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you I do understand, my dear young lady,’ he answered softly. ‘I am sorry to be the one to bear such news which can only cause distress to those who knew the man.’
    The girl was staring into the fire, as though she had not heard Coleridge’s last remark. She turned back to him again, her jaw set.
    ‘What do you think about this wolf, Professor? You are an expert on folklore, like Dr. Raglan and your colleagues here.’
    ‘I?’
    The surprise in Coleridge’s voice was unconcealed.
    ‘What can I say, Miss Homolky? There are many wild superstitions abounding in such lonely and mountainous communities as you have here. I have written much about them, as you know.’
    The girl shook her head impatiently.
    ‘I did not mean that, Professor. Even the soldiers say there is something weird about this wolf – that he is impossible to shoot, possessed of almost supernatural cunning, and so forth.’
    Coleridge shook his head.
    ‘The wolf is a very courageous, enterprising, and cunning animal. It is hardly surprising that a pack-leader such as I have heard described should have gained such a reputation. But I would be extremely doubtful whether the same animal had killed three times. Normally they kill other animals only for food or when cornered.’
    The girl’s face now was white.
    ‘Exactly, Professor. That is what is so strange about it. Dr. Raglan too was sceptical when he came here. But now he agrees with me.’
    Coleridge smiled at the girl, conscious of the warm flush spreading across her cheeks.
    ‘Dr. Raglan is a very clever and highly-thought-of young man in his profession, Miss Homolky. If you will forgive me for saying so, you make a handsome pair. And it is hardly surprising that he would agree with someone so delightful as yourself . . .’
    He broke off, conscious that the girl was smiling too. She shook her head violently as though in disagreement, but the smile grew.
    ‘I take your point, Professor, but I did not mean that, I can assure you.’
    She became more serious after a moment or two, glancing around as though uneasy that they might be overheard.
    ‘There was something else you wished to tell me, wasn’t there?’ Coleridge went on, trying to put his companion at ease. He sensed all sorts of questions in her eyes.
    She bit her lip and turned away from him, her gaze again seeking the flames, as though she could see things there that were hidden from him. The dancing reflections of the firelight glanced on the iron eye-sockets of the two heraldic wolves on the firedogs, making them momentarily alive.
    ‘There was something, Professor,’ she continued after a moment. ‘But it is almost too fantastic for belief.’
    Coleridge felt a quick stirring of interest.
    ‘Is it something to do with this house? Or the subject of our Congress?’
    The girl sat stiffly now, her face turned away, all her concentration seemingly on the molten mass at the heart of the fire.
    ‘The locals call this The House of the Wolf,’ Coleridge went on. ‘It seemed a strange conceit to me until I saw the heraldic devices in this room.’
    The girl was facing him again. Her eyes were troubled, and her breasts rose and fell with her agitated breathing beneath the open-necked shirt.
    ‘Yes, it is to do with this house, Professor. And with the Congress, if you like.’
    She got up and came forward impulsively to put her hand on the savant’s arm.
    ‘What would you say, Professor, if I told you something that seems utterly, wildly impossible?’
    Coleridge’s smile died on his lips as he looked into Nadia Homolky’s agitated features.
    ‘I should probably say there was some logical explanation and that you should not distress yourself.’
    The grip of the girl’s hand tightened on Coleridge’s sleeve.
    ‘Late last night, Professor, I was reading in my room. Someone tried the door-handle. I saw it move as clearly as I see you now. It turned several times, and then the door itself was violently shaken.’
    She bit her