 'You must be "mother". Lemon for me and three lumps of sugar.'

  As she poured out, he went on, 'So you're going to play the lone wolf, eh? Or rather the unshorn lamb going into the forest to put the fear of God into the great big hairy bears. I've had the best part of thirty years at the game, but most times I've gone in a tank with plenty of air cover. All the same, I still look on myself as a learner, and I'd be awfully interested to hear how you propose to set about it.'

  She passed him his cup. 'Elementary, my dear Watson! I shall find out all I can about everyone with whom Teddy had anything to do these past few months.'

  'Did he tell you anything about the job he was on?'

  'No, not a thing. He was terribly security-minded.'

  'Then that won't get you anywhere; because you can have no line on the people he was after.'

  'You can't be certain that it won't. And I have got one line that might lead to something. It wasn't at all in keeping with his character, but some time back he suddenly became deeply interested in Spiritualism.'

  Had it not been for his long training at suppressing all signs of emotion while interrogating people, C.B. might well have dropped his tea-cup. As it was his long face remained impassive as he said, 'Really; and he made no secret about that?'

  'He would have, but a mutual friend of ours happened to see him at a seance, and told me about it. When I tackled him he came clean and admitted that he had been to several. I tried to persuade him to drop it. After all, his work took him out at night often enough without his spending an evening or two a week attending seances. Besides, I am a Roman Catholic. Not a very good one, I'm afraid. In fact, we were married at a Registry Office and I haven't been inside a church for years. All the same, I still believe in its teaching, and that Spiritualism is wrong. Teddy knew that, of course; otherwise he would probably have suggested my going with him. As it was, he seemed absolutely fascinated by this new interest. He wouldn't listen to me and continued to go to the meetings in spite of all I could say.'

  'But what leads you to think that his interest in Spiritualism had any bearing on his death?'

 
; Mary Morden's fair eyelashes fluttered and for a moment veiled her deep blue eyes as she replied, a shade uncomfortably: 'Because there was something behind it - something very unpleasant.'

  C.B. had to keep a tight hold on himself in order not to show the intense interest which gripped him as he asked in his low voice: 'What sort of thing?'

  'I don't really know. Teddy used to talk in his sleep. He never gave away any office secrets, and mostly it was incoherent muttering. But during the last few weeks he began to have nightmares. He seemed to be struggling in a sort of medieval hell. He raved about the Devil taking the form of a small black imp, and of a Temple where animals were sacrificed. An Indian was mixed up in it, and someone whom he referred to as "the Master". When he woke from these nightmares, or I woke him, he was drenched in sweat. But he wouldn't tell me their cause. He used to shrug them off by saying that he was making a study of the occult and had been reading a lot about the bad side of it.'

  'That may have been true. On the other hand, one can't rule out the possibility that he had got in with some bad hats at these seances and that they introduced him into a Black Magic circle.'

  'That's what I think.'

  'And you intend to follow this up?'

  'Yes.'

  For a moment C.B. was silent. All she had said fitted in so well with his own theory of what lay behind Morden's death that he was greatly tempted to tell her to go ahead. Yet few people knew better than he did the terrible danger to which she would be exposing herself if she did. Having decided that he must do his best to stop her, he said:

  'Listen, lady. In my work I've been up against this sort of thing before; yet I've never succeeded in bringing a big Black to justice. They are incredibly cunning and utterly unscrupulous. If I, with all the resources of my department, can't get the goods on them, how can you, a woman working on her own, hope to? Supposing you are right, you'll get no further than the fringe of it; then they'll catch you out, and the odds are that you'll end up as poor Teddy did. It isn't on! You've got to put this idea right out of your head.'