The Holmes-Dracula File

Chapter Sixteen

We carried Sally Craddock straight to hospital from where she had been struck down. For several hours she lingered, Holmes and I both remaining at her bedside, and then she died without regaining consciousness. Meanwhile the driver of the dray-wagon was apprehended, but as he had been himself very severely injured in the capsizing of his vehicle, he was in no condition to be seriously questioned. Holmes recognized him at once as a minor criminal and bully.

"Of course they knew she was in the station, Watson—somehow they knew. This choice specimen was assigned to wait outside, and was quick enough to seize his chance when it came. I feel responsible for giving him that chance. I did not foresee that Sally Craddock would see the vampire's face in mine, or would react as she did to the sight."

"How could you have foreseen anything of the kind? In her brief statement to the police she described the—the killer—as being friendly and helpful to her. 'Gentlemanly' was another word she used, was it not?" Lestrade had brought a copy of her first and only declaration to the hospital for us to see.

Holmes shook his head. "I should have suspected, though, that he might have inspired in her a fear and loathing that ran very deep.* It is the other side of the coin of the damnable attractiveness that these creatures possess for women. Those punctures on her throat were not made by horses' hooves or a wagon's wheels." To this I suppose I must have stammered some reply. Shortly thereafter I returned to Baker Street, while Holmes hurled himself with feverish energy into activities of which I was able to observe only a small part. He was in and out of our lodgings repeatedly for the rest of the day. On each return he asked if there were any messages, and replied to my own questions brusquely if at all.

* The whole question of Sally Craddock's true motive in fleeing the police station, if it is to be raised at all, deserves more space than is here available. I will only remark that it is a large assumption to make, that Watson invariably records Holmes' statements accurately. —D.

It was evening before he came in and stayed long enough to make it worthwhile taking off his hat. He threw himself into a chair, sought solace in strong tobacco, and altogether gave an impression of deep, struggling thought combined with near-exhaustion. I prevailed upon him to take a little food, and shortly thereafter, to my great relief, he retired, very early, for the night.

That night I found myself unable to sleep much. Up early the following morning, I peeped in cautiously on Holmes and saw with satisfaction that he still slumbered.

I had just finished my breakfast when two gentlemen were announced, and it was with some surprise that I greeted Lord Godalming and Dr. Seward. I had not seen them and had scarcely thought of them since the affair at Barley's. Looking now at their faces, which were both somewhat grimly set, I asked: "May I take it, gentlemen, that this visit is not purely social?"

"It is not." Jack Seward exchanged glances with his companion, then went on: "Our business concerns a matter of great delicacy, but I am sure you will understand that it is one which cannot be allowed to pass in silence."

"Perhaps it is Sherlock Holmes whom you really wish to see. I am afraid he is not available for consultation at present." When I ordered breakfast, I had taken it upon myself to instruct Mrs. Hudson to tell any unfamiliar callers that Holmes was out.

"No, it is you we wish to see, Dr. Watson," Lord Godalming put in. "The fact is, we made sure that you were alone before we came up."

With my nerves already under strain, I found their stiff, mysterious manner quite unpleasant. "Well, then?"

Again they looked at each other hesitantly. Then Seward bluntly came out with it. "We should like to know why you interfered, that night at Barley's, with a policeman in the performance of his duty."

For a moment, my irritation threatened to burst up into anger; but quickly I saw that such an attitude was scarcely fair. In Seward's place I might well have chosen to take exactly the same course with an old acquaintance. I nodded silently.

Seward said unhappily: "It's more, of course, than just a matter of the man escaping an arrest for gambling, or anything of that kind. I believe, Watson, that this fellow was actually the Thames-side murderer."

"What has caused you to believe that?"

"Well, one has friends, you know. And some of mine have friends at Scotland Yard. Do you deny that you helped him to get out?"

"No, I do not. But I do offer you my solemn word, gentlemen, that my intentions were of the best. If you will not accept my unsupported word, I suggest that you ask Mr. Sherlock Holmes about the matter when he awakens."

Seward blinked at me. "But the landlady said—"

"She had her orders from me. Last night I felt it my duty as Mr. Holmes' physician to administer a sedative."

My old acquaintance shook his head, expressing what was evidently a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and relief. He removed his eyeglasses and polished them and put them back. "Look here, Watson—if you say it's all square, what you were doing there at Barley's—what we thought we saw you doing, I mean—oh, dash it all, that's good enough for me. I've no real head for these detective investigations and intrigues anyway. What do you say, Arthur?"

His Lordship, also looking relieved, muttered something in the way of an agreement. When my visitors had taken the chairs I now made haste to offer them, and had courteously declined my offers of refreshment, Seward went on to inquire: "Now—I trust you will not think it unethical of me to ask—but I hope there is nothing seriously wrong with Mr. Holmes? If there is, it will give cause for rejoicing to the criminal element in this country—in all of Europe—but it will be a sad day for the rest of us."

"I…" I rubbed my forehead, not knowing what course I ought to take. "I have given some thought to consulting a specialist on his behalf." Lord Godalming stood up. "It was most pleasant to see you again, Dr. Watson. Jack, I think I shall just be on my way, and leave the matters medical, if there are to be any, to you two."

I bade His Lordship good-bye. Then, as soon as we were alone, Seward said to me gravely: "I of course stand ready to listen at any time, on a professional and confidential basis, should you desire to consult with me."

With some reluctance I began to set forth, in a stumbling fashion, my growing concern for my friend's sanity. Besides my reluctance, there was the real difficulty of my not daring to reveal, even under the cloak of professional secrecy, the terrible threat of plague hanging over London.

I began: "There is a case Holmes has presently under investigation—I had better say several connected cases—of an importance transcending anything that has come before them in his career."

"Ah." Seward was naturally impressed. "And you feel the extraordinary strain is telling on him?"

"Yes."

"How close to a solution would you say he is, in this intricate problem? Or is it more than one problem that affects him? I fear I did not take your meaning on that point very clearly."

"And I am afraid that I cannot be plainer, even in a medical consultation."

He gave me a sharp look, then shrugged. "Well, if you cannot. What symptoms precisely does he exhibit?"

Some time passed before I struggled out with it, or tried to. "There is one of the men involved… a fugitive… Holmes has become dreadfully obsessed with this individual's identity."

"Surely it is a detective's business to ascertain that?"

"I see I am expressing myself badly. Holmes has solemnly assured me, more than once, that this man—it is the very one I unwittingly helped at Barley's—is a—a type of supernatural being."

"The man at Barley's—I see." Seward leaned back in his chair, looking grave. "By the way, I have heard that the girl arrested there has lately been severely injured. Do not think, Watson, that I am going too far afield in asking these questions. They have a bearing on the nature of Mr. Holmes' difficulty."

"No doubt they do." Holmes had asked that Sally Craddock's death be kept a secret, so far as possible. "But had I not better first describe the patient's condition?"

"Of course, if you wish. Precisely what type of supernatural being does Mr. Holmes imagine this fugitive to be?"

I had to come out with it at last. "A vampire." Seward looked so grave* at this that my spirits, which had begun to rise at the prospect of acquiring an ally, were crushed again. He asked: "What turn have his investigations taken, to put such an idea into his head?"

* Those readers who have seen my own recent account of my London visit in 1891, or my enemies' old distorted record of the same events, will have already recognized Dr. Seward and Lord Godalming, as two of my opponents on that occasion. The existence of vampires would therefore have been no news to either man in 1897—though, being jealous of their own reputations for sanity, they were not likely to discuss their knowledge with outsiders. And whether Seward first conceived the possibility that I was still alive and back in London during this talk with Watson, or at some other moment, it must have struck him like a red-hot lash. —D.

"I repeat, I cannot discuss them—I could not, even to save his sanity. You consider, then, that delusions regarding vampires are particularly morbid?"

"I consider that it may be very difficult to save his sanity, unless I know what threatens it. At the same time I must of course respect your decision regarding the relative importance of matters of which I know nothing."

"I wish I could tell you more, but I cannot. Holmes should awaken soon, if you would care to—"

"No, Watson, I think not. I should prefer that he not discover just yet that you have been holding medical consultation on his behalf without his knowledge. What sedative have you prescribed?" At my reply he nodded thoughtfully. "It seems to be strong enough to help him rest; and perhaps rest will suffice."

"You really think so?"

"Let us give it a chance. —If you think some stronger sedative is indicated, here is a sample of a South American drug I have found invaluable in cases of nervous exhaustion. It induces mental relaxation and a deep sleep without deleterious side-effects." After groping in his pockets for a moment, Seward produced a small, plain box, which he opened to show me a single pill. "One dose is all I have with me at the moment; but the patient should have no more than one in a twenty-four hour period, and if you desire more you have but to call on me."

I accepted the box with thanks, and put it in my own pocket. Seward tore a page from his pocket-book and began scribbling on it. "Here is the address of my establishment in Purfleet—this is the telephone number, should you have the opportunity of getting to an instrument to call. Please do so at once, should there be any outbreak of violent or frantic behavior by the patient, or if for any other reason you wish my assistance. All the facilities of my asylum are of course at your disposal if the need arises, which we must hope it does not. Members of some of the most eminent families in Britain have been among my patients there. I have been thinking lately of giving up the old place and re-settling elsewhere, so there are few or no patients in residence at the moment—all to the good in this case, where we'd certainly want privacy. Some old friends are in from Exeter for the Jubilee, but they have visited before and know the rules, and so should present no problem."

Seward soon departed, bearing with him my heartfelt thanks. Left alone again, I felt distinctly better for having unburdened my mind, and, as I hoped, gained an able partner in my struggle on Holmes' behalf.

He was up not long after, and looked better for his long rest, though he rubbed his eyes on entering the sitting-room, and actually stumbled momentarily against me. This dazed condition quickly passed, however, and his manner was alert as he looked about him. "I see we have had visitors," was his first comment.

"Two acquaintances of mine," I answered, relieved that my friend gave no sign of being aware that I had administered a drug to him by means of last night's curried chicken.

Evidently Holmes' thoughts had already passed on to other matters. "I must return this morning, Watson, to an old acquaintance of mine whom I visited briefly yesterday—no doubt you remember the blind German mechanic, Von Herder?"

"Of course—the man who built air-guns for Colonel Sebastian Moran, of evil memory. Do you go to visit the blind man in prison?"

"No." Holmes smiled to see my quick expression of concern. "Nor is the blind man still to be counted among my enemies. Since he has quite reformed, he has come to live in London; a change of address which I had some small hand in arranging for him, and for which he has been kind enough to express his gratitude, by placing his skills at my disposal. In fact, I expect that he has been at work for me all night."

"If you go to see him, I shall come with you."

"That is impossible. His reformation is quite genuine, but the presence of someone he does not know is likely to upset him." Holmes fell abruptly silent. He was standing at the window, so that for a moment I thought he had spied something of unusual interest in the street. But then he said, without turning: "Do you remember, Watson? It was the sight of my face that sent her running, screaming, to her death."

"Of course I remember, Holmes. But it was not your fault."

He turned to face me. "Have you thought about vampires, Watson, as I urged you?"

"Yes." It was an unwilling answer, and I was agreeably distracted by the arrival of the girl with the breakfast which Holmes had ordered on awakening.

"Good, very good!" He sounded almost hearty. "When the time comes, I must have with me someone I can trust." And he sat down and attacked his bacon and eggs with an energy that gave me hope.

When the girl was safely out of hearing again, I said: "You may of course trust me in this."

His eyes fastened on mine with a suddenly alert suspicion. "Watson, you must pledge me this instant, upon your honor, that you will never mention the subject of vampires to my brother Mycroft; it is the one thing that would undo him utterly. Have I your pledge?"

"You have," I answered in a heavy voice, and with the gravest mental reservations. Actually I had been considering for some time that circumstances might very soon oblige me to consult with Mycroft. As most of my readers may know, Holmes' older brother was, to the best of my knowledge, his next of kin—indeed, his only living relative. Mycroft was employed by the Government, and never left London. So constant were his habits, in fact, that I had put off consulting him, feeling that I should have no trouble locating him for that purpose at any hour of the day or night.

Some train of thought begun with Mycroft had plunged Holmes into an introspective pause, almost a reverie, his plate of food abandoned before him as if he had suddenly forgotten it.

"I have never spoken to you of my childhood, have I, Watson?"

"No, Holmes, you never have."

"There were painful things in it, which I suppose is common enough. But not such things… at any rate, Mycroft's childhood must have been worse, for he was seven years my senior, and must have seen more, and understood more at the time. I am referring to things one might think too horrible for any child to bear. Therefore the effects upon him were more severe than upon myself. I must warn you again, the mere mention of vampires could destroy him."

I waited, listening attentively, which is often the best thing a doctor can do for any patient.

Holmes went on, in the same distracted tone: "My father was, as I think I have mentioned, a country squire. A kindly man, of considerable intelligence, though little fame. Also he was a man of great strength, for he survived… much."

I waited still.

When Holmes resumed again, his voice had taken on the strain that of late had become all too frequent in it. "You know that Mycroft and I have both devoted our lives to intellectual pursuits. And neither of us has married…"

I had the strong impression that my friend was trembling upon the brink of some revelation or confession, which in prospect seemed to me likely to be terrible—the more terrible inasmuch as I could not for the life of me imagine what it might be, or whether, indeed, it would have any basis at all but the fancies engendered in a disordered brain.

At this crucial moment we were interrupted by the bell. When I came back with telegram in hand, I saw with mixed feelings of relief and disappointment that in the brief interval my friend had pulled himself together, and the revelation was not to come.

The telegram was from Superintendent Marlowe, addressed to Holmes, who promptly tore it open, and read it with an expression of satisfaction.

"He has, as you may recall, Watson, a whole chain of warehouses under his direction; and this communication is in reply to one of my own, asking Mr. Marlowe in which building I should be likely to find a very large box or trunk, unloaded on or about the tenth of this month from some ship arriving at the East India docks from Mediterranean ports, and unclaimed by the owner. I shall be surprised now if we cannot put our hands on this piece of baggage in a matter of hours, and with luck we shall see its owner in a day or two."