But the question that presented itself constantly was, of course, what was to be done? A bargain had been struck, it seemed. Count Karlstein had agreed, in return for some favor that he had either received already or would receive in the future, to provide a victim or victims for Zamiel the Demon Hunter. They were to be delivered to him at midnight on All Souls’ Eve—which, as I saw by first opening my eyes and then consulting my Gentlewoman’s Tropical Almanac, was the very day that was now dawning. I closed my eyes again and recommenced my survey of the problem.

The Demon Huntsman was going to appear in the hunting lodge at midnight, there to receive his tribute. It was clear that no particular victim was specified, for Count Karlstein had been heard to say that if Lucy and Charlotte were not available, Hildi would do instead. What would happen if there were no one there at all when midnight struck? Clearly, Count Karlstein would be held by the demon to have failed in his duty. Hence the man’s insane anxiety.

And would not the wrath of the demon then recoil upon Count Karlstein himself? That was less clear. It might be that any human beings in the forest nearby—peasants, woodcutters, and the like—would be in danger; and that the demon, having satisfied his hunger, would leave Count Karlstein alone. Without more information on the habits of demons, I was unable to say for certain.

I then turned my attention to Count Karlstein himself, and what I knew of his relation to the girls. He was a cousin of their unfortunate mother’s. She had died, together with their father, Sir Percival, in a shipwreck; it had been my melancholy duty to inform the girls of their loss and to make the arrangements for their journey to Switzerland. Count Karlstein was their only living relative. He had at first, I recalled, been reluctant to receive them into his home, but the persuasion of the family lawyer—a most excellent gentleman called Haifisch—had changed his mind; and I had seen them off on the first stage of their journey with some anxiety.

Something was stirring in my memory, as I knew it would if I leaned back and closed my eyes.

Haifisch—Karlstein—the girls…I should have to go to Geneva.

I sat up, opened my eyes, and clapped my hands to awaken the others. Hildi’s red-rimmed eyes turned toward me, and the ghost of a snore was suddenly cut off by its perpetrator, Grindoff, who sat up briskly and yawned so wide that I fancied for a moment that I heard his jaws creak.

“What is it, Miss Davenport?” said Eliza sleepily.