"I don't think there is much danger of that," said Napoleon, as Zoltan came out between the tall wooden doors, surrounded by well-wishers, and with Hilda right behind him.
He raised a hand to hail the U.N.C.L.E. agents as he approached, then turned to the crowd. "My people," he said. "I hold no ill-will. I ask only that in the future you remember this—a name alone holds no evil. Now my blessing on you all. Return to your work." And obediently they were gone.
Zoltan turned to Colonel Hanevitch. "You wished to speak with me, I believe? Food has not passed my lips today, and while my soul is strengthened, my body is weak. Could we speak at the inn, over ciorba and mititei?"
They did. Napoleon had remembered something though, and opened the conversation before the Colonel had a chance to speak.
"I seem to remember the Dracula family actually died out in 1658," he said without preamble.
"Yes," said Illya. "But not in the south."
"Quite correct," said Zoltan. "There were originally two brothers, Dan and Dragul, who founded rival lines in the 13th Century; lines which were not to merge until almost 1600. But when Constantine Sherban died childless in 1658, the title devolved to a distant relative, my seven-times-great grandfather, Petru. The family name was Stobolzny, but the title Voivode Drakula became part of the family heritage. At the time, it was not politically expedient to have this known, and the documents were hidden. Then they were lost, and not found again until the castle was rebuilt in 1897. We were ready to reëstablish our title when that accursed Englishman, Stoker, chose to make the name of Dracula known to the world as the name of a demon.
"My grandfather thought it beneath his dignity to sue, and besides, the damage had been done. But in this modern and rational age, I thought, there would be no real belief in the terrors of the darker parts of our past. So, proud of the true heritage of my family title, I took the name which was rightfully mine. And since then I have defended its honor in every country in Europe. Now I have returned to the home of my people. The castle where I played as a child has been taken over by strangers; my title is meaningless. But the people still know me, and I know the land. I have money—perhaps I can ransom my castle from those who now hold it, and live in my home again."
He took a large bite of sausage and followed it with a hearty swallow of wine. "And there you have my story," he said. "Colonel Hanevitch, have you any questions?"
There was silence for perhaps a count of ten, and then the Colonel rose stiffly to his feet. "I remember your father well. You know the present situation, and I feel you can be trusted not to infringe upon it." His face softened as the trace of a smile rose under his discipline. "And may I say, welcome home, Voivode Drakula." And he turned on his heel and marched away.
Illya looked after him with mild surprise, and murmured, "You know, I may have been wrong about the Colonel. Perhaps he is human, after all."
* * *
The afternoon was more than half gone when Napoleon and Illya returned to the spot in the woods where Carl's bloodless body had been found. A radio check with Geneva had established Zoltan's bona fides, and Hilda had stayed behind to enlist his aid in their investigation. Meanwhile, they had field work to occupy their time.
They carried with them small hand-axes and large hunting knives, and after parking the car just off the road and walking to the scene of the crime they set about attacking a group of nearby trees with these weapons.
Careful examination had revealed bullet scars in these trees, and there was a chance that the jacketed slugs could have been left relatively undamaged by their flight, and that something might be learned from them.
But the trees were hardwood, and the job was slow and tiring. The first slug retrieved had apparently glanced off another tree and then lodged against a knot; little identifiable remained of it.
It took almost an hour to find another bullet hole. By this time the second slug had been extracted and was found to be in reasonably good shape. Both men went to work on the third tree.
Gradually Napoleon became aware that it was growing increasingly hard to see. The sun had dropped behind the mountain peak to the west some time ago, but now the light was fading rapidly. In a few more minutes it would be dark. As he looked up from his work, a sound like a chiming clock directly over his head made him start.
Illya looked up for a moment, then bent to his work again. "A dwarf owl," he said. "A startling sound if you don't expect it." He straightened and rubbed his eyes. "I seem to remember a flashlight in the car. We can have this out in another fifteen minutes, if we can see what we're doing."
He slipped his knife back into its sheath and started off. "Come on," he said to Napoleon. "In these woods at night, it takes two people to carry a flashlight."
"Is that an old folk saying?"
"No, I just made it up. But do you deny its truth?"
Napoleon laughed briefly, but he came along.
At the road, they looked up and down in the deepening twilight. "It must be some other part of the road," Napoleon suggested doubtfully.
"We left it right over there," said Illya, pointing. "See the stump by the wide place? That's where we parked. I remember it clearly because I put the front fender right next to it."
Napoleon followed him over to the stump, and held a cigarette lighter while he examined the ground closely. "The road is too hard to hold tracks," said the Russian to himself. "But here's the wheel-mark next to the stump. It ends here, too."
Solo bent and looked where Illya's finger pointed. There was a depression the size and shape of the tire-tread running in from the road and ending by the stump—the car could have been backed out by someone, but they had not heard the motor, and the Poboda was not well-muffled.
He straightened and shrugged. "It's been stolen," he said. "Looks like we hike back to the village and tell the Colonel we've been the victims of a simple old-fashioned car theft."
"I hope it's that simple," said Illya. "I've long ago learned that true coincidence is a very rare thing. There may be some sort of trouble tonight before we get back to Pokol."
Napoleon was about to ask a foolish question, when the darkness was shaken by a long anguished wail which seem to come from somewhere up the road. He stopped with his mouth open as the silence softly flooded back in upon them. Then he almost whispered, "Good Lord, Illya. What was that?"
A moment later the howl was repeated—this time in the woods directly behind them, sounding less than a hundred feet away.
In the silence that followed, Illya's voice said quietly, "I'd hate to guess, since wolves are supposed to be rare in these mountains. But I think I can definitely say that is not a dwarf owl."
Chapter 6: "My Pets Seem To Be Restive Tonight."
They started slowly along the road towards town, keeping in the center of the road, and had gone a hundred paces before each realized he was holding his U.N.C.L.E. Special automatic loosely in his hand. It was quite dark now, and a fog had blown down from the mountains above them. The temperature was dropping too—Napoleon was glad for the heavy overcoat he had thought to bring along.