The Irish Witch

After Wellington's victory at Orthez, Soult had skil­fully withdrawn his army to the east, knowing that the Duke, not daring to risk an attack on his flank by advanc­ing further up the coast, must follow him, and hoping to join up with Suchet. But this had necessitated his aban­doning Bayonne and Bordeaux. Wellington had detached General Beresford's division to occupy the latter city, and on March 12th the Duc d'Angouleme had entered it with the British troops. This Prince, who had married Louis XVI's only daughter, the Princess Therese, having been welcomed by the Royalist Mayor, had proclaimed his Uncle, Louis XVIII, King of France; upon which the majority of the citizens had shown their delight and donned the White Cockade.

Soon afterwards the King's brother, the Comte d'Artois, had arrived in Nancy, and his emissary, the Baron de Vitrolles, had several times come in secret to Paris to con­fer with Talleyrand; but as long as Napoleon's Council of Regency remained in control of the capital, Talleyrand's hands were tied. Many senators were also strongly averse to the return of a monarchy. And, above all, each of the victorious Allies would have their say on what form the new government should take. So the future of France still lay on the knees of the gods.

22

Un Cri de Coeur

On March 28th a meeting of the Imperial Council was called to debate the question of whether, now that the enemy was approaching the capital, the Empress, her son and King Joseph should or should not leave it. Six weeks earlier the Emperor had written from Nogent that if Paris was in danger they should retire via Rambouillet to Blois, taking with them the Great Dignitaries and Ministers. General Clarke, the Minister of War, stated that the garrison of Paris was incapable of resisting the enemy, so departure was decided upon.

The decision placed Talleyrand in a very awkward position. As a Great Dignitary he should leave with the rest, otherwise he would have defied the Emperor, and he was loath yet to come out into the open. On the other hand he was determined to remain in Paris, otherwise he would be deprived of all chance of influencing events in the way he wished them to go.

With his usual foresight he prepared a way out of this annoying dilemma. He drove in his coach to the Porte de la Conference, with the apparent intention of going to Rambouillet. But he was stopped at the gate by M. de Remusat, who was in command of the National Guard there, and refused permission to leave the city—a delight­ful little farce which had been arranged by these two friends the previous evening.

By this time the Russians had reached Montreuil where, with the remnants of their corps, Marmont and Moncey were putting up a last desperate resistance; but it was now plain to everyone that the entry of the enemy into the capital could not be long delayed.

That day, after his usual reception of a number of friends who were always to be found in the main hall of his mansion, Talleyrand drew Roger aside, into the small library, closed the door and said:

'Although I have not yet definitely committed myself to the Bourbons, you and I are agreed that the best hope of securing peace and prosperity for France lies in the restoration to the throne of the legitimate heir. But whether this can be achieved still remains far from cer­tain. In my view, everything now hangs upon the Czar. Once he can be won over he will overrule his less power­ful fellow Monarchs; but to influence him I must have ready access to him when he arrives in Paris. Now, at last, has come the moment when your help can immensely strengthen our chances of bringing about the situation we both desire. I wish you to take a letter to him.'

Roger nodded. 'There should be no great difficulty in doing so, if I approach the Allied troops under a flag of truce. What do you intend to say in your letter?'

Taking the letter from a drawer in the desk, the Prince handed it to him with a smile. ‘I have had it from my friend, Count Nesselrode, his Minister of Foreign Affairs, that His Imperial Majesty intends to take up his quarters in the Elysee Palace. I have told him that this is also known to his enemies, and that they have mined the palace, with the intention of blowing him up. I have then said that my house is quite large enough to accommodate him and his personal entourage, and I humbly offer it to him as a residence in which I can guarantee his safety while in Paris’

‘I congratulate Your Highness upon this extraordinarily astute move,' Roger smiled back. 'And, I should have no difficulty in reaching the Czar through Count Nesselrode's good offices. I knew him when he was Russian Ambassador here. Now I will be off.'

Before leaving he got from one of the footmen a white napkin and tied it to a malacca cane, to use as a flag of truce; then, in one of Talleyrand's carriages he drove to­ward Montmartre. From the heights there the smoke from the batde and formations of soldiers could clearly be seen, but in some sections there seemed to be little action. Roger directed his coachman toward one of those and when he showed his white flag he was allowed to pass through the lines. A Russian officer who spoke French gave him an escort to take him to the Czar's headquarters, which was only a few miles further on, and by early afternoon he reached them.

After waiting for a while he was taken to Count Nesselrode, who greeted him politely as an old acquaintance. From the Count Roger learned that several of the French Generals had already capitulated, and it was hoped that Marshal Marmont could be persuaded to surrender the city, as that would save the inhabitants from the horrors of street fighting. Roger then disclosed the contents of Tal­leyrand's letter. At that Nesselrode's mouth twitched in a smile and he remarked:

'His Highness the Prince de Benevent is a monstrous clever fellow. Come with me and I will present you to His Imperial Majesty.'

When Roger had made his bow, the tall, handsome, curly-haired Alexander raised an eyebrow and said, 'It seems that you have a genius, Mr. Brook, for always popping up, as you English say of a bad penny, when least expected.'

'Perhaps, Sire, but I hope your Imperial Majesty does not liken me to one,' Roger replied with a smile.

'Nay.' The Czar extended his hand for Roger to kiss. 'There have been times when you have served us well. However, we had hoped that from Moscow you would re­turn to St. Petersburg, bringing us intelligence of Napo­leon's intentions.'

'Alas, Sire, I would I could have, and so been saved from starving near to death in your Russian snows. But the retreat was decided upon within hours of my rejoin­ing the Emperor, and I became caught up in it.'

'And now, what brings you here? Surely not only to tell us that Paris is as good as ours ?'

Nesselrode produced the letter. 'Mr. Brook brought this from the Prince de Benevent, Sire. Have I your permis­sion to open it?'

'Do so, Count, and read the contents to us.'

When he had listened to the letter, Alexander asked, 'What is your opinion about this?'

‘I would advise Your Imperial Majesty to accept the Prince's offer. His mansion is commodious and you could reside there in greater comfort than in many palaces. There is also the fact that, now King Joseph has fled, Talleyrand has become the most powerful man in Paris. He will have great influence with the Senate, and if you deign to accord him your friendship, he can do much to further your Imperial Majesty's designs.'

'So be it, then.' The handsome autocrat turned to Roger. 'We thank you, Mr. Brook, for bringing us the Prince's offer of his house. You may tell him that it is our pleasure to honour it by our acceptance.'

Roger bowed himself away, and by five o'clock was back in Paris. He found the mansion in the Rue St. Florentin crowded with people; not only Tallyrand's friends, such as the Duc de Dalberg who, although hold­ing a post in Napoleon's government was secretiy a Royalist and had brought about the meetings between the Prince and d'Artois's agent, the Baron de Vitrolles, but many important men who for a long time past had thought it dangerous to associate themselves with the crafty states­man. Immediately it had become known that the Council of Regency had fled from Paris, Talleyrand had become the man of the hour and everyone was eager to stand well with him.

Forcing his way through the crush toward him, Roger simply smiled and nodded. Returning the smile Talleyrand said in a low voice, 'France will owe you much, mon ami. The game is now as good as in our hands.'

Next morning the house was equally crowded and Roger learned from the Abbe du Pradt, another of Talley­rand's intimates, that a mansion in the Rue de Paradis was the scene of equal excitement, with cheering crowds outside in the street. It was that of Marshal Marmont. A few hours earlier he had received Count Nesselrode, Prince Orlof and Schwarzenberg's chief adjutant at one of the gates of Paris, and signed a surrender of the city. Instead of bewailing this humiliation, the fickle Parisians were acclaiming the Marshal as though he had won a great victory. They were to be spared the killings, the looting, the rape that had been the terrible lot of the in­habitants of the many great cities that the French troops had sacked without mercy. To render thanks to God was not enough, the population went delirious with joy - Meanwhile, Napoleon was distraught by the ill news that he was receiving from courier after courier. He had twice sent urgent despatches to Augereau requiring him to bring his army up from Lyon to aid in the defence of Paris, but the Marshal had ignored the order. Instead he had surrendered Lyon, and so betrayed his master. Napoleon's own contempt for Schwarzenberg had un­done him and the Allies were within a league of Paris. Not only had his beloved wife and son fled, but his brother Joseph, who should have remained to hold Paris, had be­trayed him and gone with them; although, under deter­mined leadership the many thousand National Guards in the city could have held it, at least until he arrived to their relief.

Still refusing to consider himself beaten, he turned his army about By incredible exertions, on the 29th it re-­entered Troyes, next day it reached Fontainebleau. Late at night on the 30th he actually came in sight of the camp fires of Marmont's troops, only to be utterly stricken by the news that their Marshal, too, had turned traitor and surrendered.

At ten o'clock on the morning of the 31st the Czar Alexander, with Francis of Austria and Frederick William of Prussia on either side of him, rode triumphantly down the Champs Elysees into Paris. The bulk of the city's popu­lation had hastily donned the White Cockade and groups of Royalists shouted 'Long live the Bourbons'.

On the Czar's arrival in the Rue St. Florentin Talley­rand, according to protocol, handed his mansion and its contents over to His Imperial Majesty who thanked him graciously and proceeded to settle in with his entourage. When the rooms had been satisfactorily allocated Talley­rand had the opportunity that he had so skilfully schemed for of a private conversation with Alexander.

The Czar announced that he wished the French to choose their own form of government by a plebiscite; but Talleyrand pointed out that this would take many weeks, and that they already had in the Senate a body representing the people.

Alexander expressed concern that the Senate might opt for a return to a Republic; whereas he, his fellow sovereigns and Lord Castlereagh all favoured France's becoming a limited monarchy.

Talleyrand assured him that he could control the extre­mists, so the only question that remained was whose name should be put forward to the Senate as the future King of France.

'The Emperor Francis,' said Alexander, 'would natural­ly like his grandson to assume that title, with his daughter, Marie Louise, as Regent.'

'Sire', Talleyrand replied. 'With a member of the Bonaparte dynasty on the throne, Napoleon would re­main, for all practical purposes the ruling power and, wherever he might be, dictate the policy of France.'

'You are right, and on those grounds the rest of us have already expressed our objections to Metternich. What think you though of Prince Eugene ?'

'As Napoleon's step-son and a man who had always displayed great devotion to him, the same objection applies, Sire.'

'Bernadotte, then. As Crown Prince of Sweden, he has shown himself to be a most capable administrator as well as a very able General.'

Talleyrand smiled. 'If we wanted a soldier to rule us, Sire, we already have the greatest one in the world.'

'The only alternative with which we are left seems to be the Bourbons,' the Czar remarked with obvious reluctance. 'But we do not like them, and neither do the French people. The Duc d'Angouleme has been well received in

Bordeaux, but during the passage of our armies through eastern France we saw not a sign of anyone desiring a Restoration. And can one wonder at that? These stupid, arrogant Princes have learned nothing during their twenty years of exile. They and their emigre nobility would at once strive to secure their ancient privileges, batten on the people and again earn their hatred by the suppression of liberty.'

'Permit me to submit, Sire,' Talleyrand replied suavely, 'that while your description of the Princes well fits the frivolous Comte d'Artois, it cannot fairly be applied to his elder brother, who would become King Louis XVIII. In the old days at Versailles, when he was known as the Comte de Provence, although our tastes were somewhat divergent, I had ample evidence of his character. He is far from a fool. He was knowledgeable about scientific matters and a talented geographer. He is a man of peace and tact. He would, I am convinced, grant a liberal con­stitution fully protecting the people's liberties and make an excellent ruler.

'Moreover, I beg leave to differ from Your Imperial Majesty in your assessment of the French people. The French Army is more devoted to its own glory than to Napoleon. The whole nation longs for peace and can find it only under the old dynasty.

'Finally, Sire, surely anyone so well-versed in statescraft as yourself must agree that we should be guided by a principle, and in this case it is legitimacy. The legitimate King of France is Louis XVIII'

The Czar nodded thoughtfully. 'There is much in what you say, Prince. We will think over the matter, and dis­cuss it with our allies.'

That evening there gathered round a long table the Czar and Nesselrode, the King of Prussia and his First

Minister Hardenberg, the Princes Schwarzenberg and Lichenstein, representing the Emperor of Austria, and Talleyrand and Dalberg to speak for the Bourbons. At small side tables sat secretaries to take notes, the Marquis de Joucourt and Roger acting for Talleyrand.

Alexander opened the proceedings by declaring that they had a choice of three possible courses: they could make peace with Napoleon, make Marie Louise Regent for her son, or restore the Bourbons. The first, he said, they had already agreed to be unacceptable, the second might lead to Napoleon continuing to influence events but the third was a possibility to which he was prepared to agree, provided that it was the will of France. He then called on the Prince de Benevent to put the case for the Bourbons.

Talleyrand did so with all his persuasive powers, and his arguments were accepted without dispute.

Next day a proclamation, signed by Alexander on be­half of the Allied Powers, was issued, inviting the Senate to appoint a Provisional Government. Talleyrand, as Vice Grand Elector, summoned the Senate. Only sixty-four out of the one hundred and forty attended this momentous gathering, and the Prince had no difficulty in securing their agreement to his proposals. A Provisional Govern­ment of five was formed, with him as its leader. On April 2nd the Senate and the Corps Legislative passed motions that Napoleon was deposed. On the 3rd the Provisional Government published an 'Address to the French Armies', urging them to separate from 'a man who is not even French'.

But Napoleon was still far from finished. At Fontainebleau during the past week he had succeeded in amassing from many quarters an army of sixty thousand men. On the 4th, when the news arrived that he had been deposed, he had a furious scene with his Marshals. Led by Ney they argued heatedly with him, insisting that to continue the war was futile, and eventually persuaded him to sign a form of abdication with which Caulaincourt was sent off to the Czar. But while it contained his agreement to relinquish the throne and leave France, it stipulated that the Empress should remain as Regent for his son.

The decision already reached by the Allies made this unacceptable. Caulaincourt had to return and tell Napo­leon so. This aroused in him a renewed burst of energy and fierce determination to fight to the bitter end. Orders were issued in all directions to prepare anew for a march on Paris.

Talleyrand received news of this in the middle of the night. The Provisional Government of five now held its sessions on the ground floor of the mansion; die first floor was occupied by the Czar and his entourage; so Roger had had to move up to an attic. Going up to it, the Prince woke Roger, told him what was about to happen and said:

'Mon ami, I ask one more service of you. Go to Napo­leon. If you tell him what you have recently seen in Paris with your own eyes, he will believe you. Tell him that Schwarzenberg has one hundred and forty thousand troops surrounding the city. That Marmont's men are now fraternising with those of his enemies and will take up arms against him. That the National Guard here now wear the White Cockade. That if he carries out his insane plan to march on Paris it will mean civil war. In your dis­suading him from entering on further hostilities lies our one hope now of saving many thousand lives.'

Reluctantly Roger consented. It was getting on for three months since he had seen Napoleon, so he no longer had to pretend to acute lameness, and had gradually given up aids to walking, using now only occasionally a stick for the sake of appearances. In the early hours of the morn­ing he set off in a light barouche for Fontainebleau, and arrived there soon after seven o'clock.

Napoleon was still asleep in bed, so Roger breakfasted in the headquarters Mess, simply telling old acquaintances who were there that, having recovered his health, he had come to offer his services: a plausible lie of which he felt ashamed, but it was readily accepted by his sadly de­pressed companions.

It was half-past nine before he was at last shown in to the presence. Napoleon's pale face was drawn with worry, and his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. He greeted Roger cordially and was eager to hear the latest news from Paris, but said that he was about to re­ceive his Marshals, so that must wait until later.

A few minutes afterwards those of his paladins who remained with him were ushered in: Berthier, Ney, Oudinot, Lefebvre and Macdonald. With them were Caulaincourt, who had striven so desperately to secure an acceptable peace for-him, and his ex-Foreign Minister, Marat, Duc de Bassano.

Once more animated by enthusiasm he spoke to them of the coming campaign. He would lead the way in per­son at the head of his devoted Imperial Guard, which still numbered nine thousand men. He had a new plan. They would strike south, by-pass Schwarzenberg's Austrians round Paris, march to the Loire, then join up with the armies of Suchct and Soult. His own sixty thousand to­gether with their troops would again give him two hundred thousand men.

His audience heard him out in gloomy silence. Then they began to upbraid him for demanding further sacri­fices in a cause now completely lost. Macdonald, who had just arrived with his weary corps, said, 'Our horses can go no further, we have not enough ammunition left for a single skirmish, and no means of obtaining more.'

Others declared that to continue the fight would result in civil war, and that now he had been deposed as Emperor he had no right to demand their allegiance.

At that he burst out furiously, 'You want repose! You are seeking peace for your own ease, but the army is still loyal and will obey me.'

'No,' retorted Ney bluntly. 'It will obey its com­manders.'

At that Napoleon gave way in despair. The Marshals trooped out of the room and Roger went with them. He had seen enough to know that anything he had meant to say was now redundant. The attitude of the Marshals made it clear that they would no longer lead their men into battle; so Napoleon was finished. With these welcome tidings he returned to Paris.

On that same day, April 6th, Talleyrand submitted to the Chamber a Constitutional Charter, which was duly adopted. It summoned to the throne Louis Stanislas Xavier, brother of the late King, on his swearing to adhere to the constitutional rights and liberties of the people, con­tained in the document.

After further negotiations with the Allies concerning conditions, Napoleon signed an abdication in accordance with their wishes. He was to keep the title of Emperor, but—at the insistence of the Czar, in preference to various other places suggested—exiled to the island of Elba with his own guard of four hundred—later increased to one thousand—troops. The Empress was to be given three Italian duchies, and her son would bear the title of Duke of Parma, that being the largest of the three. An annual income of two million francs was to be divided equally between Napoleon and Marie Louise and two and a half million francs allotted to the other Bonapartes between them.

Louis XVIII, then fifty-nine years of age, was immensely fat and severely afflicted with gout. Just at this time he was suffering so greatly from a bout that it was impossible for him to leave England. In consequence it was arranged that his brother, the Comte d'Artois, should enter Paris as his representative and Lieutenant General of the Kingdom on April 12th. The ratification of the Treaty of Fontainebleau, as Napoleon's abdication was termed, was fixed for the 11th.

Roger, relaxed and happy now that peace had at last been restored after all these years, was greatly looking forward to getting home and henceforth leading a life of carefree ease. But he decided to stay on for a week or so in Paris, to witness the entry of the Comte d'Artois and join in the celebrations of the Restoration.

He was not destined to do so. On the 9th Lord Castlereagh arrived to sign the Treaty on behalf of Britain, on the 11th. That night he attended a reception given by the Czar at Talleyrand's. On seeing Roger he came up to him and said, 'Before I left London the Duchess of Kew came to see me. She had reason to believe that I should find you here, and asked me, if I did, to give you this letter.'

Having thanked the Foreign Minister, Roger tore the envelope open. It contained only a brief note :

'Roger my Heart,

'I am distraught with worry. I have reason to believe both Susan and Charles have fallen into evil hands and are in great peril. I beg you, by your love for me to hasten to my assistance without a moments delay.

'Ever your Georgina’

Half an hour later, in one of Talleyrand's coaches, drawn by six horses, Roger was on his way to Calais.

23

Lost, Stolen or Strayed

The speed with which the coach covered the one hundred and fifty miles to Calais served no useful purpose, because when Roger reached the port a storm was raging. News of Napoleon's surrender had reached the city two days earlier and now that the war was over Roger had no need to seek out a smuggler; so had the weather been even moderate any skipper would have been willing to run him across the Straits for a few gold pieces. But a fierce wind, coupled with a Spring tide, rendered any attempt to cross the Channel suicidal.

Angry and intensely worried, he drove to the best inn, ate a belated breakfast; then, not having slept during his journey, went straight to bed. When he woke late in the afternoon his mind immediately resumed the futile specu­lations with which it had been plagued all through the night.

What could be the trouble that had caused Georgina to send for him so urgently? Into whose hands had Susan and Charles fallen? At first, the coupling of their names had puzzled him, because he had believed Charles to be with Wellington's army somewhere in south-western France. But only through Charles could Georgina have learned that from the Pyrenees he had returned to Paris at Talleyrand's request, and so might be found through him by Lord Castlereagh. Charles could have sent her that information in a letter, but it seemed more probable that, for some reason, he had gone to England. But why should the two young people be in peril ? And from whom, or what?

In vain Roger racked his brains. The answer to this mystery could be found only across the Channel, and one glance through the window showed that while he slept there had been no improvement in the weather.

It was not until the afternoon of the following day, the 11th, that die sea subsided to an oily swell. Regardless of price, Roger had already arranged for a yacht, said to be the fastest in the harbour, to take him over, and the wind being favourable it arrived off Dover in the early hours of the morning. But the customs men at Dover having for so long had no dealings with French vessels, Roger's land­ing was delayed until, by threats of reporting this obstruc­tion to the Admiralty, a senior official had been got out of bed and taken responsibility for his being allowed to come ashore. By the time he had roused an innkeeper, hired a coach and been driven to London it was well past mid­day.

Feeling certain that, having sent for him, Georgina would not be in the country but hopefully awaiting his arrival in London, he had himself driven straight to Kew House. He proved right in that, and was shown up to her. Dishevelled and unshaven as he was she gave a cry of joy when he entered her boudoir, ran forward, threw her arms about him and burst into tears.

'There, there, my sweet,' he soothed her, clasping her to him. 'I would have been here two days since, but for the accursed weather. Tell me now, what has occurred to cause you such distress?'

"Tis Susan and Charles,' she sobbed. 'They are both become Satanists.'

'Oh, come!' he expostulated. 'That is more than I can credit.'

"Tis so,' she insisted. 'There is no other explanation for their conduct.'

Putting an arm round her waist he led her to a sofa, pulled her down beside him and said, 'I beg you, my love, calm yourself and tell me all from the begin­ning.'

Dabbing at her eyes with a scrap of lace handkerchief, Georgina drew a deep breath, then said more quietly, "Tis all the fault of that little vixen, Jemima, Maureen Luggala's daughter. I could kill her. Soon after Charles went to the war she and Susan became bosom friends. When we were in London they went everywhere together. Scarce a day passed without their seeing each other. The girl had good manners, an amusing if somewhat bitter wit, and her name had never been linked with any scandal, so I made no objection to their friendship. Then in February Lady Luggala decided to return to her home in Dublin for a while, and invited Susan to go over on a visit. To pleasure Susan I had had Jemima to stay both at Stillwaters and Newmarket, so 'twas only a return of hospitality, and Susan had never been to Ireland. I agreed to her going with them.

'The visit was to have been for a fortnight, but early in March Susan wrote to me that she was enjoying herself so greatly in Dublin that she wished to stay on a while longer. I replied that she could, but must be back by the middle of the mouth, to choose stuffs and have her clothes made for the coming season. She replied, again postpon­ing her return. I wrote insisting that she should be back by the 24th. Then, to my amazement, she defied me and calmly stated that 'twas her intention to pass the summer in Ireland.

'On the day that I received her missive, Charles arrived unexpectedly from France. The Duke had sent him home with despatches describing d'Angouleme's enthusiastic reception in Bordeaux. Naturally he was upset by Susan's behaviour and wrote to her himself. A reply came four days later, but not from Susan. It was from Lady Luggala, and when we read it we were both amazed and horrified.

'She blamed herself bitterly for not having taken more serious notice of the way in which the two girls had been spending much of their time. They had become interested in mesmerism and were regularly attending meetings of a society to do with the occult. Susan had said nothing to her of my letters telling her she must come home, and she had been happy to have her stay on. Then, when she learned what the girls had been doing she had forbade them to go to further meetings. To her utter consterna­tion they then revealed to her that they had both been initiated and had become witches themselves.'

'God's death!' Roger exclaimed. ‘I no longer wonder at finding you in such a state.'

'But even that is not the worst,' Georgina began to sob again. 'There was a violent quarrel, the girls refused to listen to reason. They packed their things and, although Maureen Luggala did her best to prevent them, they left the house.'

'What, to go to this witch?'

'One can only suppose so. But that is not all. When we read Maureen's letter, Charles was distraught. He left immediately for Ireland, to go in search of Susan and bring her back.'

'That must have been three weeks ago. Surely by now he would have traced the girls. What news has he sent you of his endeavours to do so ?'

'None. And 'tis that which puts a crown upon my misery. After some days, hearing nothing from him, I wrote to Lady Luggala. Her reply reached me early this month. She said he had not been to her house, and she has heard nothing of his being in Dublin. He, as well as both the girls, has completely disappeared. In my extremity my thoughts naturally turned to you. Charles had told me that, when you left him at the Duke's headquarters, you were about to return to Paris and stay again with Talley­rand. It was common knowledge that Lord Castlereagh was crossing to France to sign the Treaty, so I asked him to take my note to you. From fear it might fall into wrong hands and so blacken Susan's reputation I dared not give particulars of this awful business, but I knew that my appeal to you would not be in vain.'

'I lost not a moment. In fact I left in the midst of a reception and, as I have said, would have been here early yesterday but for the weather.' Roger paused a moment, then went on with a frown, 'That two credulous young females should have allowed themselves to fall under the spell of some evil woman of strong personality is deplor­able, but not remarkable. It is Charles's disappearance that is so inexplicable. Had he been a courier or servant and met his death in an accident, little notice would have been taken; but as an Earl his death could not fail to have been reported in the news sheets.'

Georgina sighed. 'Alas, there is a possible explanation, though the thought of it fills me with horror.'

'Whatever it may be, you must tell me of it.'

'When I showed him Maureen Luggala's letter about the two girls having become witches, he made a confession to me. The autumn before last a friend of his introduced

him to an occult circle known as the New Hell Fire Club. He said that he took no particular interest in the cere­monies that were performed there, but joined the club for the excitement of participating afterwards in orgies in which partners were drawn by lots and both men and women remained masked. After midnight on last year's New Year's Eve he left a ball that I gave in Berkeley Square to attend a meeting of the club. Unknown to him Susan also left the ball with a Captain Hawksbury. She was under the impression that he meant to take her for an hour or two to a normal private party, but he took her to this club.'

'What!' Roger exclaimed, his blue eyes flashing with anger. 'By God, I'll kill him for this.'

'You are spared the trouble. He was killed last summer in a brawl. But fortunately Susan came to no harm. Before the orgy was due to start, the witch who ran the place stripped herself naked and began to perform some lech­erous act with her high priest and a negro. In horrified disgust Susan demanded that Hawksbury should take her away. He refused. There was an altercation. She was masked, but Charles was near by and recognised her voice. After a fight, by a miracle he got her out of the house.'

'Praise be for that! But what you tell me explains your fear for Charles. He may have told you that he joined the Hell Fire Club only for the excitement of having masked women who neither needed elaborate courting nor were ordinary whores, out of reluctance to admit that he had actually become a Satanist.'

Georgina nodded. 'Yes. That is the thought that so appals me. He may have found the girls with the witch and been persuaded to join them.'

'Think you this Lady Luggala was telling the truth and the whole truth, in the letters she wrote you ? What sort of woman is she?'

'I have no reason to doubt it. She is the widow of an Irish baronet and, I should say, comes herself from a reputable family. She is about my age and quite good-looking, but self-centred, somewhat vain and not over­burdened with brains.'

'It seems then reasonably plausible that she would not have concerned herself greatly about the girls' doings, so allowed them to go where they pleased, with no more than an occasional question.'

'I am sure that is so from her attitude toward her daughter. Jemima was much the stronger character, and had quite a temper. Susan once told me Maureen often let Jemima have her own way rather than risk a scene.'

'Then, apart from negligence, it would appear that no blame in this awful affair attaches to Lady Luggala. But I shall want her address, so that I may call on and ques­tion her as soon as I get to Dublin.'

From a casket on a nearby buhl table Georgina took a packet of letters, and said, 'Here are those from Susan as well as Maureen Luggala's. You had best read them all.'

Roger did so in the sequence of the dates on which they had been written. As he handed them back, he remarked, 'There is something about Susan's last letter that strikes me as a little queer. It is her usual scrawl, so they were all penned by her without a doubt, but somehow the phrase­ology strikes me as out of keeping with her character, and she does not show the great affection we know her to have for you.'

'That struck me, too,' Georgina nodded. 'In fact, when I received the last one from her I re-read them all, and I had a feeling that it might have been dictated.'

"Tis just possible. You say this girl Jemima has a very

strong character, and has great influence over her. If they have been monkeying with mesmerism she may have achieved control over Susan's mind. I'd not be surprised if that were not the root of the whole trouble.'

Changing the subject he went on, 'I'd be on the Bristol coach this evening had I not been away all these months from poor little Mary. As things are, I know you'll under­stand if I delay to spend tonight with her, and set out for Dublin tomorrow. How fares it with her, or have you not seen her recently ?'

Georgina hesitated a moment. 'Until this present trouble arose I've not been in London since January. And I did not run across her during the little season. I gather she goes very seldom into society these days.'

'Ah, well, it will be a fine surprise for her that I am come home at last, and now the war is over soon be able to settle down with her for good. I've kept the coach I hired below, and if you'll forgive me, sweet, I'll now be on my way to Richmond.'

'If you must, dear heart, but you have travelled over­night from Dover, and will be travelling again tomorrow. 'Tis not for selfish reasons I suggest it, but would it not be best for you to dismiss your coach and take mine later? Meanwhile, lie down and nap in a bedroom here for an hour or so, then let me send you on your way fortified with a good meal.'

Although Roger had managed to prevent himself from being seasick during the crossing, he had felt far from well, and the hours of jolting in the hired coach had fatigued him, so he saw the sense in Georgina's proposal and smil­ingly agreed to it.

No sooner was he stretched out on a bed than he fell sound asleep, and would have slept on had not Georgina come to wake him at three o'clock. Over their early dinner they agreed not to mention Susan or Charles, and he gave an account of his last, hectic days in France before Napo­leon's abdication. By four o'clock they had taken a fond leave of each other, and he left Kew House in her coach.

In a little under an hour the coach was within a hun­dred yards of Thatched House Lodge. Putting his head out of the window, Roger called up to the coachman, 'Drive straight into the stable yard, then you can water the horses and take a mug of ale with my man before you drive back.'

At the sound of the horses' hooves on the cobbles of the yard, old Dan Izzard came running down from his quar­ters over the coach-house, and as Roger alighted cried happily:

'Why, bless me, 'tis the master! I been hopin' now the war'be over ye'd soon be home agin.'

Roger shook the smiling ex-smuggler warmly by the hand. "Tis good to see you, Dan, and soon now you'll be sick of the sight of me for ever lounging about the place. How is Her Ladyship?'

The smile left Dan's wrinkled face, and his glance shifted slightly as he replied, 'Oh, she be pretty well; but I don't see much o' her these days. She don't ride no more and scarce ever drives out. The horses be eatin' they's heads off.'

During his drive from London Roger's mind had been entirely occupied with worry about Susan and Charier, so he had thought no more of Georgina's vague reply t« his enquiry about Mary. Now, with a frown, he turnei! quickly away, strode across the yard and entered the house by the back door.

A maid was sitting knitting in the kitchen. She came quickly to her feet, and he acknowledged with a nod the bob she made him, then walked through the dining room to the drawing room. There was no-one there. Grossing the hall, he looked into the small sitting room. There was no-one there, either. As he turned away, his housekeeper, Mrs. Muffet, came down the stairs. Her eyes widened on seeing him, then she forced a smile and greeted him pleasantly. He also forced a smile as he replied, then asked curtly:

'Where is Her Ladyship ?'

'Up in her bedroom, Sir’.'

'Is she ill?'

'No . . . No, Sir. But she . . . she spends a lot of her time in bed now.'

Instead of asking what the devil Mary was doing in bed at five o'clock in the afternoon if she was not ill, Roger took the stairs two at a time, strode down the corridor and, without knocking, flung open the door of the bedroom he shared with Mary.

She was half-lying in bed, propped up by three pillows. The dreamy look on her face was replaced by a startled stare as her eyes met Roger's. Jerking herself upright, she exclaimed:

'Why, bless my soul! If it's not the man who calls him­self my husband!'

Her words were slurred, and Roger's glance had taken in the fact that a decanter two-thirds full and a half-empty glass of port stood on a table beside the bed.

'What the hell's the meaning of this?' he snapped. 'You're drunk! How can you so shame yourself with the knowledge of the servants?'

Mary lay back and smiled seraphically. 'Not . . . not drunk, darling. Jus' a little tipsy. Tha's all.'

'You're drunk!' he retorted angrily. 'And I gather this afternoon is no exception. You make a habit of it. God alive, Mary! Whatin the world has driven you to become a drunkard?'

'Nothin' else to do. Man I married leaves me after a ... a few months, an' goes galli . . . gallivanting about on... on the Continent.'

'Oh, come now, Mary,' he said more gently. 'You know I had no option but to go in search of Charles.'

'Oh yes, you did. You . . . you pref . . . preferred to leave your wife rather than dis . . . displease that gilded whore the . . . the Duchess of Kew.'

'Mary! How dare you refer to Georgina as a whore.'

"Cause she's a whore. Every . . . everyone knows it. Besides yourself she's had a ... a score of men in her bed. But . . . but, talking of bed, now you're home you . . . you might as well get your, clothes off an' . . . an' come into mine.'

'For two people who care for each other to get gay on wine before making love is one thing,' Roger replied icily. 'To go to bed with a drunken woman is quite another, and a pastime I have never wished to experience.'

Stepping back he slammed the door and, white with rage, stamped downstairs.

In the library he poured himself a stiff brandy. His hand was shaking and his mind bemused. In his wildest dreams he had never imagined such a scene as had just taken place. What a homecoming! True, he had quar­relled with Mary before leaving for Spain, and he had been mainly to blame. But Georgina had brought them together as he was about to board the frigate, and they had made it up.

What should he do now? Best leave her to sleep it off and talk some sense into her in the morning. With him at home she would soon be cured of this habit of drinking.

But, no. Tomorrow he had to go to Dublin. When he told her that, there would be the most frightful scene. And he had counted on her this evening to take his mind off this terrible business of Susan and Charles. Now he would have to dine alone and brood about it half the night.

The thought was unbearable. To hell with it. He would return to London and sleep at Amesbury House. As the season had not started, it was unlikely that Droopy would be there, but he could sup at White's and, for once, dis­tract his mind by gambling; then, with a bottle or two inside him, get some sleep.

Tossing off the brandy that remained in his glass, he marched out to the stables, shouted for Dan, had him saddle a horse, and ten minutes later was cantering off toward the park gate.

On reaching Amesbury House a pleasant surprise awaited him. The footman who answered the door told him that his Lordship was in London and at home. The reason for this emerged when Roger was shown into the library and the friends had exchanged greetings. Lord Amesbury had died in December, so Droopy was now the Earl, and had come up to take his seat in the House of Lords.

When they had settled down Roger began to pour out his woes to his old friend, first describing his most recent trouble of arriving home to find that Mary had taken to drink.

At that Droopy nodded his narrow head with its bird­like beak of a nose, and said unexpectedly, 'I am not greatly surprised. Until you brought her back from America she had not lived in England since she was mar­ried to that city merchant. It has ever been customary for persons of quality to look down upon anyone in trade; so, although she is daughter to an Earl, she could not be received without her husband. Naturally, she was not invited anywhere. By marrying her you restored her posi­tion in society, but between your return from America and your departure for Spain there was not time enough for her to make any intimate friends in our own circle. Georgina, I know, did her best to cultivate her, but for a reason you can well guess, Mary cold-shouldered the approaches of your lovely Duchess. I drove out to Rich­mond now and again to visit her until last November, but it was then that my father became ill, so I had to remain at Normanrood with him. Since his death I have been pestiferous busy on matters concerning his estate, so it is six months or more since I have seen her. Friendless, and neglected by you as she has been, what could you expect? What option had the poor girl but either to take a lover or take to the bottle? Now that you are home again and, praise be, for good, you'll soon have her sober and loving again.'

Roger nodded. 'There is much in what you say, Ned; and I'll confess I had not previously looked at the matter in that light. As soon as I can I'll put things right and make up to her for my long absence. But, alas, I cannot do so yet. Tomorrow I have to leave for Dublin.'

'Dublin!' Droopy leaned forward, peering with his short-sighted eyes at Roger. 'Why, in God's name, must you go there?'

With a heavy sigh Roger began to tell him all he had learned from Georgina about Susan and Charles. When he came to recount how, unknown to each other, they had gone to a New Year's Eve meeting of the New Hell Fire Club, Droopy interrupted :

'Wait one moment. This stirs a memory in my mind that may be of use to you.'

'You know of the place, then ?'

'Yes, I am acquainted with several wealthy rakes who were members and, from their accounts of it, quite a num­ber of titled dames participated in the Satanic revels. It was run by an Irish woman named Katie O'Brien and an unfrocked Catholic priest, one Father Damien. As they fled the country last autumn, it may well be that they went to Dublin and started another devil's circle there. Quite possibly 'tis she who has Susan and the young Luggala girl in her toils. That, too, could account for Charles's disappearance. Since he was in cahoots with her when she was here in London and may have found the girls with her in Dublin, maybe he decided to join the coven willingly, or perhaps she has some hold over him and used it to make him remain with them.'

'You may well be right about Charles,' Roger nodded. 'But why did the witch and her priest flee the country? I would have supposed that, having so many influential patrons, they would have had ample protection.'

'Against a charge of practising witchcraft, yes; but not for that which would have been brought against them. A great part of the Irish are loyal to the Crown, as witness the fine performance in battle of the Irish regiments under Wellington; but there are others who would have Ireland become a Republic and would have aided the French had they landed there. Katie O'Brien was such a one, and under cover of running her Hell Fire Club for bawdy decadents she was collecting information for our enemies. That emerged at the trial of a Dutchman named Corne­lius Quelp, after he was arrested as a secret agent of the French. He had acted as her postman. But, as you would expect, all mention of what really went on at the Club was suppressed. Money talks and at the trial it was simply described as a gaining house.'

‘I feel certain that Charles would never have given such a woman information that might be damaging to his country; so, if she has a hold over him, it cannot be any­thing of that kind.'

Droopy shrugged. 'Who can say? He was then quite young and inexperienced. He may have done so in all innocence and only realised his folly later.'

After a moment Roger asked, 'What of this woman, Maureen Luggala. Did you know her?'

'Not well, but I met her on occasions at large gather­ings.'

'What thought you of her ?'

'She was passable good-looking and had a well-rounded figure. She was a somewhat vapid creature, and I imagine not difficult to persuade to let one share her bed, for she was always ogling the men—though in fairness I must say I never heard her name coupled with one.'

'You term her vapid, and Georgina described her as stupid, and self-centred; yet, however wrapped up in her own affairs she may be, I find it difficult to credit that during all those weeks she remained entirely oblivious of the fact that the two girls had begun to dabble in witch­craft.'

'They would naturally have taken every precaution to hide it from her, and it may be her shallow mind was entirely occupied by some other interest—a lover per­haps.'

Roger frowned. 'Your suggestion gives me food for thought. You have implied that she sought to attract our sex, yet she was clearly careful of her reputation. As a widow and only a little over forty who apparently craved satisfaction, does it not strike you that she was the type of woman who might have been a member of the Hell Fire Club. Masked she could have preserved her incognito, and her good figure would have made her acceptable.'

'If you are right, that would explain many things.'

'Indeed it would. The reason for her leaving England would have been to follow the O'Brien woman to Dublin, and there continue the association. She, not her daughter, may be at the root of the trouble. If she is a Satanist her­self, she would have initiated the two girls, and her letter to Georgina be a pack of lies designed to keep Susan in Ireland by alleging that she has disappeared.'

'And when young Charles arrived, having been a pre­vious member of the club he decided to throw in his lot with those people instead of bringing Susan home.'

'That could well be, since he has long been in love with Susan. Under this evil woman's influence she could have tempted him and, rather than lose her, he elected to re­main.'

Over supper the two friends speculated further, but neither could produce any other theory, so they turned to Napoleon's defeat and abdication, while polishing off the best part of two bottles of Chateau Lafitte, followed by old port wine. These liberal potations ensured Roger a good night's sleep. But in the morning, instead of going to the Bristol coach station, he walked across St. James's Park to Birdcage Walk.

It was in a house there that, when he had first become a secret agent, he had made his reports to a Mr. Gilbert Maxwell. Later he had dealt direct with Mr. Pitt and a succession of Ministers of Foreign Affairs; but he had often had occasion to collect documents and money from a Mr. Desmond Knight, who had succeeded Max­well, and he now sent up his name to him.

Mr. Knight was a tall, thin, greyhaired man. He re­ceived Roger courteously, then asked in what way he could be of service to him.

‘It is a private matter,' Roger smiled, 'but, knowing you as well as I do, I feel sure you will not refuse me your help. I am anxious to learn all you can tell me about a man named Cornelius Quelp: a Dutchman who was tried and convicted some months ago as a secret agent in the pay of the French.'

Mr. Knight returned his smile. 'Mr. Brook, we have many secrets here, but none from a man so intimately acquainted with such affairs as yourself. Mynheer Quelp was sentenced to three years hard labour and is now quarrying stone on Dartmoor. What do you wish to know about him?'

‘I understand that he acted as courier for a woman named Katie O'Brien, who collected information for our enemies. She lived in a house out at Islington. No doubt you know what went on there?'

'Yes; she was known as the Irish Witch, and ran a Satanic circle, called the New Hell Fire Club. Unfor­tunately, before her connection with Quelp emerged at his trial, she got away to Ireland.'

'So I gather. But why was she not arrested by our auth­orities there?'

'Because we could trace her only as far as Dublin. From there she disappeared.'

‘I am told she is possibly there now, running another Satanic circle.'

'If she is it must be under another name, otherwise we should have learned of it.'

'Did you perchance secure a list of the members of the Hell Fire Club?'

'Yes, although by no means a complete one. The mem­bers went to considerable pains to conceal their identities. They put on masks before entering the house. But discreet enquiries among the coachmen of the nobility gave us the names of some thirty-odd people who had been driven there at night and not returned until the early hours of the morning. Some, too, visited the house fairly frequently in daylight.'

'Was Lady Luggala among them?'

'Yes. She, I recall, was one of the regular visitors.'

Roger's guess had been right. He smiled grimly, then said, 'Mr. Knight, reverting to espionage. It will naturally have occurred to you that the woman O'Brien must have obtained much of the information she passed on to our enemies from the members of her club. Were many of them prosecuted on that account?'

The Secret Service chief shook his head. 'No, Mr. Brook. The majority of them, I am sure, were entirely ignorant of that side of the woman's activities, and anything she received from others would have been by word of mouth. There were a few that we sus­pected, but we had not a tittle of evidence against them.'

'Was Lady Luggala among those you suspected?'

'Yes, for a variety of reasons. She was one of the witch's most frequent visitors. They were both Irish and she was living beyond her means. Our undercover man at Coutt's traced several drafts on the O'Brien's account made pay­able to Lady Luggala.'

'She is now living in Dublin and I am about to proceed there. I have reason to believe that, given your help, I could secure the evidence needed to convict her and, per­haps, others.'

'Indeed! Well, the war, thank God, is over; but all the same if there are grounds for believing that she gave infor­mation to an enemy agent, she should certainly be brought to trial. What help do you need ?'

'Authority to enter her house, to search it, to question her servants and, if my suspicions are correct, to arrest her.'

Mr. Knight hesitated. 'Mr. Brook, as you are not an official agent of the Grown, you are asking a lot, particu­larly the right to take her into custody.'

'If, having got the evidence we need I am not em­powered to do so, before I can get a warrant from a magistrate she will have the chance to disappear, as the other woman has done. You know enough about me to be sure that I should not abuse such powers as you may give me.'

'True, true, Mr. Brook. I am sure you would not. In the intimate circle in which we move, you are become almost a legendary figure. I recall that there have even been times when you have been given Lettres de Marque to speak on behalf of Prime Ministers. Unorthodox as your request is, it would be unreasonable in me not to grant it.'

As he spoke Mr. Knight tinkled a bell on his desk. A secretary came in and, a quarter of an hour later, Roger left the house with the papers he had asked for in his pocket.

He lunched at White's, wrote a brief, loving note to Georgina, just to let her know he had stumbled upon one lead that he hoped would facilitate his search for Susan and Charles; then, having said good-bye to Droopy, he took the night coach to Bristol.

Next morning, having booked himself a cabin at the ferry office, he had a clerk there produce the register of passengers who had taken tickets to cross during the last week in March and found that Charles had sailed on the 25th.

Satisfied that no accident had befallen Charles before leaving England, he went aboard and ordered champagne and dry biscuits; having found from long experience that sipping the one and nibbling the other gave the best hope that the queasiness from which he always suffered when at sea would not become actually sickness.

On landing in Dublin he hired a coach and told the driver to take him in turn to the best hostelries in the city. The second at which they halted was the Grown and Shamrock. His inquiry produced the information that the Earl of St. Ermins had arrived there on March 26th and stayed two nights, then departed leaving no address. He had not been seen there since.

Having taken a room, unpacked and had a meal, Roger went out and bought himself a cheap, ready-made trouser suit of brown cloth, a cloak of Irish homespun, a pair of heavy boots and a top hat made of shiny, black water­proof material. Taking his purchases back to the Grown and Shamrock, he changed into them, scruffed the boots and battered the hat a little, then slipped down the back stairs and into the stable yard.

By then it was growing dark. Out in the street, after enquiring of a passer-by, he soon found his way to Merrion Square, in which Lady Luggala had her house. On find­ing the number he was greatly relieved to see chinks of light coming from between the drawn curtains of a room on die first floor, which implied that she was at home, but no sounds suggesting that an entertainment was in pro­gress. There were also lights in the basement.

From what Mr. Knight had told him, it was quite cer­tain that Maureen Luggala was intimate with Katie O'Brien, and he felt convinced that she could tell him where to find the witch. With her, he had little doubt, were Susan and Charles. There was also good reason to believe that Maureen had furnished information to the spy Quelp; but he had no proof of that. He had a warrant for her arrest in his pocket, but he could not use it. By con­fronting her, as he meant to do, he was taking a great gamble. If she called his bluff, gone would be the only lead he had to tracing and rescuing from the devil's clutches the two young people he loved.

24

Blackmail

Roger walked down the area steps and pulled the beli chain. A few minutes later the door was opened by a foot­man in a striped waistcoat and shirt sleeves.

In a gruff voice Roger said to him, ‘I am one of the Viceroy's police agents from up at the castle. Are all the servants in?'

'Yes,' replied the man, with a scared look. 'It is having our bite of supper we are.'

Having judged the time of his call carefully, that was what Roger had hoped for, and he said, 'Good. Take me to them and I'll see you all together.'

The footman led him down a smelly passage, past the open door of a kitchen and into a room beyond it at the back of the house. Only one other man and three females were seated at a table, confirming Mr. Knight's statement that Lady Luggala was by no means well off, or she would have had a bigger staff. It transpired that the footman also acted as butler; the other man, an uncouth-looking lout, did the chores, the eldest woman was the cook, a pretty girl in her twenties combined the duties of lady's maid and housemaid, and a teenaged drab did the scubbing.

The three senior servants all had lilting Irish accents, the other two could speak only Erse. It was from the footman and the lady's maid that Roger got the information he wanted, and without their even asking to see his papers, as his manner of speaking told them that he was English, and his having said he came from the castle filled them with awe.

They confirmed that Lady Luggala and Jemima had arrived from England with Susan in mid-February. In mid-March all three had left Dublin in a hired coach, as her ladyship did not keep one of her own, but she had not said where they were going. Two days later Lady Luggala had returned alone. Then, one afternoon toward the end of March, a young English milord had called and spent over two hours with her ladyship. Two evenings later she had entertained both the young lord and a tall, lean priest to dinner. After the meal the priest and the young lord had driven off together in the priest's coach, but the servants had no idea where. Since then they had not seen either of the young ladies nor the English milord, and her ladyship had had no other guests to stay.

Roger then asked if any of them knew a woman named Katie O'Brien and, if so, when they had last seen her.

All of them shook their heads, with the exception of the middle-aged cook, who had been in Lady Luggala's service much longer than the others. She replied that in the old days, before her ladyship went to live in London, she had a friend of that name, who came frequently to see her; but since her return they had neither seen nor heard anything of Mrs. O'Brien.

Convinced that he could learn no more from them, Roger enquired if her ladyship was alone upstairs. When they said that she was, he bade the footman put on his jacket and take him up to her. But, before leaving the room, as a precaution against the cook having lied and perhaps leaving as soon as his back was turned, to warn the witch that Lady Luggala was being questioned by the police, he said sternly:

'All of you will remain here until I come downstairs. If any of you leave the house you will be charged with aiding and abetting a very serious crime.'

They could not know it to be an empty threat, and cowed into silence they resumed their supper of potatoes, bread and pickles.

Upstairs, outside the door of the drawing room, the foot­man asked whom he should announce, but Roger ignored him, pushed him aside, walked into the room and shut the door behind him.

Maureen Luggala was lying on a chaise longue, wear­ing a negligee and reading a French paper-back novel. At Roger's entrance she dropped the book, stared up in surprise and demanded:

'Who... who are you ?'

Roger made a leg and replied with deceptive courtesy. 'May it please Your Ladyship, I am a government agent from London, and it is my duty to question you on a very serious matter.'

'I... I don't understand,' she faltered.

'The name Katie O'Brien will not be unknown to Your Ladyship?'

'I... yes. I knew her when I lived in Dublin some years ago.'

'And more recently when you both lived in London.'

Maureen Luggala came to her feet, pulled her negligee round her and said angrily, 'With whom I am acquainted has nothing to do with you, and I have committed no crime to be questioned in this manner.'

'My superiors are of a different opinion, milady,' Roger smiled a little grimly. 'A regular visitor to Mrs. O'Brien's house in Islington was a Dutchman, named Cornelius

Quelp. You, too, were a regular visitor, and you met him there.'

The blood drained from Maureen's face, so that the patches of rouge on her cheeks stood out and she pressed one hand over her wildly beating heart.

'Quelp was arrested as an enemy agent, tried, con­victed and is now in prison,' Roger went on inexorably. 'We have recently come upon evidence, milady, that you supplied him with information to the detriment of the safety of the realm.'

‘I... no,' she gasped. 'I told him nothing of importance. Perhaps I talked foolishly, but I had no idea that he was an enemy agent.'

Roger had no evidence, but his bluff had succeeded. 'Quelp will testify that you did know,’ he declared harsh­ly. 'And your assertion that the information was of no importance is untrue. Otherwise you would not have been paid for it, as you were through Coutts Bank by Mrs. O'Brien.'

His stricken victim collapsed on to the chaise longue and covered her face with her hands. Then after a moment she withdrew them and panted, "Tis not true. The money was not for that. I am far from rich and was taking a daughter out in fashionable London society. Katie O'Brien is the girl's god-mother, and she helped to finance me.'

Drawing a paper from his pocket, Roger told her stern­ly, 'At your trial you will have the opportunity of trying to persuade the jury of your innocence, but I'd wager big odds on it that you will fail. And I have here a warrant for your arrest.'

'No!' Her voice quavered and tears began to run down her cheeks. 'No, please! I've done no real harm. I'm cer­tain of it. And the war is over. I'd be ruined, ruined!'

'That would be only justice, since you have been re­sponsible for the ruin of others,' Roger snapped. Then, abandoning his role of a government official, he sat down in an armchair, crossed his legs and went on in a quieter tone, 'And now we will talk of that. I am wearing these clothes only because they are better suited for questioning your servants than my usual attire, which might have made them doubt my being a police agent.'

She looked up quickly, with new hope in her pale blue eyes. 'Then you are not... All this...'

'Oh, yes I am,' he asserted quickly. 'I will show you the papers I carry if you wish. But I have assumed the role only temporarily. Although we have never met, my name is not unknown to you. It is Roger Brook.'

She stared at him aghast. 'Then ... then you are Susan's father.'

He nodded. 'And god-father to the Earl of St. Ermins. My primary purpose in coming here is to find out what has become of them. I am convinced that you know and could take me to them.'

'No!' she shook her head violently. 'I cannot. I've no idea where they are. The two girls left me against my wish. And I've not seen the young Earl since I left London.'

'You are lying, woman. That was the story you told the Duchess of Kew in your letter to her, but I know the truth. I had it out of your servants before I came up here. The girls left this house with you in mid-March in a hired coach, and St. Ermins also left here with, presumably, a friend of yours—a priest—on the 29th of that month.'

She shuddered. ‘I know! I know! It was stupid of me not to realise that you would have found out. But I can't take you to them, I can't!'

'You can, and you will,' snarled Roger.

‘I dare not. They are with the O'Brien woman, of course. You must have guessed that. If I betrayed the place where she is, she'd put a curse on me.'

'I'll take care of her. You have only to take me to the place where she has gone to earth, and leave the rest to me.'

'I won't! I'd rather die! She knows my weakness. She'd render me incapable of ever pleasuring a man again.'

Roger stood up, grasped her by the wrist, pulled her to her feet and shook her. ‘I, too, have that power. If the witch remains in ignorance of who led me to her you'll have naught to fear from her, and I'll tear up this warrant I have for your arrest. Refuse, and I'll execute it. You'll sleep tonight in one of the dungeons below Dublin Castle. Then you'll be tried and condemned to penal servitude. When you have served a year or two with the female scum of the city, such looks as you have will have been replaced by lacklustre eyes, scrofolous grey hair and the wrinkled face of an old crone. Maybe you will catch typhus and die in prison. If you do come out alive, you'll have to haunt the lowest taverns to find even a drunken dock rat who'll be bemused enough to sleep with you.'

'You awful man,' she whimpered. 'How can you threaten a woman like me with such a terrible fate? Have you no pity?'

'None,' he retorted, shaking her again. 'None for lecherous bitches of your ilk who corrupt young people, and trade them to a priestess of the Devil in return for opportunities to gratify your lust. Come now! Make up your mind. Do you give me the information I require, or do I send you to live on skilly and stitch mail bags for a term of years? The choice is yours.'

Falling back on the couch, she sobbed, ‘I ... I'll do as you demand. But it is already night, and the place is far from here—thirty miles at the least’

'In that case we'll need a coach, and had best postpone our journey until tomorrow. But foster no illusion that you will succeed in playing me any tricks. I propose to hold you incommunicado for the night. Now show me the way to your bedroom.'

Stifling her sobs, she led the way from the room and up­stairs to the second floor. Her bedroom was at the back of the house. Roger walked over to one of the windows and looked down. Below, in the semi-darkness, he could make out a small, paved garden. Satisfied that there was no way down to it and that the window was much too high for her to risk a drop, he recrossed the room to the door, removed the key from the inside and transferred it to the outside. Then he said to her:

'For tonight you must dispense with the services of your maid, as I have no intention of giving you the chance to smuggle out a letter or message. I am about to lock you in here, and I shall give the servants orders that if you ring your bell they are not to answer it. Moreover, I do not mean to leave the house. I'll doss down in one of your spare bedrooms. You are to be up and dressed in travelling clothes by eight o'clock. I will by then have made arrangements for our journey.'

As she stared at him in silent dismay, she was not a pretty sight. Her eyelash black had run and her cheeks looked raddled. She had clearly gone to pieces, and he felt confident that she would give him no trouble. But he was taking no chances; so, having locked her door behind him and put the key in his pocket, he went down to the basement to deal with the servants.

They were still sitting round the table talking in low voices in Erse. As he entered the room they fell silent and looked up at him apprehensively. He gave them a smile and said pleasantly:

‘I have questioned her ladyship and I am now satis­fied that none of you is involved in the serious crime of which die is accused. Providing that you obey my orders, you have nothing to fear.' Taking the paper from his pocket he handed it to the footman and went on, 'As proof of my authority, here is the warrant for her ladyship's arrest.'

The man took it, stared at it a moment, then murmur­ing, 'It's no great one at the readin' I am,' he passed it to the lady's maid, who slowly read it aloud before hand­ing it back to Roger.

'Now,' he said. 'Had I arrived here earlier I should have taken her ladyship to the Castle for the night. As things are, it will be more convenient for her to remain here locked in her bedroom. If she rings her bell, none of you is to answer it. In the morning you,' he pointed to the cook, 'will prepare two breakfast trays by seven o'clock. You,' he pointed to the maid, 'will take one up and leave it outside her ladyship's door and put the other in the dining room for me. Tomorrow I have to take her lady­ship some thirty miles into the country to confront a con­federate. You,' he pointed at the footman, 'will go out and secure for me a two-horse coach from a livery stables, with a coachman prepared to drive that distance. It is to be here, in front of the house, at eight o'clock.'

He produced a guinea from his waistcoat pocket, gave it to the cook and said, 'In the depths of the country it may not be possible for us to get a decent midday meal, so when you have finished cooking breakfast I wish you to go out and get some things for me. At one of the better hostelries nearby you should be able to buy a ready-cooked chicken or duck, with some slices of ham and a cake or some pastries, also two bottles of red wine. We'll need butter and bread as well. Pack them all into a basket, with plates and cutlery, so that they are ready for me when we set off. There should be a few shillings change. You may keep them for your trouble.'

Delighted at such a windfall, she smilingly bobbed him her thanks as he added, 'You may now all stay up or go to bed as you wish. But none of you is to leave the house before tomorrow morning.'

From the beginning he had thought it most unlikely that any of this group of servants would have the temerity to challenge his authority; now, having shown them the warrant he felt confident that none of them would sneak out in the night to inform the police that a stranger had come to the house, browbeaten them and locked their mis­tress in her bedroom.

Going up to the second floor he found the room oppo­site Maureen Luggala's to be another bedroom. The bed was not made up, but folded blankets and sheets lay be­neath the coverlet. Well satisfied with his evening's work, but still desperately worried about Susan and Charles, he partially undressed, made the bed and, still wearing his underclothes, settled down for the night.

In the morning he woke early, but remained in bed until his turnip watch told him that it was half-past six. That he was unable to shave or do his hair annoyed him, but he was able to wash as an ewer of water stood in a basin in one corner of the room. By the time he had dressed it was seven o'clock and, on going out onto the landing, he saw that a breakfast tray had been set down outside Maureen's door. Unlocking it, he pushed the tray inside and called out to her, 'Here is your breakfast. We start in an hour's time. Be ready by then. I dislike being kept waiting.'

Downstairs in the dining room the pretty maid served him, and he found that the cook had done him well: a fried herring with two poached eggs to follow, and the remains of a cold sirloin on the side-board in case he still felt hungry. But he scarcely noticed what he was eating, because his mind was so occupied by thoughts of his coming encounter with the witch.

A little before eight o'clock he went down to the base­ment, inspected the picnic basket and had it brought up to the hall, then he went upstairs to fetch Maureen Luggala. She was sitting waiting for him with, he was pleased to see, a cowed look on her face, for he had feared that during the night her terror of the witch could have caused her to change her mind and he might have considerable trouble in making her obey him.

‘I have a coach below,' he said. 'Where shall I tell the man to take us?'

'Along the road through County Wicklow, that leads to Tullow,' she replied tonelessly.

'Good. You can tell the servants as we go through the hall that you expect to be back in a few days. In no cir­cumstances are you to mention my name in front of them. Susan stayed here and I do not wish them to connect me with her. I gave them no name, and they know me only as a police agent.'

'How long shall I be away?' she asked anxiously. 'That. . . that is if Katie O'Brien does not keep me with her and enslave me.'

'You need not fear that; for I do not intend that you should even see her. Provided you behave yourself and do as I tell you, you should be home again before very long.'

With a sigh of relief she led the way out of the room. In the hall she spoke a few quick words to her maid. Roger

told the coachman the road to take, then handed her into the coach. The footman put the basket on the opposite seat and closed the door. As they drove off Roger smiled to himself. His blackmail had succeeded.

The way lay almost due south and on leaving Dublin they passed through Donnybrook Fair. In view of their anything but friendly relations, for the two of them to have to travel together for a considerable distance created an awkward situation, and for the first few miles they sat side by side in silence. But as they passed Galloping Green, with its solitary inn and smithy, Roger found his specu­lations about what might have happened to Susan so worrying that, to divert his mind from them, he decided to break the strain, and asked Maureen if she had found life in Dublin dull after having lived for several years in London.

She readily responded that she missed the magnificent spectacles provided by the great entertainments given by London's wealthiest hostesses, but she had many old friends in Dublin and found the quieter social life there very pleasant.

From that point on they exchanged remarks intermit­tently, and she told him the names of the Anglo-Irish nobles whose mansions lay behind the long, stone walls they passed, and pointed out to him as they approached, features of interest such as Bray Head and the rushing Dargle river. There were stretches of beautiful, bright green grass, on which small flocks of sheep grazed, but no sign of cultivation.

About twelve miles from Dublin the narrow road be­came more winding as it entered the upward slopes to the Wicklow mountains, with the Sugar Loaf high above the ivy-covered trees on the right. A little further on a track to their left led toward the monastic settlement of Glenda­lough to which, Maureen said, the religious came from all over Ireland.

From that point onward the slopes became steeper, with deep, wooded valleys made very picturesque by granite boulders lying among the trees which were now showing their young spring leaves of tender green. Climbing all the time at walking pace, they eventually emerged from the trees on to high, flat moorland where heather grew between clumps of gorse. Then came more patches of woodland from which they came out on to another wide stretch of moorland, known as Featherbed Mountain. Maureen told him that Dublin drew a large part of its peat for fires from there.

As they crossed this area for a mile or so, they, passed through low cloud, but came out of it to see on their left a deep valley in which lay the lochs Tay and Dan and a river where, here and there, white foam cascaded over clumps of rocks. Half a mile further on Roger noticed two stone pillars, evidently a gateway, but from which the gate had disappeared. The road veered off half right from them.

A moment later Maureen called to the coachman to pull up, then she turned to Roger and pointed to the gate­way. 'It is here. There is a steep drive down for over a mile. At the bottom of the valley lies the loch, and near its edge, the castle.'

'What is this place called ?' Roger asked.

'Luggala,' she replied. 'The castle was the ancestral home of my late husband's family. He took me to see over it once, shortly after we were married. It is little but a ruin now. Only a few rooms are habitable, but it seemed a good place for Katie to go into hiding, because she was in trouble.'

Roger nodded. 'Yes. I knew about that. And you are right. In the past two miles we haven't passed even a cottage. I've rarely seen a more desolate piece of country.' Poking his head out of the window, he told the coachman to drive past the gate and on.

'Where are we going,' she asked anxiously.

'To find a suitable spot in which to have our meal. It is just on one o'clock, and we've been on the road for nearly five hours, so I am now hungry.'

Evidently glad that he had not decided to have their meal there in front of the gateway, she did not demur; and they drove on for the best part of two miles, until they came to another wood. There Roger halted the coach,, picked up the basket and prepared to get out.

'What are you about to do?' she leaned forward quick­ly. 'Surely we can eat here in the coach ?'

He shook his head. 'No. As it is a fine day I prefer the woods. There will probably be some wild flowers: dwarf daffodils, anemones and kingcups.'

Reluctantly she allowed him to hand her out, and accompanied him about thirty yards along a path into the wood. There, evidently fearing that he intended to avenge himself on her for having given his daughter into the power of the witch, and anxious to remain in sight of ‘ the coachman, she halted and said, 'This will serve. I do not wish to go any further.'

'You will do as I tell you,' he said sharply. 'I have pro­mised that I will not harm you or prevent your returning to Dublin. Come now, or as an alternative I'll take you with me to visit Katie O'Brien.'

She shuddered, gasped, 'No! No!,' and hurried after him until he had led her deep into the wood, at least a quarter of a mile from the stony, rutted track which was termed a road.

Sitting down on a grassy bank at one side of a small clearing, they ate their meal in silence, and shared one bottle of the wine. Roger then stood up, wrapped a chicken thigh and a large piece of cake in paper, put them in one of his capacious pockets and the second bottle of wine in the other. Smiling at her, he said :

'Here, my lady, we part. The odds are that you will have to walk a good part of the way back to Dublin be­fore you can get a lift. Anyway it is as good as certain that you will have to spend tonight out on the moor.'

As she began to protest, he cut her short. 'For iniquities of which you have been guilty I am letting you off very lightly. And should I learn later that you lost your way in the darkness, fell in a ditch and broke your neck, it would not cause me one moment's loss of sleep.'

Turning his back on her he set off at a gentle run to ensure that, should she follow him, he would reach the coach well ahead of her. When he reached it, he said to the coachman:

'The lady who was with me is spending the night with friends who have a house on the far side of the wood. Take me back now to that gateway where the road bends, and set me down there.'

The man gave him a curious glance, but did as he was bade. On leaving the coach Roger told him that he was also staying the night with friends in the neighbourhood, then paid him off, gave him a lavish tip and sent him back to Dublin.

Roger had grudged the time he had given to getting rid of Maureen Luggala; but he had felt it a precaution he dared not neglect because, had he left her the use of the coach, it was possible that, to make her peace with Katie O'Brien, she might have driven to the castle by some other route and warned the witch that he was on his way there. But, as he stood for a moment in the stone gateway, he realised that he had lost nothing, because he had time on his hands. It was barely three o'clock, so there were several hours of daylight yet in which to reconnoitre the place and, impatient as he was to learn what had happened to Susan and whether Charles was there, it would have been stupidly rash to attempt to enter the castle until he had the full cover of night.

The grass-grown drive led steeply down, bordered on both sides by screens of trees: pines, beeches and laurels. Beyond them on the right the ground rose abruptly, but on the left it shelved down to a deep valley, on the far side of which, a mile or more away, rose another greenish hill­side speckled with white stone boulders.

As he proceeded, his footfalls made no sound on the bright green grass. No bird was singing and the silence seemed uncanny. The drive snaked down, becoming still steeper after every curve, so that he doubted whether a coach, empty and drawn by fewer than four horses could ever have got up it. After descending for half a mile, be­tween the trunks of the trees on his left he caught his first glimpse of the loch far below in the valley. His eyes alert for any sign of movement, he covered another half mile. That brought him to some thirty feet above the level of the lake, over the edge of which some outward sloping trees projected. Through a gap between their leafy branches he saw a part of the ruined castle. Another few hundred paces brought him to the end of the drive. It emerged into a small, flat, triangular area with trees here and there, bounded on three sides by steep hillsides. On the fourth side lay the long loch and the castle rose from its nearest end.

Keeping well under cover Roger stood looking at it for several minutes, taking in every detail. He decided that either it had been built on a small island, or hundreds of tons of rough stone had been dumped in the lake to form its foundations, for it appeared to be entirely sur­rounded by water, which served the purpose of a moat. From where he stood the nearest part of the castle was about forty yards from the shore, at the edge of which showed a rim, only about two feet in depth, of what looked liked sand, but might be silt. The main building was very old and the greater part of it had fallen into ruin. One tower still stood, but the much lower jagged edges of others showed where they had broken off. Gaping holes appeared here and there in the battlements, and a wall had collapsed revealing the empty interior of a lofty chamber.

The place showed no sign at all of being inhabited. No wind ruffled the surface of the lake or stirred the branches of the trees. Everything was so utterly still that it was vaguely sinister. As far as Roger could see along the val­ley there was no other habitation or evidence of life, and the castle could not be seen from the road on the high ground along which he had come in the coach. Sur­rounded as it was by desolate mountains and moorland, and not having been lived in for many years, even people who knew of its existence would be unlikely to suspect that it was being used as a hide-out; so it would have been next to impossible to find a better one.

Selecting a group of bushes among which he could sit concealed, yet continue to keep an eye on the castle, he settled down to his long wait. The hours dragged by while he remained there speculating fruitlessly on what might happen when he entered the castle. Would he find Susan sane, or driven mad through the hellish domination of the witch ? And what of Charles? Would he be there, a willing participant of whatever went on, or was his disappearance due to his death in some unguessable mishap?

At last the shadows began to fall. When they were deep enough Roger made his way cautiously from tree to tree across the flat ground, until he could see the other side of the castle. There, an even greater part of the building had collapsed from age. A whole section had fallen outward, so that hundreds of slabs of the granite with which it had been built now formed a rocky causeway, slanting down from a height of about forty feet at the castle end until only odd corners of its last stones projected out of the shallow water about twenty feet from the shore.

At one side, the high pyramid of stones at the castle end ran down to partly cover a landing place, to which a row­ing boat was moored. Beyond the boat rose a high, arched doorway, and the light was still good enough for Roger to see that it was iron-bound and solid, so there was little hope of his being able to force it.

Seeking some other means of entrance, he moved further along the shore. Just beyond the peak of the great pile of fallen stones, the building took a different form, due to a wing that had evidently been added many cen­turies later. The part that Roger could see consisted only of a single, flat-roofed storey about thirty-five feet above the water. There were two diamond-paned windows in it, suggesting the late seventeenth century. One of them was a little open. Although he could not see round the corner, he guessed that this new wing continued on there, as all the rooms would then have a lovely view right down the lake, and this must be the part of the castle still occupied. Yet, as with the derelict ruin, there was no sign of life, and the sinister silence remained unbroken.

Choosing another spot where he could watch without being seen, he again sat down, took out his leg of chicken and bottle of wine and slowly ate his .supper. By the time he had finished full darkness had fallen, but he had no in­tention of attempting to enter the castle until the inmates could be expected to be asleep.

At about eight o'clock the two windows became dimly lit, and a form only vaguely seen through the diamond panes drew curtains across them. Chinks of faint light continued to show between the curtains; then, about an hour later, the windows became dark again. Judging by the time, Roger assumed the windows gave on to the dining room, and that the witch and her companions had just finished their evening meal, so would soon be going to bed. Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, he gave them another two hours before standing up, stretching himself and making sure that the pistol he had thrust into his belt was properly primed.

By then the moon had come up, but it was on the far side of the castle, so the side opposite him was still in deep shadow. Advancing toward the lake, he cautiously took a few steps into the water, in case what he had taken to be sand proved to be treacherous boggy mud, but the bottom was firm and the water shallow. He was barely knee deep in it when he reached the nearest stones of the rough causeway.

From there on he clambered up from block to block, on his hands and knees because many of the big stones were covered with moss and provided only a precarious foot­hold. It took him a quarter of an hour to get to the top; but once there, by leaning sideways he was near enough to the partly open window to get a grip on the sill.

Balancing carefully on his slippery perch, he stretched out a hand to the window, and pulled it back. Grasping the sill he gave a spring, dangled by both hands for a moment, then hauled himself up and landed on his chest with his head inside the room. Next moment he swore violently under his breath. The butt of the pistol had struck the underledge of the stone sill, and been knocked out of his belt. He heard it clatter as it bounced from rock to rock below. Two-thirds of his body still hung dangerous­ly out of the window. One false move and he would have a very nasty fall, breaking some bones if not his neck. First things first. He gave a swift wriggle and flung his arms forward. It brought him half-way through the window, and he was safe.

Only then did his mind turn fully to the seriousness of his loss. Dare he go further, now that he was unarmed? Gould he retrieve his pistol? No, that was next to impos­sible. If he dropped back, he would almost certainly fail to land safely and go rolling down the great heap of rugged stones. Besides, even given the luck to escape that, what hope would he have of finding the pistol in the dark?

Grimly he realised that he dared not risk a drop. He had no option now but to go forward. Two thoughts swiftly followed to console him a little. At least the pistol had not roused the inmates of the castle by going off, and in old castles skilfully arranged groups of weapons nearly always decorated the walls. From one of them he might arm him­self with a sword, mace or dagger.

Even when he pushed aside the curtain, no glimmer of light penetrated the diamond panes of the window as the moonlight did not shine on that side of the castle. The room was in complete darkness, and he could not get any idea of its size. Stretching out his hands, he felt the floor, then pulled his legs through the window, squirmed round and stood up. For a full minute he remained where he was. No sound broke the stillness except that of his own breathing. Cautiously he took two steps forward, his hands stretched out before him. When he was well clear of the curtains he fished out his tinder box and a piece of candle, and struck a light. The flame had barely touched the wick: of the candle when there came a rustling sound and a voice said sharply: 'Who is that?'

The voice was that of a girl. As the candle flared, he saw her. Surrounded by dark hair her face was a white blob. She was sitting up in an iron bedstead and the light gleamed on the brass knobs at its foot. Again she cried, 'Who are you ? What are you doing here ?'

'Be quiet!' Roger said quickly. 'I mean you no harm. But if you rouse the house, I'll shoot you.'

As he spoke he walked forward so that he could see her better. At the same time he got an impression of the room. It was large and lofty and furnished only with a table on which was a mirror, a hanging cupboard, a round-lidded trunk and a single chair. Evidently it had not formerly been a bedroom, but had been turned into a temporary one.

Since he was holding the candle she could see him bet­ter than he could see her. Suddenly she exclaimed, ‘I know you now! You are Susan's father, Mr. Brook.'

‘I am,' he replied, 'and you are Miss Jemima Luggala.'

She nodded, gave a heavy sigh, then whispered, 'Thank God you've come! Susan and I were in despair. We'd given up all hope of being rescued from the witch.'

Roger looked at her in surprise, walked forward, lit another candle that stood beside her bed and said with a frown, 'I was under the impression that you and Susan had left your mother against her will, to come and live here with Katie O'Brien.'

'So that's what she told you ?' Jemima's dark eyes flash­ed with anger. 'It is a lie. I've no reason to love my mother, Mr. Brook. She is mean, greedy and a nymphomaniac. Not being well off, she has always grudged the money for my keep and clothes, so she had no scruples about getting rid of me, and was glad of the chance to make a bargain with the witch. Have you ever heard of the New Hell Fire Club?'

'I have. Your mother used to frequent it when she lived in London and, I have reason to suppose, partici­pated in the orgies that took place there.'

'She did. Katie O'Brien told me so. But when my mother left England she was deprived of that outlet for her lusts. That is why she followed the witch to Ireland. Katie had to go into hiding here, but that does not pre­vent her from still casting spells. They made a foul com­pact. By her magic arts Katie would provide my mother with a succession of lovers, and in return Susan and I were sold to the witch.'

'Oh, come!' Roger protested. 'You and Susan are not children, but fully grown women. You cannot expect me to believe that both of you allowed your mother to hand you over to anyone against your wills.'

Jemima stared angrily at him. 'Mr. Brook, I wonder that any man can be so dense. Naturally, we should have refused to go had we had the chance. My mother put a drug into the hot milk we always drink before going to bed at night. When we regained our senses, we were in bed in this castle and as it is surrounded by water we could not attempt to get away.'

'So that is the way it was,' said Roger thoughtfully. 'And what of Charles St. Ermins? Was he drugged and brought here, too?'

'My Lord St. Ermins!' Jemima looked surprised. 'No, why should he have been ? What has he to do with this?'

'He came to Dublin some three weeks ago to search for Susan and take her home; but disappeared two days later.’

‘I know naught of that. I thought him to be still in Spain.'

Roger was greatly puzzled. From all he had heard of Jemima, he had thought it probable that she was in part at least responsible for Susan's having fallen into Kate O'Brien's clutches. Georgina had said that the girl had both dominated her mother and achieved a great influence over Susan. Yet her account of her mother's bargain with the witch was highly plausible, because it was so in keeping with what he had learnt of Maureen Luggala's charac­ter. But what could have happened to Charles? That had become an even deeper mystery. Maureen had neither the brains nor the ability to put him out of the way; so, if he was not here, where could he possibly have got to? Another mystery was, if the girls had not become sister witches of the O'Brien's, why was she keeping them here? Of what value were they to her? After a moment he said:

'You maintain that your mother virtually sold you and Susan to Kate O'Brien, and that you are prisoners. What good can it do her to hold two young girls captive?'

Jemima gave him a slightly pitying look. 'It is evident, Mr. Brook, that you have little knowledge of Satanism. For the most important of all occult ceremonies by which great power can be obtained, the use of the body of a virgin is essential.' Suddenly, in a rush of words she burst out, 'It is this we are both dreading so terribly. That's why I was so overjoyed when I recognised you tonight and realised that you had come to rescue Susan. You'll take me with you too, won't you ? Please! Please! I implore you to.'

The pleading look on the girl's face was so earnest that Roger felt much he had heard or assumed about her must be wrong. It was quite possible that she had been maligned and trapped. It dawned upon him then that there was a way in which he could put her to the test, and he asked :

'Where is Susan ?'

'In another temporarily furnished room like this, also on this floor but on the other side of the castle.' 'Could you take me to her?'

'Yes. No-one will be about at this hour, and she is not locked in. Katie is confident that both of us are too fright­ened of the curse she would put upon us if we tried to escape.'

'Very well, then. Take me to Susan. If I can get her out, I'll take you too.'

'Oh, thanks be to God!' Jemima gasped. 'May He for ever bless you!' Slipping out of bed she swiftly put on a chamber robe, picked up her candlestick and walked quickly to the door. Roger blew out the candle he was holding, nipped the wick and followed her out into a gloomy passage.

With Jemima leading, shielding the flame of her candle from the draught with one hand, they walked on tiptoe down a long corridor. Roger followed a few paces behind her, with every sense alert. The girl's plea for protection, and apparent anxiety to escape from the witch had im­pressed him. Yet he was worried by doubts about the wisdom of having accepted her as an ally, although she must be aware that if she led him into a trap she would be the first victim of it, for he had only to leap forward to strike her down. Again he felt bitter regret at having lost his pistol, but he now had no choice other than to trust her and, if she did betray him, he could at least fell her with a blow on the back of the neck from which she would not easily recover.

At the end of the corridor they entered a large, lofty hall. By the light of the single candle Roger could not see the walls, but he was aware that a gallery ran round it and in passing he glimpsed a few pieces of heavy furniture.

At the far end of the hall they entered another passage. On that side of the castle, shafts of full moonlight came through the tall windows, but they were so begrimed with the dirt of ages that it was impossible to see out of them. Nevertheless, Roger could see enough to realise that this part of the building was in almost total ruin. As they ad­vanced, holes showed in the roof, a bat flitted by, the undrawn curtains hung beside the windows in moth-eaten rags. Here and there great festoons of cobwebs hung from the ceiling and swayed gently in the draught they made in passing.

They turned into another corridor and then another. No sound reached them but that of the sudden scuttling of a rat. Yet Roger remained uneasy, still fearful that Jemima might be leading him into a trap. Why, he wondered, should her bedroom be where it was, while Susan's was so far from it, in the ruined part of the castle? The silence was eerie, the whole atmosphere of the place fraught with evil.

Another bat sailed by. Roger started back. Jemima turned and smiled at him. About fifteen feet further on she suddenly took two quick paces forward, threw up her free hand and pressed it against an iron flambeau holder on the wall, then gave a sardonic laugh.

Without a second's warning, the floor beneath Roger gave way. His feet slid from under him. He fell backward on to a steep, sloping ramp. Instinctively he threw out both his hands sideways, to stop himself from sliding further. They met only flat, cold stone. There was noth­ing he could cling to. Smoothly, his weight carried him down, down, down, down into the stygian darkness.

25

Render unto Satan

Time, it is said, is an illusion. Without doubt, as assessed by the human mind, it can differ immensely, according to circumstances. The last hour of an afternoon class at school, on a subject at which one is bad, under a master one hates, can seem endless; whereas a long evening spent together by two people who are in love flashes by so rapidly that it seems over almost before it has begun. As Roger slid down the shute on his back, his descent seemed interminable to him, and thoughts sped through his brain with the speed of lightning.

He must have been mad to trust Jemima. He had let her send him to his death. After all he had heard of her, how could he possibly have been such a fool as to be taken in by her clever acting? Never, never should he have fol­lowed her blindly, unless he had had a loaded pistol to hold against her back. Perhaps it would have been excus­able to let her lead him fifty or sixty feet, but once they left the comparatively modern wing of the castle he should have been warned. If both girls had been prisoners of the witch, why should they not have been quartered together, or at least in rooms near each other? When walking down those long passages, inhabited by flitting bats and scurry­ing rats, where dim moonlight showed the webs of a thousand generations of spiders hanging from ceilings and walls even a schoolboy would have realised that his guide was not taking him to Susan's room.

Frantically he thrust out his hands and elbows, endea­vouring to check his swift descent, for he had no doubt at all that death awaited him at the bottom of the slope. During the years he had visited many ancient castles in France, Spain, Russia, Sweden and other countries, and in several of them he had been shown traps similar to this. They were called oubliettes. In mediaeval times many an unsuspecting guest had been led by a host, who had some secret reason for wanting to get rid of him, along a dim corridor until the host pressed a spring on the wall, and a trapdoor in the floor flapped open. The wretched guest fell through it, hurtled down a hundred feet or more and, a few minutes later, was choking out his life in the black­ness of an underground cistern fed with water from the castle moat.

Roger heard the trapdoor above him slam, cutting him off for ever from light and life. Even if he could have checked his downward slide and turned over, the slope was too steep for him to have crawled up it and attempted to force open the trap. There was no escape. Except, yes. It was just possible that the oubliette ended in a waterway tunnel, large enough to swim through, to the lake. But if that were so, how long was the tunnel? How deep was the water in it? Would there be enough space between the water and the ceiling for him to breathe while swimming? If not, it was certain that he would drown.

These lightning flashes of thought and terror pro­bably followed one another in less than a minute. Without warning, the angle at which he was sliding suddenly changed. The slope abruptly ceased, his feet shot forward and he came to rest flat on his back on a solid floor. His relief was instantaneous. It was not an oubliette. Yet it might be. Perhaps only a foot or so ahead of him there was a perpendicular drop, and by luck he was now lying on a broad ledge, the speed of his descent not having been sufficient to carry him over the edge.

His speculation lasted only seconds. There came the sound of quick movement ahead of him, then a voice cried sharply:

'Who is that?'

Again relief flooded through him, acompanied by surprise, concern and the answer to one of the riddles he had been puzzling over for several days past.

'Charles!' he exclaimed. 'So they've made you a pri­soner. And now I'm one, too.'

'Uncle Roger!' cried the voice out of the darkness. 'How in the world. . . . But stay still a moment while I make a light.'

There came the scraping of a tinder box, a sudden glow, then the rising flame from a candle wick enabled Roger to get an idea of his surroundings. They were in a circular dungeon about twenty feet in diameter. From some six feet up the walls tapered in a cone, but the light was not sufficient for Roger to see where they met the roof. Opposite the shute down which he had come there were ranged four low platforms, about six feet long by three feet wide, on short, square legs. On one of them was a straw-filled palliasse and some blankets, where Charles had been sleeping; on another a pile of books, three candlesticks and a number of loose candles. On a third were a tin basin, soap, towels and two wooden platters with fish bones and a cut cake on them. Beside the last stood a six-gallon stone jar and, between it and the place where he was now sitting up, there was a round hole in the floor which evidently served as a latrine.

As Roger was looking round, Charles said, 'I supposed you to be still in France with Talleyrand. How come you to be here? And who led you into this trap?'

Roger's reply needed only a few quick sentences, then he asked, 'But you, Charles? What happened to you in Dublin? Did you trace Susan to this place and then got caught ? Is she here ? Is she all right ?'

'Yes, she's here and, as far as I know, well. At least she was a little over a fortnight ago. I have not seen her, but we spoke together.'

'Is it true that the O'Brien woman persuaded her and Jemima to become witches? 'Twas that Lady Luggala wrote to your mother.'

'I know. But 'tis not true—at least as far as Susan is concerned. Jemima, I'd wager, has long been a witch, al­though Susan did not know it. She suspected nothing un­til she was brought face to face with Katie. She recognised her at once after having seen her at the New Hell Fire Club. She was taken there over a year ago by . ..'

‘I am aware of that,' Roger interrupted. 'Your mother repeated to me all you had told her of it. Tell me what you know of the sequence of events in Dublin.'

'After I left for Spain, that bitch Jemima laid herself out to win Susan's confidence and affection. In February, for some reason of which I am in ignorance, Maureen Luggala left London for Dublin, taking Jemima with her. As Jemima and Susan were such close friends, she was also invited to come over for a fortnight's visit, and she accepted. She had a pleasurable time doing the social round, and her first letters to my mother, asking to be allowed to stay on for a while, were genuine. Then, when my mother insisted on her returning, she told Maureen that she must. The following night they put a drug in her drink and, while she was unconscious, brought her here. Soon after she came to, Katie came to the room in which they had put her to bed, and mesmerised her. It must have been then, while under the occult influence of the witch, that she wrote the letter defying my mother and saying she intended to remain in Ireland with Jemima through the summer. When she came out of her trance Katie told her that if she made no trouble she would be well treated, but must remain locked in her room. Naturally, my poor beloved was distraught. But what could she do? Her clothes had been taken from her, and even had they not how could she escape from this place, surrounded as it is by water?'

'And what of yourself?' Roger asked. ‘I traced you to the Grown and Shamrock and learned that you had been there for two nights, also that you had called on Maureen Luggala, although she swore she had not seen you. After that I could get no further, and could only suppose that, reverting to your membership of the Hell Fire Club, you had perhaps been persuaded by Susan to join their witches coven.'

'No! No!' Charles shook his head. 'As you discovered, I waited on Maureen the first day I was in Dublin. She pretended great distress and told me the same story she had written to my mother. But she said she had been endeavouring to trace the girls, and that did I give her another day or two, she had hopes of succeeding. Obvious­ly she needed the time to let Katie know that I had arrived in Dublin and make arrangements for my reception here. The third day of my stay she sent a message, bidding me to dinner. On arriving at her home I found her there with a repulsive priest named Father Damien. It was he who acted as Abbot at the Hell Fire Club in London. He told me that Katie had done him an evil, and he had quarrelled with her; so he was agreeable to take me that night to the place where she had the girls. It was a trap to get me here.

We made the journey by coach, arriving in the early hours of the morning. The boat was moored by the lake shore. As we got into it he told me he had bribed one of the ser­vants to let us into the castle. When we reached the great door, he rapped a special signal on it, and it was opened by a huge negro named Aboe, who was another of Katie's assistants when she ran the Hell Fire Club.

'At that moment Father Damien seized my arms from behind. As you see, I was in uniform, so was wearing a sword and I had come with a pistol in my sash, Aboe deprived me of them both, then the two of them hustled me up a stone staircase to the newer part of the building, along a corridor, pushed me into a bedroom and locked me in. As soon as they had gone, I attempted to break out, but the door was too stout. Then I tried the windows but found that they were thirty feet above a ledge of rock lapped by the water. Had I dropped down I would cer­tainly have killed myself.'

'Why then, since they had you securely imprisoned, did they transfer you to this dungeon?'

'Because I attempted to rescue Susan. You must have realised how deadly quiet it is here. On my third night in the bedroom, just as I was about to fall asleep, I caught the sound of sobs behind my bedhead. From the beginning I had been convinced that Susan was no witch, and had been brought here against her will, so it flashed upon me that it was probably she who was crying, and that as I could hear the sobs the wall between the rooms must be quite thin.

'Pushing away the bed, I went to work on the wall at once with the stout prong in the buckle of my belt. The wall proved to be only lath and plaster. After an hour's strenuous work I'd made a hole the size of a crown piece. It was Susan on the other side. Having heard my scraping, she had pushed aside her bed and was listening there, so replied immediately I spoke. That was how I learned all that had befallen her, and now I had found her I at once started to plan a way in which we might both escape.

'In addition to Father Damien and the negro, Aboe, who I gather acts as cook, Katie has two Irish peasants here. They are burly, wild-looking creatures, with beards and great mops of red hair, who speak no English. I call them Gog and Magog. One or other of them brought my meals and, as Susan was also locked in, hers also. We planned that she should be dressed ready to leave at the hour when our supper was brought to us the following evening. I'd hoped to overcome the man, get his keys and release her and that both of us might escape before anyone else in the castle knew what was adoing.

'But fortune was against me. I lurked behind the door until Gog came with my supper, and as he walked in carrying the tray I brought a milking stool that was in the room down on his head. It felled him, but I opine, the thickness of his hair saved him from being completely deprived of his wits. He was in bad shape, though, and having got my hands round his throat I could have choked him into insensibility.

'Alas, I had not counted on there being two supper trays. Magog had brought up Susan's. Hearing his fellow barbarian shout, he dropped his tray outside Susan's door, dashed into my room and hurled himself on top of me. Gog recovered sufficiently to roll from under us and I stood no chance against the two of them. In no time they had me lashed to the end of my bed, and locked in again. I was monstrous lucky to get off with no worse than a kick in the ribs and a black eye.'

Roger nodded. 'You were. And it was a gallant, even if ill-fated, attempt. What happened then ?'

'A quarter of an hour later the two brutes returned, accompanied by Father Damien. They untied me, hustled me along from that end of the castle to this, and pushed me down the shute by which you arrived.'

'And what has happened since ?'

Charles pointed up to where the cone-shaped walls of the cell seemed to meet above in the shadows. 'The shute is not the only entrance to die dungeon. Up there, immediately above us, is a round manhole. From time to time one or other of them opens it. By a stout rope with a hook on the end, they lowered this palliasse for me to sleep on, the big jar that contains water, and the other things you see here. And every morning they let down in a bag enough cold food to keep me in provender for the day.'

'And even books,' Roger commented. 'That, at least, is considerate of them.'

'Jemima sent them down, and from time to time comes to talk with me.'

'That little she-devil fooled me completely, and I still cannot make her out, nor the witch's interest in the two girls. The story Jemima spun to me was that for the acquisition of supreme occult powers, the use of a virgin's body was necessary. She then begged me to rescue her as well as Susan from this horror, yet tricked and made a pri­soner of me.'

'She did so because she is devoted to Katie, and has naught to fear. Of that I am convinced.'

'What, though, of Susan?' Roger asked anxiously. 'Clearly she is no disciple of the witch. Why should they have drugged and brought her here ? Virgins are plenti­ful enough in this country, where the Church of Rome is dominant. They could, with ease, kidnap some peasant wench upon whom to perform their abominable ceremony.'

Charles shook his head sadly. 'Uncle Roger, I have been obtuse, and failed to make the situation clear to you. Doubtless these Satanists do, from time to time, perform a Black Mass; but 'twas not for that they invited my sweet Susan to Ireland, then drugged and imprisoned her. She was only the lure to get me here.'

'What the devil mean you ?'

'Jemima is determined that I should take her for my wife.'

'This is news indeed!' Roger exclaimed with a frown.

'Have you been having an affair with her? But, no; how could you, seeing you have been so long abroad.'

'I was to some extent embroiled with her before I voyaged to Spain. During the summer and winter before last I saw much of her. She is attractive, witty and a pas­sionate young creature. Susan and I had always had an understanding that we would marry in good time; but, until we were ready to do so, we should amuse ourselves by flirting with anyone who took our fancy. I've never loved anyone but Susan and never shall. To me Jemima was no more than a gay companion. I studiously refrained from giving her any reason to believe that my intentions toward her were serious. But she set herself to get me if she could, even to the point of endeavouring to seduce me —a trap into which I was not foolish enough to fall.

'When I sailed for Spain’ I thought no more of her, but evidently she did of me and, with her mother and the witch, made her plans accordingly. That Katie has occult power I have no doubt. Foreseeing the fall of Napoleon - and that shortly after that I should return, they all came to Ireland ...'

'It was for quite a different reason that- the O'Brien woman left London’ Roger interrupted. 'But no matter. Continue.'

Charles shrugged. 'However that may be, it was on my account that Susan was invited to Dublin. In mid-March the witch must have learned from overlooking me that I was on my way back to England, so the time had come to spring their plot. When Susan had overstayed her visit, they forcibly detained her and brought her here. Mean­while, Maureen Luggala had written her tissue of lies to my mother about the two girls having joined the witch's coven; knowing, of course, that directly I learned of it I would come over and attempt to get Susan back. I did, and fell into their clutches.'

Roger nodded. "Twas a devilish clever scheme, and I'm not surprised that it succeeded. So this jade is now determined to keep you a prisoner until you agree to wed her. To have gone to such lengths, she must be nigh desperate with love for you.'

'Maybe she is. At least she finds me physically attrac­tive. But that is not her only motive. She is also mightily ambitious and would fain be the Countess of St. Ermins. Still further, she wants money, and part of the price of my freedom would be a marriage settlement in which I make over to her my eighty thousand acre estate around White Knights Park.'

'The wench is no fool, then,' Roger gave a bitter laugh. 'She has the sense to realise that, having forced you into wedding her does not bind you to share your life with her. But for some such settlement you could have cast her off without even paying her a pittance. By these means she will net a great fortune.'

'Nay. She says she would keep the house and a suffi­cient income to maintain it. But 'tis her intent to sell by far the greater part of the estate and use the money to help the rebellious Irish who wish to free their country from

British rule.'

'That fits with what I learned in London of her mother and the O'Brien woman. By rights, both of them should have been arrested, condemned as traitors and now be in prison. They were acting as French agents and collect­ing information of value to our enemies.'

'Indeed!' Charles exclaimed. ‘I had no idea of that, but since my converse with Jemima this past week or so I'm not surprised to hear it. She makes it no secret that she is rabid on this question of freeing Ireland, and would stop at nothing to help achieve it.'

'Then let us hope she over-reaches herself and ends up in gaol. Fortunately, these fanatics are only a small mino­rity, but they cause us a mint of trouble.'

'I judge you wrong there, Uncle Roger, in believing them to be only a small minority. I do not believe Jemima lied to me on that. The ordinary Irish are a backward people, and live greatly in the past. Although my Lord Essex's conquest dates back to Queen Elizabeth's time, and Cromwell's brutalities took place near two hundred years ago, the Irish think of them as having occurred only yesterday. Besides, as she argued, I think with justifica­tion, the Irish are just as much a different race from the English as are the Norwegians or Danes, and ...'

'And so, for that matter, are the Scots, yet they have become willing subjects of the Crown.'

'Ah, but their case was very different. Our union with them came about by a Scottish king ascending the Eng­lish throne. Here we occupy a land to which we have no right but conquest. To be fair, in this matter we must regard Jemima as a patriot.'

'There is much in what you say about Ireland,' Roger conceded. 'So one cannot hold it against Jemima that she wishes to have her countrymen rule themselves. But it has. naught to do with the matter that immediately concerns, us. Do you intend to give in to her ?'

'I fear I'll have to in the end. So far I have hedged, hoping that some turn of fortune might occur which would enable me to escape, make my way to Dublin and swiftly return with troops to free Susan. Your sudden appearance here was the type of miracle I have been praying for; but, alas, it has proved abortive.'

'When your mother realises that I, too, have dis­appeared, I doubt not that she will come to Dublin, see the Viceroy and have him order the military to search for us. She will also have Maureen Luggala questioned. As the result of my talk with her she believes herself liable to be arrested and imprisoned, so it is most probable that, hoping to save herself, she will tell your mother where we are.'

Charles's eyes brightened for a moment, then he said dubiously, 'But is it likely she will arrive in time? Some days must yet elapse before she becomes sufficiently con­cerned about receiving no letter from you to decide to act, and then she'll have to make the journey from London to Dublin.'

'True. We can hardly expect her in less than ten days. But does that matter? You have been down here a fort­night, and if they had intended to starve you into sub­mission they would have attempted that already. To have to remain cooped up here in this uncomfortable hole for two or three weeks is plaguey annoying, but we must be as patient as we can until Georgina comes to our rescue.’

'But you don't understand,' Charles burst out. 'Or per­haps I failed to tell you. There is a deadline, a time limit beyond which I dare not procrastinate. The hour Jemima would have me wed her has already been fixed by she.

Tis midnight on the 30th—that is May Day Eve, or Walpurgisnacht as some call it. 'Tis one of the four great Satanic feasts of the year, and that is obviously why Katie O'Brien chose it.'

‘I see no reason why you should not refuse to marry her that night more than on any other.'

'But, Uncle Roger, unless help does come I must! I must, because of Susan.'

As Roger's mind grasped an awful possibility, he asked in an appalled whisper. 'You don't mean... ?'

‘I do.' Charles nodded miserably. 'After I'd been in­carcerated here a week, the witch came to the manhole up there and, as I'd proved stubborn, gave me an ultimatum. On the night of the 30th, whatever happens they mean to celebrate a Black Mass. She would like it to form part of my marriage ceremony, with me taking the priest's place for the final act of copulating with Jemima on the altar. But if I refuse, it will be Susan on the altar, being deflowered by that filthy priest.'

'Oh, God, how frightful!' Roger groaned, burying his face in his hands.

'It won't come to that,' Charles strove to reassure him. 'I made up my mind days ago that the chances of my being rescued were almost non-existent, so I'd have to marry Jemima when the time comes.'

Roger looked up. 'We still have a fortnight. Two of us having now disappeared, there is a strong likelihood of Georgina coming over and demanding the Viceroy's help to find us before the end of the month.'

'That's true, and gives me a more realistic hope to cling to than I had before your coming. But, Uncle Roger, you're looking terribly fatigued. Had you not best now try to get some sleep ?'

'You're right,' Roger agreed. Firmly refusing Charles's offer of the palliasse, he rolled up his cloak for a pillow and lay down on the fourth wooden platform, which had nothing on it, then Charles blew out the candle.

Both of them lay long awake, so when they did drop off they slept late, and were aroused by a shaft of light from the ceiling, penetrating the stygian blackness of the dungeon. In the manhole above, the negro Aboe's head appeared and, having called down to them, he lowered a rope with a hook on the end, to which a bag was attached.

Before going to sleep Roger had pondered the possi­bility of making a base of the four wooden sleeping plat­forms, standing on it then, if Charles stood on his shoulders, the manhole might be reached and lifted. But he now saw that the manhole was a good twenty-five feet from the floor, so could not possibly be got at in that way. To have seized the rope and climbed up it was equally impracticable for, as soon as his head came within strik­ing distance, the negro would hit him. The shute he al­ready knew to be too smooth and steep for them to wriggle up, so he now resigned himself to the fact that there was no way in which they could break out.

Charles lit the candle, removed the supply of fresh food from the bag and put his debris from the previous day in it. He also attached on the hook the six-gallon water jar. It was hauled up and a full jar let down, then a palliasse and blankets for Roger were lowered, after which the rope was withdrawn and the manhole closed.

They used part of the water to wash in, then poured it down the hole that served as a latrine; but they had no means of shaving. During the past fortnight Charles had grown an inch-long, dark beard and, not having shaved now for two days, Roger's chin was covered in stubble.

After eating, they passed the morning exchanging accounts of Napoleon's overthrow and Wellington's final triumphant campaign. In the afternoon the manhole was again lifted, and the witch's head appeared above it. She had come to take a look at her new captive, and to ask him how he had learned the whereabouts of her hiding place.

As Roger considered Maureen Luggala criminally res­ponsible for having lured Susan to Ireland, then abduct­ing her, he had no scruples in telling the witch how he had blackmailed Maureen into bringing him out there. Katie then urged him to persuade Charles to agree to marry Jemima without further argument and, as an inducement, promised to use her powers to ensure their marriage being a happy one.

When she withdrew her head, Jemima's took its place. She gaily twitted Roger on having outwitted him, and said she thought him a gallant fellow for having attempted singlehanded to rescue his daughter. She went on to say that she was genuinely fond of Susan, that Susan would soon get over losing Charles to her, and that when they were married and she had become mistress of White Knights Park, he and Susan would always be most wel­come guests there.

The prisoners whiled away the rest of the day reading and chatting, then slept again. Charles had been so dis­traught about Susan when his attempt to get her away had failed that he was uncertain of the actual date upon which he had been thrown down into the dungeon. Roger, however, knew that he had arrived on April 16th, so they made a calendar on which to tick off the days.

Those that followed varied little from the first after Roger had joined Charles, except that the witch did not come to the manhole again, and Jemima only did so now and then, having found that Charles continued to be unresponsive to her blandishments. The food sent down to them was plain and consisted only of such items as could be procured locally, but it was reasonably good and Charles said that Jemima had apologised for there being only water to drink, but the cellars of the Castle were empty and they could not send anyone in to Dublin to buy wine. Rats, feasting on such food as they left, troubled them at times, but did not attack them. Their prison was ventilated only by the hole in the floor. Although chilly, it was not uncomfortably cold and, from time to time, they warmed themselves up by flailing their arms or doing exercises.

A simple calculation showed it to be most unlikely that Georgina would be sufficiently disturbed to come to Ire­land before the 23rd. So, for their first week together Roger and Charles settled down philosophically to pass the time as well as they could.

But after the 23rd they both admitted that they had been subconsciously counting on Georgina arriving with troops to rescue them and, from then on, they found them­selves constantly listening for sounds of strife above. As books could no longer hold their attention, Roger sug­gested that they should try to make a set of chessmen out of such oddments as they could gather together, and Charles promptly produced adequate, if unusual mat­erials.

Reaching under one of the wooden forms, he pulled out a handful of bones, and said, 'Centuries ago captives for whom the Luggalas had no further use were not, I think, put down the shute but just dropped through the manhole and, poor wretches, left with broken bones to starve to death here. When I was first sent down candles to light this place, I found half a dozen bundles of rags scattered about, and each contained a skeleton. Not liking such company, I gathered them up and pushed them out of

sight under these bed platforms, evidently furnished-for prisoners of a later date, who were to be fed and kept alive-It took them several hours to sort out from among the remains of the long-dead prisoners enough teeth, back­bone discs, knuckle, toe and other suitable bones to repre­sent the pieces of a chess set, and make the equivalent of a board. This they did, with alternate squares of printed and plain paper torn from some of the old books that Jemima had sent down. But when they had done, con­centrating on moves of these macabre relics of mediaeval brutality did take their minds off their anxieties for con­siderable periods.

Nevertheless, there were times, and particularly at night, while they were trying to get to sleep, when they could not rid themselves of their speculation about a future that looked black with menace. Inexorably the days wore on. With the passing of each there was a stronger possi­bility that Georgina, worried out of her wits by the dis­appearance of the two of them, would come to Ireland. As a Duchess and a famous society beauty, she would have no difficulty in obtaining the Viceroy's assistance in her search for them. Police agents would make enquiries at hostelries and livery stables, and troops be sent out to scour the country for many miles round. Maureen Lug­gala would be interrogated and, if at first she stubbornly refused to reveal the place where Charles and Roger were, although Georgina had no means of threatening her she was very rich and, as Maureen was very poorly off, Geor­gina should be able to buy the information.

Every morning the two prisoners woke, hoping that this would be the day when either the negro, with a musket at his back, would lead the rescuers to the manhole, or they would hear searchers of the ruin up in the corridor above shouting their names. Yet each night brought more bitter disappointment.

At length the long-dreaded last day of April came. Soon after their food for the day had been lowered to them the face of the witch appeared at the manhole and she called down to Charles:

'How does my young lordling feel upon his wedding morn ? If need be I can have him dragged to the altar, but I hope that will not be necessary. What answer am I to take to Jemima?'

As Charles remained silent, she went on, 'Come now, be sensible. For this past month she has scarce been able to contain her itch for you, and as pretty a baggage as you could find in all Dublin she is. Ah, and well tutored in all lascivious arts by myself. Play your part willingly in tonight's ceremony and you will experience such pleasure in her arms as will drive from your mind all thought of that sulky wench, Susan. But do you continue to defy me I'll have to force you into marrying her by a red-hot iron applied to your arse. 'Tis dearly I'll make you suffer for it afterwards too. I'll have Aboe make a eunuch of you. I'll not stop either at inflicting only physical pain. Since this passion for Susan you have, you shall see her stripped, whipped, then violated in turn by Father Damien, Aboe and my two Irish morons.'

Roger closed his eyes and clenched his fists until his nails bit into the palms of his hands. Charles looked up and gulped out. 'If ... if I agree, will you free Susan and Mr. Brook, without harming them?'

'It is me they would have harmed if they could,' replied the witch, 'but for Jemima's sake I'll forgo the punish­ment I intended to inflict on them. That you should put the past behind you and co-operate willingly, instead of being forced to it, means a great deal to her.'

'Do you swear to God that you will keep your promise ?' 'Yes, I swear to God they shall remain unharmed and be freed.'

'Very well, then,' Charles sighed. 'Tonight I will do all that you require of me.'

The witch gave, a pleased laugh and closed the man­hole.

Charles and Roger sat down side by side and, for some minutes, remained silent, then the latter said, 'Participa­tion in this Black Mass tonight will prove a revolting busi­ness for you. But try all the time to bear in mind that you have been forced to it in order to save Susan from appall­ing degradation and that, like a betrayal that has been extracted from you by torture, it will not be held against your spiritual integrity.'

'You are right in that,' Charles conceded miserably.?. 'But it means that I'll have lost Susan for ever.'

'Not necessarily. When this is over, no-one can force you to continue living with Jemima. And if Susan truly loves you, as I believe she does, she would agree to become your mistress.'

‘I think she would, but I'd not ask it of her. Did we live together openly she would be ostracised by society, and a hole-in-the-corner affair would be a poor outlook for us both. She would not feel free to marry another, and we would be unable to share a home. But there are still many hours to go. My mother may yet arrive in time to save us. I intend to spend the day in prayer that may come about.'

'God grant, then, that your prayers may be answered,' Roger replied quietly. He refrained from adding that, although he believed that at times prayers are answered, they seldom were, as he well knew from the tens of thou­sands of men who had prayed that they might live through

Napoleon's battles, yet had died on the field or been frozen to death in the snows of Russia during the terrible retreat from Moscow.

Hour after hour crept by. Charles spent a great part of them on his knees. Roger sat silent, racking his wits for some means by which, when they were brought up from the dungeon, they might trick their enemies; but he thought in vain.

At last the long day was past. Charles refused to eat anything, but Roger, as had long been his habit when about to face a crisis, fortified himself with a good meal then lay down to doze during such time as remained to them.

He was roused by the sound of the manhole being opened, and Aboe lowering the rope from the hook of which now dangled a stout leather belt. The big negro then called down that one of them should buckle it round him, lest he lose his grip on the rope while climbing up.

Without consulting Charles Roger buckled on the belt and, hand over hand, hauled himself up the thick rope. His only hope now was that, as he come up through the hole, he would be able to get his hands round Aboe's throat. But he could not let go of the rope until he was through the hole, and the negro had taken a precaution against being attacked. The moment Roger's head emerged through the hole, Aboe slipped a noose of cord over it and jerked it tight round his neck. Half strangled, he was pulled out and immediately seized by Gog and Magog, who bound first his hands securely behind his back, then his ankles with the ends of a yard-long cord; so that he could walk, but could not kick out or run. Five minutes later Charles, having been rendered incapable of resistance in a similar manner, stood beside him.

Without a word their captors marched them through the cobweb-hung passages to the great hall. It was now lit by a number of candles, and the witch was there with Father Damien. She was clad in a mauve robe on which the signs of the Zodiac were embroidered in gold thread. It was the first time Roger had seen her face to face, and he conceded that the account of her beauty, given him by Charles, had not been exaggerated. The priest was wearing his mitre and a gorgeously-coloured cope, which swung open as he moved, revealing his genitals.

Charles's hands were untied, and he was told to sit at a table upon which lay a parchment. As he took up the document and read it through, Aboe stood over him with a long, sharp knife.

The document declared his intention to receive instruc­tion with a view to becoming a Roman Catholic, that he was about to be married to Miss Jemima Luggala by the ritual of that Church and that any children of the marriage should be brought up in the Roman faith. It continued to state that in no circumstances would he take any steps in an attempt to invalidate the marriage or live apart from his wife, unless it was her wish that he should do so. In a final clause, he made over to her his estate, White Knights Park, unreservedly, with the right to sell the whole or any part of it for her sole benefit.

It was a formidable commitment, but Charles knew that receiving instruction in the Roman faith did not com­mit him to changing his religion, and that if he chose he could make life so unpleasant for Jemima that she would be glad to leave him; so, without argument, he signed the undertaking.

The witch looked at Roger and said, 'Mr. Brook, it was as an uninvited guest that you came here but since you are with us I feel sure you would not object to witnessing Lord St. Ermins' signature; and, later, now that we are all friends, if you agreed to give the bride away a pleasant gesture it would be.'

Roger had read the document over Charles's shoulder and realised that, apart from marrying Jemima and mak­ing over White Knights Park to her, nothing in it could compel Charles to act towards her as an agreeable hus­band. He said therefore that he would both sign as a wit­ness and give away the bride. His hands were untied, and he signed with a smile, as he had been quick to realise that the more complaisant he appeared to be towards these people, the better chance he would have of turning the tables on them should the opportunity arise.

The whole party then proceeded along further pas­sages and down a flight of stone steps to a large and lofty chamber, the floor of which was only a few feet above the surface of the lake. The outer wall of the room had collapsed, and Roger realised that it must be the big room he had seen from the end of the drive when making his first reconnaissance of the castle. He now saw by the moonlight that it was a chapel, at one end of which, raised on two steps, there was an altar consisting of a low, rough-hewn, smooth-topped slab of stone.

Jemima was standing near it. She was wearing a dress reminiscent of those worn in ancient Egypt. Her skirt was of white lawn, only knee length and heavily pleated. Her legs were bare, and she had golden sandals on her feet. Fichus of lawn, fell gracefully from her shoulders to her waist, but only partially covered her breasts; between them, on a necklace of turquoises set in gold, hung a crux-ansata. Framing her pale face her dark hair fell in ring­lets to her shoulders; it was crowned by a circlet of gold, from the front of which rose a cat's head.

On seeing the diadem Charles recalled that Katie O'Brien was a priestess of the Egyptian cat-god Bast.

Roger, more cynically, thought how convenient the short skirt would be for the final act of the ceremony.

On the altar stood a blood-red, crooked cross. Father Damien genuflected before it, then turned round to face the others who had lined up in front of him. The hands of Charles and Roger were now free, but their ankles were still joined by cords that prevented them from moving swiftly. They also still had cords round their necks. Gog stood behind Charles and Magog behind Roger, ready to seize the ends of the cords at the first sign that the prisoners meant to make trouble.

Father Damien proceeded to intone the marriage ser­vice according to the Roman Church. Roger knew enough Latin to realise that, despite the bizarre surroundings, there was no deviation from it which could later enable Charles or himself to state on oath that the couple had not been properly married. At the right moment the witch, who was standing beside Jemima, reached behind the girl's back, touched Charles on the elbow and pressed a wedding ring into his hand. He put it on Jemima's finger and they both made the proper responses. Father Damien then gave them the orthodox blessing.

Even now Roger was still contemplating making a des­perate effort to break up the ceremony, but the moment he took one short step sideways, Magog grabbed the cord round his neck and pulled it taut. He resigned himself then to witnessing the consummation of the marriage, which was to take place before them on the altar slab.

But that was not yet to be. The witch kissed Jemima, then drew her aside and said to the others, 'We have yet to celebrate a second Mass to propitiate the great Bast and the master of us all, Prince Lucifer, Son of the Morn­ing.'

At a sign from her, Gog and Magog jerked down the cords about Charles's and Roger's necks. As they put up their hands to prevent themselves from being throttled, the two peasants tied the ends of the cords to those attached to their captives' ankles. Both struggled wildly for a moment, but with their heads strained back, effective resistance was impossible. Their arms were seized and their hands once more bound behind them. They were then dragged a few feet from the altar and forced down on their knees. In that position the slackening of the cords down their backs enabled them to breathe freely again, but they could not come to their feet without choking themselves.

Footsteps at the far end of the chapel caught their attention and caused them to look in that direction. Three figures had emerged from a doorway down there, and could be clearly seen in the bright moonlight: a man, a girl and a lamb. The man was Aboe. With his right hand he held the girl by the elbow, in his left hand he held a lead attached to a collar round the neck of the lamb. The girl was sheathed in the long, white robe of a conventional bride and had a wreath of orange blossom on her head. Since she was veiled Roger and Charles could not see her features distinctly at that distance, but they knew she must be Susan.

As she approached she could not have helped seeing them, but she showed no sign of having done so. Her steps were even and her head held high. Roger concluded that she had been either drugged or mesmerised. Charles's face expressed shocked horror when he realised what was about to happen. Susan was about to be laid on the altar so that a Black Mass could be held upon her body. The priest would rape her. The lamb was to be sacrificed and, when it had been slaughtered, they would all be made to drink its blood. In agonised fury he shouted at the witch :

'You can't do this! You promised that no harm should be done to her! You swore it!'

Katie O'Brien's scarlet lips opened wide in an amused laugh, then she replied, 'You poor fool, you made me swear to God. I do not recognise your God. You should have made me swear to him you call Satan.'

'May you rot in hell!' Charles cried, and tried to get to his feet, but fell back again, choked by the rope around his neck.

Susan had not taken the least notice of the altercation. In front of the altar she halted. Aboe let go her arm and stepped back several paces from her. Father Damien began to recite the Lord's Prayer backwards in Latin. Roger's face was wet with sweat. Charles continued to hurl curses at the witch.

Suddenly Susan erupted from her trance-like stillness. Whipping a dagger from under her full robe, she turned and sprang with lightning swiftness at Jemima. Raising the dagger high, she screamed:

'False friend! Liar! Judas! Betrayer of trust! You've brought your death upon yourself.'

Jemima, her dark eyes starting from her head in sud­den terror, was just in time to throw up her hand and grasp Susan's wrist. For a moment they struggled violently. The priest abruptly ceased his blasphemous prayer. Aboe leapt forward, but he had been standing a dozen paces away on the left side of the altar. Katie, to the right of it, was much closer. Springing toward Susan, she made a grab at the hair at the back of the girl's head, but her fingers closed only over the veil. The jerk upon it threw Susan off balance. The two girls fell in a writhing heap on the stone floor.

Aboe threw himself on Susan and dragged her off Jemima, who remained groaning where she lay, the hilt of the dagger protruding from her right breast.

The witch fell to her knees, threw her arms round her daughter, raised her head to her own lap and moaned, 'My darling! How could this have happened ? The drug could not have taken effect. How did she get possession of that dagger?'

In a hoarse voice Jemima panted, ‘I gave . . . gave it to her. And . . . and I didn't give her the drug.'

'But why, child? Why?' the witch asked in an agonised voice.

'Because... because ...' came the gasping reply. 'That stinking beast, Father Damien. He ... he has been pester­ing me for weeks. He came to my room ... my room three nights ago. I ... I was sound asleep. He ripped the bed­clothes off and . . . and was on me ... on me before I realised what ... what was happening. To ... to be avenged on him I ... I gave Susan the knife. Told her what to do. Pretend . . . pretend to be drugged then . . . then kill him with it.'

Jemima's eyes closed, her head sagged and those about her realised that she was dead.

Sobbing, the witch came to her feet. For a moment she .looked slowly round as though half dazed. Then her glance fell on Susan. Her beautiful face became distorted with rage, and she screamed:

'It is you that killed her! You've killed my beautiful daughter. After you'd been raped during the ceremony, I'd meant to let you go. To throw you out. But not now! Not now. Prince Lucifer would prefer human blood to that of a lamb representing Jesus. After we have offered up your virginity, your throat I'll cut myself.'

Turning her flashing eyes on Aboe, she yelled, 'Throw the bitch on the altar. We've said prayers enough. Hold her down for Father Damien.'

Aboe towered above Susan, holding her arms behind her back. Shifting his grip, he picked her up and threw her face upward on the altar. Father Damien grinned down at her. His mouth was working, and saliva ran from the corners. Screaming, Susan fought with tooth and nail. Her veil and the wreath of orange blossom had fallen off. Her auburn hair was in wild disorder as she jerked up her head and bit Aboe savagely in the arm. He let out a yelp of pain, then called Gog and Magog to his assistance. Gog grabbed her hands and pulled them up above her head. Aboe seized the hem of her skirt and wrenched it back, revealing her body naked up to the navel. Then he and the negro each seized an ankle and pulled her legs apart. Father Damien had moved round to the end of the altar, facing her. Opening wide his cope, he gave a gloat­ing chuckle as he exposed himself to her. Held down though she was her eyes stared up at him, fixed in fear on his enormous genitals.

Charles had shut his eyes and was sobbing. Roger stared aghast at this bestial spectacle, overwhelmed with dismay that he was powerless to prevent its consummation.

Suddenly he became conscious of an unseen presence beside him. Silently, in his mind, the presence spoke and he knew it to be the voice of the Sagamore, Morning Star.

'It was because I foresaw this that I made you my brother.'

Instantly, with all the power of his lungs, Roger yelled, 'The Frog! The Frog! He who is of Water, Earth and Air. The Creator, the beginning of all things! To defeat this Evil I call upon the Power of the Frog.'

Susan ceased screaming. Everyone present became deadly still. They remained rigid, as though a tableau in a waxworks show. For a moment there was utter stillness, and it seemed as though the dust of ages was falling silently upon them. Then there came the sound of lapping water. The cords that bound Roger and Charles had fallen from them. Roger came to his feet and saw in the moon­light that the waters of the lake were sweeping away from the castle. Gog and Magog saw that, too. Impelled by a primitive, animal instinct to save themselves, they bounded from the altar, leapt down the tumbled stones into the mud and, frantic with terror, raced neck to neck to the shore.

The witch, Father Damien and Aboe remained rooted where they stood. Susan rolled off the altar and, as Charles ran toward her, picked herself up. A moment later they were clasped in each other's arms.

Roger turned and stared out across the lake. A mist, partly obscuring the moonlit vista, had risen upon it. Out ~ of the mist there loomed a gigantic figure. It was a huge frog, at least twenty feet in height, squatting in the water. The great eyes of this monstrous spirit of the frogs were focused on the castle. Its throat pulsated as though blown rhythmically by internal bellows. Its mouth opened wide once, then closed again.

Impelled by a silent signal, the witch and her two companions turned towards it. As though attracted by a magnet they could not resist, they walked with halt­ing footsteps to the open side of the chapel, then staggered down the stones into the mud. Flailing their arms and dragging their legs, the three of them seemed to be fight­ing desperately against an invisible suction. They began to scream in terror and yell for mercy. But their appeal; were of no avail. The last that Roger saw of them through the mist they were being drawn inexorably through knee-high water toward the again open mouth of the giant frog.

Afterwards Roger, Charles and Susan could never clearly remember what had happened to them. The floor of the chapel had begun to sink beneath their feet. Some­how they had got ashore. The crashing of falling stones, made them look back, and they saw that the evil ruin was disintegrating. The waters of the lake were seeping back and, after a time they had no means of judging, the last remnants of the castle were submerged beneath them.

So weary that they could no longer think, they trudged for miles until they came upon a roadside bivouac, where a troop of soldiers sent out to search for them had made camp for the night.

Next day they were back in Dublin, and united with Georgina. A week earlier she had come over to find them. The Viceroy had given her all the help he could, but Maureen Luggala had proved useless. On enquiring at her house, it was learned that she had been taken away as a lunatic. Georgina had gone to Dublin's Bedlam, to find her, cursed by the witch, an old and crippled woman, white-haired, her cheeks sagging, and raving mad.

Epilogue

It was again high summer in Britain, the first for many years in which the people had known peace. During the past months soldiers and sailors, many of whom had not seen their families for a decade, had been coming back to homes rich and humble all over England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland.

In every city, town and village there had been rejoicing, and feasts in honour of the returned heroes. The victorious commanders had been handsomely rewarded. Welling­ton had received a dozen Grand Crosses in Orders of Chivalry, numerous bejewelled Field Marshals' batons, giving him that rank in the armies of the Allies, and had been dowered with many thousands of pounds-worth of presents from the allied sovereigns. Generals and Admirals were made Lords, Knights and Commanders of the Bath, in addition to receiving large sums of money voted them by Parliament.

Roger had received nothing, neither had he expected to; it was reward enough for him that the war was over and no-one would again appeal to him to risk his life on patriotic grounds.

Napoleon had attempted, but failed, to commit suicide; then on April 20th, in the horse-shoe court at Fontainebleau, he had kissed the tricolour and bidden farewell to the weeping veterans of the Old Guard before setting out on his journey south. There had been no shouts of 'Vive l’Empereur and, as he approached the Mediter­ranean, the people openly displayed the hatred they bore him for having robbed them of husbands, fathers, sons. At Orange they stoned his coach while he cowered behind Bertrand. Once out of the city, he changed into an Aus­trian coat, a Russian cloak and a round hat with a White Cockade on it. Learning that a mob at Avignon was thirst­ing for his blood, he made a detour to bypass that city. Thus, disguised, humiliated and in fear of his life, the once-mighty Emperor at last reached the coast and was taken on board a British frigate to his minute kingdom of Elba.

The Marshals, on the other hand, continued to be popular heroes. Fat, gouty old Louis XVIII was no fool. Once safely on the throne of France, he decorated them— with a few exceptions including the brave Davout, who had held out in Hamburg to the bitter end—with the Grand Cross of the Order of St. Louis, confirmed them in their tides and allowed them to retain their great estates.

On Roger's return from Ireland, Droopy Ned had per­suaded him to go out to Richmond and seek a reconcilia­tion with his wife. He found Mary both sober and con­trite. She confessed that she was still drinking, but had cut it down and would give it up altogether if only he would live permanently at home with her. Recognising that she would never have given way to this weakness had it not been for his long absence abroad, he said he would not dream of depriving her of the joy of wine, but asked that in future, even when he was away for a few days, as he meant to be now and then, she should drink only in moderation.

He had made his proviso about being free to come and go as he wished, because nothing would have induced him to give up an occasional night or two of paradise with Georgina at her studio. Nevertheless he was still very fond of Mary and determined to make her as happy as he could. So, after a few days they settled down to resume die tranquil life they had led for a short while after their return from America.

It was on a morning early in June that Roger mounted his horse to ride to London. He did so with a far from easy mind, as he had been summoned to wait upon the Prime Minister, Lord Liverpool, whom he had met on a number of occasions but did not know well. His disquiet was caused by the belief that the only reason His Lordship could have for sending for him was to ask him to under­take some mission. What it could be now that Europe was at peace he had no idea but, whatever it might be, he was determined to refuse.

When he was shown upstairs at 10 Downing Street, the Prime Minister greeted him pleasantly, waved him to a chair and said:

'Mr. Brook, I understand that your lovely daughter is to marry the young Earl of St. Ermins toward the end of the month.'

Roger smiled. "Tis so, my lord, and both I and St. Ermins's mother, Her Grace of Kew, are most happy about it, for we have been life-long friends and know the young people to have long loved each other dearly.'

Thoughtfully, the Prime Minister remarked, 'I feel it something of a pity, though, that one of the wealthiest nobles in England should be taking a commoner as his bride. 'Twould be so much more suitable if he were about to wed the daughter of an Earl.'

Puzzled and annoyed, Roger frowned. 'I fail to com­prehend the point of Your Lordship's remark. Except that I am not descended from a king on the wrong side of the blanket, my mother's family do not take second place to that of St. Ermins. Their ancestry is longer.'

His Lordship laughed. 'You must forgive me my little jest, Mr. Brook. It was with regard to your ancestry that I requested you to call upon me. There are no secrets from one in my position. I am well acquainted with the many services you have rendered Britain over the past quar­ter of a century. Moreover, not only my Lord Castlereagh and His Grace of Wellington but also His Imperial Maj­esty the Czar and Talleyrand, have all brought to my attention the invaluable part you played in helping to bring about a settlement in France which bids fair to ensure peace and prosperity to her people under a limited monarchy.

. 'As you know, it is a long established custom for secret services to go unrewarded, except for payments of cash. But I felt you were deserving of special consideration, and Talleyrand suggested, in his letter to me, a way in which we could acknowledge our debt to you. With the death of your cousin, the title of your mother's family went into abeyance. But titles can be revived for descendants of a noble family. I have spoken to the Prince Regent about it and His Royal Highness gave his willing consent. Be pleased to come here again, Mr. Brook, at the same hour this day week, suitably robed. Lord Castlereagh and I will then do ourselves the honour to present you in the House of Lords to your fellow Peers as the Right Honour­able the Earl of Kildonan.'

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First published by Hutchinson & Co (Publishers) Ltd 1973 Arrow edition 1975

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