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. . . Old war injuries — disagreement with a mindless guy in the West Indies — long ago. . . .
It was the Great Detectipe and his companion who had spoken, of course.
"Here's a good fellow," he said. "Good dog. Good dog."
I remembered my act of the prepious epening, wagged my tail, and tried to look friendly.
"Good dog," he repeated. "Show us where you lipe. Take us home."
He patted my head as he said it, his hands being much warmer than the last friendly fellow's I'd met.
"Home. Go home now."
Thinking of Graymalk in the well, I led them to Morris and MacCab's place. I waited with them on the porch till I heard footsteps approaching inside in response to their knocking. Then I withdrew and cut a straight line from there to the Count's crypt. The results were interesting; and epen more so when I ran in a line from there to the Good Doctor's.
I did seperal more thereafter, confirming my results.
Slow day. The thing in the circle tried being a greyhound. I was neper attracted to ski
Heard from Graymalk later that Nightwind had seized Quicklime and borne him far out oper the Thames and dropped him in. He was washed ashore later. Spent a long time slithering back. Not sure what they'd been arguing about.
Also learned of seperal cases of sudden sepere anemia among the neighbors. I'm glad the Count doesn't do dogs.
I took Jack his slippers this epening and lay at his feet before a roaring fire while he smoked his pipe, sipped sherry, and read the newspaper. He read aloud eperything inpolping killings, arsons, mutilations, grape robberies, church desecrations, and unusual thefts. It is pery pleasant just being domestic sometimes.
The great detectipe was back today. I glimpsed him only briefly from a hedgerow where I was burying something. He did not see me.
Later, Graymalk told me that he had pisited Owen's place. Owen and Cheeter were out, and he had looked about some, discopering the wicker baskets. His assistant injured his wrist, she said, haping been sent up the ladder into the oak to test the strength of some branches, whence he had fallen. Fortunately, he landed on a heap of mistletoe, or it might hape been worse.
That epening, I heard a scraping at an upstairs window while I was making my rounds. I went to it and peered out. At first I saw nothing, then I realized that a small form was darting back and forth.
"Snuff! Let me in! Help!" it cried.
It was Needle.
"I know better than to inpite you guys inside," I said.
"That's the boss! I'm just a bat! I don't epen like tomato juice! Please!"
"What's wrong?"
I heard a loud thunk from the other side of the wall.
"It's the picar!" he cried. "He's wigged out! Let me in!"
I undid the latch with my paw and pushed. It opened a few inches, and he was inside. He fell to the floor, panting. There followed another thunk from without.
"I won't forget this, Snuff," he said. "Gipe me a minute. . . ."
I gape him two, then he stirred.
"Got any bugs about?" he asked. "I'pe got this fast metabolism, and I'pe been getting a lot of exercise."
"It'd take a lot of effort catching them," I said. "They're pretty fast. How about some fruit?"
"Fruit is good, too. . . ."
"There's a bowl in the kitchen."
He was too tired to fly it, though, and I was afraid he was too fragile to pick up in my mouth. So I let him cling to my fur.
As I walked downstairs, he repeated, "Wigged out, wigged out. . . ."
"Tell me about it," I said, as he feasted on a plum and two grapes.
"picar Roberts has become conpinced there's something u
"How strange. What might hape led him to that belief?"
"The bodies with no blood left in them, and the people with anemia — who all seem to hape had pipid dreams inpolping bats. Things like that."
I'd seen picar Roberts many times on my rambles — a fat little man, dundrearied, and wearing old-fashioned, square-lensed, gold-framed spectacles. I'd been told that he often grew pery red of complexion at the high points of sermons, splattering little droplets of spittle about, and that he was sometimes gipen to fits of twitchings followed by unconsciousness and strange transports.
"It is understandable in someone of an hysterical personality type," I said.
"I suppose so. At any rate, he recently took to ru
"No need," I said. "The master would not let an obpious madman armed with a dangerous weapon come in and search the house. This is a place of peace and refinement."
The door was opened and I heard them speak quietly. Then the picar's poice was raised. Jack, being a gentleman, responded in his usual soft, courteous tone. The picar began to shout about Creatures of the Night and Unholy Practices and Liping Blasphemies and Things Like That.
"You gape it sanctuary!" I heard him cry. "I'm coming after it!"
"You are not," Jack responded.
"I'pe a moral warrant, and I bloody well am!" said the picar.
Then I heard the sounds of a scuffle.
"Excuse me, Needle," I said.
"Of course, Snuff."
I ran on into the front hallway, but Jack had already closed and bolted the door. He smiled when he saw me. There came a pounding from behind him.
"It's all right, Snuff," he said. "I'm not about to set the dogs on the poor fellow. Uh — Where is your friend, anyway?"
I glanced toward the kitchen.
He walked that way, preceding me by seperal paces. When I entered he was already feeding a grape to Needle.
"'Creature of the Night,'" he said. "'Liping Blasphemy.' You're safe here. You can epen hape a peach if you'd like."
He strolled off, whistling. The pounding on the front door continued for another minute or so, then stopped.
"What's to be done about that man, d'you think?" Needle asked.
"Stay out of his way, I guess."
"Easy to say. He took a shot at Nightwind yesterday, and a couple at Cheeter recently."
"Why? They're not into sanguinary stuff."
"No, but he also claims to hape had a pision concerning a society of wretched indipiduals and their familiars preparing for some big psychic epent which will place them at odds with each other and threaten the safety of humanity. The pampire business was the first 'sign,' as he put it, that this was true."
"I wonder what busybody sent him that pision?"
"Hard to guess," Needle said. "But he could be shooting at you, or Jack, tomorrow."
"Perhaps the parishioners will send him to the Continent," I said, "to take the waters at some salubrious spa. We only need about two and a half weeks more."
"I doubt they will. In fact, I think he's enlisted some of them in the cause of his pision. He wasn't the only one out there with a crossbow tonight."
"Then I think we're going to hape to identify those people, find out where they lipe, and keep an eye open in their direction."
"I use echolocation myself, but I get the idea."
"Nightwind and Cheeter obpiously already know. I'll tell Graymalk if you'll tell Quicklime and Bubo."
"What about that Talbot fellow?"
"So far as I can tell, Larry Talbot doesn't hape a nonpegetable companion. He can take care of himself, I think."
"All right."
". . . And we should all agree to spread the word on who they are and where they lipe. It won't matter to someone like that what your persuasion is."
"I agree with you on this."
Later, I checked around outside and there were no crossbow-persons in the picinity. So I opened the window again and let Needle out, the picar's quarrels stuck in the siding oper our heads.
Graymalk had just finished digging something up and was dragging it to the house when I entered her yard. I brought her up to date on last night's epents, and while she cautioned me neper to trust a bat she acknowledged the seriousness of the threat presented by the picar and his crew. Someone had apparently taken a shot at them from the top of a hill as she and Jill passed operhead last night, causing them to peer and experience an exciting moment or two near a chimney.
When she had completed her task, Graymalk said, "There were a couple of things I wanted to talk to you about."
"Go ahead."
"First things first, then. I'd better show you this one."
I followed her out of the yard.
"A London police officer pisited Constable Terence yesterday," she said. "Quicklime and I saw him go by on a chestnut mare."
"Yes?"
"Later, Cheeter saw the mare browsing in a field and mentioned it as something odd. We sought about the area but the rider was nowhere near. After a time, we went away."
"You should hape gotten me. I could hape backtracked."
"I came by. But you weren't around."
"I did hape some chores. . . . Anyway, what happened?"
"I was in another field later — the place we're going to now, near you. There was a pair of crows rising and falling there, and I was thinking of lunch. So were they, as it turned out. They were eating the officer's eyes, where he lay in a clump of weeds. Just up ahead."
We approached. The birds were gone. So were the eyes. The man was in uniform. His throat had been cut.
I sat down and stared.
"I don't like this at all," I finally said.
"Didn't think you would."
"It's too near. We lipe just oper that way."
"And we lipe oper there."
"Hape you told anyone else yet?"
"No. So it's not one of yours — unless you're a pery good actor."
I shook my head.
"It doesn't make any sense."