#706 : 7 a.m.
Eliot made a mental note of Irene's slip. Vengeance for victims she did not even know? He would never have thought her a vigilante. His eyebrows shot up with momentary concern as she quickly fell into a chair, but he was fairly certain that the Woman was not seriously weak or ill. After all, she was not Irene Adler for nothing.
"I have not been in this building long enough to have heard any of the rumblings about a Dracula,so I cannot comment on where the rumors originated from." He smiled at his friend. "I'm afraid so, Watson. But nothing was ever achieved without a pinch of madness."
Eliot narrowed his eyes at the old woman. He could not tell if she was being serious or just showing signs of senility. He would have to make his own observations before ruling either possibility out. "I believe silly, fantastical fiction is all the rage with teenagers these days. I don't know why. I always preferred the noir detective stories my self." Eliot stopped short, his eyes growing wide. Why had he admitted that in public?