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!