Childe could not go to sleep for a long time because of wonderingwhat could have made the Baron change his mind. Could he have seen Childeoutside the walls and decided to invite him within for some sinister reason?

He awoke suddenly, sitting up, his heart racing. The phone wasringing onthe stand beside him. He knocked it over and had to climb down out of bed to getit off the floor. Sergeant Bruin's voice answered him.

The crooked hands of the clock on the stand touched the Gothic style 12 and

8. "Childe? Childe. OK! I'd feel bad about getting you up, but Ibeen up sincesix myself. Listen, Budler's car was found this morning! In the samelot Colben's car was found in, how you like that? The lab boys, what'reavailable, are going over it now."

"What time in the morning?" Childe said. "About six, why, what difference does that make? You gotsomething?"

"No. Listen, if you got time," and Childe outlined what he haddone. "I justwanted you to know that I was going there tonight in case Ididn't..."

He stopped. He suddenly felt foolish, and Bruin's chuckledeepened thefeeling.

"In case you don't report back? Haw! Haw!"

Bruin's laughter was loud. Finally, he said, "OK, Childe. I'llwatch out youcheck in. But this deal about this vampire--a baron, no shit? A reallive Transylvanian vampire-type Rumanian baron, what runs a line ofsupermarkets, right? Haw! Haw! Childe, you sure the smog ain't been eating awayyour braincells?"

"Have your fun," Childe said dignifiedly. "Have you got anyleads, by theway?"

"How the hell could we? You know we've had no time!"

"What about the wolves, then?" Childe said. "Isn't there somesort of law about having wild animals, dangerous animals, on the premises? Thesesounded as if they were running loose."

"How do you know they were wolves? Did you actually see them?"

Childe admitted that he hadn't. Bruin said that even if there were laws against keeping wolves in that area, it would be the business of theBeverlyHills Police or perhaps the county police. He wasn't sure, becausethat area was doubtful; it was on the very edge of Beverly Hills, if he rememberedright. He'dhave to look it up.

Childe did not insist on finding out. He knew that Bruin was toobusy to beinterested and even if he wasn't busy he probably thought Childe wason a false trail. Childe admitted to himself that this was most likely. But hehad nothingelse to do.

The rest of the day he spent cleaning up his apartment, doing hiswashing inthe building's basement machines, planning what he would do thatevening, speculating, and collecting some material, which he put into histrunk.

He also watched the TV news. The air was as motionless and as gray as lead. Despite this, most of the citizens seemed to think that conditionswere returning to normal. Businesses were open again, and cars werefilling thestreets. The authorities, however, had warned those who had left thearea not to return if they had some place to stay. The "unnatural" weather mightcontinue indefinitely. There was no explanation for it which could be provedor even convincingly presented. But if normal atmospheric conditions didreturn, itwould be best for those whose health was endangered by smog to stayaway, or toplan on returning only long enough to settle their affairs beforegetting out.

Childe went to the supermarket, which was operating at almostsixty percentnormalcy, to stock up. The sky was graying swiftly, and the peculiarghastlylight had now spread over the sky from the horizon. It subdued thehuman beingsunder its dome; they spoke less frequently and more quietly and eventhe blaringof horns was reduced.

The birds had not returned.

Childe called Igescu twice. The first time, a recording said thatall calls would be answered only after six. Childe wondered why the recordedcall of the evening before had said he could phone in after three. Childe calledagain a fewminutes after six. Magda Holyani's low voice answered.

Yes, Mr. Igescu would see him at eight that evening. Sharp. Andthe interview would be over at nine. Mr. Wellston would have to sign apaper whichwould require that any material to be published could be bluelined byMr. Igescu. He could not bring a camera. The chauffeur, Eric Glam, wouldmeet Mr. Wellston at the gate and would drive him up. Mr. Wellston's car wouldhave to be parked outside the wall.

Childe had hung up and taken three steps from the phone when itrang. Bruinwas calling. "Childe, the report from the lab has been in for sometime but I didn't have a chance to see it until a coupla minutes ago."

He paused. Childe said, "Well?" "It was clean, just like Colben's car. Except for one thing. Bruin paused again. Childe felt a chill run over his back and

then up his neck and over his scalp. When he heard Bruin, he had the feeling ofdeja vu, ofhaving heard the words before under exactly identical circumstances. But it was not so much deja vu as expectation.

"There were hairs on the front seat. Wolf hairs."

"You've changed your mind about the possible worthwhileness ofinvestigatingIgescu?"

Bruin grunted and said, "We can't. Not just now. But, yeah, Ithink youought to. The wolf hairs were put on the seat on purpose, obviously, since everything else was so clean. Why? Who knows? I was looking foranother film, this time about Budler, but we didn't get any in. So far."

"It could be just a coincidence," Childe said. "But in case Idon't reportin to you by ten tonight, if it's OK for me to call your house thenyou bettercall on the baron."

"Hell, I probably won't be off duty by ten and no telling whereI'll be. I could have your call relayed, but the lieutenant wouldn't like that, we're pretty tied up with official calls and this wouldn't rate as that. No, callSergeant Mustanoja, he'll be on duty, and he'll take a message forme. I'll contact him when I get time."

"Then let's make it eleven," Childe said. "Maybe I'll get hung upout there."

"Not by the balls, I hope," Bruin said, and, laughing, clickedthe phone.

Childe felt his testicles withdraw a little. He did not care much for Bruin's humor. Not while the film about Colben was still bright inhis mind.

He took three paces, and the phone rang again. Magda Holyani saidthat she was sorry, but it was necessary that the interview be put off untilnine.

Childe said that it would make little difference to him. Holyanisaid that that was nice and please make it nine sharp.

Childe called Bruin back to report the change in plans. Bruin wasgone, sohe left a note with Sergeant Mustanoja.

At 8:30 he drove out. From Beverly Boulevard, the hills appearedlike ghoststoo timorous or too weak as yet to clothe themselves with denseectoplasm.

By the time he had pulled up before the gateway to the Igescuestate, nighthad settled. A big car inside the gate was pouring out light from itsbeams upthe private road away from the gate.

A large form leaned against the gate. It turned, and theextraordinarilybroad-shouldered and lean-waisted figure of a giant was silhouettedagainst thelights. It wore a chauffeur's cap.

"I'm Mr. Wellston. I have an appointment at nine."

"Yes, sir. May I see your I.D., sir?" The voice sounded as if it were being pounded out on a big drum. Childe produced several cards, a driver's license, and a letter,

all counterfeit. The chauffeur looked them over with the aid of a pencil- thin flashlight, handed them back through the opening in the gate, andwalked off to one side. He disappeared behind the wall. The gate noiselessly swunginward. Childe walked in, and the gate swung back. Glam strode up, opened therear door for him, and then shut it after Childe was in the back seat. He gotinto the driver's seat, and Childe could see that his ears were huge and atright anglesto his head, seemingly as big as bat's wings. This, was anexaggeration, ofcourse, but they were enormous.