“I’ve often thought,” he said slowly, “that this early classicist stuff of Piranesi’s was his best. Do you agree?” Wright looked utterly astonished. “I fail to see,” he stammered, “what that has to do with—”

“His later work was interesting, of course, but too fantastical for my taste,” Pendergast replied.

“Actually,” said the Director in his best lecture voice, “I’ve always thought—”

The book slammed shut like a shot. “Actually, Dr. Wright,” Pendergast said tightly, his courtly manner gone, “it’s time to forget what you’ve always thought. We’re going to play a little game here. I’m going to talk, and y’all are going to listen. Understood?”

Wright sat speechless. Then his face mottled in anger. “Mr. Pendergast, I will not be spoken to in that manner—”

Pendergast cut him off. “In case you haven’t read the headlines, Dr. Wright, there have been three grisly murders in this Museum in the last forty-eight hours. Three. The press is speculating that some kind of ferocious beast is responsible. Museum attendance is down fifty percent since the weekend. Your staff is very upset, to put it mildly. Have you bothered taking a stroll through your Museum today, Dr. Wright? You might find it edifying. The feeling of dread is almost palpable. Most [96] people, if they leave their offices at all, travel in twos and threes. The maintenance staff is finding any reasons it can to avoid the Old Basement. Yet you prefer to act as if nothing is wrong. Believe me, Dr. Wright, something is extremely wrong.”

Pendergast leaned forward, and slowly folded his arms on top of the book. There was something so menacing in his deliberateness, so cold in his pale eyes, that the Director sat back involuntarily. D’Agosta unconsciously held his breath. Then Pendergast continued.

“Now we can handle this one of three ways,” he said. “Your way, my way, or the Bureau’s way. So far, your way has been far too much in evidence. I understand that the police investigation has been subtly obstructed. Phone calls are returned late, if at all. Staff are busy or not to be found. Those who are available—such as Mr. Ippolito—have not proven particularly useful. People are late to appointments. Why, it’s enough to make one suspicious. As of now, your way is no longer acceptable.”

Pendergast waited for a response. There was none, and he went on.

“Ordinarily, the Bureau’s way would be to close the Museum, suspend operations, cancel exhibitions. Very bad publicity, I assure you. Very expensive, to the taxpayers and to you. But my way is a bit more hospitable. All other things being equal, the Museum can remain open. Still, there will be certain conditions. Number one,” he said, “I want you to assure complete cooperation of Museum personnel. We will need to speak to you and other senior staff members from time to time, and I want total compliance. I will also need a list of the entire staff. We want to interview everyone who works in, or has had any reason to be in, the vicinity of the murders. There will be no exceptions. I would appreciate your making sure of this personally. We’ll be setting up a schedule, and everyone is to show up on time.”

[97] “But there are twenty-five hundred employees—” began Wright.

“Number two,” Pendergast continued. “Starting tomorrow, we’re going to be limiting employee access to the Museum, until such time as this investigation is concluded. The curfew is to be for the safety of the staff. At least, that is what you will tell them.”

“But there’s vital research going on here that—”

“Number three—” Pendergast casually pointed three fingers, derringer-like, at Wright “—from time to time we may need to close the Museum, either fully or in part. In some instances, only visitors will be denied entry; in others, the Museum will be closed to staff as well. Notice may be short. Your cooperation will be expected.”

Wright’s fury mounted. “This Museum is closed only three days a year: Christmas, New Year’s, and Thanksgiving,” he said. “This is unprecedented. It will look terrible.” He gave Pendergast a long, appraising look. “Besides, I’m not convinced you have the authority to do that. I think we should—” He stopped. Pendergast had picked up the telephone.

“What’s that for?” Wright demanded.

“Dr. Wright, this is growing tiresome. Perhaps we should discuss this with the Attorney General.”

Pendergast started to dial.

“Just a moment,” said Wright. “Surely we can discuss this without involving other people.”

“That’s up to you,” said Pendergast as he finished dialing.

“For Heaven’s sake, put down that phone,” Wright said angrily. “Of course, we’ll cooperate fully—within reason.”

“Very good,” Pendergast said. “And if in the future you start to feel that anything is unreasonable, we can always do this again.” He replaced the receiver gently.

“If I’m going to cooperate,” Wright continued, “I think I’ve a right to be informed about just what’s been [98] done since this latest atrocity. As far as I can see, you’ve made precious little progress.”

“Certainly, Doctor,” Pendergast said. He looked at papers on the desk. “According to your time clocks, the most recent victim, Jolley, met his demise shortly after ten-thirty last night,” he said. “The autopsy should confirm this. He was, as you know, lacerated in a fashion similar to the previous victims. He was killed while making his rounds, although the stairwell where he was found wasn’t part of his normal route. He may have been investigating a suspicious noise or something of that nature. He may have just stopped for some reefer. A recently smoked marijuana cigarette was found near the archway directly outside the stairwell exit. We will, naturally, be testing the body for drug use.”

“God, that’s all we need,” said Wright. “But haven’t you found any useful clues? What about this wild animal business? You—”

Pendergast held his palm up and waited for silence. “I would prefer not to speculate until we discuss the available evidence with experts. Some of these experts may be from among your own staff. For the record, we’ve found no signs as yet that any kind of animal had been in the vicinity.

“The body was found lying at the bottom of the stairwell, although it was clear that the attack occurred near the top, as blood and viscera were found along the length of the stairs. He either rolled or was dragged to the bottom. But don’t take my word for it, Dr. Wright,” Pendergast said, picking up a manila envelope from the desk, “see for yourself.” He pulled out a glossy photograph and laid it carefully on the tabletop.

“Oh, my God,” Wright said, staring at the photograph. “Heaven help us.”

“The right-hand wall of the stairwell was covered with splattered blood,” Pendergast said. “Here’s a photograph.”

[99] He handed it to Wright, who slid it quickly on top of the first.

“It’s a simple matter to do a ballistics analysis on splattered blood,” Pendergast went on. “In this case, the evidence is consistent with a massive blow directed downward, instantaneously disemboweling the victim.”

Pendergast replaced the photographs and checked his watch. “Lieutenant D’Agosta will be checking in with you to make sure that everything is proceeding along the lines we’ve discussed,” he said. “One last question, Doctor. Which of your curators knows the most about the anthropology collections here?”

Dr. Wright seemed not to have heard. Finally he said, “Dr. Frock,” in a barely audible voice.

“Very good,” said Pendergast. “Oh, and Doctor—I told you earlier that the Museum can remain open, all other things being equal. But if anybody else dies inside these walls, the Museum will have to be shut down immediately. The matter will be out of my hands. Understood?”

After a long moment, Wright nodded.

“Excellent,” Pendergast replied. “I’m very aware, Doctor, that your Superstition exhibition is scheduled to open this coming weekend, and that you have a large preview planned for Friday evening. I’d like to see your opening proceed unvexed, but everything will depend on what we discover in the next twenty-four hours. Prudence may require us to delay the opening party.”