Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 2: Death in Ecstasy, Vintage Murder, Artists in Crime. Ngaio Marsh

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ name sounded like a password to romance. Who knows, he thought hopefully, into what strange meeting-place I may venture? It should be exotic and warm and there should be incense and curious rites. With these pleasant anticipations he crossed Chester Street and, lowering his umbrella to meet the veering wind, made for the House of the Sacred Flame.

      Two or three other figures preceded him, but by the time he reached the swinging sign they had all disappeared into a side entry. As he drew nearer Nigel was aware of a bell ringing, not clearly, insistently, like the bell of St Mary’s, Graham Street, but with a smothered and inward sound as though it was deep inside a building. He turned left under the sign into shelter, and at that moment the bell stopped ringing. He found himself in a long covered passage, lit at the far end by a single lamp, or rather by a single light, for as he approached he saw that a naked flame rose from a bronze torch held in an iron sconce. Doubtless in deference to some by-law this unusual contrivance was encased in a sort of cage. Beyond the torch he saw double doors. A man came through, closed the doors, locked them, and seated himself on a stool under the torch. Nigel furled his umbrella and approached this doorkeeper. He was a thinnish young man, pale and spectacled, with an air of gentility.

      ‘I’m afraid you are too late,’ he said.

      ‘Too late?’ Nigel felt ridiculously exasperated and disappointed.

      ‘Yes. The bell has stopped. I have just locked the doors.’

      ‘But only this second. I saw you do it as I lowered my umbrella. Couldn’t you open them again?’

      ‘The bell has stopped.’

      ‘I can hear that very well. That, too, has only just occurred. Could not you let me in?’

      ‘I see you do not know our rules,’ said the young man, and pointed to a framed notice which hung beside the doors. Nigel turned peevishly and read the sentence indicated by the young man: ‘The bell ceases ringing as the Priest enters the temple. The doors are then locked and will not be reopened until the ceremony is ended.’

      ‘There, you see,’ said the young man complacently.

      ‘Yes, I see. But if you will allow me to say so, I consider that you make a mistake in so stringently enforcing this rule. As you have noticed I am a new-comer. Something prompted me to come – an impulse. Who knows but what I might have proved an enthusiastic convert to whatever doctrine is taught behind your locked doors?’

      ‘There is a Neophytes’ Class at six-fifteen on Wednesdays.’

      ‘I shall not attend it,’ cried Nigel in a rage.

      ‘That is as you please.’

      Nigel perceived very clearly that he had made a fool of himself. He could not understand why he felt so disproportionately put out at being refused entrance to a ceremony of which he knew nothing and, he told himself, cared less. However he was already a little ashamed of his churlish behaviour and with the idea of appeasing the doorkeeper he turned once again to the notice.

      At the top was a neat red torch set in a circle of other symbols, with most of which he was unfamiliar. Outside these again were the signs of the Zodiac. With a returning sense of chagrin he reflected that this was precisely the sort of thing his mood had demanded. Undoubtedly the service would be strange and full of an exotic mumbo-jumbo. He might even have got a story from it. A muffled sound of chanting beyond the doors increased his vexation. However he read on:

      In the Light of the Sacred Flame all mysteries are but different facets of the One Mystery, all Gods but different aspects of one Godhead. Time is but an aspect of Eternity, and the doorway to Eternity is Spiritual Ecstasy.

      JASPER GARNETTE

      ‘Tell me,’ said Nigel, turning to the doorkeeper, ‘who is Jasper Garnette?’

      ‘Our Founder,’ answered the young man stiffly, ‘and our Priest.’

      ‘You mean that not only does he write about eternity but he actually provides the doorway which he mentions in this notice?’

      ‘You may say,’ said the young man with a glint of genuine fervour in his eye, ‘that this is The Doorway.’

      ‘And are you fated to stay for ever on the threshold, shutting out yourself and all later arrivals?’ inquired Nigel, who was beginning to enjoy himself.

      ‘We take it in turns.’

      ‘I see. I can hear a voice raised in something that sounds like a lament. Is that the voice of Mr Jasper Garnette?’

      ‘Yes. It is not a lament. It is an Invocation.’

      ‘What is he invoking?’

      ‘You really should attend the Neophytes’ Class at six-fifteen on Wednesdays. It is against our Rule for me to gossip while I am On Guard,’ pronounced the doorkeeper, who seemed to speak in capitals.

      ‘I should hardly call this gossip,’ Nigel objected. Suddenly he jumped violently. A loud knock had sounded on the inside of the door. It was twice repeated.

      ‘Please get out of the way,’ cried the young man. He removed the wire guard in front of the torch. Then he took a key from his pocket and with this he opened the double doors.

      Nigel drew to one side hurriedly. There was a small recess by the doors. He backed into it.

      Over the threshold came two youths dressed in long vermilion robes and short overgarments of embroidered purple. They had long fuzzy hair brushed straight back. One of them was red-headed with a pointed nose and prominent teeth. The other was dark with languorous eyes and full lips. They carried censers and advanced one to each side of the torch making obeisances. They were followed by an extremely tall man clad in embroidered white robes of a Druidical cut and flavour. He was of a remarkable appearance, having a great mane of silver hair, large sunken eyes and black brows. The bone of his face was much emphasized, the flesh heavily grooved. His mouth was abnormally wide with a heavy underlip. It might have been the head of an actor, a saint, or a Middle-West American purveyor of patent medicines. Nigel had ample opportunity to observe him, for he stood in front of the torch with his short hands folded over an unlighted taper. He whispered and muttered for some time, genuflected thrice, and then advanced his taper to the flame. When it was lit he held it aloft. The doorkeeper and the two acolytes went down on their knees, the priest closed his eyes, and Nigel walked into the hall.

      He found himself in a darkness that at first seemed to be absolute. In a few seconds, however, he could make out certain large shapes and masses. In the distance, perhaps on an altar, a tiny red light shone. His feet sank into a thick carpet and made no sound. He smelt incense. He felt the presence of a large number of people all close to him, all quite silent. A little reflected light came in through the doors. Nigel moved cautiously away from it towards his right and, since he met with no obstruction, thought that he must be in a cross-aisle. His eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he saw veils of moving smoke, lighter shapes that suggested vast nudities, then rows of bent heads with blurred outlines. He discovered that he was moving across the back of the church behind the last row of pews. There seemed to be an empty seat in the far corner. He made for this and had slid into it when a flicker of light, the merest paling of gloom, announced the return of the priest – surely Jasper Garnette himself – with his taper. He appeared in the centre aisle, his face and the rich embroidery of his robe lit from beneath by the taper. The face seemed to float slowly up the church until it changed into the back of a head with a yellow nimbus. The taper СКАЧАТЬ