preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第76部分

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　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　his　eye：　larger；　broader；　filled　with　oaken　cases　fronted　by　glass。　Pendergast's　trail　led　right　into　the　thick　of　them。
　The　Surgeon　crept　forward　with　infinite　care。　Again；　Pendergast's　tracks　seemed　to　explore　the　collection；　stopping　at　occasional　cases。　His　tracks　had　begun　to　take　on　an　irregular；　weaving　pattern。　It　was　the　spoor　of　a　gravely　wounded　animal。　The　blood　was　not　diminishing。　If　anything；　the　bleeding　was　getting　worse。　Almost　certainly　that　meant　a　shot　to　the　gut。　There　was　no　need　to　hurry；　to　force　a　confrontation。　The　longer　he　waited；　the　weaker　Pendergast　would　bee。
　He　reached　a　spot　where　a　larger　pool　of　blood　shone　in　the　beam　of　his　flashlight。　Clearly；　Pendergast　had　stopped　here。　He　had　been　looking　at　something；　and　the　Surgeon　peered　into　the　case　to　see　what　it　was。　It　wasn't　more　chemicals；　as　he　had　assumed。　Instead；　the　case　was　filled　with　thousands　of　mounted　insects；　all　exactly　alike。　It　was　an　odd…looking　bug　with　sharp　horns　on　its　iridescent　head。　He　moved　to　the　next　case。　Strange：　this　contained　bottles　housing　only　insect　parts。　Here　were　bottles　filled　with　gossamer　dragonfly　wings；　while　over　there　were　others　with　what　looked　like　curled…up　abdomens　of　honeybees。　Yet　others　held　innumerable　tiny；　dried…up　white　spiders。　He　moved　to　the　next　case。　It　contained　desiccated　salamanders　and　wrinkled　frogs　in　a　multitude　of　bright　colors；　a　row　of　jars　containing　a　variety　of　scorpion　tails；　other　jars　full　of　numberless　evil…looking　wasps。　In　the　next　case　were　jars　holding　small　dried　fish；　snails；　and　other　insects　the　Surgeon　had　never　seen　before。　It　was　like　some　vast　witch's　cabinet　for　brewing　potions　and　concocting　spells。
　It　was　quite　strange　that　Leng　had　felt　the　need　for　such　a　vast　collection　of　potions　and　chemicals。　Perhaps；　like　Isaac　Newton；　he　had　ended　up　wasting　his　life　in　alchemical　experiments。　The　〃ultimate　project〃　Pendergast　mentioned　might　not　be　a　red　herring；　after　all。　It　could　very　well　have　been　some　useless　attempt　to　turn　lead　into　gold；　or　similar　fool's　challenge。
　Pendergast's　trail　led　out　of　the　cabinets　and　through　another　arched　doorway。　The　Surgeon　followed；　gun　at　the　ready。　Beyond　lay　what　looked　like　a　series　of　smaller　rooms…closer　to　individual　stone　crypts　or　vaults；　actually…each　containing　a　collection　of　some　kind。　Pendergast's　trail　weaved　back　and　forth　between　them。　More　oaken　cabinets；　filled　with　what　looked　like　bark　and　leaves　and　dried　flowers。　He　stopped　a　moment；　staring　around　curiously。
　Then　he　reminded　himself　that　Pendergast　was　the　pressing　issue。　Judging　from　the　weaving　tracks；　the　man　was　now　having　trouble　walking。
　Of　course；　knowing　Pendergast；　it　could　be　a　ruse。　A　new　suspicion　arose　within　him；　and　the　Surgeon　crouched　beside　the　nearest　scattering　of　crimson　droplets；　touching　his　fingers　to　one；　rubbing　them　together。　Then　he　tasted　it。　No　doubt　about　it：　human　blood；　and　still　warm。　There　could　be　no　way　of　faking　that。　Pendergast　was　definitely　wounded。　Gravely　wounded。
　He　stood　up；　raised　the　gun　again；　and　moved　stealthily　forward；　his　flashlight　probing　the　velvety　darkness　ahead。
　
　SIX
　　
　NORA　STEPPED　WARILY　through　the　doorway。　After　the　darkness　of　the　cell；　the　light　was　so　bright　that　she　shrank　back　into　shadow；　temporarily　blinded。　Then　she　came　forward　again。
　As　her　eyes　adjusted；　objects　began　to　take　form。　Metal　tables；　covered　with　gleaming　instruments。　An　empty　gurney。　An　open　door；　leading　onto　a　descending　staircase　of　rough…hewn　stone。　And　a　figure；　strapped　facedown　onto　a　stainless　steel　operating　table。　Except　the　table　was　different　from　others　she　had　seen。　Gutters　ran　down　its　sides　into　a　collecting　chamber；　full　now　with　blood　and　fluid。　It　was　the　kind　of　table　used　for　an　autopsy；　not　an　operation。
　The　head　and　torso　of　the　figure；　as　well　as　the　waist　and　legs；　were　covered　by　pale　green　sheets。　Only　the　lower　back　remained　exposed。　As　Nora　came　forward；　she　could