"Certainly," Igescu said., "But it won't prove anything, ofcourse. There is very little that can't be faked."

He spoke into an intercom disguised as a cigar humidor in alanguage Childedid not recognize. It certainly did not sound Latin, although, unacquainted withRumanian, he had no way of identifying it. He doubted that Rumanianwould have such back-of-the-throat sounds.

He heard the click of billiard balls and turned to look down into the next room. Two youths were playing. They were both blond, of mediumheight, wellbuilt, and clothed in tight-fitting white sweaters, tight-fittingwhite jeans, and black sandals. They looked as if they could be brother andsister. Their eyebrows were high and arched and the eye sockets were deep. Theirlips werepeculiar. The upper lip was so thin it looked like the edge of abloody knife; the lower lip was so swollen that it looked as if it had been cut andinfected by the upper.

Igescu called to them. They raised their heads with such a lupineair that Childe could not help thinking of the wolves he had glimpsed on theway up. Theynodded at Childe when Igescu introduced them as Vasili Chornkin and

Mrs. Krautschner but they did not smile or say anything. They seemed eagerto getback to their game. Igescu did not explain what their status was butChilde thought that the girl must be the house guest he had mentioned.

Glam appeared suddenly and noiselessly, as if he slid spacesaround him instead of moving himself. He gave a manila envelope to Igescu. Childe glancedat Igescu as he removed the photo frame the envelope, then he lookedup. Glamhad gone as swiftly and silently as he had entered.

The photo was taken from about forty feet during the daytime. Light floodingin from the large window showed everything in detail. There wasDolores del Osorojo just about to leave the hall through a doorway. The edge ofthe doorwayand part of a chair nearby could be faintly made out through her. Shewas looking back at the camera with the same faint smile as in herpainting.

"I'll have to have it back," Igescu said.

"As you say, a photo proves nothing," Childe said. He looked athis wristwatch. A half hour left. He opened his mouth to ask about thecar accident and the morgue incident but Magda Holyani entered.

She was a tall, slim, small-breasted woman of about thirty withbeautiful although disproportioned features and thick pale-yellow hair. Shewalked as if her bones were flexible or as if her flesh encased ten thousand delicate intricately articulated bones. The bones of her head seemed to bethin; hercheekbones were high, and her eyes were tilted. The mouth was toothin. There was something indefinably reptilian about her, or, to be more exact, snakish. This was not repulsive. After all, many snakes are beautiful.

Her eyes were so light he thought at first they were colorless, but, closer, they became a very light gray. Her skin was very white, as if sheshunned not only the sun but the day. It was, however, flawless. She had nomakeup whatever. The lips would have looked pale if she had been standing next to awoman with rouged lips, but set against her own white skin they seemed dark andbright.

She wore a tight-fitting black dress with a deep square-cutbodice and almost no back. Her stockings were black nylon, and the high-heeledshoes were black. She sat down after being introduced, revealing beautiful, butseemingly boneless, legs from the mid-thigh down. She took over theconversation from Igescu, who lit up an expensive cigar and seemed to become lost ingazing intothe smoke.

Childe tried to keep the conversation to a question-and-answerinterview, but she replied briefly and unsatisfactorily and followed with aquestion eachtime about himself or his work. He felt that he was beinginterviewed.

He was becoming desperate. This would be his only chance to findout anything, and he was not even getting a "feel" of rightness orwrongness aboutthis place and its tenants. They were a little odd, but this meantnothing, especially in Southern California.

He noticed that Glam was busying himself nearby with emptying theBaron's and Magda's ash trays, refilling the glasses, and at the same timemanaging tokeep his eyes on the woman. Once, he touched her, and she snapped herhead back and glared at him. Igescu was aware that Childe was taking this in, but he onlysmiled.

Finally, Childe ignored her to ask Igescu directly if he wouldcare to comment on the much-publicized "vampire" incident. After all, it wasthis that had brought him out here. And so far he had not learned much. Thearticle would be spare, if indeed he had enough data to make an article.

"Frankly, Mr. Wellston," Igescu said, "I permitted this interviewbecause I wanted to kill people's curiosity about this once and for all. Essentially, I ama man who likes privacy; I am wealthy but I leave the conduct of mybusiness to others and enjoy myself. You have seen my library. It is veryextensive and expensive and contains many first editions. It covers a wide varietyof subjects. I can say without bragging that I am an extremely well-readman in many languages. Ten shelves are filled with books on my hobby: precious stones. But you may also have observed several shelves filled with books onsuch subjects as witchcraft, vampirism, lycanthropy, and so on. I amsomewhat interested in these, but not, Mr. Wellston, because I take aprofessionalinterest."

He smiled over his cigar and said, "No, it is not because I am avampire, Mr. Wellston, that I have read in these subjects. I took no interestin them until after the incident that caused you to come here. I thought thatif I were to be accused of being a vampire, I had better find out just what avampire was. I knew something about them, of course, because after all, I do come from an area in which the peasants believe more in vampires and the devilthan they doin God. But my tutors never went much into folk-lore, and my contactswith the local non-nobility were not intimate.

"I decided to give you this interview so that, once and for all, this nonsense about my vampirism could be quelled. And also, to divertattention from me toward the only truly supernatural feature of this house: Doloresdel Osorojo. I have changed my mind about photographs for your article. Iwill have Magda send you a number. These will show some of the rooms in thehouse and various photos of the ghost. I will do this on the condition that youmake it clear in your article that I am a man who likes privacy and a quietlife and that the vampire talk is nonsense. After getting that out of the way, you maystress the ghost as much as you like. But you must also make it clearthat there will be no other interviews with anybody and that I do not like to bedisturbed by curiosity-seekers, spiritualists, or journalists. Agreed?"

"Certainly, Mr. Igescu. You have my word. And of course, asagreed, you willedit the article before it's published."

Childe felt a little dizzy. He wished that he had not acceptedthe brandy. It had been four years since he had drunk anything, and he would nothave broken his rule now, except that Igescu had praised the brandy as being sorare that he had been tempted to try it. And he had also not wanted to offend hishost in anyway if he could help it. He had, however, not had more than onetumbler. The stuff was either very potent or he was vulnerable after the long dryperiod.

Igescu turned his head to look at the tall dark grandfatherclock. "Your time is about up, Mr. Wellston."

Childe wondered why the baron was so concerned with time, when, by his ownadmission, he seldom went any place or did anything particularlypressing. Buthe did not ask. The baron would have regarded such a question as tooimpertinentto answer with anything but cold silence.