gns.thegraveyardvultures-第17章
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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 took the case。 It has its evil roots farther a field。'
'But as far as you are concerned the case is closed；' Wentnor's chin jutted stubbornly。 'With hindsight I think even the Archbishop regrets your own involvement。 And the police have protested most strongly about your interference。 However； I must make it quite plain； Sabat； that the Church has now terminated its agreement with you。 We will not condone any further meddling in this affair on your part。'
Words that echoed those spoken by Detective Inspector Plowden。 Possibly even the missioner of Scotland Yard had been persuaded to contact the Archbishop。 Sabat smiled to himself as he left the Bishop's Palace。 From now on； he had to play a lone hand； every man against him； and no cheque to reward his efforts。 His sole motive now was one of revenge； a score to be settled against those who had tried to cremate him alive and were even now still bent on his annihilation。 It was the kind of fight he enjoyed best。
Sabat hoped that he h
