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emple and that they have the skeleton of William Gardiner there。 They plan some unholy rites which I can assure you are not poppycock。 But I must find this crypt without delay which is why I'm ringing you。'
'Hmm；' the other lapsed into silence for a few moments； 'there must be lots of old crypts up and down the country； many fallen into disuse so that often the vicars of the various parishes are unaware of their existence。 Tell you what； though； there is one man who just might be able to help you。'
'Anything's worth a chance。' Sabat felt his pulses start to race。
'The Reverend Spode；' the Archbishop continued； 'is a well…respected vicar who has made a study of archaeology； his main interest being pre…Norman churches。 He's also made a study of pre…Christian religions。 He may just be able to help you。 I remember he gave a talk on television a couple of years ago and he'd drawn a detailed map of these church sites； many of which are long gone。 I'm sure he'd have a list of these old crypts； too。'
'He's the man；' Sabat snapped； 'only where do I contact him？'
'Worcestershire； somewhere。 If you'll hang on I'll go and get the address for you。'
As Sabat waited a little shiver ran up and down his spine； a feeling of elation suddenly overshadowed by one of foreboding。 But he sensed that he had picked up the trail at last。
It was 10。45 when Sabat slid in behind the wheel of his Daimler； relieved when the engine fired first time。 In spite of his frustrations and fears this past hour he felt physically and mentally refreshed。 His long sleep during the daytime had refreshed him and； as was usually the case； the activities of his astral body had in no way tired him。 A drive of a mere forty miles faced him； less than an hour on the road； and there was always the chance that the Reverend Spode； a bachelor； was not one who retired to bed early。 But if the clergyman had done so then he would have to be disturbed。 It was a matter more grave than life or death； the souls of many at dire risk； and now Sabat had the Archbishop's blessing to continue the case。 He would have done so even without it but it made it easier。
The drizzle had gone and the night was clear and dry； the moon reflected on the river as Sabat passed through Evesham。 Only twenty miles to go； he almost relaxed as he motored through leafy avenues that were the pride of England； his acute sense of smell picking up the odour of extensive orchards of ripening fruit。
Suddenly he was braking； the tyres squealing their protest as he hit an unexpected bank of thick fog。 The nearside wheels mounted the verge； slewed back on to the road again； and the DaimJer skidded to a halt。
'Fuck it！' He stared in disbelief at the thick swirling white vapour； a cold clammy steam that was even now drifting in through the open window； his body chilling instantly。 The opaqueness threw back the powerful headlight beams； dazzling him。
And in that instant he knew！ Oh Jesus； the dark forces which had delayed him at the car while Miranda was snatched away were now bent on ensuring that he did not reach his destination； that he did not discover the whereabouts ofRoyston 's temple of evil！
He stiffened； closed his eyes； and only opened them again when the searing blindness was gone。
Silence。 Darkness。 The engine was no longer running and the headlights appeared to have gone out。 。 。 unless the fog was so thick that it hid them pletely！
Sabat braced himself； waited for the mocking laughter which he knew would follow。 'You're beaten this time。 At our mercy！' Quentin's voice without a doubt； ing like a hammer blow to the jaw of a boxer already reeling on the ropes。
But Sabat had been in tight corners before； had learned to control his rising panic。 Around his neck was the protective crucifix； garlic bulbs in his pocket； a paratively safe defence； but there was an enemy within the flesh and bones of his besieged fort … Quentin！
Maniacal laughter jarred his nerves； had him writhing as though in physical pain。 Those cold fingers like the hands of Death himself were touching his face； icy sweat running down his face。 Then amid the terror came an idea； loud and clear like the clarion call of a rescuing pany of troops； a sliver of ingenuity impinging itself in his muzzy brain。 He had exorcised many places； people … why not himself'
He shuddered at the implications； that boxer again； pinned back on the ropes； swinging one mightly knockout punch。 If it landed； he won。 If not； his defences were wide open。 A last desperate throw！
Failure he dared not contemplate。 Neither did he wish to dwell on his decision。 Win or lose； it was made。 Quentin's voice； an inprehensible babble that was wearing him down； opening up the gate to let the enemy in。
Sabat was shouting； screaming； trying to pronounce each word clearly； frightened lest the mental confusion might close in before he was finished。 'I mand you； evil spirit； in the Name of God the Father Almighty； in the Name of Jesus Christ his only Son； and in the name of the Holy Spirit 。 。 。 ' he had to gasp' for breath； a kind of asthma constricting his lungs； threatening to collapse them。 That 。 。 。 harming no one 。 。 。 you depart from this 。 。 。 creature which is myself 。 。 。 and return to the place appointed you； there to remain forever。'
He exhaled deeply； had to draw again for life…giving breath； the pain in his chest crippling。 Noises inside his head which threatened to dement him； clinging desperately to a cliff face beneath which a black chasm yawned； a voice that threatened to suck him down。
He heard Quentin again。 This time there was no laughter； just an obscene blasphemy。 'Damn you； you won't rid yourself of me like that because I am you； Mark Sabat。 You torture yourself。'
That much was true。 Sabat felt the excruciating pain； screamed his agony but somehow held on to his sanity。 A duel was taking place within him； the same as it had that last time between Quentin and himself。 The chasm below was that grave； bigger； alive with evil。 The 。38 barked its hate； spewing his brother's brains out like stringy phlegm。
Winning and yet losing； a stalemate once the powdersmoke had drifted away。
Sabat sank sideways across the front seat； closed his eyes and experienced an overpowering exhaustion。 He wanted to sleep 。 。 。 had to。 Silence； the voice had gone； just a terrible stillness which left him trembling。
'But you haven't won the day； Sabat！' Quentin's voice； vibrant with fury； but dying away； to an unintelligible muttering。
And Sabat knew that he was alone at last。 That last super…psychic effort had repelled the enemy； driven them back into the darkness。 He reared up on an elbow； glanced through the windscreen； saw that the fog had gone。 Silvery moonlight reflected on the hedges and a warm summer breeze was breathing its fragrant breath in through the window。
Sabat made a supreme effort and struggled up into a sitting position。 If he had not grasped the steering wheel he would have slumped back。 God