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He ventured a few steps down the hall。 As he did so； the smell of mold and dust became suffused with something less pleasant： something organic； sweet； decayed。 It was as if the rotten old heart of the house had finally died。
Perhaps his suspicions were right； and Leng had entombed the bodies of his victims behind the heavy Victorian wallpaper。
He paused； an arm's length from one of the paintings。 Curious； he reached out； took the corner of the white sheet； and lifted。 The rotting sheet fell away in a cloud of dust and tatters； and he stepped back； momentarily startled。 A dark painting stood revealed。 Smithback peered closer。 It depicted a pack of wolves ripping apart a deer in a deep wood。 It was ghoulish in its anatomical detail； but beautifully executed nevertheless； and no doubt worth a fortune。 Curiosity aroused； Smithback stepped to the next alcove and plucked at the sheet； which also turned to powder at his touch。 This painting showed a whale hunt…a great sperm whale； draped with harpoon lines； thrashing about in its death throes； a huge jet of bright arterial blood rising from its spouter； while its flukes dashed a boatful of harpooners into the sea。
Smithback could hardly believe his luck。 He had struck paydirt。 But then； it wasn't luck： it was the result of hard work and careful research。 Even Pendergast hadn't yet figured out where Leng lived。 This would redeem his job at the Times； maybe even redeem his relationship with Nora。 Because he was sure that…whatever information about Leng Nora and Pendergast were looking for…it was here。
Smithback waited； listening intently； but there were no sounds from below。 He moved down the carpeted hallway in slow； small； noiseless steps。 Reaching the covered statue at the top of the banister； he reached up and grasped at the sheet。 As rotten as the others； it fell apart； dropping to the ground in a dissolving heap。 A cloud of dust； dry rot； and mold billowed up into the air。
At first Smithback felt a frisson of fear and inprehension at the sight； until his mind began to understand just what he was looking at。 It was； in fact； nothing more than a stuffed chimpanzee； hanging from a tree branch。 Moths and rats had chewed away most of the face； leaving pits and holes that went down to brown bone。 The lips were gone as well； giving the chimpanzee the agonized grin of a mummy。 One ear hung by a thread of dried flesh； and even as Smithback watched it fell to the ground with a soft thud。 One of the chimp's hands was holding a wax fruit； the other was clutching its stomach； as if in pain。 Only the beady glass eyes looked fresh； and they stared at Smithback with maniacal intensity。
Smithback felt his heart quicken。 Leng had； after all； been a taxonomist； collector； and member of the Lyceum。 Did he； like McFadden and the rest； also have a collection； a so…called cabinet of curiosities？ Was this decayed chimp part of his collection？
He again experienced a moment of indecision。 Should he leave now？
Taking a step back from the chimpanzee； he peered down the staircase。 There was no light except what little filtered in from behind nailed boards and wooden shutters。 Gradually； he began to make out the dim outlines of what seemed to be a reception hall； plete with parqueted oak floor。 Lying across it were exotic skins…zebra； lion； tiger； oryx； cougar。 Ranged about were a number of dark objects； also draped in white sheets。 The paneled walls were lined with old cabinets； covered with rippled glass doors。 On them sat a number of shadowy objects in display cases； each with a brass plate affixed below it。
Yes； it was a collection…Enoch Leng's collection。
Smithback stood； clutching the upper knob of the banister。 Despite the fact that nothing seemed to have been touched in the house for a hundred years； he could feel； deep in his gut； that the house hadn't been empty all this time。 It looked； somehow； tended。 It bespoke the presence of a caretaker。 He should turn around now and get out。
But the silence was profound； and he hesitated。 The collections below were worth a brief look。 The interior of this house and its collections would play a big role in his article。 He would go down for a moment…just a moment…to see what lay beneath some of the sheets。 He took a careful step； and then another 。 。 。 and then he heard a soft click behind him。 He spun around； heart pounding。
At first； nothing looked different。 And then he realized that the door from which he'd entered the hallway must have closed。 He breathed a sigh of relief： a gust of wind had e through the broken window and pushed the door shut。
He continued down the sweeping marble staircase； hand clutching the banister。 At the bottom he paused； screwing up his eyes； peering into the even more pronounced darkness。 The smell of rot and decay seemed stronger here。
His eyes focused on an object in the center of the hall。 One of the sheets had bee so decayed that it had already fallen from the object it covered。 In the darkness it looked strange； misshapen。 Smithback took a step forward； peering intently…and suddenly he realized what it was： the mounted specimen of a small carnivorous dinosaur。 But this dinosaur was extraordinarily well preserved； with fossilized flesh still clinging to the bones； some fossilized internal organs； even huge swaths of fossilized skin。 And covering the skin were the unmistakable outlines of feathers。
Smithback stood； dumbstruck。 It was an astounding specimen； of incalculable value to science。 Recent scientists had theorized that some dinosaurs； even T。 Rex； might have had a covering of feathers。 Here was the proof。 He glanced down： a brass label read Unknown coeloraptor from Red Deer River； Alberta； Canada。
Smithback turned his attention to the cabinets； his eye falling on a series of human skulls。 He moved closer。 The little brass label below them read： Hominidae series from Swartkopje Cave； South Africa。 Smithback could hardly believe his eyes。 He knew enough about hominid fossils to know they were exceedingly rare。 These dozen skulls were some of the most plete he had ever seen。 They would revolutionize hominid studies。
His eye caught a gleam from the next cabinet。 He stepped up to it。 It was crowded with gemstones； and his eye landed on a large； green cut stone the size of a robin's egg。 The label below read Diamond； flawless specimen from Novotney Terra； Siberia； 216 carats； believed to be the only green diamond in existence。 Next to it； in an especially large case； were immense star rubies； sapphires； and more exotic stones with names he could hardly pronounce； winking in the dim recesses…gemstones equal to the finest ones at the New York Museum。 They seemed to have been given star billing among the other exhibits。 On a nearby shelf lay a series of gold crystals； perfectly beautiful； lacy as frost； one as large as a grapefruit。 Below lay rows of tektites； mostly black misshapen things； but some with a beautiful deep green or violet coloring。
Smithback took a step back； his mind wrestling with the richness and variety of the display。 To think all this has stood here； in this ruined house； for a hundred years 。 。 。 He turned away and； on impulse； reached out and twitched off the sheet from a small specimen behind him。 The sheet dissolved； and a strange stuffed animal greeted his eye： a large； tapirlike mammal with a huge muzzle； powerful forelegs； bulbous head； and curving tusks。 It was like nothing he had ever seen before； a freak。 He bent down to make out the dim label： Only known specimen of the Tusked Megalopedus； described by Pliny； thought to be fantastical until this specimen was shot in the Belgian Congo by the English explorer Col。 Sir Henry F。 Moreton； in 1869。
Good lord； thought Smithback： could it be true？ A large mammal； pletely unknown to science？ Or was it a fake？ Suddenly the thought occurred to him： could all these be fakes？ But as he looked around； he realized they were not。 Leng would not have collected fakes； and even in the dim light he could see that these were real。 These were real。 And if the rest of the collections in the house were like this； they constituted possibly the greatest natural history collection in the world。 This was no mere cabinet of curiosities。 It was too dark to take notes； but Smithback knew he wouldn't need notes： what he had seen had been imprinted upon his mind forever。
Only once in a lifetime was a reporter given such a story。
He jerked away another sheet； and was greeted by the massive； rearing fossil skeleton of a short…faced cave bear； caught in a silent roar； its black teeth like daggers。 The engraved brass label on the oak mounting stand indicated it had been pulled from the Kutz Canyon Tar Pits； in New Mexico。
He whispered through the reception hall on his stockinged feet； pulling off additional sheets； exposing a whole row of Pleistocene mammals…each one a magnificent specimen as fine or finer than any in a museum…ending with a series of Neanderthal skeletons； perfectly preserved； some with weapons； tools； and one sporting some sort of necklace made out of teeth。
Glancing to one side； he noticed a marble archway leading into a room beyond。 In its center of the room was a huge； pitted meteorite； at least eight feet in diameter； surrounded by rows upon rows of additional cabinets。
It was ruby in color。
This was almost beyond belief。
He looked away； turning his attention to the objects ranged about mahogany shelves on a nearby wall。 There were bizarre masks； flint spearpoints； a skull inlaid with turquoise； bejeweled knives； toads in jars； thousands of butterflies under glass： everything arranged with the utmost attention to systematics and classification。
He noticed that the light fixtures weren't electric。 They were gas； each with a little pipe leading up into a mantle； covered by a cut…glass shade。 It was incredible。 It had to be Leng's house； just as he had left it。 It was as if he had walked out of the house； boarded it up； and left 。 。 。
Smithback paused； his excitement suddenly abating。 Obviously； the house hadn't remained like this； untouched； since Leng's death。 There must be a caretaker who came regularly。 Somebody had put tin over the windows and draped the collections。 The feeling that the house was not empty； that someone was still there； swept over him again。
The silence； the watchful exhibits and grotesque specimens； the overpowering darkness that lay in the corners of the room…and； most of all； the rising stench of rot…brought a growing unease that would not be denied。 He shuddered involuntarily。 What was he doing？ There was already enough here for a Pulitzer。 He had the story： now； be smart and get the hell out。
He turned and swiftly climbed the stairs； passing the chimpanzee and the paintings…and then he paused。 All the doors along the hall were closed； and it seemed even darker than it had a few minutes before。 He realized he had forgotten which door he had e through。 It was near the end of the hall； that much he remembered。 He approached the most likely； tried the handle； and to his surprise found it locked。 Must have guessed wrong； he thought； moving to the next。
That； too； was locked。
With a rising sense of alarm he tried the door on the other side。 It was locked； as well。 So was the next； and the next。 With a chill prickling his spine； he tried the rest…all； every one； securely locked。
Smithback stood in the dark hallway； trying to control the sudden panic that threatened to paralyze his limbs。
He was locked in。
FOUR
CUSTER'S UNMARKED CRUISER pulled up with a satisfying squeal of rubber before the Museum's security entrance； five squad cars skidding up around him； sirens wailing； light bars throwing red and white stripes across the Romanesque Revival facade。 He rolled out of the squad car and strode decisively up the stone steps； a sea of blue in his wake。
At the impromptu meeting with his top detectives； and then in the ride uptown to the Museum； the theory that had hit him like a thunderclap became a firm； unshakable conviction。 Surprise and speed is the way to go in this case； he thought as he looked up at the huge pile of granite。 Hit 'em hard and fast； leave them reeling…that was what his instructor at the Police Academy had always said。 It was good