"But it is unreasonable," said Illya. "Because if it's not a vampire, but someone masquerading as one, then when you least expect it he will prove invulnerable to your crosses and your garlic, and you will not have your guns and handcuffs ready to take him."

There was a heavy thump from the next room, and both heads swiveled to stare at the wall as though it might become transparent. The noise was not repeated, but after a moment Illya rose silently to his feet, his U.N.C.L.E. Special gripped in his right hand. He moved to the door, opened it, and peered cautiously out into the deserted hall.

Suddenly he heard Hilda scream in terror.

In three quick steps he was at the door to Hilda's room, Hanevitch behind him with his thumb on the hammer of his Tokarev, which was now on full-cock. Without pausing, Illya threw the door open wide and leaped into the room.

The light from the hall fell on a blood-chilling sight. Hilda was lying on the floor beside the bed, her hair disarranged and framing her pale face. She had fainted. The window behind her stood open, and the freezing night wind ruffled her nightgown. And she was not alone.

Standing over her, looking down on her with a fearful smile of triumph on his face, was the being they had met in the cave—Voivode Tsepesh Stobolzny. Now there could be no doubt of his identity. The thin lips, the high narrow nose, the heavy-lidded eyes which now stood wide open, staring at the door—all these were very clear to see.

He straightened up from a crouch over the girl's body as the door slammed open, and now his cloak billowed about him in the wind from the opened casement. His face was a ghastly white, with his mouth a scarlet gash against it. His eyes seemed to gleam as he looked at them and saw Illya's automatic. His lips parted, and a horrible dry rasping chuckle came from them.

The gun thundered and bucked in Illya's hand before he was conscious of the act of firing. The Count was rocked for a moment by the impact of the slug, but then he stepped forward again, over Hilda's body towards them. Illya fired again without effect, then leaped straight for the vampire.

Stobolzny struck at the U.N.C.L.E. agent, and Illya went spinning to the floor, where he lay dazed from the blow. Hanevitch fired one around from his Tokarev, then dropped it and sprang to one side.

The table had been laid for breakfast, and a cloth draped over the service. In a flash Hanevitch whipped off the covers and seized two silver knives from the table. Clenching one in each hand, he crossed the blades at right angles before him and advanced towards the vampire. "Begone, you fiend of Satan!" he cried.

Illya, dazed but still conscious, saw the Count stop and shrink back. He made a futile gesture at the Colonel, then raised one cloak-draped arm to cover his eyes. Hanevitch took another step forward. "Go!" he ordered. "Back to the darkness from whence you came!"

The Count fell back as the Colonel advanced, holding the cross of silver before him like a shield. Then the window was behind him, and he turned quickly, spread his cloak and leaped out into the fog and was gone.

Illya staggered to his feet and stumbled to the window a moment later. The fog was not so thick that they could not see the ground—and, as before, there was no indication beneath them that anyone had leaped from this third-floor window. He looked up, and saw only fog, and darkness. He pulled his head back, closed the window, latched it securely, and lit a lamp.

Colonel Hanevitch was still standing over Hilda's unconscious body, looking down at the knives in his hands. "I am a Communist," he was saying in a dazed voice. "I am a good, faithful, dedicated atheist Communist. I am a sincere atheist Communist. Bozhe moi!" And he dropped the knives and sat rather heavily upon the bed.

Suddenly Illya felt his knees begin to shake, just a little. He knew what he had just seen was impossible, and he understood how the Colonel felt. Just knowing something isn't enough, especially when you have just had it very plainly disproved to you.

He knelt beside Hilda and lifted her head. She was beginning to stir, and he looked quickly at her throat. Clean. They had arrived just in time. A minute later might have been too late....

Section III: "Into The Darkness Where The Undead Wait."

Chapter 9: "The Only Way Out Is Through."

Napoleon and Zoltan arrived long after midnight, and Napoleon crept into his room at the inn quietly so as not to awaken his partner. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he noticed a dark-haired figure in his bed, and he halted half-way across the room.

"It's Hilda," said the soft, wide-awake voice of Illya from the next bed. "She made up the couch for you, in case you came back tonight after all."

Napoleon recognized her face now in the darkness. As he turned to the couch she suddenly rolled over and came awake with a stifled scream.

"Oh! Napoleon, I didn't recognize you in the dark."

He sighed deeply. "Okay, what did I miss tonight? Did Illya break a window this time?"

"Nothing so simple, I'm afraid," said his partner. "Colonel Hanevitch and I were in here talking, Hilda had gone to bed, and we heard her scream. When we came in, the Count was standing over her—leaning over her, actually, just about to sink his fangs into her throat. I fired point-blank at him twice, and...well, perhaps I missed. Then he knocked me down. Hanevitch drove him away"—Illya's voice seemed to catch, but he continued steadily—"with two silver knives forming a cross. He went out the open window, and disappeared into the night."

There was several seconds' silence while this sank in, and then Napoleon spoke. "Well...outside of that, how was your day?"

"Napoleon, this is past joking," said Hilda, with a tremor in her voice. She sat up in bed with the covers pulled around her and one flannel-clad arm resting across her knees. "I don't know what almost happened to me tonight, but I'm not ashamed to admit I'm terrified." She pointed at the windows. "Look."

Solo moved quietly across the room as Illya turned on his bedside lamp. There were garlands of some kind around the frame, and as he came closer, he could smell the odor of garlic. Then he saw the buds interwoven with the whitish flowers and nodded.

"It's like the old story of the man scattering strips of paper from the train in Vermont," he said. "He told his seat-mate it would keep elephants away. 'But there aren't any elephants in Vermont,' the other guy said. 'Yes—effective, isn't it?'"

Illya snorted a little. "What happened to you in Brasov? Suddenly you're cynical again."

"I found out a few things, mostly background on our mysterious Count Tsepesh. And Zoltan got himself chased by a mob again—one of these days they're going to catch him. And we met a gentleman by the name of Ackerman. American, knows everything worth knowing about vampires, and doesn't believe in them for a minute. Very intelligent, very entertaining, and a fine host. As soon as he heard Zoltan's name, he insisted on buying us dinner, and we talked vampires all through it. Historical backgrounds of the legends, a few real blood-fixated psychotics, real vampire bats, and so on. I feel much better about the whole thing now."

Illya nodded slowly. "We found the cave today," he said, "after a remarkable amount of trouble. The path was covered with brush—and so was the mouth of the cave. And the cave was solid all the way around; back, sides, floor and ceiling. You were there. How did the Count get in and out? How did he drive away those wolves?"