p&c.brimstone-第90部分

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s；　smells；　and　the　like。　Remarkable　how　a　few　props　can　undermine　the　conviction　of　even　the　most　arrogant　man。　He　grew　frightened。　I　suggested　some　kind　of　atonement　for　his　sins；　hence；　the　peculiar　dinner　party。　I　loaned　him　my　beloved　cross。　The　poor　fool　gave　me　the　keys　to　his　house；　the　codes　to　the　alarm　system…everything　I　needed。　
　〃His　death　worked　like　a　charm。　Almost　immediately　Bullard　was　on　the　phone　to　me。　I　was　careful　to　ensure　all　my　calls　were　made　from　an　untraceable　phone　card。　I　continued　playing　the　role　of　terrified　count。　I　told　him　of　strange　things　that　had　happened　to　me；　sulfurous　smells；　disembodied　sounds；　unfortable　tingling　sensations…all　the　things；　of　course；　that　would　happen　to　him　later。　I　pretended　to　be　convinced　the　devil　was　ing　for　all　of　us：　after　all；　we　had　offered　our　souls　in　the　pact　we　made　thirty　years　before。　The　devil　had　pleted　his　side　of　the　bargain；　now　it　was　time　for　us　to　fulfill　ours。　
　〃After　sending　Bullard　off　to　stew　about　this；　it　was　time　to　deal　with　Cutforth。　I　had　Pinketts　here　purchase　the　apartment　next　to　his；　posing　as　an　English　baronet；　to　assist　with　the　various；　ah；arrangements　。　Like　Grove；　Cutforth　scoffed　at　the　idea　at　first。　He'd　been　convinced　my　little　show　back　in　1974　was　a　fraud。　But　as　details　of　Grove's　death　emerged；　he　grew　increasingly　nervous。　I　didn't　want　himtoo　nervous…just　nervous　enough　to　call　Bullard　and　alarm　him　further。　Which；　of　course；　he　did。〃　
　He　issued　a　dry　laugh。　
　〃After　Cutforth's　death；　your　vulgar　tabloids　did　a　fabulous　job　beating　the　drum；　whipping　people　into　a　frenzy。　It　was　perfect。　And　Bullard　fell　apart。　He　was　out　of　his　mind。　Then　thecolpo　di　grazia　：　I　called　Bullard　and　said　that　I　had　managed　to　cancel　my　contract　with　Lucifer！〃　
　Fosco　patted　his　hands　together　with　delight。　Watching；　D'Agosta　felt　his　stomach　turn。　
　〃He　was　desperate　to　know　how。　I　told　him　I'd　located　an　ancient　manuscript　explaining　the　devil　would　sometimes　accept　a　gift　in　return　for　a　human　soul。　But　it　had　to　be　a　truly　unique　gift；　something　of　enormous　rarity；　something　whose　loss　would　debase　the　human　spirit。　I　told　him　I'd　sacrificed　my　Vermeer　in　just　such　a　way。　
　〃Poor　Bullard　was　beside　himself。　He　had　no　Vermeer；　he　said；　nothing　of　value　except　boats；　cars；　houses；　and　panies。　He　begged　me　to　advise　him　what　he　should　buy；　what　he　should　give　the　devil。　I　told　him　it　had　to　be　something　utterly　unique　and　precious；　an　object　that　would　impoverish　the　world　by　its　loss。　I　said　I　couldn't　advise　him…naturally　he　couldn't　know　I　was　aware　of　the　Stormcloud…and　I　said　I　doubted　he　owned　anything　the　devil　would　want；　that　I　had　been　hugely　fortunate　to　have　a　Vermeer；　that　the　devil　surely　would　not　have　accepted　my　Caravaggio！〃　
　At　this　witticism；　Fosco　burst　into　laughter。　
　〃I　told　Bullard　that；　whatever　it　was；　the　devil　had　to　have　it　immediately。　The　thirty…year　anniversary　of　our　original　pact　was　nearing。　Grove　and　Cutforth　were　already　dead。　There　was　not　enough　time　for　him　to　acquire　something　of　the　requisite　rarity。　I　reminded　him　the　devil　would　be　able　to　see　into　his　heart；　that　there　would　be　no　cheating　the　old　gentleman；　and　that　whatever　he　offered　had　better　fit　the　bill　or　his　soul　would　burn　forever。　
　〃That's　when　he　finally　broke　down　and　told　me　he　had　a　violin　of　great　rarity；　a　Stradivarius　called　the　Stormcloud…would　that　do？　I　told　him　I　couldn't　speak　for　the　devil；　but　that　I　hoped　for　his　sake　it　would。　I　congratulated　him　on　being　so　fortunate。〃　
　Fosco　paused　to　place　another　piece　of　dripping　meat　into　his　mouth。　〃I；　of　course；　returned　to　Italy　far　earlier　than　I　let　on　to　you。　I　was　here　even　before　Bullard　arrived。　I　dug　an　old　grimoire　out　of　the　library　here；　gave　it　to　him；　told　him　to　follow　the　ritual　and　place　the　violin　inside　a　broken　circle。　Within　his　own；　unbroken　circle；　he　would　be　protected。　But　he　must　send　away　all　his　help；　turn　off　the　alarm　system；　and　so　forth…the　devil　didn't　like　interruptions。　The　poor　man　did　as　I　asked。　In　place　of　the　devil；　I　sent　in　Pinketts；　who　is　devil　enough；　I　can　tell　you。　With　theatrical　effects　and　the　appropriate　garb。　He　took　the　violin　and　retreated；　while　I　used　my　little　machine　to　dispense　with　Bullard。〃　
　〃Why　the　machine　and　the　theatrics？〃　Pendergast　asked　quietly。　〃Why　not　put　a　bullet　in　him？　The　need　to　terrify　your　victim　had　passed。〃　
　〃That　was　foryour　benefit；　my　dear　fellow！　It　was　a　way　to　stir　up　the　police；　keep　you　in　Italy　a　while　longer。　Where　you　would　be　easier　to　dispose　of。〃　
　〃Whether　we　will　be　easy　to　dispose　of　remains　to　be　seen。〃　
　Fosco　chuckled　with　great　good　humor。　〃You　evidently　think　you　have　something　to　bargain　with；　otherwise　you　wouldn't　have　accepted　my　invitation。〃　
　〃That　is　correct。〃　
　〃Whatever　you　think　you　have；　it　won't　be　good　enough。　You　are　already　as　good　as　dead。　I　know　you　better　than　you　realize。　I　know　you　because　you　are　like　me。　You　arevery　like　me。〃　
　〃You　could　not　be　more　wrong；　Count。　I　am　not　a　murderer。〃　
　D'Agosta　was　surprised　to　see　a　faint　blush　of　color　in　Pendergast's　face。　
　〃No；　but　youcould　be。　You　have　it　in　you。　I　can　see　it。〃　
　〃You　see　nothing。〃　
　Fosco　had　finished　his　steak　and　now　he　rose。　〃You　think　me　an　evil　man。　You　call　this　whole　affair　sordid。　But　consider　what　I've　done。　I've　saved　the　world's　greatest　violin　from　destruction。　I've　prevented　the　Chinese　from　penetrating　the　planned　U。S。　antimissile　shield；　removing　a　threat　to　millions　of　your　fellow　citizens。　And　at　what　cost？　The　lives　of　a　pederast；　a　traitor；　a　producer　of　popular　music　who　was　filling　the　world　with　his　filth；　and　a　godless　soul　who　destroyed　everyone　he　touched。〃　
　〃You　haven't　included　our　lives　in　this　calculation。〃　
　Fosco　nodded。　〃Yes。　You　and　the　unfortunate　priest。　Regrettable　indeed。　But　if　the　truth　be　known；　I'd　waste　a　hundred　lives　for　that　instrument。　There　are　five　billion　people。　There　is　only　one　Stormcloud。〃　
　〃It　isn't　worth　even　one　human　life；〃　D'Agosta　heard　himself　say。　
　Fosco　turned；　his　eyebrows　raised　in　surprise。　〃No？〃　
　He　turned　and　clapped　his　hands。　Pinketts　appeared　at　the　door。　
　〃Get　me　the　violin。〃　
　The　man　disappeared　and　returned　a　moment　later　with　an　old　wooden　case；　shaped　like　a　small　dark　coffin；　covered　with　the　patina　of　ages。　Pinketts　placed　it　on　a　table　next　to　the　wall　and　withdrew　to　a　far　corner。　
　Fosco　rose　and　strolled　over　to　the　case。　He　took　out　the　bow；　tightened　it；　ran　a　rosin　up　and　down　a　few　times；　and　then…slowly；　lovingly…withdrew　the　violin。　To　D'Agosta；　it　didn't　look　at　all　extraordinary：　just　a　violin；　older　than　most。　Hard　to　believe　it　had　led　them　on　this　long　journey；　cost　so　many　lives。　
　Fosco　placed　it　under　his　chin；　stood　tall　and　straight。　A　moment　of　silence　passed　while　he　sighed；　half　closing　his　eyes。　And　then　the　bow　began　moving　slowly　over　the　strings；　the　notes　flowing　clearly。　It　was　one　of　the　few　classical　tunes　D'Agosta　recognized；　one　that　his　grandfather　used　to　sing　to　him　as　a　child：　Bach'sJesu；　Joy　of　Man's　Desiring。　The　melody　was　simple；　the　measured　notes　rising；　one　after　another；　in　a　dignified　cadence；　filling　the　air　with　beautiful　sound。　
　The　room　seemed　to　change。　It　became　suffused　with　a　kind　of　transcendent　brightness。　The　tremulous　purity　of　the　sound　took　D'Agosta's　breath　away。　The　melody　filled　him　like　a　presence；　sweet　and　clean；　speaking　in　a　language　beyond　words。　A　language　of　pure　beauty。　
　And　then　the　melody　was　over。　It　was　like　being　yanked　from　a　dream。　D'Agosta　realized　that；　for　a　moment；　he'd　lost　track　of　everything：　Fosco；　the　killings；　their　perilous　situation。　Now　it　all　came　back　with　redoubled　vengeance；　all　the　worse　for　having　been　temporarily　forgotten。　
　There　was　a　silence　while　Fosco　lowered　the　violin。　Then　he　spoke　in　a　whisper；　his　voice　trembling。　〃You　see　now？　This　is　not　just　a　violin。　It　isalive　。　Do　you　understand；　Mr。　D'Agosta；　why　the　sound　of　the　Stradivarius　is　so　beautiful？　Because　it　is　mortal。　Because　it　is　like　the　beating　heart　of　a　bird　in　flight。　It　reminds　us　that　all　beautiful　things　must　die。　The　profound　beauty　of　music　lies　somehow　in　its　very　transience　and　fragility。　It　breathes　for　a　shining　moment…and　then　it　expires。　That　was　the　genius　of　Stradivari：　he　captured　that　moment　in　wood　and　varnish。　Heimmortalized　mortality。〃　
　He　looked　back　at　Pendergast；　eyes　still　haunted。　〃Yes；　the　music　always　dies。　Butthis　〃…he　held　up　the　violin…〃will　never　die。　It　will　outlive　us　all　a　hundred　times　over。　Tell　me　now；　Mr。　Pendergast；　that　I　have　done　wrong　to　save　this　violin。　Please；　say　that　I　have　mitted　a　crime。〃　
　Pendergast　said　nothing。　
　〃I'll　say　it；〃　said　D'Agosta。　〃You're　a　cold…blooded　murderer。〃　
　〃Ah；　yes；〃　Fosco　murmured。　〃One　can　always　count　on　a　philistine　to　lay　down　absolute　morality。〃　He　carefully　wiped　down　the　violin　with　a　soft　cloth　and　put　it　away。　〃Beautiful　as　it　is；　it　isn't　at　its　best。　It　needs　more　playing。　I've　been　exercising　it　every　day；　fifteen　minutes　at　first；　now　up　to　half　an　hour。　It's　healing　already。　In　another　six　months；　it　will　be　back　to　its　perfect　self。　I　will　loan　it　to　Renata　Lichtenstein。　Do　you