is much of a help, for he himself is a
bubbling well of good spirits. Quincey wrote me a line too, and from
him I hear that Arthur is beginning to recover something of his old
buoyancy, so as to them all my mind is at rest. As for myself, I was
settling down to my work with the enthusiasm which I used to have for
it, so that I might fairly have said that the wound which poor Lucy
left on me was becoming cicatrised.

Everything is, however, now reopened, and what is to be the end God
only knows. I have an idea that Van Helsing thinks he knows, too, but
he will only let out enough at a time to whet curiosity. He went to
Exeter yesterday, and stayed there all night. Today he came back, and
almost bounded into the room at about half-past five o'clock, and
thrust last night's "Westminster Gazette" into my hand.

"What do you think of that?" he asked as he stood back and folded his
arms.

I looked over the paper, for I really did not know what he meant, but
he took it from me and pointed out a paragraph about children being
decoyed away at Hampstead. It did not convey much to me, until I
reached a passage where it described small puncture wounds on their
throats. An idea struck me, and I looked up.

"Well?" he said.

"It is like poor Lucy's."

"And what do you make of it?"

"Simply that there is some cause in common. Whatever it was that
injured her has injured them." I did not quite understand his answer.

"That is true indirectly, but not directly."

"How do you mean, Professor?" I asked. I was a little inclined to
take his seriousness lightly, for, after all, four days of rest and
freedom from burning, harrowing, anxiety does help to restore one's
spirits, but when I saw his face, it sobered me. Never, even in the
midst of our despair about poor Lucy, had he looked more stern.

"Tell me!" I said. "I can hazard no opinion. I do not know what to
think, and I have no data on which to found a conjecture."

"Do you mean to tell me, friend John, that you have no suspicion as to
what poor Lucy died of, not after all the hints given, not only by
events, but by me?"

"Of nervous prostration following a great loss or waste of blood."

"And how was the blood lost or wasted?" I shook my head.

He stepped over and sat down beside me, and went on, "You are a clever
man, friend John. You reason well, and your wit is bold, but you are
too prejudiced. You do not let your eyes see nor your ears hear, and
t