Séance for a Vampire by Fred Saberhagen (ebook reader macos .TXT) 📕

Holmes and I would attend, probably incognito, playing the roles of amateurs in psychic research, business acquaintances of Altamont who had convinced him to be open-minded about the possibility of communication with those who had gone beyond the veil.

Before our visitor departed, we obtained from him some detailed information relevant to the case, including the address and place of employment of Martin Armstrong. The young man, we learned, was employed as a correspondent for an American newspaper, and was now working out of an office in Fleet Street.

When our client had departed, my companion turned to me with an expression half serious and half quizzical. “Well, Watson?”

“Mr. Altamont has a just grievance, in my view.”

“So it would seem, at least on present evidence. but we must, I think, move carefully. The most obvious, worldly, down-to-earth explanation in matters involving supposed occult activity is not always the correct one.”

Something in my companion’s voice as he uttered those last words again made me look at him closely. I frowned. “Holmes–”

“Yes, old fellow, I have in mind a subject on which we have not spoken for a long time. Six years ago we shared a certain experience– one which led us rather deeply into what many would call the world of the supernatural. Those events have not been a frequent subject of conversation between us since then–”

“No,” I said. “No, they have not.”

He smiled faintly. “–but I think I may safely assume that you have not forgotten the affair?”

“I have not forgotten, Holmes. I never shall.”

“Nor have I. It would be impossible to forget any detail of the incontrovertible evidence we both observed then, of human life beyond... if not beyond death, at least beyond burial and the grave.”

“Then it is your belief...?” Still the words were hard for me to say. I am sure that I unconsciously lowered my voice. “Your belief that the Altamont girl may have become... a vampire?”

He sighed, and began to reload his pipe. “I say only that, on the basis of the evidence so far, we must keep our minds open to that possibility. Are you with me, Watson?”

“Of course!” And I endeavored to put into my voice a heartiness I was far from feeling.

For the next hour or so Holmes and I discussed mediums and their methods; he proved to be well versed in the more common methods of fraud, and outlined some of them.

I objected: “but if the events in the Altamont household took place just as our visitor described them, it is hard to see how any of these methods of deception could have been employed.”

“Not at all. Remember that our report of the incident comes only at third-hand. And, as I cautioned our client, it is incredible how easily someone willing to believe, as Mrs. Altamont so obviously is, may be deceived.”

Holmes also outlined a plan to look into the background of the medium–he proposed to begin by consulting Langdale Pike–I believe I have mentioned the man before, in other accounts of Holmes’s achievements, as his human book of reference upon all matters of social scandal.

Louisa’s fiancé, the young American Martin Armstrong, proved to be an intense, energetic man obviously still grieved by his loss. He had met Louisa in his native country, while she was visiting there with friends, and had then followed her back across the Atlantic. For some months before coming to London Armstrong had served as the St. Petersburg correspondent for his American newspaper, one that proudly continued the tradition of the brash New York Herald, which had been founded some decades earlier by James Gordon bennett.

Armstrong had been much pleased to be reassigned to London, where he would be near Louisa Altamont. Shortly after his arrival, around the middle of May, he had proposed and had been accepted.

Holmes was now eager to seek him out, and with a little judicious use of the telephone it was soon arranged that Mr. Martin Armstrong should lunch with us at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand. To judge by the eagerness of the voice on the other end of the line, the American journalist was very well pleased at the prospect of obtaining an exclusive interview with the famous Sherlock Holmes.

My friend and I arrived at the restaurant a little before the appointed time of one o’clock. I observed as we entered certain ominous, cryptic symbols that had been drawn in white paint on the pavement just outside the door; these puzzled me until I remembered hearing that the street was soon to be widened, and the building containing our favorite restaurant was going to be rebuilt.

When I commented sadly on this fact to Holmes, he replied, in a rare nostalgic mood: “I suppose it is inevitable, Watson, that eventually all of our old haunts will be transformed. Only yesterday I learned that Newgate Prison is scheduled to be demolished within the year, and replaced by a new Central Criminal Court to be constructed along Old Bailey Street.”

“That will be a welcome change indeed,” I ventured.

“Nothing remains the same. It is even possible, Watson, that neither of us are as young as we once were.”

I could not very well dispute that observation. but neither could I see how the passing of our youth was relevant to my objection. While no one would regret the removal of the infamous pesthole of Newgate, whose replacement was decades–if not a century–overdue, the transformation of our restaurant of choice was quite another matter. A lengthy period of closing would be inevitable, and the re-opening when it came would surely see a new, and very likely less competent, staff on the premises.

Holmes had a favorite table at Simpson’s, from which he was able to watch the busy street, while at the same time any private conversation he might wish to conduct was relatively secure from eavesdroppers. Martin Armstrong soon joined us at that table.

The man who came to introduce himself was about twenty-five years of age, middle-sized, fair-haired and strong-featured, well dressed in the modern style that might be expected of