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 lairsdescribed 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.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