Chapter XX: The Initiation

Lodge No. 1107 of the Proud Sons of Ragousa was housed in a hall that had been an unsuccessful cinema theatre, and, having been purchased by the Proud Sons, had, at no inconsiderable cost, been converted to the use of the order.

As in the case of most Ragousa lodges, the outer lobby was fitted up as a reception office. In many ways it resembled the lobby of a small hotel, with its desks at which, under shaded lights, three men sat writing when Bill Holbrook arrived that evening. The whole proceedings were most businesslike, he thought, as he sat down to read and fill in the blank that was given him.

It was a most innocuous document, in which he had to write his name, address and profession, and to sign a declaration that he would abide by the rules of the Order, and agreed to accept dismissal from its membership if he transgressed the governing laws.

“That will cost you two pounds,” said the official briskly, when he returned the blank, “one pound half-yearly subscription and one pound for your robe. Your number is H.74--remember to tell the worshipful keeper of the robes that. Now, sir, if you will knock at that door, two of the brethren will prepare you for the initiation--yours is the only one to-night.”

At the far end of the vestibule was a double door of polished wood, and on this Holbrook knocked. The doors opened instantly, and for a second he was so startled by what he saw that he made no move. Two men were standing in the inner hall, which was in darkness except for two lamps hanging from the ceiling, which gave so faint a light that they only served to emphasise the gloom. The men were dressed from head to foot in black; their heads were covered by cowls, and over each face was a loose black covering. Only the eyes showed through long slits.

“Enter, Brother-to-be,” said one in a shrill, Cockney voice, and the door closed behind him.

The man who had spoken was carrying something over his arm.

“Put this on,” he said, and Bill saw that it was a robe similar to those they wore.

In a minute he was covered, the cowl drawn over his head, and the eye apertures adjusted.

“Speak now, stranger, on the threshold of our mysteries: by land and water, by the air and the spaces beneath the earth, do you seek the brotherhood of our noble order with a pure heart and a desire to serve humanity? Answer ‘I do.’”

The second man gabbled the question mechanically.

“I do,” said Bill.

The man struck three times upon an inner door.

“Who comes?” asked a deep voice.

“A strange mariner for our argosies,” was the reply.

“Enter, Son-to-be,” said the voice.

The big hall into which Bill walked between his guardians was as dimly illuminated as the outer room. Ranged round the walls on chairs he saw line after line of cowled figures. At one end of the room was a raised daïs, where three figures sat behind a table. Facing them, and at the opposite end of the room, sat a solitary man. Except for the robes and the cowls, Holbrook had anticipated the lay-out of the lodge. On the table before the three was a small silver ship of ancient design. It evidently stood upon a sheet of glass beneath which was a concealed light, for its sails glittered brilliantly.

Bill was led to the solitary figure, and there began the initiation service. He was charged to be a true Son of Ragousa, “fearless in danger, keen in enterprise, thrifty in prosperity,” and, prompted by his conductors, he made the conventional replies. From the Captain of the Lodge, as he discovered this officer to be, he was taken to the three, and there received what was obviously the key instruction--the order of obedience. At last it was over, and he was shown to a chair that had been left vacant on one side of the hall, and became thereafter an interested audience to the discussion of lodge business. Who were his right or left hand neighbours, he could not guess.

The discussion that followed bored him; an exchange between the chair and one of the orators of the lodge on what was and what was not true philanthropy. The arguments were feeble, the speeches poor in the extreme, and he was relieved when, rising in his place, the Captain of the Lodge lifted his hands in benediction, and chanted:

“To all Proud Sons of Ragousa, to all officers of lodges, to the noble members of the High Degree, to the exalted brethren of the Grand Lodge, to the most reverend and puissant Priors, and to the most exalted, noble and holy Grand Prior, dedicate we our lives and faiths, our hopes and services.”

There was no mention of the Twenty-Third Degree, Bill noticed, and wondered what was the explanation for so notable an omission.

The members filed out in silence, not the way by which he had come, but to a disrobing room. This was in complete darkness. As every man stepped into the little lobby, he slipped off his coat and cowl and handed it to some hidden person, giving his number.

He took his place at the end of the slow-moving queue, and had nearly reached the door, when somebody tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to look into a cowled face.

“In the name of the Prior,” said the figure in a low voice. “The Grand Lodge has need of you. You will be at the third milestone on the Epping Road at eleven o’clock on Sunday night.”

He pressed a paper into the hand of the astonished reporter, and without another word walked swiftly past the waiting queue into the dark room.

When Bill came out through the side entrance of the lodge, he found Toby Marsh pacing the sidewalk.

“Well, what do you think of it--brother?”

“I have attended hangings that have been more cheerful,” said Bill.

“Hear anything about the Twenty-Third Degree?” he asked.

“No, it was not mentioned. Why is that?”

“The Twenty-Third is _tabu_ amongst the Sons--it is the punishing degree, and is never mentioned. And yet there were at least two men there to-night who were Twenty-Thirders until last week--fired, boy!”

“Fired?”

“Reduced from the Twenty-Third to the First. That’s the way of the Ragousas; you never know whether you’re up or whether you’re down.”

“My own promotion has been so rapid that I’m dizzy,” said Bill, and told him of his appointment to the Grand Lodge.

Toby’s face was serious. “That’s quick!” he said. “Where are they to pick you up?”

“At the third milestone on the Epping Road, wherever that may be,” said Bill, “but probably there are more instructions here.”

He stopped under a street-lamp, and unrolled the little scrap of paper he still held in his hand. He looked and uttered an exclamation. The paper was a banknote for a hundred pounds!