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By Root 767 0

was strangely coloured and his eyes turned in his head. He was dressed in hose and shirt only, with the embroidered belt my lady had made for him. When in my affright I spoke to him, he laughed a fearful laugh and looked not to know me. I ran to fetch my lady and she came from her room all heavy with sleep, her black hair about her face. When he saw her, my lord went mad. He felt at his belt as if for his dagger, but it was lacking, and when he so found, he threw himself at her throat and would have strangled her. I could not move him, but my cries brought the two men-at-arms who slept in the next chamber, and together we dragged my lord from his lady’s throat and put him into his bed, where he fell into a swoon. The next day he was in great pain and took no nourishment save a cup of broth. In the evening the painful torments of the first days suddenly returned. He lay in agony, his body torn by spasms, until at midnight his soul left him.”’

‘How ignorant they were!’ exclaimed Blankenhagen.

‘What do you suppose was wrong with him?’ I asked.

Blankenhagen shrugged.

‘It might be any number of natural illnesses.’

‘That wasn’t all,’ said Tony, turning to another page of his notebook. ‘The countess’s maid, or tiring woman, tied the noose around her neck. She was even more verbose than the other witness, so I’ll synopsize. It seems that the week before the count returned she had to obey a call of nature in the middle of the night, and went to the privy – oh, yes, Doctor, they had them – near her mistress’s room. She was still in the darkness of the hall when she saw the countess’s door open and Konstanze standing there with a candle in her hand. Then – I’ll have to give you her own words, or you’ll lose the atmosphere – “There appeared from nothingness a Tall Man clothed all in black, with only darkness where his face should be. He went to my lady and caught her in his arms, and the folds of his black cloak wrapped her round like two great wings. He was seven feet tall, my Lord Bishop, and I heard the click of his hooves upon the floor of the hall

Tony closed his notebook.

‘At that point the wench fell down in a fit, frothing at the mouth.’

‘No doubt.’ Blankenhagen shook his head disgustedly. ‘The superstitions of the time encouraged hysteria.’

‘Oh, God,’ I said, suddenly sick. ‘Remember what Irma said at the séance? Das Feuer . . .’

Blankenhagen surged to his feet with an angry exclamation.

‘Enough of this morbidity! If that poor girl hears a word of this frightful story – ’

‘She already knows it,’ I said. ‘At least I would prefer to think that, rather than admit the alternative.’

I was right, of course, but it wasn’t the most tactful thing I could have said. Blankenhagen cursed splendidly in German, using a few expressions I had never encountered before, and went storming off through the shrubbery.

‘I don’t blame him,’ I groaned. ‘I’m beginning to lose my nerve too. You know something, Tony? This isn’t fun anymore.’

‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘I’m just trying to sound like a heroine,’ I said meekly. ‘I know I’m the wrong size, but I figured I could try to sound sort of imbecilic and clinging and scared . . .’

‘Ho ho,’ said Tony, baring his teeth. ‘Who says you’re the heroine?’

‘All right, I’ll let Irma be the heroine. But there are times when I think she qualifies for another role.’

It was Tony’s turn to swear. He wasn’t as inventive as Blankenhagen, but he was louder, and finally he stalked off, leaving me alone with my thoughts – which were not good company.

I was beginning to look forward to mealtime at the Schloss. A girl my size needs her nourishment, but that wasn’t the only reason. In the dining room I met friends and enemies and assorted suspects; I could study Irma to see how far she was from a nervous breakdown. Mealtime was when the Gräfin sent forth her invitations. Oh, yes, mealtime was fun time, all right.

Dinner that night was comparatively dull. Irma looked pretty good, and there was no word from the Gräfin, not even an invitation to a small intimate exorcism. Blankenhagen was still sulking;