n。'
Brian Newman's hand trembled as he put the paper down on the table。
'Stop blaming yourself；' Susan Wylie said as she entered the room and placed a cup of coffee at his elbow。 'The Press always have to put somebody in the stocks。 How the hell can they pare you with this myxomatosis guy？ His intention was to cause deliberate suffering。 Yours was an accident； a biological freak。'
Newman sat up suddenly； his fists clenched。
'My God！' he muttered。 'Why didn't I think of it before？'
'Think of what？'
'Where's last week's Scientific American。' He began to rummage through a pile of newspapers and magazines beside where he was sitting。
'What is it？'
'Here it is。' He pulled out the magazine he sought and began to flip quickly through the pages。 'Now； let me see； I know I read it somewhere in here。。。 ah； yes； this is it。'
Susan Wylie peered over his shoulder。 The article in question was written by one of the leading biologists in the United States and was titled 'Myxomatosis for Rats and Mice。'
'Recent experiments have proved；' it read； 'that a type of myxomatosis； a mutation of the virus which destroys rabbits； is lethal to rats and mice。 Once this can be distributed widely it could save the United States billions of dollars annually…in vermin destruction； damage to growing crops； and also help to check the spread of many diseases。。。 '
'Is it possible？' Newman breathed。
'You mean。。。 ？'
'Yes； you've got it！' the Professor's eyes shone。 'If it kills rats and mice； there's no reason why it shouldn't kill bats。 It could be the answer to our prayers。 I'll ring Rickers right away。 Maybe we could get some of the stuff flown in。'
Rickers was not enthusiastic。 Neither was he pleased about being disturbed whilst trying to catch up on some lost sleep。
'Doesn't sound very promising to me；' he grunted。
'Neither did your insecticides idea。' Newman snapped； 'and that certainly didn't work。 Now it's my turn。'
'Myxomatosis took months to spread。'
'Obviously it did； because rabbits live in warrens； often isolated； without ing into contact with others。 The fleas had to carry the virus。 This one is contagious。 Quicker acting； and bats are much more sociable creatures。 And even if it doesn't work on them at least we'll cut down the spread of the disease by destroying rats and mice。'
'I'll sleep on it。' Rickers mumbled and replaced the receiver。
'Well？' Susan Wylie asked。
'He's interested。' Newman told her laughing。 'Pooh…poohed it； of course； because he hadn't thought of it first。 Tried to find reasons why it wouldn't work。 Then said he'd sleep on it。 That means he's fetching Haynes out of bed right now。 Probably Professor Talbot and Sir John Stirchley； too； and there might even be a trans…Atlantic call to New York before morning。'
'Oh； Brian！' She flung her arms around his； crying softly。
'Now hold on；' he said。 'Let's not count our chickens。 There are one helluva lot of obstacles to overe before we even get round to trying to spread this thing。 The government will have to agree to another virus being released； and they aren't exactly sympathetic to everything we've done so far。 Like Rickers said； let's sleep on it。'
Chapter Fourteen
The safari Land…Rover bumped its way across the heather and gorse on Cannock Chase。
'That'll do；' Newman said to the driver。 'We'll release the bats in those firs over there。 The rats and mice we'll take down to the Sherbrook Valley。'
The driver； a small man in overalls who spent most of his time nodding assent to any orders he was given； brought the vehicle to a standstill。 Newman climbed down and； taking a small wicker container resembling a pigeon…basket from the rear； he walked with it towards the nearest line of trees。 From inside the basket came frenzied squeaks and fluttering。 The bats were impatient for their freedom。
Professor Newman opened the lid； and immediately six bats hurtled up into the air； flew round in a circle； and then disappeared amongst the branches of the towering pines。 He closed the basket and walked slowly back towards the Land…Rover。 Twenty consignments of similarly treated bats were today being released at various strategic points around the Midlands。 Most of the injected rodents had been set free in the towns。 Just one more lot； he told himself； and that was it。
They had played their last card。 He prayed that it was an ace。
Ken Tyler was abroad shortly after daylight； moving silently through the swirling mist； gun beneath his arm。 The fog did not worry him。 He knew every inch of this land。
There were unlikely to be any bats about until the mist thinned。 As with most creatures； mist confused their sense of direction； even the mad ones。 Fog meant safety for him； the chance to get some work done。
He followed the course of the Castle Ring moat； his boots squelching in the soft grass； eyes scanning the ground ahead。 Then he stopped suddenly。 Only an experienced eye would have spotted the rectangular outline of a small； artificially made tunnel； two 3ft lengths of wood with a roof； camouflaged by clods of earth。 Inside this he had set a humane vermin trap only days earlier； one of a network around the Ring； the only means by which the ground vermin could be controlled。
He laid his gun on the ground and； kneeling down； peered into the entrance。 The daylight at the opposite end was partly obscured。 Something was caught in the trap。 He gripped the chain and tugged； feeling the trap and whatever it had caught being dragged towards him。
A grunt of satisfaction escaped his lips； turning to one of revulsion almost at once as he caught sight of his catch。 A rat。 He often trapped rats up here on Castle。 Ring； but not like this one。 Its head was swollen almost to the size of its body。 The eyes were puffed up； hidden beneath two huge growths which sprouted out of the sockets themselves； pink and bloated。 The mouth was open； rigor mortis having retained the expression of viciousness which the rodent had worn in life。
Tyler used a stick to part the jaws of the trap； kicking the corpse to one side and noting its pink underside； covered with more cancerous growths which had not reached maturity before death had claimed the host。
'Bloody mixy in rats？' He shook his head； and began the task of resetting the trap in the tunnel。
Ken Tyler had seventeen traps set on Castle Ring。 On average four or five caught victims daily。 Two or three were usually sprung without killing。 This morning； twelve had killed。 All the creatures were rats； and every one was in the final stages of this terrible disease。
The gamekeeper was puzzled。 It was as though the vermin had entered the dark tunnels searching for a place in which to end their lives； their usual alertness for traps having been nullified。 He made his way towards the woods。 There was a small pool hidden amidst a dense reed…bed。 Sometimes there were mallard on it； and often a brace of these found their way into the Tyler's larder without his employer being aware of it。
Stealthily he crept up on the pond。 The mist was thicker here； screening his approach。 He stiffened； half…crouching； easing forward the safety…catch on his gun。 There was definitely something on the water this morning； unrecognisable shapes in the fog。
He peered intently。 There was something unnatural about the whole scene。 It was lifeless。 Not a splash or a ripple on the surface。
He stepped forward； his boots splashing in the shallows； anticipating an alarmed quacking and frenzied wing beats as ducks took to the air。 But nothing happened。 There was no sound other than his own movements in the clammy stillness。
Then he felt the bile rise in his throat as he recognised the shapes。 Rats。 Floating； bellies uppermost； legs rigid。 And those same cancerous growths all over them。
'Jesus！' He backed away on to firm land。
Tyler was trembling as he entered the wood。 Something unnatural was happening all around him this morning。 Not that this hadn't been so for weeks on end now； but this was far worse。 More horrible。 A new kind of death。
The ground beneath the trees was devoid of undergrowth。 Only odd fronds of bracken sprouted at intervals； for seldom did the sunlight penetrate the evergreen foliage of the tar pines。 Nothing else grew here。
He trod on a bat before he noticed others lying beneath the trees； his heavy…soled boots squashing it to pulp； splitting open the growth which incorporated most of its body； thick yellowish pus mingling with the blood as it squelched out。
'Ugh！' He scraped his boot on the carpet of pine…needles in an endeavour to wipe off the sticky mess。 It smelled； and he backed away from it： a sickly； penetrating odour like a mixture of vomit and excreta。 There were bats lying dead all around him； as though a whole roost of them had been stricken in the night。 And every one of the tiny creatures w