IV
Hercule Poirot said:
“You must obey my instructions very carefully. You understand?”
“Oh yes, M. Poirot. You may rely on me.”
“You have spoken of your intention to benefit the
cult2?”
“Yes, M. Poirot. I
spoke1 to the Master—excuse me, to Dr. Andersen myself. I told him very
emotionally what a wonderful revelation the whole thing had been—how I had come to
scoff3 and
remained to believe. I—really it seemed quite natural to say all these things. Dr. Andersen, you
know, has a lot of magnetic charm.”
“So I perceive,” said Hercule Poirot drily.
“His manner was most convincing. One really feels he doesn’t care about money at all. ‘Give
what you can,’ he said smiling in that wonderful way of his, ‘if you can give nothing, it does not
matter. You are one of the Flock just the same.’ ‘Oh, Dr. Andersen,’ I said, ‘I am not so badly off
as that. I have just inherited a considerable amount of money from a distant relative and though I
cannot actually touch any of the money until the legal formalities are all complied with, there is
one thing I want to do at once.’ And then I explained that I was making a will and that I wanted to
leave all I had to the
Brotherhood4. I explained that I had no near relatives.”
“And he graciously accepted the
bequest5?”
“He was very detached about it. Said it would be many long years before I passed over, that
he could tell I was cut out for a long life of joy and spiritual fulfilment. He really speaks most
movingly.”
“So it would seem.”
Poirot’s tone was dry. He went on:
“You mentioned your health?”
“Yes, M. Poirot. I told him that I had had lung trouble, and that it had
recurred6 more than
once, but that a final treatment in a Sanatorium some years ago had, I hoped, quite cured me.”
“Excellent!”
“Though why it is necessary for me to say that I am consumptive when my lungs are as
sound as a bell I really cannot see.”
“Be assured it is necessary. You mentioned your friend?”
“Yes. I told him (strictly in confidence) that dear Emmeline, besides the fortune she had
inherited from her husband, would inherit an even larger sum shortly from an aunt who was
deeply attached to her.”
“Eh bien, that ought to keep Mrs. Clegg safe for the time being!”
“Oh, M. Poirot, do you really think there is anything wrong?”
“That is what I am going to endeavour to find out. Have you met a Mr. Cole down at the
“There was a Mr. Cole there last time I went down. A most
peculiar8 man. He wears grass-
green shorts and eats nothing but cabbage. He is a very
ardent9 believer.”
“Eh bien, all progresses well—I make you my compliments on the work you have done—all
is now set for the Autumn Festival.”
V
“Miss Carnaby—just a moment.”
Mr. Cole clutched at Miss Carnaby, his eyes bright and
feverish10.
“I have had a Vision—a most
remarkable11 Vision. I really must tell you about it.”
Miss Carnaby sighed. She was rather afraid of Mr. Cole and his Visions. There were
moments when she was decidedly of the opinion that Mr. Cole was mad.
And she found these Visions of his sometimes very embarrassing. They recalled to her
she had read before coming down to Devon.
“I had been meditating—reflecting on the Fullness of Life, on the
Supreme16 Joy of Oneness—
and then, you know, my eyes were opened and I saw—”
Miss Carnaby
braced17 herself and hoped that what Mr. Cole had seen would not be what he
had seen the last time—which had been,
apparently18, a Ritual Marriage in ancient Sumeria between
a god and goddess.
“I saw”—Mr. Cole leant towards her, breathing hard, his eyes looking (yes, really they did)
Miss Carnaby breathed a sigh of relief. Elijah was much better, she didn’t mind Elijah.
“Below,” went on Mr. Cole, “were the altars of Baal—hundreds and hundreds of them. A
Voice cried to me: ‘Look, write and testify that which you shall see—’ ”
He stopped and Miss Carnaby murmured politely: “Yes?”
“On the altars were the sacrifices, bound there, helpless, waiting for the knife. Virgins—
hundreds of virgins—young beautiful, naked virgins—”
Mr. Cole
smacked21 his lips, Miss Carnaby blushed.
“Then came the
ravens22, the ravens of Odin, flying from the North. They met the ravens of
Elijah—together they circled in the sky—they
swooped23, they plucked out the eyes of the victims
—there was
wailing24 and gnashing of teeth—and the Voice cried: ‘Behold a Sacrifice—for on this
day shall Jehovah and Odin sign blood brotherhood!’ Then the Priests fell upon their victims, they
raised their knives—they mutilated their victims—”
“Excuse me one moment.”
She hastily
accosted28 Lipscomb, the man who occupied the
Lodge29 which gave admission to
Green Hills and who providentially happened to be passing.
“I wonder,” she said, “if you have found a brooch of mine. I must have dropped it somewhere
about the grounds.”
Lipscomb, who was a man immune from the general sweetness and light of Green Hills,
merely
growled30 that he hadn’t seen any brooch. It wasn’t his work to go about looking for things.
He tried to shake off Miss Carnaby but she accompanied him,
babbling31 about her brooch, till she
had put a safe distance between herself and the fervour of Mr. Cole.
At that moment, the Master himself came out of the Great Fold and,
emboldened32 by his
benignant smile, Miss Carnaby ventured to speak her mind to him.
Did he think that Mr. Cole was quite—was quite—
The Master laid a hand on her shoulder.
“You must cast out Fear,” he said. “Perfect Love casteth out Fear. . . .”
“But I think Mr. Cole is mad. Those Visions he has—”
“As yet,” said the Master, “he sees Imperfectly . . . through the Glass of his own Carnal
Nature. But the day will come when he shall see Spiritually—Face to Face.”
Miss Carnaby was
abashed33. Of course, put like that—She rallied to make a smaller protest.
“And really,” she said, “need Lipscomb be so
abominably34 rude?”
Again the Master gave his Heavenly Smile.
“Lipscomb,” he said, “is a faithful watchdog. He is a crude—a
primitive35 soul—but faithful—
He strode on. Miss Carnaby saw him meet Mr. Cole, pause, put a hand on Mr. Cole’s
shoulder. She hoped that the Master’s influence might alter the scope of future visions.
In any case, it was only a week now to the Autumn Festival.
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