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 the time-discolored 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 theTaking 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, "thee are
many duplicates, and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock of
this 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 takingI 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 cock crew. A little ways 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 had 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?"
"Yes, it is a child, but who brought it here? And is it
wounded?"
"We shall see,"said the Professor, and with one impulse we took
our way out of the churchyard, he carrying the sleeping child.
When we had got some little distance away, we went into a clump
of trees, and struck a match, and looked at the child's throat. It
was without a scratch or scar of any kind.
"Was I right?" I asked triumphantly.
"We were just in time," said the Professor thankfully.
We had now to decide what we were to do with the child, and so
consulted about it. If we were to take it to a police station we
should have to give some account of our movements during the night.
At least, we should have had to make some statement as to how we
had come to find the child. So finally we decided that we would