Custer watched absently, noticing how the young man’s insolent tone, his dark look, conveyed what he thought of Brisbane. Brisbane’s not popular, Custer thought again. Got a lot of enemies. Puck sure must have hated the guy, the way Brisbane came down on him. Can’t say I blame him one bit for—
And that was when the revelation hit him. Like his initial revelation, only bigger: much bigger. So obvious in retrospect, and yet so difficult to first perceive. This was the kind of brilliant leap of intuition one received departmental citations for. It was a leap of deduction worthy of Sherlock Holmes.
He turned now, watching Brisbane subtly, but intently. The man’s well-groomed face was glistening, his hair askew, eyes glittering with anger.
“Left where?” Brisbane was demanding.
Gibbs shrugged insolently.
Brisbane strode over to the desk and picked up the phone. Custer continued to watch him. He dialed a few numbers, and left low, excited messages.
“Captain Custer,” he said, turning back. “Once again, I am ordering you to remove your men from the premises.”
Custer returned the glance from between lowered lids. He’d have to do this very carefully.
“Mr. Brisbane,” he asked, taking what hoped sounded like a reasonable tone. “Shall we discuss this in your office?”
For a moment, Brisbane seemed taken aback. “My office?”
“It’ll be more private. Perhaps we needn’t search the Museum much longer. Perhaps we can settle this in your office, now.”
Brisbane seemed to consider this. “Very well. Follow me.”
Custer nodded to his man, Lieutenant Detective Piles. “You take over here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then Custer turned toward Noyes. The merest crook of his fat finger brought the little man to his side.
“Noyes, I want you with me,” he murmured. “Got your service piece on you?”
Noyes nodded, rheumy eyes glistening in the dusky light.
“Good. Then let’s go.”
THREE
THE SLOT OPENED AGAIN. IN THE ENDLESS PERIOD OF DARKNESS AND terror, Smithback had lost his perception of time. How long had it been? Ten minutes? An hour? A day?
The voice spoke, lips once again gleaming in the rectangle of light. “How kind of you to visit me in my very old and interesting house. I hope you enjoyed seeing my collections. I am particularly fond of the corydon. Did you, by chance, see the corydon?”
Smithback tried to respond, belatedly remembering that his mouth was taped.
“Ah! How thoughtless of me. Do not trouble yourself to answer. I will speak. You will listen.”
Smithback’s mind raced through the possibilities for escape. There were none.
“Yes, the corydon is most interesting. As is the mosasaur from the chalk beds of Kansas. And of course the durdag from Tibet is quite unusual, one of only two in the world. I understand it was fashioned from the skull of the fifteenth reincarnation of the Buddha.”
Smithback heard a dry laugh, like the scattering of withered leaves.
“Altogether a most interesting cabinet of curiosities, my dear Mr. Smithback. I’m sorry that so few people have had a chance to see it, and that those so honored find themselves unable to make a return visit.”
There was a silence. And then the voice continued, softly and gently: “I will do you well, Mr. Smithback. No effort will be spared.”
A spasm of fear, unlike anything he had ever known, racked Smithback’s limbs. I will do you well… Do you well… Smithback realized that he was about to die. In his extremity of terror, he did not immediately notice that Leng had called him by name.
“It will be a memorable experience—more memorable than those who have come before you. I have made great strides, remarkable strides. I have devised a most exacting surgical procedure. You will be awake to the very end. Consciousness, you see, is the key: I now realize that. Painstaking care will be taken, I assure you.”
There was a silence as Smithback struggled to keep his reason about him.
The lips pursed. “I shouldn’t want to keep you waiting. Shall we proceed to the laboratory?”
A lock rattled and the iron door creaked open. The dark figure in the derby hat who approached was now holding a long hypodermic needle. A clear drop trembled at its end. A pair of round, old-fashioned smoked glasses were pushed into his face.
“This is merely an injection to relax your muscles. Succinyl choline. Very similar to curare. It’s a paralyzing agent; you’ll find it tends to render the sort of weakness one feels in dreams. You know what I mean: the danger is coming, you try to escape, but you find yourself unable to move. Have no fear, Mr. Smithback: though you’ll be unable to move, you will remain conscious throughout much of the operation, until the final excision and removal is performed. It will be much more interesting for you that way.”
Smithback struggled as the needle approached.
“You see, it’s a delicate operation. It requires a steady and highly expert hand. We can’t have the patient thrashing about during the procedure. The merest slip of the scalpel and all would be ruined. You might as well dispose of the resource and start afresh.”
Still the needle approached.
“I suggest you take a deep breath now, Mr. Smithback.”