We were correct in our assumption; but I was surprised when Irma led us to one of the guest rooms instead of the Gräfin’s aerie in the tower. The room was the one occupied by Schmidt. He stood modestly to one side while Miss Burton bustled about, arranging the setting for a séance. A heavy round table had been pulled out into the center of the room and a pack of alphabet cards was arranged in a circle on its top. In the center of the circle, looking as menacing and squatty as a toad, was a planchette.

The Gräfin was seated in a high carved chair. Hands folded in her lap, face and hair lacquered into mask-hardness, she had the air of a high priestess waiting for a ceremony. Seeing our surprise, she condescended to explain.

“Herr Schmidt kindly allows us to use his room. It has a particularly interesting aura.”

If Schmidt had any misgivings about the proceedings, he didn’t show them; beaming, bobbing up and down on his toes, rubbing his hands together, he seemed quite pleased about the whole thing. It was the first time I had seen his room, and as I studied it I could understand why it might be appropriate for a séance. It was by far the largest of the guest rooms, and was the only one still furnished with antiques. The walls retained their paneling—dark, worm-eaten wood, atmospheric as all get out. The windows were heavily draped.

I caught Tony’s eye, and knew what he was thinking as surely as if he had spoken aloud. Was this the master bedchamber, the room once occupied by Count Burckhardt himself? Some of the furniture might have belonged to him—the great canopied bed with its carved dragon posts, for instance.

George cleared his throat.

“Ladies, I want to warn you that I’m not a believer.”

“So long as your attitude is not positively hostile…” said Miss Burton.

“No.” George looked sober. “I’ve seen a few things in my travels…. Well, what about it, Doctor?”

Blankenhagen’s face was a sight for skeptics. If he had been able to voice his real feelings, they would have come out in a howl of outraged rationalism. But something made him strangle his protests, and when I saw Irma, standing white-faced in a corner, I thought I knew what the something was.

“I remain,” said Blankenhagen, after a moment.

We took our places at the table. I sat between George and Tony. The two Germans flanked Irma.

“Miss Burton prefers to sit to one side, in order to take notes,” said the Gräfin, as Tony, always the little gent, glanced inquiringly at that lady before seating himself.

“And you?”

“I never participate,” said the Gräfin, with an unpleasant smile.

Miss Burton extinguished the lamps, leaving only a single candle at the end of the table.