you.'
'Why to me and not to Grayson?' said Doyle.
'Well, frankly, because I know that you have already predisposed him not to consider certain possibilities inherent in this case I thought we should discuss the matter further.'
'Precisely what are you suggesting?'
'I am suggesting that perhaps the reason you have not been able to find a rational explanation for these events is that there is no rational explanation.'
Doyle set down his glass and sighed, shaking his head 'Really, Stoker! Are you seriously suggesting that there is sonic sort of supernatural manifestation behind all of this? That we are dealing with a werewolf or a vampire?'
'Perhaps both.' said Stoker. 'According to legend. vampires often have servants, familiars of a sort, to protect them during their periods of' vulnerability.'
'Oh, come now, Stoker!' Doyle said. 'What utter nonsense! Do you honestly expect me to believe that a 15th century Wallachian voivode has been resurrected from the dead and is now among us as a vampire? With some sort of lycanathropic manservant, no less? I fear you have become carried away by your own imagination.'
'What was it your detective was so fond of saying.' Stoker said, 'that if you eliminate all the probable explanations, what remains, no matter how improbable, MUM be the answer? Something like that, wasn't it'?'
'Something like that, yes,' said Doyle irritably. 'However, we are still a long way from eliminating all the probable explanations. For example, has it occurred to you that what we are dealing with may be a madman who, in his perverse dementia, believes himself to be a vampire?'
'No, quite honestly, that had not occurred to me,' said Stoker. He grimaced, wryly. 'I must admit, it makes more sense than my own theory.'
'Well, don't feel too badly about it old fellow.' Doyle said. 'That was not something that just came to me. In the course of racking my brain over these murders, I considered a number of seemingly outrageous theories. One was that the murders were accomplished with the aid of a trained gorilla. Another was the possibility that we could be faced with a madman who believed himself to be a werewolf. Interestingly enough, those werewolf killings, as Holcombe and I have started to refer to them, took place during the time of the full moon and they have apparently stopped now. But in their stead. we now have these vampire- style murders. As if…'
'What is it?' Stoker said.
'I am not certain,' Doyle said. 'Perhaps I've been infected by your active imagination. Stoker, but what if, indeed, the killer were a madman who believed himself to be a werewolf? According to legend, werewolves are active only during the time of the full moon, so if his delusion were associated with the lunar phases, then it would follow that the killings would correspond accordingly. And the werewolf murders have stopped now. However, what if our madman's compulsion to murder were so strong that he could not bring himself to stop until the next full moon? He would have to find some sort of justification that would allow him to continue killing and since he already believes himself to be a werewolf, could he not also convince himself that he was a vampire, as well?'
'And you say my imagination is overactive?' Stoker said. 'Still. I must admit that it is a fascinating hypothesis. One that certainly sounds more rational than my own.'
'Well, in any event,' said Doyle, 'I would say that, all things considered. our first order of business must be to speak with this Count Dracula of yours.'
'Our first order of business?' Stoker said. 'You mean I am to join you in this investigation?'
'You have already met this Count Dracula, whereas I have not,' said Doyle. 'And surely you wish to get to the bottom of this matter.' 'Indeed, I do!' said Stoker.
'Then we must seek out Count Dracula and confront him to see what we can learn. Do you have any idea where he may be found?' 'He has a box at the Lyceum,' Stoker said. 'lie attends our performances with regularity. I expect that we may find him there tonight. The curtain should be going up on this evening's performance within the half hour.' 'Then there's no time to lose,' said Doyle. 'Come, Stoker! The game's afoot! We must make haste to the Lyceum 'theatre!' • •
Scott Neilson had left the crime lab early, much to the disgust of Ian Holcombe, who was rapidly coming to the end of his rope as a result of all these killings. Neilson had begged off on a pretext, anxious to get back to the command post at the Hotel Metropole and report the latest developments, so he was no longer there when Linda Craven arrived with Dick Larson to warn him that their cover had been blown and that they were moving the command post. Neilson had wanted to waste no time. There had been another murder, but this time Neilson had no doubt as to who the killer must have been. The corpse had been that of a young male, about nineteen years old, found nude in the bedroom of his boarding house. From the state of the body on the bed when it was found and the subsequent examination in the crime lab, it was obvious that the dead man was killed during a sexual encounter and the autopsy left no doubt as to what sort of sexual encounter it had been. It seemed certain now that Tony Hesketh had become a vampire and he had claimed his first victim. A gay vampire, thought Neilson. What a diabolical creature to release upon Victorian London! Hesketh would be able to prey upon the male homosexual population of London with relative impunity. In Victorian England, with homosexuality still largely locked up in the closet, it would be almost impossible for the police to gather evidence about such murders. And those Hesketh victimized but did not kill would not be wry likely to report the assaults. Given the sexually repressed Victorian morality, a young man trying to make his way up in society would hardly admit to having been bitten in the neck and had his blood sucked by another young male. So he would doubtless hide the wound, and soon he would sicken as the infection spread within his body and a new craving began to manifest itself-an insatiable appetite for human blood.
Neilson also wanted to report that Conan Doyle had received an urgent message from Dram Stoker and had rushed off to meet with him. Doyle had crumpled up the note he had received from Stoker and thrown it into a wastebasket. Neilson had retrieved it at the first opportunity. From the message, it seemed that Stoker had stumbled upon something. lie was very anxious to discuss the case with Conan
Doyle. The significance of these two meeting and discussing the murders could not be overlooked. Neilson felt that Steiger had to know at once. Only Steiger was not at the command post. No one was.
Neilson stood inside the empty suite in the Metropole Hotel, puzzled, uncertain what to do. The team had not checked out of the hotel, but the suite was abandoned. He could make no sense of it. Something must have happened, but what'? The arms locker had been opened and it was empty. There were no signs of violence, nothing had been disturbed, there simply wasn't anybody there. Neilson started to feel apprehensive. Something told him he should get out of there, fast. Just as he turned to leave, there came a knock at the door.
Neilson quickly reached inside his jacket and removed the Colt Model 1873 from its specially made leather shoulder rig. It was similar to the gun carried by the other members of the mission support team, a single action. 45 with a 7 1/2 inch barrel. a primitive weapon by the standards of the 27th century, but Neilson was deadly with it. Trick shooting with antique firearms was his hobby, something he had learned from his father during his childhood in Arizona. and he felt far more comfortable with the heavy Colt than he would have with a laser His 'fast draw' had been clocked at over a hundred miles per hour and, in one smooth motion, he could cock and tire a single-action revolver like the Colt faster than most people could fire a more modern double-action handgun. For safety's sake, the revolver's cylinder held only five rounds, so that the hammer could rest over an empty chamber. Otherwise, a dropped gun could easily go off. Having only five shots did not worry Neilson. If he could not get the job done with live rounds, he had no business carrying a gun.
He stood just to one side of the closed door, just in case anyone fired at him through it. The knock was repeated. 'Who is it?' Neilson said cautiously.
'H. G. Wells.'
Wells! It could be a trap.
'Just a moment,' Neilson said, and at the same time, he yanked open the door, grabbed Wells with his free hand and pulled him hard into the room, ready to fire at anyone who stood behind him. But there was no one there and Neilson immediately shifted his aim to Wells, who had fallen sprawling on the carpet.
'Don't shoot.'' said Wells. Remaining motionless upon the floor, he raised his hands up in the air, his posture comical and awkward.
Neilson checked the hallway quickly, then closed and locked the door. He glanced at Wells and put away his gun.
