Free The Devil Rides Out by Dennis Wheatley

racing thoughts, he cursed his foolhardiness in ever entering the accursed house without doing all things proper for their protection. It was so many years since he had had any dealings with the occult that his acute anxiety for Simon had caused him to minimise the appalling risk they would run. What folly could have possessed him, he wondered miserably, to allow Rex, whose ignorance and scepticism would make him doubly vulnerable, to accompany him. Despite his advancing age, the Duke would have given five precious years of his life for an assurance that Rex was staring at the parquet floor, momentarily riveted by fear perhaps, yet still free from the malevolent influence which was streaming in pulsing waves from the circle; but Rex was not. Instinctively, De Richleau knew that his eyes were fixed on the Thing, and a ghastly dread caused little beads of icy perspiration to break out on his forehead.
    Then he felt, rather than saw, Rex move. Next second he heard his footfall and knew that he was walking towards the pentagram. With trembling lips he began to mutter strange sentences of Persian, Greek and Hebrew, dimly remembered from his studies of the past–calling–calling–urgently– imperatively, upon the Power of Light for guidance and protection. Almost instantly, the memory that he had slipped the jewelled swastika into his waistcoat pocket when Max returned it flashed into his mind, and he knew that his prayer was answered. His fingers closed on the jewel. His arms shot out. It glittered for a second in the violet light, then came to rest in the centre of the circle.
    A piercing scream, desperate with anger, fear, and pain, like that of a beastseared with a white-hot iron, blasted the silence. The lights flickered again so that the wires showed red, came on, went out, and flickered once more, as though two mighty forces were struggling for possession of the current.
    The chill wind died so suddenly that it seemed as if a blanket of warm air had descended on their faces, but even while that hideous screech was still ringing through the chamber De Richleau grabbed Rex by the arm and dragged him towards the door. Next second the control of both had snapped and they were plunging down the stairs with an utter recklessness born of sheer terror.
    Rex slipped on the lower landing and sprawled down the last flight on his back. The Duke came bounding after, six stairs at a time, and fell beside him. Together they scrambled to their feet, dashed through the library, out of the french windows, and across the lawn.
    With the agility of lemurs they swung up the branches of the laburnum, on to the wall, and dropped to the far side. Then they pelted down the lane as fast as their legs could carry them, and on until a full street away they paused, breathless and panting, to face each other under the friendly glow of a street lamp.
    De Richleau’s breath came in choking gasps. It was years since he had subjected himself to such physical exertion, and his face was grey from the strain which it had put upon him. Rex found his evening collar limp from the sweat which had streamed from him in his terror, but his lungs were easing rapidly, and he was the first to recover.
    â€˜God, we’re mighty lucky to be out of that!’
    The Duke nodded, still unable to speak.
    â€˜I take back every word I said,’ Rex went on hurriedly. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been real scared of anything in my life before, but that was hellish!’
    â€˜I panicked too, towards the end, couldn’t help it, but I should never have taken you into that place, never,’ De Richleau muttered repentantly as they set off down the street.
    â€˜Since we’ve got out safe it’s all to the good. I’ve a real idea what we’re up against now.’
    The Duke drew Rex’s arm through his own with a friendly gesture. Far from desiring to say ‘I told you so!’ he was regretting that he had been so