"FALSE GODS."

Auckland Star, Volume LIV, Issue 131, 4 June 1923, Page 10

"FALSE GODS."

By GUY THORNE. | Author of "Film City," "The Crime on the Film," Etc. I L-HAITER X. THE INCREDIBLE HAPPENS. Three o'clock in the morning! The temple by the river is once more llluminated "by wax lights. The company , from the Castle are settled round the . walls. Staveley stands at the open j door waiting for fhe frvvo last arrivals, j Another long, gilded day had passed. I He had spent it entirely with Lady ■ Cynthia, for. in view of the impending ceremony, the whole household had kopt to "their rooms. At one o'clock they had assembled downstairs, and Staveley had asserted himself He took command, and forced every lady of the party to take a cup of strong and ! stimulating beef-tea. And afterwards —he would take no denial—a bromide . mixture calming to the nerves! They had driven to the temple —this, I also, he had insisted on—and he was j now waiting for General Mur.ro, who had | been closeted with the Duchess for an hour that evening, and Colonel de Beauvais. At lasrt. came the sound of footsteps. De Beauvais entered first, and the tall, gaunt figure of the General followed. It wae the first time that anyone there, except, the Duchess and Staveley, had seen him. He came to these excited men and women as the high priest of ; fearful mysteries, and it was piteous to ! Staveley to *cc the staring faces, the parted" lips tremulous with mingled hope and terror. To say that the man"s appearance struck cold upon every heart would be to understate the case. No one more forbidding in aspect could be conceived. ( and he seemed to fascinate them as a serpent fascinates its prey. Yes, he | was utterly repellant. but to-night in- I vested with a strange command and black dignity which made him more than normal. He was hatless, and behind him the Colonel carried several objects . which he placed upon the floor. The door closed, and was locked— Staveley had himself broken the seals a few minutes before. They were quite undisturbed, and of the detective he had seen nothing, nor had he received a ; word from him during the day. General Munro sent a sweeping glance ' round the circular apartment. Then he Hfted one claw-liko hand. "I must give you a warning," he said in his harsh voice "Xo one must speak, no one must move—whatever they may see or hear. Kemain seated, for anyone who rises may be in desfcly peril!" Staveley spoke, and H*e two men looked at each other. 'Their glances crossed and met, like swords at the salute. "I. General Munro. am not afraid of any danger that may come. I wish to stand close by the coffin there" —he turned and pointed to the long, black box which lay in the alcove, etark and forbidding. There was a perceptible pause, and the air wae tense between them. Then the General bowed. "So be it!" he said. He turned and said a low word to Colonel de Beauvais, who opened the bag he was carrying. While they were bending over it, Staveley was both touched and gratified by finding Mr. Omerod standing at Ws side. "I think I know what they are going to try and do," he tv.hispered. "You had better 'have mc with you, for I expect you may 'be rather startled." Colonel de Beauvais vested General Munro with a long, dark robe, confined round the waist by a girdle, 'fliere were figures or eigns embroidered on the stuff. Then the General himself bent down to the black and shining floor. There was some white object in his hand, probably shalk, and he traced a large double circle. Outside the circles, in the four corners of a square, lie drew the interlaced triangles which form the hexagon, or seal of Solomon. "It is the ritual of Eliphaz Levi," Mr. Omerod whispered to Staveley. Then, in the space between the two circles the thin, bending figure wrote what appeared to be proper names. Monstrous shadows flickered along the walls and in the dome—it was an eerie eight. ".Most interesting!" whispered Mr. Omerod. "Staveley, this is mumbojumbo; thie is, to put it vulgarly, fake. That roan is simply doing all thie for ■stage effect. He knows nothing of the real ritual. J cannot explain now, but this is eimply to produce an impression." At last, the myetic writing on the floor was finiehed, and there now appeared a little tripod of trass, with a thin blue flame from a spirit lamp burning below a sheet of copper. "Ah!" said Mr. Omerod. aloud, and then, speaking in his usual calm voice, but with a curious hard ring of determination 'beneath it which none of them had heard : before he addressed General Munro. ''I presume, sir," he said, "that you are about to throw incense upon that sheet of heated' metal?" An ugly look came into the spectral eyes of 'the necromancer. "If I am to be interfered with in thie ritual," he began, when Mr. Omerod held up one hand. Instantly, and Staveley saw it with a curious thrill, the General stopped. "J merely wish to explain," sa id Omerod in a conversational voice, "that certain herbs which are used in the invocation of the dead in the East, and the real nature of which is disguised by the mixture of frankincense and myrrli, are in reßlity strong hypnotics. It'may be that in a few minutes the ladies and gentlemen here, quite unaccustomed to anything of the sort, may be breathing in a vapour which clouds the mind and renders it susceptible to hallucinations. 1 am bound to say thie." There was a low and angry murmur from the benches. They resented it. these devotees. They were'alreadv drugged and prepared for the sacrifice, and perhaps the tall man knew it. He replied courteously enough. "I recognise your point, Mr. Omerod, and as the incense I wag about to use though innocent enough—ie not an absolute essential in this ceremony. T will abandon i* " He looked round at the disciples. "Friends," he said, "prepare yourselves! The promise of Kama is about to l>e fujfilled, and no disbelief can alter thie awful and tremendous fact!" A great solemnity, and more, an intense conviction, animated 'the unpieasant, grating voice, and Omerod withdrew to the wall without another word. "Dr. Staveley, you have the key of the eeflin in your possession?'' "It is here,"—Staveley produced it. "Please go to the coffin and unlock it!" Amid a dead silence, Staveley did co. His hand fumbled. Do what he would, it wag with difficulty that he inserted the key into the hole. "Shall I break the seals?" he eaid. Something forced the question out of him. "Another will break them," was the answer.

General Munro placed himself in the centre of the circle, drew himself to his full height, inhaled a deep breath of air, and raised hie arras. Instantly the dome was filled with a terrible buret of sound. A voice of astonishing volume and loudness rolled from I between his lips, which hardly seemed to move. Great, sonorous ciianted i words seemed to heat upon the ear- I drums wiith almoet unbearable percus- ! sion. The people on the benches, with ] one consent, shrank close to each other, I and Stavoley's whole mind seemed to be ! hypnotised and stunned. He felt bis arm I gripped tight, but did not move. And then, as if from a vast distance, he heard ! the man at his side whispering, and the I voice was quivering with excitement. j "Prepare yourself, Staveley. I don't j understand this at all, but something i≤ ; going to happen immediately! " To all of them there the very building seemed to rock in the tornado of sound. | It was terrible. The actual walls of I brick seemed as if they must split I asunder—mind and body were drowning j in the monstrous menacing din. ] And then, in the flicker of an eyelid, it j stopped. The black figure bent forwards j towards the niche with gaunt, out- j stretched arms. Low and clear, three I words came from it: "Rama! Rama! Rama!" , And lo! a prodigy to stagger the very soul, a sight that close down to the ultimate depths of being, till life itself soemed straining at its bonds and racked the fleah with agony! A cold not of this" world, but an awful, deadly chilling of the spirit, and with little snaps the seals broke and the tapes bung down. The black lid of the coffin slowly rose. j Again the call—higher and exultant . now: "Rama! Rama! Rama!", And, plain to the eyes of all, the dead body in its shroud rose up. the bandages around the boad fell away, ami Paul Rama, living flesh ami l>lood, descended and stood among them! I "Welcome!" —it was bis voice. I There have been cases, happily rare, : when in one single devastating moment beliefs and supports of a lifetime have been shorn away. It was so with Staveley now. The blow was so tremendous that it stunned. Personality, robbed of all that had made it what it was, reeled, for imagination, apprehension, rather, could not immediately take in the extent and completeness of the ; blow. Here was a scientific man of name I and great attainments, who, half an i hour ago, would have gone to the stake i J for his conviction that miracles in the I physical order do not happen. Here was ; one so stupendous as to make him douM , ■ the evidence of the senses, all that re- ; mained in that cataclysmic moment. ■■ But the resurrected man had placed his hand upon his shoulder, was smiling j at him, spoke in the well-remembered 1 j voice, though strong and resonant. 1 "Do you believe now, my friend of the . doubting heart?"' He felt the hand beyond possibility of j hallucination. He heard the voice with : ears that had not lost their function. ■ And then he was staring down »t two brown wrists held out to him and , across each wrist was a newly-healed , ecar, marks of the incisions lie and Dr. Liddon had made. All this happened 'in three or four , seconds. Then, after a shout, Staveley , burst away and flung himself from the temple, running as if mad from the j volume of noiec wjthin—shouts of exul- [ tation, the loud, piercing shriek? of one of the women in uncontrollable hysteria. , sobs, laughter, wailinga, a madhouse din! 1 He leapt down the steps and staggered I on to the turf, breathing deep of the cool morning air. Already it was lighter. In j the east the dark was melting into faint I g r ey. The little breeze that runs round , the world before the dawn was cool upon ' hie face, and he heard the first, uncerj tain notes—jug-jug-jug! —of an awakenj ing bird, deep and mellow, as if played r upon a boxwood flute. He could not think, but in his despe--3 rate and terribly shocked mind, one purpose still held. He knew what be bad to j do—he had sworn to do it—he must get into bis car at once and drive furiously to town. He started to run, and as he did so j someone came running past him. It was j the Duke. His face was grey, his eyes staring out of his head. j "My God! my God! my 00d. , ' , lie said, as he tore away into the wood. A distant hum, a roar, a rattle, a cloud of dust, and the earliest labourer r in the little village of the fens stands . staring at his door and rubbing his eyes I as the furious thing goes by, hardly seen ' in the speed of its passage. c "In a hurrry. seemin'ly!" he mutters i to himself, but is thrilled, nevertheless, j and there is wonder in bis slow soul as f he snuffs the dawn. It is not yet half past four. The fields I are still white with dew, the drainage dykes which stretch away to the far . horizon lie like rods of dull =>teel. j But in the east, somewhere over Thetj ford way, the cool grey of the immense sky-are is stabbed with red-gold spears. j The sun is coming, and his javelin men l announce his progress. M !

But the motionless, masked figure that crouches over the wheel of the great grey machine tearing for London sees nothing of the herald glories. Staveley had gained the Castle garage automatically. He started without conscious thought, knowing only one thing— that he must reach London at the earliest possible moment. And no hour could have been more propitious. There was light enough to see every detail of tlie road, and all the ways were quiet as a dream. There was no traffic whatever, no one to say him nay, and he gave the mighty engines liberty to do their best. The needle of the speedometer quivered up from forty to fifty and hovered steadily there, even rising above it for a brief half-minute when the car thundered down a two-mile slope. Cambridge on the right, its towers and cupolas gilded by the first warm rays, and a great skein of rooks streaming away into the eye of the sun. The car slows down as it skirts the ancient city, but it is doing well over thirty niiies an hour still, for the gentlemen of the University and their servants are yet ahed, and the empty streets, half grey, half delicate gold, echo with quick reports, like pistol shots, as Staveley rushes by. In the leafy lanes of Hertfordshire the birds were singing in the grey-green tree*. Cottage doors were o-jien, fragrant wood-smoke went up in spirals from the old, thatched roofs. And now the herdsmen were tramping to the. pastures and the farm boys harnessing the sleek, brown horses that all day would reap i oats and poppies. Blithe old men in the fields sang and whistled as they thatched the long ricks of hay, and the rushing wind upon Xfaveley's face, which shrieked monotonously .past him with never a change of note, was suddenly grown soft and warm. Norwich is a hundred and fourteen miles, or thereabout, from London, nnd Thorpe Koyal fifteen miles on the near side of tin- city. Vet, so undisturbed had been his progress, so skilful his driving and so perfect the mechanism he controlled, even with the slower going which was soon to be imperative, Staveley calculated that he might well be at his house a few minutes before seven o'clock. As a matter of fact, it was just striking the hour on the clock Oi St. James', Piccadilly, as be passed. The garage where he kept his cars was not two minutes from his house. The gates were open, and several cars were being washed in the yard. He drove in, shouted an order to the nearest man, and then descended His legs were so cramped that he could hardly walk for the u'rst fey yards. His burning desire was to see Sir Temple. He did not dare to allow himself to think until he had done that. Never had he more relied upon the wisdom and sanity of hie friend and master. The great streets of the West-end were all clean and swept ready for the new day, but save for an occasional taxi piled with some luggage from some early Irp.in at Paddington, there were fe.v ; people about except milkmen and posti men. The dining-room windows of some I of the boii-ps were open, and housemaids I with feather mops could be discerned.

But many of them were shuttered and blind as the owners were all away at the seaside or on the Continent. Stavelev's bachelor establishment consisted of a cook-housekeeper, two maids, a page-boy, and his valet, Hands, who acted as 'butler also. Hands was, of course, at Thorpe Royal, and the pageboy did not sleep in. Staveley had a shrewd suspicion that he would not Snd anyone up, and as he let himself quietly into the hall and stood listening for a moment, he found that be was right. There was that curious, indefinable stillness about the place which means that its inmates are still sunk in sleep. Well, he did not wish to startle them. He would go upstairs and wash, see if he could find a biscuit and a glass of wine there would be something ol the sort on the dining-room sideboard, • probably and then hurry to Grosvenor Street He knew that Sir Temple s but- ], r Lauri, indeed his whole household, were early risers, taking pattern by their master, who was often to bt seen walking in the Park before beakfast. ■As he went up the broad, creamenamelled stairs, he was so physically weary that he had to pull himself onwards by the banisters. He felt a horrible devastating sense of loss, as if the very foundations of his correspondence with environment had 'been cut away from beneath his feet. It was as though be was lost in a void and had no longer a personal point of view. He struggled with this obsession as he laved himself in the cool water, but it bad him in its grip. Even the thought of Cynthia, who he invoked, as a Catho-

He might invoke a saint in moments of temptation, failed to dispel the Wden mists. The shock he had undergone had dislocated the normal mechanism of life, and his love herself seemed to him something small and far away —something definitely of the past! He went downstairs again, physically a little refreshed', and entered his diningroom, which was the back of two rooms on the ground floor. Shutters prevented the entry of any light, and he switched on the electrics, finding some biscuits as he hoped, and, for stimulant, a little whisky in a tantalus and a siphon of soda. In about three minutes he went out again into the hall, and, as he did so, a •beautiful old grandfather clock, the works of which had 'been modernised and fitted with the Westminster chimes, rang out the hour. It attracted his attention, and he was afterwards able to fix i t —exactly half-past seven. Then he went into his study and con-sulting-room, which looked out into South Audley Street—a large, airy place, the finest on that floor. It was a room of which he was particularly fond. Much of his best work of recent years had been done there. Upon the walls were countless memorials of school, Oxford and home. It was very dark, like the diningroom, but he thought he would unbar the shutters upon'the windows and let in the fresh morning air. He found his way to them, skirting the swivel chair at the writingtable, just remembering the revolving book-shelf in time, released the boards

with a clatter, and pulled aside H hinged barriers of the light. He was about to open the onnf. i . dow of the three when hehea thing .behind him in the room T whipped round in an instant and n standing by the taible, solid ZZ : Mood m the dear sunlight, 6t ood pg He was holding out his scarred wri, f , and there was a mocking Bmi ] e fac-e. And, lor the second time 11 that memorable morning, he heart i? 1 words, -Will you .believe w£ tbe A wild ehriek rang through thp fc«, which startled the fa ZJ - ser f l™ J^ Dr Staveley fell heavily Upon t - carpet, there was a sound as ofmight? ns.ng waters m his ears, and evervtS passed away into darknessr s (To be continued daily.)