Dance Of Death

There was a faint rustle and D'Agosta jumped to find Pendergast-the real Pendergast-standing in the doorway: tall, slender, his silver eyes glittering. His hair was still brown, his skin swarthy, but his face had morphed back into the fine, aquiline features D'Agosta knew so well.

Pendergast smiled again, as if reading D'Agosta's mind. "Cheek pads," he said. "Remarkable how effectively they can change one's appearance. I've removed them for the present, however, since I find them rather uncomfortable. Along with the brown contact lenses."

"I'm floored. I knew you were a master of disguises, but this beats all… I mean, even the room…" D'Agosta jerked a thumb in the direction of the bookcase.

Pendergast looked pained. "Even here, alas, nothing can appear out of place. I must keep up the image of doorman."

"And a surly one at that."

"I find that exhibiting unpleasant personality traits helps one evade deeper scrutiny. Once people typecast me as a peevish doorman with a chip on his shoulder, they look no farther. May I offer you a beverage?"

"Bud?"

Pendergast shuddered involuntarily. "My dissembling has its limits. Perhaps a Pernod or Campari?"

"No, thanks." D'Agosta gri

"I take it you received my letter."

"That's right. And I've been on the case ever since."

"Progress?"

"Precious little. I paid a visit to your great-aunt. But that can wait a bit. Right now, my friend, you have some serious explaining to do."

"Naturally." Pendergast motioned him to a seat and took a chair opposite. "I recall we parted in haste on a mountainside in Tuscany."

"You could say that. I'll never forget the last time I saw you, surrounded by a pack of boar-hunting dogs, every one eager to take a chunk out of you."

Pendergast nodded slowly, and his eyes seemed to go far away. "I was captured, bound, sedated, and carried back to the castle. Our corpulent friend had me transported deep into the tu

"Good God." D'Agosta shuddered. "I brought the Italian police in to search for you the next morning, but it was no use. Fosco had removed all traces of our stay. The Italians thought I was a lunatic."

"I learned later of the count's curious death. Was that you?"

"Sure was."

Pendergast nodded approvingly. "What happened to the violin?"

"I couldn't leave it lying around the castle, so I took it and…" He paused, feeling uncertain how Pendergast would feel about what he had done.

Pendergast raised his eyebrows in query.

"I brought it to Viola Maskelene. I told her you were dead."

"I see. How did she react?"

"She was very shocked, very upset. Although she tried to cover that up. I think…" D'Agosta hesitated. "I think she cares for you."

Pendergast was silent, his face a mask.

D'Agosta and Pendergast had first met Viola Maskelene the prior November, while working on a case in Italy. It had been obvious to D'Agosta that, from the moment the two saw each other, something ineffable had passed between Pendergast and the young Englishwoman. He could only guess what Pendergast was now thinking.

Pendergast suddenly roused himself. "You did the correct thing, and now we can consider the case of the Stormcloud violin definitively closed."

"But look," D'Agosta said, "how did you escape the castle? How long were you walled up down there?"

"I was chained in the tomb for almost forty-eight hours."

"In the dark?"

Pendergast nodded. "Slowly suffocating, I might add. I found a certain specialized form of meditation to be most useful."

"And then?"

"I was rescued."

"By who?"

"My brother."

D'Agosta, still reeling from Pendergast's near-miraculous reappearance, felt himself go numb with shock. "Your brother? Diogenes?"

"Yes."

"But I thought he hated you."

"Yes. And because he hates me, he needs me."

"For what?"

"For at least the past six months, Diogenes had made it his business to monitor my movements, as part of his preparation for the crime. I regret to say I was completely unaware of it. I had always believed myself the biggest impediment to his success and that someday he would attempt to kill me. But I was wrong-foolishly wrong. The opposite was true. When Diogenes learned of my peril, he launched a daring rescue. He entered the castle, disguised as a local-he is more the master of disguise than I am-and freed me from the tomb."

D'Agosta was seized by a sudden thought. "Wait. His eyes are two different colors, right?"

Pendergast nodded again. "One is hazel, the other a milky blue."

"I saw him. On the hillside there, above Fosco's castle. Just after we were separated. He was standing in the shadow of a rock ledge, watching the proceedings, as calm as if it was the first race at Aqueduct."

"That was him. After freeing me from my imprisonment, he transported me to a private clinic outside Pisa, where I recuperated from dehydration, exposure, and the wounds inflicted by Fosco's dogs."

"I still don't get it. If he hated you-if he pla

Pendergast smiled again, but this time the smile held no mirth. "You must always remember, Vincent, that we are dealing with a uniquely deviant criminal mind. How little I understood his real plans."

At this, Pendergast abruptly rose and went to the kitchen. A moment later, D'Agosta heard the clink of ice in a glass. When the agent returned, he held a bottle of Lillet in one hand and a tumbler in the other.

"Are you sure I can't interest you in a drink?"

"No. Now tell me, for God's sake, what you mean."

Pendergast splashed a few fingers of Lillet into the glass. "If I had died, I would have ruined everything for Diogenes. You see, Vincent, I am the primary object of his crime."

"You? You're going to be the victim? Then why-?"

"I am not going to be the victim. I already am the victim."

"What?"

"The crime has commenced. It is being successfully executed as we speak."

"You're not serious."

"I have never been more serious in my life." Pendergast took a long gulp of Lillet, refilled the glass. "Diogenes disappeared during my recovery at the private clinic in Pisa. As soon as I recovered, I returned to New York, incognito. I knew his plans were almost mature, and New York seemed the best place to mount the effort to stop him. I had little doubt the crime would take place here. This city offers the greatest anonymity, the best opportunities to hide, adopt an alter ego, develop his plan of attack. And so now-aware that my brother had been keeping tabs on my movements-I remained 'dead' as a way to move about unseen. It meant keeping all of you in the dark. Even Constance." At this, a stab of pain crossed Pendergast's face. "I regret that more than I can say. Still, it seemed the most prudent way to proceed."

"And so you became a doorman."

"The position allowed me to keep an eye on you and, through you, others important to me. I have a better chance of hunting Diogenes from the shadows. And I would not have revealed myself had certain events not forced my hand prematurely."