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Omally's eyes widened。 'Antoine； Bob the bookie's chauffeur。'
'Such was my conclusion。 Now； unless you wish to waste more valuable time in fruitless badinage； I would suggest that we make haste。 Time is of the essence。'
'Lead on；' said John Omally。
It is a goodly jog from the Memorial Library to the old quarry； but Holmes led the way without faltering once upon his course。 Here and there along the route he dropped once more to his knees and examined the road surface。 Each time Omally felt certain that he had lost his way； but each time the detective rose again and pointed the way ahead。 At length the three men turned into the old quarry road。 Ahead in the distance lay the crumpled wreckage which had been Jim Pooley。 With a small cry Omally bounded forward and came to a standstill over the disaster area。 'Oh； no；' said he； sinking to his knees。 'Oh no； it wasn't worth this。'
Sherlock Holmes and the Professor slowly approached； the old man supporting himself upon his stick and wheezing terribly。 'Is he。。。 ？' the words stuck in the Professor's throat。
Omally buried his face in his hands。 'My true friend；' he mumbled； his voice choked by emotion。 He slumped back on his knees and stared up at the sky。 Tears had formed in his deep…blue eyes and fell over his unshaven cheeks。 'Why？' he shouted up at the firmament。 'Tell me why？'
Holmes came forward and； stooping； turned Pooley's right palm upwards。 The eighteen lines glowed darkly in the otherwise brilliant sunlight。 'There is nothing you can do for him now；' he said。
'No！' Omally elbowed the detective's hand away。 'Leave him alone； you are part of this。 What the hell is going on here anyway？ Why did it happen？'
'e； John；' said the Professor； laying a slim hand upon the Irishman's shoulder。 'e away now； there is nothing that can be done。'
Omally looked up bitterly at the old man。 'You knew about this； didn't you？' he said。 'You knew something bad was going on； you should have stopped it。 You and your numbers and your magic。'
'e； John； e please。'
Omally rose slowly to his feet and stared down at Pooley's mortal remains。 'I will kill the man who did this； Jim；' he said slowly and painfully。
Professor Slobe pressed his hand once more to John's shoulder； and led the stumbling man away。
'All well and bloody good；' came a voice from the grave。 'But who is going to turn my head around for me？'
Omally spun about。 'Jim； you old bastard！'
'Who else would it bloody be？ My head； John； if you please？ It is most unfortable。'
The lads at the Cottage Hospital were nothing if not thorough。 Spending their days as they did； playing dominoes and hunt the hypodermic； they were more than willing to face up to the challenge of the bloody spectacle Professor Slobe presented them with。 Having run a light…pen quickly over Pooley's right hand they pronounced him private patient and went about their tasks with a will。 Had not the Professor been a member of the Board of Governors； there seemed little doubt that they would have been a great deal more thorough than they were。 Most likely to the extremes of an exploratory operation or two； with the removal of Pooley's tonsils as an encore。 As it was they prodded and poked； applied iodine； took X…rays； forced him to remove his trousers； turned his head to the right； and made him cough。 As an afterthought they inoculated him against tetanus； mumps； whooping cough； and diphtheria。 As Doctor Kildare came up on the hospital tele…video they summarily dismissed him with a few kind words； a large bill； and a prescription for Interferon no chemist could ever hope to fill。
'See；' said Omally； as the four men left the hospital； 'all this fuss and not a bone broken。'
Pooley felt doubtfully at his bruised limbs。 'I will not bore you with my opinion of the National Health Service；' said he。 'Nor even waste my time bewailing my lot； as my pleas for sympathy fall for ever upon deaf ears。'
At last the four men entered the Professor's study。 A large medicinal gold watch was handed at once to the invalid who was placed in a heavily…cushioned chair。 'My thanks；' said Jim； pocketing it away in his throat。 The sun danced in upon the carpet and the four weary men lay slumped in various armchairs； each unwilling to be the first to break the tranquil silence。 Pooley's limbs creaked and plained to themselves。 With a crackling hand he poured himself another drink。 Holmes and the Professor exchanged occasional guarded glances； and the old man appeared at times obsessed with the silver pentacle which hung upon his watch…chain。 Omally drummed his fingers soundlessly upon the chair's arm and waited for the storm to break； the silence was rapidly being close and oppressive。
Finally Jim could stand it no longer。 'All right；' he said； climbing painfully to his feet。 'What is going on？ You all know a lot more of this than me。'
'I don't；' said Omally； 'but I am beginning to have my suspicions。'
'So what is it？' Pooley turned to the Professor。 'I have just miraculously survived an attempt upon my life by a lunatic chauffeur。 Such should be the cause for some small rejoicing surely。 If I was dead； Omally here would already be ordering the beer for the wake。'
Professor Slobe stepped over to his desk and took up the day's copy of the Brentford Mercury。 He held the front page towards Jim。 'Have you read this？'
Pooley perused the encircled article with little interest and less prehension。 'It's about puter lines；' said he。 It did not go unnoticed by Holmes and the Professor that his right hand slid unobtrusively away into his trouser pocket。
'It is much more than that；' said the old man。 'It is an essential link in a dark chain of events which； unless severed； will inevitably engirdle us all。 To our ultimate destruction。'
'e now；' said Jim。 'It is just some nonsense about banks and puters； nothing more I assure you。'
Professor Slobe shook his head； 'Sadly； it is a great deal more than that。 It is conclusive proof that all my worst fears are founded and even now the prophecies of the book of Revelation are ing to pass。'
'You jest； surely？'
Professor Slobe shook his head once more。 'Believe in what I say；' said he。 'We are facing the greatest threat mankind has faced since the deluge。 We are facing the final conflict。 The apocalypse。 Even now the curtains are closing。'
'No。' Jim shook his head violently and not a little painfully。 'All the stuff in that old book is most depressing。 Look at me now。 I experienced a slight setback； but it was the result of pure spite on Bob's part。 Just because I won and he's banged up in hospital a bit scorched。 I am battered but wealthy。 The gods are smiling upon me。'
'No；' said Professor Slobe。 'Money will not buy you out of this one； especially money which was never intended for your use。'
Pooley scratched at his head； raising a fine cloud of dust。 'You wouldn't care to enlarge a little on this would you Professor？' he asked。 'You see such news catches me at a rather inopportune moment。 John and I are planning a bit of a holiday。 Armageddon might interfere with our traveller's cheques。'
Professor Slobe shook his head once more。 Jim was beginning to find the habit mildly annoying。 He had millions of pounds knocking about in the bank and was now really looking forward to spending them before they caught the moth。 'Do you really believe yourself to be one favoured of the gods？'
Jim nodded noisily。 'At this time definitely yes。'
'All right then； I will make this short； but by no means sweet。 We will speak of these matters again。 For now let me read you a verse or two from the Revelation； possibly it will convince you； possibly not。' Definitely not； thought Jim Pooley。 The Professor took himself over to his desk where he sat before the large and outspread family Bible。 'I will spare you the preliminaries as it is obvious that you consider your time valuable。 I will simply give you the relevant part and allow you to muse upon it。'
'Thanks；' said Jim doubtfully。
'Revelation； Chapter Thirteen；' said Professor Slobe。 'This speaks of the beast that has risen from the Earth。 We will address our attention to verses sixteen； seventeen； and eighteen。' He spoke the final number with a deadly intensity。
'Go ahead then。'
The Professor adjusted his ivory pince…nez and read aloud from the open book：
'16。 And he causeth all； both small and great； rich and poor； free and bond to receive a mark in their right hand or in their foreheads。
17。 And that no man might buy or sell save that he had the mark or the name of the beast or the number of his name。
18。 Here is wisdom。 Let he that hath understanding count the number of the beast； for it is the number of a man； and his number is six hundred； three score and six。'
The Professor gently closed the Holy Book and looked up towards Jim Pooley。 The millionaire sat bolt upright in his chair。 His eyes were unblinking and stared ever downward towards the open palm of his right hand； where the puter bar code was indelibly printed。 Eighteen puter lines。 Three rows of six。 The number of a man； six hundred； three score and six。
666
The number of the Beast。 Things were suddenly beginning to sink in。
'Oh dear；' said John Omally； who was not a man unacquainted with the Scriptures。 'Why did I just know you were going to choose those very verses to be today's text？'
15
At a little after five of the clock； Pooley and Omally left Professor Slobe's house behind and trudged up the long crescent bound for the Swan。 Although the old man had served a fine tea； neither could raise much of an appetite； finding to it more than a hint of the Messianic feast。 With rumbling guts and grumbling tongues they mooched along； ignoring the gaily…coloured bunting which fluttered between the great Horse Chestnuts； raised in preparation for the forthing Festival of Brentford。 Pooley was in full slouch； his chin upon his chest； and his hands thrust deeply into his tweedy trouser pockets。 His last suit was in exquisite ruin and lacked a right sleeve； which an over…zealous hospital intern who watched too many Aldo Ray films had cut away from his grazed elbow with a pair of surgical scissors。 The thought that he could buy a thousand suits and all of them of the hand…tailored； Saville Row variety； did little to raise his spirits。 Jim's right thumbnail worried at his hidden palm。
Omally worried at Marchant's pitted handlebars； the old boy seemed to have developed an irritating pull to the left； which was either something to do with its political leanings or something even more sinister。 'Give it a rest；' growled John as the thing had him in the gutter once more。
After what seemed an age they arrived at the Swan's weling portal。 And found to their increased horror that it was no longer weling。 A large plastic sign fastened to the front window announced to the world that THE BUYING OF 'ROUNDS' is HENCEFORTH FORBIDDEN BY ORDEF THE BREWERY。 ANY CUSTOMER ATTEMPTING TO VIOLATE THIS PRINCIPLE WILL BE BARRED FOR AN INDEFINITE PERIOD。
'By the Saints；' said Omally； turning wobbly at the knees。 'Would you look at that？'
Pooley curled his lip。 'This is too much。 I am even to be denied spending my money as I please。' He thrust Omally aside and entered the bar。
The Swan was empty of customers。 The only folk present were a pale young man in headphones who stood behind the jump； and two brewery henchmen in drab…coloured overalls； who appeared to be screwing a gleaming contrivance of advanced design on to the bar counter。
'What is the meaning of that notice？' Pooley stormed up to the bar。
The strange young barman watched his furious approach with an untroubled expression。 His head moved to and fro to a rhythm only he heard。
'I demand an explanation；' foamed the red…faced Jim。
The young man pushed back his headphones。 'What will it be then； sir？' he asked。
Jim raised his fist。 'That； that bloody notice in the window。 What's your game； eh？'
'Oh； that。' The young man was all bland posure。 'Rules and regulations； what can we do？'
'We can tear the bloody thing down for a kick off。'
The young man waggled a finger。 'Naughty； naughty；' said he。
Jim clenched and unclenched his fists。 'Has the world gone mad？' he asked。 'Has the brewery lost its bloody m