p&c.brimstone-第115部分

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leading　down　to　the　storage　cellars　was　now　covered　by　a　massive　armoire；　copper　pots　and　cookware　hanging　from　its　ancient　brass　hooks。　
　Bingo！D'Agosta　thought。　
　〃The　stairway's　behind　there；〃　he　said。　〃He's　covered　it　up　with　that　armoire。〃　
　Esposito　nodded　to　his　two　men；　who　moved　it　with　great　difficulty。　D'Agosta　felt　himself　go　cold。　The　stairway　was　gone。　In　its　place　was　bare　wall；　ancient　and　dusty　as　the　rest　of　the　room。　
　〃Feel　it！〃　he　said；　unable　now　to　keep　the　frustration　and　mounting　horror　from　his　voice。　〃He's　bricked　it　in！　The　mortar's　got　to　be　still　wet！〃　
　Thecolonnello　stepped　forward；　removed　a　penknife　from　his　pocket；　and　stabbed　its　point　into　the　mortar。　Small；　dried　pieces　crumbled　away　in　a　train　of　dust。　He　dug　it　in　farther；　probing。　Then　he　turned　and；　without　a　word；　handed　the　knife　to　D'Agosta。　
　D'Agosta　knelt；　felt　along　the　bottom。　The　wall　looked　old；　dusty…there　were　even　what　appeared　to　be　cobwebs　exposed　by　the　moving　of　the　armoire。　He　stepped　back；　looked　around　the　room。　No　mistake：　this　was　the　right　place。　
　〃The　count　has　covered　it　up。　Disguised　it　somehow。There　was　a　door　here。　〃　
　Another；　longer；　silence　fell。　Esposito's　eyes　met　D'Agosta's；　then　looked　away。　
　Seeing　the　speculative　look；　D'Agosta　felt　a　renewed　sense　of　steely　determination　settle　over　him。　〃Let's　join　your　men。　Search　the　whole　goddamned　place。〃　
　An　hour　later；　D'Agosta　found　himself　back　in　the　central　gallery。　They　had　explored　more　passages；　salons；　rooms；　vaults；　basements；　and　tunnels　than　he'd　ever　imagined　one　castle　could　hold。　The　castle　was　so　large；　so　sprawling；　it　was　impossible　to　know　whether　or　not　they　had　covered　all　its　drafty　spaces　and　dank　stairwells。　All　his　muscles　quivered　with　weariness。　The　canvas　bag　with　the　microwave　weapon　hung　like　a　dead　weight　by　his　side。　
　As　the　search　progressed；　Esposito　had　grown　increasingly　quiet。　Throughout　it　all；　Fosco　had　stayed　by　their　side；　solicitous；　patient；　unlocking　every　door；　even　suggesting　new　routes　of　inquiry　from　time　to　time。　
　Now；　the　count　cleared　his　throat。　〃Could　I　suggest　we　return　to　my　library？　We　can　talk　more　fortably　there。〃　
　As　they　seated　themselves　around　the　fire；　one　of　the　carabinieri　came　in　and　whispered　in　Esposito's　ear。　Thecolonnello　nodded；　then　dismissed　the　man　with　a　gesture；　his　expression　unreadable。　Fosco　once　again　offered　him　a　cigar；　and　this　time　Esposito　accepted。　D'Agosta　watched　all　this　with　a　sense　of　growing　disbelief。　He　felt　rage　taking　over　now；　almost　beyond　his　ability　to　control；　bined　with　a　sense　of　horror　and　grief。　It　was　unreal；　a　nightmare。　
　Esposito　spoke　at　last；　his　voice　neutral。　〃My　men　looked　into　the　Stylo。　It　was　returned　to　Eurocar　at　13：00　yesterday。　The　chit　was　signed　by　A。　X。　L。　Pendergast；　paid　for　with　an　American　Express　card　belonging　to　Pendergast。　A　Special　Agent　A。　X。　L。　Pendergast　had　a　reservation　on　a　flight　to　Palermo　at　14：30　from　Firenze　Peretola。　We're　still　trying　to　find　out　whether　he　was；　in　fact；　on　that　flight。　The　airlines　these　days　are　so　difficult　。　。　。〃　
　〃Of　courseit　will　appear　he　was　on　the　flight！　Can't　you　see　what　Fosco's　game　is？〃　
　〃Sergeant…〃　
　〃It's　allbullshit！　〃　D'Agosta　said；　rising　from　his　chair。　〃Orchestrated　by　Fosco！　Just　like　he　walled　up　the　passageway；　disguised　the　apartment。　Just　like　he's　plannedevery　fucking　thing！　〃　
　〃Sergeant；　please；〃　Esposito　said　quietly。　〃Control　yourself。〃　
　〃You　said　yourself　we　were　dealing　with　a　determined　man！〃　
　〃Sergeant。〃　The　voice　was　firmer。　
　D'Agosta　stood；　almost　out　of　his　mind　with　rage；　frustration；　and　grief。　Fosco　had　Pendergast's　credit　card。　What　did　it　mean？　And　now　the　bastard　was　slipping　through　his　fingers。　Pendergast　was　gone；　vanished。　He　made　an　almost　superhuman　struggle　at　control…if　he　lost　it；　he　would　never　have　another　chance。　He　had　to　find　a　chink　in　the　count's　armor。　〃He's　not　in　the　castle；　then。　They've　taken　him　into　the　woods；　up　on　the　mountain。　We've　got　to　search　the　area。〃　
　Esposito　puffed　thoughtfully　on　the　cigar；　waiting　for　D'Agosta　to　finish。　Then　he　spoke。　〃Sergeant　D'Agosta。　In　your　story；　you　claim　the　count　killed　four　people　to　get　back　a　violin…〃　
　〃At　leastfour　people。　We're　just　wasting　time　here！　We　have　to…〃　
　Esposito　raised　a　hand　for　silence。　〃Excuse　me。　You　claim　the　count　killed　these　men　with　that　device　you're　carrying。〃　
　〃Yes。〃　D'Agosta　tried　to　control　his　breathing。　
　〃Why　don't　you　show　it　to　the　count？〃　
　D'Agosta　pulled　the　microwave　device　from　the　bag。　
　〃My　goodness；〃　Fosco　said；　staring　with　great　interest。　〃What　is　that？〃　
　〃The　sergeant　tells　us　it　is　a　microwave　weapon；〃　Esposito　said。　〃Designed　by　you；　and　used　by　you；　to　burn　to　death　Mr。　Locke　Bullard；　a　peasant　from　Abetone；　and　two　other　people　back　in　the　United　States。〃　
　Fosco　looked　first　at　thecolonnello　；　then　at　D'Agosta；　astonishment　and　then…pity？…on　his　face。　〃The　sergeant　says　this？〃　
　〃Correct。〃　
　〃A　machine；　you　say？　That　zaps　people；　turns　them　into　smoking　piles　of　ash？　That　I　built？〃　He　spread　his　hands；　astonishment　on　his　face。　〃I　should　like　to　see　a　demonstration。〃　
　〃Sergeant；　perhaps　you'd　care　to　demonstrate　the　device　for　us　and　the　count？〃　
　D'Agosta　looked　down　at　the　weapon；　turned　it　over　in　his　hands。　Fosco's　skeptical　tone　went　unrefuted　by　thecolonnello　；　and　no　wonder：　the　device　looked　almost　cartoonish；　a　Flash　Gordon　confection。　
　〃I　don't　know　how　to　use　it；〃　D'Agosta　said。　
　〃Try；〃　said　Esposito；　an　edge　of　sarcasm　in　his　voice。　
　It　occurred　to　D'Agosta　that　if　he　could　get　it　working；　it　might　be　his　only　chance　to　turn　the　tide。　It　was　his　last　chance。　
　He　pointed　it　toward　the　fireplace　hearth；　where…as　if　placed　as　a　deliberate　challenge…sat　a　fresh　pumpkin。　He　tried　to　clear　his　mind；　tried　to　remember　precisely　what　Fosco　had　done　before。　He　turned　a　knob；　pulled　the　trigger。　
　Nothing　happened。　
　He　spun　more　dials；　pressed　a　button；　aimed；　pulled　the　trigger。　
　Still　nothing。　
　For　all　he　knew；　it　had　been　damaged　during　the　escape；　when　he　tossed　it　into　the　bushes。　He　fiddled　with　the　dials；　pulling　the　trigger　again　and　again；　hoping　for　the　low　hum　he'd　heard　during　the　demonstration。　But　the　machine　remained　silent；　cold。　
　〃I　think　we've　seen　enough；〃　said　Esposito　quietly。　
　Slowly；　very　slowly；　D'Agosta　replaced　it　in　the　canvas　bag。　He　could　hardly　bring　himself　to　look　at　thecolonnello。　The　man　was　staring　at　him；　his　face　a　mask　of　skepticism。　No；　not　just　skepticism：　pure　disbelief；　anger…and　pity。　
　From　over　Esposito's　shoulder；　Fosco　also　stared。　Then…very　slowly　and　deliberately…Fosco　reached　into　his　collar；　drew　out　a　chain　with　a　medallion　at　the　end；　and　draped　it　carefully　over　his　shirtfront；　patting　it　familiarly　with　a　plump　hand。　
　With　a　sudden；　burning　shock　of　recognition；　D'Agosta　recognized　the　medallion：　the　lidless　eye　over　a　phoenix　rising　from　the　ashes。　Pendergast's　own　chain。　Fosco's　private　message　was　all　too　terribly　clear。　
　〃You　bastard…！〃　And　D'Agosta　lunged　for　the　count。　
　In　a　moment；　the　carabinieri　leaped　on　D'Agosta　and　pulled　him　back；　restraining　him　against　a　far　wall　of　the　library。　Thecolonnello　quickly　placed　himself　between　D'Agosta　and　Fosco。　
　〃The　son　of　a　bitch！　That's　Pendergast's　chain！　There's　your　proof！He　killed　Pendergast　and　took　it！　〃　
　〃Are　you　all　right？〃　Esposito　asked　the　count；　ignoring　D'Agosta。　
　〃Quite　all　right；　thank　you；〃　Fosco　said；　sitting　back　and　smoothing　his　capacious　front。　〃I　was　startled；　that　is　all。　To　settle　the　question　once　and　for　all；　so　there　can　beno　doubt　…〃　He　turned　the　disc　over；　and　there；　on　the　reverse　of　the　medallion；　evidently　worn　by　time；　was　an　intricate　engraving　of　the　count's　own　crest。　
　Esposito　looked　at　the　crest；　then　turned　to　stare　at　D'Agosta；　dark　eyes　glittering。　D'Agosta；　clamped　in　the　arms　of　six　men；　could　barely　move。　He　tried　to　regain　control　of　himself；　his　voice。　The　way　the　count　had　saidSo　there　can　be　no　doubt；　with　that　peculiar　emphasis　on　the　wordsno　doubt　。　。　。　It　was　a　message　aimed　directly　at　D'Agosta。　It　was　a　message　that　told　him　he　was　too　late。　Those　twelve　hou