The door closed on our staring faces, but not before we had seen Irma’s face turn toward the old woman, and heard her breathless greeting.

Blankenhagen made a movement toward the closed door, but I grabbed his arm.

“Better not,” I said. “She’ll throw you out of the hotel if you interfere. She has the right.”

“And I have none,” Blankenhagen muttered.

“No,” Tony agreed. He glanced at me. The glance was friendly; he had concluded that the doctor was falling for Irma and was therefore safe from my predatory clutches. “Better go to bed. See you all in the morning.”

I observed the awkward angle of the arm Tony was hiding behind his back, and I remembered why I had come to Rothenburg. I had not come to rescue oppressed damsels. Let the boys take care of that.

“Go to bed, while you explore the crypt?” I demanded. “You’ve got the keys behind your back right now. I’m coming with you.”

“The crypt?” Blankenhagen repeated. “Why in the devil’s name do you want to go there?”

“Why not?” I said flippantly. “Maybe we’ll meet Konstanze. That’s where she — er — lives, isn’t it?”

“I should not go with you,” Blankenhagen muttered. “If I am needed—”

“You weren’t invited to come,” Tony said indignantly.

“I invited myself,” said the doctor, with an unexpected gleam of sardonic humor. “I do not know what you are doing, but if I were in your shoes, I would not mind a companion. There are forces abroad in this place which are not good, though they are not supernatural. For safety it is best to travel in groups.”

“I agree,” I said, before Tony could object. “The countess won’t call you, Doctor; she made that pretty clear.”

Blankenhagen nodded.

“Come, then. I understand none of this; but some of it I must understand if I am to help that girl. She has need of help, I think.”

We went down the stairs, through the Hall, and out into the night-shrouded court. There was enough moonlight to let us see the arched door of the chapel in the north wing. Tony’s first key fit the lock.

The interior was a blaze of tarnished gilt in the rays of Tony’s flashlight. I blinked, and mentally discarded one possible hiding place. The chapel had been redecorated in the baroque period; twisted marble columns, sunbursts of gold plaster, and stucco cherubs by the cartload filled the long, narrow room. The remodelers would have found any treasure here.

“The entrance to the crypt should be near the altar,” I said.

Blankenhagen hesitated.

“I am wondering — should we not wait until daylight?”

“You aren’t scared, are you?” Tony grinned weakly.

“The dead are dead,” said Blankenhagen.

In broad daylight it might have sounded sententious. In the baroque gloom, with the memory of the stance fresh in our minds, it had the ring of a credo.