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mystery. “How do you do?”

I thought that Rebecca Altamont colored slightly when Dracula bowed and greeted her with continental politeness–an assured manner which clearly indicated his noble origins.

Later, I heard from both Martin Armstrong and Miss Altamont, that they on seeing Dracula for the first time, had taken note, as I had myself, of the strong resemblance between the cousins. Though neither of the young people said anything at the time of their introduction, both, as they told me later, were ready to believe there was some family connection. Still, I thought the present likeness not as great as it had been six years earlier; my friend, I realized, had aged perceptibly in that interval–the change was more noticeable in the hours immediately following his confinement–while Holmes’s distant relative impressed me as looking even younger in 1903 than he had in 1897.

Both Miss Altamont and Armstrong, of course, were delighted to learn that Holmes had managed to avoid serious injury while in captivity. Soon the young man eagerly demanded of my friend what news he might have of Louisa.

Holmes shook his head. “There is no news directly; I did not see her, or hear her name mentioned.”

The American’s face fell. “but you know now who her captors are? They must be the same men who held you.”

“Very likely. but as yet I can tell you nothing on that score.”

Rebecca broke in: “At least you can tell us whether my sister is still alive? You now have evidence of that?”

Holmes looked very grave. “I am afraid I cannot promise you an answer on that point either.”

Armstrong leaped to his feet. “What do you mean? God! Don’t tell me the scum have killed her after all? Or that they have... have...”

“I said that I can promise you nothing. but perhaps I can show you something that has a bearing on Louisa’s fate. Can you come with me tonight?”

“Of course–wherever you wish!”

“Am I to be excluded?” demanded the young woman.

“By no means.” but then Holmes turned to face Armstrong fully, and my friend’s expression was grim. “In return, Mr. Armstrong, I require complete candor on your part. Will you now tell us the full story of how the rowboat was capsized?” Holmes’s expression had grown still more ominous. “I am convinced that in your earlier account of the matter to us, you omitted certain details of great importance.”

At this key point, our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Inspector Merivale. Presently Armstrong, in the presence of Scotland Yard, admitted there was something he had not told.

While Rebecca Altamont, her face suddenly pale, sat back in her chair, the inspector demanded: “Why did you say nothing about this until now?”

Armstrong looked pleadingly from one of us to another. “Gentlemen, it was so strange a thing that I couldn’t bring myself to mention it. but now–now that we know Louisa’s still alive–why, it’s plain that whatever is going on must be very strange indeed. And this odd piece will fit in with the rest somehow.” He turned an appealing look in my direction. “Do you see what I mean, Doctor?”

“If you will tell us everything you know,” I advised him, “your meaning may be easier to grasp.”

“Of course.” Martin Armstrong drew a full breath and seemed to pull himself together. “Gentlemen–becky–I now confess that at the time– just as I turned in the moment of the boat’s capsizing–I thought I did catch just a glimpse of something very strange.

“As we began to go over, I twisted my head around, looking over my right shoulder... and I retain the distinct impression of a pale hand, or at least of human fingers, grasping the gunwale on that side. Then a few moments later, when I was under water, I felt the sense of some stranger’s body near me there. but, I hope you will understand, so brief and fragmentary were these impressions, so unsupported by either logic or common sense, that ever since, I have discounted them as the result of nerves, or actual hallucinations.”

Holmes demanded: “And you have never mentioned to anyone–to Miss Altamont here, for example–what you thought you saw?”

Armstrong shook his head violently. “How could I? Rebecca would have believed me mad.”

“Perhaps not,” the lady herself said, shaking her head.

The young man went on to explain that the sense of some mysterious presence had not appeared to him to offer any genuine explanation of the upset. At the moment of crisis, of course he had given little thought to causes, but expected it would be relatively easy to make sure that both girls were safe.

We all urged him to tell the whole story again, this time as truthfully as possible, and he agreed. When he had come up, gasping, to the surface after his initial plunge, Armstrong had immediately seen becky struggling to stay afloat; he swam to her, and guided her to shore, which was the work of less than a minute.

“Then Becky and I looked at each other. And both of us said the same thing at the same moment:’Where’s Louisa?’

“There was the rowboat, now floating almost placidly, drifting upside down. There were the two oars. I seem to recall seeing a floating banjo and a picnic basket. but no sign at all of Louisa. I wondered, was she on the other side of the boat, or had she come up underneath it?”

In a strained voice, Martin went on to tell us that he had stripped off his light summer coat, which was already sodden, and then his shoes, and in light summer trousers and shirtsleeves, plunged back into the stream. Quickly, he made sure that no one was trapped under the boat. He came out from under it and dived again, thinking that surely, surely, his fiancée’s head must appear above the water at any moment...

“I did find her hat–did I mention that before, gentlemen? Yes, her hat, in the water... but that was all.”

Time dragged on, the horrible minutes following the capsizing of the boat lengthening into a full

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