preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第90节

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ms。　She　was　damned　if　she　was　going　to　wait　up　here；　a　sitting　duck；　for　the　Surgeon　to　return　and　pick　her　off…and　then　finish　the　job　on　Smithback。
　She　plucked　a　large…bladed　scalpel　from　the　surgical　stand。　Then…holding　the　light　in　one　hand　and　the　scalpel　in　the　other…she　approached　the　doorway　that　led　down　into　the　subbasement。
　The　narrow　stone　panel；　swung　to　one　side；　had　been　perfectly　disguised　to　look　part　of　the　wall。　Beyond　was　a　pool　of　blackness。　Shining　the　beam　ahead　of　her；　she　began　descending；　slowly　and　silently。
　Reaching　the　last　turn　at　the　bottom；　she　turned　off　the　light　and　waited；　heart　beating　rapidly；　wondering　what　to　do。　If　she　shone　her　light　around；　it　might　betray　her　presence；　give　the　Surgeon…if　he　was　waiting　out　there　in　the　darkness…a　perfect　target。　But　with　the　light　off；　she　simply　could　not　proceed。
　The　light　was　a　risk　she'd　have　to　take。　She　snapped　it　back　on；　stepped　out　of　the　stairwell；　then　gasped　involuntarily。
　She　was　in　a　long；　narrow　room；　crowded　floor　to　ceiling　with　bottles。　Her　powerful　beam；　lancing　through　the　endless　rows；　cast　myriad　glittering　colors　about　the　room；　making　her　feel　as　if　she　was　somehow　inside　a　window　of　stained　glass。
　More　collections。　What　could　all　this　mean？
　But　there　was　no　time　to　pause；　no　time　to　wonder。　Two　sets　of　footprints　led　on　into　the　darkness　ahead。　And　there　was　blood　on　the　dusty　floor。
　She　moved　through　the　room　as　quickly　as　she　could；　beneath　an　archway　and　into　another　room　filled　with　more　bottles。　The　trail　of　footsteps　continued　on。　At　the　end　of　this　room　was　another　archway；　covered　by　a　fringed　tapestry。
　She　turned　off　her　light　and　advanced　toward　it。　There　she　waited；　in　the　pitch　black；　listening。　There　was　no　sound。　With　infinite　care；　she　drew　back　the　tapestry　and　peered　into　the　darkness。　She　could　see　nothing。　The　room　beyond　seemed　empty；　but　there　was　no　way　to　be　sure：　she　would　simply　have　to　take　a　chance。　She　took　a　deep　breath；　switched　on　her　light。
　The　beam　illuminated　a　larger　room；　filled　with　wooden　display　cases。　She　hurried　ahead；　sidestepping　from　case　to　case；　to　an　archway　in　the　far　wall　that　led　on　into　a　series　of　smaller　vaults。　She　ducked　into　the　nearest　and　turned　off　her　light　again；　listening　for　any　sound　that　might　indicate　that　her　presence　had　been　noticed。　Nothing。　Turning　on　the　light　again；　she　moved　forward；　into　a　room　whose　cases　were　filled　with　frogs　and　lizards；　snakes　and　roaches；　spiders　of　infinite　shapes　and　colors。　Was　there　no　end　to　Leng's　cabinet？
　At　the　far　end　of　the　room；　before　another　low　archway　that　led　into　further　darkness；　she　again　crouched；　turning　off　her　light　to　listen　for　any　noises　that　might　be　ing　from　the　room　beyond。
　It　was　then　she　heard　the　sound。
　It　came　to　her　faintly；　echoing　and　distorted　by　its　passage　through　intervening　stone。　Remote　as　it　was；　it　instantly　chilled　her　blood：　a　low；　gibbering　moan；　rising　and　falling　in　a　fiendish　cadence。
　She　waited　a　moment；　flesh　crawling。　For　a　moment；　her　muscles　tensed　for　an　involuntary　retreat。　But　then；　with　a　supreme　effort；　she　steeled　herself。　Whatever　lay　beyond；　she　would　have　to　confront　it　sooner　or　later。　Pendergast　might　need　her　help。
　She　gathered　up　her　courage；　switched　on　her　light；　and　sprinted　forward。　She　ran　past　more　rooms　full　of　glass…fronted　cases；　through　a　chamber　that　seemed　to　contain　old　clothing；　and　then　into　an　ancient　laboratory；　full　of　tubes　and　coils；　dust…heavy　machines　festooned　with　dials　and　rusted　switches。　Here；　between　the　lab　tables；　she　pulled　up　abruptly；　pausing　to　listen　again。
　There　was　another　sound；　much　closer　now；　perhaps　as　close　as　the　next　room。　It　was　the　sound　of　something　walking…shambling…toward　her。
　Almost　without　thinking；　she　threw　herself　beneath　the　nearest　table；　switching　off　her　light。
　Another　sound　came；　hideously　alien　and　yet　unmistakably　human。　It　started　as　a　low　chatter；　a　tattoo　of　rattling　teeth；　punctuated　with　a　few　gasps　as　if　for　breath。　Then　came　a　high　keening；　at　the　highest　edge　of　audibility。　Abruptly；　the　noise　stopped。　And　then　Nora　heard；　in　the　silence；　the　footsteps　approach　once　again。
　She　remained　hidden　behind　the　table；　immobilized　by　fear；　as　the　shuffling　drew　closer　in　the　pitch　black。　All　of　a　sudden；　the　darkness　was　ripped　apart　by　a　terrible　shriek。　This　was　immediately　followed　by　a　coughing；　retching　sound　and　the　splatter　of　fluid　on　stone。　The　echoes　of　the　shriek　died　out　slowly；　ringing　on　through　the　stone　chambers　behind　her。
　Nora　struggled　to　calm　her　pounding　heart。　Despite　the　unearthly　sound；　the　thing　that　was　approaching　her　was　human。　It　had　to　be；　she　had　to　remember　that。　And　if　it　was　human；　who　could　it　be　but　Pendergast　or　the　Surgeon？　Nora　felt　it　had　to　be　the　Surgeon。　Perhaps　he　had　been　wounded　by　Pendergast。　Or　perhaps　he　was　utterly　insane。
　She　had　one　advantage：　he　didn't　seem　to　know　she　was　there。　She　could　ambush　him；　kill　him　with　the　scalpel。　If　she　could　summon　the　courage。
　She　crouched　behind　the　lab　table；　scalpel　in　one　trembling　hand　and　light　in　the　other；　waiting　in　the　enfolding　dark。　The　shambling　seemed　to　have　stopped。　A　minute；　an　eternity；　of　silence　ticked　by。　Then　she　heard　the　unsteady　footsteps　resume。　He　was　now　in　the　room　with　her。
　The　footsteps　were　irregular；　punctuated　by　frequent　pauses。　Another　minute　went　by　in　which　there　was　no　movement；　then；　half　a　dozen　jerky　footsteps。　And　now　she　could　hear　breathing。　Except　it　wasn't　normal　breathing；　but　a　gasping；　sucking　sound；　as　if　air　were　being　drawn　down　through　a　wet　hole。
　There　was　a　sudden　explosion　of　noise　as　the　person　stumbled　into　a　huge　apparatus；　bringing　it　to　the　ground　with　a　massive　crash　of　glass。　The　sound　echoed　and　reechoed　through　the　stone　vaults。
　Maintain；　Nora　said　to　herself。　Maintain。　If　it's　the　Surgeon；　Pendergast　must　have　wounded　him　badly。　But　then；　where　was　Pendergast？　Why　wasn't　he　pursuing？
　The　noises　seemed　to　be　less　than　twenty　feet　away　now。　She　heard　a　scrabbling；　a　muttering　and　panting；　and　the　tinkling　of　something　shedding　broken　glass：　he　was　getting　up　from　his　fall。　There　was　a　shuffling　thump；　and　another。　Still　he　was　ing；　moving　with　excruciating　slowness。　And　all　the　time　came　that　breathing：　stertorous；　with　a　wet　gurgle　like　air　drawn　through　a　leaky　snorkel。　Nothing　Nora　had　ever　heard　in　her　life　was　quite　so　unnerving　as　the　sound　of　that　breathing。
　Ten　feet。　Nora　gripped　the　scalpel　tighter　as　adrenaline　coursed　through　her。　She　would　turn　on　her　light　and　lunge　forward。　Surprise　would　give　her　the　advantage；　especially　if　he　was　wounded。
　There　was　a　loud　wet　snoring　sound；　another　heavy　footfall；　a　gasp；　the　spastic　stamp　of　a　foot；　silence；　then　the　dragging　of　a　limb。　He　was　almost　upon　her。　She　crouched；　tensing　all　her　muscles；　ready　to　blind　the　man　with　her　light　and　strike　a　fatal　blow。
　Another　step；　another　snuffle：　and　she　acted。　She　switched　on　the　light…but；　instead　of　leaping　with　her　scalpel；　she　froze；　arm　raised；　knife　edge　glittering　in　the　beam　of　light。
　And　then　she　screamed。
　
　THIRTEEN
　　
　CUSTER　STOOD　ATOP　the　great　flight　of　steps　rising　above　Museum　Drive；　looking　out　over　the　sea　of　press　with　an　indescribable　feeling　of　satisfaction。　To　his　left　was　the　mayor　of　the　City　of　New　York；　just　arriving　with　a　gaggle　of　aides；　to　his　right；　the　missioner　of　police。　Just　behind　stood　his　two　top　detectives　and　his　man；　Noyes。　It　was　an　extraordinary　assemblage。　There　were　so　many　onlookers；　they'd　been　forced　to　close　Central　Park　West　to　traffic。　Press　helicopters　hovered　above　them；　cameras　dangling；　brilliant　spotlights　swiveling　back　and　forth。　The　capture　of　the　Surgeon；　aka　Roger　C。　Brisbane　III…the　Museum's　respected　general　counsel　and　first　vice　president…had　riveted　the　media's　attention。　The　copycat　killer　who　had　terrorized　the　city　hadn't　been　some　crazy　homeless　man；　living　in　Central　Park　on　a　piece　of　cardboard。　It　had　instead　been　one　of　the　pillars　of　Manhattan　society；　the　smiling；　cordial　fixture　at　so　many　glittering　fund…raisers　and　openings。　Here　was　a　man　whose　face　and　impeccably　tailored　figure　was　often　seen　in　the　society　pages　of　Avenue　and　Vanity　Fair。　And　now　he　stood　revealed　as　one　of　New　York's　most　notorious　serial　killers。　What　a　story。　And　he；　Custer；　had　cracked　the　case　single…handedly。
　The　mayor　was　conferring　sotto　voce　with　the　missioner　and　the　Museum's　director；　Collopy；　who　had　at　last　been　tracked　down　to　his　own　West　End　residence。　Custer's　gaze　lingered　on　Collopy。　The　man　had　the　gaunt；　pinched　look　of　a　fire…and…brimstone　preacher；　and　he　wore　clothes　straight　out　of　an　old　Bela　Lugosi　movie。　The　police　had　finally　broken　down　his　front　door；　suspecting　foul　play　when　they　observed　figures　moving　against　the　drawn　shades。　The　scuttlebutt　was　that　the　police　found　him　in　a　pink　lace　teddy；　tied　to　his　bed；　with　his　wife　and　a　second　female　dressed　in　dominatrix　uniforms。　Staring　at　the　man；　Custer　refused　to　believe　such　a　rumor。　True；　the　man's　somber　clothes　looked　just　a　tad　disheveled。　Still；　it　was　impossible　to　believe　such　a　pillar　of　propriety　could　ever　have　donned　a　teddy。