A to Z Classics - Bram Stoker - The Complete Novels

“When I got near I saw a light at the window. My rubber boots, I suppose, and the plash of the falling rain dulled my footsteps, for as I drew near I could see that a man was looking in at the window, but he did not hear me. I crept up behind the hedge and watched him. He went to the door and knocked — evidently not for the first time; then the door was opened, and I could see Joyce’s figure against the light that came from the kitchen.

“‘Who’s there? What is it?’ he asked. Then I heard Murdock’s voice.

“I’m lukin’ for poor ould Moynahan. He was out on the Hill in the evenin’, but he hasn’t kem home, an’ I’m anxious about him, for he had a sup in him, an’ I fear he may have fallen into the bog. I’ve been out lukin’ for him, but I can’t find him. I thought he might have kem in here.’

“‘No, he has not been here. Are you sure he was on the hill?’

“‘Well, I thought so; but what ought I to do? I’d be thankful if ye’d advise me. Be the way, what o’clock might it be now?’

“Norah, who had joined her father, ran in and looked at the clock.

“‘It is just ten minutes past twelve,’ she said.

“‘I don’t know what’s to be done,’ said Joyce. ‘Could he have got to the sheebeen?’

“‘That’s a good idea. I suppose I’d betther go there an’ luk afther him. Ye see, I’m anxious about him, for he’s been livin’ wid me, an’ if anythin’ happened to him, people might say I done it!’

“‘That’s a queer thing for him to say,’ said Norah to her father.

“Murdock turned on her at once.

“‘Quare thing — no more quare than the things they’ll be sayin’ about you before long.’

“‘What do you mean?’ said Joyce, coming out.

“‘Oh, nawthin’, nawthin’! I must look for Moynahan.’ And without a word he turned and ran. Joyce and Norah went into the house. When Murdock had quite gone I knocked at the door, and Joyce came out like a thunder-bolt.

“‘I’ve got ye now, ye ruffian!’ he shouted. ‘What did ye mean to say to me daughter?’ But by this time I stood in the light, and he recognised me.

“‘Hush!’ I said; ‘let me in quietly;’ and when I passed in we shut the door. Then I told them that I had been out on the mountain, and had found Moynahan. I told them both that they must not ask me any questions, or let on to a soul that I had told them anything — that much might depend on it; for I thought, Art, old chap, that they had better not be mixed up in it, however the matter might end. So we all three went out with a lantern, and I brought them to where the old man was asleep. We lifted him, and between us carried him to the house; Joyce and I undressed him and put him in bed, between warm blankets. Then I came away and went over to Mrs. Kelligan’s, where I slept in a chair before the fire.

“The next morning when I went up to Joyce’s I found that Moynahan was all right — that he hadn’t even got a cold, but that he remembered nothing whatever about his walking into the bog. He had even expressed his wonder at seeing the state his clothes were in. When I went into the village I found that Murdock had been everywhere and had told everyone of his fears about Moynahan. I said nothing of his being safe, but tried quietly to arrange matters so that I might be present when Murdock should set his eyes for the first time on the man he had tried to murder. I left him with a number of others in the sheebeen, and went back to bring Moynahan, but found, when I got to Joyce’s that he had already gone back to Murdock’s house. Joyce had told him, as we had arranged, that when Murdock had come asking for him he had been alarmed, and had gone out to look for him; had found him asleep on the hill-side, and had brought him home with him. As I found that my scheme of facing Murdock with his victim was frustrated, I took advantage of Murdock’s absence to remove the stones which he had placed to mark the spot where the treasure was last seen. I found them in the form of a cross, and moving them, replaced them at a spot some distance lower down the line of the bog. I marked the place, however, with a mark of my own — four stones put widely apart at the points of a letter Y — the centre marking the spot where the cross had been. Murdock returned to his house not long after, and within a short time ran down to tell that Moynahan had found his way home, and was all safe. They told me that he was then white and scared-looking.”

Here Dick paused:

“Now, my difficulty is this: I know he tried to murder the man, but I am not in a position to prove it. No man could expect his word to be taken in such a matter and under such circumstances. And yet I am morally certain that he intends to murder him still. What should I do? To take any preventive steps would involve making the charge which I cannot prove. As yet neither of the men has the slightest suspicion that I am concerned in the matter in anyway, or that I even know of it. Now, may I not be most useful by keeping a watch and biding my time?”

I thought a moment, but there seemed to be only one answer.

“You are quite right, Dick. We can do nothing just at present. We must keep a sharp lookout, and get some tangible evidence of his intention — something that we can support, and then we can take steps against him. As to the matter of his threat to harm Norah, I shall certainly try to bring that out in a way we can prove, and then he shall have the hottest corner he ever thought of in his life.”

“Quite right that he should have it, Art; but we must think of her too. It would not do to have her name mixed up with any gossip. She will be going away very shortly, I suppose, and then his power to hurt her will be nil. In the mean time everything must be done to guard her.”

“I shall get a dog — a good savage one, this very day; that ruffian must not be able to even get near the house again —”

Dick interrupted me.

“Oh, I quite forgot to tell you about that. The very day after that night I got a dog and sent it up. It is the great mastiff that Meldon, the dispensary doctor, had — the one that you admired so much. I specially asked Norah to keep it for you, and train it to be always with her. She promised that she would always feed him herself and take him about with her. I am quite sure she understood that he was to be her protector.”

“Thank you, Dick,” I said, and I am sure he knew I was grateful.

By this time we had come near the house outside which the car stood. Andy was inside, and evidently did not expect our coming so soon, for he sat with a measure of stout half emptied before him on the table, and on each of his knees sat a lady — one evidently the mother of the other. As we appeared in the door-way he started up.

“Be the powdhers, there’s the masther! Git up, acushla!” — this to the younger woman, for the elder had already jumped up. Then to me: “Won’t ye sit down, yer ‘an’r. There’s only the wan chair, so ye see the shifts we’re dhruv to, whin there’s three iv us. I couldn’t put Mrs. Dempsey from off iv her own shtool, an’ she wouldn’t sit on me knee alone — the dacent woman — so we had to take the girrul on too. They all sit that way in these parts!”

The latter statement was made with brazen openness and shameless effrontery. I shook my finger at him:

“Take care, Andy. You’ll get into trouble one of these days.”

“Into throuble, for a girrul sittin’ on me knee! Begor, the Govermint’II have to get up more coorts and more polis if they want to shtop that ould custom. An’ more betoken, they II have to purvide more shtools, too. Mrs. Dempsey, whin I come round agin, mind ye kape a govermint shtool for me. Here’s the masther wouldn’t let any girrul sit on any wan’s knee. Begor, not even the quality nor the fairies! All right, yer ‘an’r, the mare’s quite ready. Good-bye, Mrs. Dempsey. Don’t forgit the shtool — an’ wan, too, for Biddy! Gee up, ye ould corn-crake!” and so we resumed our journey.