"Lady Lashmore's brain retains certain memories. They have been received at the moment when possession has taken place and at the moment when the control has been cast out again. They thus are memories of some secret cavern near Dhoon Castle, where that headless but deathless body lies, and memories of the poignant moment when the vampire has been dragged back, her 'thirst unslaked,' by the ruling Will."
"Merciful God!" muttered Robert Cairn, "Merciful God, can such things be!"
"They can be--they are! Two ways have occurred to me of dealing with the matter," continued Dr. Cairn quietly. "One is to find that cavern and to kill, in the occult sense, by means of a stake, the vampire who lies there; the other which, I confess, might only result in the permanent 'possession' of Lady Lashmore--is to get at the power which controls this disembodied spirit--kill Antony Ferrara!"
Robert Cairn went to the sideboard, and poured out brandy with a shaking hand.
"Lady Lashmore would be the wealthiest widow in society," he replied.
"_He_ will know now," continued the younger man unsteadily, "that you are up against him. Have you--"
"I have told Lord Lashmore to lock, at night, not only his outer door but also that of his dressing-room. For the rest--?" he dropped into an easy-chair,--"I cannot face the facts, I--"
Dr. Cairn came to his feet as though he had been electrified; and as he raised the receiver to his ear, his son knew, by the expression on his face, from where the message came and something of its purport.
"Come with me," was all that he said, when he had replaced the instrument on the table.
They went out together. It was already past midnight, but a cab was found at the corner of Half-Moon Street, and within the space of five minutes they were at Lord Lashmore's house.
Excepting Chambers, Lord Lashmore's valet, no servants were to be seen.
"They ran away, sir, out of the house," explained the man, huskily, "when it happened."
Dr. Cairn delayed for no further questions, but raced upstairs, his son close behind him. Together they burst into Lord Lashmore's bedroom. But just within the door they both stopped, aghast.
Sitting bolt upright in bed was Lord Lashmore, his face a dingy grey and his open eyes, though filming over, yet faintly alight with a stark horror ... dead. An electric torch was still gripped in his left hand.