preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第21部分
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rge quantity of blood。
I knew now that my apprehensions were not entirely without merit。 And yet； I told myself； there was still nothing to raise alarm here： dissections were； after all； a cornerstone of science。
On the closest table was a thick sheaf of carefully jotted notes； gathered into a leather…bound journal。 They were penned in Leng's distinctive hand。 I turned to these with relief。 At last； I would learn what it was Leng had been working towards。 Surely some noble scientific purpose would emerge from these pages； to give the lie to my fears。
The journal did no such thing。
You know； old friend； that I am a man of science。 I have never been what you might call a God…fearing fellow。 But I feared God that day…or rather； I feared his wrath； that such unholy deeds…deeds worthy of Moloch himself…had been mitted beneath my roof。
Leng's journal spelt it out in unwavering； diabolical detail。 It was perhaps the clearest； most methodical set of scientific notes it has been my eternal misfortune to e across。 There is no kind of explanatory gloss I can place upon his experiments； nothing； in fact； I can do but spell it all out as plainly and succinctly as I can。
For the last eight years； Leng has been working to perfect a method of prolonging human life。 His own life； by evidence of the notations and recordings in the journal。 But…before God； Tinbury…he was using other human beings as material。 His victims seemed made up almost entirely of young adults。 Again and again； his journal mentioned dissections of human craniums and spinal columns； the latter on which he seems to have focused his depraved attentions。 The most recent entries centered particularly on the cauda equina； the ganglion of nerves at the base of the spine。
I read for ten； then twenty minutes； frozen with fascination and horror。 Then I dropped the abhorrent document back onto the table and stepped away。 Perhaps I was a little mad at that point； after all； because I still contrived to find logic in all of this。 Body…snatching the recent dead from graveyards is an unfortunate but necessary practice in the medical climate of our day； I told myself。 Cadavers for medical research remain in critically short supply； and there is no way to supply the need without resorting to grave…robbing。 Even the most respectable surgeons need resort to it； I told myself。 And even though Leng's attempts at artificially prolonging life were clearly beyond the pale； it was still possible he might unintentionally achieve other breakthroughs that would have beneficial effects 。 。 。
It was at that point； I believe； that I first noticed the sound。
To my left； there was a table I had not taken note of before。 A large oilcloth had been spread over it； covering something large and rather bulky。 As I watched； the faint sound came again； from beneath the oilcloth： the sound of some animal dispossessed of tongue； palate； vocal cords。
I cannot explain where I found the strength to approach it； other than my own overpowering need to know。 I stepped forward； and then…before my resolution could falter…I gripped the greasy cloth and drew it away。
The sight uncovered in that dim light will haunt me until my last day。 It lay upon its stomach。 A gaping hole lay where the base of the spine had once been。 The sound I had heard was； it seemed to me； the escaping gases of decay。
You might have thought me incapable of registering fresh shock at this point。 Yet I noticed； with a rising sense of unreality； that both the corpse and the wound appeared fresh。
I hesitated for perhaps five； perhaps ten seconds。 Then I drew closer； my mind possessed by one thought； and one thought only。 Could this be the body that had bled so profusely on Leng's floor？ How； then； to explain the rawness of the wound？ Was it possible…even conceivable…that Leng would make use of two corpses within the span of a single week？
I had e this far： I had to know all。 I reached forward； gingerly； to turn the body and check its lividity。
The skin felt supple； the flesh warm in the humid summer cellar。 As I turned the body over and the face was exposed； I saw to my transcendent horror that a blood…soaked rag had been knotted around the mouth。 I snatched my hand away； the thing rolled back onto the table； face upwards。
I stepped back； reeling。 In my shock； I did not immediately understand the terrible import of that blood…soaked rag。 I think if I had； I would have turned and fled that place…and in so doing been spared the final horror。
For it was then； McFadden； that the eyes above the rag fluttered open。 They had once been human； but pain and terror had riven all humanity from their expression。
As I stood； transfixed by fear； there came another low moan。
It was； I knew now； not gas escaping from a corpse。 And this was not the work of a man who trafficked with body snatchers； with corpses stolen from graveyards。 This poor creature on the table was still alive。 Leng practiced his abominable work on those who still lived。
Even as I watched； the horrible； pitiable thing on the table moaned once more； then expired。 Somehow； I had the presence of mind to replace the body as I had found it； cover it with the oilcloth； close the door； and climb up out of that charnel pit into the land of the living 。 。 。
I have barely moved from my chambers within the Cabinet since。 I have been trying to gather courage for what I know in my heart remains to be done。 You must see now； dear colleague； that there can be no mistake； no other explanation； for what I found in the basement。 Leng's journal was far too prehensive； too diabolically detailed； for there to be any misapprehension。 As further evidence； on the attached sheet I have reproduced； from memory； some of the scientific observations and procedures this monstrous man recorded within its pages。 I would go to the police； except I feel that only I can…
But hark！ I hear his footstep on the stair even now。 I must return this letter to its hiding place and conclude tomorrow。
God give me the strength for what I must now do。
SIX
ROGER BRISBANE LEANED back in his office chair； his eyes roaming the glass expanse of desk that lay before him。 It was a long； enjoyable perambulation： Brisbane liked order； purity； simplicity； and the desk shone with a mirror…like perfection。 At last； his gaze came to the case of jewels。 It was that time of day when a lance of sunlight shot through the case； turning its occupants into glittering spheres and ovals of entangled light and color。 One could call an emerald 〃green〃 or a sapphire 〃blue；〃 but the words did no justice to the actual colors。 There were no adequate words for such colors in any human language。
Jewels。 They lasted forever； so hard and cold and pure； so impervious to decay。 Always beautiful； always perfect； always as fresh as the day they were born in unimaginable heat and pressure。 So unlike human beings； with their opaque rubbery flesh and their odoriferous descent from birth to the grave…a story of drool； semen； and tears。 He should have bee a gemologist。 He would have been much happier surrounded by these blooms of pure light。 The law career his father had chosen for him was nothing more than a vile parade of human failure。 And his job in the Museum brought him in contact with that failure； day in and day out； in stark illumination。
He turned to lean over a puter printout with a sigh。 It was now clear the Museum should never have borrowed one hundred million for its new state…of…the…art planetarium。 More cuts were needed。 Heads would have to roll。 Well； at least that shouldn't be too hard to acplish。 The Museum was full of useless； tweedy； overpaid curators and functionaries； always whining about budget cuts； never answering their phones； always off on some research trip spending the Museum's money or writing books that nobody ever read。 Cushy jobs； sinecures； unable to be fired because of tenure…unless exceptional circumstances existed。
He put the printout through a nearby shredder； then opened a drawer and pulled out several tied packets of inter…office correspondence。 The mail of a dozen likely candidates； intercepted thanks to a man in the mailroom who had been caught organizing a
