"Long is a relative term, particularly for us," he noted.
    "Yes, I know."
    He persisted, "Would this be not expected to last long in a couple of weeks, or before the turning of the century?"
    "Oh, I doubt it will continue to the turn of the century. No later than the late 1980s."
    "A sizeable amount of time by most people's standards."
    She smiled again. "Mark it down to poltergeist activity."
    "Well, it's one of our two options. The other is apparently mysterious rumblings from above," he added, glancing up at a sudden noise.
    "Oh, I'm having some of my men move furniture. There will be a party here next week, before the theater opening."
    "Really."
    "I try to bring some small art and culture to the community while I'm here. It makes them happier. We're clearing the ballroom upstairs. Will you be staying that long?"
    "I'm not certain as yet. Thank you for meeting with me."
    "Please don't draw any attention."
    "I'll endeavor not to."
    "You may stay, then," she allowed.
    He left, feeling rather pleased at how that had gone, and somewhat grateful that there hadn't been any need for a fight.
    
    By the time I left the library it was very dark, and another inch of snow had been added to that on the ground. I took an armload of books with me, and our little team met for dinner in the hotel's dining room.
    "Well this is... cozy," I said, looking around at the empty room. We had the best seats, of course, and the linens were lovely and no doubt freshly laundered.
    "What can I get for you?" Mr. Vanderberg asked, handing out three very extensive menus, whereupon he hesitated as if remembering something. "Um." No doubt their stores have been diminished greatly with so little business coming in.
    There was a brief, awkward silence before Kane asked with marvelous grace, "What would you recommend?"
    Mr. Vanderberg looked relieved. "I think the lamb would be excellent, would go very well with the wine that we have."
    "Very well then; that sounds lovely," I told him with a smile.
    "Three lambs?" He looked around the table.
    A Caesar salad for me, Adam requested (gorillas being vegetarian, of course).
    "Of course." He returned to the kitchen.
    "So," our senior comrade said. "Did we find anything interesting, other than the vampire in the big house?"
    "Oh is that who lives there." The place does draw one's attention.
    Ah. The scholar, Adam remarked. Hm.
    "Scholar and a vampire? Very accomplished," I noted. "I went to the library. Aside from meeting what I assume to be the town Jezebel, there is a town to the northwest of here called Amber--Amb--Ambajejus," I pronounced carefully. "Which sets off certain warning bells. It appears to be deserted these days, there was a mill there once."
    Not completely deserted, Adam told us. As I learned from talking to our host, Edgar, our erstwhile pilot, still lives there.
    "I suspect that's not good for him. One of those places where every week there seems to be at least one dead body turning up under mysterious circumstances. It's not that big a town," I told them. And indeed it is not quite deserted; although most of the people gave up ten years ago or more, perhaps six houses remain inhabited, those who refused to leave or whom the bank finds it too much trouble to foreclose on. "I thought we might head out that way and take a look around. It is in the rough direction of where things seem to be happening. Oh, and if anyone asks," I told Kane, "I lost my wedding ring. It's probably under the couch at home."
    "Okay."
    "Jezebel," I explained to their inquiring looks.
    "She was curious?"
    "Yes."
    The storm continued while we talked, the snow light but persistent, the clouds growing thicker, lightning flashing in the distance. The wine did indeed go wonderfully with the lamb, which was surprisingly well-prepared. Adam had all three of our salads. Kane moved his lamb around on the plate and made it look as if some of it had been eaten.
    After dinner we repaired to our suite. Vanderberg and his unseen wife had gone to bed, and Jules to wherever he spends nights. The hotel creaked and settled in the cold. In the distance, the bandsaw at the mill screamed softly to the night. I went to the window and stood for a moment, looking at the darkness, and let the curtain fall with a shiver before returning the books I had taken from the library. The others both lifted their heads suddenly, hearing organ music from the opera house down the street.
    I suppose we must investigate, Adam said. 'Tis the theater.
    "What?" I asked, having heard nothing.
    "I suppose it can't be more boring than Melville," Kane sighed agreeably, and set down the results of his raid on the hotel library, thinking Note to self, next time I go to Maine, bring more books. The two creatures of the night put on their coats and went out into the storm to take a look around. I stayed with my research.
    
    The two of them walked out the hotel's front door, passing Jules in the front room, asleep and snoring softly in a chair by the fire. Outside they paused for a moment; the sound was indeed coming from the opera house, where there were lights on. It was only about eight o'clock, but dark falls early in the winter, and the town had a closed-up feeling. They heard some muffled conversation; the music stopped, started. Adam recognized it.
    Fascinating, he signed. It's the Mikado.
    

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