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 of 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
shirtsleeves, 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-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 as 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 on 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 very ‘an’some”, I
had given him half a sovereign, “an I’ll tell yer all I know. I
heard 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
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 …
