seance. The couple was determined this time to have no disruptive skeptics in attendance.
We learned also that rather than being under any kind of house arrest, Sarah Kirkaldy was still the cherished houseguest of the Altamonts. One version of the story among the villagers was that Sarah’s grief at her brother’s death had become so intense that there were fears for her reason; another account had her suffering an attack of brain fever.
By now, of course, the police had questioned the young spiritualist exhaustively. but by all reports, the Altamonts were offering her their protection and gave every indication of being ready to use their wealth and position to the utmost, if necessary, to defend Sarah, who had, as they thought, restored them to communication and even to direct contact with their departed daughter.
The fact that her brother had been fatally attacked during the last seance certainly tended to indicate that the Kirkaldys had been innocent in whatever crimes might have been committed.
To both Dracula and myself, the present attitude of Sarah Kirkaldy was unclear. It seemed very likely that the bereaved family would want to hold the new sitting in secret, as free as possible from police surveillance.
It seemed to us also that the elder Altamonts, anxious to convince the young people that their elders’ view of the situation was correct, would want Martin Armstrong as well as their younger daughter to attend the next seance; and young Armstrong might very well prefer to be there rather than to go poking into the mausoleum where, as he now believed, some stranger had been laid to rest.
But we had not come to Amberley to engage in speculation. I even resented Prince Dracula’s suggestion that I might want to stop for food before commencing our search for Holmes. However, we took some sandwiches and a flask of coffee along, as well as my usual medicinal supplies of water and brandy, and my revolver and my medical bag.
At a stable near the station we hired a horse and trap. When we climbed into our rented conveyance, Dracula took the reins and asked me for directions; he wanted to begin at the mausoleum in which Louisa had been laid to rest.
“There is no reason to suppose we will find Cousin Sherlock there, but I think it a likely spot at which to pick up a trail, of one kind or another.”
“Then let us begin there, and quickly.”
Dracula was obviously somewhat uncomfortable in the late-morning sunshine. Once or twice I could see him grimace as if in pain when a shaft of brilliance came stabbing through between the longer intervals of cloudiness. but, demonstrating the attitude of an old campaigner, he pulled down his wide-brimmed hat, put on some gloves, and dismissed any reference to his discomfort as he led the search for Holmes.
As we rode I explained to my new colleague that I saw several reasons to act on the assumption that Holmes had been kidnapped by a vampire–not necessarily Louisa.
“I shall rejoice to hear them.”
“Very well. First, Sherlock Holmes is, as a rule, quite capable of defending himself; no ordinary opponent would be likely to carry him off so quickly, almost without an outcry.”
“Assuming he has indeed been carried off, and did not choose to vanish–it would not be the first time he did that, as you are well aware. What else?”
“A second reason is that people of the...” I paused to clear my throat; a certain word still tended to stick there. “That vampires were, and are, certainly involved.”
“You are certain of this?”
“I am certain.” And I gave my reasons.
If I had expected a defensive reaction I was wrong; my companion only nodded. “It is most likely that you are correct. but proceed, Dr. Watson.”
“In the first place I am certain that the girl in white, appearing at the seance, was indeed a vampire, whether or not she was truly Louisa Altamont. And where there is one vampire–”
“–there is likely at least one more. Very good, Doctor. If we assume that you are correct, and that Miss Altamont acquired her
As yet I had not actually visited the Altamonts’ family burial ground, but I had heard enough from Armstrong to be reasonably sure of its location. The cemetery lay on the bank of the Shade, somewhat less than half a mile in straight-line distance from the bend in the stream where Louisa’s drowning had taken place.
We reached our goal after a drive of less than half an hour from the inn. The ancient churchyard was enclosed by an iron fence which, along much of its extent, was almost hidden in luxuriant shrubbery. The graveyard had its own entrance from the road, and the area inside the iron fence was rankly overgrown, with a look of not having been properly maintained for years. In certain places the lush grass and wild flowers had recently been trodden down by human feet and heavily crushed by wheels and horses’ hooves; there was plenty of evidence that over the last few weeks the place had been repeatedly visited.
A small, ruined church or chapel, apparently older by several centuries than any of the visible graves, looked down from a small hill upon the cemetery and the wooded banks of the Shade, and lent something of a romantic aspect to the scene. Not much was left of this ecclesiastical structure but a few crumbling walls and arches, spotted with lichen and entwined with ivy, sweet honeysuckle, and woodbine.
But our first goal was near the middle of the cemetery. There stood the Altamont family mausoleum, a moss-grown structure as big as a small house, round which the indications of recent visitors were heaviest. This mausoleum was readily identifiable by the family name carved in the stone, and it, like the ruined chapel, was partially covered by the tall climbing vines.
Dismounting from our rented trap, Dracula soothed the restive horse with a few murmured words and a stroking of the animal’s neck. He then silently approached the sepulcher on its most shadowed side. The prince leaned against the stone wall, first with both hands and then, after removing his hat, with his pale forehead. After remaining in this position for a moment or two he turned away to inform me calmly that he had detected definite evidence of vampire activity within. He added that he perceived no trace of Holmes still living, in either the breathing or undead state.
I shuddered inwardly to think of my old companion become a vampire, or imprisoned in a tomb.
The prince, frowning, put on his hat again and backed away a step from the Altamont mausoleum, looking about him keenly.
“We must expand our search a bit, I think,” he remarked, and started to walk slowly away. Then he turned back to me as if in afterthought. “You were certainly right about one thing, Doctor. There is a young girl who even now is sleeping–quite breathless, but not truly dead–inside these walls.” And he stretched out a long arm to touch the old stone once more with a white hand.
I could not entirely repress a shudder. “Louisa Altamont?”
Dracula shrugged. “Very likely. I cannot tell her name. Later perhaps we will awaken her and ask. but that will best be done after sunset; and first we must find Cousin Sherlock, while we have grounds for hope that he is breathing still.”
Several other charnel houses stood scattered about the half acre which, a century ago, must have been an active country churchyard, small but yet well-tended. None of these other mausoleums were quite as large as the Altamonts’. Some were older and some newer, but in general, none showed any sign of having been disturbed for years, or even decades. A variety of smaller stone monuments and headstones shared the area and the same condition of general neglect.
Prince Dracula made the round of graves and tombs, evidently testing each, through some procedure that was invisible to me. His search was without result, though he paused several times, once for a full minute, to stare down at a tangle of vines, long undisturbed, beneath his feet.
During this part of his search, he bent swiftly and, with a grunt of speculation, straightened up, holding an object that glinted a bright yellow in his hand. It was a golden pin, set with some greenish stones which I took to be not emeralds, but perhaps jade, aquamarine, or garnet.
“That,” I announced, “may well be one of the pieces of jewelry taken from the house on Wednesday night, while the sitting was in progress or shortly afterward. All were moderately valuable. but why is it here?”
Dracula only shrugged, handed the golden thing to me, and once more concentrated upon his search.
I inspected the pin briefly before dropping it into my pocket for eventual delivery to the police. It was a family heirloom sort of thing, and no ordinary burglar would have thrown it away; on the other hand it certainly did not
