The Open Gates of Mysticism. Aleister Crowley

and Venus.

      We palpitated not only with our internal ecstasy but with the intoxicating sense that the whole world admired and envied us. We made them feel like the contents of a waste-paper basket.

      The head waiter himself became a high priest. He rose to the situation like the genius he was. He was mentally on his knees as he ventured to advise us in the choice of our lunch.

      It seemed to us the tribute of inferior emperors. And there was that fellow King Lamus five or six tables away !

      The man with him was a Frenchman of obvious distinction, with a big red rosette and a trim aristocratic white moustache and beard. He was some minister or other. I couldn't quite place him but I'd seen him often enough in the papers: somebody intimate with the president. He had been the principal object of interest before we came in.

      Our arrival pricked that bubble.

      Lamus had his back to us, and I supposed he didn't see us, for he didn't turn round, though everyone else in the place did so and began to buzz.

      I didn't hate the man any more; he was so absurdly inferior. And this was the annoying thing. When he and his friend got up to leave, they passed our table all smiles and bows.

      And then, the deuce ! The head waiter brought me his card. He had scribbled on it in pencil: "Don't forget me when you need me."

      Of all the damned silly impertinence ! Absolutely gratuitous insufferable insolence! Who was going to need Mr. Gawd Almighty King Lamus ?

      I should have handed out some pretty hot repartee if the creature hadn't sneaked off. Well, it wasn't worth while. He didn't count any more than the grounds in the coffee.

      But the incident stuck in my mind. It kept on irritating me all the afternoon. People like that ought to be kicked out once and for all.

      Why, hang it, the man was all kinds of a scoundrel. Every one said so. Why did he want to butt in ? Nobody asked him to meddle.

      I said something of the sort to Lou, and she told him off very wittily.

      " You've gaid it, Cockie, " she cried. "He's a meddler, and his nature is to be rotten before he's ripe. "

      I remembered something of the sort in Shakespeare. That was the best of Lou ; she was brilliantly clever, but she never forced it down one's throat.

      At the same time, as I said, the man stuck in my gizzard. It annoyed me so much that we took a lot more cocaine to get the taste out of our mouths.

      But the irritation remained, though it took another form. The bourgeois atmosphere of Paris got on my nerves.

      Well, there was no need to stay in the beastly place. The thing to do was to hunt up old Feccles and pay him the cash, and get to some place like Capri where one isn't always being bothered by details.

      I was flooded by a crazy desire to see Lou swim in the Blue Grotto, to watch the phosphorescent flames flash from her luminous body.

      We told the chauffeur to stop at Feccles's hotel, and that was where we hit a gigantic snag.

      Monsieur Feccles, the manager said, had left that morning suddenly. Yes, he had left his heavy baggage. He might be back at any moment. No, he had left no word as to where he was going.

      Well, of course, he would be back on Saturday morning to get the five thousand. It was obvious what I was to do. I would leave the money for him, and take the manager's receipt, and tell him to send the papers on to the Caligula at Capri.

      I started to count out the cash. We were sitting in the lounge. A sense of absolute bewilderment and helplessness came over me.

      " I say, Lou," I stammered, " I wish you'd count this. I can't make it come right. I think I must have been going a bit too hard."

      She went through the various pockets of my portefeuille.

      " Haven't you some money in your pocket ? " she said.

      I went through myself with sudden anxiety. I had money in nearly every pocket ; but it only amounted to so much small change. A thousand francs here and a hundred francs there, a fifty-pound note in my waist-coat, a lot of small bills

      In the meanwhile, Lou had added up the contents of my porte-feuille. The total was just over seventeen hundred.

      " My God ! I've been robbed," I gasped out, my face flushing furiously with anger.

      Lou kept her head and her temper. After all, it wasn't her money ! She began to figure on a scrap of the hotel note paper.

      " I'm afraid it's all right," she announced, " you dear, bad boy."

      I had become suddenly sober. Yes, there was nothing wrong with the figures. I had paid cash to the jeweller without thinking.

      By Jove, we were in a hole ! I felt instinctively that it was impossible to telegraph to Wolfe for more money. I suppose my face must have fallen ; a regular nose dive. Lou put her arm around my waist and dug her nails into my ribs.

      "Chuck it, Cockie," she said, " we're well out of a mess. I always had my doubts about Feccles, and his going off like this looks to me as if there were something very funny about it."

      My dream of a quarter of a million disappeared without a moment's regret. I had been prudent after all. I had invested my cash in something tangible. Feccles was an obvious crook. If I had handed him that five thousand, I should never have heard of him or of it again.

      I began to recover my spirits.

      "Look here," said Lou, " let's forget it. Write Feccles a note to say you couldn't raise the money by the date it was wanted, and let's get out. We ought to economise, in any case, Let's get off to Italy as we said. The exchange is awfully good, and living's delightfully cheap. It's silly spending money when you've got Love and Cocaine."

      My spirit leapt to meet hers. I scribbled a note of apology to Feccles, and left it at the hotel. We dashed round to the Italian consulate to have our passport vise'd, got our sleeping cars from the hotel porter, and had the maid pack our things while we had a last heavenly dinner.