“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“To open the coffin.  You shall yet be convinced.”

Straightway he began taking out the screws, and finally lifted off the lid, showing the casing of lead beneath.  The sight was almost too much for me.  It seemed to be as much an affront to the dead as it would have been to have stripped off her clothing in her sleep whilst living.  I actually took hold of his hand to stop him.

He only said, “You shall see,” and again fumbling in his bag took out a tiny fret saw.  Striking the turnscrew through the lead with a swift downward stab, which made me wince, he made a small hole, which was, however, big enough to admit the point of the saw.  I had expected a rush of gas from the week-old corpse.  We doctors, who have had to study our dangers, have to become accustomed to such things, and I drew back towards the door.  But the Professor never stopped for a moment.  He sawed down a couple of feet along one side of the lead coffin, and then across, and down the other side.  Taking the edge of the loose flange, he bent it back towards the foot of the coffin, and holding up the candle into the aperture, motioned to me to look.

I drew near and looked.  The coffin was empty.  It was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable shock, but Van Helsing was unmoved.  He was now more sure than ever of his ground, and so emboldened to proceed in his task.  “Are you satisfied now, friend John?” he asked.

I felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake within me as I answered him, “I am satisfied that Lucy’s body is not in that coffin, but that only proves one thing.”

“And what is that, friend John?”

“That it is not there.”

“That is good logic,” he said, “so far as it goes.  But how do you, how can you, account for it not being there?”

“Perhaps a body-snatcher,” I suggested.  “Some of the undertaker’s people may have stolen it.”  I felt that I was speaking folly, and yet it was the only real cause which I could suggest.

The Professor sighed.  “Ah well!” he said, “we must have more proof.  Come with me.”

He put on the coffin lid again, gathered up all his things and placed them in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the candle also in the bag.  We opened the door, and went out.  Behind us he closed the door and locked it.  He handed me the key, saying, “Will you keep it?  You had better be assured.”

I laughed, it was not a very cheerful laugh, I am bound to say, as I motioned him to keep it.  “A key is nothing,” I said, “there are many duplicates, and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock of this kind.”

He said nothing, but put the key in his pocket.  Then he told me to watch at one side of the churchyard whilst he would watch at the other.

I took up my place behind a yew tree, and I saw his dark figure move until the intervening headstones and trees hid it from my sight.