Necroscope: The Mobius Murders Read Online Free PDF

pocket for change, Harry replied, “I thought we were clear on that? No, I’m not a plainclothes bobby! I just like helping people out when they’re in trouble.” And he handed over a fistful of loose coins.
    “Ah thank ye kindly,” said the other. “And ah wish ah could help ye find Wee Angus’ whereabouts, but ah dinnae ken the spot where he gets his head down.”
    Which information, or its lack, made little or no difference to the Necroscope. The name “Wee Angus” might help in his Ma’s enquiries among the Great Majority; but knowing the dead man’s once address, or “the spot where he got his head down,” wasn’t important. There was, however, one more question that might be. And:
    “One last thing,” said Harry. “I somehow got the impression that Wee Angus was frightened of something, apart from dying, I mean. It seems a shame to me that a man in his condition should have enemies.”
    “Now that’s verra odd,” said the other, scratching his stubble, “and ah’m sure ye’re mistaken. Ye see, from the little ah do ken o’ Angus, the wee man hasnae a single enemy in the whole wide world. And certainly no in Edinburgh. Aye, and wi’ all his problems, well he surely doesnae need any! D’ye no agree…?”
     

     
    About the same time, in Kirkaldy on the Scottish coast east of Dunfermline, ex-Professor Gordon J. Hemmings—once of Glasgow University, which he continued to claim as a cornerstone of his authority despite his expulsion from that worthy seat of learning—had delivered almost parrot-fashion his standard lecture on metaphysics, esoteric or paragnostic mathematics, and several allied topics to some two-dozen members of the Paranormal Society of Fife, Perthshire and Kinross. Whether they had understood him or not was academic; each of them had paid a grudging ten pounds sterling to listen to his rhetoric, and the occasion had served to take him out of Edinburgh, distancing him however temporarily from the scene of his latest kill.
    Not that he saw what he did as homicide; no, he was simply revitalizing, reinvigorating himself. Common or garden food as such was never enough, for he’d long since discovered that the proverbial staff-of-life, at least in his case, was the actual stuff of life: the lives of others. Oh, he enjoyed filling his belly as well as any man and far more than most; but there was only one real way to feast, to satisfy and energize his other, more darkly transcendent self.
    As for his need to distance himself from such gluttony: it wasn’t guilt, though he was fully aware how the police and judicial authorities would react to his activities in the unlikely event that an enlightened individual might one day discover and accept the reality of his modus operandi and the esoteric means he used to be rid of the denuded remains of his deadly repasts; but even so there would be no one who could duplicate his methods or in any way offer proof of his involvement. Not unless he was actually observed feeding.
    No, it wasn’t guilt but simple prudence. To indulge himself too frequently within the narrow perimeters of a single town or city: that would be foolhardy, despite the limitations of criminal investigations. Apart from which he enjoyed organizing his lecturing schedules, escaping from Edinburgh and taking himself off to various far-flung venues. None of the cretins who attended the lectures ever fully understood them—that was certain—but they did pay for the privilege, which afforded Hemmings a few small physical luxuries. In addition to which, and more importantly, during such trips he would often seize the opportunity to seek out prey, thus supplementing the grotesque requirements of vampiric nourishment…
    Today’s lecture had been a midday occasion. Not the best of timings or venues, it had taken place in a disused cinema which now functioned as a bingo hall, normally only in use each evening. At the event’s conclusion Hemmings had answered the almost