The House of the Wolf by Basil Copper Read Free Book Online

the way she spoke French he guessed she might well be a native of that country.
    She was dressed simply but with great elegance, and her body moved with slow, voluptuous undulations beneath the heavy evening gown. The ladies’ clothing was obviously adapted to the rigours of the climate here; bare necks and shoulders would have invited pneumonia in some of the draughtier stone corridors Coleridge had traversed with his host on the way to the library.
    The daughter, Nadia, was equally as attractive as the mother but, again, in an entirely different way. She wore a dress that was cut in a younger style, and beneath the long blonde hair that streamed across her shoulders her brown eyes were clear and candid. Her mouth was broad and generously made, and like the other two female members of her family she had extremely fine teeth, though they looked a little sharp and predatory whenever she opened her mouth wide.
    Now she got up from her stool, as though conscious of her guest’s meditations.
    ‘You must be tired, Professor. And we are thoughtless in keeping you up so late after such a long and exhausting journey.’
    Coleridge got up too, again aware that he was very tired, now that the girl had spoken of it.
    ‘The end of the journey was worth the rigours of its attainment,’ he said gallantly.
    The mother raised her eyebrows.
    ‘An old Hungarian proverb?’ she queried.
    Coleridge smiled, conscious of his host’s approval.
    ‘An old American one,’ he said, ‘but equally applicable here.’
    The Count joined in the laughter, rising quickly and guiding the group over toward the door.
    ‘You are perfectly correct, my dear, nevertheless,’ he told his daughter. ‘Say goodnight, and I will show our guest to his room.’
    Coleridge stood by the door to the corridor, shaking each of the ladies’ hands in turn as they took their leave. He was left with an impression of beauty, animal warmth, and a faint, elusive perfume hanging in the air after they had gone. The Count had obviously noted his guest’s favourable impression, but with consummate tact he ignored it and led the way along a broad corridor hung with tapestries and lined at intervals with heavily carved, somewhat primitive, occasional furniture.
    There was no electric lighting here, and the silver lamp Homolky carried cast great fleeting shadows over the huge hammer beams above their heads. He smiled as he caught Coleridge’s expression.
    ‘We have our own electricity-generating installation here, Mr. Coleridge. The first in Lugos. It does not run to the entire Castle, it is so vast, you see. So I illuminate only the principal apartments.’
    He smiled again.
    ‘Those that I wish to impress my guests.’
    Coleridge felt a rapport with this man already; he had a gift of putting the visitor at his ease.
    ‘And you run the surplus to The Golden Crown,’ he said.
    The Count looked at him shrewdly from beneath the shock of white hair.
    ‘You are most perceptive, Mr. Coleridge. I have a commercial arrangement with Herr Eles. And I and my family use the hotel a great deal. It seemed mutually advantageous.’
    He glanced around him as the two men came out upon an elaborate stairhead where intricately carved balustrades curved both up and downward in the flickering gloom.
    ‘And as you can imagine, Mr. Coleridge, I have many expenses here. The world is changing. Too quickly, perhaps. And so one must move with the times.’
    ‘You seem to have the best of both worlds,’ Coleridge ventured.
    The tall man shrugged, the golden lamplight dancing over his saturnine face.
    ‘I am a survivor, Mr. Coleridge. One has to be in a place like Eastern Europe. But you would not know that, coming from such a prosperous and enlightened place as the United States.’
    Coleridge gave him a wry smile.
    ‘We also have our problems,’ he told his host politely.
    Count Homolky had paused now, and he flung open the thick oak door in front of them to reveal a distinctive but