Eight bare girlish feet paraded into the room and round the carpet near my head, accompanied by dancing nightgown hems, outcries, and lamentations. Mrs.

Westenra's body was lifted to the bed, the broken window marveled at, and horror expressed at the continued howling of the wolf outside. Injured-and thinking himself betrayed, for he went home before I could get out to tend his wounds-he had better cause to howl than they did, and he made less noise.

And there were those garlic flowers on the bedroom floor, now crushed almost into my very nostrils. Vlad, I asked myself, reviewing the situation as I lay beneath the bed; what is the world, the great breathing human world which you expect to join, going to make of all this?

Lucy sat exhaustedly in a chair whilst the maids were laying out her mother's corpse. But despite her weakness and illness she retained presence of mind enough to realize that a man was in danger of being found concealed in her boudoir, a state of affairs less tolerable than death. And she retained the wit to do something about it. I saw her suddenly get up and leave the room, and heard her soft feet descend the stairs, whilst the maids remained gathered round the bed with the dead woman on it and the live vampire out of sight beneath. The maids did not note their young mistress's departure or her quiet return a minute later. During this minute I heard, faint but distinct, the sound of a brief trickle of liquid being poured somewhere downstairs.

Lucy was now standing upright, with an effort, just inside her bedroom door. "All of you," she commanded, having to raise her voice slightly to cut through the maids'

continuing babble, "go down to the dining room and take each a gla.s.s of wine. Take only the sherry, mind. Then come back when I call."

There was no problem in obtaining prompt obedience to such an order. In a moment the whole moaning and cooing herd of them was gone, and Lucy had closed the door behind them and locked it. I wriggled out from concealment in a trice and found her once more on the point of swooning. She would have thrown herself upon the bed already but that her mother's clay lay there. I put her down there anyway, after moving the old lady next to the wall.

"Now the servants will leave us alone," Lucy said to me in a voice rapidly growing vague and distant. "For I have drugged the wine... oh, Vlad, are you my death? Your face is sometimes... if you are indeed death, then I must plead with you. Whoever you are... my mother's dead, but I'm too young. I'm to be married in September."

"Lie still now. I think that you are very ill." Giving Lucy a quick examination, I noted the bandaged incisions on the inside of each arm at the elbow. "Who is your doctor, and for what has he been treating you?"

"There are two: Dr. Van Helsing, of Amsterdam, and Dr. Seward."

I looked up sharply at that first name; I had heard it once before, from a vampire of my acquaintance. "And who is Dr. Seward?"

"He is about thirty, and very nice. In fact..." She paused. "He is superintendent of a lunatic asylum in Purfleet."

My mind raced, seeking understanding. But there is no understanding coincidence, or the imitation thereof by fate. "And their treatments? What are these little wounds? Surely they do not bleed you, in this day and age?"

"Ah, Vlad, I do not know. The doctors are kindly, and they mean well, I am sure.

But they tell me nothing, and I am too ill to argue with them and insist on knowing."

After a gasping pause, during which I tightened the bandage once more on her arm, she went on: "They bring me garlic flowers and bulbs. And three times now I have been drugged, and the doctor has performed some-some operation whose nature I do not fully understand."

"Three times. d.a.m.nable. Which doctor operates?"

"Dr. Van Helsing, I think. I feel so safe when he is with me. But still..." She had lost the strength for speech. I bent and laid my ear against her breast, and liked not the laborious pumping sounds of the machineries of her body. By modern standards I am certainly no qualified physician, but then neither would many of those be who earned their bread as such during the nineteenth century.Her eyes were on mine, trusting, praying.

"Lucy. Be clear, lightbearing girl. Be clear now in your thoughts. There is a most momentous decision that we may have to make tonight." And I caressed the golden beauty of her hair. In four hundred years of war and peace I had seen death come to many, and I thought her unlikely to survive the night. Unless...

"Vlad, help me, save me. Arthur is not here, and I fear the others are killing me with what they do." A spasm of fear had temporarily renewed her energy. "Don't let me die." And Lucy was seized with sudden nausea, and retched feebly over the side of the bed. There was an acid smell but little vomitus. "Hold me, Vlad!"

Yet I did not pull her into an embrace, but straightened and stood upright beside the bed. Belowstairs, all sounds of the maids' movements had ceased, save for the stertorous breathing of their four pairs of lungs; for all intents and purposes, Lucy and I were in the house alone. There was a little time, at least, in which to plan and think.

Perhaps no more than a little; she might well die, I thought, before a long discussion could be held.

"Lucy. Death will come soon or late to all of us. And it is not the worst thing in the world, though full well I know how frightening it can sometimes be."

"No, no!" Terror gave her a terrible, momentary energy, and her nails tried to bite at my arm. "Save me, Vlad! Do something. I see in your eyes that there is something you can do."

"Lucy, there is one way in which I can-not cancel your death, for I am not G.o.d- but put it off, for some indefinite time. But to take this road will mean a great change in your life. Greater than you can possibly imagine now."

"Only save me, Vlad, I beg of you. I do not want to die!" I cannot describe the emotion that was in her failing voice as she uttered these words.

I lifted her weightless-seeming body from the bed; in shifting her slightly in my arms, so that the whiteness of her throat where I had left my marks before was tautly exposed, I also turned my own body slightly. There was a mirror hung on the wall across the room, and inside its gilt frame Lucy's unsupported body hung, her nightdress gathered up at the knees and back by the pressure of invisible arms. Then I bent down my head...

When I had taken something of her blood it was time to give her to drink deeply of mine. I undid the clothing over my own heart and tore the flesh there with one of my own talonlike fingernails-no other cutting tool can do the job so well-and quickly pressed Lucy's mouth against my breast as if she were a suckling babe and I a crooning nurse.

As soon as we were done with exchanging a considerable quant.i.ty of blood I wiped her pretty lips and put her back into bed, having done all that I could do. At the moment she was still nearly comatose, but I knew now that she would not die before the night was out, at least not of unmatched blood put straight into her veins. I thought she was no longer likely to die at all, in the near future. It was still quite probable that she would soon be put into her grave, but as we know, that is not quite the same.

"Lucy," I said softly, and extended my hand toward her still figure on the bed. She took it and arose, although her eyes stayed shut until she came gracefully to her feet.

Then they opened. Ah, changed... Van Helsing would be sure to see it, and what might he do then?

But I had come to London on my own affairs, and not to fight him for this woman.

She meant very little to me, except that she had called on me for help, which I had now given as best I could.

"Lucy, you will not die tonight. You may feel ill. But if they come to you tomorrow, to drug you and transfuse you once again, I would advise you to refuse them."

"But they never ask." Change in the voice, too, already; it was at once a little livelier, and more remote.

"Insist that this Arthur of yours be called, if he will help you take a stand against them. Do you understand? They are putting the blood of other people into your veins.

I suppose they do mean well, but what they were doing had brought you to the point of death."

"But, Vlad... I feel stronger now. I believe that you have saved me."

"And so I have, my dear, for the present. s.n.a.t.c.hed you from death, put back the Day of Judgment for you. Not many men can truthfully claim such power. It was what you wanted from me." I sighed. The warning I was about to attempt would not, in my opinion, do much good. New-made vampires must find their way at first by instinct, much as newborn children do.

I went on: "You may at some time soon fall into-another coma. If you allow them to give you another transfusion I would say this is quite likely. And if you fall into this coma you are going to wake from it in circ.u.mstances that will be at first quite hard to understand; but be of good cheer and understanding will come." The first emergence from one's grave is a unique experience indeed.

"I will be of good cheer, Vlad. Oh, Vlad, tell me again that I will not die."

"You will not die." It was a lie, such as one gives the wounded after battle sometimes. A lie, because I did not know what Van Helsing might decide to do with her now that she had changed; and all must die the true death sometime. Earlier, when the great decision had still been hers to make, I had been as truthful with her as I could be in the small time we had. Now there were only small but troublesome decisions left and I judged it better to be simply soothing.

"Now, my dear. Eventually the women you have so cleverly drugged below are going to awake, and also other people can be expected to enter this house when morning comes. There is much here that will require explaining." I sighed; there were my fresh fang marks on her throat, about which nothing could be done.As I spoke I was stroking Lucy's bare arm, and her forehead, to strengthen her with suggestion for the tasks ahead. There was the broken window to be accounted for, and the wolf outside, whose howls the maids had heard and whose role in the night's events might, for all I knew, not yet be over. There was the mother, dead of heart failure as unexpected by Lucy as it was by me; and there were the maids, who would certainly tell any investigators of their drugged sleep, even if they should rouse from it before anyone else had entered the house.

Above all, there was the condition of the girl herself. Van Helsing could not now fail to detect her symptoms of incipient vampirism. Could he be moved to pity for her? I thought perhaps he might, if she could be made to appear a purely innocent victim of the evil count.

I had continued to stroke Lucy, and she had fallen by now into the beginnings of hypnotic trance. "Find us some paper and ink, little girl," I told her. "Before I leave you the two of us in collaboration are going to compose a short story. As wild, perhaps, as one of those of Mr. Poe."

It was about ten o'clock on the following morning when Drs. Seward and Van Helsing arrived, practically simultaneously and both in desperate haste, at Hillingham. The missent telegram I mentioned earlier had caused them to leave Lucy unguarded through the night. Both were distraught because of this. In Van Helsing's mind, of course, the peril from which she needed protection was vampires; Seward had not even this warped version of the truth, but he loved the girl, or thought he did, and knew she stood in danger; and, in his inexperience, he followed his former teacher blindly.

They found the house locked up and barred from the inside, and their increasingly urgent knockings went unanswered. At last they broke in through a kitchen window, to find in the dining room the four servant girls still lying unconscious on the floor. In Lucy's room, upstairs, they found the two women still on the bed, the younger still breathing but by now unconscious again.

Lucy had not even the chance to plead against a fourth transfusion, and that of course is what Van Helsing gave her. This time blood was drawn from the veins of the young American, Quincey Morris, who arrived innocently on the scene with a message of inquiry from Arthur Holmwood, and was thrown, so to speak, into the front lines at once.

"A brave man's blood is the best thing on this earth when a woman is in trouble,"

Van Helsing is quoted by Seward as saying whilst they got out the knives once more. I suppose his prescription for Lucy might be taken as closely resembling mine, though unfortunately his method of operation differed. So, sad to say, did the result.

It was noted in pa.s.sing by the busy doctors that the decanter of sherry on the sideboard in the dining room had a peculiar odor, had in fact been doped with laudanum from a bottle kept nearby as medicine for Mrs. Westenra. And, when Lucy was lifted from her bed to be treated to a hot restorative bath, there "dropped from her breast" a sheet or two of notepaper. Van Helsing's brief perusal of these papers brought to his face "a look of grim satisfaction, as of one who has had a doubt resolved."These papers bore, of course, our literary effort of the night before. It was a first attempt at fiction by a beleaguered vampire writing in a foreign tongue and a half- tranced girl who had just been shocked by the sudden demise of a parent. Seward's first comment after reading our creation was: "In G.o.d's name, what does it all mean?

Was she, or is she, mad; or what sort of horrible danger is it?"

One might suppose that in response to such straightforward and heartfelt appeal Professor Van Helsing would have shouted: "Is a vampire, young man! One h.e.l.l of a hideous monster that drinks your blood!" But that would not, maybe, have been quite philosophical or metaphysical enough. As matters actually went, "Van Helsing put out his hand and took the paper, saying: 'Do not trouble about it now. Forget it for the present. You shall know and understand it all in good time; but it will be later.' "

When Lucy emerged from her coma she at first tried to tear up the story we had concocted, but then relented, evidently realizing that it was better than nothing to offer as some explanation for the weird events of the preceding night.

The story of course purported to be "an exact record" of those events, set down in her handwriting almost as they occurred. It related how Lucy had been awakened from peaceful sleep by "a rapping at the window," and shortly thereafter heard "a howl like a dog's, but more fierce and deeper." She had gone "to the window and looked out, but could see nothing, except a big bat, which had evidently been buffeting its wings against the window."

Unperturbed by this commonplace event of suburban London, Lucy in our fiction returned to her bed. Presently her mother looked in, spoke "even more sweetly and softly than her wont," and came to lie companionably at her daughter's side. But the "flapping and buffeting" returned to the window, quickly followed by "the low howl again out in the shrubbery, and shortly after there was a crash at the window and a lot of broken gla.s.s was hurled on the floor... In the aperture of the broken panes there was the head of a great, gaunt gray wolf. Mother cried out in a fright... clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr. Van Helsing insisted on my wearing 'round my neck, and tore it away from me." I thought it best my enemies continue to believe in the efficacy of garlic.

"There was a strange and horrible gurgling in her throat; then she fell over... a whole myriad of little specks seemed to come blowing in through the broken window, and wheeling and circling around like the pillars of dust that travelers describe when there is a simoom in the desert. I tried to stir, but there was some spell upon me..."

Comparing the coy approach of the vampire to the simoom was, I confess, my own idea. Somehow at the time I thought that it created a vivid image.

Our story goes on to relate how Lucy recovered consciousness; how she called for the maids to come in and, after they had decently arranged her mother's corpse, sent them to take some sherry as a tranquilizer. When they failed to return betimes she pursued them to the dining room and found there on the floor "the sleeping servants, whom someone has drugged... The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the draught from the window, and the lights burn blue and dim... I shall hide this paper in my breast, where they shall find it when they come to lay me out..." The relation ends thus, save for a few stylized groans. I suppose I need make no apology for its inadequacies, since it served its intended purpose, viz., it was accepted by Van Helsing and the rest as a true account of the night's events, and got Lucy off the hook, as the slang expression has it, on any possible charges of collaboration.

But, by the beard of Allah, and all the relics of the Patriarchs! That such a farrago of falsehood could have pa.s.sed successfully under the noses of even the most inept investigators is still a source of wonderment to me. Inspector Lestrade would not have wasted five minutes on it-I say nothing of Sherlock Holmes.

Consider the evidence of the drugged wine. Presumably, if the maids had not taken it Lucy would have escaped the full horrors of the night, as hinted at in the Dracula-Westenra ma.n.u.script. Some evil person, then, poured the laudanum into the decanter. It must have been the malign Count Dracula himself-wait, though, he could not have entered the house without an invitation, and had he been invited he would have had no need to employ a wolf as battering ram. And that the wolf had been so employed there is no doubt, for the poor beast was seen returning wearily to the zoo on the evening of the next day, with bits of window gla.s.s still in its bloodied fur.

Someone else, then, acting as Dracula's agent, drugged the wine. But, given the existence of such an agent inside the house, that agent's most valuable function would have been to grant direct entree to her master, not to toxicate the wine on the sheer hope that enough people might chance to drink it to clear the field and give the count a clear shot at his goal.

Or is it reasonable to suppose that the four serving women, when Lucy sent them for a soothing draught, decided instead to render themselves completely insensible, as a defense against the dangers of the night? With a wolf prowling at large and evidently able to force its way into the house at will, this explanation would not have seemed likely to Lestrade, or even Dr. Watson. Either of those two relatively astute gentlemen would have bluntly demanded to know just who did let Count Dracula in...

But let the story go. In pa.s.sing, you think, I have let out the real truth, and it proves to be just what my enemies have claimed. I have now confessed that I deliberately made that girl into a vampire.

Is it not so? you ask. And I answer, jovially enough, in a phrase that men have used to excuse everything from genocide to s.e.xual oddity: Yes, and what's wrong with that?

Will you tell me that the mere existence of a vampire creates a blot of unexampled evil upon the earth? You would be in danger of becoming insulting if you said that to Count Dracula. But never mind personal considerations for the moment. The fact is that you are arguing in a circle. It is evil to be a vampire because they sometimes make other vampires who are by definition evil.

Mere reproduction has not been thought a crime for human beings, at least not till very recently. Why may not I enjoy the rights of other men?

It is the forcing of death, or of a change in life, that's criminal, whether the force be applied by vampire fang, or wooden stake, or means more subtle used against a vulnerable mind or heart. And I say once more: my blood, and nothing else available in 1891, could save Lucy's life for her that night. Not that the saving was of much duration.

On September eighteenth and nineteenth Lucy languished, poisoned anew by Van Helsing's fourth transfusion; I sensed her pain, remotely, but I held aloof, having as I thought done all I could for her. On September twentieth she died, or so thought the grieving Arthur Holmwood, and Dr. Seward, who with Van Helsing were in attendance on her at the time. Though some miles away, I could feel, through our established mental contact, the moment when her breathing stopped, that once had blown so full and sweet across my cheek...

On that same day laborers came to Carfax, to remove some of my boxes, in accordance with my plan of gradual dispersal. The madman Renfield once more broke out through the much-battered window of his room, to maul the workmen for having, as he thought, robbed him of his "lord and master." The lord and master, standing amid some trees behind the high wall of his estate-I was not resting in a box, for I could not be quite sure which ones the workmen might decide to take, or cast a look into-heard the row and resolved to speed up the dispersal process and to sell Carfax quickly thereafter, or simply abandon it if need be. The neighborhood seemed after all a little lively for my taste, with the irrepressible Renfield right next door, and his keeper consulting with Van Helsing, who, as I knew, had hunted vampires.

September twenty-second was in truth a day of mourning among my narrow circle of British acquaintances. On that day Lucy and her mother were both interred in a small cemetery near Hampstead Heath. And Jonathan Harker's former employer, more recently his partner, Mr. Peter Hawkins, was also buried on that day, he having perished almost immediately-of natural causes, so far as I know-upon the Harkers'

return from abroad as man and wife.

Mr. Hawkins' place of burial was also near London, and it chanced that an hour or so after attending his last ceremonies Mina and Jonathan were strolling hand in hand down Piccadilly. Mina, in her account of the day's events, wrote that she was "looking at a very beautiful girl, in a big cartwheel hat, sitting in a Victoria outside Giuliano's, when I felt Jonathan clutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he said under his breath: 'My G.o.d!' I am always anxious about Jonathan, for I fear some nervous fit may upset him again... he was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror and half in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man with a beaky nose and black mustache and pointed beard"-these of course were the effects of a regular diet-"who was also observing the pretty girl. He was looking at her so hard that he did not see either of us"-ah, dearest Mina, Wilhelmina, how could I know that you were there?-"and so I had a good view of him. His face was not a good face"-but one full of character, hey m'dear? "It was hard and cruel, and sensual, and his big white teeth, that looked all the whiter because his lips were so red, were pointed like an animal's."

The better to-but never mind. "Jonathan kept staring at him, till I was afraid he would notice. I feared he might take it ill, he looked so fierce and nasty. I asked Jonathan why he was disturbed, and he answered, evidently thinking that I knew as much about it as he did: 'Do you see who it is?' "" 'No, dear, I don't know him. Who is it?' "

" 'It is the man himself!' "

When the lady drove off Mina noted that "the dark man kept his eyes fixed on her... he followed in the same direction, and hailed a hansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as if to himself: 'I believe it is the count, but he has grown young.

My G.o.d, if this be so!' "

Poor Harker teetered for an hour or so on the brink of a relapse into the brain fever that had prostrated him for weeks after leaving my domain; but he had pulled himself together by the time the couple got home by train to Exeter. There a telegram from Van Helsing awaited them, informing them for the first time of Lucy's rapid decline and supposed death. The professor, empowered by the grieving Arthur to go through all of Lucy's effects, had found Mina's last unopened missives to her and had thus learned Mina's name and address. The professor soon invited himself to come to visit the Harkers in Exeter, and talk of vampires; or talk around them, rather. It would be some time yet before he spoke the horrid word aloud.

TRACK FOUR.

Within a day after sending them his first telegram Van Helsing had conferred with both Mina and Jonathan, and had read a typescript, prepared by Mina, of her husband's Transylvanian journal; she herself had only been allowed to see this diary after Harker had with his own eyes beheld me walking the streets of London. Now Van Helsing not only had confirming evidence that there was at least one vampire active in the English capital, but knew my ident.i.ty, and even the fact that my chief residence was likely to be at Carfax. Had our roles been reversed, that very afternoon would have seen me in the moldering chapel there, prizing off the lids of boxes whilst whatever brave friends I could muster stood by me, armed with wooden stakes and spears. But as matters stood my foe, the hunter, preferred more devious tactics.

At this time I knew of Van Helsing his name and reputation, and that he had been one of Lucy's physicians and therefore might now pose a danger to me; but that is all I knew. I was not even aware that the Harkers were in England, much less that they had seen me in Piccadilly. I continued in the peaceful pursuit of my own affairs, until on September twenty-fifth my attention was caught by headlines in the Westminster Gazette:

EXTRA SPECIAL.

THE HAMPSTEAD HORROR.

ANOTHER CHILD INJURED.

THE "BLOOFER LADY".

I hastened to read the article, and discovered that the child mentioned was only the latest of a series to have complained, within the past few days, of being abducted and a.s.saulted by a mysterious woman who roamed on Hampstead Heath at twilight.

Through some equally mysterious translation of children's jargon into that of journalists, the unknown woman had acquired the "bloofer" t.i.tle. Wounds in the throat, no more than pinp.r.i.c.ks, were observed in every victim.

Whilst in a newspaper office, gathering what additional facts I could from a study of recent editions, I looked through columns of death notices to find where Lucy had been interred. It was too bad that since her rebirth she had taken to molesting children; perhaps, I thought, her brain as well as other organs had been damaged by the transfusions. Although essentially I considered her depredations no more my affair than those of Mary Jane Heathcote, alleged murderess of her own child, or of a thousand other madfolk scattered about the metropolis, still I was forced to be concerned by her activities all the same. Van Helsing was very likely to notice the newspaper articles and to be visiting her tomb. This in turn might present me with an opportunity to meet my antagonist, take his measure, reason with him if reasoning was possible or, if it was not, adopt such other measures as might be necessary.

Of course I expected that any calls Van Helsing might make on Miss Westenra in her new residence would take place in daylight, when they would be safest. New-made vampires have this in common with infants newly born to breathing life: they are much more delicate than they will one day be and their powers are still largely undeveloped. I could walk through a field of garlic in full bloom and not be overcome, or even glare back briefly at the noonday sun, at least in the cool high lat.i.tudes. But Lucy in her tender, newborn state would be stunned even by garlic, and could not have long survived exposure to full daylight, even of the tempered English sort.

On the night of September twenty-fifth I located the Westenra family mausoleum, in the little cemetery near Hampstead Heath, surrounded then by nearly open countryside. Pa.s.sing like smoke through the vault's locked doors, I stood on old stone floors strewn with dead and dying flowers from the double interment of three days before. Before me, raised on stone blocks and ornamented by iron and bra.s.s, was the coffin of Lucy's mother, with its freight of peaceful clay. And across the narrow interior aisle from it, similar in appearance, the vessel in which Lucy had been laid. I went to it and, placing my hands upon its oaken, outer lid, could feel the emptiness within its inner, leaden sh.e.l.l.

Where then was the girl whom I had once tried to help? Out prowling on the heath, most likely, if the newspaper stories gave true evidence. I had my doubts about them. But certainly the coffin was empty now.

I waited there an hour, rehearsing in my mind what I might try to say and do to help her when she appeared. The longer I waited the less certain I felt of what help I could now offer her, and the less certain also that I had been right in not allowing her to die in the first place. Yet still it seemed to me that it had been my duty to answer her cry for help at Hillingham.

Suddenly, with a force that keyed all my senses to full alert, the realization came to me that she might not be walking at all as I waited beside her coffin, but that her body might have been secretly removed from this place after being put to its true death by stake and blade. If Van Helsing was as dangerous an antagonist as I had heard, such might well be the case. If Lucy had been so disposed of, there was nothing I could do about it now. I waited half an hour more and then departed, yielding to my doubts, and still with no evidence of her whereabouts.

At midmorning on September twenty-sixth, and again in the afternoon, I returned to the cemetery in man-shape. In daylight I could not change my form at will nor melt smokelike into the tomb and out again. But I was still looking for my adversary and still thought that daylight was the only time to find him there.

Very few other people were about. At last, leaning against the outer wall of the Westenra tomb, I managed to pick up a faint radiance of Lucy's encomaed mind within. She was of course not breathing, but was fully as alive as me. The mysterious and powerful Van Helsing had not, after all, been competent enough to find and kill this baby vampire yet!

But scarcely had I allowed myself the relaxation of a smile when the thought hit home that Lucy might have been spared simply to bait a trap for me. What was Lucy to Van Helsing? By a.n.a.logy, no more than a tiger cub tied mewling in the forest at night, whilst concealed men with electric lights and heavy weapons ready ring the spot about, waiting in silence for those great green glowing eyes to come, that bear a full hand's breadth of separating night between!

Yes, they might be willing to let her roam at night until I came to her. They might expect me there to teach her vampire lore, receive a pledge of fealty, or demand some other service from her. They might be cold and cruel enough to risk a breathing child or two... or had any children been attacked at all? Might the whole series of newspaper stories possibly be no more than a cunning fabrication, designed to draw me into the snare?

I looked round me swiftly. At the moment I could see no one; but inside one of those mausoleums eyes might be looking out and there might be a Kodak taking photographs, its operator protected by those walls and bars so strong that twenty men could not, bare-handed, tear them free.