The
Brotherhood
of
Darkness
Elizabeth Chater
The Brotherhood of Darkness
Elizabeth Chater
Smashwords Edition
Published by Chater Publishing
“The Brotherhood Of Darkness” Copyright 1962 Elizabeth Chater.
Originally published in The Saint Mystery Magazine under the name Lee Chaytor.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover photo by Arman Zhenikeyev.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chater Publishing would like to thank Jerry Chater for transcribing the following document.
For more mystery stories by Elizabeth Chater, please visit: Elizabethchater.com.
For more books from Chater Publishing, please visit: Chater Publishing
The Brotherhood of Darkness
On a dull grey morning in August, a boy was climbing along the rocky shore near the resort town of Torbay in the south of England. He was so busy staring up at a grim old stone building on the edge of the cliffs above him that he missed his footing and stumbled into the foaming surf. To save himself a ducking, he caught at something tumbling and sliding in the water near him. It was a body. . . .
†
“You’d think that would be enough of a sensation to satisfy the kid,” Chief Constable Mellin said bitterly, “but oh, no! He has to make up a tall tale about a hooded figure peering over the stone wall that tops the cliff.”
“Just standing and peering, was it?” asked Commissioner Bryce-Leddinghill.
Mellin snorted. “No, sir. According to the kid, it was beckoning—waving, like—to get his attention. And pointing down to where the body was battering among the rocks.”
The Commissioner elevated his eyebrows. “I see. Waving and pointing. Rather active for a figment of the imagination, don’t you think?”
Mellin looked uncomfortable. “That bit’s beside the point, sir. Like I told you, this isn’t the first body we’ve had to fish out of the bay. It’s very bad for the tourist trade. One body, now,—that gives the trippers a bit of excitement; but when they come thick as a school of herring, it’s another kettle of fish.” Mellin had the grace to exhibit embarrassment. “No puns intended, Commissioner. But the women are afraid to go bathing.”
“I can appreciate their point of view,” agreed Bryce-Ledinghill ponderously.
“We tie the drowning in with The Brotherhood of Darkness, sir,” Mellin continued. “That lot’s a good deal too sharp for us. Out of our line entirely, you might say. That’s why I’ve come to New Scotland Yard for help. We’ve heard you’ve got a chap named Jarvis who’s handled some odd cases. . . .” He paused inquiringly.
It was the Commissioner’s turn to look embarrassed. Much as he hated to admit it, he had an uneasy respect for the extraordinary powers of Jamie Jarvis. How that young man achieved his successes, the Commissioner could never figure out, but witnesses usually reliable swore that Jamie had a whole battery of super-normal talents. Telekinesis, precognition, clairvoyance—these were some of the terms used by Lord Chalfont, Bryce-Leddinghill’s old friend and Jamie’s sponsor in high places.
“I’ll get him in here and you can tell him the details,” said the Commissioner, and picked up the phone.
Chief Constable Mellin stared at the good-looking, blond young man who entered in response to the summons. He wasn’t odd or queer-appearing; in fact, his frank, guileless countenance rather disappointed Mellin, who was hoping for something exotic, on the order of a stage magician. He shook hands, and stared at Jamie as they sat down.
“Like I’ve been telling the Commissioner,” he began awkwardly, “there’s a bunch of nuts calling themselves the Brotherhood of Darkness, has taken over an old mansion on the cliffs above Torbay.” He shrugged. “At first we weren’t too worried. We’re a resort town; we get all kinds.”
“They’ve made trouble?” Jamie prodded gently.
“We’re not sure,” began Mellin; then, realizing how odd that sounded, added defensively, “At first we thought they’d be good for the town. They bought all their supplies from local merchants—wines, meat, fancy condiments. Lots of people in big cars came to stay overnight, or for the week. Then we began to hear reports that some of them never did get back to London. Posted as missing . . . and last month we pulled a body out of the bay . . . smashed up something awful. And another one two days ago.” He grimaced.
“Were you able to trace either of the bodies?” the Commissioner was interested. So far, this was straight police routine, none of what he called spook stuff.
“Yes, sir,” Mellin answered gloomily. “The first one, that is. He was a retired businessman with quite a bit of money and no enemies. Seems he made rather a habit of joining queer religious groups in the last few years. He was a widower, and lonely. We think The Brotherhood is responsible for his death, but so far, we haven’t been able to pin it on them. The head of the cult—calls himself Brother Mace—says the dead man left the place in good spirits, on his way back to London, the day before the body was discovered in the bay. Real smarmy little chap, is Brother Mace. All grease and jollity.”
“Would you say he had the brains to run a racket involving murder, and get away with it, sir?” asked Jamie.
Mellin was surprised. “Now that you mention it, Jarvis, no. Larceny, yes; or a spot of fraud. But I wouldn’t have docketed Brother Mace for murder.”
The commissioner had filled his pipe. Now he lit it with great suckings of air, interspersed with the words of his next question. “Any trouble of this sort before The Brotherhood set up shop?”