In the yellow lamp-light the thin face of the dead man had an ashen hue; the half-opened eyes and the prominent teeth, from which the lips had partly receded, confronted him grewsomely. But the force of his disappointment and rage was something before which mere human horror was swept aside. With another rapid movement, he stooped over the bed and unclasped the thin gold chain that hung round the dead man's neck, letting the metal symbol and the long, thin key slip from it into his hand. Turning to the dressing-table, he caught up a lamp; hurried from the room; and, descending the stairs, pa.s.sed into the study.

To his excited glance the place looked strangely undisturbed. Though the frames of the windows rattled in the gale, the interior arrangements were as precise and bare as usual; the fireless grate stared at him coldly, and against the whitewashed wall the heavy iron safe stood out like an accentuated blot of shadow. Impelled by his one dominating idea, he crossed without an instant's hesitation to the door of this. .h.i.therto inviolable repository of his uncle's secrets, and, inserting the key he carried, threw back the ma.s.sive door.

One glance showed him the thing he sought. Lying in solitary state upon the highest shelf was a heavy book bound in white leather. The edges of the cover were worn yellow with time and use, and from the centre of the binding gleamed the familiar octagonal symbol exquisitely wrought in gold and jewels. With hands that trembled slightly he lifted the book from its place, closed and locked the door of the safe, and, extinguishing the lamp, left the room.

In the flood of unreasoning rage and thwarted hope that surged about him, he had no definite plan regarding the object in his hand. He only knew, by the medium of instinct, that through it he could strike a blow at the uncle who had excluded him from his just inheritance--at the crazy scheme by which he had been defrauded of his due.

With hasty steps he mounted the stairs and re-entered the bedroom. To his agitated mind it seemed but just that, whatever his vengeance, it should be accomplished in the grim, unconscious presence of the dead man.

Stepping into the room, he paused and looked about him, seeking some suggestion. As he stood there, his eyes, by a natural process of inspiration, fell upon the fire that glowed and crackled in the grate; and with a sharp, inarticulate sound of satisfaction he strode forward to the hearth, knelt down, and prepared for his work of destruction.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HE ... GATHERED THE FIRST SHEAF OF LEAVES INTO HIS FINGERS"]

As he crouched over the flames a fresh gale swept inland from the sea, seizing the house in its fierce embrace; and the red tongues of fire leaped up the chimney in the instant answer of element to element.

Instinctively he bent forward, opened the book and gathered the first sheaf of leaves into his fingers. Then, involuntarily, he paused, as the bold characters of the printed words shot up black and clear in the fierce glow.

Almost without volition he read the opening lines:

"Out of obscurity will He come. And--having proved Himself--no man will question Him. For the Past lies in the Great Unknown. By the Scitsym--from which none but the Chosen may read--will ye know Him; and, knowing Him, ye will bow down--Mystics, Arch-Mystics, and Arch-Councillor alike. And the World will be His. For He will be Power made absolute!"

"For he will be Power made absolute!" Something in the six simple words arrested Henderson, suspended his thoughts and checked his hand. By an odd psychological process his rage became chilled, his mind veered from its point of view. With a curious stiffness of motion he drew away from the fire--the book held uninjured in his hand.

"He will be Power made absolute!" he repeated, mechanically, as he rose slowly to his feet.

CHAPTER III

On a certain night in mid-January, exactly ten years after Andrew Henderson's death, any one of the mult.i.tudinous inhabitants of London whom business or pleasure carried to that division of Brompton known as h.e.l.lier Crescent, would undoubtedly have been attracted to the house distinguished from its fellows as No. 8.

Outwardly, this house was not remarkable. It possessed the ma.s.sive portico and the imposing frontage that lend to h.e.l.lier Crescent its air of dignified repose; but there its similarity to the surrounding dwellings ended. The bas.e.m.e.nt sent forth no glow of warmth and comfort, as did the neighboring bas.e.m.e.nts; the ground-floor windows permitted no ray of mellow light to slip through the c.h.i.n.ks of shutter or curtain.

From attic to cellar, the house seemed in darkness, the only suggestion of occupation coming from the occasional drawing back and forth of a small slide that guarded a monastic-looking grating set in the hall door.

And yet towards this unlighted and unfriendly dwelling a thin stream of people--all on foot and all evidently agitated--made their way continuously on that January night between the hours of ten and eleven.

The behavior of these people, who differed widely in outward characteristics, was marked by a peculiar fundamental similarity. They all entered the quiet precincts of the Crescent with the same air of subdued excitement; each moved softly and silently towards the darkened house, and, mounting the steps, knocked once upon the heavy door. And each in turn stood patient, while the slide was drawn back, and a voice from within demanded the signal that granted admittance.

This mysterious gathering of forces had continued for nearly an hour when a cab drew up sharply at the corner where h.e.l.lier Crescent abuts upon St. George's Terrace, and a lady descended from it. As she handed his fare to the cabman, her face and figure were plainly visible in the light of the street-lamps. The former was pale in coloring, delicately oval in shape, and illumined by a pair of large and unusually brilliant eyes; the latter was tall, graceful, and clad in black.

Having dismissed her cab, the new-comer crossed St. George's Terrace with an appearance of haste, and entering h.e.l.lier Crescent, immediately mounted the steps of No. 8.

The last member of this strange procession had disappeared into the house as she reached the door; but, acting with apparent familiarity, she lifted the knocker and let it fall once.

For a moment there was no response; then, as in the case of the former visitors, the slide was drawn back and a beam of light came through the grating, to be immediately obscured by the shadowy suggestion of a face with two inquiring eyes.

"The Word?" demanded a solemn voice.

The new-comer lifted her head.

"He shall be Power made absolute!" she responded in a low and slightly tremulous voice; and a moment later the door opened, and she stepped into the hall.

The scene inside the house was curious in the extreme. If there were quiet and darkness outside, a brilliant light and a tense, contagious excitement reigned within. The large hall, lighted by tall lamps, was covered with a thick black carpet into which the feet sank noiselessly, and the walls and ceiling were draped in the same sombre tint; but at intervals of a few feet, columns of white marble, chiselled into curious shapes, gleamed upon the observer from shadowy niches.

On ordinary occasions, there was a solemnity, a coldness, in this sombre vestibule; but to-night a strange electric activity seemed to have been breathed upon the atmosphere. Women with flushed faces and men with feverishly bright eyes hurried to and fro in an irrepressible, aimless agitation. A blending of dread and hysterical antic.i.p.ation was stamped upon every face. People stopped one another with nervous, unstrung gesture and odd, disjointed sentences.

As the last comer entered, she paused for a moment, uncertain and hesitating; but almost as she did so, a remarkable-looking and ma.s.sively built man who was standing in the hall, disengaged himself from a group of people, and, coming directly towards her, took her hand.

"Mrs. Witcherley! At last!" he exclaimed, in a full, emotional voice. "I looked for you among the gathering and for a moment I almost feared--"

"That I would fail?" Her voice was still tinged with agitation; the pupils of her large eyes were distended.

"No, I did not mean that. But at such a moment we burn lest even one of the Elect be missing." He continued to hold her hand, looking into her face with his prominent dark eyes, from which flashed and glowed an excitement that spread over his whole heavy face.

"The night of nights!" he exclaimed. "To have lived to witness it!" His face glowed with a sudden enthusiasm; and freeing her fingers, he lifted up his right hand. "'He shall walk into your midst--and sit above you as a King!'" he quoted, in a loud voice. Then remembering his companion, he lowered his tone.

"Everything is in readiness," he added, more soberly. "The Precursor still unceasingly prophesies the Advent. Come with me into the Place.

The Gathering is all but a.s.sembled." Laying his large hand upon her arm, he led her forward unresistingly through the groups of men and women, and onward down a long corridor to where a curtain hid an arched doorway.

For a moment they paused outside this door, and the man--still laboring under some strange excitement--again raised his hand:

"Come!" he cried. "And before we leave the Place, may the Hope of the Universe be fulfilled!" Lifting the curtain, he ushered her through the door.

The room--or chapel--into which they stepped was large and lofty, covered on floor and walls with sections of marble alternately black and white; overhead swung a huge octagonal symbol in jewelled and polished metal; and at the end farthest from the door a haze of incense clouded what appeared to be an altar.

A concourse of people filled every corner of this vast room; and from the crouched or upright figures rose a continuous, inaudible murmuring.

Still guiding his companion, the ma.s.sively built man forced a way between the closely packed figures. But, half-way up the room, the woman paused and glanced at him.

"This will do," she whispered. "Not any nearer, please. Not any nearer."

His only answer was to lay his hand upon her arm, and by a persistent pressure to draw her onward up the narrow aisle. Reaching the railed-in s.p.a.ce about which the incense hung, he paused in his own turn and motioned her towards the foremost row of seats, from which the majority of the gathering seemed to hold aloof.

With a quick, nervous gesture she deprecated the suggestion. "No! No!"

she murmured. "Let me sit behind. Please let me sit behind."

But his fingers tightened impressively upon her arm. "No," he whispered, close to her ear. "No, I want you to be here. When the time arrives, I want the full light to shine upon you."

After this she demurred no more, but moved obediently into the appointed seat, her companion placing himself beside her.

In the first moments of agitation and nervousness, she had scarcely observed her surroundings; but now, as her perturbation partially subsided, she looked back at the rows of bowed or erect figures, and forward at the s.p.a.ce about which the incense clung like a filmy veil. At a first glance this veil seemed almost too dense to penetrate; but as her sight grew accustomed to its drifting whiteness, she was able to discern the objects that lay behind.

In place of the altar, usually prominent in every religious building, there was a wide semicircular s.p.a.ce, within which stood a gold chair raised upon a dais and a heavy lectern of symbolic design on which rested a white leather book, worn yellow at the edges. Over this book a man was poring, apparently unconscious of the active interest he evoked.

He was short and thick-set, with a square jaw, a long upper lip, and keen eyes. Over a head of vividly red hair, he wore a round black silk cap, and his figure was enveloped in a flowing black gown.

From time to time, as he read, he lifted one hand in rapt excitement, while his lips moved unceasingly in rapid, inaudible speech. At last, with a sudden dramatic gesture, he turned from the lectern and threw out both arms towards the high gold chair.

"Oh, empty throne! Empty world!" he cried. "Be filled!"