m memory： 'a cadaverousness of plexion； an eye large； liquid； and very luminous 。 。 。 finely molded chin； speaking； in its want of prominence； of a want of moral energy。' Leng had blond hair； blue eyes； an aquiline nose。 Old…fashioned black coat； formally dressed。〃
〃That's a very vivid description。〃
〃Leng was the kind of person who stayed with you long after he was gone。 And yet； you know； it was his voice I remember most。 It was low； resonant； strongly accented； with the peculiar quality of sounding like two people speaking in unison。〃
The gloom that filled the parlor seemed inexplicably to deepen。 Nora swallowed。 She had already asked all the questions she had planned to。 〃Thank you very much for your time； Ms。 McFadden；〃 she said as she rose。
〃Why do you bring all this up now？〃 the old lady asked abruptly。
Nora realized that she must not have seen the newspaper article or heard anything about the recent copycat killings of the Surgeon。 She wondered just what she should say。 She looked about the room； dark； frozen in shadowy Victorian clutter。 She did not want to be the one to upset this woman's world。
〃I'm researching the early cabinets of curiosities。〃
The old lady transfixed her with a glittering eye。 〃An interesting subject； child。 And perhaps a dangerous one。〃
ELEVEN
SPECIAL AGENT PENDERGAST lay in the hospital bed； motionless save for his pale eyes。 He watched Nora Kelly leave the room and close the door。 He glanced over at the wall clock： nine P。M。 precisely。 A good time to begin。
He thought back over each word Nora had uttered during her visit； looking for any trivial fact or passing reference that he might have overlooked on first hearing。 But there was nothing more。
Her visit to Peekskill had confirmed his darkest suspicions： Pendergast had long believed Leng killed Shottum and burned the cabinet。 And he felt sure that McFadden's disappearance was also at the hands of Leng。 No doubt Shottum had challenged Leng shortly after placing his letter in the elephant's…foot box。 Leng had murdered him； and covered it up with the fire。
Yet the most pressing questions remained。 Why had Leng chosen the cabinet as his base of operations？ Why did he begin volunteering his services at the houses of industry a year before killing Shottum？ And where did he relocate his laboratory after the cabinet burned？
In Pendergast's experience； serial killers were messy： they were incautious； they left clues。 But Leng was； of course； very different。 He was not； strictly speaking； a serial killer。 He had been remarkably clever。 Leng had left a kind of negative imprint wherever he went； the man seemed defined by how little was known about him。 There was more to be learned； but it was deeply hidden in the masses of information strewn about his hospital room。 There was only one way to coax this information out。 Research alone would not suffice。
And then there was the growing problem of his increasing lack of objectivity regarding this case； his growing emotional involvement。 If he did not bring himself sharply under control； if he did not reassert his habitual discipline； he would fail。 And he could not fail。
It was time to make his journey。
Pendergast's gaze shifted to the massings of books； maps； and old periodicals that filled half a dozen surgical carts in his room。 His eyes moved from surface to tottering surface。 The single most important piece of paper lay on his bedside table： the plans for Shottum's Cabinet。 One last time； he picked it up and gazed at it； memorizing every detail。 The seconds ticked on。 He laid down the yellowing plat。
It was time。 But first； something had to be done about the intolerable landscape of noise that surrounded him。
After his condition was upgraded from serious to stable； Pendergast had himself transferred from St。 Luke's…Roosevelt to Lenox Hill Hospital。 The old facility on Lexington Avenue had the thickest walls of any building in the city； save for his own Dakota。 Even here； however； he was assaulted by sounds： the bleat of the blood…oxygen meter above his bed； the gossiping voices at the nurses' station； the hissings and beepings of the telemetry machines and ventilators； the adenoidal patient snoring in the adjacent room； the rumble of the forced…air ducts deep in the walls and ceiling。 There was nothing he could do that would physically stop these sounds； yet they could be made to disappear through other means。 It was a powerful mind game he had developed； an adaptation of Chongg Ran； an ancient Bhutanese Buddhist meditative practice。
Pendergast closed his eyes。 He imagined a chessboard inside his head； on a wooden table； standing in a pool of yellow light。 Then he created two players。 The first player made his opening move； the second followed。 A game of speed chess ensued； and then another； and another。 The two players changed strategies； forming adaptive counterattacks： Inverted Hanham； Two Knights Defense； Vienna Gambit。
One by one； the more distant noises dropped away。
When the final game ended in a draw； Pendergast dissolved the chess set。 Then； in the darkness of his mind's eye； he created four players； seated around a card table。 Pendergast had always found bridge a nobler and subtler game than chess； but he rarely played it with others because； outside of his late family； he had found few worthy partners。 Now the game began； each player ignorant of all but his own thirteen cards； each player with his own strategies and intellectual capabilities。 The game began； with ruffs and slams and deep finesses。 Pendergast toyed with the players； shifting Blackwood； Gerber； and Stayman conventions； positing a forgetful declarer； misunderstood signals between East and West。
By the time the first rubber was pleted； all distractions were gone。 The noises had ceased。 In his mind； only a profound silence reigned。 Pendergast turned further inward。
It was time for the memory crossing to begin。
Several minutes of intense mental concentration passed。 Finally； he felt ready。
In his mind's eye； he rose from his bed。 He felt light； airy； like a ghost。 He saw himself walk through the empty hospital corridors； down the stairwell； across the arched foyer； and out onto the wide front steps of the hospital。
Only the building was no longer a hospital。 A hundred and twenty years before； it had been known as the New York Rest Home for Consumptives。
Pendergast stood on the steps for a moment； glancing around in the gathering dusk。 To the west； toward Central Park； the Upper East Side had bee a patchwork of hog farms； wild lands； and rocky eminences。 Small groups of hovels sprouted up here and there； huddled together as if for protection against the elements。 Gas lamps stood along the avenue； infrequent this far north of the populous downtown； throwing small circles of light down onto the dusky macadam。
The prospect was vague； indistinct： detail at this location was unimportant。 Pendergast did； however； allow himself to sample the air。 It smelled strongly of coal smoke； damp earth； and horse manure。
He descended the steps； turning onto Seventy…sixth Street and walking east toward the river。 Here it was more thickly settled； newer brownstones abutting old wood…and…frame structures。 Carriages swayed down the straw…strewn street。 People passed him silently； the men dressed in long suits with thin lapels； women in bustles and veiled hats。
At the next intersection he boarded a streetcar； paying five cents for the ride down to Forty…second Street。 There； he transferred to the Bowery & Third Avenue elevated railway； paying another twenty cents。 This extravagant price ensured him a palace car； with curtained windows and plush seats。 The steam lootive heading the train was named the Chauncey M。 Depew。 As it hurtled southward； Pendergast sat without moving in his velveteen chair。 Slowly； he allowed sound to intrude once more into his world： first the clatter of the wheels on the tracks； and then the chatter of his passengers。 They were engrossed with the concerns of 1881： the president's recovery and the imminent removal of the pistol ball； the Columbia Yacht Club sailing regatta on the Hudson earlier that afternoon； the miraculous curative properties