IV
Hercule Poirot said: 'You must obey my instructions very carefully. You understand?'
'Oh yes, Mr Poirot. You may rely on me.'
'You have spoken of your intention to benefit the cult?'
'Yes, Mr Poirot. I spoke to the Master – excuse me, to Dr Andersen myself. I told him very emotionally what a wonderful revelation the whole thing had been – how I had come to scoff and remained to believe. I – really it seemed quite natural to say all these things. Dr Andersen, you know, has a lot of magnetic charm.'
'So I perceive,' said Hercule Poirot dryly.
'His manner was most convincing. One really feels he doesn't care about money at all. 'Give what you can,' he said smiling in that wonderful way of his, 'if you can give nothing, it does not matter. You are one of the Flock just the same.'
'Oh, Dr Andersen,' I said, 'I am not so badly off as that. I have just inherited a considerable amount of money from a distant relative and though I cannot actually touch any of the money until the legal formalities are all complied with, there is one thing I want to do at once.' And then I explained that I was making a will and that I wanted to leave all I had to the Brotherhood. I explained that I had no near relatives.'
'And he graciously accepted the bequest?'
'He was very detached about it. Said it would be many long years before I passed over, that he could tell I was cut out for a long life of joy and spiritual fulfilment. He really speaks most movingly.'
'So it would seem.'
Poirot's tone was dry. He went on: 'You mentioned your health?'
'Yes, Mr Poirot. I told him that I had had lung trouble, and that it had recurred more than once, but that a final treatment in a Sanatorium some years ago had, I hoped, quite cured me.'
'Excellent!'
'Though why it is necessary for me to say that I am consumptive when my lungs are as sound as a bell I really cannot see.'
'Be assured it is necessary. You mentioned your friend?'
'Yes. I told him (strictly in confidence) that dear Emmeline, besides the fortune she had inherited from her husband, would inherit an even larger sum shortly from an aunt who was deeply attached to her.'
'Eh bien, that ought to keep Mrs Clegg safe for the time being!'
'Oh, Mr Poirot, do you really think there is anything wrong?'
'That is what I am going to endeavour to find out. Have you met a Mr Cole down at the Sanctuary?'
'There was a Mr Cole there last time I went down. A most peculiar man. He wears grass-green shorts and eats nothing but cabbage. He is a very ardent believer.'
'Eh bien, all progresses well – I make you my compliments on the work you have done – all is now set for the Autumn Festival.'
V
'Miss Carnaby – just a moment.'
Mr Cole clutched at Miss Carnaby, his eyes bright and feverish.
'I have had a Vision – a most remarkable Vision. I really must tell you about it.'
Miss Carnaby sighed. She was rather afraid of Mr Cole and his Visions. There were moments when she was decidedly of the opinion that Mr Cole was mad.
And she found these Visions of his sometimes very embarrassing. They recalled to her certain outspoken passages in that very modern German book on the Subconscious Mind which she had read before coming down to Devon.
Mr Cole, his eyes glistening, his lips twitching, began to talk excitedly.
'I had been meditating – reflecting on the Fullness of Life, on the Supreme Joy of Oneness – and then, you know, my eyes were opened and I saw -'
Miss Carnaby braced herself and hoped that what Mr Cole had seen would not be what he had seen the last time – which had been, apparently, a Ritual Marriage in ancient Sumeria between a god and goddess.
'I saw -' Mr Cole leant towards her, breathing hard, his eyes looking (yes, really they did) quite mad – 'the Prophet Elijah descending from Heaven in his fiery chariot.'
Miss Carnaby breathed a sigh of relief. Elijah was much better, she didn't mind Elijah.
'Below,' went on Mr Cole, 'were the altars of Baal – hundreds and hundreds of them. A Voice cried to me: 'Look, write and testify that which you shall see -''
He stopped and Miss Carnaby murmured politely: 'Yes?'
'On the altars were the sacrifices, bound there, helpless, waiting for the knife. Virgins – hundreds of virgins – young beautiful, naked virgins -'
Mr Cole smacked his lips. Miss Carnaby blushed.
'Then came the ravens, the ravens of Odin, flying from the North. They met the ravens of Elijah – together they circled in the sky – they swooped, they plucked out the eyes of the victims – there was wailing and gnashing of teeth – and the Voice cried: 'Behold a Sacrifice – for on this day shall Jehovah and Odin sign blood brotherhood!' Then the Priests fell upon their victims, they raised their knives – they mutilated their victims -'
Desperately Miss Carnaby broke away from her tormentor who was now slavering at the mouth in a kind of sadistic fervour: 'Excuse me one moment.'
She hastily accosted Lipscomb, the man who occupied the Lodge which gave admission to Green Hills and who providentially happened to be passing.
'I wonder,' she said, 'if you have found a brooch of mine. I must have dropped it somewhere about the grounds.'
Lipscomb, who was a man immune from the general sweetness and light of Green Hills, merely growled that he hadn't seen any brooch. It wasn't his work to go about looking for things. He tried to shake off Miss Carnaby but she accompanied him, babbling about her brooch, till she had put a safe distance between herself and the fervour of Mr Cole.
At that moment, the Master himself came out of the Great Fold and, emboldened by his benignant smile, Miss Carnaby ventured to speak her mind to him.
Did he think that Mr Cole was quite – was quite -
The Master laid a hand on her shoulder.
'You must cast out Fear,' he said. 'Perfect Love casteth out Fear…'
'But I think Mr Cole is mad. Those Visions he has -'
'As yet,' said the Master, 'he sees Imperfectly… through the Glass of his own Carnal Nature. But the day will come when he shall see Spiritually – Face to Face.'
Miss Carnaby was abashed. Of course, put like that – She rallied to make a smaller protest.
'And really,' she said, 'need Lipscomb be so abominably rude?'
Again the Master gave his Heavenly smile.
'Lipscomb,' he said, 'is a faithful watch-dog. He is a crude – a primitive soul – but faithful – utterly faithful.'
He strode on. Miss Carnaby saw him meet Mr Cole, pause, put a hand on Mr Cole's shoulder. She hoped that the Master's influence might alter the scope of future visions.
In any case, it was only a week now to the Autumn Festival.
VI
