Doyle cleared his throat. "Your point is well taken. Forgive me. I did not mean to be rude. It is only that the senselessness of violence has been much on my mind of late, becoming something of an obsession. Apparently, I cannot even enjoy an evening at the theatre without dwelling on them. I am referring to these crimes in Whitechapel, the hideous murders the police have been investigating. I have been consulted by them, in a purely medical capacity, as they have been quite baffled by the manner in which the unfortunate victims met their deaths., As it happens, one of them was a girl who was a member of this very company. You knew her, Stoker, what was her name again?"
"You mean Miss Angeline Crewe?" said Stoker, picking up his cue.
"Yes, that was her name." said Doyle. “I understand you knew the young woman, Count Dracula."
"Yes, I knew her slightly," said the Count. "I had the pleasure of her company at dinner with some friends. A charming creature. A tragic loss. So young. So beautiful. So innocent. Have the police made any progress in their investigation'?"
"Well, I am not privy to all the details," said Doyle, "since they consulted me only in my capacity as a physician, but I understand that they are seeking several of her friends to question them about the case. A Mr. Tony Hesketh and a Miss Violet Anderson, I believe. I do not suppose that you would be familiar with them'?"
"Miss Violet Anderson was the other young woman in the aforementioned dinner party," said the Count, “and Mr. Hesketh was the other gentleman. I have attended the theatre with Mr. Hesketh on a number of occasions, as I think you knew already. Dr. Doyle. However, I have not seen him in some time. I think that he has gone abroad on business of some sort."
"And Miss Anderson?" said Doyle. "Have you seen her recently?"
"No, I have not," said the Count. "And I have already said as much to the police. Or are you pursuing your own investigation, Dr. Doyle?"
"I was merely making conversation," Doyle said. "It was you who asked me if the police were making any progress.”
Stoker pulled out his watch and held it up in front of him. "The second act will be starting in a moment," he said, holding the watch out almost level with his eyes. A small silver crucifix dangled from the watch chain.
"How interesting.” said Dracula. "You arc a Catholic, are you not, Mr. Stoker?"
"I beg your pardon?"
“I was merely noticing the little crucifix upon your watch chain." said the Count, smiling slightly. "It is of Eastern Orthodox design. A lowly little cross, may I see it?"
He reached out and touched it as Stoker held on to the watch, staring at him. He turned it slightly.
"Beautiful engraving. Was that purchased here in London?"
"I… I found it in an antique shop," Stoker said, his face flushed. "I took a fancy to it and… and had my jeweler attach it to my watch chain."
"Yes, well. I see the play is about to start." said Dracula. "Perhaps we shall speak again later."
The lobby emptied as the signal for the conclusion of the intermission was given and Stoker and Conan Doyle stood outside alone, Doyle smiling slightly.
"Couldn't resist, could you?" he said.
Stoker grunted. "I feel like a bloody fool.”
"Perhaps you should have eaten some garlic before we came and worn some wolfsbane in your buttonhole,” said Doyle, grinning.
"All right, no need to rub it in," grumbled Stoker. "I was obviously wrong, carried away by my own imagination. I made myself out to be an utter idiot. I hope you're satisfied."
"No need to be so hard on yourself. Stoker," Conan Doyle said. "I believe your instincts were correct. I strongly suspect that Count Dracula may be our murderer. However, what we lack is proof and that is what we must obtain and soon. We are dealing with a savage, brutal killer, a maniac, one so certain of himself that he plays at word games with us, teasing us like a coquette. I think we should follow our Transylvanian friend when he leaves the theatre tonight. Whatever we do, we must not let him out of our sight.•
"Who are you people?" Amy Robbins said. "How dare you force your way into this house! Get out this instant or I shall summon the police!"
Steiger took the woman by her arms and gently, but firmly, forced her down into an armchair. "I'm sorry. Miss Robbins, but I'm afraid we can't do that. We don't mean you any harm, but if you attempt to resist or cry out, I will be forced to restrain you."
"I remember you!" she said. "You're one of the Americans who came to see Bertie!"
"That's right." said Delaney, "and I was here, too, remember? Please don't be frightened, Miss Robbins, no one is going to hurt you. We've come here to protect you. Mr. Wells is in great danger and we need your help."
She looked from one face to another, panic-stricken, not knowing what to do. "Bertie's in danger? How'? Why? From whom? I don't believe you! Where is he?"
Christine Brant knelt down beside her. "It's a long story." she said gently, "and one that you're going to find very hard to believe, but we can prove it to you. My name is Christine Brant. Sgt. Christine Brant. We are all special agents of our government, on the trail of a wanted criminal, a very dangerous man named Nikolai Drakov. He has an accomplice named Moreau and I'm afraid that H. G. Wells has fallen into his hands."
She shook her head, her eyes wide. "No, I don't believe it! Why would anyone wish to harm Bertie? He's done no one any harm. You're lying!"
"I'm not lying," said Christine. "It's true. One of our agents saw him being abducted. It has to do with the murders you've been reading about in the newspapers. We're here to try and stop them. Several of our people have already been killed. Now listen carefully. What I have to tell you is going to sound incredible, but it's very important that you believe me and try to understand. You must, if you want to help Bertie. Will you try?"
Mutely, Amy Robbins shook her head.
Christine took a deep breath and while the others checked out the house and set about making it ready as their new command post, she started to explain to the frightened and bewildered woman.
"Now what?" said Dick Larson.
"We go back to the Hotel Metropole," said Linda Craven.
They were standing outside Scotland Yard, having just been informed by an impatient Ian Holcombe that Scott Neilson had left for the day and that he might not have bothered coming in at all, for all the use he was being. Holcombe had no time for them, but they had learned all they needed to know. Scott Neilson had left early; he hadn't received word that they were blown and that the command post at the Hotel Metropole was being abandoned as a security risk.
"Not smart," said Larson. "We shouldn't risk it. What we should do is report back to Steiger."
"And meanwhile Scott goes back to the hotel, finds no one there and has no idea what's going on," said Linda. "I don't know about you, but I'm not about to leave him sitting there, vulnerable, waiting for someone to show up."
"What if he's not back at the hotel?" said Larson. "Then what?"
"Then we report in," she said. "The point is, Scott's wide open and it's our fault. Actually, it's Steiger's fault. He should have left someone on duty at the command post, just in case."
"He wanted to, but Delaney was against it and he was right," said Larson. "It would have been too risky. There was no way of knowing Neilson would leave the crime lab early. In any case, it doesn't matter now. We don't know where he is and we'll be taking a hell of a chance if we go back there now."
"And what about the chance Scott will be taking'?" she said. "Without even knowing it?"
"Neilson's a big boy," Larson said, "and he's not stupid.
When he sees there's no one on duty at the hotel suite, he'll put two and two together and figure something went wrong. He'll get out of there.'
"Maybe," Linda said. "but I don't want to take that chance."