Free The Empty Coffins by John Russell Fearn

wasting that had no medical explan­ation.
    It was Peter who told her these things, seated at her bedside. Through the window the mid-March sun was shining brightly. The plane trees were just visible, rich with sticky buds, and beyond them again the countryside was preparing for summer.
    â€œIf only I could understand it all,” Peter muttered, his face haggard from endless days and nights of worry and watching over Elsie. “If only I could gauge the depth of George Timperley’s hatred of you. If only....”
    He stopped, sighing, looking at Elsie’s white face against the pillow. Always ethereal, even when in the best of health, she looked almost like a ghost now.
    â€œWhere’s Dr. Meadows?” she asked, her voice so low that Peter had to incline his head to hear her.
    â€œBusy with his practice. He’s been grand through these weeks, dearest. Watching over you when I could not, helping in every possible way. He’s seen to it that you’ve been fed by injections whilst you were unconscious. Our job now is to build you up. I’ve also asked Meadows for another doctor to come and have a look at you. He’s a specialist, so maybe he can discover the cause of your slow decline. Meadows can’t understand it—from the medical point of view. From the standpoint of the supernatural, though, he says that you have been more seriously bitten than he thought on that night George attacked you. Venom in your blood may be the cause of your…illness.”
    Elsie said nothing. She looked towards the window, at the glancing sun on the leaves.
    â€œSo beautiful out there,” she whispered. ‘If only I could go into the garden. You and I to­gether, Peter. If we could walk through the fields, smell the grass, feel the fresh sweet wind of heaven in our faces… Rawnee Singh was right, Peter, wasn’t he?”
    â€œI still don’t believe it,” he answered stubb­ornly. “Now you are conscious again we’ll get you round. You’ll be back to health in no time.”
    Elsie shook her blonde head slowly. “No. Peter. It is not to be. I’m dying...I know I am.”
    Peter got to his feet. “I’m going to ring up Meadows. If he isn’t home the maid can tell him to come up immediately. I want to know what is to be done now you’ve come out of your coma—”
    â€œNo, Peter—don’t leave me.” Her cold, gentle hand caught at his as he turned to go. “I—I want you to stay.”
    â€œBut dearest, I have to look after you. I can’t stay here and talk. I want to tell the cook to get something ready for you—”
    â€œCook? When did we get a cook?”
    â€œWell, she’s a sort of housekeeper, cook, maid, and all the lot. I had to get somebody, after your mother went....” Then Peter hurried on, “I’m sure we’ll get results soon. All the village is on the watch for George now. The story is even in the papers under the heading ‘The Little Payling Horr­or.’ All kinds of people keep arriving to invest­igate—Psychic experts, ghost hunters, sightseers. George has made the place famous—”
    â€œYou mean infamous,” Elsie whispered. Then after a long pause she asked, “Did the Inspector ever find Rawnee Singh again?”
    â€œYes. But all Singh could do was repeat his statement, just as he had told it to you—and me. As for trying to help the vampire situation, he said it was a manifestation of the dark arts and he would not touch it.”
    â€œHow right he was,” Elsie murmured, her eyes closing. “How terribly, frighteningly right....”
    Peter looked at her in fear for a moment. She was so utterly still he thought she— Then he gave a smile of relief. Her breast was rising and falling gently. She had merely fallen asleep.
    He gently moved his hand away and crept from the room; then he hurried downstairs to the