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talking in low muttered tones。 He tried to make out what they were saying but it was impossible； a harsh nasal voice that reminded him of Quentin。 He closed his eyes； tried to work out what had happened。
He'd been ill。 Or had he？ It was as though his body had been taken over by 。。。 something； an inner force dominating； making him subservient to the dark powers。 He'd lost all track of time。 It could have been hours or weeks ago。
A movement； somebody ing inside the screens。 Sabat squinted again； saw a tall angular man wearing a long white coat and spectacles that seemed to enlarge his frog…like eyes； approaching the bed； bending over to scrutinise the patient。 Sabat had no reason to keep his eyes shut any longer。 The brightness hurt but he decided it was time he found out what was going on。
'Ah； Mr Sabat！' a note of relief in the doctor's voice。 'You have decided to join us at last。'
'How long have I been here？' Sabat grunted； suddenly realised how weak he felt； even his own voice was barely recognisable。
'Ten days。' The other consulted a chart； pursed his lips pensively。
'Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me what's been the matter。'
'You've had pneumonia^ the eyes flicked back on to Sabat； an expression that almost reprimanded。 'Touch and go for a week； I'm afraid。 We moved you out of intensive care the day before yesterday。 It was lucky you managed to telephone for help； otherwise I'm afraid you would not have made it through the night。 Fortunately the person who got your call had enough monsense to realise that there was something wrong and the police were able to trace the number。'
Sabat tried to struggle up but his muscles were not strong enough。 With a curse he fell back； grimaced。 'How much longer before 。。。'
'Now don't you get any ideas about going anywhere；' the doctor wagged a finger。 'You're lucky to be alive and you've got to regain your strength。 It will take weeks； and even after you leave here you've got to go away somewhere for a nice long convalescence。'
Sabat groaned inwardly； let his eyes remain closed。 Laughter； leering； taunting。 Quentin had won his battle of the dark hours； had a weakened Mark Sabat at his mercy。 By the time Sabat was strong again it would be too late…he would be Quentin reborn！
He felt sleep closing in on him again and vaguely wondered what had happened to Louis Nevillon's corpse。
Sabat had made his way across the Bernese Oberland in easy stages； resting for days sometimes because he barely had the strength to carry on。 Once he had tried to smoke his meerschaum pipe； but his lungs had rebelled and he had collapsed in a fit of coughing。 Drifting； the night hours haunted by strange dreams that were either forgotten on waking or else had no meaning； a string puppet controlled by the unknown。
Eventually he came to Interlaken； that small township between Lake Thun and Lake Brienz； a tourist attraction since the early nineteenth century； standing on a lush strip of flat land amidst the towering snow…capped mountains。 The air was keen； seemed to scour his lungs； the sunshine warm even for late April。 A land of beauty。 He stared up at the dark green forests that clothed the mountains and shuddered。 So familiar； right across the Oberland； into Austria and Germany； the kind of terrain across which he had hunted down Quentin。 And now Quentin lived again。
He booked in at the Jungfrau Hotel； experienced an acute embarrassment at having to seek out a porter to carry his suitcases up to his room； an old man who wheezed harder than himself and muttered his plaints in a form of bastard German。
Sabat sank into an armchair after the old man had left； stared out of the wide French windows across the balcony； and watched the evening shadows beginning to creep across the mountains。 Maybe he should not have e here after all； instead travelled to the south of France； maybe further。 But it made no difference。 Wherever he went he could not escape； for he carried his brother with him。 If the dark forces which controlled his destiny manded him then he would obey。 The sooner he got used to being Quentin； the better。 He wasn't interested in Louis Nevillon； why should he be？ He had no plans； he had all the money he needed。 When he felt stronger he would enjoy himself。 Until then he must bide his time。
It was more than two decades since Sabat had last been up the Jungfrau。 His previous visit had been an excursion during a school skiing holiday but nothing seemed to have changed。 The same route because there was none other； a virgin mountain conquered by a railway that climbed up towards the heavens through a mountain wilderness of ice and snow。 On from Wengen； through Wengernalp and up to Kleine Scheidegg where you changed trains for the last lap of the breathtaking heady trip。 A smaller train now； a tunnel through the Eiger and the Monch； and at Eigerward you looked down on Lake Thun as a pagan god might survey his domain and felt slightly dizzy。
Finally； the Jungfraujoch terminus； an underground station where you first began to feel the odd wave or two of dizziness and it was difficult to believe that you were almost 10；000 feet up in the mountains。 Sabat passed a hand across his eyes； held on to a seat to support himself。 And that was when he first saw Madeleine Gaufridi！
She could not have been more than eighteen； he decided。 Long dark hair； eyes that met his and held his gaze。 She might have been a prefect helping to organise a school holiday trip； except that she was on her own。 A tight…fitting sweater beneath an unbuttoned duffle…coat displayed curves that had not yet reached maturity and were all the more sensuous for that suggestion of virginity。
Sabat dispelled his dizziness； smiled。
'You are going up to the Ice Palace； monsieur？' her voice was lilting； seductive； a trace of a French accent。
Sabat nodded。 'It is one of the most spectacular views in the world。 I came here once 。。。 a few years ago。'
He knew she was going to acpany him into the elevator for the final trip to the summit。 He felt heady again； but it was not because they were ascending in excess of 11；000 feet。 He was also aware of the beginnings of an erection。
Scenic views that made you want to hang back； clutch at some immovable object； for this very hotel was surely defying all the laws of gravity； suspended atop a frozen glacier； a kind of plateau on the one side where teams of husky dogs pulled sleds through the powdery snow。
'Let's go out on to the terrace。' She took his hand and he found himself being led through sets of double glass doors that acted as a kind of airlock； kept the freezing atmosphere at bay for the benefit of those who preferred to stay indoors。 The cold scoured Sabat's tender lungs； had him clutching at the girl in a bout of coughing。
'You've been ill； haven't you？' There was genuine concern in her tone； and those large dark eyes were fixed on him again。 'What's been the matter with you？'
'Pneumonia；' he smiled。 'But don't worry； the fresh air's supposed to do me good。 The doc said it'll either cure or kill。〃
'That would be a terrible pity；' she squeezed his hand。 'By the way； my name's Madeleine Gaufridi。' She smiled； hesitated； mutely asking 'what's yours？'
'Sabat；' he breathed in deeply and did not cough this time。 'Mark Sabat。 I've e to Switzerland to convalesce。' A voice inside him whispered 'Liar； you're Quentin'。 He tried to ignore it。 'I'm staying at the Jungfrau Hotel in Interlaken。' 'I haven't；。。 got fixed up yet；' a sudden note of loneliness； her eyes dropping。 'I only just arrived in Interlaken。'
For some reason he held back on the questions he wanted to ask。 Like： where'd you get twenty quid to squander on a tourist excursion like this when you don't look like you've got ten francs in your pocket？ and how e you're running around on your own when there's wolves like me on the prowl？ His erection was suddenly at full stretch； unfortable； unfamiliar after the weeks of frailty and limpness。 'Well； seeing as we're both on our own maybe we'd better stick together。'
'I'd like that；' she held on to his hand and he noted that she was apparently admiring the panoramic scenery。 He stole a sideways glance at her。 Maybe she was older than she seemed； a virgin facade deliberately put on to blend in with a virgin land。
'Let's go inside；' her teeth chattered as she spoke。 'It's very cold out here。' Perfect English； just that same faint trace of a French accent。 Possibly she was fresh from some finishing school。 He'd find out in due course； there was no rush。
The warmth of the Ice Palace was weling； had Sabat realising that he still had a long way to go to full fitness。 A few weeks ago he would have found it unbearably stuffy in here。
I'll get some wine。' He escorted her to a table； wished that his hardness would subside for a while。 She hadn't given any sign that she had noticed it。 Probably she was too innocent。 One minute she gave that impression； the next she seemed advanced for