No More Learning

" Coming close to Arthur,
he said:--

"My friend Arthur, you have had sore trial; but after, when you will
look back, you will see how it was necessary. You are now in the
bitter waters, my child. By this time tomorrow, you will, please God,
have passed them, and have drunk of the sweet waters; so do not mourn
overmuch. Till then I shall not ask you to forgive me. "

Arthur and Quincey came home with me, and we tried to cheer each other
on the way. We had left the child in safety, and were tired; so we all
slept with more or less reality of sleep.

_29 September, night. _--A little before twelve o'clock we three--Arthur,
Quincey Morris, and myself--called for the Professor. It was odd to
notice that by common consent we had all put on black clothes. Of
course, Arthur wore black, for he was in deep mourning, but the rest of
us wore it by instinct. We got to the churchyard by half-past one, and
strolled about, keeping out of official observation, so that when the
gravediggers had completed their task, and the sexton, under the belief
that everyone had gone, had locked the gate, we had the place all to
ourselves. Van Helsing, instead of his little black bag, had with him a
long leather one, something like a cricketing bag; it was manifestly of
fair weight.

When we were alone and had heard the last of the footsteps die out up
the road, we silently, and as if by ordered intention, followed the
Professor to the tomb. He unlocked the door, and we entered, closing
it behind us. Then he took from his bag the lantern, which he lit, and
also two wax candles, which, when lighted, he stuck, by melting their
own ends, on other coffins, so that they might give light sufficient
to work by. When he again lifted the lid off Lucy's coffin we all
looked--Arthur trembling like an aspen--and saw that the body lay there
in all its death-beauty. But there was no love in my own heart, nothing
but loathing for the foul Thing which had taken Lucy's shape without her
soul. I could see even Arthur's face grow hard as he looked. Presently
he said to Van Helsing:--

"Is this really Lucy's body, or only a demon in her shape? "

"It is her body, and yet not it. But wait a while, and you shall see her
as she was, and is. "

She seemed like a nightmare of Lucy as she lay there; the pointed
teeth, the bloodstained, voluptuous mouth--which it made one shudder
to see--the whole carnal and unspiritual appearance, seeming like
a devilish mockery of Lucy's sweet purity. Van Helsing, in his
methodicalness, began taking the various contents from his bag and
placing them ready for use. First he took out a soldering iron and some
plumbing solder, and then a small oil-lamp, which gave out, when lit in
a corner of the tomb, gas which burned at fierce heat with a blue flame;
then his operating knives, which he placed to hand; and last a round
wooden stake, some two and a half or three inches thick and about three
feet long. One end of it was hardened by charring in the fire, and was
sharpened to a fine point. With this stake came a heavy hammer, such
as in households is used in the coal-cellar for breaking the lumps. To
me, a doctor's preparations for work of any kind are stimulating and
bracing, but the effect of these things on both Arthur and Quincey was
to cause them a sort of consternation. They both, however, kept their
courage, and remained silent and quiet.

When all was ready, Van Helsing said:--

"Before we do anything, let me tell you this; it is out of the lore and
experience of the ancients and of all those who have studied the powers
of the Un-Dead. When they become such, there comes with the change the
curse of immortality; they cannot die, but must go on age after age
adding new victims and multiplying the evils of the world; for all that
die from the preying of the Un-Dead become themselves Un-Dead, and prey
on their kind. And so the circle goes on ever widening, like as the
ripples from a stone thrown in the water. Friend Arthur, if you had
met that kiss which you know of before poor Lucy die; or again, last
night when you open your arms to her, you would in time, when you had
died, have become _nosferatu_, as they call it in Eastern Europe, and
would all time make more of those Un-Deads that so have fill us with
horror. The career of this so unhappy dear lady is but just begun.
Those children whose blood she suck are not as yet so much the worse;
but if she live on, Un-Dead, more and more they lose their blood, and
by her power over them they come to her; and so she draw their blood
with that so wicked mouth. But if she die in truth, then all cease; the
tiny wounds of the throats disappear, and they go back to their plays
unknowing ever of what has been. But of the most blessed of all, when
this now Un-Dead be made to rest as true dead, then the soul of the poor
lady whom we love shall again be free. Instead of working wickedness by
night and growing more debased in the assimilation of it by day, she
shall take her place with the other Angels. So that, my friend, it will
be a blessed hand for her that shall strike the blow that sets her free.
To this I am willing; but is there none amongst us who has a better
right? Will it be no joy to think of hereafter in the silence of the
night when sleep is not: 'It was my hand that sent her to the stars; it
was the hand of him that loved her best; the hand that of all she would
herself have chosen, had it been to her to choose'? Tell me if there be
such a one amongst us. "

We all looked at Arthur. He saw, too, what we all did, the infinite
kindness which suggested that his should be the hand which would restore
Lucy to us as a holy, and not an unholy, memory; he stepped forward and
said bravely, though his hand trembled, and his face was as pale as
snow:--

"My true friend, from the bottom of my broken heart I thank you. Tell me
what I am to do, and I shall not falter! " Van Helsing laid a hand on his
shoulder, and said:--

"Brave lad! A moment's courage, and it is done. This stake must be
driven through her. It will be a fearful ordeal--be not deceived in
that--but it will be only a short time, and you will then rejoice more
than your pain was great; from this grim tomb you will emerge as though
you tread on air. But you must not falter when once you have begun. Only
think that we, your true friends, are round you, and that we pray for
you all the time. "

"Go on," said Arthur hoarsely. "Tell me what I am to do. "

"Take this stake in your left hand, ready to place the point over the
heart, and the hammer in your right. Then when we begin our prayer for
the dead--I shall read him, I have here the book, and the others shall
follow--strike in God's name, that so all may be well with the dead that
we love, and that the Un-Dead pass away. "

Arthur took the stake and the hammer, and when once his mind was set on
action his hands never trembled nor even quivered. Van Helsing opened
his missal and began to read, and Quincey and I followed as well as we
could. Arthur placed the point over the heart, and as I looked I could
see its dint in the white flesh. Then he struck with all his might.

The Thing in the coffin writhed; and a hideous, blood-curdling screech
came from the opened red lips. The body shook and quivered and twisted
in wild contortions; the sharp white teeth champed together till the
lips were cut and the mouth was smeared with a crimson foam. But Arthur
never faltered. He looked like a figure of Thor as his untrembling arm
rose and fell, driving deeper and deeper the mercy-bearing stake, whilst
the blood from the pierced heart welled and spurted up around it. His
face was set, and high duty seemed to shine through it; the sight of it
gave us courage, so that our voices seemed to ring through the little
vault.

And then the writhing and quivering of the body became less, and the
teeth ceased to champ, and the face to quiver. Finally it lay still. The
terrible task was over.

The hammer fell from Arthur's hand. He reeled and would have fallen had
we not caught him. Great drops of sweat sprang out on his forehead, and
his breath came in broken gasps. It had indeed been an awful strain
on him; and had he not been forced to his task by more than human
considerations he could never have gone through with it. For a few
minutes we were so taken up with him that we did not look towards the
coffin. When we did, however, a murmur of startled surprise ran from one
to the other of us. We gazed so eagerly that Arthur rose, for he had
been seated on the ground, and came and looked too; and then a glad,
strange light broke over his face and dispelled altogether the gloom of
horror that lay upon it.

There in the coffin lay no longer the foul Thing that we had so dreaded
and grown to hate that the work of her destruction was yielded as a
privilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as we had seen her in
her life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and purity. True that
there was there, as we had seen them in life, the traces of care and
pain and waste; but these were all dear to us, for they marked her truth
to what we knew. One and all we felt that the holy calm that lay like
sunshine over the wasted face and form was only an earthly token and
symbol of the calm that was to reign for ever.

Van Helsing came and laid his hand on Arthur's shoulder, and said to
him:--

"And now, Arthur, my friend, dear lad, am I not forgiven? "

The reaction of the terrible strain came as he took the old man's hand
in his, and raising it to his lips, pressed it, and said:--

"Forgiven! God bless you that you have given my dear one her soul again,
and me peace. " He put his hands on the Professor's shoulder, and laying
his head on his breast, cried for a while silently, whilst we stood
unmoving. When he raised his head Van Helsing said to him:--

"And now, my child, you may kiss her. Kiss her dead lips if you will, as
she would have you to, if for her to choose. For she is not a grinning
devil now--not any more a foul Thing for all eternity. No longer she is
the devil's Un-Dead. She is God's true dead, whose soul is with Him! "

Arthur bent and kissed her, and then we sent him and Quincey out of the
tomb; the Professor and I sawed the top off the stake, leaving the point
of it in the body. Then we cut off the head and filled the mouth with
garlic. We soldered up the leaden coffin, screwed on the coffin-lid, and
gathering up our belongings, came away. When the Professor locked the
door he gave the key to Arthur.

Outside the air was sweet, the sun shone, and the birds sang, and it
seemed as if all nature were tuned to a different pitch. There was
gladness and mirth and peace everywhere, for we were at rest ourselves
on one account, and we were glad, though it was with a tempered joy.

Before we moved away Van Helsing said:--

"Now, my friends, one step of our work is done, one the most harrowing
to ourselves. But there remains a greater task: to find out the author
of all this our sorrow and to stamp him out. I have clues which we can
follow; but it is a long task, and a difficult, and there is danger in
it, and pain. Shall you not all help me? We have learned to believe, all
of us--is it not so? And since so, do we not see our duty? Yes! And do
we not promise to go on to the bitter end? "

Each in turn, we took his hand, and the promise was made. Then said the
Professor as we moved off:--

"Two nights hence you shall meet with me and dine together at seven of
the clock with friend John. I shall entreat two others, two that you
know not as yet; and I shall be ready to all our work show and our plans
unfold. Friend John, you come with me home, for I have much to consult
about, and you can help me. To-night I leave for Amsterdam, but shall
return to-morrow night. And then begins our great quest. But first
I shall have much to say, so that you may know what is to do and to
dread. Then our promise shall be made to each other anew; for there is
a terrible task before us, and once our feet are on the ploughshare, we
must not draw back. "




CHAPTER XVII.

/Dr. Seward's Diary/--_continued. _


When we arrived at the Berkeley Hotel, Van Helsing found a telegram
waiting for him:--

"Am coming up by train. Jonathan at Whitby. Important news. --/Mina
Harker. /"

The Professor was delighted. "Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina," he said,
"pearl among women! She arrive, but I cannot stay. She must go to your
house, friend John. You must meet her at the station. Telegraph her _en
route_, so that she may be prepared. "

When the wire was despatched he had a cup of tea; over it he told me of
a diary kept by Jonathan Harker when abroad, and gave me a typewritten
copy of it, as also of Mrs. Harker's diary at Whitby. "Take these," he
said, "and study them well. When I have returned you will be master of
all the facts, and we can then better enter on our inquisition. Keep
them safe, for there is in them much of treasure. You will need all
your faith, even you who have had such an experience as that of to-day.
What is here told," he laid his hand heavily and gravely on the packet
of papers as he spoke, "may be the beginning of the end to you and me
and many another; or it may sound the knell of the Un-Dead who walk
the earth. Read all, I pray you, with the open mind; and if you can
add in any way to the story here told do so, for it is all-important.
You have kept diary of all these so strange things; is it not so? Yes!
Then we shall go through all these together when that we meet. " He then
made ready for his departure, and shortly after drove off to Liverpool
Street. I took my way to Paddington, where I arrived about fifteen
minutes before the train came in.

The crowd melted away after the bustling fashion common to arrival
platforms; and I was beginning to feel uneasy, lest I might miss my
guest, when a sweet-faced, dainty-looking girl stepped up to me, and,
after a quick glance, said: "Dr. Seward, is it not? "

"And you are Mrs. Harker! " I answered at once; whereupon she held out
her hand.

"I knew you from the description of poor dear Lucy; but----" She stopped
suddenly, and a quick blush overspread her face.

The blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both at ease, for
it was a tacit answer to her own. I got her luggage, which included a
typewriter, and we took the Underground to Fenchurch Street, after I
had sent a wire to my housekeeper to have a sitting-room and bedroom
prepared at once for Mrs. Harker.

In due time we arrived. She knew, of course, that the place was a
lunatic asylum, but I could see that she was unable to repress a slight
shudder when we entered.

She told me that, if she might, she would come presently to my study, as
she had much to say. So here I am finishing my entry in my phonograph
diary whilst I await her. As yet I have not had the chance of looking
at the papers which Van Helsing left with me, though they lie open
before me. I must get her interested in something, so that I may have an
opportunity of reading them. She does not know how precious time is, or
what a task we have in hand. I must be careful not to frighten her. Here
she is!


/Mina Harker's Journal. /

_29 September. _--After I had tidied myself, I went down to Dr. Seward's
study. At the door I paused a moment, for I thought I heard him talking
with some one. As, however, he had pressed me to be quick, I knocked at
the door, and on his calling out, "Come in," I entered.

To my intense surprise, there was no one with him. He was quite alone,
and on the table opposite him was what I knew at once from the
description to be a phonograph. I had never seen one, and was much
interested.

"I hope I did not keep you waiting," I said; "but I stayed at the door
as I heard you talking, and thought there was some one with you. "

"Oh," he replied, with a smile, "I was only entering my diary. "

"Your diary? " I asked him in surprise.

"Yes," he answered. "I keep it in this. " As he spoke he laid his hand on
the phonograph. I felt quite excited over it, and blurted out:--

"Why, this beats even shorthand! May I hear it say something? "

"Certainly," he replied with alacrity, and stood up to put it in train
for speaking. Then he paused, and a troubled look overspread his face.

"The fact is," he began awkwardly, "I only keep my diary in it; and as
it is entirely--almost entirely--about my cases, it may be awkward--that
is, I mean----" He stopped, and I tried to help him out of his
embarrassment:--

"You helped to attend dear Lucy at the end. Let me hear how she died;
for all that I can know of her, I shall be very grateful. She was very,
very dear to me. "

To my surprise, he answered, with a horrorstruck look in his face:--

"Tell you of her death? Not for the wide world! "

"Why not? " I asked, for some grave, terrible feeling was coming over me.
Again he paused, and I could see that he was trying to invent an excuse.
At length he stammered out:--

"You see, I do not know how to pick out any particular part of the
diary. " Even while he was speaking an idea dawned upon him, and he
said with unconscious simplicity, in a different voice, and with the
naivete of a child: "That's quite true, upon my honour. Honest Indian! "
I could not but smile, at which he grimaced. "I gave myself away that
time! " he said. "But do you know that, although I have kept the diary
for months past, it never once struck me how I was going to find any
particular part of it in case I wanted to look it up? " By this time my
mind was made up that the diary of a doctor who attended Lucy might have
something to add to the sum of our knowledge of that terrible Being,
and I said boldly:--

"Then, Dr. Seward, you had better let me copy it out for you on my
typewriter. " He grew to a positively deathly pallor as he said:--

"No! no! no! For all the world, I wouldn't let you know that terrible
story! "

Then it was terrible; my intuition was right! For a moment I thought,
and as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously looking for something or
some opportunity to aid me, they lit on the great batch of typewriting
on the table. His eyes caught the look in mine, and, without his
thinking, followed their direction. As they saw the parcel he realised
my meaning.

"You do not know me," I said. "When you have read those papers--my
own diary and my husband's also, which I have typed--you will know me
better. I have not faltered in giving every thought of my own heart in
this cause; but, of course, you do not know me--yet; and I must not
expect you to trust me so far. "

He is certainly a man of noble nature; poor dear Lucy was right about
him.
He stood up and opened a large drawer, in which were arranged in
order a number of hollow cylinders of metal covered with dark wax, and
said:--

"You are quite right. I did not trust you because I did not know you.
But I know you now; and let me say that I should have known you long
ago. I know that Lucy told you of me; she told me of you too. May I make
the only atonement in my power? Take the cylinders and hear them--the
first half-dozen of them are personal to me, and they will not horrify
you; then you will know me better. Dinner will by then be ready. In the
meantime I shall read over some of these documents, and shall be better
able to understand certain things. " He carried the phonograph himself up
to my sitting-room and adjusted it for me. Now I shall learn something
pleasant, I am sure; for it will tell me the other side of a true love
episode of which I know one side already. . . .


_Dr. Seward's Diary. _

_29 September. _--I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary of Jonathan
Harker and that other of his wife that I let the time run on without
thinking. Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to announce
dinner, so I said: "She is possibly tired; let dinner wait an hour;"
and I went on with my work. I had just finished Mrs. Harker's diary,
when she came in. She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and her eyes
were flushed with crying. This somehow moved me much. Of late I have had
cause for tears, God knows! but the relief of them was denied me; and
now the sight of those sweet eyes, brightened with recent tears, went
straight to my heart. So I said as gently as I could:--

"I greatly fear I have distressed you. "

"Oh no, not distressed me," she replied, "but I have been more touched
than I can say by your grief. That is a wonderful machine, but it is
cruelly true. It told me, in its very tones, the anguish of your heart.
It was like a soul crying out to almighty God. No one must hear them
spoken ever again! See, I have tried to be useful. I have copied out the
words on my typewriter, and none other need now hear your heart beat, as
I did. "

"No one need ever know, shall ever know," I said in a low voice. She
laid her hand on mine and said very gravely:--

"Ah, but they must! "

"Must! But why? " I asked.

"Because it is a part of the terrible story, a part of poor dear Lucy's
death and all that led to it; because in the struggle which we have
before us to rid the earth of this terrible monster we must have all the
knowledge and all the help which we can get. I think that the cylinders
which you gave me contained more than you intended me to know; but I
can see that there are in your record many lights to this dark mystery.
You will let me help, will you not? I know all up to a certain point,
and I see already, though your diary only took me to 7 September, how
poor Lucy was beset, and how her terrible doom was being wrought out.
Jonathan and I have been working day and night since Professor Van
Helsing saw us. He is gone to Whitby to get more information, and he
will be here to-morrow to help us. We need have no secrets amongst us;
working together and with absolute trust, we can surely be stronger than
if some of us were in the dark. " She looked at me so appealingly, and at
the same time manifested such courage and resolution in her bearing,
that I gave in at once to her wishes. "You shall," I said, "do as you
like in the matter. God forgive me if I do wrong! There are terrible
things yet to learn of; but if you have so far travelled on the road to
poor Lucy's death, you will not be content, I know, to remain in the
dark. Nay, the end--the very end--may give you a gleam of peace. Come,
there is dinner. We must keep one another strong for what is before us;
we have a cruel and dreadful task. When you have eaten you shall learn
the rest, and I will answer any questions you ask--if there be anything
which you do not understand, though it was apparent to us who were
present. "


/Mina Harker's Journal. /

_29 September. _--After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to his study. He
brought back the phonograph from my room, and I took my typewriter. He
placed me in a comfortable chair, and arranged the phonograph so that I
could touch it without getting up, and showed me how to stop it in case
I should want to pause. Then he very thoughtfully took a chair, with his
back to me, so that I might be as free as possible, and began to read. I
put the forked metal to my ears and listened.

When the terrible story of Lucy's death, and--and all that followed,
was done, I lay back in my chair powerless. Fortunately I am not of
a fainting disposition. When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up with a
horrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking a case-bottle from a
cupboard, gave me some brandy, which in a few minutes somewhat restored
me. My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came through all
the multitude of horrors, the holy ray of light that my dear, dear Lucy
was at last at peace, I do not think I could have borne it without
making a scene. It is all so wild, and mysterious, and strange that if
I had not known Jonathan's experience in Transylvania I could not have
believed. As it was, I didn't know what to believe, and so got out of
my difficulty by attending to something else. I took the cover off my
typewriter, and said to Dr. Seward:--

"Let me write this all out now. We must be ready for Dr. Van Helsing
when he comes. I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come on here when
he arrives in London from Whitby. In this matter dates are everything,
and I think that if we get all our material ready, and have every item
put in chronological order, we shall have done much. You tell me that
Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too. Let us be able to tell
them when they come. " He accordingly set the phonograph at a slow pace,
and I began to typewrite from the beginning of the seventh cylinder.
I used manifold, and so took three copies of the diary, just as I had
done with all the rest. It was late when I got through, but Dr. Seward
went about his work of going his round of the patients; when he had
finished he came back and sat near me, reading, so that I did not feel
too lonely whilst I worked. How good and thoughtful he is; the world
seems full of good men--even if there _are_ monsters in it. Before I
left him I remembered what Jonathan put in his diary of the Professor's
perturbation at reading something in an evening paper at the station
at Exeter; so, seeing that Dr. Seward keeps his newspapers, I borrowed
the files of "The Westminster Gazette" and "The Pall Mall Gazette," and
took them to my room. I remember how much "The Dailygraph" and "The
Whitby Gazette," of which I had made cuttings, helped us to understand
the terrible events at Whitby when Count Dracula landed, so I shall look
through the evening papers since then, and perhaps I shall get some new
light. I am not sleepy, and the work will help to keep me quiet.


_Dr. Seward's Diary. _

_30 September. _--Mr. Harker arrived at nine o'clock. He had got his
wife's wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever, if one can
judge from his face, and full of energy. If his journal be true--and
judging by one's own wonderful experiences it must be--he is also a
man of great nerve. That going down to the vault a second time was
a remarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of it I was
prepared to meet a good specimen of manhood, but hardly the quiet,
business-like gentleman who came here to-day.

_Later. _--After lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own room,
and as I passed a while ago I heard the click of the typewriter. They
are hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that they are knitting together in
chronological order every scrap of evidence they have. Harker has
got the letters between the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and the
carriers in London who took charge of them. He is now reading his
wife's typescript of my diary. I wonder what they make out of it. Here
he is. . . .

Strange that it never struck me that the very next house might be the
Count's hiding-place! Goodness knows that we had enough clues from the
conduct of the patient Renfield! The bundle of letters relating to the
purchase of the house were with the typescript. Oh, if we had only had
them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy! Stop; that way madness lies!
Harker has gone back, and is again collating his material. He says that
by dinner-time they will be able to show a whole connected narrative. He
thinks that in the meantime I should see Renfield, as hitherto he has
been a sort of index to the coming and going of the Count. I hardly see
this yet, but when I get at the dates I suppose I shall. What a good
thing that Mrs. Harker put my cylinders into type! We never could have
found the dates otherwise. . . .

I found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his hands folded,
smiling benignly. At the moment he seemed as sane as any one I ever saw.
I sat down and talked with him on a lot of subjects, all of which he
treated naturally. He then, of his own accord, spoke of going home, a
subject he has never mentioned to my knowledge during his sojourn here.
In fact, he spoke quite confidently of getting his discharge at once. I
believe that, had I not had the chat with Harker and read the letters
and the dates of his outbursts, I should have been prepared to sign for
him after a brief time of observation. As it is, I am darkly suspicious.
All those outbreaks were in some way linked with the proximity of the
Count. What then does this absolute content mean? Can it be that his
instinct is satisfied as to the vampire's ultimate triumph? Stay; he
is himself zoophagous, and in his wild ravings outside the chapel door
of the deserted house he always spoke of "master. " This all seems
confirmation of our idea. However, after a while I came away; my friend
is just a little too sane at present to make it safe to probe him too
deep with questions. He might begin to think, and then--! So I came
away. I mistrust these quiet moods of his; so I have given the attendant
a hint to look closely after him, and to have a strait-waistcoat ready
in case of need.


_Jonathan Harker's Journal. _

_29 September, in train to London. _--When I received Mr. Billington's
courteous message that he would give me any information in his power,
I thought it best to go down to Whitby and make, on the spot, such
inquiries as I wanted. It was now my object to trace that horrid cargo
of the Count's to its place in London. Later, we may be able to deal
with it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the station, and
brought me to his father's house, where they had decided that I must
stay the night. They are hospitable, with true Yorkshire hospitality:
give a guest everything, and leave him free to do as he likes. They all
knew that I was busy, and that my stay was short, and Mr. Billington
had ready in his office all the papers concerning the consignment of
boxes. It gave me almost a turn to see again one of the letters which
I had seen on the Count's table before I knew of his diabolical plans.
Everything had been carefully thought out, and done systematically and
with precision. He seemed to have been prepared for every obstacle
which might be placed by accident in the way of his intentions being
carried out. To use an Americanism, he had "taken no chances," and the
absolute accuracy with which his instructions were fulfilled was simply
the logical result of his care. I saw the invoice, and took note of it:
"Fifty cases of common earth, to be used for experimental purposes. "
Also the copy of letter to Carter Paterson, and their reply; of both
of these I got copies. This was all the information Mr. Billington
could give me, so I went down to the port and saw the coastguards, the
Customs officers, and the harbour-master. They had all something to say
of the strange entry of the ship, which is already taking its place in
local tradition; but no one could add to the simple description: "Fifty
cases of common earth. " I then saw the station-master, who kindly put
me in communication with the men who had actually received the boxes.
Their tally was exact with the list, and they had nothing to add except
that the boxes were "main and mortal heavy," and that shifting them
was dry work. One of them added that it was hard lines that there
wasn't any gentleman "such-like as yourself, squire," to show some sort
of appreciation of their efforts in a liquid form; another put in a
rider that the thirst then generated was such that even the time which
had elapsed had not completely allayed it. Needless to add, I took
care before leaving to lift, for ever and adequately, this source of
reproach.

_30 September. _--The station-master was good enough to give me a line
to his old companion the station-master at King's Cross, so that when
I arrived there in the morning I was able to ask him about the arrival
of the boxes. He, too, put me at once in communication with the proper
officials, and I saw that their tally was correct with the original
invoice. The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst had been here
limited; a noble use of them had, however, been made, and again I was
compelled to deal with the result in an _ex post facto_ manner.

From thence I went on to Carter Paterson's central office, where I
met with the utmost courtesy. They looked up the transaction in their
day-book and letter-book, and at once telephoned to their King's Cross
office for more details. By good fortune, the men who did the teaming
were waiting for work, and the official at once sent them over, sending
also by one of them the way-bill and all the papers connected with the
delivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I found the tally agreeing
exactly; the carriers' men were able to supplement the paucity of the
written words with a few details. These were, I shortly found, connected
almost solely with the dusty nature of the job, and of the consequent
thirst engendered in the operators. On my affording an opportunity,
through the medium of the currency of the realm, of the allaying at a
later period this beneficent evil, one of the men remarked:--

"That 'ere 'ouse, guv'nor, is the rummiest I ever was in. Blyme! but
it ain't been touched sence a hundred years. There was dust that thick
in the place that you might have slep' on it without 'urtin' of yer
bones; an' the place was that neglected that yer might 'ave smelled ole
Jerusalem in it. But the ole chapel--that took the cike, that did! Me
and my mate, we thort we wouldn't never git out quick enough. Lor', I
wouldn't take less nor a quid a moment to stay there arter dark. "

Having been in the house, I could well believe him; but if he knew what
I know, he would, I think, have raised his terms.

Of one thing I am now satisfied: that _all_ the boxes which arrived
at Whitby from Varna in the _Demeter_ were safely deposited in the old
chapel of Carfax. There should be fifty of them there, unless any have
since been removed--as from Dr. Seward's diary I fear.

I shall try to see the carter who took away the boxes from Carfax when
Renfield attacked them. By following up this clue we may learn a good
deal.

_Later. _--Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put all the papers
into order.


_Mina Harker's Journal. _

_30 September. _--I am so glad that I hardly know how to contain myself.
It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which I have had:
that this terrible affair and the reopening of his old wound might act
detrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for Whitby with as brave
a face as I could, but I was sick with apprehension. The effort has,
however, done him good. He was never so resolute, never so strong, never
so full of volcanic energy, as at present. It is just as that dear,
good Professor Van Helsing said: he is true grit, and he improves under
strain that would kill a weaker nature. He came back full of life and
hope and determination; we have got everything in order for to-night.
I feel myself quite wild with excitement. I suppose one ought to pity
any thing so hunted as is the Count. That is just it: this Thing is
not human--not even beast. To read Dr. Seward's account of poor Lucy's
death, and what followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity in
one's heart.

_Later.