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Dennis Wheatley
"The Devil Rides Out"
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OCR by Sergey Gazizyanov, gaz@softoffice.ru
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ARROW BOOKS
ARROW BOOKS LTD
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AN IMPRINT OF THE HUTCHINSON GROUP
London Melbourne Sydney
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and agencies throughout the world
*
First published by
Hutchinson & Co (Publishers) Ltd 1934
First Arrow edition 1954
Second impression 1958
Third impression 1958
Fourth impression 1959
Fifth impression 1963
Sixth impression 1964
Seventh impression 1965
Eighth impression 1966
Ninth impression 1968
This new edition June 1969
Reprinted November 1969
Reprinted September 1970
This book is published at a net price and
supplied subject to the Publishers Association
Standard Condition of Sale registered under
The Restrictive Trade Practices Act 1956
Made and printed in Great
Britain by
Hunt Barnard Printing Ltd.,
Aylesbury, Bucks
THE DEVIL RIDES OUT
*
The Devil Rides Out is a
Black Magic story by Dennis
Wheatley, who writes: 'I,
personally, have never
assisted at, or participated
in, any ceremony connected
with Magic-Black or White.
Should any of my readers
incline to a serious study of
the subject and thus come
into contact with a man or
woman of Power, I feel that
it is only right to urge
them, most strongly, to
refrain from being drawn info
the practice of the Secret
Art in any way. My own
observations have led me to
an absolute conviction that
to do so would bring them
into dangers of a very real
and concrete nature.'
Contents
1. The Incomplete Reunion
2. The Curious Guests of Mr. Simon Aron
3. The Esoteric Doctrine
4. The Silent House
5. Embodied Evil
6. The Secret Art
7. De Richleau Plans a Campaign
8. Rex Van Ryn Opens the Attack
9. The Countess D'Urfe Talks of Many Curious Things
10. Tanith Proves Stubborn
11. The Truth Will Always Out
12. The Grim Prophecy
13. The Defeat of Rex Van Ryn
14. The Duke de Richleau Takes the Field
15. The Road to the Sabbat
16. The Sabbat
17. Evil Triumphant
18. The Power of Light
19. The Ancient Sanctuary
20. The Four Horsemen
21. Cardinals Folly
22. The Satanist
23. The Pride of Peacocks
24. The Scepticism of Richard Eaton
25. The Talisman of Set
26. Rex Learns of the Undead
27. Within the Pentacle
28. Necromancy
29. Simon Aron Takes a View
30. Out Into the Fog
31. The Man With the Jagged Ear
32. The Gateway of the Pit
33. Death of a Man Unknown, From Natural Causes
To my old friend
MERVYN BARON
of whom, in these days, I see
far too little but whose
companionship, both in good
times and in bad, has been to
me a never-failing joy.
D.W.
Author's Note
I desire to state that I, personally, have never assisted at,
or participated in, any ceremony connected with Magic-Black or
White.
The literature of occultism is so immense that any
conscientious writer can obtain from it abundant material for the
background of a romance such as this.
In the present case I have spared no pains to secure accuracy
of detail from existing accounts when describing magical rites or
formulas for protection against evil, and these have been verified
in conversation with certain persons, sought out for that purpose
who are actual practitioners of the Art.
All the characters and situations in this book are entirely
imaginary but, in the inquiry necessary to the writing of it, I
found ample evidence that Black Magic is still practised in London,
and other cities, at the present day.
Should any of my readers incline to a serious study of the
subject, and thus come into contact with a man or woman of Power, I
feel that it is only right to urge them, most strongly, to refrain
from being drawn into the practice of the Secret Art in any way. My
own observations have led me to an absolute conviction that to do so
would bring them into dangers of a very real and concrete nature.
Dennis Wheatley
1
The Incomplete Reunion
The Duke de Richleau and Rex Van had gone in to dinner at eight
o'clock, but coffee was not served tilt after ten.
An appetite in keeping with his mighty frame had enabled Van Ryn
to do ample justice to each well-chosen course and, as was his
custom each time the young American arrived in England, the Duke had
produced his finest wines for this, their reunion dinner at his
flat.
A casual observer might well have considered it a strange
friendship, but despite their difference in age and race, appearance
and tradition, a real devotion existed between the two.
Some few years earlier Rex's foolhardiness had landed him in a
Soviet prison, and the elderly French exile had put aside his
peaceful existence as art connoisseur and dilettante to search for
him in Russia. Together they had learned the dangerous secret of
'The Forbidden Territory' and travelled many thousand verts pursued
by the merciless agents of the Ogpu.
There had been others too in that strange adventure; young
Richard Eaton, and the little Princess Marie Lou whom he had
brought out of Russia as his bride; but as Rex accepted a long Hoyo
de Monterrey from the cedar cabinet which the Duke's man presented
to him his thoughts were not of the Eatons, living now so happily
with their little daughter Fleur in their lovely old country home
near Kidderminster. He was thinking of that third companion whose
subtle brain and shy, nervous courage had proved so great an aid
when they were hunted like hares through the length and breadth of
Russia, the frail narrow-shouldered English Jew-Simon Aron.
'What could possibly have kept Simon from being with them
tonight,' Rex was wondering. He had never failed before to make a
third at these reunion dinners, and why had the Duke brushed aside
his inquiries about him in such an offhand manner. There was
something queer behind De Richleau's reticence, and Rex had a
feeling that for all his host's easy charm and bland, witty
conversation something had gone seriously wrong.
He slowly revolved some of the Duke's wonderful old brandy in a
bowl-shaped glass, while he watched the servant preparing to leave
the room. Then, as the door closed, he set it down and addressed De
Richleau almost abruptly.
'Well, I'm thinking it's about time for you to spill the beans.'
The Duke inhaled the first cloud of fragrant smoke from another
of those long Hoyos which were his especial pride, and answered
guardedly. 'Had you not better tell me Rex, to what particular beans
you refer?'
'Simon of course! For years now the three of us have dined
together on my first night, each time I've come across, and you were
too mighty casual to be natural when I asked about him before
dinner. Why isn't he here?'
'Why, indeed, my friend?' the Duke repeated, running the tips of
his fingers down his lean handsome face. 'I asked him, and told him
that your ship docked this morning, but he declined to honour us
tonight.'
'Is he ill then?'
'No, as far as I know he's perfectly well-at all events he was at
his office today.'
'He must have had a date then that he couldn't scrap, or some
mighty urgent work. Nothing less could induce him to let us down on
one of these occasions. They've become-well, in a way, almost sacred
to our friendship.'
'On the contrary he is at home alone tonight. He made his
apologies of course, something about resting for a Bridge Tournament
that starts '
'Bridge Tournament my foot!' exclaimed Rex angrily. 'He'd never
let that interfere between us three-it sounds mighty fishy to me.
When did you see him last?'
'About three months ago.'
'What! But that's incredible. Now look here!' Rex thrust the onyx
ash-tray from in front of him, and leaned across the table. 'You
haven't quarrelled-have you?'
De Richleau shook his head. 'If you were my age, Rex, and had no
children, then met two younger men who gave you their affection, and
had all the attributes you could wish for in your sons, how would it
be possible for you to quarrel with either of them?'
'That's so, but three months is a whale of a while for friends
who are accustomed to meet two or three times a week. I just don't
get this thing at all, and you're being a sight too reticent about
it. Come on now-what do you know?'
The grey eyes of almost piercing brilliance which gave such
character to De Richleau's face, lit up. That,' he said suddenly,
'is just the trouble. I don't know anything.'
'But you fear that, to use his own phrase, Simon's "in a muddle-a
really nasty muddle" eh? And you're a little hurt that he hasn't
brought his worry to you.'
'To whom else should he turn if not to one of us-and you were in
the States.'
'Richard maybe, he's an even older friend of Simon's than we
are.'
'No. I spent last week-end at Cardinals Folly and neither Richard
nor Marie Lou could tell me anything. They haven't seen him since he
went down to stay last Christmas and arrived with a dozen crates of
toys for Fleur.'
'How like him!' Rex's gargantuan laugh rang suddenly through the
room. 'I might have known the trunkful I brought over would be small
fry if you and Simon have been busy on that child.'
'Well I can only conclude that poor Simon is "in a muddle" as you
say, or he would never treat us all like this.'
'But what sort of a muddle?' Rex brought his leg-of mutton fist
crashing down on the table angrily. 'I can't think of a thing where
he wouldn't turn to us.'
'Money,' suggested the Duke, 'is the one thing that with his
queer sensitive nature he might not care to discuss with even his
closest friends.'
'I doubt it being that. My old man has a wonderful opinion of
Simon's financial ability and he handles a big portion of our
interests on this side. I'm pretty sure we'd be wise to it if he'd
burned his fingers on the market. It sounds as if he'd gone bats
about some woman to me.'
De Richleau's face was lit by his faintly cynical smile for a
moment. 'No,' he said slowly. 'A man in love turns naturally to his
friends for congratulation or sympathy as his fortune with a woman
proves good or ill. It can't be that.'
For a little the two friends sat staring at each other in silence
across the low jade bowl with its trailing sprays of orchids: Rex,
giant shouldered, virile and powerful, his ugly, attractive,
humorous young face clouded with anxiety, the Duke, a slim, delicate-
looking man, somewhat about middle height, with slender, fragile
hands and greying hair, but with no trace of weakness in his fine,
distinguished face. His aquiline nose, broad forehead and grey
'devil's' eyebrows might well have replaced those of the cavalier in
the Van Dyck that gazed down from the opposite wall. Instead of the
conventional black, he wore a claret coloured vicuna smoking suit,
with silk lapels and braided fastenings; this touch of colour
increased his likeness to the portrait. He broke the silence
suddenly.
'Have you by any chance ever heard of a Mr. Mocata, Rex?'
'Nope. Who is he anyway?'
'A new friend of Simon's who has been staying with him these last
few months.'
'What-at his Club?'
'No-no, Simon no longer lives at his Club. I thought you knew. He
bought a house last February, a big, rambling old place tucked away
at the end of a cul-de-sac off one of those quiet residential
streets in St. John's Wood.'
'Why, that's right out past Regent's Park-isn't it? What's he
want with a place out there when there are any number of nice little
houses to let in Mayfair?'
'Another mystery, my friend.' The Duke's thin lips creased into a
smile. 'He said he wanted a garden, that's all I can tell you.'
'Simon! A garden!' Rex chuckled. 'That's a good story I'll say.
Simon doesn't know a geranium from a fuchsia. His botany is limited
to an outsized florist's bill for bunching his women friends from
shops, and why should a bachelor like Simon start running a big
house at all?'
'Perhaps Mr. Mocata could tell you,' murmured De Richleau mildly,
'or the queer servant that he has imported,'
'Have you ever seen this bird-Mocata I mean?'
'Yes, I called one evening about six weeks ago. Simon was out so
Mocata received me.'
'And what did you make of him?'
'I disliked him intensely. He's a pot-bellied, bald-headed person
of about sixty, with large, protuberant, fishy eyes, limp hands, and
a most unattractive lisp. He reminded me of a large white slug.'
'What about this servant that you mention?'
'I only saw him for a moment when he crossed the hall, but he
reminded me in a most unpleasant way of the Bogey Man with whom I
used to be threatened in my infancy.'
'Why, is he a black?'
'Yes. A Malagasy I should think.'
Rex frowned. 'Now what in heck is that?'
'A native of Madagascar. They are a curious people, half-Negro
and half-Polynesian. This great brute stands about six foot eight,
and the one glimpse I had of his eyes made me want to shoot him on
sight. He's a "bad black" if ever I saw one, and I've travelled, as
you know, in my time.'
'Do you know any more about these people?' asked Rex grimly.
'Not a thing.'
'Well, I'm not given to worry, but I've heard quite enough to get
me scared for Simon. He's in some jam or he'd never be housing
people like that.'
The Duke gently laid the long, blue-grey ash of his cigar in the
onyx ash-tray. 'There is not a doubt,' he said slowly, 'that Simon
is involved in some very queer business, but I have been stifling my
anxiety until your arrival. You see I wanted to hear your views
before taking the very exceptional step of -yes butting in-is the
expression, on the private affairs of even so intimate a friend. The
question is now-what are we to do?'
'Do!' Rex thrust back his chair and drew himself up to his full
magnificent height. 'We're going up to that house to have a little
heart-to-heart talk with Simon-right now!'
'I'm glad,' said De Richleau quietly, 'you feel like that, be
cause I ordered the car for half past ten. Shall we go?'
2
The Curious Guests of Mr. Simon Aron
As De Richleau's Hispano drew up at the dead end of the dark cul-
de-sac in St. John's Wood, Rex slipped out of the car and looked
about him. They were shut in by the high walls of neighbouring
gardens and, above a blank expanse of brick in which a single,
narrow door was visible, the upper stones of Simon's house showed
vague and mysterious among whispering trees.
'Ugh!' he exclaimed with a little shudder as a few drops splashed
upon his face from the dark branches overhead. 'What a dismal
hole-we might be in a graveyard.'
The Duke pressed the bell, and turning up the sable collar of his
coat against a slight drizzle which made the April night seem chill
and friendless, stepped back to get a better view of the premises.
'Hello! Simon's got an observatory here,' he remarked. 'I didn't
notice that on my previous visit.'
'So he has.' Rex followed De Richleau's glance to a dome that
crowned the house, but at that moment an electric globe suddenly
flared into life about their heads, and the door in the wall swung
open disclosing a sallow-faced manservant in dark livery.
'Mr. Simon Aron?' inquired De Richleau, but the man was already
motioning them to enter, so they followed him up a short covered
path and the door in the wall clanged to behind them,
The vestibule of the house was dimly lit, but Rex, who never wore
a coat or hat in the evening, noticed that two sets of outdoor
apparel lay, neatly folded, on a long console table as the silent
footman relieved De Richleau of his wraps. Evidently friend Simon
had other visitors.
'Maybe Mr. Aron's in conference and won't want to be disturbed,'
he said to the sallow-faced servant with a sudden feeling of guilt
at their intrusion. Perhaps, after all, their fears for Simon were
quite groundless and his neglect only due to a prolonged period of
intense activity on the markets, but the man only bowed and led them
across the hall.
'The fellow's a mute,' whispered the Duke. 'Deaf and dumb I'm
certain,' As he spoke the servant flung open a couple of large
double doors and stood waiting for them to enter.
A long, narrow room, opening into a wide salon, stretched before
them. Both were decorated in the lavish magnificence of the Louis
Seize period, but for the moment the dazzling brilliance of the
lighting prevented them taking in the details of the parquet floors,
the crystal mirrors, the gilded furniture and beautifully wrought
tapestries.
Rex was the first to recover and with a quick intake of breath he
clutched De Richleau's arm. 'By Jove she's here!' he muttered almost
inaudibly, his eyes riveted on a tall, graceful girl who stood some
yards away at tbe entrance of the salon talking to Simon.
Three times in the last eighteen months he had chanced upon that
strange, wise, beautiful face, with the deep eyes beneath heavy lids
that seemed so full of secrets and gave the lovely face a curiously
ageless look-so that despite her apparent youth she was as old
as-'Yes, as old as sin,' Rex caught himself thinking.
He had seen her first in a restaurant in Budapest; months later
again, in a traffic jam when his car was wedged beside hers in New
York, and then, strangely enough, riding along a road with three
men, in the country ten miles outside Buenos Aires. How
extraordinary that he should find her here-and what luck. He smiled
quickly at the thought that Simon could not fail to introduce him.
De Richleau's glance was riveted upon their friend. With an
abrupt movement Simon turned towards them. For a second he seemed
completely at a loss, his full, sensual mouth hung open to twice its
normal extent and his receding jaw almost disappeared behind his
white tie, while his dark eyes were filled with amazement and
something suspiciously like fear, but he recovered almost instantly
and his old smile flashed out as he came forward to greet them.
'My dear Simon,' the Duke's voice was a silken purr. 'How can we
apologise for breaking in on you like this?'
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