preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第107部分

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f　copycat　killing　than　the　police　ever　imagined。　Killings；　by　the　way；　that　had　nothing　to　do　with　your　article；　Mr。　Smithback。〃
　〃Why　did　he　try　to　kill　you？〃　Smithback　asked。　〃It　was　such　a　risk。　I　never　understood　that。〃
　〃Fairhaven　was　a　man　who　thought　far；　far　ahead。　That　was　why　he　was　so　successful　in　business…and；　of　course；　one　reason　why　he　was　so　frightened　of　death。　When　I　succeeded　in　finding　Mary　Greene's　address；　he　realized　it　was　only　a　matter　of　time　before　I　found　Leng's。　Whether　I　believed　Leng　was　alive　or　dead　didn't　matter…he　knew　I　would　e　to　Leng's　house；　and　then　all　his　efforts　would　be　ruined。　It　would　expose　the　connection　between　the　modern…day　killer　known　as　the　Surgeon　and　the　old　killer　named　Leng。　It　was　the　same　with　Nora。　She　was　hot　on　the　trail；　she'd　been　to　visit　McFadden's　daughter；　she　had　the　archaeological　expertise　I　lacked。　Clearly；　it　was　only　a　matter　of　time　before　we　figured　out　where　Leng　lived。　We　couldn't　be　allowed　to　proceed。〃
　〃And　O'Shaughnessy？　Why　kill　him？〃
　Pendergast　bowed　his　head。　〃I　will　never　forgive　myself　for　that。　I　sent　O'Shaughnessy　on　what　I　believed　was　a　safe　errand；　investigating　New　Amsterdam　Chemists；　where　Leng　had　procured　his　chemicals　many　years　ago。　While　there；　it　seems　O'Shaughnessy　had　the　luck　to　find　some　old　journals；　listing　chemical　purchases　in　the　1920s。　I　call　it　luck；　but　it　turned　out　to　be　quite　the　opposite；　I'm　afraid。　I　didn't　realize　Fairhaven　was　on　high　alert；　monitoring　our　every　move。　When　he　became　aware　that　O'Shaughnessy　not　only　knew　where　Leng　bought　his　chemicals；　but　had　managed　to　retrieve　some　old　sales　books…which　might　be　extremely　useful；　and　certainly　dangerous　in　our　hands…he　had　to　kill　him。　Immediately。〃
　〃Poor　Patrick；〃　said　Smithback。　〃What　a　terrible　way　to　die。〃
　〃Terrible；　terrible　indeed；〃　Pendergast　murmured；　the　anguish　all　too　clear　on　his　face。　〃And　the　responsibility　for　it　lies　on　my　shoulders。　He　was　a　good　man；　and　a　fine　officer。〃
　Looking　up　at　the　rows　of　leather…bound　books；　at　the　worm…eaten　tapestries　and　peeling　wallpaper；　Nora　shivered。
　〃Oh；　God；〃　Smithback　murmured　at　last；　shaking　his　head。　〃And　to　think　I　can't　publish　any　of　this。〃　Then　he　looked　over　at　Pendergast。　〃So　what　happened　to　Fairhaven？〃
　〃That　which　he　feared　most；　death；　came　at　last。　In　a　nod　to　Poe；　I　walled　up　the　poor　wretch　within　a　basement　alcove。　It　would　not　do　for　his　body　to　surface。〃
　This　was　followed　by　a　short　silence。
　〃So　what　are　you　going　to　do　with　this　house　and　all　these　collections？〃　Nora　asked。
　A　wan　smile　played　about　Pendergast's　lips。　〃Through　a　tortuous　route　of　inheritance；　this　house　and　its　contents　have　ended　up　in　my　possession。　Someday；　perhaps；　some　of　these　collections　will　find　their　way　anonymously　into　the　great　museums　of　the　world…but　not　for　a　very　long　time。〃
　〃And　what's　happened　to　the　house？　It's　torn　apart。〃
　〃That　brings　me　to　one　final　request　I　would　make　of　you　both。〃
　〃And　that　is…？〃
　〃That　you　e　with　me。〃
　They　followed　Pendergast　down　winding　passageways　to　the　door　leading　to　the　porte…cochère。　Pendergast　opened　the　door。　Outside；　Pendergast's　Rolls　was　silently　idling；　jarring　in　this　forlorn　neighborhood。
　〃Where　are　we　going？〃　Smithback　asked。
　〃Gates　of　Heaven　Cemetery。〃
　　
　The　drive　out　of　Manhattan；　into　the　crisp　winter　hills　of　Westchester；　took　half　an　hour。　During　that　time；　Pendergast　said　nothing；　sitting　motionless；　wrapped　in　his　own　thoughts。　At　last　they　passed　through　the　dark　metal　gates　and　began　climbing　the　gentle　curve　of　a　hill。　Beyond　lay　another　hill；　and　then　another：　a　vast　city　of　the　dead；　full　of　monuments　and　ponderous　tombs。　In　time；　the　car　stopped　in　a　far　corner　of　the　cemetery；　on　a　rise　dotted　with　marble。
　Pendergast　got　out；　then　led　them　along　a　manicured　path　to　a　fresh　row　of　graves。　They　were　long　frozen　mounds　of　earth；　laid　out　in　geometrical　precision；　without　tombstones；　flowers；　or　markings　of　any　kind　save　a　spike　at　each　head。　Aluminum　frames　were　set　into　each　spike；　holding　cardboard　placards；　and　on　each　placard　was　written　a　number；　streaked　with　moisture；　already　mildewed　and　faded。
　They　walked　along　the　row　of　graves　until　they　came　to　number　12。　Pendergast　stopped　over　it　and　remained　there；　head　bowed；　hands　clasped　as　if　praying。　Beyond；　the　weak　winter　sun　shone　through　the　twisted　branches　of　the　oaks；　and　the　hill　fell　away　into　mist。
　〃Where　are　we？〃　Smithback　asked；　looking　around。　〃Whose　graves　are　these？〃
　〃This　is　where　Fairhaven　buried　the　thirty…six　skeletons　from　Catherine　Street。　It　was　a　very　clever　move。　It　takes　a　court　order　to　get　an　exhumation；　a　long　and　difficult　process。　This　was　the　next　best　thing　to　cremation；　which　of　course　he　wasn't　allowed　to　do；　by　law。　He　did　not　want　anyone　to　have　access　to　these　skeletons。〃
　Pendergast　gestured。　〃This　grave；　number　12；　is　the　final　resting　place　of　Mary　Greene。　Gone；　but　no　longer　forgotten。〃　Pendergast　reached　into　his　pocket　and　removed　a　tattered　piece　of　paper；　folded　into　a　small　accordion。　It　trembled　slightly　in　the　breeze。　He　held　it　out；　over　the　grave；　almost　as　if　it　were　an　offering。
　〃What　is　that？〃　Smithback　asked。
　〃The　arcanum。〃
　〃The　what？〃
　〃Leng's　formula　for　extending　human　life。　Perfected。　It　no　longer　required　the　use　of　human　donors。　That　is　why　he　stopped　killing　in　1935。〃
　In　the　sudden　silence；　Nora　and　Smithback　exchanged　glances。
　〃Leng　eventually　worked　it　out。　It　wasn't　possible　until　the　late　twenties；　when　certain　synthetic　opiates　and　other　biochemical　assays　became　available　to　him。　With　this　formula；　he　no　longer　had　need　of　victims。　Leng　did　not　enjoy　killing。　He　was　a　scientist；　the　killing　was　merely　a　regretful　necessity。　Unlike　Fairhaven；　who　clearly　took　pleasure　in　it。〃
　Smithback　stared　at　the　paper　in　disbelief。　〃You　mean　to　tell　me　you're　holding　the　formula　for　eternal　life？〃
　〃There　is　no　such　thing　as　'eternal　life；'　Mr。　Smithback。　Not　in　this　world；　at　least。　This　course　of　treatment　would　extend　the　human　life　span；　by　how　much　exactly　I　don't　know。　At　least　a　hundred　years；　perhaps　longer。〃
　〃Where　did　you　find　it？〃
　〃It　was　hidden　in　the　house。　As　I　knew　it　would　be。　I　knew　Leng　would　not　have　destroyed　it。　He　would　have　kept　a　single　copy　for　himself。〃　The　look　of　internal　conflict　in　Pendergast's　face　seemed　to　grow　stronger。　〃I　had　to　find　it。　To　let　it　fall　into　other　hands　would　have　been　。　。　。〃　His　voice　trailed　off。
　〃Have　you　looked　at　it？〃　Nora　asked。
　Pendergast　nodded。
　〃And？〃
　〃It　involves　fairly　straightforward　biochemistry；　using　chemicals　obtainable　at　any　good　chemist's。　It　is　an　organic　synthesis　that　any　reasonably　talented　chemistry　graduate　student　could　perform　in　a　well…equipped　laboratory。　But　there's　a　trick　involved；　an　original　twist；　which　makes　it　unlikely　it　will　be　independently　rediscovered…at　least；　not　in　the　foreseeable　future。〃
　There　was　a　silence。　〃What　are　you…what　are　we…going　to　do　with　it？〃　breathed　Smithback。
　As　if　in　answer；　there　was　a　sharp　rasping　sound。　A　small　flame　now　hovered　over　Pendergast's　left　hand：　a　slim　gold　lighter；　burning　yellow　in　the　dim　light。　Without　saying　a　word；　he　touched　the　flame　to　the　end　of　the　paper。
　〃Wait！〃　cried　Smithback；　lunging　forward。　Pendergast；　holding　the　burning　paper　aloft；　adroitly　sidestepped　his　grab。
　〃What　are　you　doing？〃　Smithback　wheeled　around。　〃For　God's　sake；　give　me　that…〃
　The　old；　accordioned　sheet　was　already　half　gone；　black　ash　curling；　breaking　off；　dropping　to　the　frozen　earth　of　the　grave。
　〃Stop！〃　Smithback　gasped；　stepping　forward　again。　〃Think　this　out！　You　can't…〃
　〃I　have　thought　it　out；〃　Pendergast　replied。　〃I've　done　nothing；　these　last　six　weeks　of　searching；　but　think　it　out。　It　was　a　member　of　the　Pendergast　family；　to　my　everlasting　shame；　who　brought　this　formula　to　light。　So　many　died　for　it：　so　many　Mary　Greenes　that　history　will　never　know。　I；　having　uncovered　it；　must　be　the　one　to　destroy　it。　Believe　me：　this　is　the　only　way。　Nothing　created　out　of　such　suffering　can　be　allowed　to　exist。〃
　The　flame　had　crawled　up　to　the　final　edge；　Pendergast　opened　his　fingers；　and　the　unbur