rr.eastofealing-第27节

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　of　his　confounded　gaze。　Bearing　down　upon　them　at　a　goodly　rate　of　knots　marched　their　perfect　doubles。　'Run　for　your　life！'　screamed　Omally。　Jim　was　already　under　starter's　orders。　The　two　tore　past　the　befuddled　ancient　and　his　similarly　bemused　pet　at　an　Olympic　pace。　Their　doubles　strode　on　in　unison；　hard　upon　the　retreating　heels。
　Old　Pete　turned　to　watch　the　curious　quartet　dwindle　into　the　distance。　He　stooped　crookedly　to　retrieve　his　fallen　paper　and　shook　his　old　head　in　wonder。　'I　am　certain　that　I　saw　that；'　he　told　Chips。　'Although　I　am　sure　it　will　pass。'
　Young　Chips　made　a　low　gummy　sort　of　growling　sound。　He　had　recently　bitten　a　postman's　leg　and　lost　several　of　his　favourite　teeth　for　his　pains。　He　just　wasn't　certain　about　anything　any　more。
　John　and　Jim　were　making　admirable　time　along　the　Haling　Road。　They　passed　Norman's　corner…shop；　the　Swan；　the　Princess　Vie；　and　drew　level　with　the　football　ground。　'Where　do　we　go？'　gasped　Pooley。　'There's　nowhere　to　run　to。'
　'Just　keep　running；　we've　got　to　lose　them。'　John　squinted　back　over　his　shoulders。　Himself　and　Jim　showed　no　signs　of　fatigue；　if　anything　they　looked　more　sprightly；　as　if　the　exercise　was　doing　them　good。　'Run；　man；　run！'
　Round　into　the　maze　of　back　streets　behind　the　football　ground　went　the　hunted　pair。　The　doubles　came　forward　at　the　jog；　staring　ever　ahead。　John　dragged　Pooley　into　an　alleyway。　'Along　here　and　keep　it　sprightly；'　he　urged。
　The　breathless　Jim　collapsed　into　a　convulsion　of　coughing；　hands　upon　knees。　'I　cannot　continue；'　he　croaked。　'Leave　me　here　to　die。'
　'And　die　you　surely　will。　Ahead；　man。'
　Omally　thrust　Pooley　forward；　the　sound　of　approaching　footfalls　echoing　in　his　ears。　Down　the　dustbin…crowded　alley　they　ran；　John　overturning　as　many　as　he　could　behind　him。　The　duplicates　crashed　along；　behind；　casting　the　toppled　bins　effortlessly　aside。　John　and　Jim　emerged　into　an　obscure　side…street　neither　of　them　could　put　a　name　to。　The　Lateinos　and　Romiith　puter　scan　which　observed　their　every　movement　had　it　well…catalogued　in　degree　and　minutes　to　a　fearful　number　of　decimal　places。
　'There　has　to　be　some　way　to　dodge　them；'　gasped　Pooley。
　'Keep　going；　damn　you。'
　The　duplicates　crashed　out　into　the　street　behind　them。
　Across　Brentford　ran　Pooley　and　Omally；　zigzagging　through　people's　back　gardens；　up　and　down　fire　escapes；　in　between　the　trees　of　the　Memorial　Park；　and　ever　onwards。　Behind　them　came　the　pounding　of　synchronized　feet；　never　letting　up　for　an　instant。
　'No　more；'　gulped　Jim；　when　the　two　had　shinned　with　difficulty　over　a　high　wall　and　dropped　down　into　no　safety　whatsoever　on　the　other　side。　'I　am　finished。'
　The　sweat　ran　freely　into　Omally's　eyes　as　he　tore　off　his　jacket　and　flung　it　aside。　'Not　me；'　said　he。　'I'm　not　giving　in　to　some　clockwork　copy；　not　while　I　still　draw　breath。'
　With　a　great　rending　of　brick　and　mortar；　a　section　；　of　the　wall　collapsed　about　them　as　the　two　duplicates　applied　their　bined　force。
　'Run；　Jim。'
　'I'll　race　you。'
　Along　the　cobbled　way　towards　Old　Brentford　Docks　staggered　John　and　Jim；　their　last　reserves　of　stamina　all　but　drained　away。　Their　hobnails　sparked　and　clattered　upon　the　cobbles　and　behind　them　in　perfect　unison　their　soulless　pursuers　were　to　be　heard　click…clacking　at　an　easy　pace。　John　pulled　Jim　into　one　of　the　disused　warehouses。　As　he　did　so；　their　infra…red　images　unaccountably　vanished　from　the　screen　of　the　Lateinos　and　Romiith　puter。　They　ducked　away　behind　a　stack　of　abandoned　loading　pallets　and　shrank　into　the　darkness；　hearts　pounding。　From　without；　the　sound　of　approaching　footsteps　drew　nearer；　then　suddenly　ceased。　'Quiet　now；'　whispered　Omally；　ramming　his　hands　over　Pooley's　convulsing　cherry…red　face。　Jim　gasped　for　breath　and　sank　down　on　to　his　bum　with　a　dull　thud。　Omally　ssshed　him　into　silence；　his　finger　upon　his　lips。　The　sound　of　slow；　steady　footfalls　reached　their　ears。　'Stay　quiet。'
　The　duplicates　moved　about　the　building；　uncertain　of　which　way　to　go；　they　tested　the　air　with　their　sophisticated　nasal　sensory　apparatus；　in　the　hope　of　catching　the　scent　of　their　quarries；　but　the　ozone　of　the　old　dock　drew　the　kipper　over　their　tracks。　Jim　Pooley　drew　a　fistful　of　sweat　from　his　brow　and　spattered　it　on　to　the　dusty　floor　of　the　old　warehouse。　He　looked　towards　John；　who　shrugged　in　the　darkness。　Long；　painful　minutes　passed。　Jim　folded　his　jacket　across　his　chest　to　muffle　the　sound　of　his　deafening　heartbeat。　Omally　slunk　to　and　fro　seeking　an　exit　or　a　reason　or　an　anything。　Outside；　the　duplicates　stealthily　encircled　the　building；　sniffing　and　peering。　The　Omally　gestured　to　the　yawning　doorway。　The　Pooley　nodded。　The　duplicates　entered　the　warehouse。　Omally　saw　their　shadows　spread　across　the　floor　and　flattened　himself　on　to　the　deck。　The　two　came　slowly　forward；　scanning　the　way　before　them。　Circuits　meshed　and　weaved　in　their　mechanized　brains；　drawing　in　the　data；　and　processing　it　in　the　twinkling　of　a　plastic　eyelid。
　From　behind　the　stack　of　pallets　a　very　foolish　voice　indeed　said　suddenly；　'Well；　I　think　we've　outrun　them；　John。　Care　for　a　tailor…made？'
　Omally's　eyes　widened　in　horror　as　he　watched　the　two　heads；　one　his　own　and　the　other　that　of　his　dearest　friend；　swivel　upon　their　frictionless　bearings；　and　swing　in　the　direction　of　the　sound。　He　gestured　towards　Jim；　whose　face　could　just　be　seen　grinning　from　behind　the　stack　of　pallets。　'e；　e。'
　The　robot　Pooley　leapt　forward　and　grasped　the　obstruction　barring　his　way。　He　tore　the　stack　apart　with　a　single　movement；　sending　them　smashing　to　all　sides。
　Jim　looked　up　white　and　trembling　and　saw　death　staring　him　right　between　the　eyes。　'Help；　John；'　he　squealed；　cowering　back　against　the　wall。　'Do　something。'
　Grinning　like　a　gargoyle；　the　robot　slowly　withdrew　from　the　pocket　of　his　brand　new　suit；　a　small　wicked…looking　black　instrument　with　two　extendable　electrodes。　With　a　flick　of　the　thumb　he　armed　the　mechanism　and　sent　sparks　crackling　about　the　tips　of　the　rods。
　Omally　floundered　about　seeking　a　suitable　weapon；　his　hand　closed　over　a　length　of　iron　conduit。　'Up　the　rebels；'　he　cried　as　he　flung　himself　towards　Jim's　attacker。　His　own　double　turned　upon　him　to　stand　glaring；　eye　to　eye。　'You　bastard；'　spat　Omally；　'e　and　try　your　luck。'　He　swung　his　cudgel　with　terrific　force　but　the　robot　shot　out　a　hand　and　grasped　it；　tearing　it　from　his　grip　and　flinging　it　the　length　of　the　warehouse。　Omally　ducked　back　as　his　double　delved　into　its　pocket。　The　smile　widened　upon　its　lips　as　the　small　black　box　appeared。
　'Hold　hard；'　a　voice　echoed　about　the　warehouse。　Four　pairs　of　eyes　shot　in　the　direction　of　the　sound。　A　tall；　gaunt　figure　stood　crouched　in　the　doorway；　silhouetted　against　the　light；　legs　spread　widely　apart　and　hands　held　forward。　'This　is　a　Magnum　Forty…four；'　he　shouted；　'biggest　handgun　in　the　world　and　can　blow　your　heads　clean　off　your　shoulders。　What　do　you　say；　punks？'
　The　robot　duplicates　looked　towards　their　respective　quarries；　one　cowering　and　covering　his　nuts；　the　other　standing　defiant；　thirty…four…function　barlow　knife　now　in　hand。　They　turned　in　unison　towards　the　source　of　their　annoyance。
　'Hold　hard　or　I　fire；'　cried　Sherlock　Holmes。
　The　robots　stole　forward　upon　synthetic　heels。
　'Right　on。'　Holmes'　trigger　finger　tightened。　Two　shots　rang　out　in　rapid　succession。　The　robot　Pooley　span　from　his　feet　in　a　hazy　blur；　his　head　a　mass　of　trailing　ribbons　and　sparking　wires。　The　Omally　sank　to　its　knees；　foul　yellow　slime　spurting　from　two　over…large　holes　front　and　back　of　its　plastic　skull。　He　rose　to　stumble　forward；　cruel　claws　scratching　at　the　air；　jerked　upright；　then　slumped　to　the　deck；　a　rag　doll　flung　carelessly　aside。　Holmes　blew　into　the　barrel　of　his　Forty…four；　spun　it　upon　his　forefinger；　and　tucked　it　away　into　his　shoulder　holster。　'Gotcha；'　he　said。
　Omally　clicked　back　the　blade　of　his　barlow　knife　and　thrust　the　thing　into　his　breast　pocket。　He　stepped　over　to　console　the　gibbering　Pooley。　'Thanks　yet　again；'　he　said　to　Sherlock　Holmes。　'It　seems　that　we　are　once　more　in　your　debt。'
　'No　sweat；'　the　great　detective　replied。　He　stooped　over　the　twisted　'corpse'　of　the　false　and　fallen　Pooley　and　began　to　turn　out　its　pockets。　Jim　crept　forward　and　watched　in　horror　as　Holmes　examined　the　contents　before　tossing　them　aside。　A　besmutted　handkerchief；　a　leaky　ballpoint　pen；　an　initialled　gold　Cartier　lighter；　and　a　packet　of　Passing　Cloud　cigarettes。
　Pooley　patted　frantically　at　his　pockets；　they'd　been　picked　obviously。　To　his　further　horror　his　patting　disclosed　an　identically　besmutted　handkerchief；　a　leaky　ballpoint　pen；　and　the　same　Cartier　lighter；　which　he　had　not　as　yet　learned　how　to　fill；　even　the　packet　of　fags。　Pooley　held　out　his　hands　to　Sherlock　Holmes。　The　detective　took　the　cigarette　packet　and　shook　it　open：　seventeen　cigarettes。　He　picked　up　the　robot's　packet：　three　gone　from　the　packet　of　twenty。
　'Very　thorough。　Every　last　detail　absolutely　correct；'　said　Holmes。　'I　would　hazard　a　guess　that；　should　we　analyse　the　fluff　in　your　trouser　pockets　and　that　of　this　demon…spawn　here；　they　would　match　exactly。'　Ji