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round the side of the building where some logs were heaped up against the wall。 Idly he wondered who had sawn and split them； the hippy followers of the cult； probably。 Each one of them had a part to play。
Five journeys from the log pile to the stove； each one followed by Madeleine's burning gaze； whipping and demoralising her serf into submission。 Sabat glanced over to where Pieter Daunay still sat in the corner； chuckling to himself because he had just discovered how to entwine the fingers of both hands； an achievement that occupied his entire attention。 He was totally oblivious to both the man and the girl； had no idea what fate was in store for him。 He was fortunate。
Sabat was breathing heavily； the revitalisation which he had sensed earlier had waned。 His hands trembled as he laid the fire； an instrument of horrible death； an inferno which would roast living human flesh。
Something rattled； struck him hard in the face； a box of matches hurled by the angry girl。 'Get a move on； Sabat！'
The flames licked and crackled。 He slammed the firebox door with a clang。 Sweat trickled down his face as though the fever had e back； bringing with it a light headedness。 Kneeling； praying subconsciously to a voodoo altar。
'It won't take long to heat up；' Madeleine laughed； sitting cross…legged on the straight…backed chair。 'The oven may be antiquated but it's big and efficient。 Start and get the sacrificial victim ready； Sabat！'
Sabat turned slowly； Daunay was looking at him； grinning。
Oh； Jesus Christ it was awful； the poor bastard had no idea！ Those same eyes； only different； shrewdness gone； not even suspicious。 Laughing； dribbling； strings of spittle reaching almost to the floor。 Trusting！
'Go on； Sabat。 Get his clothes off； ready！'
Sabat's brain reeled but his body was responding to those hissed mands。 Reaching out for Daunay； hauling him upright。。。 but the other's legs did not appear capable of supporting his weight Sabat grunted under the strain； one arm around the Frenchman's sagging body； the other tearing at buttons。 There was no point in undoing them； the clothing would only be destroyed afterwards anyway。
Pieter Daunay was stripped to the waist； that mountainous hump grotesque in its nakedness； a white thing like a lump of solid muscle。 Hurtful to the eye when pared with that splendid torso； but it was a focal point； the beast overruling beauty。
Sabat lowered the detective to the ground； rolled him over like a baby on a changing…mat。 Daunay kicked his legs in the air； giggled when he felt his trousers being dragged from him； clutched at them； but there was no strength in his fingers。 His expression changed； those once…handsome features screwing up into a pig…like expression； an angry babble that was the beginning of a pitiful tantrum。
Daunay was fighting to keep the last of his clothing； cries that were harsh and strange to the ear： a man possessed！ Like Sabat！ Naked； drawing his knees up as instinctive inhibitions clouded his brain。 He struck out； caught Sabat on the chest； but the blow was soft and spongy like a child's foam…rubber ball。
Sabat stared down into those eyes； read an anger that only stemmed from childish temper。 He wanted to say something； to apologise maybe； but Daunay would not have understood。 A stroke of some kind inflicted by the powers of evil。
PieterDaunay sat up again； hands clasped across his groin in a kind of screen； smiling again。 Not even aware of his nudity； burbling happily； making incoherent speech that speared deep into Sabat's conscience。 Even Quentin would have had no part in this。 He would； though！
'Roast him and eat of human flesh！'
Sabat's vision blurred momentarily； a haze of blackness spottled with crimson； a cauldron of fury that came to the boil。 Reacting automatically； but this time not on the mands of the girl who called herself Madeleine Gaufridi。 Mark Sabat and Quentin were locked in a death…hold； an inner struggle。 It was as though a whirlwind seized him。 A voice was screaming at him； a woman's； Madeleine's possibly； but it was drowned by Quentin's roars of rage。 'Stop it。 This is madness！'
Sabat fought physically and mentally。 His hand went inside his jacket； closed over the butt of the ？38 revolver in its holster。 Cold steel to his fevered touch； it seemed to give him the impetus he needed。 He felt the weapon e loose； nestle into the palm of his hand as he drew it free of his clothing。
Point…blank range； he did not even use his left hand to steady his aim。 Pieter Daunay's face； still laughing； but those eyes mirrored a brief sanity。 Pleading for death like a stricken beast。
Sabat closed his eyes as he took a trigger pressure。 Death had never bothered him before and it only did so now because it was Daunay； who might have been a friend and a colleague under different circumstances。 Then blinding pain！
He felt the blow on the back of his skull a split second before the gun bucked and spat flame in his hand； a searing flash like lightning in the darkness of a thunderstorm。 He heard the bullet whine； an angry lead hornet that met with some solid object and splintered it。
Then Sabat was slipping into that now familiar bottomless chasm。 Floating； not trying to fight； the pain in his head receding until he felt nothing。 Sublime oblivion。 * * * 101
Sabat was vaguely aware of dragging himself out of that terrible void； clawing at the brink； threatening to slip back。 For some inexplicable reason he fought； heard Quentin's leering tones； but the words were indecipherable amidst a medley of strange noises。 God； he'd been ill again。 Pneumonia。 He'd wake up in that hospital ward； a helpless victim of white…coated men who did inexplicable things to you without your consent。 Torture。
Then a sharp pain in his ribs； a blow which squeezed the breath from his body and had him gasping back to consciousness。
'You stupid bastard； Sabat！' Madeleine was standing over him； her foot drawn back in another threatening kick。 'You can't be trusted and I'll see you don't get the chance to try and cheat us again！'
He winced； saw that she held his own revolver in her right hand； its snub barrel trained on his head； her forefinger lightly curled around the trigger。 He stared； knew that his lips moved in a mute apology； excuses that he could not voice。 Cringing。 Quentin in mand again！
'But you failed；' her full red lips curled in a sneer。 'Another split second and you would have blown Daunay's head off except that I hit you with the chair first。 Now you'll do as you're told otherwise the next bullet will be in your skull。 Now hurry； the oven is hot。 Get him into it！'
Pieter Daunay still lived； still a mindless chuckling imbecile who no longer tried to cover his lower regions with his hands。 Oh Merciful God； Sabat's attempted euthanasia had failed！
Sabat was helpless to do anything other than obey。 He crawled； lifted himself up on to his feet； his whole body crying out for rest and sleep。 Grasping that naked malformed body； cursing because it started to struggle again； but somehow pulling it across to the oven。
You could feel the heat even with the big iron door closed； a blast furnace that dried your flesh； made you hurry to get your task over and done with so that you could retreat to a cooler place。 Sabat grabbed Daunay's hair； heard the screech of pain as he dragged him up to a sitting position。
The door was open； a black cubicle that was surely the entrance to hell itself； scorching his eyes closed。 He lifted the naked dead weight with some reserve of superhuman strength spring boarded by desperation。 One last effort； throwing the Frenchman into that gaping cubicle； kicking at protruding limbs； using the door to push the screaming form back。 Sabat almost passed out； heard the final clang； screams that came from the victim's very soul。 Staggering back； collapsing； crying out as another kick drove into his unprotected ribs。
He groped for unconsciousness； but it eluded him。 He wanted to shut his eyes； but they refused to close。 Muffled cries of agony as the heat inside that monstrous replica of hell began to cook the living flesh。 He could smell it； nauseating； making him retch。
Madeleine was standing in front of him。 She still had the gun but she knew she wouldn't have to use it； or even threaten with it。 Sabat had rebelled but he was well and truly beaten now。 Grovelling。 A smile that held contempt for the man she had plucked off the Jungfrau mountain to be her slave； to help her resurrect her age…old lover。
'You are sweating with the heat； Sabat；' her tones were soft and lilting。 Take off your clothes。 You will be cooler then。'
Sabat stiffened； his shaking fingers already starting to obey； his shirt following his jacket on to the floor in an untidy heap； unfastening his belt； aware of a growing pleasant sensation in the lower regions of his body。 Madeleine noticed it also； and her smile broadened。
'Two whole days together；' she la