|
At
the door he stopped, and said, "Look 'ere, guv'nor, there ain't no
sense in me a keepin' you 'ere.
I may find Sam soon, or I mayn't, but anyhow he ain't like to be in a
way to tell ye much tonight. Sam is a rare one when he starts on the booze.
If you can give me a envelope with a stamp on it, and put yer address
on it, I'll find out where Sam is to be found and post it ye tonight. But
ye'd better be up arter 'im soon in the mornin', never mind the booze the
night afore."
This
was all practical, so one of the children went off with a penny to buy an
envelope and a sheet of paper, and to keep the change. When she came back, I
addressed the envelope and stamped it, and when Smollet had again faithfully
promised to post the address when found, I took my way to home.
We're on the track anyhow. I am tired tonight, and I want to sleep.
Mina is fast asleep, and looks a little too pale.
Her eyes look as though she had been crying. Poor dear, I've no doubt
it frets her to be kept in the dark, and it may make her doubly anxious
about me and the others. But it is best as it is.
It is better to be disappointed and worried in such a way now than to
have her nerve broken.
The doctors were quite right to insist on her being kept out of this
dreadful business. I must be firm, for on me this particular burden of
silence must rest. I shall not ever enter on the subject with her under any
circumstances. Indeed, It may not be a hard task, after all, for she herself
has become reticent on the subject, and has not spoken of the Count or his
doings ever since we told her of our decision.
2
October, evening--A long and trying and exciting day. By the first post I
got my directed envelope with a dirty scrap of paper enclosed, on which was
written with a carpenter's pencil in a sprawling hand, "Sam Bloxam,
Korkrans, 4 Poters Cort, Bartel Street, Walworth.
Arsk for the depite."
I
got the letter in bed, and rose without waking Mina. She looked heavy and
sleepy and pale, and far from well. I determined not to wake her, but that
when I should return from this new search, I would arrange for her going
back to Exeter. I think she would be happier in our own home, with her daily
tasks to interest her, than in being here amongst us and in ignorance.
I only saw Dr. Seward for a moment, and told him where I was off to,
promising to come back and tell the rest so soon as I should have found out
anything. I drove to Walworth and found, with some difficulty, Potter's
Court. Mr. Smollet's spelling misled me, as I asked for Poter's Court
instead of Potter's Court.
However, when I had found the court, I had no difficulty in
discovering Corcoran's lodging house.
When
I asked the man who came to the door for the "depite," he shook
his head, and said, "I dunno 'im.
There ain't no such a person 'ere. I never 'eard of 'im in all my
bloomin' days.
Don't believe there ain't nobody of that kind livin' 'ere or
anywheres."
I
took out Smollet's letter, and as I read it it seemed to me that the lesson
of the spelling of the name of the court might guide me. "What are
you?"
I asked.
"I'm
the depity," he answered.
I
saw at once that I was on the right track.
Phonetic spelling had again misled me.
A half crown tip put the deputy's knowledge at my disposal, and I
learned that Mr. Bloxam, who had slept off the remains of his beer on the
previous night at Corcoran's, had left for his work at Poplar at five
o'clock that morning.
He could not tell me where the place of work was situated, but he had
a vague idea that it was some kind of a "new-fangled ware'us," and
with this slender clue I had to start for Poplar.
It was twelve o'clock before I got any satisfactory hint of such a
building, and this I got at a coffee shop, where some workmen were having
their dinner. One of them suggested that there was being erected at Cross
Angel Street a new "cold storage" building, and as this suited the
condition of a "new-fangled ware'us," I at once drove to it. An
interview with a surly gatekeeper and a surlier foreman, both of whom were
appeased with the coin of the realm, put me on the track of Bloxam.
He was sent for on my suggestion that I was willing to pay his days
wages to his foreman for the privilege of asking him a few questions on a
private matter. He was a smart enough fellow, though rough of speech and
bearing. When I had promised to pay for his information and given him an
earnest, he told me that he had made two journeys between Carfax and a house
in Piccadilly, and had taken from this house to the latter nine great boxes,
"main heavy ones," with a horse and cart hired by him for this
purpose.
I
asked him if he could tell me the number of the house in Piccadilly, to
which he replied, "Well, guv'nor, I forgits the number, but it was only
a few door from a big white church, or somethink of the kind, not long
built. It was a dusty old 'ouse, too, though nothin' to the dustiness of the
'ouse we tooked the bloomin' boxes from."
"How
did you get in if both houses were empty?"
"There
was the old party what engaged me a waitin' in the 'ouse at Purfleet. He 'elped
me to lift the boxes and put them in the dray.
Curse me, but he was the strongest chap I ever struck, an' him a old
feller, with a white moustache, one that thin you would think he couldn't
throw a shadder."
How
this phrase thrilled through me!
"Why,
'e took up 'is end o' the boxes like they was pounds of tea, and me a
puffin' an' a blowin' afore I could upend mine anyhow, an' I'm no chicken,
neither."
"How
did you get into the house in Piccadilly?"
I asked.
"He
was there too.
He must 'a started off and got there afore me, for when I rung of the
bell he kem an' opened the door 'isself an' 'elped me carry the boxes into
the 'all."
"The
whole nine?"
I asked.
"Yus,
there was five in the first load an' four in the second. It was main dry
work, an' I don't so well remember 'ow I got 'ome."
I
interrupted him, "Were the boxes left in the hall?"
"Yus,
it was a big 'all, an' there was nothin' else in it."
I
made one more attempt to further matters.
"You didn't have any key?"
"Never
used no key nor nothink.
The old gent, he opened the door 'isself an' shut it again when I
druv off. I don't remember the last time, but that was the beer."
"And
you can't remember the number of the house?"
"No,
sir. But
ye needn't have no difficulty about that.
It's a 'igh 'un with a stone front with a bow on it, an' 'igh steps
up to the door. I know them steps, 'avin' 'ad to carry the boxes up with
three loafers what come round to earn a copper.
The old gent give them shillin's, an' they seein' they got so much,
they wanted more.
But 'e took one of them by the shoulder and was like to throw 'im
down the steps, till the lot of them went away cussin'."
I
thought that with this description I could find the house, so having paid my
friend for his information, I started off for Piccadilly. I had gained a new
painful experience.
The Count could, it was evident, handle the earth boxes himself.
If so, time was precious, for now that he had achieved a certain
amount of distribution, he could, by choosing his own time, complete the
task unobserved. At Piccadilly Circus I discharged my cab, and walked
westward. Beyond the Junior Constitutional I came across the house described
and was satisfied that this was the next of the lairs arranged by Dracula.
The house looked as though it had been long untenanted. The windows were
encrusted with dust, and the shutters were up. All the framework was black
with time, and from the iron the paint had mostly scaled away.
It was evident that up to lately there had been a large notice board
in front of the balcony. It had, however, been roughly torn away, the
uprights which had supported it still remaining.
Behind the rails of the balcony I saw there were some loose boards,
whose raw edges looked white. I would have given a good deal to have been
able to see the notice board intact, as it would, perhaps, have given some
clue to the ownership of the house.
I remembered my experience of the investigation and purchase of
Carfax, and I could not but feel that I could find the former owner there
might be some means discovered of gaining access to the house.
There
was at present nothing to be learned from the Piccadilly side, and nothing
could be done, so I went around to the back to see if anything could be
gathered from this quarter.
The mews were active, the Piccadilly houses being mostly in
occupation. I asked one or two of the grooms and helpers whom I saw around
if they could tell me anything about the empty house. One of them said that
he heard it had lately been taken, but he couldn't say from whom.
He told me, however, that up to very lately there had been a notice
board of "For Sale" up, and that perhaps Mitchell, Sons, &
Candy the house agents could tell me something, as he thought he remembered
seeing the name of that firm on the board.
I did not wish to seem too eager, or to let my informant know or
guess too much, so thanking him in the usual manner, I strolled away. It was
now growing dusk, and the autumn night was closing in, so I did not lose any
time. Having
learned the address of Mitchell, Sons, & Candy from a directory at the
Berkeley, I was soon at their office in Sackville Street.
The
gentleman who saw me was particularly suave in manner, but uncommunicative
in equal proportion.
Having once told me that the Piccadilly house, which throughout our
interview he called a "mansion," was sold, he considered my
business as concluded. When I asked who had purchased it, he opened his eyes
a thought wider, and paused a few seconds before replying, "It is sold,
sir."
"Pardon
me," I said, with equal politeness, "but I have a special reason
for wishing to know who purchased it."
Again
he paused longer, and raised his eyebrows still more. "It is sold,
sir," was again his laconic reply.
"Surely,"
I said, "you do not mind letting me know so much."
"But
I do mind," he answered.
"The affairs of their clients are absolutely safe in the hands
of Mitchell, Sons, & Candy."
This
was manifestly a prig of the first water, and there was no use arguing with
him. I
thought I had best meet him on his own ground, so I said, "Your
clients, sir, are happy in having so resolute a guardian of their
confidence. I am myself a professional man."
Here
I handed him my card.
"In this instance I am not prompted by curiosity, I act on the
part of Lord Godalming, who wishes to know something of the property which
was, he understood, lately for sale."
These
words put a different complexion on affairs. He said, "I would like to
oblige you if I could, Mr. Harker, and especially would I like to oblige his
lordship. We once carried out a small matter of renting some chambers for
him when he was the Honorable Arthur Holmwood. If you will let me have his
lordship's address I will consult the House on the subject, and will, in any
case, communicate with his lordship by tonight's post. It will be a pleasure
if we can so far deviate from our rules as to give the required information
to his lordship."
I
wanted to secure a friend, and not to make an enemy, so I thanked him, gave
the address at Dr. Seward's and came away. It was now dark, and I was tired
and hungry.
I got a cup of tea at the Aerated Bread Company and came down to
Purfleet by the next train.
I
found all the others at home.
Mina was looking tired and pale, but she made a gallant effort to be
bright and cheerful. It wrung my heart to think that I had had to keep
anything from her and so caused her inquietude.
Thank God, this will be the last night of her looking on at our
conferences, and feeling the sting of our not showing our confidence. It
took all my courage to hold to the wise resolution of keeping her out of our
grim task.
She seems somehow more reconciled, or else the very subject seems to
have become repugnant to her, for when any accidental allusion is made she
actually shudders. I am glad we made our resolution in time, as with such a
feeling as this, our growing knowledge would be torture to her.
I
could not tell the others of the day's discovery till we were alone, so
after dinner, followed by a little music to save appearances even amongst
ourselves, I took Mina to her room and left her to go to bed. The dear girl
was more affectionate with me than ever, and clung to me as though she would
detain me, but there was much to be talked of and I came away.
Thank God, the ceasing of telling things has made no difference
between us.
When
I came down again I found the others all gathered round the fire in the
study. In
the train I had written my diary so far, and simply read it off to them as
the best means of letting them get abreast of my own information.
When
I had finished Van Helsing said, "This has been a great day's work,
friend Jonathan.
Doubtless we are on the track of the missing boxes. If we find them
all in that house, then our work is near the end. But if there be some
missing, we must search until we find them. Then shall we make our final
coup, and hunt the wretch to his real death."
We
all sat silent awhile and all at once Mr. Morris spoke, "Say! How are
we going to get into that house?"
"We
got into the other," answered Lord Godalming quickly.
"But,
Art, this is different.
We broke house at Carfax, but we had night and a walled park to
protect us.
It will be a mighty different thing to commit burglary in Piccadilly,
either by day or night. I confess I don't see how we are going to get in
unless that agency duck can find us a key of some sort."
Lord
Godalming's brows contracted, and he stood up and walked about the room.
By-and-by he stopped and said, turning from one to another of us, "Quincey's
head is level.
This burglary business is getting serious. We got off once all right,
but we have now a rare job on hand. Unless we can find the Count's key
basket."
As
nothing could well be done before morning, and as it would be at least
advisable to wait till Lord Godalming should hear from Mitchell's, we
decided not to take any active step before breakfast time.
For a good while we sat and smoked, discussing the matter in its
various lights and bearings. I took the opportunity of bringing this diary
right up to the moment. I am very sleepy and shall go to bed.
. .
Just
a line. Mina
sleeps soundly and her breathing is regular.
Her forehead is puckered up into little wrinkles, as though she
thinks even in her sleep. She is still too pale, but does not look so
haggard as she did this morning. Tomorrow will, I hope, mend all this.
She will be herself at home in Exeter. Oh, but I am sleepy!
DR.
SEWARD'S DIARY
1
October.--I am puzzled afresh about Renfield. His moods change so rapidly
that I find it difficult to keep touch of them, and as they always mean
something more than his own well-being, they form a more than interesting
study. This morning, when I went to see him after his repulse of Van Helsing,
his manner was that of a man commanding destiny. He was, in fact, commanding
destiny, subjectively. He did not really care for any of the things of mere
earth, he was in the clouds and looked down on all the weaknesses and wants
of us poor mortals.
I
thought I would improve the occasion and learn something, so I asked him,
"What about the flies these times?"
He
smiled on me in quite a superior sort of way, such a smile as would have
become the face of Malvolio, as he answered me, "The fly, my dear sir,
has one striking feature.
It's wings are typical of the aerial powers of the psychic faculties.
The ancients did well when they typified the soul as a butterfly!"
I
thought I would push his analogy to its utmost logically, so I said quickly,
"Oh, it is a soul you are after now, is it?"
His
madness foiled his reason, and a puzzled look spread over his face as,
shaking his head with a decision which I had but seldom seen in him.
He
said, "Oh, no, oh no!
I want no souls.
Life is all I want." Here he brightened up.
"I am pretty indifferent about it at present. Life is all right.
I have all I want.
You must get a new patient, doctor, if you wish to study zoophagy!"
This
puzzled me a little, so I drew him on.
"Then you command life. You are a god, I suppose?"
He
smiled with an ineffably benign superiority.
"Oh no! Far be it from me to arrogate to myself the attributes
of the Deity. I am not even concerned in His especially spiritual doings. If
I may state my intellectual position I am, so far as concerns things purely
terrestrial, somewhat in the position which Enoch occupied
spiritually!"
This
was a poser to me.
I could not at the moment recall Enoch's appositeness, so I had to
ask a simple question, though I felt that by so doing I was lowering myself
in the eyes of the lunatic. "And why with Enoch?"
"Because
he walked with God."
I
could not see the analogy, but did not like to admit it, so I harked back to
what he had denied.
"So you don't care about life and you don't want souls.
Why not?" I put my question quickly and somewhat sternly, on
purpose to disconcert him.
The
effort succeeded, for an instant he unconsciously relapsed into his old
servile manner, bent low before me, and actually fawned upon me as he
replied. "I
don't want any souls, indeed, indeed!
I don't. I couldn't use them if I had them.
They would be no manner of use to me. I couldn't eat them or.
. ."
He
suddenly stopped and the old cunning look spread over his face, like a wind
sweep on the surface of the water.
"And
doctor, as to life, what is it after all?
When you've got all you require, and you know that you will never
want, that is all.
I have friends, good friends, like you, Dr. Seward."This was
said with a leer of inexpressible cunning. "I know that I shall never
lack the means of life!"
I
think that through the cloudiness of his insanity he saw some antagonism in
me, for he at once fell back on the last refuge of such as he, a dogged
silence. After
a short time I saw that for the present it was useless to speak to him. He
was sulky, and so I came away.
Later
in the day he sent for me.
Ordinarily I would not have come without special reason, but just at
present I am so interested in him that I would gladly make an effort.
Besides, I am glad to have anything to help pass the time. Harker is out,
following up clues, and so are Lord Godalming and Quincey. Van
Helsing sits in my study poring over the record prepared by the Harkers.
He seems to think that by accurate knowledge of all details he will
light up on some clue. He does not wish to be disturbed in the work, without
cause. I would have taken him with me to see the patient, only I thought
that after his last repulse he might not care to go again. There was also
another reason.
Renfield might not speak so freely before a third person as when he
and I were alone.
I
found him sitting in the middle of the floor on his stool, a pose which is
generally indicative of some mental energy on his part. When I came in, he
said at once, as though the question had been waiting on his lips.
"What about souls?"
It
was evident then that my surmise had been correct. Unconscious cerebration
was doing its work, even with the lunatic. I determined to have the matter
out.
"What
about them yourself?"
I asked.
He
did not reply for a moment but looked all around him, and up and down, as
though he expected to find some inspiration for an answer.
"I
don't want any souls!"
He said in a feeble, apologetic way. The matter seemed preying on his
mind, and so I determined to use it, to "be cruel only to be
kind."
So I said, "You like life, and you want life?"
"Oh
yes! But
that is all right.
You needn't worry about that!"
"But,"
I asked, "how are we to get the life without getting the soul
also?"
This
seemed to puzzle him, so I followed it up, "A nice time you'll have
some time when you're flying out here, with the souls of thousands of flies
and spiders and birds and cats buzzing and twittering and moaning all around
you. You've got their lives, you know, and you must put up with their
souls!"
Something
seemed to affect his imagination, for he put his fingers to his ears and
shut his eyes, screwing them up tightly just as a small boy does when his
face is being soaped. There was something pathetic in it that touched me. It
also gave me a lesson, for it seemed that before me was a child, only a
child, though the features were worn, and the stubble on the jaws was white.
It was evident that he was undergoing some process of mental
disturbance, and knowing how his past moods had interpreted things seemingly
foreign to himself, I thought I would enter into his mind as well as I could
and go with him
The
first step was to restore confidence, so I asked him, speaking pretty loud
so that he would hear me through his closed ears, "Would you like some
sugar to get your flies around again?"
He
seemed to wake up all at once, and shook his head. With a laugh he replied,
"Not much!
Flies are poor things, after all!"
After a pause he added, "But I don't want their souls buzzing
round me, all the same."
"Or
spiders?"
I went on.
"Blow
spiders! What's
the use of spiders?
There isn't anything in them to eat or.
. ." He stopped suddenly as though reminded of a forbidden
topic.
"So,
so!" I
thought to myself, "this is the second time he has suddenly stopped at
the word `drink'. What does it mean?"
Renfield
seemed himself aware of having made a lapse, for he hurried on, as though to
distract my attention from it, "I don't take any stock at all in such
matters. `Rats and mice and such small deer,' as Shakespeare has it,
`chicken feed of the larder' they might be called. I'm past all that sort of
nonsense. You
might as well ask a man to eat molecules with a pair of chopsticks, as to
try to interest me about the less carnivora, when I know of what is before
me."
"I
see," I said."You want big things that you can make your teeth
meet in? How would you like to breakfast on an elephant?"
"What
ridiculous nonsense you are talking?"
He was getting too wide awake, so I thought I would press him hard.
"I
wonder," I said reflectively, "what an elephant's soul is
like!"
The
effect I desired was obtained, for he at once fell from his high-horse and
became a child again.
"I
don't want an elephant's soul, or any soul at all!" he said. For a few
moments he sat despondently.
Suddenly he jumped to his feet, with his eyes blazing and all the
signs of intense cerebral excitement. "To hell with you and your
souls!" he shouted.
"Why do you plague me about souls?
Haven't I got enough to worry, and pain, to distract me already,
without thinking of souls?"
He
looked so hostile that I thought he was in for another homicidal fit, so I
blew my whistle.
The
instant, however, that I did so he became calm, and said apologetically,
"Forgive me, Doctor.
I forgot myself.
You do not need any help. I am so worried in my mind that I am apt to
be irritable.
If you only knew the problem I have to face, and that I am working
out, you would pity, and tolerate, and pardon me.
Pray do not put me in a strait waistcoat. I want to think and I
cannot think freely when my body is confined. I am sure you will
understand!"
He
had evidently self-control, so when the attendants came I told them not to
mind, and they withdrew.
Renfield watched them go. When the door was closed he said with
considerable dignity and sweetness, "Dr. Seward, you have been very
considerate towards me. Believe me that I am very, very grateful to
you!"
I
thought it well to leave him in this mood, and so I came away. There is
certainly something to ponder over in this man's state. Several points seem
to make what the American interviewer calls "a story," if one
could only get them in proper order. Here they are:
Will
not mention "drinking."
Fears
the thought of being burdened with the "soul" of anything.
Has
no dread of wanting "life" in the future.
Despises
the meaner forms of life altogether, though he dreads being haunted by their
souls.
Logically
all these things point one way!
He has assurance of some kind that he will acquire some higher life.
He
dreads the consequence, the burden of a soul. Then it is a human life he
looks to!
And
the assurance.
. .?
Merciful
God! The
Count has been to him, and there is some new scheme of terror afoot!
Later.--I
went after my round to Van Helsing and told him my suspicion.
He grew very grave, and after thinking the matter over for a while
asked me to take him to Renfield.
I did so. As we came to the door we heard the lunatic within singing
gaily, as he used to do in the time which now seems so long ago.
When
we entered we saw with amazement that he had spread out his sugar as of old.
The flies, lethargic with the autumn, were beginning to buzz into the
room. We
tried to make him talk of the subject of our previous conversation, but he
would not attend. He went on with his singing, just as though we had not
been present. He had got a scrap of paper and was folding it into a
notebook. We had to come away as ignorant as we went in.
His
is a curious case indeed.
We must watch him tonight.
LETTER,
MITCHELL, SONS & CANDY TO LORD GODALMING.
"1
October.
"My
Lord,
"We
are at all times only too happy to meet your wishes. We beg, with regard to
the desire of your Lordship, expressed by Mr. Harker on your behalf, to
supply the following information concerning the sale and purchase of No.
347, Piccadilly. The original vendors are the executors of the late Mr.
Archibald Winter-Suffield. The purchaser is a foreign nobleman, Count de
Ville, who effected the purchase himself paying the purchase money in notes
`over the counter,' if your Lordship will pardon us using so vulgar an
expression. Beyond this we know nothing whatever of him.
"We
are, my Lord,
"Your
Lordship's humble servants,
"MITCHELL,
SONS & CANDY."
DR.
SEWARD'S DIARY
2
October.--I placed a man in the corridor last night, and told him to make an
accurate note of any sound he might hear from Renfield's room, and gave him
instructions that if there should be anything strange he was to call me.
After dinner, when we had all gathered round the fire in the study, Mrs.
Harker having gone to bed, we discussed the attempts and discoveries of the
day. Harker
was the only one who had any result, and we are in great hopes that his clue
may be an important one.
Before
going to bed I went round to the patient's room and looked in through the
observation trap.
He was sleeping soundly, his heart rose and fell with regular
respiration.
This
morning the man on duty reported to me that a little after midnight he was
restless and kept saying his prayers somewhat loudly. I asked him if that
was all. He
replied that it was all he heard. There was something about his manner, so
suspicious that I asked him point blank if he had been asleep. He denied
sleep, but admitted to having "dozed" for a while. It is too bad
that men cannot be trusted unless they are watched.
Today
Harker is out following up his clue, and Art and Quincey are looking after
horses. Godalming
thinks that it will be well to have horses always in readiness, for when we
get the information which we seek there will be no time to lose. We must
sterilize all the imported earth between sunrise and sunset. We shall thus
catch the Count at his weakest, and without a refuge to fly to.
Van Helsing is off to the British Museum looking up some authorities
on ancient medicine. The old physicians took account of things which their
followers do not accept, and the Professor is searching for witch and demon
cures which may be useful to us later.
I
sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in
strait waistcoats.
Later.--We
have met again.
We seem at last to be on the track, and our work of tomorrow may be
the beginning of the end. I wonder if Renfield's quiet has anything to do
with this. His moods have so followed the doings of the Count, that the
coming destruction of the monster may be carried to him some subtle way. If
we could only get some hint as to what passed in his mind, between the time
of my argument with him today and his resumption of fly-catching, it might
afford us a valuable clue. He is now seemingly quiet for a spell.
. . Is he? That wild yell seemed to come from his room.
. .
The
attendant came bursting into my room and told me that Renfield had somehow
met with some accident.
He had heard him yell, and when he went to him found him lying on his
face on the floor, all covered with blood. I must go at once.
. .
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