Igescu stood up. Childe rose also. Magda Holyani finished herdrink and gotup from the chair. Glam appeared in the doorway, but Igescu said, "Miss Holyaniwill drive Mr. Wellston to the gate, Glam. I need you for anotherduty."

Glam opened his mouth as if he meant to object but shut itimmediately. Hesaid, "Very well, sir," and wheeled around and walked away.

Igescu said, "If you'd like some more material for your article, Mr. Wellston, you might look up Michel Le Garrault in the UCLA library. I have copies of two of his works, first editions, by the way. The oldBelgian had somevery interesting and original theories about vampires, werewolves, and other so-called supernatural phenomena. His theory of psychic imprinting isfascinating. Have you read him? Can you read French?"

"Never heard of him," Childe said, wondering if he would havefallen into a trap if he had professed familiarity. "I do read French."

"There are many so-called authorities on the occult andsupernatural whohave not heard of Le Garrault or had no chance to read him. I recommend that yougo to the rare book section of the UCLA library and ask for Les Mursecroules. Translations of the original Latin were made in French and, curiously, inBohemian, and these are very rare indeed. There are, as far as Iknow, only tenLatin copies in the world. The Vatican has one; a Swedish monasteryhas two; I, of course, have one; the Kaiser of Germany had one but it was lostor, probably, stolen after he died at Doorn; and the other five are in statelibraries at Moscow, Paris, Washington, London, and Edinburgh."

"I'll look him up," Childe said. "Thanks very much for theinformation."

He turned to follow Igescu out and saw the woman in Spanishdress, high combstuck in her black hair, just stepping into a doorway at the end ofthe hall. She turned her head and smiled and then was gone.

Igescu said, calmly, "Did you see her, too?" "Yes, I did. But I couldn't see through her," Childe said. "I did," Magda Holyani said. Her voice shook a little. Childe

looked at her. She seemed to be angry, not frightened.

"As I said, she has been getting more and more opaque," Igescusaid. "The solidifying is so subtle, that it's only noticeable if you comparewhat she was six months ago with what she now is. The process has been very slowbut steady. When I first moved in here, she was almost invisible."

Childe shook his head. Was he really discussing a ghost as if itexisted? And why was Magda so upset? She had stopped and was staring at thedoorway as ifshe were resisting the impulse to chase after the thing.

"Many people, more people than care to admit, have seen ghostlyphenomena--something weird and unexplainable, anyway--but neither thephenomenondoesn't repeat itself or else the people visited ignore it and itgoes away. ButDolores, ah, there is another story! Dolores is ignored by me, exceptfor an occasional picture-taking. Magda used to ignore her but now she seemsto be getting on her nerves. Dolores is gaining substance from somewhere, perhaps fromsomeone in this house."

Certainly, the story of Dolores was gaining substance. If a photo of her was no evidence that she existed, neither was the fact that he had seenher. For some reason, Igescu might have planned this whole thing, and if he, Childe, wereto run after Dolores and try to seize her, what would his hands closeon? He had a feeling that he would grip solid flesh and that the young womanwould turn out to have come into existence about twenty years ago, not one hundredand fifty.

At the door, he shook hands with Igescu, thanked him, andpromised to sendhim a carbon of the article for editing. He followed Magda to the carand turned once before getting in to look back. Igescu was gone, but a blind hadbeen half-raised and Glam's bulldog face and batwing ears were plainlyvisible.

He got into the front seat with Magda at her invitation. Shesaid, "My jobpays very well, you know. It has to. It's the only thing that wouldmake it endurable. I almost never get a chance to go to town and the onlyones I can talk to, ever, are my boss and a few servants and occasionally aguest."

"Is it hard work?" Childe asked, wondering why she was tellinghim this. Perhaps she had to unburden herself to someone.

"No. I take care of his few social obligations, makeappointments, act asmiddle man between him and his business managers, do some typing onthe book he's writing on jewels, and spend more time than I care to stayingaway fromthat monster, Glam."

"He did nothing definite, but I got the idea that he's quiteattached to you," Childe said.

The beams swept across trees as the car went around a corner. Themoon was up now, and he could see more distinctly. He could be wrong, but itseemed to him that they were not on the same road he had traveled on the wayup.

"I'm taking the longer, no less scenic, route," she said, as ifshe had read his mind. "I hope you don't mind. I feel that I just have to talk tosomebody. You don't have to listen to me, of course, there's no reason why youshould."

"Pour it on me," he said. "I like to hear your voice."

They passed through the gateway of the inner wall. She droveslowly, infirst gear, as she talked, and once she put her hand on his leg. Hedid not move. She took her hand off after a minute when she had to stop thecar. Theyhad driven off the road onto a narrow stone-covered path which ledthrough abreak in the trees to a clearing. A small summerhouse, a round woodenstructure on a high round cement base, stood there. Its open sides were partially coveredwith vines, so that its interior was dark. A flight of cement stepsled up tothe wide entrance.

"I get very lonely," she said, "although the baron is charmingand does talk a lot. But he's not interested in me in the way some employers are intheir female employees."

He did not have to ask her what she meant by that. She had puther hand on his leg again, seemingly as accidentally or unselfconsciously asbefore. He said, "Are there wolves out here, too? Or are they all inside theinner wall?"

She was leaning closer now, and her perfume was so strong that itseemed to soak into his pores. He felt his penis swelling and he took her handand moved it so that it was on his penis. She did not try to take her handaway.

He reached over and ran a finger down along the curve of the leftbreast and down the cleavage into the breast. His hand went on down and slidbetween the cloth and breast and rubbed over the nipple. The nipple swelled, andshe shuddered. He kissed her with many slidings of his tongue along hersand over her teeth. She fumbled along his zipper, found it, pulled it slowlydown, andthen probed through the opening of his jockey shorts. He unbuttonedthe front of her dress and quickly verified what he had suspected. She worenothing beneaththe dress except for a narrow garter belt. The breasts were small butshapely. He bent over and took a nipple in his mouth and began sucking. Shewas breathingas hard as he.

"Let's go in the summerhouse," she said softly. "There's a couchin there."

"All right," he said. "But before we go any further, you shouldknow I'm unprepared. I don't have any rubbers."

He would not have been surprised if she said that she had some inher handbag. It wouldn't have been the first time that this had happenedto him.

But she said, "Never mind. I won't get pregnant."

Shakily, he followed her out of the car, sliding past the wheel. She turned and slid the dress off her shoulders. The moonlight gleamed on thewhitest flesh possible, on dark wet nipples, and dark triangle of pubic hairs underthe garterbelt. She kicked her shoes off and, clad only in belt and stockings, swayedtowards the summerhouse.

He followed her, but he was not so excited that he did not wonderabout cameras and sound devices in the summerhouse. He knew that he was good-looking, but he was not, after all, a god who swept all women before him on a tide of desire. If Magda Holyani seduced him on such short acquaintance, she either was very hard-up or had a motive that he might not like if he knew. Or, possibly, both. She did not seem to be faking her passion.