The Empty Coffins by John Russell Fearn Page B

grave ,” Dr. Meadows pointed out. “She will have the power of any spirit to pass through solids and might also have the gift of invisibility until she is about to strike; then invisibility will be useless to her. By this I mean that she may appear anywhere, anytime, either in some part of the cemetery or outside it. It will be by night, not day. We shall have to be always on the alert.”
    â€œOtherwise there’ll be more murders?” somebody asked.
    â€œThat is inevitable,” Meadows agreed. “Remember that Mrs. Malden had no reason during life to be friendly towards you villagers. You pilloried her because she married so soon after her first hus­band’s death. Since then you have heard, chiefly at the inquest, how brutally her first husband treated her. You also know how he avenged him­self: by destroying her—albeit slowly—and leaving the mark of the vampire upon her.”
    â€œGeorge Timperley—the vampire, that is—hasn’t been seen for some time,” a woman remarked. “What do you suppose has happened to him, doctor?”
    For a moment or two Meadows considered this; then he replied:
    â€œIt is possible that his only aim in rising from the grave as a vampire was to find his former wife and leave his mark upon her. With that acc­omplished his foul mission was, perhaps, completed. There is only one way to make sure.”
    â€œOpen his grave?” Peter asked.
    â€œExactly. I think we should do that—tonight if possible. Scotland Yard do not seem to be gett­ing anywhere, and since we in this village are the most likely potential victims for future attack we might as well see how we stand.”
    â€œWe can do that when we’re in the cemetery to­night,” Peter said. “I want volunteers who’ll agree to keep watch in the cemetery—maybe every night for a month, or until such time as we are satisfied as to what is happening.”
    There was no lack of response to his request. Several hands went up, mostly from dour-looking farmers in whom superstition was deep-rooted.
    â€œA dozen,” Peter said, nodding as he counted the hands. “That’s fine. Say six each alternate night. That should be enough. I too will stay on watch alternate nights, commencing tonight.”
    â€œMight I join too?” asked a quiet voice, and Peter looked quickly towards the doorway where a man had just come in. He was wearing a mackintosh and a turban.
    â€œYou still around this district, Singh?” Meadows asked him bluntly. “What do you hope to accomplish now the worst has happened?”
    â€œI have yet to be assured, my dear doctor, that the worst has happened....” The mystic came forward with his catlike tread and paused a few feet away from where Peter and Meadows were standing.
    â€œYou don’t regard the death of my wife as the worst?” Peter demanded bitterly.
    â€œNo.” Singh gave him a direct look from his dark eyes. “I shall consider the worst has happ­ened when your wife reappears as a vampire...as she will. I am anxious to see that happen.”
    â€œWhy?” Meadows asked.
    â€œChiefly to satisfy myself that I have read the future aright.”
    Singh turned as a burly farmer tapped him on the arm.
    â€œLook here, mister, I don’t quite understand where you fit into this business. D’you mean you actually read the future?”
    â€œIt is my profession.” Singh agreed, with his inscrutable smile. “I am able to use my poor gifts to read destiny.... I knew Mrs. Malden would die. I also know she will reappear as a vampire.”
    â€œOh, you do!” Grim suspicion crossed the farmer’s face. “You seem to know the hell of a lot! Maybe the police would like a word with you.”
    â€œThey’ve already had one,” Peter said. “Mr. Singh is a mystic—so he says—and so far every­thing he has foreseen has come