Reading Help DRACULA by Bram Stoker Ch.13-27
I asked if he could tell me where to find him. I told him that if he `
` could get me the address it would be worth another half sovereign to `
` him. So he gulped down the rest of his tea and stood up, saying that `
` he was going to begin the search then and there. `
` `
` At the door he stopped, and said, "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 tonight. 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 tonight. But ye'd better be up arter `
` 'im soon in the mornin', 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 `
` tonight, and I want to 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 them 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 `
` suggestion that I was willing to pay his days 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 door 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 in if both houses were 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 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 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 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. `
` `
` 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." `
` `
`
` could get me the address it would be worth another half sovereign to `
` him. So he gulped down the rest of his tea and stood up, saying that `
` he was going to begin the search then and there. `
` `
` At the door he stopped, and said, "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 tonight. 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 tonight. But ye'd better be up arter `
` 'im soon in the mornin', 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 `
` tonight, and I want to 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 them 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 `
` suggestion that I was willing to pay his days 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 door 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 in if both houses were 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 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 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 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. `
` `
` 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." `
` `
`