LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER 2 The House of the Sacred Flame

      In Chester Terrace the wind caught Nigel broadside-on, causing him to prance and curvet like a charger. The rain pelted down on his umbrella and the street lamps shone on the wet pavement. He felt adventurous and pleased that he had followed his impulse to go abroad on such a night. Knocklatchers Row seemed an exciting street. Its name sounded like a password to romance. Who knows, he thought hopefully, into what strange meeting-place I may venture? It should be exotic and warm and there should be incense and curious rites. With these pleasant anticipations he crossed Chester Street and, lowering his umbrella to meet the veering wind, made for the House of the Sacred Flame.

      Two or three other figures preceded him, but by the time he reached the swinging sign they had all disappeared into a side entry. As he drew nearer Nigel was aware of a bell ringing, not clearly, insistently, like the bell of St Mary’s, Graham Street, but with a smothered and inward sound as though it was deep inside a building. He turned left under the sign into shelter, and at that moment the bell stopped ringing. He found himself in a long covered passage, lit at the far end by a single lamp, or rather by a single light, for as he approached he saw that a naked flame rose from a bronze torch held in an iron sconce. Doubtless in deference to some by-law this unusual contrivance was encased in a sort of cage. Beyond the torch he saw double doors. A man came through, closed the doors, locked them, and seated himself on a stool under the torch. Nigel furled his umbrella and approached this doorkeeper. He was a thinnish young man, pale and spectacled, with an air of gentility.

      â€˜I’m afraid you are too late,’ he said.

      â€˜Too late?’ Nigel felt ridiculously exasperated and disappointed.

      â€˜Yes. The bell has stopped. I have just locked the doors.’

      â€˜But only this second. I saw you do it as I lowered my umbrella. Couldn’t you open them again?’

      â€˜The bell has stopped.’

      â€˜I can hear that very well. That, too, has only just occurred. Could not you let me in?’

      â€˜I see you do not know our rules,’ said the young man, and pointed to a framed notice which hung beside the doors. Nigel turned peevishly and read the sentence indicated by the young man: ‘The bell ceases ringing as the Priest enters the temple. The doors are then locked and will not be reopened until the ceremony is ended.’

      â€˜There, you see,’ said the young man complacently.

      â€˜Yes, I see. But if you will allow me to say so, I consider that you make a mistake in so stringently enforcing this rule. As you have noticed I am a new-comer. Something prompted me to come – an impulse. Who knows but what I might have proved an enthusiastic convert to whatever doctrine is taught behind your locked doors?’

      â€˜There is a Neophytes’ Class at six-fifteen on Wednesdays.’

      â€˜I shall not attend it,’ cried Nigel in a rage.

      â€˜That is as you please.’

      Nigel perceived very clearly that he had made a fool of himself. He could not understand why he felt so disproportionately put out at being refused entrance to a ceremony of which he knew nothing and, he told himself, cared less. However he was already a little ashamed of his churlish behaviour and with the idea of appeasing the doorkeeper he turned once again to the notice.

      At the top was a neat red torch set in a circle of other symbols, with most of which he was unfamiliar. Outside these again were the signs of the Zodiac. With a returning sense of chagrin he reflected that this was precisely the sort of thing his mood had demanded. Undoubtedly the service would be strange and full of an exotic mumbo-jumbo. He might even have got a story from it. A muffled sound of chanting beyond the doors increased his vexation. However he read on:

      In the Light of the Sacred Flame all mysteries are but different facets of the One Mystery, all

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