gns.thegraveyardvultures-第15节

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　　The　driver；　a　big　man　with　receding　hair　and　the　stamp　of　merciless　cruelty　on　his　features；　eyes　narrowing　and　hooded　like　a　hunting　hawk　that　has　suddenly　spotted　its　prey。　But　it　was　Royston's　panion　who　succeeded　in　thrusting　a　stabbing　pang　of　fear　into　Sabat's　heart。　Auburn　hair　and　mocking　green　eyes；　none　other　than　Miranda；　the　hussy　off　the　new　estate　who　spread　her　favours　in　her　constant　search　for　power。
　　
　　She　had　brought　Royston　here　at　this　early　hour　to　show　him　that　he　had　failed　in　his　attempt　to　destroy　Sabat。　And　she　hated　the　man　who　stood　there　on　the　pavement　because　she　knew；　knew　that　she　had　been　raped　and　mutilated　in　a　psychic　encounter　that　went　back　to　a　dark　age。　And　it　had　happened　as　surely　as　if　Sabat　had　gone　to　her　house　in　his　physical　body　and　carried　out　that　unspeakable　attack　on　her。
　　
　　Now　she　demanded　vengeance；　urged　her　evil　lover　to　use　every　vestige　of　his　black　power　to　help　her　achieve　that。　And　Sabat's　most　dangerous　enemy　would　be　the　resurrected　evil　that　had　once　stalked　this　peaceful　village　in　the　form　of　William　Gardiner！
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　FIVE
　　　
　　SABAT　LET　himself　into　the　vicarage　and　closed　the　front　door　quietly　behind　him。　In　all　probability　the　Reverend　Maurice　Storton　would　have　retired　to　bed　once　dawn　broke；　exhausted　by　his　all…night　vigil。　There　was　no　point　in　waking　the　aged　clergyman；　neither　was　there　anything　to　be　gained　by　giving　him　a　detailed　account　of　everything　that　had　happened　last　night。　Suffice　to　say　that　an　exorcism　had　been　carried　out　and　had　been　successful。　The　fact　that　Baron　Cimeterre　had　claimed　the　adjoining　cemetery　as　his　own　domain　was　something　that　Sabat　did　not　propose　to　try　and　explain。　One　form　of　evil　had　replaced　another；　and　there　was　nothing　more　anybody　could　do　about　it。
　　
　　Sabat's　acute　senses　were　still　working。　The　vibrations　caused　by　somebody　moving　about　on　the　floor　above　registered　in　his　brain　before　he　heard　the　slow；　shuffling　footsteps　ing　towards　the　head　of　the　wide　staircase。　Somebody　barefoot；　but　there　was　nothing　strange　in　that；　probably　Storton　had　been　on　the　point　of　retiring　to　his　bed　when　he　had　spotted　Sabat　ing　up　the　drive　and　was　curious　to　learn　how　he　had　fared。
　　
　　It　was　Maurice　Storton　all　right。　Sabat　saw　him　on　the　top　flight；　checked　his　cry　of　amazement。　Oh　God；　the　fiends　had　been　heret　done　this　to　a　harmless　old　man！
　　
　　The　clergyman　was　naked；　a　pathetic　enough　sight　even　if　one　did　not　look　up　at　his　face。　His　features　seemed　to　have　slipped　to　one　side　in　the　manner　of　a　seizure；　a　hideous　caricature　in　which　an　angled　mouth　struggled　to　make　incoherent　speech。　Babbling　insanely；　a　noise　that　was　meant　to　be　laughter。　And　Sabat's　heart　went　cold。
　　
　　Storton　almost　fell；　indeed　he　would　have　done　so　had　he　not　stumbled　against　the　stair…rail。　Balanced　precariously；　one　eye　that　seemed　sightless；　the　other　reflecting　an　inner　terror；　wide　and　staring；　inflated　like　a　bubble　that　would　burst　at　any　moment。
　　
　　Sabat　stepped　forward；　knew　that　if　he　didn't　reach　the　other　quickly　the　old　curate　would　almost　certainly　fall。　Yet　he　must　not　appear　to　panic　for　Storton　was　already　terrified；　maybe　he　was　not　even　aware　of　the　exorcist's　presence。
　　
　　Too　late！　Sabat　was　within　a　half…a…dozen　steps　of　Maurice　Storton　when　the　old　man　seemed　to　crumple；　a　sagging　of　every　limb；　folding　。。。　falling　。。。　sliding。
　　
　　Sabat　caught　him；　otherwise　he　would　have　somersaulted　right　down　to　the　hall　below；　a　weight　that　he　could　barely　support；　heaving　the　other　back　into　a　sitting　position。　The　head　drooped　forward；　a　low　moan　came　from　the　cracked　blue　lips；　a　body　expelling　air　because　its　time　was　up。　And　it　was　at　that　moment　that　Sabat　realised　that　the　Reverend　Maurice　Storton　was　dead！
　　
　　He　propped　the　dead　man　back　against　the　stair…rail；　made　sure　that　he　would　not　fall。　Then　Sabat　straightened　up；　trembling　uncontrollably　because　it　had　all　ended　like　this。　His　fault；　just　as　surely　as　though　he　had　murdered　the　clergyman　with　his　own　hands　or　pumped　a　full　chamber　of　。38　shells　into　him。
　　
　　Baron　Cimeterre　did　not　return　empty…handed　once　he　had　been　summoned。　The　bocors　and　the　houngans　knew　that；　always　had　a　human　sacrifice　awaiting　their　dreaded　lord。　And　it　was　just　the　same　here；　many　miles　from　that　dark　land　of　mystic　magic。　Storton's　death　was　needless。　Oh　God；　if　only　Sabat　had　insisted　that　his　aged　panion　remained　within　a　pentagram　throughout　that　night　of　prayer　then　he　would　have　been　safe。　The　Lord　of　the　Cemetery　had　e　and　claimed　a　sacrifice　and　。　。　。　sheer　terror　had　Sabat's　pallid　features　blanching　to　a　deathly　white。　Storton's　body；　his　soul；　were　at　terrible　risk　now；　for　in　accordance　with　the　ways　of　the　dark　powers　the　dreaded　Baron　now　had　claim　on　the　frail　corpse　…　it　could　be　the　instrument　in　a　number　of　vile；　unspeakable　happenings。　A　zombie　if　there　was　a　houngan　handy　to　raise　it；　or　the　bones　used　in　powerful　black　magic　after　they　had　been　exhumed；　a　permutation　of　horrors　that　could　only　be　prevented　in　one　way　by　somebody　who　knew　what　he　was　doing。
　　
　　Sabat　ticked　his　dry　lips；　he'd　witnessed　the　ghastly　ritual　in　Haiti　in　which　a　soul　was　granted　everlasting　freedom；　the　body　given　peace　and　put　beyond　the　powers　of　the　houngans。　The　bile　came　up　into　his　throat　at　the　thought　but　that　would　not　stop　him　if　necessary。　There　was　only　one　snag　。　。　。　this　was　England；　not　the　mystic　West　Indies　where　voodoo　and　its　rites　were　accepted　as　part　of　life　and　death　even　by　the　police　themselves。　Here　he　might　find　himself　facing　a　number　of　serious　charges；　not　to　rule　out　the　possibility　of　being　arrested　for　the　murder　of　Maurice　Storton。
　　
　　He　shook　his　head　as　he　went　downstairs　slowly　and　picked　up　the　phone。　First　he　must　report　this　death　to　the　authorities；　a　seemingly　normal　case　of　a　sudden　stroke。　Unless　you　looked　carefully　into　that　single　eye！　But　as　soon　as　possible　Sabat　knew　that　he　must　perform　those　ancient　rites　to　ensure　that　Baron　Cimeterre　did　not　claim　the　body　through　some　powerful　witch　doctor；　somebody　like　the　mysterious　and　elusive　Royston　who　sought　human　carrion　for　his　graveyard　vultures！
　　
　　'I　thought　I　warned　you。'　Detective　Inspector　Plowden's　features　twisted　into　a　mask　of　anger；　an　escalating　rage　because　this　stranger　had　dared　to　defy　him　and　on　his　return　to　the　village　had　brought　death　with　him；　albeit　seemingly　from　natural　causes；　a　kind　of　harbinger　of　doom。　'You'd　no　business　ing　back　here　obstructing　police　investigations。'
　　
　　'One　moment。'　Sabat　held　up　a　hand；　permitted　himself　a　faint　mirthless　smile。　'First；　I　have　in　no　way　obstructed　your　enquiries。　I　have　merely　carried　out　an　exorcism　in　St。　Adrian's　Church　and　its　grounds　in　accordance　with　a　request　made　by　Bishop　Wentnor。　This　is　a　free　country；　I　can　travel　and　stay　anywhere　I　like。　I　would　have　returned　to　the　'Dun　Cow'　except　that　fire　destroyed　the　residential　quarters
　　
　　'While　you　were　staying　there！'　An　innuendo　that　was　only　too　obvious。
　　
　　'You'll　be　accusing　me　of　arson　next；　Inspector。'　Sabat　laughed。　'As　I　was　saying；　the　Reverend　Storton；　with　whom　I　had　struck　up　a　friendship　before　my　untimely　accident；　offered　to　put　me　up　for　a　few　days　while　I　pleted　the　task　which　I　came　here　for。'
　　
　　'And　you　have　pleted　it？'　An　uneasiness　in　the　policeman's　tone；　neck　craning　forward　in　his　eagerness　to　hear　the　answer　to　his　question。　A　prayer　to　whatever　deity　he　worshipped　that　Sabat　would　be　leaving　promptly。
　　
　　'I　think　so。　I　have　pleted　the　exorcisms　but；　of　course；　I　shall　have　to　speak　with　Bishop　Wentnor　before　I　finally　take　my　leave。'
　　
　　Plowden　caught　his　breath；　his　fists　clenched　so　that　his　fingernails　bit　deep　into　the　palms　of　both　hands。　'You're　like　a　bloody　vulture；'　he　rasped。　'Death　wherever　you　go。　Well；　with　any　luck　we'll　be　making　an　arrest　for　the　Dowson　killing　before　long　and　I　guess　that　will　lead　us　to　this　vile　cult！
　　
　　You're　bluffing；　Sabat　thought。　You're　no　nearer　a　solution　now　than　you　were　three　weeks　ago。　'I　wish　you　luck。'　He　stood　up。　'Now；　if　you've　nothing　more　to　question　me　about　1　'11　go　and　see　the　Bishop。'
　　
　　'We'll　know　where　to　find　you　if　we　want　you。'　Plowden's　eyes　narrowed。　'And　we　may　just　do　that。'
　　
　　Sabat　glanced　at　his　watch　as　he　stepped　outside　the　local　police　headquarters　into　the　dazzling　sunshine　of　a　late　August　day。　Midday。　There　was　much　to　do　before　nightfall　and　time　was　running　against　him。
　　
　　'There's　your　cheque。'　There　was　an　air　of　offhand　reluctance　in　the　way　Bishop　Wentnor　slid　the　oblong　piece　of　pink　paper　across　the　desk。　'The　Church　missioners；　like　myself；　thought　it　was　extortionate　but　thankfully　the　whole　business　has　progressed　beyond　and　away　from　St　Adrian's。'
　　
　　An　attitude　of　selfishness　that　was　not　lost　on　Sabat　as　he　checked　the　amount；　folded　the　cheque　carefully　and　placed　it　in　an　inside　pocket；　aware　of　the　slim　forting　bulk　of　his　。38　as　he　did　so。
　　
　　'Yes；　I'm　afraid　it's　a　more　far…reaching　business　than　even　I　imagined　when　I