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 round 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
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