The Mystery of the Singing Serpent - M. V. Carey [8]
“We can begin,” said Ariel.
The people gathered around the table shifted slightly, and Jupe thought he heard someone sigh.
“We are not the full fellowship tonight,” said Ariel. “It may be that we can do nothing, or it may be that Dr. Shaitan will send us his spirits. The voice of the serpent may speak to us across the miles. We can try.”
He touched the goblet to his lips, then passed the drink on to the woman in orange.
“The fellowship won’t fail!” croaked the woman in orange. She sipped from the cup.
“Why, when I had that trouble with my landlady, I —”
“Silence!” said Ariel. “You interrupt the
rites.”
She subsided and handed the cup to Miss
Osborne, who sipped and passed it to the seedy Mr. Noxworth. He tasted it, gave it to the blonde
in green, and she returned it to Hugo Ariel.
“We will be seated,” said Ariel.
Each member of the party took a chair.
“Miss
Osborne,
state
your
intention,”
commanded Ariel.
Aunt Pat bowed her head. “I wish for the
crystal ball. I wish that Margaret Compton will be called away so she can’t get it.”
“Shall we invoke the power of Belial?”
“I ask that this be done,” said Aunt Pat.
Ariel looked around the table. “What do you
say?” he asked the others.
“I’ve got problems of my own,” said
Noxworth.
“The problems of one are the problems of all
the fellowship,” Ariel reproved him.
“Let’s ask Belial to send the Compton woman on a nice long trip,” twittered the woman in orange. “A trip beginning … when was it, honey?”
“The week of the twenty-first,” said Aunt Pat.
Ariel’s dark eyes went from Aunt Pat to the blonde, and then to Noxworth. “Then we are agreed,” he decided.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The others sat, staring at the dancing flames of the candles. For some minutes, nothing happened. The figures in the dining room might have been painted on canvas, they were so still.
Then Allie and the boys heard it. In the night, through darkness which was now almost complete, they heard the sound. It was faint at first, a soft throbbing. It was a pulsing that seemed to stir the air. It was a singing sound, and yet it was in no way a song. There were no words. There were no syllables. There was only a rising and falling of notes that were no true notes. It was shrill, then gentle. It was high and piercing, then a low murmur. It wavered and stopped for an instant, then burst forth again in hideous gurgling waves.
The Three Investigators listened in mounting panic. The awful song was like nothing on earth. It threatened them with evil and terror and deep, dark power. It enticed them to join its own mindless agony. Bob swallowed noisily, and Pete drew a deep breath and held it.
Only Jupiter remained calm enough to concentrate on the scene before them. He noticed that no one had moved in the dining room. Hugo Ariel’s face was turned toward the ceiling. He had not stirred.
At last Allie backed away from the patio. The boys went with her, retreating rapidly up the drive, the weird singing following them like some evil, living thing.
When they reached the back court, Allie leaned against the house. The boys felt the fear slowly drain from them.
“That was what Marie heard?” asked Jupe.
Allie didn’t speak. She only nodded.
Pete ran his hand through his hair. “I’d leave, too,” he said.
Allie breathed deeply. “I can’t leave,” she said finally. “It’s my house, and it’s my aunt.
That Ariel has to go!”
“But it couldn’t be Ariel,” said Jupe quickly. “He couldn’t make a noise like that without moving a muscle!”
“He couldn’t make a noise like that at all, but he did it,” said Allie flatly.
In the garage, the Appaloosa kicked against its stall and whinnied.
“Queenie!” cried Allie. “Someone’s in there!”
Jupiter leaped to the garage