C. B. looked at John and his face was troubled. `It's a good idea, laddie; but I'm afraid it won't work out. Now he knows we know his base he is much too crafty to return to it. And there is more to it than that. You remember what we were saying a while ago; about our being certain of winning out on the big issue only if we could prevent one of the three factors Canon, homunculus and Christina from joining up with the other two? Well, that is now beyond our power. In a few hours' time all three of them will be in Nice. You know the story of Mahomet when he couldn't get the mountain to come to him? In this case Christina is the mountain; and so far the Canon has failed to budge her. Since we have made things so hot for him here, and the time in which to get her back is now so short, it is my bet that he decided this morning to do the job out there. That is why he had the homunculus put on the seaplane instead of hiding it in the house of a pal. And now Mahomet has gone to the mountain.'
21
The Pact with Satan
`Oh God!' muttered John. `So far that fiend has won every trick, and soon there will be only a few locked doors between him and Christina. Is there nothing we can do to help in preventing him from getting at her?'
`We can send a telegram warning Malouet that the Canon is on his way,' C. B. suggested. `There is just a chance that the French police might pick him up on landing. If so, he could be arrested for illegal entry. But you can be sure that he has been in communication with de Grasse about flying out; so the seaplane will not come down at the Ile de Port Cros. De Grasse would not risk that. He will appreciate that since our visit to it yesterday morning Malouet may have got the police to keep it under observation; so he will have instructed Upson to land at one of his other haunts, where there is little chance of his being spotted. I'm afraid, John, that for to night you'll have to pin your faith on the French prison system; and believe me, it's a pretty good one.'
`I only hope you're right. Anyhow, the sooner we send that telegram, the better.' Leaning through the window of the car, John pulled a map from the pocket next to the driver's seat. A glance at it showed that the nearest village was probably Great Oakley. They could not be certain of their exact position among the tangled creeks of Hansford Water, but judged the village to be between three and five miles distant. Having locked the car they set off there.
The sky was a uniform grey, but somewhere in the west the sun was now getting down towards the horizon, and as they began to trudge in that direction John wondered miserably how fate would deal with Christina during this last critical night before her birthday. He would have given a great deal to be with her or, that being out of the question, at least able to keep watch outside her prison; and his impotence riled him all the more from the fact that it was he who had taken the decision to remain in England to watch the Canon. C. B. had given him the choice early that afternoon, and had he chosen the alternative they could have been well on their way to Nice by now. Yet he knew that it was silly to blame himself for his blunder, as it had seemed the best course to take at the time.
It was half past five when they reached Great Oakley and the light was fading. From the village pub they telephoned their telegram to Malouet, then put through a call to a garage in Colchester for a breakdown van with a searchlight. It picked them up at a quarter past six and they returned to the marshes. They lost twenty minutes searching along several tracks for the point at which C.B.’s car had become ditched, but once they found it there was little difficulty in hauling the car out. Both of them now thought it unlikely that the seaplane would bring the Canon back and land again on the same stretch of water next day, but that possibility could not be ignored; so they intended asking the police to keep a watch on it. To do so meant going in to Colchester and, with the Canon gone, there no longer seemed any point in their sleeping at Little Bentford. In consequence, in the car with John at the wheel once more, they collected their bags from the Weavers Arms and drove to the market town. There John dropped C. B. off at the police station and went on to book rooms and order dinner at the Red Lion.
By then it was getting on for eight o'clock. Soon afterwards C. B. came in and they sat down to dine. While they ate, in low voices they reviewed the situation, and could not escape the fact that they had far graver grounds for depression than they had had when dining there the night before. Then, their only cause for gloom had been that their journey appeared to have been rendered futile by their failure to locate Beddows through his office. Now they had found him, but he had refused them his help.
They had also found out a great deal about the Canon; above all, that he was not merely seeking to corrupt Christina but, if he could get hold of her, meant to kill her.
The thought of the night to come, and his utter helplessness during it, to which he must attempt to reconcile himself, had now been preying on John's mind for four hours. He seemed obsessed with the idea that if only they could think of it, there must be some way in which they could either foil the Canon in his bid to get at Christina, or strengthen her mind to resist his influence.
C. B. could only suggest that they should rout out a parson, beg the keys of his church and pray for her in it. John said he would willingly spend the night on his knees, but had always believed that God helped those who helped themselves; and felt sure that there must be some active measure which might bring about more definite results. Yet it was the suggestion of prayer that gave him an idea, and after a moment he said
`I am still convinced that something could be done through Beddows. After all, he is much more than Christina's physical father. As it was he who sold her to the Devil, he is her godfather as well and not just in the modem sense of buying her a christening mug and trying to remember to give her a quid on her birthdays. By inducting him as a Satanist the Canon took spiritual responsibility for Christina. If we could only persuade him to pray to Jesus Christ for her to night I believe we would achieve something really worth while.'
`I get the idea,' murmured C. B. dubiously. `As he admitted to us that it was having her baptised into the Satanic faith which makes her subject to evil influences during the hours of darkness, your theory is that if we could get him to recant she would no longer be subject to those influences.'
`Exactly ! Then, whatever success the Canon may have in casting spells on her jailers to night, when it comes to willing her to leave her cell she would reject the thought and sit tight there.'
C. B. rubbed his big nose. `Your reasoning seems sound enough; but I'd as soon hope to jump Becher's Brook on a donkey as get Beddows to do as you suggest. Do you realise that after all these years of battening on the fruits of evil he would have to abjure his Master? It isn't even as if he really cares very deeply what happens to Christina. And the risk! If he forswears Satan now, it wouldn't surprise me to see him struck dead by some form of seizure.'
`Well, he has had his fling; and if he lives on he will be lucky if he escapes being hounded into a madhouse by the Canon. Providing he abjures, even if he does die, we shall have achieved our object, and I wouldn't allow his life to weigh with me for one moment against Christina's. I agree that it is a thousand to one against our being able to persuade him to rely on God's mercy,, but there is that one chance; and to make the attempt is a thousand times better than spending the night doing nothing.'
'O.K., partner.' C. B. finished his port. `We'll pay him another visit.'
Soon after ten they were again approaching The Grange. Now that they knew its owner was there they were indifferent to the possibility of the Jutsons hearing them and coming on the scene; they drove straight up to the front door. But, knowing that their ring would not be answered, on getting out they walked round to the yard. No chinks of light showed between the curtains of the windows above the stable, and with no more than a glance at them they entered the house through the staircase window, the catch of which C. B. had forced the night before.
By the light of C.B.’s torch they proceeded through the baize door, across the hall and up the stairs. The atmosphere of the house was still chill and eerie, but to night it did not fill them with the fears that had racked their nerves during their previous visit. Swinging themselves across the gap in the floorboards of the landing, they approached the upper flight of stairs. The clanking of the ape's chain came clearly, telling them that it had been freed no doubt by Jutson when he had come up to give it fresh food and water that morning so they expected to have to catch and bind it again. That proved unnecessary. The creature had evidently learnt its lesson, for the moment C. B. shone his torch it cowered away, chattering with fright, into the farthest comer of the upper landing. Keeping a wary eye on it, they climbed the stairs and sidled past to the door of the great attic. Its lock had not been repaired and the door opened at a touch.
Beyond it the scene was the same almost unbelievable one that would for ever remain engraved upon their memories. There sat the twentieth century business man cross legged on his blankets, his back propped against the tea chest, surrounded by the paraphernalia of mediaeval witchcraft, his form dimly lit by the unflickering blue light given off from the glass tubes of the pentacle that enclosed him.
This time he showed no fear of his visitors. Their approach had roused him from a doze, and after giving himself a little shake he said, none too cordially, `So it's you two again. What d'you want now?'
