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The driver； a big man with receding hair and the stamp of merciless cruelty on his features； eyes narrowing and hooded like a hunting hawk that has suddenly spotted its prey。 But it was Royston's panion who succeeded in thrusting a stabbing pang of fear into Sabat's heart。 Auburn hair and mocking green eyes； none other than Miranda； the hussy off the new estate who spread her favours in her constant search for power。
She had brought Royston here at this early hour to show him that he had failed in his attempt to destroy Sabat。 And she hated the man who stood there on the pavement because she knew； knew that she had been raped and mutilated in a psychic encounter that went back to a dark age。 And it had happened as surely as if Sabat had gone to her house in his physical body and carried out that unspeakable attack on her。
Now she demanded vengeance； urged her evil lover to use every vestige of his black power to help her achieve that。 And Sabat's most dangerous enemy would be the resurrected evil that had once stalked this peaceful village in the form of William Gardiner！
CHAPTER FIVE
SABAT LET himself into the vicarage and closed the front door quietly behind him。 In all probability the Reverend Maurice Storton would have retired to bed once dawn broke； exhausted by his all…night vigil。 There was no point in waking the aged clergyman； neither was there anything to be gained by giving him a detailed account of everything that had happened last night。 Suffice to say that an exorcism had been carried out and had been successful。 The fact that Baron Cimeterre had claimed the adjoining cemetery as his own domain was something that Sabat did not propose to try and explain。 One form of evil had replaced another； and there was nothing more anybody could do about it。
Sabat's acute senses were still working。 The vibrations caused by somebody moving about on the floor above registered in his brain before he heard the slow； shuffling footsteps ing towards the head of the wide staircase。 Somebody barefoot； but there was nothing strange in that； probably Storton had been on the point of retiring to his bed when he had spotted Sabat ing up the drive and was curious to learn how he had fared。
It was Maurice Storton all right。 Sabat saw him on the top flight； checked his cry of amazement。 Oh God； the fiends had been heret done this to a harmless old man！
The clergyman was naked； a pathetic enough sight even if one did not look up at his face。 His features seemed to have slipped to one side in the manner of a seizure； a hideous caricature in which an angled mouth struggled to make incoherent speech。 Babbling insanely； a noise that was meant to be laughter。 And Sabat's heart went cold。
Storton almost fell； indeed he would have done so had he not stumbled against the stair…rail。 Balanced precariously； one eye that seemed sightless； the other reflecting an inner terror； wide and staring； inflated like a bubble that would burst at any moment。
Sabat stepped forward； knew that if he didn't reach the other quickly the old curate would almost certainly fall。 Yet he must not appear to panic for Storton was already terrified； maybe he was not even aware of the exorcist's presence。
Too late！ Sabat was within a half…a…dozen steps of Maurice Storton when the old man seemed to crumple； a sagging of every limb； folding 。。。 falling 。。。 sliding。
Sabat caught him； otherwise he would have somersaulted right down to the hall below； a weight that he could barely support； heaving the other back into a sitting position。 The head drooped forward； a low moan came from the cracked blue lips； a body expelling air because its time was up。 And it was at that moment that Sabat realised that the Reverend Maurice Storton was dead！
He propped the dead man back against the stair…rail； made sure that he would not fall。 Then Sabat straightened up； trembling uncontrollably because it had all ended like this。 His fault； just as surely as though he had murdered the clergyman with his own hands or pumped a full chamber of 。38 shells into him。
Baron Cimeterre did not return empty…handed once he had been summoned。 The bocors and the houngans knew that； always had a human sacrifice awaiting their dreaded lord。 And it was just the same here； many miles from that dark land of mystic magic。 Storton's death was needless。 Oh God； if only Sabat had insisted that his aged panion remained within a pentagram throughout that night of prayer then he would have been safe。 The Lord of the Cemetery had e and claimed a sacrifice and 。 。 。 sheer terror had Sabat's pallid features blanching to a deathly white。 Storton's body； his soul； were at terrible risk now； for in accordance with the ways of the dark powers the dreaded Baron now had claim on the frail corpse … it could be the instrument in a number of vile； unspeakable happenings。 A zombie if there was a houngan handy to raise it； or the bones used in powerful black magic after they had been exhumed； a permutation of horrors that could only be prevented in one way by somebody who knew what he was doing。
Sabat ticked his dry lips； he'd witnessed the ghastly ritual in Haiti in which a soul was granted everlasting freedom； the body given peace and put beyond the powers of the houngans。 The bile came up into his throat at the thought but that would not stop him if necessary。 There was only one snag 。 。 。 this was England； not the mystic West Indies where voodoo and its rites were accepted as part of life and death even by the police themselves。 Here he might find himself facing a number of serious charges； not to rule out the possibility of being arrested for the murder of Maurice Storton。
He shook his head as he went downstairs slowly and picked up the phone。 First he must report this death to the authorities； a seemingly normal case of a sudden stroke。 Unless you looked carefully into that single eye！ But as soon as possible Sabat knew that he must perform those ancient rites to ensure that Baron Cimeterre did not claim the body through some powerful witch doctor； somebody like the mysterious and elusive Royston who sought human carrion for his graveyard vultures！
'I thought I warned you。' Detective Inspector Plowden's features twisted into a mask of anger； an escalating rage because this stranger had dared to defy him and on his return to the village had brought death with him； albeit seemingly from natural causes； a kind of harbinger of doom。 'You'd no business ing back here obstructing police investigations。'
'One moment。' Sabat held up a hand； permitted himself a faint mirthless smile。 'First； I have in no way obstructed your enquiries。 I have merely carried out an exorcism in St。 Adrian's Church and its grounds in accordance with a request made by Bishop Wentnor。 This is a free country； I can travel and stay anywhere I like。 I would have returned to the 'Dun Cow' except that fire destroyed the residential quarters
'While you were staying there！' An innuendo that was only too obvious。
'You'll be accusing me of arson next； Inspecto