The Bond of Black

“Certainly,” she responded. “I, however, mistook the hour of our appointment, and having that day obtained information that the Satanists had discovered that he had been present, I hastened to warn him of his danger. Too eager to wait and keep the appointment, and fearing lest harm should befall him, I went straight to his chambers, arriving, I suppose, immediately after Aline had left. The door was ajar, so pushing it open I entered. There were strange sounds in the sitting-room, and in order to discover the reason of them I slipped behind one of the bedroom doors to listen. Scarce, however, had I done this when there were hurrying footsteps in the passage as a man went out. I believed the footsteps to be yours, Clifton. Then when he had descended the stairs I crept on into Roddy’s room, but drew back horrified a second later. I was too late. He was dying. I tried to rouse him, but he clutched my dress so frantically that he tore it and held a piece of black chiffon in his clenched hand. He had, I knew, been poisoned, and in the paroxysm his agony was frightful. Powerless, I stood beside him for a few moments until the last spark of life had left, then reproaching myself bitterly for my tardiness, I flew from the house, fearing lest suspicion should fall upon me. I was witness of that crime, and to ease my conscience I confessed to Mr Yelverton, then curate at St. Michael’s, all that I knew, although being a member of the Church, I made no mention of my association with the cult. He knew the truth.”

“Then tell me who was the murderer?” I cried.

“I believed the murderer to be my lover, Clifton Cleeve,” she answered. “But here, in this place, I overheard a confession, and discovered that the man who committed the cowardly crime in order to conceal the existence of this cult of Evil is the same who, having ascertained that I was witness of his crime and might denounce him, afterwards sought to silence me also,” she answered; and pointing to the man who personified Satan, added, “It is that man – Francis Vidit – the man under whose iron thraldom both Aline and myself have been compelled to commit the profanity that has terrified us; the man whose heart is as black with wickedness as that of the Evil One he now represents. He is the murderer of Roddy Morgan!”

The villainous-looking fellow made a dash forward with a second knife in his hand, but in an instant both Jack’s revolver and my own were at his head and he fell behind, flinching.

“Hold back!” I cried. “Drop that knife this instant, or by Heaven! I’ll put a bullet through you!”

At that moment, while he stood glaring at me, Muriel placed something to her mouth and blew shrilly. It was a police whistle.

In a second the door was burst open, and an inspector in uniform, a detective and several constables, sprang into the room, creating a confusion utterly indescribable. Their entry was so sudden that everybody stood dumbfounded.

In the detective I recognised Priestly, the man who had had in hand the inquiries regarding Roddy’s death, and in a moment saw how cleverly Muriel had arranged the details of her revenge.

“Arrest that man!” she cried, pointing to the cringing ruffian before us. “That man, Francis Vidit, I declare to be the murderer of Mr Morgan!”

Two constables stepped forward quickly, but the man whose Satanic garb was so hideous, uttered a terrible curse, and with his face livid, turned quickly and attacked the men with the knife in his hand. In his desperation he was powerful as a lion, but in a few moments the inspector and the others had overpowered him, and he stood before us held helpless within their grasp.

It was no doubt a smart capture, and the police owed it to Muriel’s calmness and careful arrangements.

“Let my hand go!” the wretched man cried. “I want to get my handkerchief to wipe my face. Don’t hold me so tight; I shan’t hurt you,” he laughed with a hoarse, hideous laugh, which sounded through the place.

Then, with a sudden twist, he freed his hand, and ere they could stop him he had placed something in his mouth and swallowed it.

“You can do what you like with me now, you fools!” he shrieked wildly. “I have no fear of you!”

“Look!” cried Muriel. “See his face! He has poisoned himself!”

All gazed at him, and we saw by the spasmodic working of the muscles of his features that what she said was quite true. The agonies of poisoning had already seized him, and his haggard face, fast swelling, was horrible to behold. For a few moments he writhed in the grasp of the officers, while we all looked on in silence, appalled at the frightful picture he presented; until suddenly, with a piercing shriek, he seemed to stretch out his limbs rigid and straight. Then all the light of a sudden died from his hideously distorted features, and the men in whose grip he was knew by the dead weight upon them that they held only a corpse.

No further need is there to dwell upon the ghastly events of that fateful night, a night that will live within my memory for ever; nor need I describe how we all four left that den of Satan in company with the police. Suffice it to say that the self-destruction of Francis Vidit caused the disbandment of that disgraceful Pagan sect which fortunately found so little support in Christian England. Although the police were, by these revelations of Muriel’s, made aware of the existence of Satanism in London, the suicide of their head made it unnecessary for any details of the cultus diabolicus to be given to the public through the medium of the sensational Press.

At first the revulsion of feeling within me caused me, I confess, to hesitate whether to take as wife a woman who had actually been a votary of Satan, but on calmer reflection, as I drove back to Charing Cross Mansions with my loved one at my side, I saw plainly how she had been victimised and held powerless beneath the terrible thraldom of this murderer Vidit and his accomplice Hibbert, who had without doubt both carried on these practices with a view to gain the subscriptions of those who joined the cult. That she was pure, honest, and upright I had never doubted, and moved to sympathy when I remembered how bitterly she had suffered, I yielded to her entreaty to be forgiven, feeling convinced of her assertion that her suspicion that I was guilty of the murder of my friend was the cause of her casting me aside and acting as she did.

Just a year has now gone by, and it has been full of changes, for my father dying suddenly, Tixover Hall has come to me, and with Muriel as my wife we live in the old place in perfect contentment and happiness. Jack Yelverton, too, has modified his views regarding the marriage of the clergy, for Aline is now his wife, and in the good work among the poor of the dismal, overcrowded parish of St. Peter’s, which he pursues with such untiring energy, she, once the priestess of Satan, is now his greatest helpmate. She is trying to make atonement for the flagrant sins she committed before God, and certainly if the ministration of His Word and righteousness of heart will atone for the profanity to which she once was forced because of her love for the man who is now her husband, then a great and blessed forgiveness will be hers.

The means by which poor Roddy’s life was taken have remained an entire mystery until the other day, when Muriel explained how the man Vidit, being an expert toxicologist, once made certain experiments in that old house on Herne Hill, and from these it seemed clear that the poison – apparently one of those extremely deadly ones known to the mediaeval alchemists, a single drop of which is fatal – was flung suddenly into the eye of his victim while he spoke with him, causing instant blindness, general paralysis, and a swift, agonising death. It was the consequent discoloration of the eyes which had so puzzled the doctors.

We, however, in our blissful new-found joy seldom refer to those dark days when the shadow of evil was upon us. Happily they have passed, and are over, for Muriel has broken for ever that most terrible tie which held her aloof from God and man – the Bond of Black.

The End