medical or chemical experiment, and that the maid had been its subject. But my head was spinning; science did not interest me particularly—it would not, for many years—and I did not pay close attention.
Besides, though daybreak was still far off, my illness had been suddenly compounded by an overwhelming urge to sleep. All I could think of was my nearest earth. Remounting my horse and clinging with some difficulty to his back, I turned him in the direction of the nearest of my earth boxes. Naturally I had memorized the locations of all such deposits put into place during the decades of my preparation.
The particular box I was now seeking had been concealed, if the reports brought back by my most trustworthy lieutenants were to be credited, deep in a subterranean Etruscan ruin that lay then on the outskirts of Rome, and for all I know lies there still, now buried beneath the city itself.
My goal was not far away in ordinary reckoning, but it made for a long ride that night in my condition, and attaining it was one of the most difficult experiences of a busy and interesting life. All my will and determination were required simply to stay awake. I was forced to ride slowly to keep myself from being thrown out of the saddle. At some point during the ride I became aware that the two young people had somehow obtained mounts and were still following me.
I was too sick, too weary unto death, to fight or even to run from them. At long last I realized, by certain landmarks, that my desired earth, or the place where my earth should be, was close ahead. It was all that I could do to dismount without falling, drive my horse away, and drag myself into the cavity in the ground.
A natural crevice in the earth, somewhat wider than a human body, emitted a faint smell of sulphur. The appearance of this crevice, from the vantage point of its grassy lip, suggested a bottomless abyss. In the minds of imaginative people of the time, hell might well lie at the bottom of such a hole, and none of the shepherds who were wont to tend their flocks nearby were likely to explore it. But twenty feet or so was the extreme depth to which the man-sized passageway descended. There was an enlarged chamber at that level, containing an Etruscan sarcophagus, some ancient, broken pottery, and very little else—except my precious trove of Transylvanian soil, spread out on a kind of earthen shelf.
I dragged myself to the place where I could obtain rest, and there collapsed. I had just time, before lapsing into unconsciousness, to overhear a few more words from my pursuers, who had reached the opening above.
Whoever the two precocious children were, if I correctly understood what they were saying, they had followed me deliberately, excited by the prospect of being able to see what secondary effect the poison in the young girl's blood would have upon a vampire.
Chapter 10
It was Angie who picked up the phone first when Joe called Maule's apartment to report the results of his talk with Kaiser. She was able to tell Joe, in turn, some interesting bits of information regarding blood chemistry in vampires, that she'd picked up from listening to the old man's tape. She and John had decided that Joe ought to be told, whatever the possible eavesdroppers might make of the information.
It was about four in the afternoon when that call was completed. Sunset was still more than an hour away, but the cloudy sky, its brightness very gradually diminishing, made nightfall seem imminent.
Joe on the phone had been modestly reassuring, but he had been as insistent as ever that they stay in the apartment and remain on guard, crushing any hope that their problems might be over.
Within two minutes after Angie hung up the phone, the front door chime sounded, for the first time in many hours.
John and Angie were both in the old man's room at the time, occupying chairs, one on each side of his bed, and exchanging hopeful comments to the effect that he might soon be able to talk to them. His appearance, they agreed, had continued to improve, gradually but definitely. But he hadn't yet managed to say anything intelligible.
When the door chime sounded, the old man grunted. Both John and Angie, after uttering quick reassurances to their host, hurried to look at the front-door viewer.
Angie frowned at the small, bright image. 'It's the lady we ran into last night,' she said. 'Isn't it?'
'What lady?' John sounded lost.
'The heavyset one who was just getting out of the elevator when the three of us were going up to the restaurant. Remember?'
'Oh, yeah. Maybe it is her. What does she want?'
'Better find out.'
He flipped on the speaker. 'Hello?' he inquired cautiously.
'Mr. Maule? It's Mrs. Hassler from down the hall.' The voice was bright as a robin's, cheerful and enthusiastic though somewhat distorted by the speaker. It seemed to have as little connection with vampires as any sound that Angie had ever heard.
She and John looked at each other doubtfully.
The screen image spoke again. 'Mr. Maule? Are you all right? I wanted to make sure you remembered the Residents' Association meeting tonight.'
An incoherent groan drifted into the living room, from the direction of Uncle Matthew's chamber.
John whispered: 'I wonder if there's some way that she can tell he's home?'
Angie hissed back: 'Search me. But you answered her, now she knows there's someone here.'
Again there was a faint sound, this time as of an intelligible voice, from the old man's bedroom. His two guardians looked at each other wide-eyed. A moment later, they were bursting in on him again.
He was sitting bolt upright in his bed, glaring at them, and to their great joy they heard him utter a few coherent words: '… admit… no one…'
'We won't!' Angie hastened to be reassuring. 'We haven't let anyone in. No one but Joe. You know, Joe Keogh? He was here, but he's gone now to try to get help.'
The old man nodded firmly. He was definitely coming around.
Now he pointed toward the living room. 'Mrs.—Hassler.'
'Yes, what about her?'
Maule enunciated carefully. 'Genuinely… my neighbor. Try… keep her quiet. No police. Not yet.'
'Yes, we understand about the police. No police yet. Angie, go back and talk to her. No, wait, you stay here. I'll go, just in case.' And John went bounding out of the room again.
'Can I get you anything?' Angie asked the patient, joyfully.
'Tell me… what has happened?'
Angie did her best, pouring out the story in a jumble of words. She concluded: 'If we could only phone Joe now and tell him you're coming out of it…'
The man sitting in the bed looked grimly worried 'Yes… wait. If this phone is tapped… try to use—Mrs. Hassler's. Safer than—trying to reach—public phone. We do not want—the enemy to know—I am recovering.'
Angie ran into the front room to communicate this idea to John. He had the front door open on its security holders, and was conversing warily with Mrs. Hassler through the narrow gap.
Angie joined him, hanging on his shoulder and smiling brightly, while thinking she must look a ghastly mess.
Introductions were quickly, if somewhat awkwardly, performed. Then Angie said, as sweetly as possible: 'The phone's out of order here, on top of everything else—Mrs. Hassler, do you suppose we could use yours?'
'Of course, dear.' If the smiling woman in the corridor was bothered by not being asked to step in, she didn't show it.
John stared at Angie, then caught the idea. With a muttered excuse he ran back to confer briefly with the old man. Moments later he was back at the front door, and a moment after that he was gone. Angie stuck her head out and watched him safely into Mrs. Hassler's apartment just down the hall.
Then she locked and bolted up the door again, turned off the viewer, and walked slowly back to talk to Uncle Matthew.
She found him out of bed, standing erect though he looked a bit unsteady, and wrapping himself in a white
