Atlas Nightshade

Day 61

"Look 'ere, guv'nor, there ain't no sense in me a-keepin' you 'ere. I

may find Sam soon, or I mayn't; but anyhow he ain't like to be in a way

to tell ye much to-night. Sam is a rare one when he starts on the booze.

If you can give me a envelope with a stamp on it, and put yer address on

it, I'll find out where Sam is to be found and post it ye to-night. But

ye'd better be up arter 'im soon in the mornin', or maybe ye won't ketch

'im; for Sam gets off main early, never mind the booze the night afore."

This was all practical, so one of the children went off with a penny to

buy an envelope and a sheet of paper, and to keep the change. When she

came back, I addressed the envelope and stamped it, and when Smollet had

again faithfully promised to post the address when found, I took my way

to home. We're on the track anyhow. I am tired to-night, and want sleep.

Mina is fast asleep, and looks a little too pale; her eyes look as

though she had been crying. Poor dear, I've no doubt it frets her to be

kept in the dark, and it may make her doubly anxious about me and the

others. But it is best as it is. It is better to be disappointed and

worried in such a way now than to have her nerve broken. The doctors

were quite right to insist on her being kept out of this dreadful

business. I must be firm, for on me this particular burden of silence

must rest. I shall not ever enter on the subject with her under any

circumstances. Indeed, it may not be a hard task, after all, 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 these suggested that there was being erected at Cross Angel Street a

new "cold storage" building; and as this suited the condition of a

"new-fangled ware'us," I at once drove to it. An interview with a surly

gatekeeper and a surlier foreman, both of whom were appeased with the

coin of the realm, put me on the track of Bloxam; he was sent for on my

suggesting that I was willing to pay his day's wages to his foreman for

the privilege of asking him a few questions on a private matter. He was

a smart enough fellow, though rough of speech and bearing. When I had

promised to pay for his information and given him an earnest, he told me

that he had made two journeys between Carfax and a house in Piccadilly,

and had taken from this house to the latter nine great boxes--"main

heavy ones"--with a horse and cart hired by him for this purpose. I

asked him if he could tell me the number of the house in Piccadilly, to

which he replied:--

"Well, guv'nor, I forgits the number, but it was only a few doors from a

big white church or somethink of the kind, not long built. It was a

dusty old 'ouse, too, though nothin' to the dustiness of the 'ouse we

tooked the bloomin' boxes from."

"How did you get into the houses if they were both empty?"

"There was the old party what engaged me a-waitin' in the 'ouse at

Purfleet. He 'elped me to lift the boxes and put them in the dray. Curse

me, but he was the strongest chap I ever struck, an' him a old feller,

with a white moustache, one that thin you would think he couldn't throw

a shadder."

How this phrase thrilled through me!

"Why, 'e took up 'is end o' the boxes like they was pounds of tea, and

me a-puffin' an' a-blowin' afore I could up-end mine anyhow--an' I'm no

chicken, neither."

"How did you get into the house in Piccadilly?" I asked.

"He was there too. He must 'a' started off and got there afore me, for

when I rung of the bell he kem an' opened the door 'isself an' 'elped me

to carry the boxes into the 'all."

"The whole nine?" I asked.

"Yus; there was five in the first load an' four in the second. It was

main dry work, an' I don't so well remember 'ow I got 'ome." I

interrupted him:--

"Were the boxes left in the hall?"

"Yus; it was a big 'all, an' there was nothin' else in it." I made one

more attempt to further matters:--

"You didn't have any key?"

"Never used no key nor nothink. The old gent, he opened the door 'isself

an' shut it again when I druv off. I don't remember the last time--but

that was the beer."

"And you can't remember the number of the house?"

"No, sir. But ye needn't have no difficulty about that. It's a 'igh 'un

with a stone front with a bow on it, 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 if 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 round to the back to see if anything

could be gathered from this quarter. The mews were active, the

Piccadilly houses being mostly in occupation. I asked one or two of the

grooms and helpers whom I saw around if they could tell me anything

about the empty house. One of them said 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.