"Guy N. Smith - Sabat 3 - Cannibal Cult" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

been out for three hours and he had not noticed their absence. Now he was back
in the dock, a condemned man being led down a flight of stone steps, his
guards losing no opportunity to hustle him. A kick from behind almost sent him
sprawling. They would all pay for this!

The journey from the court to the prison would have been a nightmare for any
man other than Nevillon. It was all the police could do to restrain the
crowds, a blur of hate-filled faces screaming abuse, a fusillade of rotten
fruit and eggs continually splatting against the vehicle, rivulets of thick
red tomato juice trickling down the two small barred windows, reminding Louis
Nevillon of Yvette de Coulon again and giving him another erection. It had all
been worth it.

The guards inside the prison van had their pistols drawn even though he was
handcuffed. Like everybody else, they were frightened of the tall grey-haired
man with the aristocratic features. History was repeating itself, another
nobleman on his way to M. Guillotine, the mob roaring for his head and the
sight of blood. He laughed aloud and his two companions started, blanching,
their pistol barrels jerking up and training on his chest.

'You will not laugh when your head is on the block, Monsieur Nevillon' one of
them spat. 'I have witnessed an execution. Once. Shall I tell you all about
it?'

'I, too, have been present at an execution,' Nevillon replied softly, 'so
perhaps you would like to hear about mine first. The condemned girl's name was
Yvette ...'

'Cochonr a clenched fist caught the prisoner across the mouth, jerked his head
back. 'Filthy swine!'

The second man drove forward with a booted foot, took Louis Nevillon full in
the groin, knocked him from his seat More blows. He threw up his manacled
hands but it was impossible to ward them off.

'If I had my way,' the guard who had delivered the first blow restrained his
colleague, 'I would not put his head on the block. A little at a time, eh,
Marcel? One leg, two... one arm, two .. . maybe something else after that!' He
winked and they both roared with malicious mirth.

Now the end was in sight. The priest wanted to see him dead because it was all
part of the fight against evil. The guards, the executioner, this was their
revenge for Yvette de Coulon. Fools, Satan's own could not be destroyed by the
guillotine; he was not as other men.

The priest was mumbling something, reciting from a prayer book. None of them
tried to look pious; they were deliberately prolonging the finale, thinking
that he would suffer untold mental agonies these last few minutes. They should
have drugged him but they had deliberately overlooked this act of legal mercy.
Who was to know? This chamber was soundproofed; nobody would hear his final