The Secrets of Dr. Taverner (35 page)

A gleam of satisfaction lit up Josephus' curious eyes; he
looked very much like a jackdaw who has secreted some bauble.

We parted the best of friends, and I returned to Harley Street,
where Taverner, having finished the day's interviews, was
awaiting me.

I recounted the conversation that had taken place, and
Taverner was immensely intrigued.

"That tells me a great many things," he said. "I agree with
you that Josephus is not a trained occultist, but he knows a great
deal about the secret side of both sex and drugs, and he is a very
clever manipulator of human nature and loves intrigue for its
own sake, as this scheme of his shows."

"What do you make of it?" I said. "What is he driving at?"

"I should say that his group was getting restless," said
Taverner. "He evidently does not take them into his confidence,
vide the window bars. You are apparently designed to appear as
some messenger of higher powers whom he has invoked in
support of his authority. This leads me to believe that he is
conducting a one man show, and this taken in conjunction with
what we suppose to be his ignorance of ritual magic, makes me
think that he never has been initiated into any fraternity. But, my
God, if he had been, what wouldn't he have done if he had had a
knowledge of the Names of Power in addition to his natural
gifts! The fraternities are well guarded, Rhodes, we don't often
have a traitor.

"Now come along, we have just got nice time for a meal
before the evening's entertainment."

We went to the restaurant in Soho where the metaphysical
head waiter, who appeared to be interested in the same subjects
as Taverner, held sway. Of course we had our usual warm but
respectful welcome and were led to a retired table, and as the
metaphysician hovered round us with the wine list, Taverner
beckoned him nearer and said:
"Giuseppi, we are going this evening to number seven,
Malvern Square, near Cower Street. It has a back entrance into
the alley behind, and the bars of a window looking into the back
yard can be removed by pressing them down. Ring me up at
Harley Street at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, and if I am not
back, take steps in the matter. You know what to do."

As soon as we were alone Taverner produced a small silver
pocket flash and a pad of gauze, which he passed to me under
cover of the table cloth.

"That's chloroform," he said. "Have the pad ready and clap it
over his nose as soon as he opens the door. I have got a length of
cord in my pocket. Josephus is not going to appear in this act."

"But what am I going to do when I am sitting in the seats of
the mighty and Josephus isn't there to twiddly his toes when
they ask awkward questions?" I said anxiously.

"Wait and see," said Taverner. I noticed that beside his chair
was a small suit case.

We timed our arrival in the back alley just nicely, and I heard
a crunching of the coals that betokened Josephus' advent, just as
I was putting the chloroform on to the pad.

"No!" whispered Taverner, and I knocked softly on the grimy
door.

It opened an inch.

"That you, Rhodes?" whispered a voice from the darkness.
"Come in quietly, they're all about, damn them. Fussing with the
supper things. Why can't women leave things alone?" The voice
sounded bad-tempered.

"Where are you, old chap?" I said, feeling for him in the
darkness. My hand touched his throat and instantly closed on it.
I clapped the pad over his face and thrust him backward with my
whole strength. Down he went on to the coals with me on top of
him. He was a powerful man and struggled like a cat, but I was
much the bigger, and he hadn't a chance. His struggles
slackened as the chloroform got in its work, and when Taverner,
who had been securing the door, flashed a hooded torch upon us,
I was kneeling on his inanimate form.

Taverner tied him up with an expertness which indicated
experience, and then cast about for somewhere to conceal him.

"I don't want him discovered prematurely, if anyone should
want a scuttle of coals," he said.

"Why not dig a hole and bury him?" I suggested, having
thoroughly entered into the spirit of the place. "Here's a shovel.
Make a hole and stick him in up to the neck, and put that old
bottomless bucket over his head."

Taverner chuckled, and in two minutes Josephus was as if he
had never been, and leaving him thus very indecently interred,
we made our way cautiously into the yard. It was pitch black,
but my knowledge of the geography of the place enabled me to
find the window, and in less time than it takes to tell, we had
dislodged the bars, got in, switched on the light, and locked the
door on the inside.

"Here's your garment," said Taverner, pulling a flowing
scarlet robe from under the sofa cushions and inducting me into
it with a knowledge of its anatomy which pointed to previous
experience.

There was a soft knock at the door and I held my breath. "Are
you ready, dearest? They are all assembled," said a feminine
voice.

"Go on in and begin," snarled Taverner, in a voice so exactly
like Josephus' that I involuntarily looked over my shoulder.

We heard the footsteps die away down the passage,
(evidently Josephus had taught them not to argue), and in a few
minutes the sound of chanting broke out overhead.

Taverner opened his suitcase and took out the most
wonderful robes I have ever seen in my life. Stiff with
embroidery and heavy with bullion, the great cope looked like
the mines of Ophir in the shaded light of that sombre room.
Taverner put it on over an emerald green soutane and I fastened
the jewelled clasp upon his breast. Then he handed to me, for he
could not raise his arms, the Head-dress of Egypt, and I placed it
on his head. I have never seen such a sight. The gaunt
lineaments of Taverner framed in the Egyptian drapery, his tall
figure made gigantic by the cope, and the jewelled ankh in his
hand (which I was thankful to see was sufficiently heavy to be
effective as a weapon)--made a picture which I shall remember
to my dying day. Every time he moved, the incense of many
rituals floated from the folds of his garments, the silk rustled, the
gold-work clinked; it seemed as if a priest-king of lost Atlantis
had come, in response to an invocation, to claim the obedience
of his worshippers.

We went up the narrow stairs into the darkened hall, and
thence to the drawing-room floor, where a smell of incense told
us that we were upon the right track. Taverner smote upon the
door five times, and we heard a voice say: "Guardian of the
Gate, see who seeks admission."

The door opened, and we were confronted by a plump and
dumpy figure robed and cowled in black, which nearly went
over backwards at sight of Taverner. My scarlet robe evidently
led the doorkeeper to mistake me for Josephus, for we were
admitted without demur, and found ourselves in what was
evidently the temple of the strange worship which he conducted.

I made straight for the dais, as I had been instructed, and sat
down before they could notice my height, and I am pretty certain
that they all thought their usual magus was in the chair.
Taverner, however, advanced to the altar, and extending the
golden ankh towards the assembly, said in that resonant voice of
his:

"Peace to all beings."

This was evidently the opening they expected, for the figure
on a raised dais at the far end of the room, which from its height
I judged to be the tall woman, replied:

"From whom do you bring greeting?"

"I do not bring it," said Taverner. "I give it."

This was evidently not the right cue, and threw the whole
lodge into confusion, but so completely did Taverner dominate
them, that it was they, not he, who did not know their part.

All eyes turned to me, believing me to be Josephus, but I sat
like a graven image and gave no sign.

Then Taverner spoke again.

"The name of the Council of Seven has been invoked, and I
who am the Senior of Seven, have come unto you. Know me by
this sign," and he extended his hand. On the forefinger flashed a
great ring. I don't believe any one in the room was any the wiser,
but the lodge officers, who were supposed to know, were
ashamed to admit they didn't, and the rank and file naturally
followed their lead.

There was dead silence in the room, which was suddenly
broken by a rustle of drapery as a figure upon a third dais on my
left arose, and I heard the voice of Mary McDermot speaking.

"I ask pardon for my lack of faith," she said. "It was I who
invoked the Council of Seven because I believed them to be
non-existent. But I realize my error. I see the power and I
acknowledge it. Your face tells me of your greatness, the
vibrations of your personality tell me of your truth and
goodness. I recognize and I obey." Taverner turned towards her.

"How came it that you believed the Council of Seven to be
non-existent?" He demanded in that great resonant voice of his.

"Because my husband's importunities had come between me
and my duty to the Order. Because his prayers and invocations
of the saints had spread like a cloud between me and the
brightness of the Master's face, so that I could not see his glory,
and believed him to be a vulgar sensualist and charlatan, taking
advantage of our credulity."

"My daughter," said Taverner, and his voice was very gentle,
"do you believe in me?"

"I do," she cried. "I not only believe, I know. It is you I have
seen in my dreams, you are the initiator I have always sought.

The Master Josephus promised he would bring me to you, and
he has kept his word."

"Approach the altar," commanded Taverner.

She came and knelt before him unbidden. He touched her
forehead with the golden ankh, and I saw her sway at the touch.

"From the Unreal, lead me to the Real. From Darkness bring
me to Light. From Impurity cleanse me and sanctify me," came
the deep resonant voice. Then he took her by the hand and raised
her, and placed her beside me on the dais.

Taverner returned to the altar and took his stand before it and
surveyed the room. Then from under his cope he produced a
curiously wrought metal box. He opened one end and took out of
it a handful of white powder and strewed it upon the altar in the
form of a cross.

"Unclean," he said, and his voice was like the tolling of a
bell.

He opened the other end of the box and took out a handful of
ashes, and these also he strewed upon the altar, defiling its white
linen covering.

"Unclean," he said again.

He stretched forth his ankh, and with the head of it
extinguished the lamp that burnt upon the altar.

"Unclean," he said a third time, and as he did so, all sense of
power seemed to leave the room, and it became flat, ordinary,
and rather tawdry. Taverner alone seemed real, all the rest were
make-believe. He seemed like a live man in a room full of
waxworks.