preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第83节

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n　the　safety　with　his　thumb；　and　pointed　the　weapon　at　the　agent。
　Pendergast　continued　to　lean　against　the　wall。　For　the　briefest　of　moments；　as　the　two　exchanged　glances；　something　like　astonishment　registered　in　the　pale　cat's　eyes。　Then　Pendergast　spoke。
　〃So　it's　you　who　tortured　and　killed　Enoch　Leng。　I　wondered　who　the　impostor　was。　I　am　surprised。　I　do　not　like　surprises；　but　there　it　is。〃
　The　man　aimed　the　gun　carefully。
　〃You're　already　holding　my　weapon；〃　said　Pendergast；　showing　his　hands。　〃I'm　unarmed。〃　He　continued　leaning　casually　against　the　wall。
　The　man　tightened　his　finger　on　the　trigger。　He　felt　a　second　unpleasant　sensation：　internal　conflict。　Pendergast　was　a　very　dangerous　man。　It　would　no　doubt　be　best　to　pull　the　trigger　now　and　have　done　with　it。　But　by　shooting　now；　he　would　ruin　a　specimen。　Besides；　he　needed　to　know　how　Pendergast　had　escaped。　And　then；　there　was　the　girl　to　consider　。　。　。
　〃But　it　begins　to　make　sense；〃　Pendergast　resumed。　〃Yes；　I　see　it　now。　You're　building　that　skyscraper　on　Catherine　Street。　You　didn't　just　discover　those　bodies　by　accident。　No…you　were　looking　for　those　bodies；　weren't　you？　You　already　knew　that　Leng　had　buried　them　there；　130　years　ago。　And　how　did　you　learn　about　them？　Ah；　it　all　falls　into　place：　your　interest　in　the　Museum；　your　visits　to　the　Archives。　You　were　the　one　who　examined　the　Shottum　material　before　Dr。　Kelly。　No　wonder　it　was　all　in　such　disarray…you'd　already　removed　anything　you　felt　useful。　But　you　didn't　know　about　Tinbury　McFadden；　or　the　elephant's…foot　box。　Instead；　you　first　learned　about　Leng　and　his　work；　about　his　lab　notebooks　and　journals；　from　Shottum's　personal　papers。　But　when　you　ultimately　tracked　down　Leng；　and　found　him　alive；　he　wasn't　as　talkative　as　you　would　have　liked。　He　didn't　give　you　the　formula。　Even　under　torture；　did　he？　So　you　had　to　fall　back　on　what　Leng　had　left　behind：　his　victims；　his　lab；　perhaps　his　journals；　buried　beneath　Shottum's　Cabinet。　And　the　only　way　to　get　to　those　was　to　buy　the　land；　tear　down　the　brownstones　above；　and　dig　a　foundation　for　a　new　building。〃　Pendergast　nodded；　almost　to　himself。　〃Dr。　Kelly　mentioned　missing　pages　in　the　Archives　logbook；　pages　removed　with　a　razor。　Those　pages　were　the　ones　with　your　name　on　them；　correct？　And　the　only　one　who　knew　you　had　been　a　frequent　visitor　to　the　Archives　was　Puck。　So　he　had　to　die。　Along　with　those　who　were　already　on　your　own　trail：　Dr。　Kelly；　Sergeant　O'Shaughnessy；　myself。　Because　the　closer　we　came　to　finding　Leng；　the　closer　we　came　to　finding　you。〃
　A　pained　expression　came　over　the　agent's　face。　〃How　could　I　have　been　so　obtuse　not　to　see　it？　It　should　have　bee　clear　when　I　first　saw　Leng's　corpse。　When　I　realized　Leng　had　been　tortured　to　death　before　the　Catherine　Street　bodies　were　found。〃
　Fairhaven　did　not　smile。　The　chain　of　deduction　was　astonishingly　accurate。　Just　kill　him；　a　voice　in　his　head　said。
　〃What　is　it　the　Arab　sages　call　death？〃　Pendergast　went　on。　〃The　destroyer　of　all　earthly　pleasures。　And　how　true　it　is：　old　age；　sickness；　and　at　last　death　es　to　us　all。　Some　console　themselves　with　religion；　others　through　denial；　others　through　philosophy　or　mere　stoicism。　But　to　you；　who　had　always　been　able　to　buy　everything；　death　must　have　seemed　a　dreadful　injustice。〃
　The　image　of　his　older　brother；　Arthur；　came　unbidden　to　the　Surgeon's　mind：　dying　of　progeria；　his　young　face　withered　with　senile　keratoses；　his　limbs　twisted；　his　skin　cracked　with　hideously　premature　age。　The　fact　that　the　disease　was　so　rare；　its　causes　so　unknown；　had　been　no　fort。　Pendergast　didn't　know　everything。　Nor　would　he。
　He　forced　the　image　from　his　mind。　Just　kill　the　man。　But　somehow　his　hand　would　not　act…not　yet；　not　until　he　had　heard　more。
　Pendergast　nodded　toward　the　still　form　on　the　table。　〃You're　never　going　to　get　there　that　way；　Mr。　Fairhaven。　Leng's　skills　were　infinitely　more　refined　than　yours。　You　will　never　succeed。〃
　Not　true；　Fairhaven　thought　to　himself。　I　have　already　succeeded。　I　am　Leng　as　he　should　have　been。　Only　through　me　can　Leng's　work　attain　its　truest　perfection　。　。　。
　〃I　know；〃　Pendergast　said。　〃You're　thinking　I'm　wrong。　You　believe　you　have　succeeded。　But　you　have　not　succeeded；　and　you　never　will。　Ask　yourself：　Do　you　feel　any　different？　Do　you　feel　any　revivification　of　the　limbs；　any　quickening　of　the　life　essence？　If　you're　honest　with　yourself；　you　can　still　feel　the　terrible　weight　of　time　pressing　on　you；　that　awful；　relentless；　bodily　corruption　that　is　happening　constantly　to　us　all。〃　He　smiled　thinly；　wearily；　as　if　he　knew　the　feeling　all　too　well。　〃You　see；　you've　made　one　fatal　mistake。〃
　The　Surgeon　said　nothing。
　〃The　truth　is；〃　Pendergast　said；　〃you　don't　know　the　first　thing　about　Leng；　or　his　real　work。　Work　for　which　life　extension　was　just　a　means　to　an　end。〃
　Years　of　self…discipline；　of　high…level　corporate　brinksmanship；　had　taught　Fairhaven　never　to　reveal　anything：　not　in　the　facial　expression；　not　in　the　questions　asked。　Yet　the　sudden　stab　of　surprise　he　felt；　followed　immediately　by　disbelief；　was　hard　to　conceal。　What　real　work？　What　was　Pendergast　talking　about？
　He　would　not　ask。　Silence　was　always　the　best　mode　of　questioning。　If　you　remained　silent；　they　always　talked　out　the　answer　in　the　end。　It　was　human　nature。
　But　this　time　it　was　Pendergast　who　remained　silent。　He　simply　stood　there；　leaning　almost　insolently　against　the　doorframe；　glancing　around　at　the　walls　of　the　chamber。　The　silence　stretched　on；　and　the　man　began　to　think　of　his　resource；　lying　there　on　the　gurney。　Gun　on　Pendergast；　he　glanced　briefly　at　the　vitals。　Good；　but　starting　to　flag。　If　he　didn't　get　back　to　work　soon；　the　specimen　would　be　spoiled。
　Kill　him；　the　voice　said　again。
　〃What　real　work？〃　Fairhaven　asked。
　Still；　Pendergast　remained　silent。
　The　merest　spasm　of　doubt　passed　through　Fairhaven；　quickly　suppressed。　What　was　the　man's　game？　He　was　wasting　his　time；　and　there　was　no　doubt　a　reason　why　he　was　wasting　his　time；　which　meant　it　was　best　just　to　kill　him　now。　At　least　he　knew　the　girl　could　not　escape　from　the　basement。　He　would　deal　with　her　in　good　time。　Fairhaven's　finger　tightened　on　the　trigger。
　At　last；　Pendergast　spoke。　〃Leng　didn't　tell　you　anything　in　the　end；　did　he？　You　tortured　him　to　no　avail；　because　you're　still　thrashing　about；　wasting　all　these　people。　But　I　do　know　about　Leng。　I　know　him　very　well　indeed。　Perhaps　you　noticed　the　resemblance？〃
　〃What？〃　Again　Fairhaven　was　taken　off　guard。
　〃Leng　was　my　great…grand…uncle。〃
　It　hit　Fairhaven　then。　His　grip　on　the　weapon　loosened。　He　remembered　Leng's　delicate　white　face；　his　white　hair；　and　his　very　pale　blue　eyes…eyes　that　regarded　him　without　begging；　without　pleading；　without　beseeching；　no　matter　how　hideous　it　had　bee　for　him。　Pendergast's　eyes　were　the　same。　But　Leng　had　died　anyway；　and　so　would　he。
　So　would　he；　the　voice　echoed；　more　insistently。　His　information　is　not　as　important　as　his　death。　This　resource　is　not　worth　the　risk。　Kill　him。
　The　man　reapplied　pressure　to　the　trigger。　At　this　distance；　he　could　not　miss。
　〃It's　hidden　here　in　the　house；　you　know。　Leng's　ultimate　project。　But　you've　never　found　it。　All　along　you've　been　looking　for　the　wrong　thing。　And　as　a　result；　you　will　die　a　long；　slow；　wasting　death　of　old　age。　Just　like　the　rest　of　us。　You　cannot　succeed。〃
　Squeeze　the　trigger；　the　voice　in　his　head　insisted。
　But　there　was　something　in　the　agent's　tone。　He　knew　something；　something　important。　He　wasn't　just　talking。　Fairhaven　had　dealt　with　bluffers　before；　and　this　man　was　not　bluffing。
　〃Say　what　you　have　to　say　now；〃　said　Fairhaven。　〃Or　you　will　die　instantly。〃
　〃e　with　me。　I'll　show　you。〃
　〃Show　me　what？〃
　〃I'll　show　you　what　Leng　was　really　working　on。　It's　in　the　house。　Here；　right　under　your　nose。〃
　The　voice　in　his　head　was　no　longer　little；　it　was　practically　shouting。　Do　not　allow　him　to　continue　talking；　no　matter　how　important　his　information　may　be。　And　Fairhaven　finally　heeded　the　wisdom　of　that　advice。
　Pendergast　was　leaning　against　the　wall；　off　balance；　his　hands　clearly　in　view。　It　would　be　impossible　for　the　man；　in　the　time　it　took　to　squeeze　off　one　shot；　to　reach　inside　his　suit　and　pull　out　a　backup　weapon。　Besides；　he　had　no　such　weapon；　Fairhaven　had　searched　him　thoroughly。　He　took　a　fresh　bead　on　Pendergast；　then　held　his　breath；　increasing　the　pressure　on　the　trigger。　There　was　a　sudden　roar　and　the　gun　kicked　in　his　hand。　And　he　knew　instantly：　it　had　been　a　true　shot。
　
　FOUR
　　
　THE　CELL　DOOR　stood　open；　allowing　a　faint　light　to　filter　in　from　the　passageway　beyond。　Nora　waited；　shrinking　back　into　the　pool　of　darkness　behind　the　cell　door。　Ten　minutes。　Pendergast　had　said　ten　minutes。　In　the　dark；　with　her　heart　pounding　like　a　sledgehammer；　every　minute　seemed　an　hour；　and　it　was　almost　impossible　to　tell　the　passage　of　time。　She　forced　herself　to　count　each　second。　A　thousand　one；　a　thousand　two　。　。　。　Each　count　made　her　think　of　Smithback；　and　what　might　be　happening　to　him。　Or　had　happened　to　him。
　Pendergast　had　told　her　he　thought　Smithback　was　dead。　He　had　said　thi