This staggered me.
A man does not like to prove such a truth; Byron excepted from the category, jealousy.
“And prove the very truth he most abhorred.”
He saw my hesitation, and spoke:—
“The logic is simple, no madman’s logic this time, jumping from tussock to tussock in a misty bog.
If it be not true, then proof will be relief; at worst it will not harm.
If it be true!
Ah, there is the dread; yet very dread should help my cause, for in it is some need of belief.
Come, I tell you what I propose: first, that we go off now and see that child in the hospital.
Dr. Vincent, of the North Hospital, where the papers say the child is, is friend of mine, and I think of yours since you were in class at Amsterdam.
He will let two scientists see his case, if he will not let two friends.
We shall tell him nothing, but only that we wish to learn.
And then——” “And then?”
He took a key from his pocket and held it up.
“And then we spend the night, you and I, in the churchyard where Lucy lies.
This is the key that lock the tomb.
I had it from the coffin-man to give to Arthur.”
My heart sank within me, for I felt that there was some fearful ordeal before us.
I could do nothing, however, so I plucked up what heart I could and said that we had better hasten, as the afternoon was passing....
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 Zoological 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.