The Cabinet of Curiosities

Custer nodded to his man, Lieutenant Detective Piles. “You take over here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then Custer turned toward Noyes. The merest crook of his fat finger brought the little man to his side.

“Noyes, I want you with me,” he murmured. “Got your service piece on you?”

Noyes nodded, rheumy eyes glistening in the dusky light.

“Good. Then let’s go.”

THREE

THE SLOT OPENED again. In the endless period of darkness and terror, Smithback had lost his perception of time. How long had it been? Ten minutes? An hour? A day?

The voice spoke, lips once again gleaming in the rectangle of light. “How kind of you to visit me in my very old and interesting house. I hope you enjoyed seeing my collections. I am particularly fond of the corydon. Did you, by chance, see the corydon?”

Smithback tried to respond, belatedly remembering that his mouth was taped.

“Ah! How thoughtless of me. Do not trouble yourself to answer. I will speak. You will listen.”

Smithback’s mind raced through the possibilities for escape. There were none.

“Yes, the corydon is most interesting. As is the mosasaur from the chalk beds of Kansas. And of course the durdag from Tibet is quite unusual, one of only two in the world. I understand it was fashioned from the skull of the fifteenth reincarnation of the Buddha.”

Smithback heard a dry laugh, like the scattering of withered leaves.

“Altogether a most interesting cabinet of curiosities, my dear Mr. Smithback. I’m sorry that so few people have had a chance to see it, and that those so honored find themselves unable to make a return visit.”

There was a silence. And then the voice continued, softly and gently: “I will do you well, Mr. Smithback. No effort will be spared.”

A spasm of fear, unlike anything he had ever known, racked Smithback’s limbs. I will do you well . . . Do you well . . . Smithback realized that he was about to die. In his extremity of terror, he did not immediately notice that Leng had called him by name.

“It will be a memorable experience—more memorable than those who have come before you. I have made great strides, remarkable strides. I have devised a most exacting surgical procedure. You will be awake to the very end. Consciousness, you see, is the key: I now realize that. Painstaking care will be taken, I assure you.”

There was a silence as Smithback struggled to keep his reason about him.

The lips pursed. “I shouldn’t want to keep you waiting. Shall we proceed to the laboratory?”

A lock rattled and the iron door creaked open. The dark figure in the derby hat who approached was now holding a long hypodermic needle. A clear drop trembled at its end. A pair of round, old-fashioned smoked glasses were pushed into his face.

“This is merely an injection to relax your muscles. Succinyl choline. Very similar to curare. It’s a paralyzing agent; you’ll find it tends to render the sort of weakness one feels in dreams. You know what I mean: the danger is coming, you try to escape, but you find yourself unable to move. Have no fear, Mr. Smithback: though you’ll be unable to move, you will remain conscious throughout much of the operation, until the final excision and removal is performed. It will be much more interesting for you that way.”

Smithback struggled as the needle approached.

“You see, it’s a delicate operation. It requires a steady and highly expert hand. We can’t have the patient thrashing about during the procedure. The merest slip of the scalpel and all would be ruined. You might as well dispose of the resource and start afresh.”

Still the needle approached.

“I suggest you take a deep breath now, Mr. Smithback.”

I will do you well . . .

With the strength born of consummate terror, Smithback threw himself from side to side, trying to tear free his chains. He opened his mouth against the heavy tape, trying desperately to scream, feeling the flesh of his lips tearing away from his skin under the effort. He jerked violently, fighting against the manacles, but the figure with the needle kept approaching inexorably—and then he felt the sting of the needle as it slid into his flesh, a sensation of heat spreading through his veins, and then a terrible weakness: the precise weakness Leng had described, that feeling of paralysis that happens in the very worst of dreams, at the very worst possible moment.

But this, Smithback knew, was no dream.

FOUR