Free The Hammer Horror Omnibus by John Burke

house. “Now, as to your own story. Let us start with the assumption that Medusa, whose head is spoken of in legend over many centuries as having never lost its power, has indeed come to this neighborhood in some form or another. Let us suppose that the true characteristics manifest themselves only at certain intervals, under certain conditions. Have you met many people since you’ve been here?”
    “Very few.”
    “Any women?”
    “Only the one I told you about—the one in the hospital.”
    “Oh, yes. Carla . . . er . . .”
    “Hoffmann,” said Paul eagerly—so eagerly that he saw Meister smile as they went into the house.
    “What’s she like?”
    “Very beautiful.”
    “I see. You’re in love with her?”
    “I didn’t say so,”
    “You didn’t have to,” said Meister. “And now”—he yawned—“I think a good night’s sleep is called for. We will follow it by some inquiries at the police station.”
    “If they let us in,” said Paul.
    Meister looked at him reprovingly. “They will let me in.”
    Paul had his doubts about this. Professor Meister might be a man of consequence at home, but here there was likely to be little respect for his scholarly attainments.
    In the morning he discovered his mistake. The Professor had no intention of relying merely on his reputation as a scholar.
    He loftily talked his way into the presence of Inspector Kanof—or, rather, made his way there by dint of refusing to admit that there could be any possibility of denial. Paul, catching the backwash of Kanof’s glare as they entered his office, felt that this was where they came to grief. But Meister, with calculated arrogance, took Kanof’s breath away at once.
    “I wish to look through the files which you keep on residents of Vandorf—particularly newcomers to the district.”
    The Inspector gasped. “How dare you come in with such a request? Such files are confidential, for official use only.”
    “I fear they are not used as thoroughly as they ought to be. There are one or two points I wish to check.”
    “Under no circumstances will you be permitted to see any of our files. There is no precedent—”
    “Don’t use long words, Inspector. They don’t suit you. I may say that if you don’t wish to assist us, I shall go higher up.”
    “Higher up?”
    “I presume that even you, Inspector, acknowledge the existence of a superior? The Foreign Secretary, for example.”
    “I don’t believe—”
    “A very valued friend of my dear brother.”
    “I can check on that.”
    “Check on it, by all means,” said Meister savagely. “But unless you are very quick about it, my good fellow, and unless I am allowed to see your files . . .”
    Kanof writhed and argued, but he stood no chance. Meister was by turns bullying and sardonically reasonable. In the end Kanof agreed that the Professor should be given access to the records.
    “Starting,” said Meister, “with those of women aliens registered here within the last ten years.”
    When Kanof set his staff bustling down the corridor to collect the files, Meister permitted himself a slight smile in Paul’s direction. Kanof, though now obsequious to his older visitor, made a great show of ignoring Paul as though this might in some way restore a balance.
    “Visitors to Vandorf,” explained Kanof when files and photographs were piled on the desk before him, “are required to register only if they wish later to become citizens. Among those still resident here . . .”
    He tried to maintain his dignity by being over-helpful where before he had been uncooperative. Meister paid no attention. He turned over files and photographs quickly, and then held out a picture to Paul.
    “Is this her?”
    Paul looked at a slightly creased photograph of Carla. Her mouth was too set: she had obviously been uncomfortable before the camera.
    “It hardly does her justice, but—”
    “But it’s her? Mm. How long has she been here?”
    “The information’s on the back,”