“Aunt Elfrida?” The girl brushed a lock of curling dark hair from her eyes. Then, seeing other forms in the doorway, she snatched at the sheet and drew it up over her breast. The extra covering wasn’t necessary; her nightgown was a hideous, heavy dark cotton that covered her from the base of her neck down as far as I could see.

The countess moved to the bed.

“You have been asleep? You have heard nothing? Seen nothing?”

The seemingly innocuous question had a frightful effect on the girl. Her chin quivered, her mouth lost its shape, and her eyes dilated into staring black circles.

“Ach, Gott — what has happened? Is it — has she—”

“No questions,” the older woman interrupted. “Sleep again. Sleep.”

“Stay with me!”

“There is no need. Sleep, I say.”

She moved back, pushing us with her, and closed the door. I had a last glimpse of Irma’s face, rigid with terror, and it made me forget what few manners I possess.

“I’ll sit with the girl, if you won’t,” I said. “She needs reassurance, not mysterious silence.”

The Gräfin locked the door.

“I have not had the pleasure of meeting you, young woman, but I assume you are our newest guest, Dr. Bliss. Is your degree in the field of psychiatry?”

“I don’t have to be a psychiatrist to realize—”

Tony stepped heavily on my slippered foot, and the old woman went on.

“My niece’s welfare is my business, I believe. As for your search tonight—I have proved to you that it was not Irma you saw. If you are still curious, gentlemen, I suggest you visit Miss Bliss’s room — if you have not already made yourselves at home there. At the foot of the bed — conveniently placed for visitors — there hangs a certain portrait. And now, if you will excuse me, I need my rest. Good night.”

“Why, that old—” I began.

This time it was George who stepped on my foot. He was shorter than Tony, but he weighed more. I yelled.

“What’s all this about a portrait?” George inquired loudly. The Gräfin’s footsteps were still audible above. I didn’t care whether she heard me or not.

“Oh, hell,” I said. “Double hell. Come on, you guys. I’ve got a bottle of Scotch in my suitcase, and I think this is the time to break it out.”

Shortly thereafter George put down an empty glass and stared owlishly at me and Tony.

“All right, Doctors. Let’s hear some high-class intellectual rationalizing. What was it we saw tonight?”

Tony had recovered his cool. There was only one funny thing. He couldn’t look at the portrait. He just couldn’t stand looking at it. Staring firmly at his glass, he said.

“Either it was the girl, or it was a ghost. If you believe in ghosts — that’s what it was. If you don’t — someone is putting us on.”