A werewolf among us

think he'd consider it the ultimate thrill? I doubt that he could be
that
jaded," Rainy said.
    "You've no reason to suspect him?"
    "No more than the others, I guess."
    Then Rainy was gone, and St. Cyr realized that the responsibility for the family's safety had devolved, suddenly, to him. He looked at them, realized that everyone but Hirschel would be an easy mark when the time came for the killer to strike again—if, indeed, he intended to commit a fourth murder.
    Strong possibility.
    "Are there any weapons in the house?" St. Cyr asked Jubal.
    "I won't permit my children to have them," he said. He was as aggressive as ever, surprisingly contained in the face of Betty's death. Even Alicia had stopped crying, though her eyes were swollen and red.
    "I have a number of weapons, of course," Hirschel said. "It is my hobby."
    "No," Jubal said. "I will not allow everyone to go around armed with deadly weapons. As likely as not, inexperienced as we all are in such things, we'd end up accidentally killing each other or ourselves."
    "I have narcotic-dart pistols," Hirschel said. "They produce an hour of sound sleep, nothing worse."
    "How many do you have?" St. Cyr asked.
    "Three different types, all workable in this situation. They all fire clusters of darts, so you don't even have to aim well, just point and pull the trigger." The big, dark man seemed to be enjoying the tension.
    "How about that?" St. Cyr asked Jubal.
    The patriarch's white hair was in complete disarray. He tried to comb it in place with his fingers, frowned, and said, "I guess that would be all right."
    "Get the guns," St. Cyr told Hirschel.
    The hunter was back in five minutes and explained the operation of each piece.
St. Cyr left one with Jubal and Alicia, warning them to stay close together whenever possible and never to leave each other for even a moment during the night hours. Two of the three murders had taken place late at night. The second he gave to Dane, who seemed eager to understand its workings and willing to use it.
    "I doubt it's going to work, though," he said.
    "Why is that?" St. Cyr asked.
    "I think the
du-aga-klava
is only susceptible to certain substances. Drugs most likely have no effect on it."
    St. Cyr looked at Hirschel to see what his reaction was to what Dane had said; he felt more comradeship with the violent man than with any of the others, even though he also had greater suspicions about him. But the hunter seemed unmoved, either way, by the theory of supernatural intervention.
    The third handgun went to Tina, who quickly caught on to the proper way to hold it and take aim. Hirschel said that she would make a fine marksman. Jubal looked unhappy at that.
    "I'd like to make a suggestion," Tina said when Hirschel had finished explaining the narcotic-dart pistol to her.
    She had been so taciturn before that St. Cyr was surprised by this sudden turnabout. In fact, he thought it was the longest statement he had ever heard her make. "What is that?" he asked.
    'That someone run a check on Walter Dannery."
    Puzzled, St. Cyr said, "Who is he?"
    "A man my father fired from the family business about a year and a half ago."
    St. Cyr turned to Jubal. "Is he a possible enemy?"
    Jubal waved the suggestion away as if it were a bothersome insect flitting about his face. "The man was a weakling, an embezzler. He would not have the nerve for something like this."
    "Just the same," St. Cyr said, "I'd like to hear about him."
    "My accountants came to me with proof that he'd embezzled nearly two hundred and eighty thousand credit units over a period of nine months. They had already let him go, but he seemed to blame the whole thing on me. Offered a sob story about dependent children, a sick wife, all very melodramatic. But he's been gone from Darma for quite a long time, well over a year."
    "Have you told Inspector Rainy about him?"
    "Yes, first thing."
    "He checked Dannery out?"
    "Yes. He's gone to Ionus, taken an administrative position in one of the heavy industries there. Whoever hired him is a fool, but at least he's no longer my consideration."
    St. Cyr turned to Tina and said, "You think that more ought to be done about this man?"
    "Yes," she said. "He was terribly bitter about losing his job, blamed it on everyone but himself—and he broke things the one time he came here."
    "Broke things?"
    "He smashed a vase," Jubal said, trying to minimize it "He was emotionally unstable, a weakling, as I told you. I threw him out of here myself."
    "Just