“Where leads the Door?”

“It leads outside our world.”

“Who taught our forefathers to open the Door?”

“They Beyond the Door taught them.”

“To whom do we bring these sacrifices?”

“We bring them to Those Beyond the Door.”

“Shall the Door be opened that They may take them?”

“Let the Door be opened!”

Paul Ennis had listened thus far, his haggard face uncomprehending in expression, but now he interrupted the speaker.

“But what does it all mean, inspector? Why are you repeating this to me?”

“Did you ever hear anyone speak words like that?” asked Inspector Pierce Campbell, leaning tautly forward for the answer.

“Of course not it just sounds like gibberish to me,” Ennis exclaimed. “What connection can it have with my wife?”

He had risen to his feet, a tall, blond young American whose good-looking face was drawn and worn by inward agony, whose crisp yellow hair was brushed back from his forehead in disorder, and whose blue eyes were haunted with an anguished dread.

He kicked back his chair and strode across the gloomy little office, whose single window looked out on the thickening, foggy twilight of London. He bent across the dingy desk, gripping its edges with his hands as he spoke tensely to the man sitting behind it.

“Why are we wasting time talking here?” Ennis cried. “Sitting here talking, when anything may be happening to Ruth!

“It’s been hours since she was kidnapped. They may have taken her anywhere, even outside of London by now. And instead of searching for her, you sit here and talk gibberish about Doors!”

Inspector Campbell seemed unmoved by Ennis’ passion. A bulky, almost bald man, he looked up with his colorless, sagging face, in which his eyes gleamed like two crumbs of bright brown glass.

“You’re not helping me much by giving way to your emotions, Mr. Ennis,” he said in his flat voice.

“Give way? Who wouldn’t give way?” cried Ennis. “Don’t you understand, man, it’s Ruth that’s gone my wife! Why, we were married only last week in New York. And on our second day here in London, I see her whisked into a limousine and carried away before my eyes! I thought you men at Scotland Yard here would surely act, do something. Instead you talk crazy gibberish to me!”

“Those words are not gibberish,” said Pierce Campbell quietly. “And I think they’re related to the abduction of your wife.”

“What do you mean? How could they be related?”

The inspector’s bright little brown eyes held Ennis’. “Did you ever hear of an organization called the Brotherhood of the Door?”

Ennis shook his head, and Campbell continued, “Well, I am certain your wife was kidnapped by members of the Brotherhood.”

“What kind of an organization is it?” the young American demanded. “A band of criminals?”

“No, it is no ordinary criminal organization,” the detective said. His sagging face set strangely. “Unless I am mistaken, the Brotherhood of the Door is the most unholy and blackly evil organization that has ever existed on this earth. Almost nothing is known of it outside its circle. I myself in twenty years have learned little except its existence and name. That ritual I just repeated to you, I heard from the lips of a dying member of the Brotherhood, who repeated the words in his delirium.”

Campbell leaned forward. “But I know that every year about this time the Brotherhood come from all over the world and gather at some secret center here in England. And every year, before that gathering, scores of people are kidnapped and never heard of again. I believe that all those people are kidnapped by this mysterious Brotherhood.”

“But what becomes of the people they kidnap?” cried the pale young American. “What do they do with them?”

Inspector Campbell’s bright brown eyes showed a hint of hooded horror, yet he shook his head. “I know no more than you. But whatever they do to the victims, they are never heard of again.”

“But you must know something more!” Ennis protested. “What is this Door?”

Campbell again shook his head. “That too I don’t know, but whatever it is, the Door is utterly sacred to the members of the Brotherhood, and whomever they mean by They Beyond the Door, they dread and venerate to the utmost.”

“Where leads the Door? It leads outside our world,” repeated Ennis. “What can that mean?”

“It might have a symbolic meaning, referring to some secluded fastness of the order which is away from the rest of the world,” the inspector said. “Or it might

He stopped. “Or it might what?” pressed Ennis, his pale face thrust forward.

“It might mean, literally, that the Door leads outside our world and universe,” finished the inspector.

Ennis’ haunted eyes stared. “You mean that this Door might somehow lead into another universe? But that’s impossible!”

“Perhaps unlikely,” Campbell said quietly, “but not impossible. Modern science has taught us that there are other universes than the one we live in, universes congruent and coincident with our own in space and time, yet separated from our own by the impassable barrier of totally different dimensions. It is not entirely impossible that a greater science than ours might find a way to pierce that barrier between our universe and one of those outside ones, that a Door should be opened from ours into one of those others in the infinite outside.”

“A door into the infinite outside,” repeated Ennis broodingly, looking past the inspector. Then he made a sudden movement of wild impatience, the dread leaping back strong in his eyes again.

“Oh, what good is all this talk about Doors and infinite universes doing in finding Ruth? I want to do something! If you think this mysterious Brotherhood has taken her, you must surely have some idea of how we can get her back from them? You must know something more about them than you’ve told.”

“I don’t know anything more certainly, but I’ve certain suspicions that amount to convictions,” Inspector Campbell said. “I’ve been working on this Brotherhood for many years, and block after block I’ve narrowed down to the place I think the order’s local center, the London headquarters of the Brotherhood of the Door.”

“Where is the place?” asked Ennis tensely.

“It is the waterfront cafe of one Chandra Dass, a Hindoo, down by East India Docks,” said the detective officer. “I’ve been there in disguise more than once, watching the place. This Chandra Dass I’ve found to be immensely feared by everyone in the quarter, which strengthens my belief that he’s one of the high officers of the Brotherhood. He’s too exceptional a man to be really running such a place.”

“Then if the Brotherhood took Ruth, she may be at that place now!” cried the young American, electrified.

Campbell nodded his bald head. “She may very likely be. Tonight I’m going there again in disguise, and have men ready to raid the place. If Chandra Dass has your wife there, we’ll get her before he can get her away. Whatever way it turns out, we’ll let you know at once.”

“Like hell you will!” exploded the pale young Ennis. “Do you think I’m going to twiddle my thumbs while you’re down there? I’m going with you. And if you refuse to let me, by heaven I’ll go there myself!”

Inspector Pierce Campbell gave the haggard, fiercely determined face of the young man a long look, and then his own colorless countenance seemed to soften a little.

“All right,” he said quietly. “I can disguise you so you’ll not be recognized. But you’ll have to follow my orders exactly, or death will result for both of us.”

That strange, hooded dread flickered again in his eyes, as though he saw through shrouding mists the outline of dim horror.

“It may be,” he added slowly, “that something worse even than death awaits those who try to oppose the Brotherhood of the Door something that would explain the unearthly, superhuman dread that enwraps the secret mysteries of the order. We’re taking more than our lives in our hands, I think, in trying to unveil those mysteries, to regain your wife. But we’ve got to act quickly, at all costs. We’ve got to find her before the great gathering of the Brotherhood takes place, or we’ll never find her.”

Two hours before midnight found Campbell and Ennis passing along a cobble-paved waterfront street north of the great East India Docks. Big warehouses towered black and silent in the darkness on one side, and on the other were old, rotting docks beyond which Ennis glimpsed the black water and gliding lights of the river.

As they straggled beneath the infrequent lights of the ill-lit street, they were utterly changed in appearance. Inspector Campbell, dressed in a shabby suit and rusty bowler, his dirty white shirt innocent of tie, had acquired a new face, a bright red, oily, eager one, and a high, squeaky voice. Ennis wore a rough blue seaman’s jacket and a vizored cap pulled down over his head. His unshaven-looking face and subtly altered features made him seem a half-intoxicated seaman off his ship, as he stumbled unsteadily along. Campbell clung to him in true land-shark fashion, plucking his arm and talking wheedlingly to him.

They came into a more populous section of the evil old waterfront street, and passed fried-fish shops giving off the strong smell of hot fat, and the dirty, lighted windows of a half-dozen waterfront saloons, loud with sordid argument or merriment.

Campbell led past them until they reached one built upon an abandoned, moldering pier, a ramshackle frame structure extending some distance back out on the pier. Its window was curtained, but dull red light glowed through the glass window of the door.

A few shabby men were lounging in front of the place but Campbell paid them no attention, tugging Ennis inside by the arm.

“Carm on in!” he wheedled shrilly. “The night ain’t ’alf over yet we’ll ’ave just one more.”

“Don’t want any more,” muttered Ennis drunkenly, swaying on his feet inside. “Get away, you damned old shark.”

Yet he suffered himself to be led by Campbell to a table, where he slumped heavily into a chair. His stare swung vacantly.

The cafe of Chandra Dass was a red-lit, smoke-filled cave with cheap black curtains on the walls and windows, and other curtains cutting off the back part of the building from view. The dim room was jammed with tables crowded with patrons whose babel of tongues made an unceasing din, to which a three-string guitar somewhere added a wailing undertone. The waiters were dark-skinned and tiger-footed Malays, while the patrons seemed drawn from every nation east and west.

Ennis’ glazed eyes saw dandified Chinese from Limehouse and Pennyfields, dark little Levantins from Soho, rough-looking Cockneys in shabby caps, a few crazily laughing blacks. From sly white faces, taut brown ones and impassive yellow ones came a dozen different languages. The air was thick with queer food-smells and the acrid smoke.

Campbell had selected a table near the back curtain, and now stridently ordered one of the Malay waiters to bring gin. He leaned forward with an oily smile to the drunken-looking Ennis, and spoke to him in a wheedling undertone.

“Don’t look for a minute, but that’s Chandra Dass over in the corner, and he’s watching us,” he said.

Ennis shook his clutching hand away. “Damned old shark!” he muttered again.

He turned his swaying head slowly, letting his eyes rest a moment on the man in the corner. That man was looking straight at him.

Chandra Dass was tall, dressed in spotless white from his shoes to the turban on his head. The white made his dark, impassive, aquiline face stand out in chiseled relief. His eyes were coal-black, large, coldly searching, as they met Ennis’ bleared gaze.

Ennis felt a strange chill as he met those eyes. There was something alien and unhuman, something uncannily disturbing, behind the Hindoo’s stare. He turned his gaze vacantly from Chandra Dass to the black curtains at the rear, and then back to his companion.

The silent Malay waiter had brought the liquor, and Campbell pressed a glass toward his companion. “’Ere, matey, take this.”

“Don’t want it,” muttered Ennis, pushing it away. Still in the same mutter, he added, “If Ruth’s here, she’s somewhere in the back there. I’m going back and find out.”

“Don’t try it that way, for God’s sake!” said Campbell in the wheedling undertone. “Chandra Dass is still watching, and those Malays would be on you in a minute. Wait until I give the word.

“All right, then,” Campbell added in a louder, injured tone. “If you don’t want it, I’ll drink it myself.”

He tossed off the glass of gin and set the glass down on the table, looking at his drunken companion with righteous indignation.

“Think I’m tryin’ to bilk yer, eh?” he added. “That’s a fine way to treat a pal!”

He added in the coaxing lower tone, “All right, I’m going to try it. Be ready to move when I light my cigarette.”

He fished a soiled package of Gold Flakes from his pocket and put one in his mouth. Ennis waited, every muscle taut.

The inspector, his red, oily face still injured in expression, struck a match to his cigarette. Almost at once there was a loud oath from one of the shabby loungers outside the front of the building, and the sound of angry voices and blows.

The patrons of Chandra Dass looked toward the door, and one of the Malay waiters went hastily out to quiet the fight. But it grew swiftly, sounded in a moment like a small riot. Crash someone was pushed through the front window. The excited patrons pressed toward the front. Chandra Dass pushed through them, issuing quick orders to his servants.

For the time being the back of the cafe was deserted and unnoticed. Campbell sprang to his feet, and with Ennis close behind him, darted through the black curtains. They found themselves in a black corridor at the end of which a red bulb burned dimly. They could still hear the uproar.

Campbell’s gun was in his hand, and the American’s in his.

“We dare only stay here a few moments,” the inspector cried. “Look in those rooms along the corridor here.”

Ennis frantically tore open a door and peered into a dark room smelling of drugs. “Ruth!” he cried softly. “Ruth!”