preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第84节

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m。　Or　had　happened　to　him。
　Pendergast　had　told　her　he　thought　Smithback　was　dead。　He　had　said　this　to　spare　her　the　shock　of　discovering　it　for　herself。　Bill　is　dead。　Bill　is　dead。　She　tried　to　absorb　it；　but　found　her　mind　would　not　accept　the　fact。　It　felt　unreal。　Everything　felt　unreal。　A　thousand　thirty。　A　thousand　thirty…one。　The　seconds　rolled　on。
　At　six　minutes　and　twenty…five　seconds；　the　sound　of　a　gunshot　came；　deafening　in　the　confined　spaces　of　the　cellar。
　Her　whole　body　kicked　in　fear。　It　was　all　she　could　do　not　to　scream。　She　crouched；　waiting　for　the　absurd　skipping　of　her　heart　to　slow。　The　terrible　sound　echoed　and　re…echoed；　rumbling　and　rolling　through　the　basement　corridors。　Finally；　silence…dead　silence…returned。
　She　felt　her　breath　ing　in　gasps。　Now　it　was　doubly　hard　to　count。　Pendergast　had　said　to　wait　ten　minutes。　Had　another　minute　passed　since　the　shot？　She　decided　to　resume　the　count　again　at　seven　minutes；　hoping　the　monotonous；　repetitive　activity　would　calm　her　nerves。　It　did　not。
　And　then　she　heard　the　sound　of　rapid　footsteps　ringing　against　stone。　They　had　an　unusual；　syncopated　cadence；　as　if　someone　was　descending　a　staircase。　The　footfalls　quickly　grew　fainter。　Silence　returned　once　again。
　At　ten　minutes；　she　stopped　counting。　Time　to　move。
　For　a　moment；　her　body　refused　to　respond。　It　seemed　frozen　with　dread。
　What　if　the　man　was　still　out　there？　What　if　she　found　Smithback　dead？　What　if　Pendergast　was　dead；　too？　Would　she　be　able　to　run；　to　resist；　to　die；　rather　than　be　caught　herself　and　face　a　fate　far　worse？
　Speculation　was　useless。　She　would　simply　follow　Pendergast's　orders。
　With　an　immense　effort　of　will；　she　rose　from　her　crouch；　then　stepped　out　of　the　darkness；　easing　her　way　around　the　open　door。　The　corridor　beyond　the　cell　was　long　and　damp；　with　irregular　stone　floor　and　walls；　streaked　with　lime。　At　the　far　end　was　a　door　that　opened　into　a　bright　room：　the　lone　source　of　light；　it　seemed；　in　the　entire　basement。　It　was　in　that　direction　Pendergast　had　gone；　that　direction　from　which　the　shot　had　e；　that　direction　from　which　she'd　heard　the　sound　of　running　feet。
　She　took　a　hesitant　step　forward；　and　then　another；　walking　on　trembling　legs　toward　the　brilliant　rectangle　of　light。
　
　FIVE
　　
　THE　SURGEON　COULD　hardly　believe　his　eyes。　Where　Pendergast　should　have　been　lying　dead　in　a　pool　of　blood；　there　was　nothing。　The　man　had　vanished。
　He　looked　around　wildly。　It　was　inconceivable；　a　physical　impossibility　。　。　。　And　then　he　noticed　that　the　section　of　wall　Pendergast　had　been　leaning　against　was　now　a　door；　swiveled　parallel　to　the　stone　face　that　surrounded　it。　A　door　he　never　knew　existed；　despite　his　diligent　searches　of　the　house。
　The　Surgeon　waited；　stilling　his　mind　with　a　great　effort　of　will。　Deliberation　in　all　things；　he　had　found；　was　absolutely　necessary　for　success。　It　had　brought　him　this　far；　and　with　it　he　would　prevail　now。
　He　stepped　forward；　Pendergast's　gun　at　the　ready。　On　the　far　side　of　the　opening；　a　stone　staircase　led　downward　into　blackness。　The　FBI　agent　obviously　wanted　him　to　follow；　to　descend　the　staircase　whose　end　was　hidden　around　the　dark　curve　of　the　stone　wall。　It　could　easily　be　a　trap。　In　fact；　it　could　only　be　a　trap。
　But　the　Surgeon　realized　he　had　no　choice。　He　had　to　stop　Pendergast。　And　he　had　to　find　out　what　lay　below。　He　had　a　gun；　and　Pendergast　was　unarmed；　perhaps　even　wounded　by　the　shot。　He　paused；　briefly；　to　examine　the　pistol。　The　Surgeon　knew　something　about　weapons；　and　he　recognized　this　as　a　Les　Baer　custom；　。45　Government　Model。　He　turned　it　over　in　his　hands。　With　the　tritium　night　sights　and　laser　grips；　easily　a　three…thousand…dollar　handgun。　Pendergast　had　good　taste。　Ironic　that　such　a　fine　weapon　would　now　be　used　against　its　owner。
　He　stepped　back　from　the　false　wall。　Keeping　a　watchful　eye　on　the　stairway；　he　retrieved　a　powerful　flashlight　from　a　nearby　drawer；　then　darted　a　regretful　glance　toward　his　specimen。　The　vital　signs　were　beginning　to　drop　now；　the　operation　was　clearly　spoiled。
　He　returned　to　the　staircase　and　shone　the　flashlight　down　into　the　gloom。　The　imprint　of　Pendergast's　footsteps　was　clearly　visible　in　the　dust　that　coated　the　steps。　And　there　was　something　else；　something　besides　the　footsteps：　a　drop　of　blood。　And　another。
　So　he　had　hit　Pendergast。　Nevertheless；　he　would　have　to　redouble　his　caution。　Wounded　humans；　like　wounded　animals；　were　always　the　most　dangerous。
　He　paused　at　the　first　step；　wondering　if　he　should　go　after　the　woman　first。　Was　she　still　chained　to　the　wall？　Or　had　Pendergast　managed　to　free　her；　as　well？　Either　way；　she　posed　little　danger。　The　house　was　a　fortress；　the　basement　securely　locked。　She　would　be　unable　to　escape。　Pendergast　remained　the　more　pressing　problem。　Once　he　was　dead；　the　remaining　resource　could　be　tracked　down　and　forced　to　take　the　place　of　Smithback。　He'd　made　the　mistake　of　listening　to　Pendergast　once。　When　he　found　him；　he　wouldn't　make　that　mistake　again。　The　man　would　be　dead　before　he　even　opened　his　mouth。
　The　staircase　spiraled　down；　down；　corkscrewing　endlessly　into　the　earth。　The　Surgeon　descended　slowly；　treating　each　curve　as　a　blind　corner　behind　which　Pendergast　might　be　lying　in　wait。　At　last　he　reached　the　bottom。　The　stairs　debouched　into　a　dark；　murky　room；　heavy　with　the　smell　of　mildew；　damp　earth；　and…what？　Ammonia；　salts；　benzene；　the　faint　smell　of　chemicals。　There　was　a　flurry　of　footprints；　more　drops　of　blood。　Pendergast　had　stopped　here。　The　Surgeon　shone　his　light　on　the　nearest　wall：　a　row　of　old　brass　lanterns；　hanging　from　wooden　pegs。　One　of　the　pegs　was　empty。
　He　took　a　step　to　one　side；　then…using　the　stone　pillar　of　the　staircase　as　cover…lifted　his　heavy　flashlight　and　shone　it　into　the　gloom。
　An　astonishing　sight　met　his　eye。　A　wall　of　jewels　seemed　to　wink　back　at　him：　a　thousand；　ten　thousand　glittering　reflections　in　myriad　colors；　like　the　reflective　surface　of　a　fly's　eye　under　intense　magnification。　Suppressing　his　surprise；　he　moved　forward　cautiously；　gun　at　the　ready。
　He　found　himself　in　a　narrow　stone　chamber；　pillars　rising　toward　a　low；　arched　ceiling。　The　walls　were　lined　with　countless　glass　bottles　of　identical　shape　and　size。　They　were　stored　on　oaken　shelving　that　rose　from　floor　to　ceiling；　row　upon　row　upon　row；　crowded　densely　together；　shut　up　behind　rippled　glass。　He　had　never　seen　so　many　bottles　in　his　life。　It　looked；　in　fact；　like　a　museum　of　liquids。
　His　breath　came　faster。　Here　it　was：　Leng's　final　laboratory。　No　doubt　this　was　the　place　where　he　had　perfected　the　arcanum；　his　formula　for　life　prolongation。　This　place　must　hold　the　secret　for　which　he　had　unsuccessfully　tortured　Leng。　He　remembered　his　feeling　of　disappointment；　almost　despair；　when　he'd　discovered　that　Leng's　heart　had　stopped　beating…when　he　realized　he　had　pushed　a　little　too　hard。　No　matter　now：　the　formula　was　right　here；　under　his　nose；　just　as　Pendergast　had　said。
　But　then　he　remembered　what　else　Pendergast　had　said：　something　about　Leng　working　on　something　pletely　different。　That　was　absurd；　clearly　a　red　herring。　What　could　be　bigger　than　the　prolongation　of　the　human　life　span？　What　else　could　this　huge　collection　of　chemicals　be　for；　if　not　that？
　He　shook　these　speculations　from　his　mind。　Once　Pendergast　was　dealt　with　and　the　girl　harvested；　there　would　be　plenty　of　time　for　exploration。
　He　raked　the　ground　with　his　light。　There　was　more　blood；　along　with　a　ragged　set　of　footprints　that　headed　straight　through　the　corridor　of　bottles。　He　had　to　be　careful；　exceedingly　careful。　The　last　thing　he　wanted　to　do　was　begin　shooting　up　these　rows　of　precious　liquids；　destroying　the　very　treasure　he　had　strived　so　hard　to　find。　He　raised　his　arm；　aimed　the　handgun；　applied　pressure　to　the　grip。　A　small　red　dot　appeared　on　the　far　wall。　Excellent。　Although　the　laser　would　not　be　sighted　in　precisely；　it　would　nevertheless　leave　little　margin　for　error。
　Releasing　his　pressure　on　the　laser　grip；　the　Surgeon　moved　cautiously　through　the　vast　apothecary。　Each　bottle；　he　could　see　now；　had　been　meticulously　labeled　in　a　spidery　script；　with　both　a　name　and　a　chemical　formula。　At　the　far　end；　he　ducked　beneath　a　low　archway　into　an　identical　narrow　room。　The　bottles　in　the　next　room　were　full　of　solid　chemicals…chunks　of　minerals；　glittering　crystals；　ground　powders；　metal　shavings。
　It　seemed　that　the　arcanum；　the　formula；　was　far　more　plicated　than　he　had　envisioned。　Why　else　would　Leng　need　all　these　chemicals？
　He　continued　following　Pendergast's　trail。　The　footsteps　were　no　longer　a　single…minded　beeline　past　the　endless　rows　of　glass。　Instead；　the　Surgeon　began　to　notice　quick　detours　in　the　footsteps　toward　a　particular　cabinet　or　other；　almost　as　if　the　man　was　looking　for　something。
　In　another　moment　he　had　reached　a　Romanesque　vault　at　the　end　of　the　forest　of　cabinets。　A　hanging　tapestry　with　a　fringe　of　gold　brocade　covered　the　archway　beyond。　He　edged　nearer；　keeping　his　body　once　again　behind　a　pillar；　and　parted　the　curtain　with　the　gun　barrel　while　shining　his　torch　through　the　gap。　Another　room　met　h