Atlas Nightshade

Day 46

We found the child awake. It had had a sleep and taken some food, and

altogether was going on well. Dr. Vincent took the bandage from its

throat, and showed us the punctures. There was no mistaking the

similarity to those which had been on Lucy's throat. They were smaller,

and the edges looked fresher; that was all. We asked Vincent to what he

attributed them, and he replied that it must have been a bite of some

animal, perhaps a rat; but, for his own part, he was inclined to think

that it was one of the bats which are so numerous on the northern

heights of London. "Out of so many harmless ones," he said, "there may

be some wild specimen from the South of a more malignant species. Some

sailor may have brought one home, and it managed to escape; or even from

the Zoölogical Gardens a young one may have got loose, or one be bred

there from a vampire. These things do occur, you know. Only ten days ago

a wolf got out, and was, I believe, traced up in this direction. For a

week after, the children were playing nothing but Red Riding Hood on the

Heath and in every alley in the place until this 'bloofer lady' scare

came along, since when it has been quite a gala-time with them. Even

this poor little mite, when he woke up to-day, asked the nurse if he

might go away. When she asked him why he wanted to go, he said he wanted

to play with the 'bloofer lady.'"

"I hope," said Van Helsing, "that when you are sending the child home

you will caution its parents to keep strict watch over it. These fancies

to stray are most dangerous; and if the child were to remain out another

night, it would probably be fatal. But in any case I suppose you will

not let it away for some days?"

"Certainly not, not for a week at least; longer if the wound is not

healed."

Our visit to the hospital took more time than we had reckoned on, and

the sun had dipped before we came out. When Van Helsing saw how dark it

was, he said:--

"There is no hurry. It is more late than I thought. Come, let us seek

somewhere that we may eat, and then we shall go on our way."

We dined at "Jack Straw's Castle" along with a little crowd of

bicyclists and others who were genially noisy. About ten o'clock we

started from the inn. It was then very dark, and the scattered lamps

made the darkness greater when we were once outside their individual

radius. The Professor had evidently noted the road we were to go, for he

went on unhesitatingly; but, as for me, I was in quite a mixup as to

locality. As we went further, we met fewer and fewer people, till at

last we were somewhat surprised when we met even the patrol of horse

police going their usual suburban round. At last we reached the wall of

the churchyard, which we climbed over. With some little difficulty--for

it was very dark, and the whole place seemed so strange to us--we found

the Westenra tomb. The Professor took the key, opened the creaky door,

and standing back, politely, but quite unconsciously, motioned me to

precede him. There was a delicious irony in the offer, in the

courtliness of giving preference on such a ghastly occasion. My

companion followed me quickly, and cautiously drew the door to, after

carefully ascertaining that the lock was a falling, and not a spring,

one. In the latter case we should have been in a bad plight. Then he

fumbled in his bag, and taking out a matchbox and a piece of candle,

proceeded to make a light. The tomb in the day-time, and when wreathed

with fresh flowers, had looked grim and gruesome enough; but now, some

days afterwards, when the flowers hung lank and dead, their whites

turning to rust and their greens to browns; when the spider and the

beetle had resumed their accustomed dominance; when time-discoloured

stone, and dust-encrusted mortar, and rusty, dank iron, and tarnished

brass, and clouded silver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer of a

candle, the effect was more miserable and sordid than could have been

imagined. It conveyed irresistibly the idea that life--animal life--was

not the only thing which could pass away.

Van Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his candle so

that he could read the coffin plates, and so holding it that the sperm

dropped in white patches which congealed as they touched the metal, he

made assurance of Lucy's coffin. Another search in his bag, and he took

out a turnscrew.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced." Straightway he began

taking out the screws, and finally lifted off the lid, showing the

casing of lead beneath. The sight was almost too much for me. It seemed

to be as much an affront to the dead as it would have been to have

stripped off her clothing in her sleep whilst living; I actually took

hold of his hand to stop him. He only said: "You shall see," and again

fumbling in his bag, took out a tiny fret-saw. Striking the turnscrew

through the lead with a swift downward stab, which made me wince, he

made a small hole, which was, however, big enough to admit the point of

the saw. I had expected a rush of gas from the week-old corpse. We

doctors, who have had to study our dangers, have to become accustomed to

such things, and I drew back towards the door. But the Professor never

stopped for a moment; he sawed down a couple of feet along one side of

the lead coffin, and then across, and down the other side. Taking the

edge of the loose flange, he bent it back towards the foot of the

coffin, and holding up the candle into the aperture, motioned to me to

look.

I drew near and looked. The coffin was empty.

It was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable shock, but

Van Helsing was unmoved. He was now more sure than ever of his ground,

and so emboldened to proceed in his task. "Are you satisfied now, friend

John?" he asked.

I felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake within me as

I answered him:--

"I am satisfied that Lucy's body is not in that coffin; but that only

proves one thing."

"And what is that, friend John?"

"That it is not there."

"That is good logic," he said, "so far as it goes. But how do you--how

can you--account for it not being there?"

"Perhaps a body-snatcher," I suggested. "Some of the undertaker's people

may have stolen it." I felt that I was speaking folly, and yet it was

the only real cause which I could suggest. The Professor sighed. "Ah

well!" he said, "we must have more proof. Come with me."

He put on the coffin-lid again, gathered up all his things and placed

them in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the candle also in the

bag. We opened the door, and went out. Behind us he closed the door and

locked it. He handed me the key, saying: "Will you keep it? You had

better be assured." I laughed--it was not a very cheerful laugh, I am

bound to say--as I motioned him to keep it. "A key is nothing," I said;

"there may be duplicates; and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock

of that kind." He said nothing, but put the key in his pocket. Then he

told me to watch at one side of the churchyard whilst he would watch at

the other. I took up my place behind a yew-tree, and I saw his dark

figure move until the intervening headstones and trees hid it from my

sight.

It was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place I heard a distant

clock strike twelve, and in time came one and two. I was chilled and

unnerved, and angry with the Professor for taking me on such an errand

and with myself for coming. I was too cold and too sleepy to be keenly

observant, and not sleepy enough to betray my trust so altogether I had

a dreary, miserable time.

Suddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something like a white

streak, moving between two dark yew-trees at the side of the churchyard

farthest from the tomb; at the same time a dark mass moved from the

Professor's side of the ground, and hurriedly went towards it. Then I

too moved; but I had to go round headstones and railed-off tombs, and I

stumbled over graves. The sky was overcast, and somewhere far off an

early c**k crew. A little way off, beyond a line of scattered

juniper-trees, which marked the pathway to the church, a white, dim

figure flitted in the direction of the tomb. The tomb itself was hidden

by trees, and I could not see where the figure disappeared. I heard the

rustle of actual movement where I had first seen the white figure, and

coming over, found the Professor holding in his arms a tiny child. When

he saw me he held it out to me, and said:--

"Are you satisfied now?"

"No," I said, in a way that I felt was aggressive.

"Do you not see the child?"