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Drowsy； idly trying to formulate some kind of plan。 It would be futile to go looking for the investigator； in which case the investigator must e to him。 Which meant a vigil in the region of the other's hotel。 Sabat could not safely kill him there； so he must lure him away。 It would not be easy because Daunay was no ordinary man。 Nerves of steel； ruthless。 The Sabat calibre； it was like hunting himself。
OK； that was settled then。 He'd tell him he'd discovered the Swiss hideout of the cannibal cult。 Which was true。 Sabat smiled to himself； felt his eyelids droop another millimetre。 Lead him up into the mountains。 One shot； or even a karate blow； so easy if his victim was unaware。
He'd be asleep in a moment。 A hazy view of tourists wandering to and fro like contented cattle over rich meadow…land。 Browsing； tired like himself。
'Sabat。'
His own name hit him like a deluge of cold water； instantly fully awake； reflexes that remembered SAS days almost throwing him flat in anticipation of raking terrorist machine…gun fire。 Tautening； seeing the man who stood before him with a faint smile on his handsome tanned face。 Springy hair that blew in the warm breeze； odd flecks of grey in it that hadn't been there the last time Sabat had seen him。 And that hump seemed to have grown bigger； spoiling the overall picture of a masculinity that most men envied。
'Daunay。' Mark Sabat expelled his breath slowly。 'Pieter Daunay！ And who the hell would have expected to find you idling the day away in the tranquillity of the Glacier Garden？'
'And the same could be said of you； my friend。' Daunay eased his body across and lowered himself down on the seat alongside Sabat； that unfortunate deformity making the movement seem ungainly。 'I knew we'd be meeting up before very long。'
'I had the same uncanny feeling myself。' Sabat stared into pale blue eyes that missed nothing； not even the faintest reaction escaped the Frenchman who was dubbed 'The Witchfinder'。 'Doubtless you are hot on the trail of this organisation the newspapers refer to as the Cannibal Cult'
'Like yourself； Sabat；' a short laugh。 'And unless I am badly mistaken you have already encountered them。'
'I have。' Sabat's expression was impassive； again waiting for the other to make the first move。
'In Interlaken where a man named Etoine was killed by a karate kick which had all the hallmarks of a British SAS attack？' Daunay laughed faintly。 'Tell me； Sabat； is this your investigation or theirs？ Are the SAS in on this？'
'D'you think I'd tell you if it was theirs？' Sabat countered。 'Nevertheless； Pieter； our trails have merged。 Teamwork would be easier than two separate attacking prongs。 We might get in each other's way。'
'True。 Tell me about Etoine。 Was it really necessary to kill him？' Eyebrows raised in a mock reprimand。 'Not that your name has been linked with it。 That was purely my own conclusion。 The fool took the bit between his teeth； as you English say； and blundered in where such as you or I； Sabat； 'would have moved more cautiously。 All the same； I did not think it was necessary for him to have died for his foolishness。'
'I did not know who he was。' Sabat held the gaze of those cold blue eyes unwaveringly。 'This may sound a weak excuse； Pieter； but I have been ill and 。。'
'Pneumonia；' the other interrupted。 'I have checked you out。 But forgive me； I interrupt。'
'Pneumonia it was；' Sabat replied。 'My real reason for ing to the continent is to recuperate。 But then I met this girl who spun me this story about。。。 '
'The convent at Aix…en…Provence；' Daunay laughed harshly。 'Madeleine Gaufridi； or Madeleine de Demandolx de la Palud。 Or； to give her her real name Marie Boulle。 Certainly part of what she told you was true。 She introduced lesbianism to the convent to undermine the authority of the Mother Superior and to destroy the faith of the young nuns。 She was rapidly spreading her own beliefs and had she not been forced to fiee from there I am certain that the ultimate depravity
would have ensued。 She is no ordinary girl； Sabat； take it from me。 If Satan ever had a daughter that girl is his own offspring。'
'It figures。' Sabat began refilling his meerschaum； felt the sudden craving for tobacco after weeks of abstinence growing stronger。 'I killed the one known as Etoine because I assumed him to be some devilish enemy of the girl。 Take it from me； Pieter； in a mountain forest at night one does not trifle with an attacker。'
'True。 But how did the girl manage to dupe you？'
'My awareness and intuitions were dulled by my illness；' Sabat went on； 'and by the time I realised what was going on I decided I'd stick along and take the opportunity to sort this cult out。 Which is exactly what I am doing now and two of us working together will make that task very much easier。'
'You know where they are hiding out？' A wolfish eagerness showed on Daunay's features。
'Yes。 And they have the body of Louis Nevillon there。'
'Mon Dieu！' Pieter Daunay smacked his hands together。 'I guessed it； I guessed it。 And most surely they will be feasting on that corpse three nights from now！'
'That is exactly what they plan to do。' Sabat's admiration for the other's astuteness snowed in his smile。 'But tell me； Pieter； are things as serious as I think they are？'
'Worse。' The Frenchman's voice dropped to a whisper； glancing furtively about him to ensure that no tourist was within earshot。 A line of cannibalism that goes back to the days ofSilvain Nevillon； reincarnation brought about by the eating of the dead so that they lived again。'
'One up on the Cochon Gris！' Sabat's lips were a thin bloodless line。 'I am learning all the time。'
'You know where they are hiding。 Tell me！'
'No；' Sabat shook his head slowly。 'I have a score to settle； Pieter； believe me。 You are the one man in the world whom I would trust to acpany me back there tonight。'
'I see。' There was a flicker of suspicion for a second in Daunay's piercing eyes。 'I remember your brother Quentin； Sabat！'
Sabat felt his stomach constricting； the blood draining from his face； rasping laughter somewhere inside him。 'I killed him。 He was as evil as Nevillon。'
'Quite so。 I； too； was on his trail。 I found the body in that grave in the mountains。 There was evidence of necromantic rites in the clearing； some peasant corpses that had been interred in unconsecrated ground and then exhumed by your brother。 Quentin's body was unrecognisable； his head blown apart by revolver bullets。 I wasn't sure which of the Sabats it was。 It might have been you； my friend； murdered by your brother Quentin still free。 You killed him； however； and did the world a favour。 But； Sabat； do you realise exactly what your devilish brother was doing with those bodies？'
'Attempting to raise the dead in much the same way that in Haiti the bocors and houngans have zombies to trade as cheap labour。'
'No； my friend； nothing quite so simple。 Quentin Sabat was an associate of Louis Nevillon。 Together they were addicted to human meat and had already conspired to spread cannibalism throughout the world。 Your brother had buried those peasants whom he had murdered in the same way that a hunter buries his venison； in order to bring out the flavour in the flesh。 Those graves were his larderr
Sabat almost threw up； clutching at the seat with hands that trembled。 He knew that Daunay spoke the truth； the detective had no reason to lie。 Suddenly it all fitted together； a jigsaw that had been scattered for years and was now being slotted into place。 Quentin had been a friend of Louis Nevillon's； who in turn had Marie Boulle as his mistress。 A nest of cannibals。 Now Quentin lived again in the body of Sabat； who had also feasted on human flesh。 He was as bad as the others。 But once you kill Pieter Daunay your secret will be safe！
'I will take you to their hideout tonight。' Sabat spoke slowly； tried to harness his shocked and reeling senses。
'Good；' Daunay smiled。 'By the way； a mongol child was kidnapped in Zurich yesterday afternoon。 I have reason to believe that the cult was responsible for this。 If I am correct then the boy is already dead。'
'They ate him！' Not just a statement； a confession。
'Andrew！' Accusing eyes that would detect the slightest lie。
'Myself； too。 I had no choice； Pieter； believe me。'
'I believe you。'
'This man Andre Schmid；' Sabat said。 'A hippy mune leader but so powerful。 Almost as powerful as。。。 as Louis Nevillon。'
'Not quite； but he will be。' The Witchfinder's eyes narrowed； his tanned plexion seemed to pale。 'But if the Nevillon legend is true； then of those who devour his flesh one of them will bee the Beast of France。 Apart from the sheer revulsion of it I； for one； would not care to be partaking of that unholy banquet on Walpurgisnacht。 As for Schmid。。。 well； he also has much to answer for。 A left…wing terrorist； he has diversified from car…bombs and