The Empty Coffins by John Russell Fearn Page A

the cemetery. We were both attacked—”
    â€œBut what on earth—?”
    â€œOh, stop bothering me!” Peter snapped. “I’ve enough on my mind!”
    Mrs. Burrows sniffed, then taking a second chair she sat at the other side of the bed and looked at her daughter in silent consternation.
    The intolerably long silence was broken at last by a pounding on the front door. Peter rushed down to open it and came back with the tired Dr. Meadows behind him. Meadows gave a start as he saw the girl, then he got busy with his stethoscope.
    â€œWell?” Peter asked anxiously. “What’s the verdict?”
    â€œHe got her, Peter,” Meadows answered slowly, grey worry in his face. “No half measures about it. Both jugulars have been pierced and she’s lost a good deal of blood.”
    â€œI don’t see how,” Peter argued. “Those big bloodstains on the pillow can’t be from her; there are only tiny trickles on her neck from those punctures—”
    â€œThe pillow stains probably come from George,” Meadows answered. “Some blood was spilt as he drew it from Elsie. That’s a likely happening in a vampire attack— Only one thing to do,” Meadows finished briefly. “Keep a watch on Elsie night and day. I’ll let you have some blood-restorative pills with full directions how to use them. If she is not attacked again she might re­cover all she has lost—”
    â€œBut doesn’t this attack make her a vampire?”
    â€œThat can only happen if she dies—and that we must prevent at all costs. Hop down to the ’phone, Peter, and call Scotland Yard. Give them every detail and ask for the same Inspector who has been working on this case. No use bothering with those two clowns in the village. Hurry it up, man!”
    Peter nodded and dived out of the room. Mead­ows considered the girl for a moment, then he filled a hypodermic syringe and applied the needle to a vein in the inside of Elsie’s upper arm.
    â€œWhat’s that for?” Mrs. Burrows asked, watching intently.
    â€œBlood restorative in liquid form,” Meadows answered. “I can’t administer pills until she recovers consciousness.”
    â€œPeter has been telling me that George caused this—that he has become a vampire. Am I supposed to believe that?”
    â€œWith your daughter in this condition I don’t see how you can do much else,” Meadows retorted.
    â€œI can’t believe in vampires. Doctor. I’ve lived too long to believe in any superstition of that nature. I prefer to think something material— very material—attacked my daughter, not the blood-thirsty ghost of her first husband. It simply screams out against all reason.”
    â€œSo do poltergeists, phantoms, and evil spirits,” Meadows answered, his voice quieter. “Yet they exist....”
    Since Mrs. Burrows did not pursue the subject he too became silent, working with soft wadding on the punctures in the girl’s throat. The more he studied them the more troubled his face became. He was considering the problem in silence when Peter returned, a hand to his still aching head.
    â€œI got Scotland Yard,” he said. “The sergeant-in-charge will get in touch with Chief-Inspector Rushton and he’ll be coming up immediately. He’s not in his office at this hour, of course— Well, Doc, how’s Elsie going on?”
    â€œDone all I can,” Meadows answered, putting a phial of pills on the table. “She ought to recover consciousness towards morning. Those sleeping tab­lets you gave her are hindering things, of course: I’d forgotten them. It may be those, more than actual blood loss, which is keeping her unconscious. Anyway, when she recovers, see she gets these pills every six hours. She’s not to get up until I say so. And she must be guarded day and night against all possible attacks. You still