The Rape of Venice by Dennis Wheatley Page A

opportunity to refresh my memory on certain rituals, it can be no more than a simple one,’ replied the Venetian, ‘but that I will give you whenever and wherever you wish.’
    Georgina was loath to pursue the matter. She had an uneasy feeling that no good would come of it; but, in view of Beckford’s eagerness and that others in the party were backing him up, she had little option; so she said, ‘Now that we are returned, a syllabub will shortly be served in the Orangery for our refreshment. Let us go there and drink it while Signor Malderini performs his promised marvels.’
    In the lofty Orangery a semi-circle of basket chairs was set among the brass-bound tubs in which grew the bushes with their small, unripe, but decorative fruit. Malderini asked for some slips of paper to be brought, then, as they sipped from their cups of well-iced wine beaten up with thick cream, he said:
    â€˜Four or five of you will oblige me by writing questions on these pieces of paper. They must be questions the answers to which might reasonably be supposed to come within my knowledge. I shall then mesmerise the Princess Sirisha and, when her mind has become completely under my control, put your questions to her. As you are aware, in her normal state she has the unhappiness to be deprived of the pleasure of conversing with you because she can speak no tongue other than her own. But, while she is in a state of trance, I shall imbue her with powers which she does not ordinarily possess. Having written your questions add to them the word French, English, Italian or German, and she will give you the answer in which ever language you have selected.’
    There was a subdued murmuring as the papers were passed round, Colonel Thursby, Beckford, Sheridan, his wife, and Droopy Ned all wrote out questions. Malderini glancedthrough them and agreed them to be reasonable ones, then he led his wife to a vacant chair at one end of the semi-circle, stepped a few paces back from her, and asked that complete silence should be observed. As the hush fell, he lifted his plump, heavily be-ringed hands, and began to make a succession of slow complicated passes in front of his wife’s face.
    After a few minutes her eyelids drooped and closed, her breathing became irregular, her limbs jerked spasmodically and her head rolled about on her shoulders. Suddenly she became rigid, remained so for several moments, then as suddenly relaxed. She gave a heavy sigh and sat up. Her eyes opened again but they now held only a blank stare.
    Taking one of the papers from his pocket, Malderini gave her in her own language a translation of the question written upon it. There was a tense moment while the muscles of her throat contracted and her mouth opened and shut soundlessly, as though in a desperate but futile effort to speak; then the words came, slowly at first but coherently, and in Italian she gave a perfectly sensible answer to the question.
    The Venetian repeated the process with the other questions and to each she replied in the language requested on the paper. Her English and German were noticeably less good than her Italian and French, but Malderini had clearly implied that the power with which he intended to imbue her came from himself; so it was natural that her vocabulary in these languages should be limited to his own.
    It was a most impressive performance and, when the last question had been answered, Clarissa exclaimed, ‘How truly marvellous! Could you, Signor, perform such miracles with any of us?’
    Malderini regarded her fixedly for a moment, then he shook his head. ‘Not with anyone. Signorina. I need to be in close
rapport
with my subject. But, with people who are psychic, such a bond is not difficult to form, and I can tell at a glance anyone who would prove a suitable subject.’
    â€˜May one ask how?’
    â€˜By their aura. It was not without reason that the old Masters always depicted the Saints with golden