I have been told, by critics, that I have a nasty suspicious mind. The sight of that collection brought out my worst suspicions. If these pieces were representative of the original furnishings of the Schloss, then what had happened to the rest of the furniture and ornaments? And why were the surviving goodies all gathered here in the Gräfin’s lair? She might at least share them with her neice, to whom they probably belonged legally. I have seen maids’ rooms better furnished than Irma’s shabby quarters.

I turned from my appraisal to meet the Gräfin’s ironical eye. If she knew what I was thinking — and I wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that she could read minds — she made no comment. She indicated the tall Englishwoman, who was perched on the sofa beside the tea service.

“My dear friend, Miss Burton.”

Miss Burton shook hands with us. Tony’s eyes widened when her bony fist clamped over his. Thus warned, and uninhibited by his archaic notions of courtesy, I was able to give Miss Burton a worthy grip when she tried to squash my fingers. She gasped. When she sat down again, her cheekbones were an ugly rust color, and Tony shook his head at me. He was right; we should keep on amicable terms with the Gräfin as long as possible, and antagonizing her dear friend wouldn’t help. But the two women, who were unappealing separately, gave me the creeps when I saw them together. They only needed a third to qualify for the blasted heath bit in Macbeth. Somebody had to keep them in line, and that somebody wouldn’t be Tony. He’s incapable of talking back to any female over forty. They hypnotize him.

As I expected, Tony was a ready victim for the Gräfin. He stammered like a schoolboy when she spoke to him. Irma fluttered around, speechless and servile, offering plates of cookies. George sat and smiled. Schmidt’s small dark eyes darted from one face to the next in open curiosity. I was waiting for a chance to ask the Gräfin about the Schloss library. I had a valid excuse for being interested in historical records, and the less sneaking I had to do, the less chance there was of being caught in a place I had no business being in. But before I found my opening, Miss Burton, who had been eyeing Tony like a hungry tiger, interrupted her friend in the middle of a long speech about the antiquity, nobility, and all-around virtue of the House of Drachenstein.

“Elfrida, I believe this young man is a sensitive. Perhaps we should make use of him to-night.”

Tony, who didn’t know what the woman meant, and who thought the worst, looked horrified. The Gräfin smiled.

“Miss Burton is a student of the occult,” she explained.