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Charcot’s parting advice to me echoed that of the London spe-cialist: rest, good food, and exercise. Then: “If these fantasies continue to trouble you, Mr. Stoker, my advice is to continue to record them with pen and ink.”

I believe that I shall soon be writing another book.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Bram Stoker died in London in 1912, of locomotor ataxia, or tertiary syphilis, leading to “exhaustion.”

For the Blood Is the Life

BY PETER TREMAYNE

“For the Blood is the Life”

—advertising slogan for Clarke’s Blood Mixture,

The Times (London),Monday, October 3, 1887.

Isuppose that I was lucky to get the interview at all.

I stood on the steps of Teach Cluain Meala, a tall and narrow Georgian building, situated in Dublin’s busy Harcourt Street, and gazed curiously at the polished brass plate outside the door. AVERTY ENTERPRISES, it read. The name was known not only in Ireland but also throughout the world as one of the biggest international entertainment promotion companies. Averty Enterprises had been on the credits of enough Broadway “Hit Musicals”a nd television variety shows for it to be immediately recognizable—a sort of entertainment brand name.

Standing there, I had a feeling, not for the first time, of irritation that I had even bothered to waste my time making the journey into central Dublin from Chapelizod in answer to the letter that had summoned me. The letter arrived for me on the previous day, with its embossed company notepaper and its few typed lines, politely requesting me to attend an interview with the managing director to discuss the prospect of a position within the company. I felt it was some silly mistake, for what would an entertainment agency want with a doctor of medicine such as I?

The letter had been sent to me care of the College of Physicians, for as a Fellow of the College, I was entitled to have my mail forwarded from there. The truth being that I was not in practice at that time, having just returned from Africa. I was seeking a position because I could not afford to buy a partnership in a general practice, especially in Dublin where life was pretty expensive. A rural practice was not something I even contemplated.

It was my sister Étain, in whose house I was temporarily living at Chapelizod, who had insisted that I should respond to the letter. Étain knew all about the entertainments business. She was a semiprofessional singer and told me that a company such as Averty Enterprises did not make mistakes.

“Turn down an offer to work for Averty Enterprises? You must be out of your skull!”sh e had jeered. Although Étain was a few years younger than I was, after our parents died in a traffic accident, it was she who worked to keep a home together. I had been in my final year at medical school. I had felt that I still owed something to her for going round the pubs and clubs and singing to earn a living for the both of us. She was not a great singer, but had a nice, easy voice. She was a balladeer rather than a “pop”sin ger. Poor Étain. She had made a bad marriage to an irresponsible and impecunious youth named Art Moledy, who had disappeared to America within a year. She became very ill after that and nearly died. I had felt protective toward Étain from then on and took heed of her advice. On this occasion I wasn’t so sure that she was right. Surely an entertainments company would need a medical doctor like an opera singer with laryngitis?

But there I was, standing on the steps of the company head office, and decided that I might as well go through with the meeting. I set my shoulders determinedly and marched up the steps to the brightly painted door. In a small hallway beyond, a burly uniformed security guard gazed sourly at me.

“I have an appointment,” ”I stammered as his six feet six ihnecs of height towered threateningly over me.

His eyes narrowed, and he testily demanded, “Got your letter?”

I scrabbled into my pocket and brought forth the letter.

The security man stared at it as if trying to find some fault with