The Horror Megapack_ 25 Classic and Modern Horror Stories ( PDFDrive )

Yet even as he yielded to that vortex of passion, a remote corner of his brain
remained untainted. He plied her with answering kisses, felt the shudder of her
hot flesh, but that one sane morsel was wondering. And at times he saw what
was about him.
He recognized a black-bearded man whose face had appeared in every major
newspaper of the world…another, who had led a victorious army…and one who
from the sidelines told premiers what to say…
The Master gestured, and an acolyte dashed to the passageway at the left.
Crane’s fist smashed home, driving away a black-haired woman who sought to
displace his companion. Her body was raked and bitten and slashed, but she was
seeking more savage company…Crane saw how Diane had been mangled. Her
terror hinted that she had not been drugged…
Then Crane saw what had been released when those unseen iron bars clanged
open. A tall, gray-haired man whose deeply lined face had once been handsome
and commanding. He wore what remained of full evening dress. The ribbon that
had crossed his shirtfront trailed like a streamer as he approached; and on it
Crane saw the ribbons of civil and military decorations.
He recognized the man. He knew now from whose formal garb that purple rosette
had been torn. His mouth frothed, and his eyes burned insanely. He snarled
bestially and plunged into the surging orgy.
This was a man whose whispers shook Europe. Now he rolled vilely in that
tangle of writhing flesh.
But why—Great God, why?
The Master laughed and gestured. The sullen ruddy glow of the tapers was
drowned in a blue white, dazzling radiance, pitilessly revealing what shadows
had shrouded.
Then Crane saw and understood.
A motion picture camera was covering the hideous show. That damnable film
would place those drugged dignitaries forever in the power of that master of
blasphemy. He had tricked them from Biarritz with hints of sensational ritual,
drugged them, and the record of their unspeakable wallowings would doom
them. Satanism had a logical purpose: political blackmail.
Time to move. The Master was distracted by his own show. Crane kicked clear
of his companion, reached for his pistol.
It was gone! Lost in that writhing vortex.
He bounded to the altar, snatched that mockery of a crucifix, and whirled
toward the Master. A pistol crackled. Crane felt the stab of hot lead, hurled