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
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 . . . |