the priest's authority was irrefutable； his word law； his temple the court； his judgement final 。 。 。 Halloran checked himself。 It wasn't the time for such reflection…he needed to be alert； aware of what was going on around him at the present moment； not having his thoughts wandering around the past。 That was happening too much of late。
Adding further to the day's discord was the news that Dieter Stuhr had disappeared。 Mather had rung Halloran before lunch to inform him that Shield's Organiser couldn't be located； but everything at his apartment appeared to be in order。 Key members of Shield had been recalled to the office to try and track him down； and Gerald Snaith had decided it was far too soon to involve the police。 Besides； out of keeping though it might be for the German； there might just be a rational explanation for his absence。 Mother would ring Halloran the moment he had more information。
He was before the lodge； a building of similar but darker stone to Neath itself； its grey…slated roof full of holes； windows dulled by grime。 It looked unlived in。 Yet someone inside had somehow allowed him to open the front gates （he'd had a better chance to examine the lock and still hadn't detected any electronic device installed within）； for on first try the gates wouldn't budge。 He studied the lodge a while longer before leaving the road and walking the short track up to the frontdoor。 The best he got when he stretched a hand to the rusted bell was a dull clunk。 He rapped on the wood。
There were no sounds from inside the house。 No one came to open the door。
He knocked louder； then tried the handle； it was as though the door were solid to the stone itself； for it did not even jar in its frame。 Halloran stepped back to look up at the first floor windows and saw nothing through the smeared glass。 He walked back to the edge of the rutted road for a better view； but the angle merely rendered the windows an opaque black。 He took one more backward step。
Halloran was suddenly cold； as if he'd stepped into a pocket of wintry air。 He was being observed。
Such an awareness was not unusual for him …experience in his particular profession brought with it a certain sensitivity towards prying； unseen eyes …yet never before had the sensing been so acute for him。 The coldness； he realised； was due to the crawling sensation of his own skin； as if it was undulating in small ridges。 He shifted his jacket to his other arm so that his gun hand was free。
Nothing stirred inside the lodge。 At least； not as far as he could tell。 But the urge to run from there； to put as much distance between himself and that uninviting abode； was immense。 A whisper； whose source was somewhere deep in his own mind； cautioned him against further investigation。 Irrational； he told himself。 Are you sure？ his sub…conscious taunted。
He raised a hand to his forehead as if to dispel further insinuations that had gathered； warnings that something nasty； something unclean； was waiting for him inside the lodge…house； and that contained within its walls were secrets that should remain secrets； but physical action was useless against the tenacity of the psyche。 The thoughts continued。
Halloran almost sagged under their force。 He willed their dispersion and it was only gradually that his mind became calmer； that his own consciousness became dominant。
For those other thoughts had not been his。 He was certain they had not originated from some sub…level of his own mind； but had been implanted by another。 He turned his head； searching the woods behind； the roadway leading to Neath。 Kline。 Those thoughts had been Kline's。 He had the gift： Kline had shown him that very morning。 But the psychic was still at the main house。 Or should have been。 Again Halloran scanned the area around him。 Did distance bother someone like Kline； could ideas be directed no matter how far away the recipient？ Or was Felix Kline inside the lodge？
The coldness was still with him and Halloran slipped his jacket back on。 He took a step towards the building。
And the thoughts intruded once more； stabbing at him； bringing with them not only fear but a curious reluctance to discover what was inside the old house。 He remained where he was。
Halloran could see no one at the windows； but he sensed a presence beyond those walls。 He had lost the inclination to enter the house； though； no longer wanting to find out who the occupant was。 Not at the moment。 He'd return when he was 。 。 。 prepared。
Halloran backed away。
With a last lingering look； he turned from the lodge and began the long trek to the main house where earlier he had decided to leave the Mercedes； preferring to make the journey to the estate's entrance on foot。 Too much could be missed when viewed from a moving car and Halloran had wanted to get the 'eel of the surrounds； with particular regard to the private roadway which was a natural place for an ambush； safe from public gate； out of sight from anyone in Neath itself。 Now； with the evening gloom taking a firmer hold and the unease left by the uninvited thoughts； Halloran regretted his decision。 At once he berated himself； a little astonished by his own trepidation。 But then； as he'd already acknowledged； it had been an odd day。
In the stillness around him his footsteps seemed louder than normal。 Ahead the road narrowed； trees on opposite sides linking leafy arms to form a tunnel。 It was twilight inside that tunnel。
He was too warm suddenly； the air almost too heavy to breathe。 The clouds were swollen and dark and he relished the idea of rain； or even a storm。 But it was as though the dampness was scaled into the masses above。 He walked on； at irregular intervals glancing from left to right； occasionally checking the road behind。 All was quiet。 The lodge…house was a distant image； rendered small and impotent。 The road in front of him had begun to curve； no exit visible inside the tunnel。
A stirring of ferns by the roadside； no more than a transient breeze。 ；A faint crash further within； merely a dead or broken branch shed from a tree。
Light faded as he passed beneath the canopy of leaves。 It was cooler； although not much； and Halloran quickened his pace。 The more he progressed； the dimmer became the light。 Soon it was as though night had fallen prematurely。 His senses sharpened and he allowed his vision to wander； never focusing on any particular section of forest for too long； constantly shifting his attention from one dark area to another。
At first he thought he had imagined the snuffling； for it had been barely audible over the sound of his own footsteps； but then it came again。 He stopped to listen。 Nothing now。 And that in itself was unusual； for the woods were always full of noises of some kind； small scufflings； the flapping of wings； an owl settling in for the night's vigil。 Over many years he had learned to discern nature's disturbances from those that might originate from stealthy humans； the difference being that animal or natural noises generally continued even if for no more than a second or two； whereas those caused by humans…be they hiding or stalking prey …had a tendency to cease immediately。
He resumed his journey； the tension in his stride indicating an extra alertness。 Keeping his steps as quiet as possible； Halloran moved into the curve of the tunnel。 A rustling to his right； a definite movement。 He carried on walking； a hand reaching under his jacket to the butt of the Browning。 More movement； something keeping pace with him。 He began to suspect what that something might be。
He had assumed that the dogs were controlled during the daytime and allowed to run free at night。 Perhaps it was at dusk that their keeper set them loose on their own。
Snuffling noises again； and then a louder rustling through the undergrowth as though the animals were hurrying to get ahead of him。 Initially the sounds had e from some distance inside the woodland； but now they were drawing close； as if the dogs were cutting in at an angle。 Halloran deliberately maintained his own steady pace。
For one brief moment he caught sight of a shadow loping through the trees； low to the ground。 It was followed by another；