"He's rather odd, but he did provide me with some useful information," Emma told Steed that evening. She was sprawled sideways across her armchair with her bare feet in the air and the telephone nestled against her shoulder.
"Oh?" Steed was stretched out on his sofa, a glass of claret on the small table near his head that also held the telephone.
"For example, the werewolf myth varies quite widely. Some say inflicted people only take the wolf form on the night of the full moon, while others say they transform for several nights around the full moon."
"Fascinating," Steed yawned.
"If we were looking for an actual werewolf, I would suggest that we match the murders to the lunar cycle," Emma replied with a hint of annoyance at his boredom in her voice.
"We have," Steed replied, wakeful again. "As a matter of fact. Each of the murders has been within three days on either side of a full moon."
"Really?"
"Someone in research thought to check it."
"Your researchers are nothing if not thorough. Dr. Neff said that if the murderer is a lycanthrope – a person with a mental disorder – he or she would attack during the full moon."
"But I thought that your Dr. Neff didn't believe in the lycanthropy," Steed frowned.
"As a specific disorder," Emma nodded. "But he does acknowledge that some people suffering from clinically proven psychoses manifest lycanthrope-like symptoms."
"Forgive me, Mrs. Peel, but what's the practical difference?"
"For our purposes? None, I suppose," Emma conceded. "What about your big game hunter? Was he able to follow the tracks?"
"Right back to a dead end."
"How so?"
Steed explained Sir Lionel's discovery of the willow tree and his subsequent find of the shoes. He described the various sets of tracks entering and leaving the space.
"Steed, are you suggesting that there's a werewolf prowling St. James's Park?" Emma asked with a grin.
"Of course not, Mrs. Peel. But it was darned strange."
"A trail your hunter lost and a pair of old shoes left under a tree?" Emma chuckled. Steed winced, knowing that he'd failed to convey the eerie atmosphere in the space under the willow.
"Perhaps your new friend Dr. Neff would examine some of the suspects – look for signs of lycanthropy – or whatever he cares to call it."
"I'll ask him when I see him at his party," Emma replied pertly. She could practically hear Steed's hackles rise.
"Oh?" was his only verbal response.
"It's fancy dress. The day after tomorrow -- in honor of All Souls Eve -- Halloween. He said some of his associates and students would be there, so I could get some more interviews for my article. You should come."
"I was not invited."
Emma smiled indulgently, knowing his peevish tone was not genuine, but that he enjoyed playing at jealousy.
"In point of fact, you were – he said I could bring a guest."
ooooo
Emma rolled across the bed and peered through slitted eyes at the ringing telephone. On the fourth ring she managed to snake one arm out from under the covers to pick up the receiver and press it to her face. "It's one o'clock in the morning."
"Mrs. Peel, it's Steed. Forgive me for waking you. There's been another attack in the park."
"Not a murder Steed?"
"No. The victim is alive. Can you meet me at the hospital?"
ooooo
Thirty minutes later Emma, clad in a dark orange crepe wool pant suit and matching suede boots, strode along a bright hospital corridor and stopped at a wooden door guarded by a police officer. She smiled in recognition of the man who'd been in the park the day before yesterday. He nodded in acknowledgement as he opened the door to admit her.
"Here Mrs. Peel," Steed's warm voice offset the stark hospital whiteness. He was standing near the corner of the room watching a nurse adjusting a dressing on a heavily bandaged patient in the bed. She stepped over to stand beside him, tilting her head close to his.
"What's his name?" she asked quietly.
"Her name," Steed corrected, "is Miss Iris Mallon." He held up a woman's wallet in green leather, a driving license complete with bad photograph visible through a clear plastic window. "She's a musician." He patted a black violin case sitting a chair atop the woman's other belongings.
"Have you spoken with her yet?"
"No. She has yet to explain why she was walking through the park at night."
"What about her wounds?"
"You mean, are they wolf bites?"
Emma nodded.
"The doctor did not find any bites, but there are scratches on her chest and neck. Ah, let's see what she has to say," he nodded toward the departing nurse.
They separated to approach the bed on both sides.
Emma's eyes locked with Steed's and he nodded slightly. She spoke first: "Miss Mallon?"
The patient rolled her head toward Emma and opened her eyes. The top of her head was wrapped in a bandage and her right arm lay on top of the sheet in a sling. Bruises were already darkening on her chin and the left side of her face, and there was a dressing on her right cheek.
"Yes?" she whispered hoarsely.
"My name is Mrs. Emma Peel. This is Mr. John Steed," Emma glanced up at Steed. "We would like to ask you some questions."
"More police?" the woman asked, her eyes flicking from Emma to Steed and back, and then shutting.
"Something like that," Steed purred. "Miss Mallon, what can you tell us about your attacker."
Miss Mallon swallowed and licked her lips, then opened her eyes to look into Emma's again.
"Would you like some water?" Emma asked.
"Please."
"Can you describe him, Miss Mallon?" Steed asked while Emma poured water from a pitcher into a cup with a straw waiting on the bedside table.
"He was huge and very strong," the patient said. Emma held the straw to her mouth and she took a long sip of water, then looked again at Steed. "He jumped on me from behind and got his arms around my shoulders. We both fell down – I landed on my wrist and my face hit the ground really hard. He scratched my neck so I thought he was going to choke me."
"Did you see his face?" Emma asked, hope of identifying the attacker waning.
"He had a big nose," Miss Mallon said. "And very bad teeth. His eyes were dark. His face was so close that's all I could see."
"You turned your head to look at him?" Emma asked, trying to visualize the struggle.
"Yes. He started breathing on my neck so that I was sure that he was going to – you know – rape me. But he opened his mouth and his breath stank and his teeth were gross, and he tried to bite me."
Miss Mallon swallowed hard and took another sip of water. Emma glanced up at Steed to see a tiny smile curling the corners of his mouth.
"You're certain, Miss Mallon?" he asked gently.
"Positive. I could feel his breath on my neck. It was horrible." Her voice rose
"What happened next?" Steed asked. "The doctor didn't mention any bites in his report."
"Another man came along the path. I suppose he shouted when he saw us on the ground. Then the man attacking me got up and ran, and the second man ran after him."
"The second man didn't stop to check on you?" Emma asked.
"No, he chased the first man. I got up and went the other way and found a Bobby."
"Can you describe the second man?" Steed asked, glancing at Emma.
"Um, he was big too – tall, but maybe not as big as the first man. He had a beard," she paused, her gaze falling pleadingly on Emma. "I'm sorry. I was on the ground, and he was running so fast, practically doubled over."
"You were very brave, Miss Mallon," Emma assured her, for she could see that the woman was on the verge of tears. "Thank you for answering our questions."
Emma and Steed stepped away from the bed toward the door. Steed opened and held it for Emma, then turned back toward the bed.
"What did the second man shout, Miss Mallon?" he asked.
"Um," Fthe patient frowned, "I'm not sure. It sounded like a name."
"What name?"
"Bela. You know, like the composer – Bela Bartok?"