'Indeed? Even with odds of three to one on your side?' It was a deep voice, and that of an educated man who spoke English well; yet it was not an English voice. I should have put the speaker's origin somewhere in Central Europe. Looking at our guns with a smile as of superior amusement, he went on: 'And why are you all so timid on this bright morning?'
'We were more timid, still, last night,' Holmes answered. Before he could say more, our latest visitor, with a sneer that showed his complete contempt for all of us, had turned his back and was once more bent over the trunk as if to continue his examination of the lock.
Holmes paled at this, and his voice when he went on had a smooth, deadly tone that I have seldom heard in it, and never without grave consequences for the person spoken to. 'Let us play games no longer, Count Dracula. I shall be greatly pleased to hear from your own lips the story of how Frau Grafenstein came to her end.'
It was evident from the sudden complete stillness of the figure before us that this shot had told. Then he turned to face us once again, straightening deliberately to full height. The newcomer glared now at each of us in turn, as if to make sure which was most worthy of his anger. His face was almost impassive, save for the eyes, but I could see his long, sharp-nailed fingers working slightly, as if their owner imagined them already fastened on our throats. His voice when he spoke was even deeper than before. 'Gentlemen, I give you fair warning—do not fire those guns at me.'
'I repeat,' Holmes snapped, 'that they are for our own protection only. And now, if you please, the truth about that killing on the docks.'
'I do not tolerate meddling in my affairs, even by the police. They are not your concern.'
'I make them my concern, and I tell you that I already know very much about them. That you killed Frau Grafenstein, for example, and that you drank her blood.'
The man before us answered clearly: 'I was extremely thirsty.' In a flash it was borne in upon me what I should never have forgotten. That the question of Holmes' mental state entirely aside, we had already seen ample evidence that the man we now confronted must be utterly and violently mad. There was no reason, as I abruptly realized, that one capable of that horrible killing on the docks might not
He turned away again, with a fine demonstration of contempt, and bent as if he meant to lift the massive trunk unaided. Nothing in my long association with Sherlock Holmes had prepared me for what happened next. Before I had the least inkling of Holmes' intention, his pistol fired. With a shriek the wounded man spun round on us, clutching his left arm. Far from being cowed, he would, I believe, have hurled himself upon us, were it not that the sight of our weapons still leveled held him back. His face was transfigured into a satanic mask of rage and hatred, while an almost inaudible moan, I think of anger as well as pain, came from his open mouth. I heard a faint outcry from Sarah Tarlton behind me, but I did not turn.
In a matter of only a few seconds, the man who faced us had himself in hand. I had been on the point of stepping forward to do what I could for his wounded arm, from which the blood had at first flowed freely. But his whole pose was unmistakably one of menace rather than defeat, and the blood-flow ceased almost as abruptly as it had begun, so that I judged it wiser, for the moment at least, to hold my place.
But when the terrible figure spoke to Holmes, it was almost as calmly as before. 'May I congratulate you on thinking of wooden bullets? I had begun to believe all Englishmen were fools.'
Holmes bowed slightly, coolly accepting the compliment. Our antagonist then smiled at us, and in that moment I was very glad of the loaded weapon still in my hand.
Holmes then performed almost formal introductions, as if we were met at some afternoon social function. The Count—I now saw no reason to doubt that Holmes had discovered the killer's correct name—received Holmes' own name with utter blankness, which seemed to have a disproportionate effect upon my friend's already exhausted nerves.
'Watson,' he ordered brusquely, 'take Mr. Moore and Miss Tarlton outside. There are matters I must discuss in private with this man.'
'Holmes,' I pleaded, 'let me fetch Lestrade, or Gregson.'
'Very well,' he answered, after a moment. 'Only leave us alone, at once. Whatever happens, do not come back until I call.'
Indicating to the two young Americans that they should precede me, I obeyed Holmes' order and left the room. In fact I feared to refuse, thinking that if not humored he might commit some excess even greater than deliberately wounding the unarmed man. That Holmes had deliberately shot our suspect—however desperate and potentially dangerous, still an unarmed man with his back to us—was for me the final and convincing proof that my friend's behavior was no longer adequately governed by his great powers of reason.
As soon as the three of us were out on the landing at the top of the stairs, and the door to the sitting-room closed behind us, I took Moore by the arm and whispered to him fiercely that he must commandeer the first cab in sight and take it straight to Scotland Yard. There he was to brook no delay until he had laid hold of Lestrade or Gregson—or, failing those, whatever detective was immediately available—and returned to Baker Street with the police as fast as humanly possible.
'Tell them,' I concluded, 'that the life and sanity of Sherlock Holmes depend upon their speed!'
He swallowed, nodded, and was gone, almost flying down the stairs.
'And is there nothing I can do?' Sarah Tarlton, a trifle pale but otherwise composed, stood anxiously beside me.
'On the contrary,' I whispered urgently. 'There is something you must do, while I stay here.' I pulled out the scrap of paper Seward had given me and thrust it at her. 'Telegraph—or telephone if you can find an instrument—to Dr. Jack Seward at that address. Say: 'Patient much worse, immediate help imperative,' and sign it 'Watson.' '
The girl very coolly repeated my instructions, took the note, and hurried off.
I turned my agonized attention again to the door at the head of the stair. The two voices within were too low for me to be able to distinguish words, but I thought I could hear the deadly strain in both of them. Indeed, there were moments when it sounded like one voice only, murmuring on and on in soft maniacal anxiety.
Not quite daring to re-enter the room against Holmes' orders, yet scarcely daring to refrain, I waited, one hand near the doorknob, the other still holding my revolver.
In stories, any number of imbeciles may be encountered, ready to deliberately insult strangers who are aiming deadly weapons at them. In real life, there are only a few folk so suicidally inclined.
'So,' I said mildly, when the two men and the lovely young woman had gone out. 'You are Sherlock Holmes.' I was of course trying to give the impression of some sort of recognition—better belated than never—before a second wooden bullet should leap superbly aimed from my captor's gun, this one to splinter its way right through my vitals. His first shot, I observed, had incidentally punctured my fine trunk, as well as spraying it delicately with its owner's gore. 'You must tell me,' I went on, 'how you managed to learn my name.'
'Tut. I see by your earthen baggage that you are a foreigner, and brought your means of sustenance to England with you. The clothing and coins in it tell me what part of the world you are from. I have heard from witnesses of your accomplishments here, and have seen more evidence of them with my own eyes. Anyone who knows the slightest bit about vampires, Count, must know you by name and reputation; I might possibly have been wrong about your name, but now that I can look you in the eye, I have no doubt.'
'I am flattered. But very few breathing folk know anything of vampires. And of those few, most have the truth of the matter quite thoroughly confused with their damned superstitions. They waste good powder on silver bullets. They assault me with crucifixes, as though I were a devil and not as much a creature of the Earth, a child of God, as they are.'
'I shall not make that error.'
'I believe you. Well, what now?' Looking about the queerly furnished room, I made a careful, empty-handed
