No More Learning

I only hope we have done what is
best. These things, in conjunction with the wild work we have in hand,
help to unnerve a man. " The Professor stepped over, and laying a hand on
his shoulder, said in his grave, kindly way:--

"Friend John, have no fear. We are trying to do our duty in a very sad
and terrible case; we can only do as we deem best. What else have we to
hope for, except the pity of the good God? " Lord Godalming had slipped
away for a few minutes, but he now returned. He held up a little silver
whistle as he remarked:--

"That old place may be full of rats, and if so, I've got an antidote on
call. " Having passed the wall, we took our way to the house, taking care
to keep in the shadows of the trees on the lawn when the moonlight shone
out. When we got to the porch the Professor opened his bag and took
out a lot of things, which he laid on the step, sorting them into four
little groups, evidently one for each. Then he spoke:--

"My friends, we are going into a terrible danger, and we need arms of
many kinds. Our enemy is not merely spiritual. Remember that he has the
strength of twenty men, and that, though our necks or our windpipes are
of the common kind--and therefore breakable or crushable--his is not
amenable to mere strength. A stronger man, or a body of men more strong
in all than him, can at certain times hold him; but yet they cannot hurt
him as we can be hurt by him. We must, therefore, guard ourselves from
his touch. Keep this near your heart"--as he spoke he lifted a little
silver crucifix and held it out to me, I being nearest to him--"put
these flowers round your neck"--here he handed to me a wreath of
withered garlic blossoms--"for other enemies more mundane, this revolver
and this knife; and for aid in all, these so small electric lamps, which
you can fasten to your breast; and for all, and above all at the last,
this, which we must not desecrate needless. " This was a portion of
sacred wafer, which he put in an envelope and handed to me. Each of the
others was similarly equipped. "Now," he said, "friend John, where are
the skeleton keys? If so that we can open the door, we need not break
house by the window, as before at Miss Lucy's. "

Dr. Seward tried one or two skeleton keys, his mechanical dexterity as
a surgeon standing him in good stead. Presently he got one to suit;
after a little play back and forward the bolt yielded, and, with a rusty
clang, shot back. We pressed on the door, the rusty hinges creaked, and
it slowly opened. It was startlingly like the image conveyed to me in
Dr. Seward's diary of the opening of Miss Westenra's tomb; I fancy that
the same idea seemed to strike the others, for with one accord they
shrank back. The Professor was the first to move forward, and stepped
into the open door.

"_In manus tuas, Domine! _" he said, crossing himself as he passed over
the threshold. We closed the door behind us, lest when we should have
lit our lamps we might possibly attract attention from the road. The
Professor carefully tried the lock, lest we might not be able to open it
from within should we be in a hurry to make our exit. Then we all lit
our lamps and proceeded on our search.

The light from the tiny lamps fell in all sorts of odd forms, as the
rays crossed each other, or the opacity of our bodies threw great
shadows. I could not for my life get away from the feeling that there
was some one else amongst us. I suppose it was the recollection, so
powerfully brought home to me by the grim surroundings, of that terrible
experience in Transylvania. I think the feeling was common to us all,
for I noticed that the others kept looking over their shoulders at every
sound and every new shadow, just as I felt myself doing.

The whole place was thick with dust. The floor was seemingly inches
deep, except where there were recent footsteps, in which on holding down
my lamp I could see marks of hobnails where the dust was caked. The
walls were fluffy and heavy with dust, and in the corners were masses of
spiders' webs, whereon the dust had gathered till they looked like old
tattered rags as the weight had torn them partly down. On a table in the
hall was a great bunch of keys, with a time-yellowed label on each. They
had been used several times, for on the table were several similar rents
in the blanket of dust, like that exposed when the Professor lifted the
keys. He turned to me and said:----

"You know this place, Jonathan. You have copied maps of it, and you
know at least more than we do. Which is the way to the chapel? " I had
an idea of its direction, though on my former visit I had not been
able to get admission to it; so I led the way, and after a few wrong
turnings found myself opposite a low, arched oaken door, ribbed with
iron bands. "This is the spot," said the Professor, as he turned his
lamp on a small map of the house, copied from the file of my original
correspondence regarding the purchase. With a little trouble we found
the key on the bunch and opened the door. We were prepared for some
unpleasantness, for as we were opening the door a faint, malodorous air
seemed to exhale through the gaps, but none of us ever expected such an
odour as we encountered. None of the others had met the Count at all at
close quarters, and when I had seen him he was either in the fasting
stage of his existence in his rooms or, when he was bloated with fresh
blood, in a ruined building open to the air; but here the place was
small and close, and the long disuse had made the air stagnant and foul.
There was an earthy smell, as of some dry miasma, which came through the
fouler air. But as to the odour itself, how shall I describe it? It was
not alone that it was composed of all the ills of mortality and with
the pungent, acrid smell of blood, but it seemed as though corruption
had become itself corrupt. Faugh! it sickens me to think of it. Every
breath exhaled by that monster seemed to have clung to the place and
intensified its loathsomeness.

Under ordinary circumstances such a stench would have brought our
enterprise to an end; but this was no ordinary case, and the high and
terrible purpose in which we were involved gave us a strength which rose
above merely physical considerations. After the involuntary shrinking
consequent on the first nauseous whiff, we one and all set about our
work as though that loathsome place were a garden of roses.

We made an accurate examination of the place, the Professor saying as we
began:----

"The first thing is to see how many of the boxes are left; we must then
examine every hole and corner and cranny, and see if we cannot get some
clue as to what has become of the rest. " A glance was sufficient to show
how many remained, for the great earth chests were bulky, and there was
no mistaking them.

There were only twenty-nine left out of the fifty! Once I got a fright,
for, seeing Lord Godalming suddenly turn and look out of the vaulted
door into the dark passage beyond, I looked too, and for an instant my
heart stood still. Somewhere, looking out from the shadow, I seemed to
see the high lights of the Count's evil face, the ridge of the nose, the
red eyes, the red lips, the awful pallor. It was only for a moment, for
as Lord Godalming said, "I thought I saw a face, but it was only the
shadows," and resumed his inquiry, I turned my lamp in the direction,
and stepped into the passage. There was no sign of any one; and as there
were no corners, no doors, no aperture of any kind, but only the solid
walls of the passage, there could be no hiding-place even for _him_. I
took it that fear had helped imagination, and said nothing.

A few minutes later I saw Morris step suddenly back from a corner, which
he was examining. We all followed his movements with our eyes, for
undoubtedly some nervousness was growing on us, and we saw a whole mass
of phosphorescence, which twinkled like stars. We all instinctively drew
back. The whole place was becoming alive with rats.

For a moment or two we stood appalled, all save Lord Godalming, who was
seemingly prepared for such an emergency. Rushing over to the great
iron-bound oaken door, which Dr. Seward had described from the outside,
and which I had seen myself, he turned the key in the lock, drew the
huge bolts, and swung the door open. Then, taking his little silver
whistle from his pocket, he blew a low, shrill call. It was answered
from behind Dr. Seward's house by the yelping of dogs, and after about
a minute three terriers came dashing round the corner of the house.
Unconsciously we had all moved towards the door, and as we moved I
noticed that the dust had been much disturbed: the boxes which had been
taken out had been brought this way. But even in the minute that had
elapsed the number of the rats had vastly increased. They seemed to
swarm over the place all at once, till the lamplight, shining on their
moving dark bodies and glittering, baleful eyes, made the place look
like a bank of earth set with fireflies. The dogs dashed on, but at the
threshold suddenly stopped and snarled, and then, simultaneously lifting
their noses, began to howl in most lugubrious fashion. The rats were
multiplying in thousands, and moved out.

Lord Godalming lifted one of the dogs, and carrying him in, placed him
on the floor. The instant his feet touched the ground he seemed to
recover his courage, and rushed at his natural enemies. They fled before
him so fast that before he had shaken the life out of a score, the other
dogs, who had by now been lifted in in the same manner, had but small
prey ere the whole mass had vanished.

With their going it seemed as if some evil presence had departed, for
the dogs frisked about and barked merrily as they made sudden darts at
their prostrate foes, and turned them over and over and tossed them in
the air with vicious shakes. We all seemed to find our spirits rise.
Whether it was the purifying of the deadly atmosphere by the opening
of the chapel door, or the relief which we experienced by finding
ourselves in the open, I know not; but most certainly the shadow of
dread seemed to slip from us like a robe, and the occasion of our coming
lost something of its grim significance, though we did not slacken a
whit in our resolution. We closed the outer door and barred and locked
it, and bringing the dogs with us, began our search of the house. We
found nothing throughout except dust in extraordinary proportions, and
all untouched save for my own footsteps when I had made my first visit.
Never once did the dogs exhibit any symptom of uneasiness, and even when
we returned to the chapel they frisked about as though they had been
rabbit-hunting in a summer wood.

The morning was quickening in the east when we emerged from the front.
Dr. Van Helsing had taken the key of the hall-door from the bunch, and
locked the door in orthodox fashion, putting the key into his pocket
when he had done.

"So far," he said, "our night has been eminently successful. No harm
has come to us such as I feared might be, and yet we have ascertained
how many boxes are missing. More than all do I rejoice that this, our
first--and perhaps our most difficult and dangerous--step has been
accomplished without the bringing thereinto our most sweet Madam Mina
or troubling her waking or sleeping thoughts with sights and sounds and
smells of horror which she might never forget. One lesson, too, we have
learned, if it be allowable to argue _a particulari_: that the brute
beasts which are to the Count's command are yet themselves not amenable
to his spiritual power; for look, these rats that would come to his
call, just as from his castle top he summon the wolves to your going and
to that poor mother's cry, though they come to him, they run pell-mell
from the so little dogs of my friend Arthur. We have other matters
before us, other dangers, other fears; and that monster--he has not used
his power over the brute world for the only or the last time to-night.
So be it that he has gone elsewhere. Good! It has given us opportunity
to cry 'check' in some way in this chess game, which we play for the
stake of human souls. And now let us go home. The dawn is close at hand,
and we have reason to be content with our first night's work. It may be
ordained that we have many nights and days to follow, if full of peril;
but we must go on, and from no danger shall we shrink. "

The house was silent when we got back, save for some poor creature who
was screaming away in one of the distant wards, and a low, moaning sound
from Renfield's room. The poor wretch was doubtless torturing himself,
after the manner of the insane, with needless thoughts of pain.

I came tiptoe into our own room, and found Mina asleep, breathing
so softly that I had to put my ear down to hear it. She looks paler
than usual. I hope the meeting to-night has not upset her. I am truly
thankful that she is to be left out of our future work, and even of our
deliberations. It is too great a strain for a woman to bear. I did not
think so at first, but I know better now. Therefore I am glad that it
is settled. There may be things which would frighten her to hear; and
yet to conceal them from her might be worse than to tell her if once she
suspected that there was any concealment. Henceforth our work is to be
a sealed book to her, till at least such time as we can tell her that
all is finished, and the earth free from a monster of the nether world.
I daresay it will be difficult to begin to keep silence after such
confidence as ours; but I must be resolute, and tomorrow I shall keep
dark over to-night's doings, and shall refuse to speak of anything that
has happened. I rest on the sofa, so as not to disturb her.

_1 October, later. _--I suppose it was natural that we should have all
overslept ourselves, for the day was a busy one, and the night had no
rest at all. Even Mina must have felt its exhaustion, for though I slept
till the sun was high, I was awake before her, and had to call two or
three times before she awoke. Indeed, she was so sound asleep that for
a few seconds she did not recognise me, but looked at me with a sort of
blank terror, as one looks who has been waked out of a bad dream. She
complained a little of being tired, and I let her rest till later in
the day. We now know of twenty-one boxes having been removed, and if it
be that several were taken in any of these removals we may be able to
trace them all. Such will, of course, immensely simplify our labour, and
the sooner the matter is attended to the better. I shall look up Thomas
Snelling today.


_Dr. Seward's Diary. _

_1 October. _--It was towards noon when I was awakened by the Professor
walking into my room. He was more jolly and cheerful than usual, and
it is quite evident that last night's work has helped to take some of
the brooding weight off his mind. After going over the adventure of the
night he suddenly said:----

"Your patient interests me much. May it be that with you I visit him
this morning? Or if that you are too occupy, I can go alone if it may
be. It is a new experience to me to find a lunatic who talk philosophy,
and reason so sound. " I had some work to do which pressed, so I told him
that if he would go alone I would be glad, as then I should not have to
keep him waiting; so I called an attendant and gave him the necessary
instructions. Before the Professor left the room I cautioned him against
getting any false impression from my patient. "But," he answered, "I
want him to talk of himself and of his delusion as to consuming live
things. He said to Madam Mina, as I see in your diary of yesterday, that
he had once had such a belief. Why do you smile, friend John? "

"Excuse me," I said, "but the answer is here. " I laid my hand on the
typewritten matter. "When our sane and learned lunatic made that very
statement of how he _used_ to consume life, his mouth was actually
nauseous with the flies and spiders which he had eaten just before Mrs.
Harker entered the room. " Van Helsing smiled in turn. "Good! " he said.
"Your memory is true, friend John. I should have remembered. And yet it
is this very obliquity of thought and memory which makes mental disease
such a fascinating study. Perhaps I may gain more knowledge out of the
folly of this madman than I shall from the teaching of the most wise.
Who knows? " I went on with my work, and before long was through that in
hand. It seemed that the time had been very short indeed, but there was
Van Helsing back in the study. "Do I interrupt? " he asked politely as he
stood at the door.

"Not at all," I answered. "Come in. My work is finished, and I am free.
I can go with you now, if you like. "

"It is needless; I have seen him! "

"Well? "

"I fear that he does not appraise me at much. Our interview was short.
When I entered the room he was sitting on a stool in the centre,
with his elbows on his knees, and his face was the picture of sullen
discontent. I spoke to him as cheerfully as I could, and with such a
measure of respect as I could assume. He made no reply whatever. 'Don't
you know me? ' I asked. His answer was not reassuring: 'I know you well
enough; you are the old fool Van Helsing. I wish you would take yourself
and your idiotic brain theories somewhere else. Damn all thick-headed
Dutchmen! ' Not a word more would he say, but sat in his implacable
sullenness as indifferent to me as though I had not been in the room at
all. Thus departed for this time my chance of much learning from this
so clever lunatic; so I shall go, if I may, and cheer myself with a
few happy words with that sweet soul Madam Mina. Friend John, it does
rejoice me unspeakable that she is no more to be pained, no more to be
worried, with our terrible things. Though we shall much miss her help,
it is better so. "

"I agree with you with all my heart," I answered earnestly, for I did
not want him to weaken in this matter. "Mrs. Harker is better out of it.
Things are quite bad enough for us, all men of the world, and who have
been in many tight places in our time; but it is no place for a woman,
and if she had remained in touch with the affair, it would in time
infallibly have wrecked her. "

So Van Helsing has gone to confer with Mrs. Harker and Harker; Quincey
and Art are both out following up the clues as to the earth-boxes. I
shall finish my round of work, and we shall meet to-night.


_Mina Harker's Journal. _

_1 October. _--It is strange to me to be kept in the dark as I am
today; after Jonathan's full confidence for so many years, to see him
manifestly avoid certain matters, and those the most vital of all.
This morning I slept late after the fatigues of yesterday, and though
Jonathan was late too, he was the earlier. He spoke to me before he went
out, never more sweetly or tenderly, but he never mentioned a word of
what had happened in the visit to the Count's house. And yet he must
have known how terribly anxious I was. Poor dear fellow! I suppose it
must have distressed him even more than it did me. They all agreed that
it was best that I should not be drawn further into this awful work, and
I acquiesced. But to think that he keeps anything from me! And now I am
crying like a silly fool, when I _know_ it comes from my husband's great
love and from the good, good wishes of those other strong men. . . .

That has done me good. Well, some day Jonathan will tell me all; and
lest it should ever be that he should think for a moment that I kept
anything from him, I still keep my journal as usual. Then if he has
doubted of my trust I shall show it to him, with every thought of my
heart put down for his dear eyes to read. I feel strangely sad and
low-spirited to-day. I suppose it is the reaction from the terrible
excitement.

Last night I went to bed when the men had gone, simply because they told
me to.
I didn't feel sleepy, and I did feel full of devouring anxiety.
I kept thinking over everything that has been ever since Jonathan came
to see me in London, and it all seems like a horrible tragedy, with fate
pressing on relentlessly to some destined end. Everything that one does
seems, no matter how right it may be, to bring on the very thing which
is most to be deplored. If I hadn't gone to Whitby, perhaps poor dear
Lucy would be with us now. She hadn't taken to visiting the churchyard
till I came, and if she hadn't come there in the daytime with me she
wouldn't have walked there in her sleep; and if she hadn't gone there
at night and asleep, that monster couldn't have destroyed her as he
did. Oh, why did I ever go to Whitby? There now, crying again! I wonder
what has come over me to-day. I must hide it from Jonathan, for if he
knew that I had been crying twice in one morning--I, who never cried on
my own account, and whom he has never caused to shed a tear--the dear
fellow would fret his heart out. I shall put a bold face on, and if I do
feel weepy, he shall never see it. I suppose it is one of the lessons
that we poor women have to learn. . . .

I can't quite remember how I fell asleep last night. I remember
hearing the sudden barking of the dogs and a lot of queer sounds, like
praying on a very tumultuous scale, from Mr. Renfield's room, which
is somewhere under this. And then there was silence over everything,
silence so profound that it startled me, and I got up and looked out of
the window. All was dark and silent, the black shadows thrown by the
moonlight seeming full of a silent mystery of their own. Not a thing
seemed to be stirring, but all to be grim and fixed as death or fate; so
that a thin streak of white mist, that crept with almost imperceptible
slowness across the grass towards the house, seemed to have a sentience
and a vitality of its own. I think that the digression of my thoughts
must have done me good, for when I got back to bed I found a lethargy
creeping over me. I lay awhile, but could not quite sleep, so I got out
and looked out of the window again. The mist was spreading, and was now
close up to the house, so that I could see it lying thick against the
wall, as though it were stealing up to the windows. The poor man was
more loud than ever, and though I could not distinguish a word he said,
I could in some way recognise in his tones some passionate entreaty on
his part. Then there was the sound of a struggle, and I knew that the
attendants were dealing with him. I was so frightened that I crept into
bed, and pulled the clothes over my head, putting my fingers in my ears.
I was not then a bit sleepy, at least so I thought; but I must have
fallen asleep, for, except dreams, I do not remember anything until the
morning, when Jonathan woke me. I think that it took me an effort and
a little time to realise where I was, and that it was Jonathan who was
bending over me. My dream was very peculiar, and was almost typical of
the way that waking thoughts become merged in, or continued in, dreams.

I thought that I was asleep, and waiting for Jonathan to come back. I
was very anxious about him, and I was powerless to act; my feet, and
my hands, and my brain were weighted, so that nothing could proceed at
the usual pace. And so I slept uneasily and thought. Then it began to
dawn upon me that the air was heavy, and dank, and cold. I put back the
clothes from my face, and found, to my surprise, that all was dim around
me. The gas-light which I had left lit for Jonathan, but turned down,
came only like a tiny red spark through the fog, which had evidently
grown thicker and poured into the room. Then it occurred to me that I
had shut the window before I had come to bed. I would have got out to
make certain on the point, but some leaden lethargy seemed to chain my
limbs and even my will. I lay still and endured; that was all. I closed
my eyes, but could still see through my eyelids. (It is wonderful what
tricks our dreams play us, and how conveniently we can imagine. ) The
mist grew thicker and thicker, and I could see now how it came in,
for I could see it like smoke--or with the white energy of boiling
water--pouring in, not through the window, but through the joinings of
the door. It got thicker and thicker, till it seemed as if it became
concentrated into a sort of pillar of cloud in the room, through the
top of which I could see the light of the gas shining like a red eye.
Things began to whirl through my brain just as the cloudy column was now
whirling in the room, and through it all came the scriptural words "a
pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night. " Was it indeed some such
spiritual guidance that was coming to me in my sleep? But the pillar was
composed of both the day and the night-guiding, for the fire was in the
red eye, which at the thought got a new fascination for me; till, as I
looked, the fire divided, and seemed to shine on me through the fog like
two red eyes; such as Lucy told me of in her momentary mental wandering
when, on the cliff, the dying sunlight struck the windows of St. Mary's
Church. Suddenly the horror burst upon me that it was thus that Jonathan
had seen those awful women growing into reality through the whirling
mist in the moonlight, and in my dream I must have fainted, for all
became black darkness. The last conscious effort which imagination made
was to show me a livid white face bending over me out of the mist. I
must be careful of such dreams, for they would unseat one's reason if
there was too much of them. I would get Dr. Van Helsing or Dr. Seward to
prescribe something for me which would make me sleep, only that I fear
to alarm them. Such a dream at the present time would become woven into
their fears for me. To-night I shall strive hard to sleep naturally. If
I do not, I shall to-morrow night get them to give me a dose of chloral;
that cannot hurt me for once, and it will give me a good night's sleep.
Last night tired me more than if I had not slept at all.

_2 October, 10 p. m. _--Last night I slept, but did not dream. I must
have slept soundly, for I was not waked by Jonathan coming to bed; but
the sleep has not refreshed me, for to-day I feel terribly weak and
spiritless. I spent all yesterday trying to read, or lying down dozing.
In the afternoon Mr. Renfield asked if he might see me. Poor man, he
was very gentle, and when I came away he kissed my hand and bade God
bless me. Some way it affected me much; I am crying when I think of him.
This is a new weakness, of which I must be careful. Jonathan would be
miserable if he knew I had been crying. He and the others were out until
dinner-time, and they all came in tired. I did what I could to brighten
them up, and I suppose that the effort did me good, for I forgot how
tired I was. After dinner they sent me to bed, and all went off to smoke
together, as they said, but I knew that they wanted to tell each other
of what had occurred to each during the day; I could see from Jonathan's
manner that he had something important to communicate. I was not so
sleepy as I should have been; so before they went I asked Dr. Seward to
give me a little opiate of some kind, as I had not slept well the night
before. He very kindly made me up a sleeping draught, which he gave to
me, telling me that it would do me no harm, as it was very mild. . . . I
have taken it, and am waiting for sleep, which still keeps aloof. I hope
I have not done wrong, for as sleep begins to flirt with me, a new fear
comes: that I may have been foolish in thus depriving myself of the
power of waking. I might want it. Here comes sleep. Good-night.




CHAPTER XX.


/Jonathan Harker's Journal. /

_1 October, evening. _--I found Thomas Snelling in his house at Bethnal
Green, but unhappily he was not in a condition to remember anything.
The very prospect of beer which my expected coming had opened to
him had proved too much, and he had begun too early on his expected
debauch. I learned, however, from his wife, who seemed a decent, poor
soul, that he was only the assistant to Smollet, who of the two mates
was the responsible person. So off I drove to Walworth, and found Mr.
Joseph Smollet at home and in his shirt-sleeves, taking a late tea out
of a saucer. He is a decent, intelligent fellow, distinctly a good,
reliable type of workman, and with a headpiece of his own. He remembered
all about the incident of the boxes, and from a wonderful dog's-eared
notebook, which he produced from some mysterious receptacle about the
seat of his trousers, and which had hieroglyphical entries in thick,
half-obliterated pencil, he gave me the destinations of the boxes.
There were, he said, six in the cartload which he took from Carfax and
left at 197 Chicksand Street, Mile End New Town, and another six which
he deposited at Jamaica Lane, Bermondsey. If then the Count meant to
scatter these ghastly refuges of his over London, these places were
chosen at the first of delivery, so that later he might distribute more
fully. The systematic manner in which this was done made me think that
he could not mean to confine himself to two sides of London. He was now
fixed on the far east of the northern shore, on the east of the southern
shore, and on the south. The north and west were surely never meant to
be left out of his diabolical scheme--let alone the City itself and the
very heart of fashionable London in the south-west and west. I went back
to Smollet and asked him if he could tell us if any other boxes had been
taken from Carfax.

He replied:--

"Well, guv'nor, you've treated me wery 'an'some"--I had given him half
a sovereign--"an' I'll tell yer all I know. I heeard a man by the name
of Bloxam say four nights ago in the 'Are an' 'Ounds, in Pincher's
Alley, as 'ow he an' his mate 'ad 'ad a rare dusty job in a old 'ouse at
Purfleet. There ain't a-many such jobs as this 'ere, an' I'm thinkin'
that maybe Sam Bloxam could tell ye summut. " I asked if he could tell
me where to find him. I told him that if he could get me the address it
would be worth another half-sovereign to him. So he gulped down the rest
of his tea and stood up, saying that he was going to begin the search
then and there. 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 to-night. 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 to-night. But
ye'd better be up arter 'im soon in the mornin', or maybe ye won't ketch
'im; for Sam gets off main early, 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 to-night, and want
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, 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 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 these 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
coin of the realm, put me on the track of Bloxam; he was sent for on my
suggesting that I was willing to pay his day's 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 doors 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 into the house if they were both 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 up-end 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
to 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, and '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 seem' 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 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 if I could find
the former owner there might be some means 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 round 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 he had 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.