The Witching Hour (Lives of the Mayfair Witches 1)

No, she couldn't imagine what had happened to him. In fact, she became quite instantly and visibly distressed at the possibility that he had met with foul play.

Yes, he was staying at the St. Charles Hotel, he mentioned that to her, and why on earth would he lie about such a thing? She began to cry. Oh, she hoped nothing had happened to him. In fact, she became so upset that the police almost terminated the interview. But she held them there asking questions. Had they talked to the people at the Court of Two Sisters? She'd taken Stuart there, and he'd liked it. Maybe he had been back. And there was a speakeasy on Bourbon Street where they had talked early the following morning, after some more respectable place--dreadful hole!--had kicked them out.

The police covered these establishments. Everyone knew Stella. Yes, Stella could have been there with a man. Stella was always there with a man. But nobody had any particular recollection of Stuart Townsend.

Other hotels in town were canvassed. No belongings of Stuart Townsend were found. Cabbies were questioned but with the same dismal lack of result.

At last the Talamasca decided to take the investigation into its own hands. Arthur Langtry sailed from London to discover what had happened to Stuart. He was conscience-stricken that he had ever agreed to let Stuart undertake this assignment alone.

THE STORY OF STELLA CONTINUES

Arthur Langtry's Report

Arthur Langtry was certainly one of the most able investigators whom the Talamasca ever produced. The study of several great "witch families" was his lifelong work. The story of his fifty-year career with the Talamasca is one of the most interesting and amazing histories contained in our archives, and his detailed studies of the witch families with whom he became involved are some of the most valuable documents we possess.

It is a great sadness to those of us who have been obsessed all our lives with the Mayfair Witches that Langtry was never able to devote his time to their history. And in the years before Stuart Townsend became involved, Langtry expressed his own regrets regarding the whole affair.

But Langtry owed no one an apology for not having time or life enough for every witch family in our files.

Nevertheless, when Stuart Townsend disappeared, Langtry felt responsible, and nothing could have kept him from sailing to Louisiana in August Of 1929. As already mentioned, he blamed himself for Stuart's disappearance, because he had not opposed Stuart's assignment; and he had known in his heart that Stuart should not go.

"I was so eager for someone to go there," he confessed before he left London. "I was so eager for something to happen. And of course I felt I couldn't go. And so I thought, well, maybe that strange young Texan will crack through that wall."

Langtry was nearing seventy-four years of age at this time, a tall, gaunt man with iron gray hair, a rectangular face, and sunken eyes. He had an extremely pleasant speaking voice and meticulous manners. He had the usual minor infirmities of old age, but, all things considered, he was in good health.

He had seen "everything" during his years of service. He was a powerful psychic or medium; and he was absolutely fearless when it came to any manifestation of the supernatural. But he was never rash or careless. He never underestimated any sort of phenomena. He was, as his own investigations show, extremely confident and extremely strong.

As soon as he heard of Stuart's disappearance, he became convinced that Stuart was dead. Quickly rereading the Mayfair material, he saw the error which the order had made.

He arrived in New Orleans on August 28, 1929, at once registering at the St. Charles Hotel and dispatching a letter home as Stuart had done. He gave his name, address, and London phone number to several people at the hotel desk so that there could be no question later that he had been there. He made a long distance call to the Motherhouse from his room, reporting the room number and several other particulars about his arrival.

Then he met with one of our investigators--the most competent of the private detectives--in the hotel bar, charging all of the drinks to the room.

He confirmed for himself everything that the order had already been told. He was also informed that Stella was no longer cooperating with the investigation, such as it was. Insisting that she didn't know anything and couldn't help anyone, she had at last become impatient and refused to talk to the investigators anymore.

"As I said good-bye to this gentleman," he wrote in his report, "I knew for certain that I was being watched. It was no more than a feeling, yet it was a profound one. And I sensed that it was connected to Stuart's disappearance, though I myself had made no inquiry regarding Stuart of any person at the hotel.

"At this point I was sorely tempted to roam the premises, seeking to detect some latent indication of Stuart's having been in this or that room. But I was also deeply convinced that Stuart had not met with foul play in this hotel. On the contrary, the people who were watching me, indeed, taking note of my movements and what I did, were doing so only because someone had paid them to do it. I decided to contact Stella Mayfair at once."

Langtry rang Stella from his room. Though it was past four o'clock, she had obviously only just awakened when she answered her private phone. Only reluctantly did she allow the subject to be reopened. And it soon became obvious that she was genuinely upset.

"Look, I don't know what happened to him!" she said, and again began to cry. "I liked him. I really did. He was such a strange man. We went to bed, you know."

Langtry couldn't think of a thing to say to such a frank admission. Even her disembodied voice proved somewhat charming. And he was convinced that her tears were real.

"Well, we did," she continued, undaunted. "I took him to some awful little place in the Quarter. I told the police about it. Anyway, I liked him, very very much! I told him not to come around this family. I told him! He had the most peculiar ideas about things. He didn't know anything. I told him to go away. Maybe he did go away. That is what I thought happened, you know, that he simply took my advice and went away."

Langtry implored her to help him discover what had happened. He explained that he was a colleague of Townsend's, that they had known each other very well.

"Colleague? You mean you're part of that group."

"Yes, if you mean the Talamasca ... "

"Shhh, listen to me. Whoever you are, you can come on up here if you like. But do it tomorrow night. I'm giving a party, you see. You can just well, sort of blend in. If anyone asks you who you are, which they probably won't, just say Stella invited you. Ask to speak to me. But for God's sakes don't say anything about Townsend and don't say the name of your ... whatever you call it ... "

"Talamasca ... "

"Yes! Now please listen to what I'm saying. There'll be hundreds of people there, white tie to rags, you know, and do be discreet. Just come up to me, and when you kiss me, whisper your name in my ear. What is it again?"

"Langtry. Arthur."

"Hmmmm. Unhuh. Right. That's simple enough to remember, isn't it? Now, do be careful. I can't stay on any longer. You will come, won't you? Look, you must come!"

Langtry averred that nothing could keep him away. He asked her if she remembered the photograph on which she'd written "To the Talamasca, with love, Stella! P.S. There are others who watch, too."

"Of course I remember it. Look, I can't talk to you about this right now. It was years and years ago, when I wrote that note. My mother was alive then. Look, you can't imagine how bad things are for me now. I've never been in a worse jam. And I don't know what happened to Stuart, really I don't. Look, will you please come tomorrow night?"

"Yes, I shall," said Langtry, struggling silently to determine whether or not he was being lured into some sort of trap. "But why must we be so circumspect about the whole arrangement, I don't ... "

"Darling, look," she said, dropping her voice, "it's all very nice about your organization, and your library and all your marvelous psychic investigations. But don't be a perfect fool. Ours is not a world of seances and mediums and dead relatives telling you