civilised European.
Even the peasants were better equipped for life here, and he resolved to remember that and take his host’s advice in all things related to this rugged country into which they had hardly begun to penetrate. He turned to look back for an instant: only the farthest pinnacle of the Castle was now visible, and a second later it too had disappeared beneath the green-and-white ice-covered foliage of the topmost tree-branches.
The savage roaring again came loud and clear from the direction of Lugos; Coleridge was not startled now. He knew it was probably the bear he had seen on the gypsy cart; possibly the poor brute was signalling for its midday meal or perhaps being prepared unwillingly for some rustic circus turn.
Walking at the side of the path at a faster pace, he had already overtaken some of the party and was now somewhere toward the middle of the column. The Count was up at the head, but almost at once Coleridge found himself behind the gaunt figure of Dr. Menlow. He was deep in conversation with the Count’s wife, and once again Coleridge admired the heavy voluptuousness of her figure moving beneath her thick fur garments. He kept a yard or two behind, and after a little while longer she excused herself and went off at a faster pace down the path, moving with quick, lithe movements to rejoin her husband.
Menlow had glanced around and, noticing Coleridge, waited for him to come up, stepping aside to join his colleague on the rough snow at the side of the track. This was the man Coleridge wanted to see without arousing any attention from the others, and he could not have planned it better. Menlow stared at him with red eyes from pinched features. He glanced around with a shiver.
‘This is a wild place, Coleridge. I shall be glad to get back indoors again.’
The professor shrugged.
‘I don’t know. It gives one an appetite for lunch.’
Menlow grinned wryly, falling into step with his colleague as they crunched slowly along.
‘You are better covered than I,’ he murmured. ‘And I fancy my blood is thinner than yours.’
They had come down into a steep valley, and the trees were falling away; a stream debouched at their right in long, curving sweeps that bisected the whiteness of the snow. It was completely frozen and gleamed like gun-metal in the clear light. Below them, almost in the centre of the valley, was a spectacular waterfall where the stream fell about eighty feet to a pool; it too was frozen and descended in a series of stalagmites that sparkled like some bizarre confectionery in a patisserie window.
The Count had obviously brought his guests to admire this extraordinary place, and already there were polite murmurs of astonishment from guests and household staff as they went in single file down toward a heavy wooden bridge which spanned the pool at the foot of the petrified fall.
Coleridge was alone with Menlow now beneath the shadows of the trees.
‘I have something I would like you to analyse, Doctor,’ he said softly, looking sharply about him. ‘I would prefer no-one to know about it but we two.’
Menlow raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Coleridge thought he could rely on his discretion if his reputation was anything to go by.
‘I have only simple apparatus . . .’ the other began, but the professor stopped him.
He took out the envelope from his inner pocket and passed it over.
‘It is a very mundane matter. Merely a sample of hair and skin. I would be grateful if you could let me have your valued opinion by this evening.’
Menlow nodded slowly, his sandy moustache looking as though it were carved from ice, so cold did he appear. He took the small brown envelope in his gloved hand and put it into his pocket.
‘Would it be indiscreet to ask why you want this done and what you expect me to find?’
‘It would,’ Coleridge said with a smile. ‘But we shall discuss it again this evening when you have your findings.’
‘As you wish,’ said Menlow
Even the peasants were better equipped for life here, and he resolved to remember that and take his host’s advice in all things related to this rugged country into which they had hardly begun to penetrate. He turned to look back for an instant: only the farthest pinnacle of the Castle was now visible, and a second later it too had disappeared beneath the green-and-white ice-covered foliage of the topmost tree-branches.
The savage roaring again came loud and clear from the direction of Lugos; Coleridge was not startled now. He knew it was probably the bear he had seen on the gypsy cart; possibly the poor brute was signalling for its midday meal or perhaps being prepared unwillingly for some rustic circus turn.
Walking at the side of the path at a faster pace, he had already overtaken some of the party and was now somewhere toward the middle of the column. The Count was up at the head, but almost at once Coleridge found himself behind the gaunt figure of Dr. Menlow. He was deep in conversation with the Count’s wife, and once again Coleridge admired the heavy voluptuousness of her figure moving beneath her thick fur garments. He kept a yard or two behind, and after a little while longer she excused herself and went off at a faster pace down the path, moving with quick, lithe movements to rejoin her husband.
Menlow had glanced around and, noticing Coleridge, waited for him to come up, stepping aside to join his colleague on the rough snow at the side of the track. This was the man Coleridge wanted to see without arousing any attention from the others, and he could not have planned it better. Menlow stared at him with red eyes from pinched features. He glanced around with a shiver.
‘This is a wild place, Coleridge. I shall be glad to get back indoors again.’
The professor shrugged.
‘I don’t know. It gives one an appetite for lunch.’
Menlow grinned wryly, falling into step with his colleague as they crunched slowly along.
‘You are better covered than I,’ he murmured. ‘And I fancy my blood is thinner than yours.’
They had come down into a steep valley, and the trees were falling away; a stream debouched at their right in long, curving sweeps that bisected the whiteness of the snow. It was completely frozen and gleamed like gun-metal in the clear light. Below them, almost in the centre of the valley, was a spectacular waterfall where the stream fell about eighty feet to a pool; it too was frozen and descended in a series of stalagmites that sparkled like some bizarre confectionery in a patisserie window.
The Count had obviously brought his guests to admire this extraordinary place, and already there were polite murmurs of astonishment from guests and household staff as they went in single file down toward a heavy wooden bridge which spanned the pool at the foot of the petrified fall.
Coleridge was alone with Menlow now beneath the shadows of the trees.
‘I have something I would like you to analyse, Doctor,’ he said softly, looking sharply about him. ‘I would prefer no-one to know about it but we two.’
Menlow raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Coleridge thought he could rely on his discretion if his reputation was anything to go by.
‘I have only simple apparatus . . .’ the other began, but the professor stopped him.
He took out the envelope from his inner pocket and passed it over.
‘It is a very mundane matter. Merely a sample of hair and skin. I would be grateful if you could let me have your valued opinion by this evening.’
Menlow nodded slowly, his sandy moustache looking as though it were carved from ice, so cold did he appear. He took the small brown envelope in his gloved hand and put it into his pocket.
‘Would it be indiscreet to ask why you want this done and what you expect me to find?’
‘It would,’ Coleridge said with a smile. ‘But we shall discuss it again this evening when you have your findings.’
‘As you wish,’ said Menlow
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