《代号星期四》14第十二章 混乱的大地（在线收听）

CHAPTER XII. THE EARTH IN ANARCHY

 URGING the horses to a gallop, without respect to the rather rugged descent of the road, the horsemen soon regained their advantage over the men on the march, and at last the bulk of the first buildings of Lancy cut off the sight of their pursuers. Nevertheless, the ride had been a long one, and by the time they reached the real town the west was warming with the colour and quality of sunset. The Colonel suggested that, before making finally for the police station, they should make the effort, in passing, to attach to themselves one more individual who might be useful.

“Four out of the five rich men in this town,” he said, “are common swindlers. I suppose the proportion is pretty equal all over the world. The fifth is a friend of mine, and a very fine fellow; and what is even more important from our point of view, he owns a motor-car.”

“I am afraid,” said the Professor in his mirthful way, looking back along the white road on which the black, crawling patch might appear at any moment, “I am afraid we have hardly time for afternoon calls.”

“Doctor Renard’s house is only three minutes off,” said the Colonel.

“Our danger,” said Dr. Bull, “is not two minutes off.”

“Yes,” said Syme, “if we ride on fast we must leave them behind, for they are on foot.”

“He has a motor-car,” said the Colonel.

“But we may not get it,” said Bull.

“Yes, he is quite on your side.”

“But he might be out.”

“Hold your tongue,” said Syme suddenly. “What is that noise?”

For a second they all sat as still as equestrian statues, and for a second—for two or three or four seconds—heaven and earth seemed equally still. Then all their ears, in an agony of attention, heard along the road that indescribable thrill and throb that means only one thing—horses!

The Colonel’s face had an instantaneous change, as if lightning had struck it, and yet left it scatheless.

“They have done us,” he said, with brief military irony. “Prepare to receive cavalry!”

“Where can they have got the horses?” asked Syme, as he mechanically urged his steed to a canter.

The Colonel was silent for a little, then he said in a strained voice—

“I was speaking with strict accuracy when I said that the ‘Soleil d’Or’ was the only place where one can get horses within twenty miles.”

“No!” said Syme violently, “I don’t believe he’d do it. Not with all that white hair.”

“He may have been forced,” said the Colonel gently. “They must be at least a hundred strong, for which reason we are all going to see my friend Renard, who has a motor-car.”

With these words he swung his horse suddenly round a street corner, and went down the street with such thundering speed, that the others, though already well at the gallop, had difficulty in following the flying tail of his horse.

Dr. Renard inhabited a high and comfortable house at the top of a steep street, so that when the riders alighted at his door they could once more see the solid green ridge of the hill, with the white road across it, standing up above all the roofs of the town. They breathed again to see that the road as yet was clear, and they rang the bell.

Dr. Renard was a beaming, brown-bearded man, a good example of that silent but very busy professional class which France has preserved even more perfectly than England. When the matter was explained to him he pooh-poohed the panic of the ex-Marquis altogether; he said, with the solid French scepticism, that there was no conceivable probability of a general anarchist rising. “Anarchy,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “it is childishness!”

“Et ca,” cried out the Colonel suddenly, pointing over the other’s shoulder, “and that is childishness, isn’t it?”

They all looked round, and saw a curve of black cavalry come sweeping over the top of the hill with all the energy of Attila. Swiftly as they rode, however, the whole rank still kept well together, and they could see the black vizards of the first line as level as a line of uniforms. But although the main black square was the same, though travelling faster, there was now one sensational difference which they could see clearly upon the slope of the hill, as if upon a slanted map. The bulk of the riders were in one block; but one rider flew far ahead of the column, and with frantic movements of hand and heel urged his horse faster and faster, so that one might have fancied that he was not the pursuer but the pursued. But even at that great distance they could see something so fanatical, so unquestionable in his figure, that they knew it was the Secretary himself. “I am sorry to cut short a cultured discussion,” said the Colonel, “but can you lend me your motor-car now, in two minutes?”

“I have a suspicion that you are all mad,” said Dr. Renard, smiling sociably; “but God forbid that madness should in any way interrupt friendship. Let us go round to the garage.”

Dr. Renard was a mild man with monstrous wealth; his rooms were like the Musee de Cluny, and he had three motor-cars. These, however, he seemed to use very sparingly, having the simple tastes of the French middle class, and when his impatient friends came to examine them, it took them some time to assure themselves that one of them even could be made to work. This with some difficulty they brought round into the street before the Doctor’s house. When they came out of the dim garage they were startled to find that twilight had already fallen with the abruptness of night in the tropics. Either they had been longer in the place than they imagined, or some unusual canopy of cloud had gathered over the town. They looked down the steep streets, and seemed to see a slight mist coming up from the sea.

“It is now or never,” said Dr. Bull. “I hear horses.”

“No,” corrected the Professor, “a horse.”

And as they listened, it was evident that the noise, rapidly coming nearer on the rattling stones, was not the noise of the whole cavalcade but that of the one horseman, who had left it far behind—the insane Secretary.

Syme’s family, like most of those who end in the simple life, had once owned a motor, and he knew all about them. He had leapt at once into the chauffeur’s seat, and with flushed face was wrenching and tugging at the disused machinery. He bent his strength upon one handle, and then said quite quietly—

“I am afraid it’s no go.”

As he spoke, there swept round the corner a man rigid on his rushing horse, with the rush and rigidity of an arrow. He had a smile that thrust out his chin as if it were dislocated. He swept alongside of the stationary car, into which its company had crowded, and laid his hand on the front. It was the Secretary, and his mouth went quite straight in the solemnity of triumph.

Syme was leaning hard upon the steering wheel, and there was no sound but the rumble of the other pursuers riding into the town. Then there came quite suddenly a scream of scraping iron, and the car leapt forward. It plucked the Secretary clean out of his saddle, as a knife is whipped out of its sheath, trailed him kicking terribly for twenty yards, and left him flung flat upon the road far in front of his frightened horse. As the car took the corner of the street with a splendid curve, they could just see the other anarchists filling the street and raising their fallen leader.

“I can’t understand why it has grown so dark,” said the Professor at last in a low voice.

“Going to be a storm, I think,” said Dr. Bull. “I say, it’s a pity we haven’t got a light on this car, if only to see by.”

“We have,” said the Colonel, and from the floor of the car he fished up a heavy, old-fashioned, carved iron lantern with a light inside it. It was obviously an antique, and it would seem as if its original use had been in some way semi-religious, for there was a rude moulding of a cross upon one of its sides.

“Where on earth did you get that?” asked the Professor.

“I got it where I got the car,” answered the Colonel, chuckling, “from my best friend. While our friend here was fighting with the steering wheel, I ran up the front steps of the house and spoke to Renard, who was standing in his own porch, you will remember. ‘I suppose,’ I said, ‘there’s no time to get a lamp.’ He looked up, blinking amiably at the beautiful arched ceiling of his own front hall. From this was suspended, by chains of exquisite ironwork, this lantern, one of the hundred treasures of his treasure house. By sheer force he tore the lamp out of his own ceiling, shattering the painted panels, and bringing down two blue vases with his violence. Then he handed me the iron lantern, and I put it in the car. Was I not right when I said that Dr. Renard was worth knowing?”

“You were,” said Syme seriously, and hung the heavy lantern over the front. There was a certain allegory of their whole position in the contrast between the modern automobile and its strange ecclesiastical lamp. Hitherto they had passed through the quietest part of the town, meeting at most one or two pedestrians, who could give them no hint of the peace or the hostility of the place. Now, however, the windows in the houses began one by one to be lit up, giving a greater sense of habitation and humanity. Dr. Bull turned to the new detective who had led their flight, and permitted himself one of his natural and friendly smiles.

“These lights make one feel more cheerful.”

Inspector Ratcliffe drew his brows together.

“There is only one set of lights that make me more cheerful,” he said, “and they are those lights of the police station which I can see beyond the town. Please God we may be there in ten minutes.”

Then all Bull’s boiling good sense and optimism broke suddenly out of him.

“Oh, this is all raving nonsense!” he cried. “If you really think that ordinary people in ordinary houses are anarchists, you must be madder than an anarchist yourself. If we turned and fought these fellows, the whole town would fight for us.”

“No,” said the other with an immovable simplicity, “the whole town would fight for them. We shall see.”

While they were speaking the Professor had leant forward with sudden excitement.

“What is that noise?” he said.

“Oh, the horses behind us, I suppose,” said the Colonel. “I thought we had got clear of them.”

“The horses behind us! No,” said the Professor, “it is not horses, and it is not behind us.”

Almost as he spoke, across the end of the street before them two shining and rattling shapes shot past. They were gone almost in a flash, but everyone could see that they were motor-cars, and the Professor stood up with a pale face and swore that they were the other two motor-cars from Dr. Renard’s garage.

“I tell you they were his,” he repeated, with wild eyes, “and they were full of men in masks!”

“Absurd!” said the Colonel angrily. “Dr. Renard would never give them his cars.”

“He may have been forced,” said Ratcliffe quietly. “The whole town is on their side.”

“You still believe that,” asked the Colonel incredulously.

“You will all believe it soon,” said the other with a hopeless calm.

There was a puzzled pause for some little time, and then the Colonel began again abruptly—

“No, I can’t believe it. The thing is nonsense. The plain people of a peaceable French town—”

He was cut short by a bang and a blaze of light, which seemed close to his eyes. As the car sped on it left a floating patch of white smoke behind it, and Syme had heard a shot shriek past his ear.

“My God!” said the Colonel, “someone has shot at us.”

“It need not interrupt conversation,” said the gloomy Ratcliffe. “Pray resume your remarks, Colonel. You were talking, I think, about the plain people of a peaceable French town.”

The staring Colonel was long past minding satire. He rolled his eyes all round the street.

“It is extraordinary,” he said, “most extraordinary.”

“A fastidious person,” said Syme, “might even call it unpleasant. However, I suppose those lights out in the field beyond this street are the Gendarmerie. We shall soon get there.”

“No,” said Inspector Ratcliffe, “we shall never get there.”

He had been standing up and looking keenly ahead of him. Now he sat down and smoothed his sleek hair with a weary gesture.

“What do you mean?” asked Bull sharply.

“I mean that we shall never get there,” said the pessimist placidly. “They have two rows of armed men across the road already; I can see them from here. The town is in arms, as I said it was. I can only wallow in the exquisite comfort of my own exactitude.”

And Ratcliffe sat down comfortably in the car and lit a cigarette, but the others rose excitedly and stared down the road. Syme had slowed down the car as their plans became doubtful, and he brought it finally to a standstill just at the corner of a side street that ran down very steeply to the sea.

The town was mostly in shadow, but the sun had not sunk; wherever its level light could break through, it painted everything a burning gold. Up this side street the last sunset light shone as sharp and narrow as the shaft of artificial light at the theatre. It struck the car of the five friends, and lit it like a burning chariot. But the rest of the street, especially the two ends of it, was in the deepest twilight, and for some seconds they could see nothing. Then Syme, whose eyes were the keenest, broke into a little bitter whistle, and said,

“It is quite true. There is a crowd or an army or some such thing across the end of that street.”

“Well, if there is,” said Bull impatiently, “it must be something else—a sham fight or the mayor’s birthday or something. I cannot and will not believe that plain, jolly people in a place like this walk about with dynamite in their pockets. Get on a bit, Syme, and let us look at them.”

The car crawled about a hundred yards farther, and then they were all startled by Dr. Bull breaking into a high crow of laughter.

“Why, you silly mugs!” he cried, “what did I tell you. That crowd’s as law-abiding as a cow, and if it weren’t, it’s on our side.”

“How do you know?” asked the professor, staring.

“You blind bat,” cried Bull, “don’t you see who is leading them?”

They peered again, and then the Colonel, with a catch in his voice, cried out—

“Why, it’s Renard!”

There was, indeed, a rank of dim figures running across the road, and they could not be clearly seen; but far enough in front to catch the accident of the evening light was stalking up and down the unmistakable Dr. Renard, in a white hat, stroking his long brown beard, and holding a revolver in his left hand.

“What a fool I’ve been!” exclaimed the Colonel. “Of course, the dear old boy has turned out to help us.”

Dr. Bull was bubbling over with laughter, swinging the sword in his hand as carelessly as a cane. He jumped out of the car and ran across the intervening space, calling out—

“Dr. Renard! Dr. Renard!”

An instant after Syme thought his own eyes had gone mad in his head. For the philanthropic Dr. Renard had deliberately raised his revolver and fired twice at Bull, so that the shots rang down the road.

Almost at the same second as the puff of white cloud went up from this atrocious explosion a long puff of white cloud went up also from the cigarette of the cynical Ratcliffe. Like all the rest he turned a little pale, but he smiled. Dr. Bull, at whom the bullets had been fired, just missing his scalp, stood quite still in the middle of the road without a sign of fear, and then turned very slowly and crawled back to the car, and climbed in with two holes through his hat.

“Well,” said the cigarette smoker slowly, “what do you think now?”

“I think,” said Dr. Bull with precision, “that I am lying in bed at No. 217 Peabody Buildings, and that I shall soon wake up with a jump; or, if that’s not it, I think that I am sitting in a small cushioned cell in Hanwell, and that the doctor can’t make much of my case. But if you want to know what I don’t think, I’ll tell you. I don’t think what you think. I don’t think, and I never shall think, that the mass of ordinary men are a pack of dirty modern thinkers. No, sir, I’m a democrat, and I still don’t believe that Sunday could convert one average navvy or counter-jumper. No, I may be mad, but humanity isn’t.”

Syme turned his bright blue eyes on Bull with an earnestness which he did not commonly make clear.

“You are a very fine fellow,” he said. “You can believe in a sanity which is not merely your sanity. And you’re right enough about humanity, about peasants and people like that jolly old innkeeper. But you’re not right about Renard. I suspected him from the first. He’s rationalistic, and, what’s worse, he’s rich. When duty and religion are really destroyed, it will be by the rich.”

“They are really destroyed now,” said the man with a cigarette, and rose with his hands in his pockets. “The devils are coming on!”

The men in the motor-car looked anxiously in the direction of his dreamy gaze, and they saw that the whole regiment at the end of the road was advancing upon them, Dr. Renard marching furiously in front, his beard flying in the breeze.

The Colonel sprang out of the car with an intolerant exclamation.

“Gentlemen,” he cried, “the thing is incredible. It must be a practical joke. If you knew Renard as I do—it’s like calling Queen Victoria a dynamiter. If you had got the man’s character into your head—”

“Dr. Bull,” said Syme sardonically, “has at least got it into his hat.”

“I tell you it can’t be!” cried the Colonel, stamping.

“Renard shall explain it. He shall explain it to me,” and he strode forward.

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” drawled the smoker. “He will very soon explain it to all of us.”

But the impatient Colonel was already out of earshot, advancing towards the advancing enemy. The excited Dr. Renard lifted his pistol again, but perceiving his opponent, hesitated, and the Colonel came face to face with him with frantic gestures of remonstrance.

“It is no good,” said Syme. “He will never get anything out of that old heathen. I vote we drive bang through the thick of them, bang as the bullets went through Bull’s hat. We may all be killed, but we must kill a tidy number of them.”

“I won’t ‘ave it,” said Dr. Bull, growing more vulgar in the sincerity of his virtue. “The poor chaps may be making a mistake. Give the Colonel a chance.”

“Shall we go back, then?” asked the Professor.

“No,” said Ratcliffe in a cold voice, “the street behind us is held too. In fact, I seem to see there another friend of yours, Syme.”

Syme spun round smartly, and stared backwards at the track which they had travelled. He saw an irregular body of horsemen gathering and galloping towards them in the gloom. He saw above the foremost saddle the silver gleam of a sword, and then as it grew nearer the silver gleam of an old man’s hair. The next moment, with shattering violence, he had swung the motor round and sent it dashing down the steep side street to the sea, like a man that desired only to die.

“What the devil is up?” cried the Professor, seizing his arm.

“The morning star has fallen!” said Syme, as his own car went down the darkness like a falling star.

The others did not understand his words, but when they looked back at the street above they saw the hostile cavalry coming round the corner and down the slopes after them; and foremost of all rode the good innkeeper, flushed with the fiery innocence of the evening light.

“The world is insane!” said the Professor, and buried his face in his hands.

“No,” said Dr. Bull in adamantine humility, “it is I.”

“What are we going to do?” asked the Professor.

“At this moment,” said Syme, with a scientific detachment, “I think we are going to smash into a lamppost.”

The next instant the automobile had come with a catastrophic jar against an iron object. The instant after that four men had crawled out from under a chaos of metal, and a tall lean lamp-post that had stood up straight on the edge of the marine parade stood out, bent and twisted, like the branch of a broken tree.

“Well, we smashed something,” said the Professor, with a faint smile. “That’s some comfort.”

“You’re becoming an anarchist,” said Syme, dusting his clothes with his instinct of daintiness.

“Everyone is,” said Ratcliffe.

As they spoke, the white-haired horseman and his followers came thundering from above, and almost at the same moment a dark string of men ran shouting along the sea-front. Syme snatched a sword, and took it in his teeth; he stuck two others under his arm-pits, took a fourth in his left hand and the lantern in his right, and leapt off the high parade on to the beach below.

The others leapt after him, with a common acceptance of such decisive action, leaving the debris and the gathering mob above them.

“We have one more chance,” said Syme, taking the steel out of his mouth. “Whatever all this pandemonium means, I suppose the police station will help us. We can’t get there, for they hold the way. But there’s a pier or breakwater runs out into the sea just here, which we could defend longer than anything else, like Horatius and his bridge. We must defend it till the Gendarmerie turn out. Keep after me.”

They followed him as he went crunching down the beach, and in a second or two their boots broke not on the sea gravel, but on broad, flat stones. They marched down a long, low jetty, running out in one arm into the dim, boiling sea, and when they came to the end of it they felt that they had come to the end of their story. They turned and faced the town.

That town was transfigured with uproar. All along the high parade from which they had just descended was a dark and roaring stream of humanity, with tossing arms and fiery faces, groping and glaring towards them. The long dark line was dotted with torches and lanterns; but even where no flame lit up a furious face, they could see in the farthest figure, in the most shadowy gesture, an organised hate. It was clear that they were the accursed of all men, and they knew not why.

Two or three men, looking little and black like monkeys, leapt over the edge as they had done and dropped on to the beach. These came ploughing down the deep sand, shouting horribly, and strove to wade into the sea at random. The example was followed, and the whole black mass of men began to run and drip over the edge like black treacle.

Foremost among the men on the beach Syme saw the peasant who had driven their cart. He splashed into the surf on a huge cart-horse, and shook his axe at them.

“The peasant!” cried Syme. “They have not risen since the Middle Ages.”

“Even if the police do come now,” said the Professor mournfully, “they can do nothing with this mob.”

“Nonsense!” said Bull desperately; “there must be some people left in the town who are human.”

“No,” said the hopeless Inspector, “the human being will soon be extinct. We are the last of mankind.”

“It may be,” said the Professor absently. Then he added in his dreamy voice, “What is all that at the end of the ‘Dunciad’?

   ‘Nor public flame; nor private, dares to shine;

    Nor human light is left, nor glimpse divine!

    Lo! thy dread Empire, Chaos, is restored;

    Light dies before thine uncreating word:

    Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall;

    And universal darkness buries all.’”

“Stop!” cried Bull suddenly, “the gendarmes are out.”

The low lights of the police station were indeed blotted and broken with hurrying figures, and they heard through the darkness the clash and jingle of a disciplined cavalry.

“They are charging the mob!” cried Bull in ecstacy or alarm.

“No,” said Syme, “they are formed along the parade.”

“They have unslung their carbines,” cried Bull dancing with excitement.

“Yes,” said Ratcliffe, “and they are going to fire on us.”

As he spoke there came a long crackle of musketry, and bullets seemed to hop like hailstones on the stones in front of them.

“The gendarmes have joined them!” cried the Professor, and struck his forehead.

“I am in the padded cell,” said Bull solidly.

There was a long silence, and then Ratcliffe said, looking out over the swollen sea, all a sort of grey purple—

“What does it matter who is mad or who is sane? We shall all be dead soon.”

Syme turned to him and said—

“You are quite hopeless, then?”

Mr. Ratcliffe kept a stony silence; then at last he said quietly—

“No; oddly enough I am not quite hopeless. There is one insane little hope that I cannot get out of my mind. The power of this whole planet is against us, yet I cannot help wondering whether this one silly little hope is hopeless yet.”

“In what or whom is your hope?” asked Syme with curiosity.

“In a man I never saw,” said the other, looking at the leaden sea.

“I know what you mean,” said Syme in a low voice, “the man in the dark room. But Sunday must have killed him by now.”

“Perhaps,” said the other steadily; “but if so, he was the only man whom Sunday found it hard to kill.”

“I heard what you said,” said the Professor, with his back turned. “I also am holding hard on to the thing I never saw.”

All of a sudden Syme, who was standing as if blind with introspective thought, swung round and cried out, like a man waking from sleep—

“Where is the Colonel? I thought he was with us!”

“The Colonel! Yes,” cried Bull, “where on earth is the Colonel?”

“He went to speak to Renard,” said the Professor.

“We cannot leave him among all those beasts,” cried Syme. “Let us die like gentlemen if—”

“Do not pity the Colonel,” said Ratcliffe, with a pale sneer. “He is extremely comfortable. He is—”

“No! no! no!” cried Syme in a kind of frenzy, “not the Colonel too! I will never believe it!”

“Will you believe your eyes?” asked the other, and pointed to the beach.

Many of their pursuers had waded into the water shaking their fists, but the sea was rough, and they could not reach the pier. Two or three figures, however, stood on the beginning of the stone footway, and seemed to be cautiously advancing down it. The glare of a chance lantern lit up the faces of the two foremost. One face wore a black half-mask, and under it the mouth was twisting about in such a madness of nerves that the black tuft of beard wriggled round and round like a restless, living thing. The other was the red face and white moustache of Colonel Ducroix. They were in earnest consultation.

“Yes, he is gone too,” said the Professor, and sat down on a stone. “Everything’s gone. I’m gone! I can’t trust my own bodily machinery. I feel as if my own hand might fly up and strike me.”

“When my hand flies up,” said Syme, “it will strike somebody else,” and he strode along the pier towards the Colonel, the sword in one hand and the lantern in the other.

As if to destroy the last hope or doubt, the Colonel, who saw him coming, pointed his revolver at him and fired. The shot missed Syme, but struck his sword, breaking it short at the hilt. Syme rushed on, and swung the iron lantern above his head.

“Judas before Herod!” he said, and struck the Colonel down upon the stones. Then he turned to the Secretary, whose frightful mouth was almost foaming now, and held the lamp high with so rigid and arresting a gesture, that the man was, as it were, frozen for a moment, and forced to hear.

“Do you see this lantern?” cried Syme in a terrible voice. “Do you see the cross carved on it, and the flame inside? You did not make it. You did not light it. Better men than you, men who could believe and obey, twisted the entrails of iron and preserved the legend of fire. There is not a street you walk on, there is not a thread you wear, that was not made as this lantern was, by denying your philosophy of dirt and rats. You can make nothing. You can only destroy. You will destroy mankind; you will destroy the world. Let that suffice you. Yet this one old Christian lantern you shall not destroy. It shall go where your empire of apes will never have the wit to find it.”

He struck the Secretary once with the lantern so that he staggered; and then, whirling it twice round his head, sent it flying far out to sea, where it flared like a roaring rocket and fell.

“Swords!” shouted Syme, turning his flaming face to the three behind him. “Let us charge these dogs, for our time has come to die.”

His three companions came after him sword in hand. Syme’s sword was broken, but he rent a bludgeon from the fist of a fisherman, flinging him down. In a moment they would have flung themselves upon the face of the mob and perished, when an interruption came. The Secretary, ever since Syme’s speech, had stood with his hand to his stricken head as if dazed; now he suddenly pulled off his black mask.

The pale face thus peeled in the lamplight revealed not so much rage as astonishment. He put up his hand with an anxious authority.

“There is some mistake,” he said. “Mr. Syme, I hardly think you understand your position. I arrest you in the name of the law.”

“Of the law?” said Syme, and dropped his stick.

“Certainly!” said the Secretary. “I am a detective from Scotland Yard,” and he took a small blue card from his pocket.

“And what do you suppose we are?” asked the Professor, and threw up his arms.

“You,” said the Secretary stiffly, “are, as I know for a fact, members of the Supreme Anarchist Council. Disguised as one of you, I—”

Dr. Bull tossed his sword into the sea.

“There never was any Supreme Anarchist Council,” he said. “We were all a lot of silly policemen looking at each other. And all these nice people who have been peppering us with shot thought we were the dynamiters. I knew I couldn’t be wrong about the mob,” he said, beaming over the enormous multitude, which stretched away to the distance on both sides. “Vulgar people are never mad. I’m vulgar myself, and I know. I am now going on shore to stand a drink to everybody here.”

第十二章 混乱的大地

    骑马人不顾崎岖不平的下坡路策马飞奔，很快又把那些追踪者甩得远远的，最后兰西镇的大房子跃入眼帘，那些追踪者也已不见踪影。然而，小镇依然遥远。当他们真的到小镇时，西天已经被一个货真价实的落日染成了暖暖的绯红。上校建议，在最后前往警察局之前，他们应当尽力捎上另外一个可能有用的人。

    “这个小镇里，五个富人中有四个，”他说，“是普通的骗子。我认为，在全世界这个比例也一样。第五个人是我的朋友，一个非常好的家伙。最重要的一点是，他有一辆汽车。”

    “我担心，”教授乐呵呵地说道，一边回头张望着那条白色的马路，在那里徐徐前进的黑色斑点可能随时出现，“我担心我们今天下午没什么时间登门拜访了。”

    “雷纳德医生的房子离这儿只有三分钟的路程。”上校说道。

    “我们面临的危险，”布尔医生说道，“离我们两分钟都不到。”

    “确实，”赛姆说，“如果我们骑得快，我们肯定能甩掉他们，因为他们是步行。”

    “他有一辆汽车。”上校说。

    “可我们也许无法得到。”布尔说。

    “看来，他完全站在你这一边。”

    “可他也许不在家。”

    “住嘴，”赛姆突然说道，“那是什么声音？”

    一下子，他们都像雕像般静止，然后过了一秒钟——过了两秒或三秒或四秒钟——天与地似乎也静止了。然后，他们所有人的耳朵在痛苦的凝神中听到马路上传来那种莫名的震颤，而这只意味着一样东西——马匹！

    上校的脸色瞬间变了，仿佛被闪电击中却安然无恙。

    “他们要追上我们了，”他带着军人敏锐的讽刺口吻说，“准备应付骑兵！”

    “他们在哪里搞到的这些马？”赛姆一边问，一边毫无表情地策马慢跑起来。

    上校沉默了片刻然后紧张地说道：“先前我说‘金色太阳’客栈是方圆二十英里内唯一能搞到马匹的地方，我说得非常准确。”

    “不对！”赛姆激动地说道，“我不相信他会这么做。白头发的老人不会这么做。”

    “他可能是被逼的，”上校温和地说道，“他们至少有一百人，所以我们就去求助我的朋友雷纳德，他有一辆汽车。”

    上校一说完，突然在街角牵转马头，以雷鸣般的速度策马跑下街道，其他人尽管也在策马飞奔，但很难跟上他飞驰的马尾巴。

    雷纳德医生舒适的房子在一条陡峭街道的高坡上，所以当这几个人在他门前下马时，他们能够再次看见小山绿色而坚实的山脊耸立在小镇所有屋顶的上方，而白色的马路正从山上穿过。他们喘着气，发现马路上暂时没有尘土扬起，于是按响了门铃。

    雷纳德医生长着棕色胡子的脸上挂满笑容，他是保留得比较完满的默默无闻但非常繁忙的专业人士阶层的一个优秀代表。听完他们的解释后，他对于那位前侯爵的恐慌表露了全然的藐视。他带着法国人的坚定的怀疑态度表示，不可能存在无政府主义者的大叛乱。“无政府主义，”他边说，边耸了耸肩，“简直就是幼稚！”

    “那么那个，”上校突然叫道，朝对方身后指去，“那就是幼稚，你是这个意思？”

    他们都回过头去，看见一队蜿蜒的黑色骑兵用所有阿提拉的力量扫过山头。他们尽管骑得很快，整支队伍却仍然保持着紧密的队形，他们能够看见第一排骑手的黑色面罩整齐得就像制服。不过即使主要的黑色方阵是一样的，进程也很快，但他们能清楚地看见山坡上一个惊人的差异，大部分的骑手处在一个整体中，但是有一个骑手远远地飞奔在队伍的前方，他狂乱地舞动着马鞭，马跑得也越来越快，所以旁人不免猜想，他可能不是一个追踪者，而是一个被追踪者。就连隔着那么大的距离，他们也能看到他身上那丝狂热而无可置疑的气息，所以他们知道，那个人可能就是那位最高理事会的秘书。“我很抱歉要打断一次文雅的谈话，”上校说道，“两分钟之后，你能把你的汽车借给我吗？”

    “我怀疑你们都疯了，”雷纳德医生和蔼地笑着说道，“但是上帝不允许疯狂以任何方式妨碍友谊。让我们去车库吧。”

    雷纳德医生脾气温和，拥有庞大的财产；他的几个房间看起来就像国立的中世纪博物馆，而且他有三辆汽车。不过，他似乎很少用这些车，因为他具有法国中产阶级的朴素，当他急切的朋友们前去查看这些汽车时，他们过了好一会儿才弄明白，其中一辆还能开。他们费了好些劲才把这辆车弄到医生家门前的街道上。走出阴暗的车库时，他们惊讶地发现黄昏已经降临了。也许他们在这个地方待了比自己估计的更长的时间，要不就是某种不寻常的厚厚的云层积聚在了小镇的上空。他们朝陡峭的街道望过去，就像看到薄雾从海面升起。

    “机不可失，”布尔医生说道，“我听到了许多马匹的声音。”

    “不对，”教授纠正道，“是一匹马。”

    他们凝神细听，很明显在嘎嘎作响的石头上飞驰而来的、越来越近的声音，不是由整个骑兵队发出的，而是由一个骑手发出的，他就是那个疯狂的秘书——他把大队人马远远地甩在了后面。

    赛姆的家人，跟大多数在简朴中度过余生的人一样，曾经拥有一辆汽车，所以他对汽车非常了解。他一步跨到了司机的座位上，带着兴奋的神色对这台废弃不用的机器又扭又拉。他把全部的力气都倾注在一把手柄上，然后平静地说：“恐怕这车开不了。”

    话音刚落，一个男子以箭头的冲劲和执着坚毅地骑着快马扫过街角。他微笑着，下巴向前突出，如脱臼了一般。他骑到静止的汽车旁边，把手搭在汽车的前端，而汽车里正满满地坐着一车人。这正是那位秘书，他的嘴巴紧绷，带着胜利者的庄重。

    赛姆紧紧地握着方向盘，除了其他的追踪者骑着马轰隆隆地跑进小镇的声音外，没有别的声音。一声钢铁摩擦的巨响，汽车突然往前蹿去，秘书被拉出了马鞍，汽车拖着他跑了二十码的距离，然后把他平抛在前方的路上。随着汽车转了个大弯绕过街角，他们能看见其余的无政府主义者拥进街道，扶起了他们摔倒的头领。

    “我不明白为何天会这么黑。”教授最后低声说。

    “我想，暴风雨就要来了。”布尔医生说，“我说，很遗憾我们这辆车上连个照明用的灯都没有。”

    “我们有的。”上校说着，然后从车厢底部提起了一盏老式、沉重、雕有图案的铁灯，里面有一个火种。它明显是一件古董，也能看出它最初的用途是用于某种类似宗教的目的，因为灯面有一处铸了一个粗陋的十字架。

    “你到底在哪里得到它的？”教授问。

    “在我搞到汽车的地方，”上校答道，咯咯笑了，“是我的好朋友给的。当我们的朋友在这儿和方向盘搏斗时，我跑上房子前面的台阶去跟雷纳德说话，他当时正站在自家门廊下，你们记得的。‘我想，’我说道，‘没时间去弄灯了。’他抬起头，眯着眼和蔼地看着他前厅漂亮的拱顶。在拱顶下由一条精致的铁链悬挂的就是这盏灯，他的宝库中的众多珍宝之一。他硬生生地把灯从拱顶拉了下来，砸碎了描画的壁板，而且把两只蓝色花瓶也砸了。然后他把这灯交给我，我就把它放进了汽车。我说雷纳德医生值得结交这句话不对吗？”

    “你是对的。”赛姆严肃地说道，把沉重的铁灯挂在车的前部。这辆现代化的汽车和怪异的教士用灯之间的对比，明确地象征着他们的整体处境。至今，他们经过了小镇最安静的部分，最多碰到了一两个行人，而行人也无法对他们暗示是和平或敌意。然而，此刻那些房子开始逐一地被灯照亮，使他们更明确地感受到里面住着活生生的人。布尔医生转过身，面对那个带领他们逃跑的新侦探，让自己脸上露出一副自然而友好的笑容。

    “这些灯光让人感到更加快活。”

    拉特克利夫巡官蹙起了眉头。

    “只有一种灯光可以使我更快活，”他说道，“那就是我能看到小镇边警察局的那些灯光。但愿上帝让我们在十分钟之内到达那里。”

    布尔激昂的理智和乐观态度突然从他身上迸发出来。

    “哦，这些都是胡言乱语！”他叫道。“如果你真的认为住在普通房子里的普通人是无政府主义者，你就肯定比无政府主义者还要疯狂了。如果我们转身和这些家伙打，整个小镇就会为我们而战。”

    “不，”对方坚定而简洁地说道，“整个小镇会为他们而战。等着瞧吧。”

    他们谈话时，教授突然激动地向前倾着身。“那是什么声音？”他问。

    “哦，我猜是我们后面的马队，”上校说道，“我想我们已经远离了他们。”

    “我们后面的马队！不，”教授道，“这不是马的声音，而且声音不在我们后面。”

    他正说着，在他们前面街的尽头两个闪光而喀喀作响的影子飞驰而过。它们几乎一瞬间就消失了，但大家可以看清它们是汽车。教授站了起来，脸色苍白地断言它们就是来自雷纳德医生车库的另外两辆汽车。

    “我告诉你们，那是他的车，”他重复道，眼神狂乱，“而且车里坐满了戴面罩的人！”

    “荒唐！”上校愤怒地说道，“雷纳德医生绝不会把他的汽车交给他们。”

    “他可能是被逼的，”拉特克利夫平静地说道，“整个小镇都倒向他们那边。”

    “你倒是信那个。”上校怀疑地说道。

    “很快，你们全都会相信的。”对方绝望而平静地说道。

    一下子众人都茫然地不说话。上校突然又开口说：“不，我不会相信。这是胡闹。一个太平的法国小镇的普通人——”

    他的话被一声巨响和一阵强光打断，而这两者似乎离得很近。随着汽车疾速行驶，它的后面留下了一团漂浮的白烟，接着赛姆听到一声刺耳的枪响。

    “我的天！”上校说道，“有人朝我们开枪。”

    “不必中止谈话，”忧郁的拉特克利夫说道，“请继续讲下去，上校。我想，你刚才在讲一个太平的法国小镇的普通人。”

    瞪着眼的上校对他的讽刺毫不在意，而是双眼扫视着街道。

    “这很奇怪，”他说，“非常奇怪。”

    “一个爱挑剔的人，”赛姆道，“可能会把这称为不愉快。不过，我猜这条街旁边旷野上的那些灯光是宪兵队。我们很快会到达那里。”

    “不，”拉特克利夫巡官说道，“我们绝对到不了那儿。”

    刚才他曾站起来热切地朝前面张望。此刻他坐了下来，疲倦地抚弄着他光滑的头发。

    “你是什么意思？”布尔愤怒地问道。

    “我的意思是我们绝对到不了那儿。”这个悲观主义者平静地说道。“他们已经在街道正面布置了两排武装人员，我可以从这儿看见他们。就像我刚才讲的，小镇已经武装起来了。我只能沉溺于我的正确话语给我带来的安慰中。”

    拉特克利夫在车里舒适地坐下来点了一根香烟，但其他人却焦急地站起来朝路上张望。由于他们的计划已经存疑，赛姆就把汽车减速，最后他把它停在一条小街的街角。这条小街倾斜着通向大海。

    小镇大部分都处在阴影中，但是太阳还没有落下，在它坚定的光线所能穿透之处，都染上了灿烂的金色。街道两头正处在最深的暮色中，在几秒钟之后他们就什么也看不见了。眼睛最尖的赛姆吹了声略带苦涩的口哨，说：“确实。在这条街的尽头排着一群人或者一支军队，或者诸如此类的东西。”

    “嗨，如果真有，”布尔不耐烦地说道，“那一定是别的东西——比如军事演习，市长的生日聚会，或者别的什么。我现在不会，将来也不会相信像这样一个有着快乐的平民的地方会有人在口袋里装着炸药四处走动。往前开一点，赛姆，让我们仔细瞧瞧。”

    汽车缓慢地向前开了大约一百码，然后他们都惊讶地听见布尔医生发出了一阵高亢的笑声。

    “嗨，你们这些愚蠢的傻瓜！”他叫道，“刚才我对你们怎么说的。那群人像奶牛一样守法，如果不是这样，他们就是站在我们这边。”

    “你怎么知道？”教授问，并盯着他。

    “你这瞎眼的蝙蝠，”布尔叫道，“你没看见领头的是谁？”

    他们又定睛一看，然后语带哽噎的上校脱口而出——

    “嗨，那是雷纳德！”

    确实有一排模糊的身影在路面上跑过，不过无法看清面貌。在前方极远处被明暗不齐的夜光掩映着的正是走来走去的雷纳德医生本人，他戴着白帽子，捋着他棕色的长胡子，左手还拿了一把左轮手枪。

    “我是一个多么傻的傻瓜！”上校叫道，“这个亲爱的老家伙肯定是出门来帮助我们的。”

    布尔医生兴奋地边笑边说，漫不经心地摆弄着手里的剑，就像在摆弄一根手杖。他跳出汽车，跑过路面，大声叫道——

    “雷纳德医生！雷纳德医生！”

    片刻之后，赛姆就以为他的双眼发了疯，因为仁慈的雷纳德医生举起了他的左轮手枪朝布尔开了两枪，枪声就在路上回响。

    几乎就在一股白烟从雷纳德手枪升起时，一股悠长的白烟也从愤世嫉俗的拉特克利夫嘴里吐出。跟其他人一样，他的脸色有点苍白，但他还在微笑。布尔医生被打了两枪，但仅仅擦过了头皮，他在路中央一动不动地站着，没有一丝恐惧，然后非常慢地转过身，爬进车时帽子上有两个洞。

    “嗨，”吸烟人慢悠悠地说道，“你现在怎么想？”

    “我在想，”布尔医生明确地说道，“我现在躺在皮博迪大楼217房间的床上，很快就会醒来。如果不是这样，我就想我正坐在汉威尔的一个铺有坐垫的小牢房里，而医生对我的情况不理不睬。但如果你想知道我没在想什么，我就告诉你。我没在想你在想的东西。我没有想到，而且我将来也绝不会想到，那些普通群众会是一帮卑鄙的现代思想家。不，先生，我是一个民主主义者，而且我仍然不相信星期天能够改变一个普通的挖土工人或者店员的信仰。不，我可能疯了，但人类没疯。”

    赛姆用他明亮的蓝色眼睛盯着布尔，眼睛里带着一种少有的热忱。

    “你是一个非常好的人，”他说，“你相信理智，但不局限于你自己的理智。对于人类，对于像那个快乐的老店主一样的农民和群众，你的看法非常正确。但你对雷纳德的看法是错误的。我从一开始就怀疑他。他理性至上，而且更糟糕的是，他很有钱。如果责任和宗教真的被破坏，这将是富人所为。”

    “它们现在真的被破坏了，”吸烟的人说完，两手插在口袋里站了起来。“魔鬼们扑过来了！”

    汽车里的人都焦急地朝他茫然注视的方向望过去，路的尽头有一大群人正朝他们走来，雷纳德医生愤怒地走在最前面，他的胡子在微风中飘扬。

    上校跃出车外不禁呼喊起来。

    “先生们，”他叫道，“这真是难以置信。这一定是一个恶作剧。倘若你们像我一样了解雷纳德——这就如同把维多利亚女王称为炸弹刺客。如果你们好好想想他的品格——”

    “至少布尔医生，”赛姆讽刺道，“已经把他的品格放进帽子里。”

    “我告诉你们这不可能！”上校跺着脚叫道。

    “雷纳德会解释，他会向我解释。”说完，他向前大步走去。

    “别那么着急，”吸烟的人慢声慢气地说道。“他很快会向我们所有人解释的。”

    可是没耐性的上校已经听不见了，他径直走向迎面而来的敌人。激动的雷纳德医生又举起了他的手枪，但察觉到他的对手后又犹豫了。上校面对着他发狂地做着抗议的手势。

    “这没用，”赛姆说道。“他绝对打动不了那个年老的异教徒。我建议开车撞向那个密集的人群，一边撞，一边让子弹穿过布尔的帽子。我们可能会被干掉，但我们必须多杀他们几个人。”

    “我不同意，”布尔说道，他真诚的美德变得越发粗俗了。“这帮可怜的家伙可能搞错了。给上校一个机会吧。”

    “我们要后退吗？”教授问道。

    “不，”拉特克利夫冷冰冰地说道，“我们身后的街道也被他们控制了。实际上，我好像看到那里有你的朋友，赛姆。”

    赛姆机敏地转过身去，向后望着他们驶过的路径。黑暗中，有一群零乱的骑手正向他们飞驰而来。他在最前面的一个马鞍上看见了一把闪烁着银光的剑，随后看到是一个老人闪烁的银发。而后，赛姆以惊人的力量把车掉头，冲下陡峭的小街冲向大海，就像一个人下了必死的决心。

    “妈的，到底怎么了？”教授说道，抓住了他的胳膊。

    “晨星坠落了！”赛姆说道，汽车在黑暗中冲下去就像一颗坠落的星星。

    其他人都没有听懂他的话，不过当他们回头看上方的街道时，他们看见敌人的骑兵正绕过街角，沿着斜坡朝他们冲过来。骑在最前面的是那个善良的店主，火一般纯洁的夜光把他的脸映红了。

    “这个世界发疯了！”教授说道，把脸埋进了手心。

    “不，”布尔医生坚定而谦逊地说道，“发疯的是我。”

    “我们下一步怎么办？”教授问道。

    “现在，”赛姆严谨而超然地说道，“我认为我们下一步将撞上一根灯柱。”

    话音刚落，这辆汽车就撞上了铁的物件，发出了凄惨而刺耳的碰撞声。车里的四个人从一堆凌乱的铁壳下爬出来，原先一根笔直耸立在海边商店街边上的又高又细的灯柱扭曲着，就像一棵被折断的树。

    “嗯，我们撞上了东西，”教授淡淡地微笑着说道，“这倒令人心安。”

    “你正在变成一个无政府主义者。”赛姆说道，掸掉了衣服上的尘土。

    “每个人都是。”拉特克利夫说。

    话音刚落，白头发的骑手和他的后面的人马从上面雷鸣般冲过来，几乎与此同时，一排黑压压的人呼喊着沿着海边冲过来。赛姆抓起一把剑，用牙齿咬住，另外两把放在两个腋窝下，左手握着第四把，右手提着灯，然后从高高的商店街一跃而下，跳到了下面的海滩上。

    其他人都跟着他跳下来，似乎都认同这种果断的行为，抛离了汽车残骸和越聚越多的暴民。

    “我们还有一个机会，”赛姆说道，把嘴里的剑拿了下来。“这种混乱无论意味着什么，我想警察局都会帮助我们。他们占领了道路，所以我们到不了那儿。不过这里有一个伸向大海的码头或防波堤，我们可以尽可能长时间地守卫，就像霍拉休斯守卫他的桥一样。我们必须守卫到宪兵队出现。跟着我。”

    他们跟着他踩过海滩，不一会儿，他们的靴子不是被海边的碎石弄破，而是被宽宽的平坦石头弄破。他们走在又长又低的防波堤上，防波堤的一端通向阴沉而汹涌的大海，当他们来到防波堤的尽头时，他们都觉得自己来到了故事的结尾。他们转身面对小镇。

    小镇已经喧闹得不像样了。沿着他们刚刚下来的高高的商店街上有一股黑压压的咆哮的人流，他们摇动着胳膊，满脸兴奋，怒视着这四个人前进的方向。长长的一条黑线上点缀着火炬和灯。即使没有一张愤怒的脸被火光照亮，他们还是能够在最远的一个人身上在最模糊的一个手势里看到一种有组织的仇恨。他们很清楚那是最可恶的一群人，但他们不知道为什么。

    两三个又小又黑，看起来像猴子一样的人跳过商店街的边缘落到了海滩上。他们在深深的沙地里跋涉前进，骇人地尖叫，费力而胡乱地走在海水里。然后有人学他们的样子也跟着下去了，整个黑压压的人群就像黑色的糖蜜溢出街边。

    赛姆看见，海滩上的人群中最前面的是为他们驾马车的那个农夫。他骑着一匹大马冲进了海浪，并对他们挥舞着斧头。

    “农夫！”赛姆叫道。“自中世纪以来他们就没有造反过。”

    “即使警察现在到了，”教授悲哀地说，“他们对这些暴民也无能为力。”

    “胡说！”布尔孤注一掷地说道，“小镇里肯定还有尚未泯灭人性的人。”

    “不，”绝望的巡官道，“人类很快就要灭绝了。我们是最后的人类。”

    “也许吧！”教授心不在焉地说道。然后他用缥缈的嗓音继续说：“‘邓西亚德’的结尾是怎么讲的？

    “‘无论是公众的火焰，还是私下的火焰，都不敢照耀；

    “‘人类的光明没有留下，也没留下神圣的一瞥！

    “‘瞧！你的恐怖帝国，混乱，又回来了；

    “‘光明消失在你造成毁灭的言词之前：

    “‘你的巨手，伟大的无政府主义领袖，让帷幕落下；

    “‘无处不在的黑暗埋葬了一切。’”

    “住嘴！”布尔突然叫道，“宪兵队出动了。”

    警察局低矮的灯光被匆忙的人影遮得暗淡且支离破碎，他们听到黑暗中传来了一支训练有素的骑兵队发出的铿锵而清脆的声音。

    “他们在进攻暴民！”嘶喊的布尔也许是狂喜，也许是惊恐。

    “不，”赛姆道，“他们在街道上列队。”

    “他们在拿他们的卡宾枪。”布尔叫道，兴奋得手舞足蹈。

    “对，”拉特克利夫说道，“而且他们就要向我们开火了。”

    他正说着，就传来了一长串哒哒哒的步枪射击声，子弹就像冰雹一样在他们面前的石头上跳舞。

    “宪兵队加入了他们！”教授叫道，拍着额头。

    “我进了软墙病房了。”布尔坚决地说道。

    长时间的沉默之后，拉特克利夫开了口，他望着涨起的有一种浑然的灰紫色的大海。

    “谁疯，谁不疯有什么要紧？我们很快都将死去。”

    赛姆转向他说道：“你很绝望，是吗？”

    拉特克利夫先生像石头一样沉默，最后他平静地说：“不，很奇怪，我并不绝望。我无法不去想一个疯狂的小愿望。这整个星球上的力量都在反对我们，不过我还是想知道这个愚蠢的小愿望是否已经无望了。”

    “你的愿望是关于什么东西，还是什么人？”赛姆好奇地问。

    “是关于一个我从未见过的人。”他说完，凝视着大海。

    “我懂你的意思，”赛姆低声道，“那个黑屋里的人。不过到现在，星期天肯定已经把他干掉了。”

    “也许吧，”对方平静地说道，“如果是这样的话，他就是唯一一个星期天发觉很难杀掉的人。”

    “你们的话，我都听到了。”教授转过身来说道。“我也着迷于我从未见过的东西。”

    刚才还站着因为沉思而出神的赛姆突然之间转过身来大叫：“上校在哪里？我刚才以为他和我们在一起！”

    “上校！是的，”布尔说，“上校到底在哪里？”

    “他去和雷纳德对话了。”教授说。

    “我们不能把他留在那帮畜生中间，”赛姆说，“让我们死得像绅士，如果——”

    “别可怜上校，”拉特克利夫带着苍白的冷笑说道。“他非常舒服。他——”

    “不！不！不！”赛姆狂怒地叫道，“他不是这样的！我绝不会相信！”

    “你信不信你的眼睛？”对方问道，手指向海滩。

    很多追踪者在水里挥舞着拳头，但海面波涛汹涌，他们无法到达码头。然而两三个人影站在石子小路上，似乎正小心地走过来。一盏出人意料的提灯照亮了最前面两个人的脸。一张脸上戴着半遮脸的黑色面罩，下面的嘴巴因为神经发狂而扭曲，而那簇黑色的胡子就像一个焦躁不安的活物扭曲着。另一张脸，红红的长着白色的上唇胡子，那是杜克洛埃上校。他们在认真地商量着。

    “不错，他也离开我们了，”教授说完，坐到了一块石头上。“一切都离开我们了。我也要走了！我无法信任我的肉身机器了。我觉得我自己的手会扬起来打我自己。”

    “如果我的手扬起来，”赛姆道，“它会打别人。”他沿着码头大步向上校走去，一只手握着剑，另一只手提着灯。

    似乎为了打消最后的希望或怀疑，上校看见他过来，于是拿着左轮手枪瞄准他，开了火。子弹没有打中赛姆，却打中了他的剑，剑柄被打断了。赛姆向前冲去，在他的脑袋上方挥舞着铁灯。

    “希罗德面前的犹大！”他说道，然后把上校击倒在石头上，接着他转向秘书。那位秘书嘴里吐着可怕的白沫，赛姆以坚定而醒目的姿势把灯举高。

    “你看到这盏灯了吗？”赛姆用骇人的嗓音叫道。“你有没有看到灯上刻的十字架和灯内的火焰？你没有创造它，没有点亮它。比你高明的人有信仰，有操守，他们打开铁器的内部保留了传奇般的火种。你走过的每一条街道，你身上穿的每一根线，都是跟这盏灯一样，是用否定你们肮脏的老鼠哲学的方法创造出来的。你们创造不出任何东西，只会破坏一切。你们将毁灭人类，毁灭全世界。你们满足于此。但是，你们永远也毁灭不了这盏古老的基督教明灯。它要去的地方，你们这个猿猴帝国休想找到。”

    赛姆用铁灯打秘书的反作用力使得他的身体摇晃几下，而后，他把铁灯举过头上转了两圈，远远地抛向了大海，铁灯如呼啸的火箭般闪耀着坠落了。

    “剑！”赛姆叫道，把他激动的面孔转向了他后面的三个人。“让我们攻击这些畜生，我们的大限已到。”

    赛姆后面的三个同伴手里都握着剑，剑已经断了的他从一个渔民手里夺过一根棍子，并把这位渔民甩倒。就在他们即将扑向暴民，踏上赴死之路时，突然被打断了。听了赛姆的话后，原本呆立着的秘书茫然地用手捂着他受伤的头，就在那一刻，他突然扯下了他的黑色面罩。

    灯光下袒露的苍白脸上带着与其说是愤怒，不如说是惊讶的表情。他急切而威严地举起了一只手。

    “有误会，”他说，“赛姆先生，我想你对你的处境知之甚少。我是以法律的名义逮捕你。”

    “以法律的名义？”赛姆重复着，并放下了他的棍子。

    “当然！”秘书说道。“我是伦敦警察厅的警探。”他从口袋里拿出一张蓝色的小卡片。

    “那么你认为我们是什么人？”教授问道，举起了他的双手。

    “你们，”秘书强硬地说道，“据我所知，是无政府主义最高理事会的成员。通过假扮成你们其中的一员，我——”

    布尔医生把他的剑扔进了海里。

    “无政府主义最高理事会绝对不存在，”他说，“我们都是一群傻乎乎的互相盯着对方的警察。而所有这些朝我们密集射击的好人都认为我们是炸弹刺客。我先前就知道，我对这些群众的看法是对的，”他一边说，一边满面笑容地看着那一大群人，他们的队伍从两边向远处延伸。“粗俗的人绝不会发疯。我自己就很粗俗，所以我知道。我现在要上岸去请这里的每个人喝酒。”