The Sixth Key(47)

‘Why didn’t you mention earlier that you knew so much about him?’

‘I didn’t know how deeply you were involved in all of it. He was a dangerous man, he was watching the anthroposophists in Paris very closely, and I believe he had something to do with Rudolf Steiner’s assassination.’

Rahn knew that Deodat’s fondness for anthroposophy had brought about the awkwardness between him and the countess, since she was a theosophist, because Rudolf Steiner, the leader of anthroposophy, had broken away from theosophy in quite a spectacular way.

‘Why was Monti watching the anthroposophists?’ Rahn said.

‘Because anthroposophists are “white” esotericists.’

‘So there are “white” and “black” esotericists?’

‘Of course, and grey ones too – those who can’t make up their minds! When Rudolf Steiner formed his own group, he made certain that it was completely independent from all the other groups and, as a result, he was hated by them all. I believe this to be the reason he was poisoned, and that Monti had a hand in it.’ Deodat leant forwards. ‘Now, let’s assume that the key to completing Le Serpent Rouge does exist, Rahn. It would be a powerful tool of magic in the hands of a black occultist like Hitler and, therefore, in the hands of those black esotericists in the Cénacle who control him.’

Rahn looked up to the rafters, blackened by the smoke from the fire; he felt completely out of his depth. What had he got himself into?

‘What should we do? If we don’t try to find it they’ll only send someone else.’

Deodat puffed on his pipe intensely and said nothing.

Rahn was filled with a singular restlessness. ‘Is it possible that, as you said before, the abbé was a part of it somehow?’

‘What?’

‘Well, doesn’t it strike you as interesting that Cros was investigating priests? Doesn’t it strike you as strange that after he falls ill, the very person in charge of the keys to the church commits suicide, and when they find his body there is no sign of the keys anywhere? Next, the abbé himself dies, drowned a short time after asking you to get something from the church. And as if that’s not enough, an inspector turns up, quick as a flash, looking like a dishevelled Professor Moriarty, not only knowing everything about my book but also looking for a group connected to Pierre Plantard in Paris? There are too many coincidences, Deodat!’

‘As I said before, I think Inspecteur Beliere was following you, Rahn.’

‘Perhaps, but are you telling me the abbé’s death and the missing keys mean nothing?’

‘Let me remind you that we must work a posteriori – that is, we must reason from observed facts.’

‘Well then, let’s do so. What was Cros doing spying on priests for the Vatican?’ Rahn asked.

‘It was probably some small matter, a misappropriation of funds or something of that sort. Things like that happen all the time in these small towns.’

Rahn was in no way convinced. ‘I think the abbé was desperate. He wanted you to find something. What did he mean by Sator – the sower, creator or planter?’

‘That usually refers to Christ.’

‘Perhaps, usually, but in this case it sounds to me like a code.’

‘A code?’

‘Yes. Did you have something you shared apart from playing chess, some inside joke, anything?’

Deodat sighed and rubbed his chin. ‘Well, sometimes, in the days when he was well, he was fond of puzzles. Actually, he rather liked Roman puzzles.’

‘What are they?’

‘Latin riddles, chronograms, palindromes, that sort of thing. For instance, one time a letter arrived by mail from him and in it I found a rebus: Ego sum principium, mundi et finis, saeculorum attamen non sum Deus.’

Rahn translated it: ‘I am the beginning of the world and the end of the ages, but I am not God. And? Did you solve it?’

‘It took me some time. The solution was elementary: it was M.’

‘M? Ah . . . yes!’ Rahn’s face brightened. ‘The letter M is the beginning of the Latin word “mundi”, which means world; and it is also at the end of the word “saeculorum”, which means ages. Very amusing!’

‘Yes,’ Deodat said, although he didn’t seem the least bit amused. He frowned, thinking about it.

Rahn had a sudden thought. ‘Do you have a Latin dictionary?’

Deodat looked at him as if he had just asked him if the Earth was round. ‘Of course.’

‘We need to look up “Sator”.’There was a large tome on the table in Deodat’s library. Rahn stood beside him as he pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and flicked the pages until he found it. ‘“Sator” . . . Well, well,’ he said. ‘Here it is. Apparently it forms part of a famous palindrome, that is, it reads the same up and down, backwards and forwards, and so it’s sometimes called a magic square.’ He showed Rahn.