The Murder of Busy Lizzie

towards Puffins. The party of five were not far behind her. She looked round when she lost the sound of them, and was pleased to see that they had turned away from her, and were taking the way which would lead them towards the old lighthouse. When they were but of sight she stood still and waited for the others. It was a quarter of an hour before they emerged.

‘Thought we’d better give those people plenty of time to get away, as they didn’t know we were there,’ said Laura. ‘You certainly gave them the benefit of your torch. Did you recognise any of them?’

‘I didn’t,’ said Sebastian. ‘Did you, Maggie?’

‘I knew one of them. Surely you remember the church cleaner who showed you the black-magic ladder in the tower?’

‘Oh, good gracious, yes! She was the woman who seemed to do most of the talking. I’m a bit puzzled, though. They didn’t seem the sort of people who would want to picnic in a dark cave.’

‘Judging by the paraphernalia they brought with them,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘I fancy they were no ordinary picnic party. I imagine that, after they had gone, you took the opportunity of examining what they had left behind them?’

‘Yes. Laura had a torch. There was a long, narrow board which could be used as a table-top, two trestles to rest it on, a very well-laundered tablecloth and a big, rather terrifying knife with one straight edge and one slightly curved cutting-edge. We could make out some curious-looking marks on the handle—an inscription of some sort— but we couldn’t translate the characters.’

‘Yes, that was all,’ said Laura.

‘No doubt they’ll bring the rest of the ritual articles later -maybe not until tonight, then,’ said Sebastian.

‘The food, do you mean?’ asked his sister.

‘No,’ replied Sebastian, looking questioningly at Dame Beatrice and receiving a nod of approval. ‘I mean chalk, salt, fresh water, a ceremonial sword, a censer and probably some kind of whip or scourge.’

‘Good heavens! What on earth for?’

‘A witchcraft session, of course. That chap on my staircase—the one I think I’ve told you about—mentioned things he knew, and, of course, I recognised what kind of knife it was which we saw.’

‘Yes,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘I fancy there will be a meeting of the coven tonight. The only thing which surprises me is that they brought the athame, that ritual knife, with them. It is to them a sacred object.’

‘It’s exciting and rather horrible to think of them holding midnight orgies in that cave,’ said Margaret, shuddering delightedly.

‘You are mistaken, dear child. There will be nothing horrible and I doubt very much whether there will be what even the wildest flight of imagination could construe as an orgy. The proceedings will be extremely formal, except for the dancing, perhaps. They will be deeply religious (in a non-Christian sense, but devotional, none the less) and probably of a simple ritual nature. The whole ceremony, if these people are white witches, as their cult objects suggest, will be dedicated to the doing of good.’

‘But I thought all witches were supposed to have made a pact with the Devil.’

‘In earlier, less tolerant, more superstitious times, it was thought to be so. A modern witch, however, will tell you that his or her dedication is to the Great Mother and the Horned God. The religion of the witches is a fertility cult and, as such (unless one condemns it as an unforgivable heresy) entirely harmless.’

‘How disappointing!’

‘I am sorry you find it so,’ said Dame Beatrice, solemnly. Somewhat to Sebastian’s surprise, he found himself missing his father’s company at dinner, especially as (so the head-waiter, to whom he had complained, informed him) Miss Crimp had now planted two of the ornithologists at their table. He and his sister went early to their chalet and Margaret, who seemed tired and somewhat out of sorts, went to bed earlier than usual. After about an hour Sebastian followed suit, but found himself wide awake and extremely restless. There was a remedy, however. With no need to alarm or disturb his sister, he could get out into the open air and had done so for one or two nights already when he found himself unable to sleep. On this particular night it was not only sleeplessness which possessed him, but a very lively curiosity. The indications were that the island coven was to meet that very night and although he knew that the ancient reports of the doings of witches were not only exaggerated but were largely untrue, he found himself very curious to find out exactly what did happen on such occasions, particularly as he suspected that this time an extraordinary meeting had been convened.

The candle-droppings which he had seen on the floor of the cave had appeared to him to be comparatively fresh. The last meeting of the coven, therefore, he argued, could not have been held so very long ago. To hold another one so soon, therefore, appeared to indicate that something of importance was in the wind.

He had no idea when the coven was likely to foregather. Shakespeare had caused Macbeth to call his three witches ‘secret, black and midnight hags’ and it seemed to Sebastian that midnight was as good an hour as any other for secret meetings and the casting of spells. On the other hand, darkness, as such, was a reasonable cloak at any hour, and at the beginning of July it would be dark, except for the moon, then almost at the full, at any time after ten at night.

He had no idea, either, of how long the ceremony was likely to last, but he supposed that the coven would break up before dawn. He decided to leave his room at eleven. It would take him the best part of half-an-hour to reach the cave. He had marked a jutting-out part of the cave wall where he thought it would be possible to screen himself even if the witches floodlit the cave, an operation which he deemed unlikely. If they were already in session when he arrived, he thought that, by lying on his stomach at the top of the ladder and peering down the hole into the cave, he would be able to see and hear enough of the proceedings to satisfy his curiosity even if the satisfaction were not justified by any excitement.

He thought he had made his preparations quietly, and so he had, but he reckoned without one thing. It suddenly occurred to him that he would need a torch. He had not brought one with him, but he remembered that Margaret possessed one. He stole into the sitting-room and opened the door which communicated with his sister’s room. He had no idea where she kept the torch and he did not want to wake her by putting on the electric light, so he groped his way to the dressing-table and felt for the handles of the top drawer. A loud gasp and a cry of, ‘Who’s that?’ interrupted his manoeuvres.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘Where’s your torch?’

Margaret switched on the bedhead light.

‘What do you want it for?’ she asked.

‘I’m going out.’

‘Let me come with you.’

‘Better not. Two of us might be rumbled.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To the cave, of course. Where’s the torch?’

‘Top drawer, right-hand side. Seb, I don’t want to be left alone in the chalet.’

‘Oh, rot! You’ll be all right. Lock your outside door.’

‘I always do.’

‘Well, I’ll lock mine and take my key with me.’

‘There are still the windows. Somebody might force them open.’

‘Look here, what is all this?’

‘Oh, Seb, I’m sure Aunt Eliza was murdered, and I’m scared.’

‘We don’t know yet what happened to her. I expect we’ll get a ’phone call from The Tutor as soon as the inquest is over.’

‘Please, Seb!’

‘Well, what?’

‘Don’t leave me here alone.’

‘Oh, hell! What’s biting you? Look, I must go now, or they’ll arrive before I’m in position.’

‘If you go, I’ll follow you. I swear I will.’

‘All right, then, shove some clothes on, but you’ll queer my pitch, you know.’

‘Will you really lock your door if I stay behind?’

‘Of course. I should have done so in any case.’

‘Well, all right, then. I don’t want to spoil your fun. Don’t be too long, though, will you?’