45

45

P ENDERGAST WAITED WHILE THE man with the boil searched him.

"Got a knife here," the man said.

"Keep searching. Master De Jong says this one's slippery."

They found a second knife in his boot. Further searching turned up nothing beyond what he carried in his musette bag, which they also took away.

"Keep your hands on your head where's I can see 'em," Boil said.

Pendergast complied.

"Now move."

He was shoved forward. The man with the boil walked behind him while the second man fell farther back, covering him from twenty feet with his revolver. As they came out into the field surrounding the farmhouse, Pendergast could now see the second individual who had captured him—a small, bow-legged fireplug of a man with a massive neck, bullet-shaped head, and giant handlebar mustaches. Several other farmhands had now come out of the house, also armed, including one who was clearly in charge.

"Mr. William," said the man with the boil, "we caught him sneaking up on the house, just like you said we would."

"Good work, Berty. Put him in the cheese cellar. I'll get word to Master De Jong that we found his man."

Mr. William put his fingers to his lips and gave two strident whistles. A moment later, Pendergast saw still more armed people rising from places of concealment along the edges of the property. It seemed not only that Leng had prepared a welcoming party for him—he'd prepared several. He wondered just how long they'd all remained hidden, laying their trap and giving him a false sense of confidence—it had to have been twelve or eighteen hours, at least. Remarkable.

As these people began approaching, Pendergast was shoved again from behind. The sun rose farther in the sky, casting a bright, cold light over the frozen landscape. He allowed himself to be led past the house and barn to a wedge-shaped structure emerging from the ground, dug into the side of a hill and fronted by two metal doors. The man named Berty undid the padlock holding the doors closed, and another man pulled them open, one at a time, with loud creaking sounds. Stone steps descended into a cellar to a long passage with an arched ceiling, the air pungent with the smell of cheese and mold. As they walked along, Pendergast could see rows upon rows of cheeses curing on wooden shelves and marble slabs. At the far end, a low archway led to another set of descending steps and, in turn, to a second locked door. This opened into a small laboratory, which appeared to be mainly for processing and testing the cultures needed to make cheese, along with some other, more unusual items of equipment. In the back was yet another door.

"I'll open the door," said Berty. "You, stand back and cover in case there's trouble."

Berty spoke to his fellow worker in a clipped, hostile manner. That, along with his obvious flat affect, led Pendergast to believe the man probably suffered from an antisocial personality disorder. It would make sense, of course, for Leng to employ sociopaths to tend his farm—not only would they be completely reliable if handled correctly, but they would have no moral compass or feelings of sympathy for Leng's victims.

Now the door was unlocked and opened. Pendergast saw, by the light of a kerosene lantern within, a small stone chamber containing two prisoners. One was a girl of about nine, who sprang out of an armchair in surprise as the door swung open. It was Binky, whom he immediately recognized—having seen her from a distance more than once during his initial surveillance of Constance's Fifth Avenue mansion. The other prisoner sat on a bed—a girl of eighteen or nineteen. Pendergast had never seen her before, but based on her resemblance to Constance, he instantly realized who she was.

Mary. Alive. So she had not been murdered by Leng after all. This was something Pendergast had speculated about but never been certain of—until now.

"Get in there," said Berty, nudging him with the rifle.

Pendergast stepped inside as Mary rose in apprehension. The door slammed and there was the sound of padlocking on the other side.

The two girls looked at each other. "Who are you?" asked Mary.

"My name is Pendergast. I'm a close friend of… the person Binky knows as Auntie. The duchess."

"Where is Auntie?" Binky blurted, like Mary keeping back a little guardedly from this stranger.

"She sent me here. It was my task to find Binky—and save her."

"But you haven't saved her," Mary said, matter-of-factly. "You've just joined us—in this cell."

Pendergast gazed at Mary. He could almost see the face of Constance staring back. But whereas Constance's eyes always seemed to radiate defiance, Mary's hazel eyes looked sad and resigned.