The Devil Rides Out (Duke de Richleau, Book 2) by Dennis Wheatley

By Dennis Wheatley

The aristocratic Duc de Richleau faces new, sinister demanding situations during this macabre story of the darkish arts. whilst his buddy Simon Aron's naïve interest is proven, the Duc, with his ever-patient associates Rex Van Ryn, and Richard Eaton, needs to intricately plot a method of either actual and religious rescue. yet with Van Ryn's affections for a stunning lady stuck within the internet of Satanists, and Eaton's ongoing scepticism, all of them possibility being dropped at the verge of insanity via dabbling with the powers of evil.

From London to the West kingdom, the slums of Paris to a Christian monastery, the motion of this robust occult mystery strikes with wonderful, compelling force.

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Additional resources for The Devil Rides Out (Duke de Richleau, Book 2)

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The abrupt turn of the conversation was difficult to fathom. Veering from rage to polite discussion in the space of a minute. He rubbed at his temples. He could feel a headache coming on. ' Dean paused in mid spiel and unleashed a high-pitched whistle that did nothing to help Jess' brewing headache. 'Make yourself useful, boy. ' Jess hopped off the bench and opened the indicated cupboard beneath. An interior coated in an inch of dust was revealed. 'Top three folders, if you please. ' * * * HENT 4.

He’d eventually got the gist of it from Sandra, the mousy blonde who was tucked into the corner of the cubicle opposite. ‘He wanted more,’ she said as Dave gulped down his meagre dose of water and tried to ignore the tics and spasms shock sent rippling through her face. ‘That was all. His bottle was short and he just asked for more and it was like the soldiers snapped. Just clubbed him and dragged him off. Then… they…’ Sandra had dissolved into sobs that had still continued as Dave had crept out of the cubicle after finishing his water.

He wasn’t disappointed. Even though he still wasn't fully convinced this incarnation of Monty wasn't just a figment of his imagination, the man looked so life-like standing just behind his right shoulder. ‘Hello Monty,’ he murmured before splashing some water over his face. He knew it was pointless but he couldn’t help himself from hoping the man would be gone when he was done. No such luck. He was still standing behind his right shoulder, the battered and frayed suit Dave had first seen him in swapped for a prison uniform.

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