Finally we stepped onto the balcony over the Great Hall. I put one hand on the balustrade and moved back in alarm as it gave slightly. The Schloss needed repairs. No doubt there wasn’t enough money. The proud old family of the Drachensteins wouldn’t have gone into the innkeeping business unless they needed cash. I reminded myself not to lean heavily against that balustrade.

Below, in the Hall, the armored shapes were dim in the gray moonlight. The shadows of tree branches swaying in the night wind slid back and forth across the polished floor….

My scalp prickled. That motion was no swaying shadow. There was something moving at the far end of the Hall — something pale and slim, like a column of foggy light.

The thing came out into the moonlight. I forgot my qualms about the shaky banister, and clutched it with straining fingers.

The figure below had the face of the woman in the portrait. I could see it distinctly in the light from the windows, even to its expression. The eyes were set and staring; the face was as blank as the face on the painted canvas.

The apparition wore a long, light robe, with flowing sleeves. The feet—if it had feet—were hidden by the folds of the garment, so that it seemed to float instead of walk. Slowly it glided across the floor, the staring eyes raised, the lips slightly parted.

There was a sound behind us. Tony, who had been equally dumbfounded by the apparition, swore out loud when he recognized the man who had joined us on the gallery. Personally, I was glad to see George. The bigger the crowd, the better, so far as I was concerned.

“Did you see it?” Tony demanded. “Or am I crazy?”

“I did see her,” George said coolly. “She’s gone now.”

I turned. The Hall was empty.

Tony ran toward the stairs.

“Go slow,” George said, catching his arm. “If you wake people like that too suddenly, it can be dangerous.”

“She — she’s — sleepwalking, isn’t she?” Tony asked.

“What else?”

I didn’t say anything. George was right, of course. But I sympathized with Tony. George hadn’t seen that infernal portrait.

Then it hit me, and it was my turn to swear. Maybe George hadn’t seen the portrait, but Tony had; unless he knew of the uncanny resemblance between the two women, one living and one long dead, he wouldn’t have reacted so neurotically to what was — obviously! — a simple case of somnambulism. Tony hadn’t told me about all his research, then. I wondered how many other potentially useful facts he was hoarding.

I followed my two heroes down into the Hall.

“I think she went this way,” George said, starting toward the east end of the Hall. “You don’t happen to have a flashlight, do you, Lawrence?”

Tony did. The light moved around the room, spotlighting the suits of armor and the black mouth of the fireplace.

“Wait a minute,” George said. “She couldn’t get out this way. The door is locked.” He demonstrated, rattling the knob.