jherbert.sepulchre-第27节

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　　Halloran　was　suddenly　cold；　as　if　he'd　stepped　into　a　pocket　of　wintry　air。　He　was　being　observed。
　　Such　an　awareness　was　not　unusual　for　him　…experience　in　his　particular　profession　brought　with　it　a　certain　sensitivity　towards　prying；　unseen　eyes　…yet　never　before　had　the　sensing　been　so　acute　for　him。　The　coldness；　he　realised；　was　due　to　the　crawling　sensation　of　his　own　skin；　as　if　it　was　undulating　in　small　ridges。　He　shifted　his　jacket　to　his　other　arm　so　that　his　gun　hand　was　free。
　　Nothing　stirred　inside　the　lodge。　At　least；　not　as　far　as　he　could　tell。　But　the　urge　to　run　from　there；　to　put　as　much　distance　between　himself　and　that　uninviting　abode；　was　immense。　A　whisper；　whose　source　was　somewhere　deep　in　his　own　mind；　cautioned　him　against　further　investigation。　Irrational；　he　told　himself。　Are　you　sure？　his　sub…conscious　taunted。
　　He　raised　a　hand　to　his　forehead　as　if　to　dispel　further　insinuations　that　had　gathered；　warnings　that　something　nasty；　something　unclean；　was　waiting　for　him　inside　the　lodge…house；　and　that　contained　within　its　walls　were　secrets　that　should　remain　secrets；　but　physical　action　was　useless　against　the　tenacity　of　the　psyche。　The　thoughts　continued。
　　Halloran　almost　sagged　under　their　force。　He　willed　their　dispersion　and　it　was　only　gradually　that　his　mind　became　calmer；　that　his　own　consciousness　became　dominant。
　　For　those　other　thoughts　had　not　been　his。　He　was　certain　they　had　not　originated　from　some　sub…level　of　his　own　mind；　but　had　been　implanted　by　another。　He　turned　his　head；　searching　the　woods　behind；　the　roadway　leading　to　Neath。　Kline。　Those　thoughts　had　been　Kline's。　He　had　the　gift：　Kline　had　shown　him　that　very　morning。　But　the　psychic　was　still　at　the　main　house。　Or　should　have　been。　Again　Halloran　scanned　the　area　around　him。　Did　distance　bother　someone　like　Kline；　could　ideas　be　directed　no　matter　how　far　away　the　recipient？　Or　was　Felix　Kline　inside　the　lodge？
　　The　coldness　was　still　with　him　and　Halloran　slipped　his　jacket　back　on。　He　took　a　step　towards　the　building。
　　And　the　thoughts　intruded　once　more；　stabbing　at　him；　bringing　with　them　not　only　fear　but　a　curious　reluctance　to　discover　what　was　inside　the　old　house。　He　remained　where　he　was。
　　Halloran　could　see　no　one　at　the　windows；　but　he　sensed　a　presence　beyond　those　walls。　He　had　lost　the　inclination　to　enter　the　house；　though；　no　longer　wanting　to　find　out　who　the　occupant　was。　Not　at　the　moment。　He'd　return　when　he　was　。　。　。　prepared。
　　Halloran　backed　away。
　　With　a　last　lingering　look；　he　turned　from　the　lodge　and　began　the　long　trek　to　the　main　house　where　earlier　he　had　decided　to　leave　the　Mercedes；　preferring　to　make　the　journey　to　the　estate's　entrance　on　foot。　Too　much　could　be　missed　when　viewed　from　a　moving　car　and　Halloran　had　wanted　to　get　the　'eel　of　the　surrounds；　with　particular　regard　to　the　private　roadway　which　was　a　natural　place　for　an　ambush；　safe　from　public　gate；　out　of　sight　from　anyone　in　Neath　itself。　Now；　with　the　evening　gloom　taking　a　firmer　hold　and　the　unease　left　by　the　uninvited　thoughts；　Halloran　regretted　his　decision。　At　once　he　berated　himself；　a　little　astonished　by　his　own　trepidation。　But　then；　as　he'd　already　acknowledged；　it　had　been　an　odd　day。
　　In　the　stillness　around　him　his　footsteps　seemed　louder　than　normal。　Ahead　the　road　narrowed；　trees　on　opposite　sides　linking　leafy　arms　to　form　a　tunnel。　It　was　twilight　inside　that　tunnel。
　　He　was　too　warm　suddenly；　the　air　almost　too　heavy　to　breathe。　The　clouds　were　swollen　and　dark　and　he　relished　the　idea　of　rain；　or　even　a　storm。　But　it　was　as　though　the　dampness　was　scaled　into　the　masses　above。　He　walked　on；　at　irregular　intervals　glancing　from　left　to　right；　occasionally　checking　the　road　behind。　All　was　quiet。　The　lodge…house　was　a　distant　image；　rendered　small　and　impotent。　The　road　in　front　of　him　had　begun　to　curve；　no　exit　visible　inside　the　tunnel。
　　A　stirring　of　ferns　by　the　roadside；　no　more　than　a　transient　breeze。　；A　faint　crash　further　within；　merely　a　dead　or　broken　branch　shed　from　a　tree。
　　Light　faded　as　he　passed　beneath　the　canopy　of　leaves。　It　was　cooler；　although　not　much；　and　Halloran　quickened　his　pace。　The　more　he　progressed；　the　dimmer　became　the　light。　Soon　it　was　as　though　night　had　fallen　prematurely。　His　senses　sharpened　and　he　allowed　his　vision　to　wander；　never　focusing　on　any　particular　section　of　forest　for　too　long；　constantly　shifting　his　attention　from　one　dark　area　to　another。
　　At　first　he　thought　he　had　imagined　the　snuffling；　for　it　had　been　barely　audible　over　the　sound　of　his　own　footsteps；　but　then　it　came　again。　He　stopped　to　listen。　Nothing　now。　And　that　in　itself　was　unusual；　for　the　woods　were　always　full　of　noises　of　some　kind；　small　scufflings；　the　flapping　of　wings；　an　owl　settling　in　for　the　night's　vigil。　Over　many　years　he　had　learned　to　discern　nature's　disturbances　from　those　that　might　originate　from　stealthy　humans；　the　difference　being　that　animal　or　natural　noises　generally　continued　even　if　for　no　more　than　a　second　or　two；　whereas　those　caused　by　humans…be　they　hiding　or　stalking　prey　…had　a　tendency　to　cease　immediately。
　　He　resumed　his　journey；　the　tension　in　his　stride　indicating　an　extra　alertness。　Keeping　his　steps　as　quiet　as　possible；　Halloran　moved　into　the　curve　of　the　tunnel。　A　rustling　to　his　right；　a　definite　movement。　He　carried　on　walking；　a　hand　reaching　under　his　jacket　to　the　butt　of　the　Browning。　More　movement；　something　keeping　pace　with　him。　He　began　to　suspect　what　that　something　might　be。
　　He　had　assumed　that　the　dogs　were　controlled　during　the　daytime　and　allowed　to　run　free　at　night。　Perhaps　it　was　at　dusk　that　their　keeper　set　them　loose　on　their　own。
　　Snuffling　noises　again；　and　then　a　louder　rustling　through　the　undergrowth　as　though　the　animals　were　hurrying　to　get　ahead　of　him。　Initially　the　sounds　had　e　from　some　distance　inside　the　woodland；　but　now　they　were　drawing　close；　as　if　the　dogs　were　cutting　in　at　an　angle。　Halloran　deliberately　maintained　his　own　steady　pace。
　　For　one　brief　moment　he　caught　sight　of　a　shadow　loping　through　the　trees；　low　to　the　ground。　It　was　followed　by　another；　then　another　。　。　。　he　watched　a　stream　of　shadows　slinking　through　the　undergrowth。
　　Strange　that　they　didn't　e　straight　at　him；　but　maybe　that　was　part　of　their　training；　to　cut　off　and　intimidate　rather　than　attack。　He　sincerely　hoped　so。　Could　be　that　they'd　also　been　trained　to　keep　silent　while　they　tracked　their　quarry。　Halloran　resisted　the　urge　to　break　into　a　run；　knowing　he　would　never　outpace　them：　there　was　no　point　in　turning　back　either…they'd　only　follow。　He　slid　the　gun　from　its　holster　and　held　it　down　by　his　side。
　　It　could　have　been　midnight；　so　dark　had　it　bee　under　the　trees。　The　disturbance　to　his　right　had　settled　as　though　the　procession　of　dim　shapes　had　passed　on　its　way；　having　had　no　real　interest　in　the　solitary　walker。　Halloran　did　not　relax　his　guard。
　　Something　moved　out　into　the　open　ahead。　He　could　hardly　make　out　the　dog's　form　so　mantled　was　the　roadway；　but　he　could　hear　the　soft　panting。　The　animal　loitered　there；　making　no　other　sound。　Waiting　for　him。　Soon　others　joined　it；　slinking　from　the　undergrowth　to　create　an　undefined　obstacle　across　the　roadway。　Their　bined　breathing　seemed　to　take　on　a　rhythm。
　　Halloran　aimed　the　weapon　in　their　direction。　He　moved　forward　again；　his　step　slow　and　steady；　his　body　erect；　offering　the　beasts　no　fear。
　　He　heard　their　base；　scratchy　snarling。　Drawing　near　he　sensed　rather　than　saw　those　closest　tensing　themselves　to　pounce。　l　He　was　within　seven　or　eight　feet　of　the　nearest　shadow。　His　steps　did　not　falter。
　　Until　there　was　a　different　sound；　and　this　from　behind；　growing　louder　by　the　moment。　He　stopped；　but　dared　not　look　away　from　those　looming　shapes　lest　they　take　advantage　of　a　brief　second's　distraction。　The　trees　and　the　Toad　were　being　brighter　as　lights　approached；　rounding　the　bend。　Illuminating　what　lay　ahead　of　Halloran。
　　He　drew　in　a　breath；　his　grip　tightening　an　the　automatic。　Eyes；　yellow…white　in　the　glare　from　the　car's　headlights；　were　watching　him。　The　rest　of　their　lean　bodies　became　brighter。
　　They　were　indeed　dogs；　but　of　a　special　loathsome　breed。
　　They　stole　back　into　the　woods；　soon　swallowed　by　its　inkiness；　and　he　listened　to　their　quiet　retreat　until　the　sounds　had　faded　pletely。
　　The　car　drew　up　behind　him　and　he　slid　the　gun　back　into　the　holster。　He　turned　around　to　face　the　vehicle；　shielding　his　eyes　with　an　arm　and；　save　for　the　dazzling　lights　and　the　sofa　purr　of　its　engine；　the　car　might　never　have　been　there；　for　its　blackness　blended　perfectly　with　the　darkness　of　the　forest。　As　he　walked　around　to　the　driver's　side　he　heard　a　window　descending。　；A　broad　face　appeared；　barely　recognisable　in　the　dimness。
　　'It　is　better　that　I　drive　you　back　to　the　house；　moj　kolega；'　said　Palusinski。　'The　jackal　can　be　a　ferocious　beast；　particularly　against　the　defenceless。'　JANUSZ　PALUSINSKI…A　PEASANT'S　SURVIVAL　His　father；　Henryk　Palusinski；　had　been　a　hero　of　the　people；　a　peasant　farmer　who　had　joined　the　march　to　Zamos