Brimstone

One of the peasants shoved Pendergast toward the wall. Fabbri began patting him down expertly. He quickly found a stiletto.

"There will be lock-picking tools as well," said the count.

Fabbri searched Pendergast's collar and cuffs, finally removing a small tool kit held there with Velcro. Other things appeared: a syringe and needle, some small test tubes.

"You've got quite an arsenal tucked away in that suit of yours," Fosco said. "Fabbri, set it all on the table over here, if you please."

Removing a stitching knife, Fabbri proceeded to cut open the linings of Pendergast's suit, searching them thoroughly. Out came other items-tweezers, some small folded packets of chemicals-which the man placed on the table.

"His mouth. Check his mouth."

The man opened Pendergast's mouth, checked his teeth, looked under his tongue.

D'Agosta recoiled in horror at this indignity. With the discovery of each additional tool, he'd felt his hopes dim further. But Pendergast had a lot of tricks up his sleeve. He'd get them out of this somehow.

Fabbri directed Pendergast to step to one side and bend his head forward so he could search his hair. Pendergast complied, his arms still raised, positioning himself so he was facing away from the half-circle of men and the count, who was examining the items on the table with murmurs of interest. Now Fabbri's back was turned to D'Agosta, while Pendergast was facing him. And D'Agosta was amazed at what he saw.

He saw Pendergast, moving his hands ever so slightly, extract a tiny piece of metal from between the ring and little fingers of his left hand. Somehow he had managed to palm this at the begi

"All right," Fabbri said. "Lower your arms and step over here."

Pendergast did as directed. With a motion so fleeting D'Agosta wasn't even sure he'd seen it, Pendergast tucked the piece of metal beneath Fabbri's own jacket collar-using the man himself as a hiding place.

Next, Fabbri examined Pendergast's shoes, cutting off the heels with a knife and stabbing through the sole in several places. This produced a second lock-picking set. He frowned and returned once again to Pendergast's suit.

At last, the search was completed, leaving Pendergast's clothes in tatters.

"Now the other one," said Fosco.

They repeated the same process with D'Agosta, stripping him and unstitching everything, subjecting him to the same humiliating search.

"I would leave you both bare," said the count, "but the dungeons of this castle are so damp. I would hate to see you catch cold." He nodded toward their clothes. "Get dressed."

They did so.

Fabbri spun them around and manacled their hands behind their backs.  "Andiamoci."

The count turned and stepped out of the apartment. Fabbri followed, then Pendergast and D'Agosta. The half dozen thugs brought up the rear.

Down the circular staircase they went, out of the keep and back into the ancient rooms of the castle. The count led the way back to the dining salotto , then through the kitchen and into a large, drafty pantry. An arched opening was set into the far wall, with a staircase descending out of sight. The group descended this into a deep, vaulted tu

"Ecco," said the count, stopping before a low doorway. Fabbri stopped in turn, and Pendergast, his eyes on the ground, clumsily stumbled into him from behind. Fabbri cursed and pushed him away, sending the agent sprawling to the stone floor.

"Get in," said the count.

Pendergast rose to his feet and ducked into the tiny room beyond the doorway. D'Agosta followed. The iron door slammed, the metal key turned, and they were in darkness.

The count's face appeared at the small grating set into the door.

"You'll be secure here," he said, "while I attend to a few final details. And then I will be back. You see, I have prepared something special, something fitting , for you both. For Pendergast, a literary end-something out of Poe, actually. And for D'Agosta, murderer of my Pinchetti, I will use my microwave device one more time before destroying it, and with it the last evidence of my involvement in this affair."

The face vanished. A moment later, the faint illumination of the corridor was extinguished.

D'Agosta sat in the dark, listening to the echo of retreating footsteps. In a moment, all was silent save for the faint dripping of water and the flutter of what D'Agosta thought must be bats.

He shifted, pulled his torn clothes more tightly around him. Pendergast's voice came to him through the darkness, so low as to be almost inaudible.

"I don't see any reason to delay our departure. Do you?"

"Was that a lockpick I saw you hiding under Fabbri's collar?" D'Agosta whispered.

"Of course. Most obliging of him to carry it for me. Naturally, I stumbled into him just now in order to reclaim it. And now I have little doubt that Fabbri or one of the others is outside, guarding us. Bang on the door, Vincent, and see if you can't get a response from him."

D'Agosta banged and shouted: "Hey! Let us out! Let us out! "

The echoes slowly died away in the corridor beyond.

Pendergast touched D'Agosta's arm and whispered again. "Keep making noise while I pick the lock."

D'Agosta shouted, yelled, and swore. A minute later, Pendergast touched his arm once again.

"Done. Now listen. The man waiting in the dark no doubt has an electric torch, which he'll turn on at the slightest indication of fu

"Okay."

D'Agosta once again took up the cry, stomping around and demanding to be let out. It was pitch-black, and he could see nothing of what Pendergast was doing. He yelled and yelled. Suddenly there was a loud thump outside, followed by a thud. Then a beam of light stabbed through the low opening.

"Excellent work, Vincent."

D'Agosta ducked back out beneath the low doorway. There, about twenty feet away, was Fabbri, facedown on the stone floor, arms flung wide.

"Are you sure there's a way out of this pile?" D'Agosta asked.

"You heard the squeaking of bats. Right?"

"Right."

"There must be a way out."

"Yeah, for a bat."

"Where bats fly, so shall we. But first we must get our hands on the machine. It's our only real evidence against the count."

{ 81 }

They made their way back through the dark stonework of the storage cellars and furtively climbed the ancient stairway to the pantry. Pendergast checked the room carefully, then motioned D'Agosta forward. Slowly, they moved from the pantry to the kitchen: a huge room with parallel tables of oiled pine and marble, and a massive fireplace replete with grills and racks. Cast-iron cookware hung on great hooks and chains from the ceiling. No sounds issued from the dining salotto beyond. All appeared deserted.

"When Pinketts retrieved the weapon," whispered Pendergast, "he came through this kitchen, and was gone no more than a minute. It has to be close."

"Why would it still be in the same place?"

"Remember what Fosco said. He's pla