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Burrows, who was still convinced her dyspeptic flutterings were connected with heart trouble.
    â€œYou mean,” Peter asked, amazed, “that the Yard have let the whole thing drop?”
    â€œLittle else they can do,” Meadows closed up his bag as it stood on the drawing room table. “Naturally, Blair end Hawkins found the business beyond them in no time, so the Yard had to be called in. I think the reason’s pretty clear: they just don’t believe in a vampire. They prefer to look for a flesh-and-blood murderer, but what they overlook is the disappearance of blood from the victims. No ordinary murderer could do that — So, of course, the Yard hasn’t got anywhere. And won’t, as long as it relies on material foundations.”
    â€œHaven’t you any ideas yourself, doctor?” Elsie asked quietly.
    â€œOne or two.” He looked at her pensively. “I’ve been wondering who in the local cemetery is a suic­ide—the first necessity for a vampire—and who hated the village people enough to wish to attack them so constantly. I can think of only one person.”
    Elsie, her mother, and Peter waited expectantly.
    â€œGeorge Timperley,” Meadows said finally. “Your late husband, Elsie.”
    The girl’s expression changed. “But George wasn’t a suicide! He died of—myocarditis, or something. Or so you said on the death certificate.”
    Meadows smiled faintly. “Technically, he did die of myocarditis, which is only another name for heart-failure. But he was basically a suicide. But for his excessive drinking—my warnings about which he ignored—he would not have died. So, I class him as a suicide. As for his hatred of the village folk: we all know that he loathed them. They whispered and talked about his drinking, about the way he treated you....”
    â€œAre you seriously suggesting that George became a vampire?” Mrs. Burrows asked blankly.
    â€œI am. He was evil enough, in all conscience....” Meadows moved from the table and came over to where Peter and Elsie were seated on the divan, Mrs. Burr­ows opposite them.
    â€œI think,” Meadows continued, “we are facing something dark, something diabolical, and I just can’t help linking it with that mystic’s warning to you, Elsie.”
    â€œOh...that.” Elsie’s mouth tightened a little. “I have been trying my utmost to forget it. Now I look back on it I think it was crazy; or at least I keep telling myself so.”
    â€œIf my guess is right,” Meadows said slowly, “you, my dear, are the one person whom George, in his present state as a vampire, will seek. He knew you despised him even though you stuck to him: be knew you remained beside him only for what would come to you when he died.”
    â€œPerhaps…,” Elsie muttered.
    â€œHe did . He told me so himself one day when he called for treatment, after too many nights on the bottle. I think he would have changed his will, too, only he died too abruptly to manage it. Just before his death, Elsie, he had guessed at last just how much you really hated him. Hatred, I would remark, is the motivating force which turns a dead being into a vampire, which makes it leave its resting place and, in the form of a blood­sucker, seek out those on whom it desires revenge, turning them in turn into vampires.”
    â€œFor heavens’ sake, Doc, take it easy!” Peter protested,
    â€œI would be doing a disservice if I did,” Mead­ows said, shaking his head. “If the vampire is really George, Elsie, then your life is in danger: it might be George who will make the warning of that mystic come true.”
    Elsie gave a troubled frown. “If it be George why have I not been attacked before now? I don’t mean whilst Peter and I were away, of course: I mean before that, after the first attack on Madge Paignton. Nothing has happened to me so