I could not but admire, even at such a moment, the way in which a dominant spirit asserted itself.  In all our hunting parties and adventures in different parts of the world, Quincey Morris had always been the one to arrange the plan of action, and Arthur and I had been accustomed to obey him implicitly.  Now, the old habit seemed to be renewed instinctively.  With a swift glance around the room, he at once laid out our plan of attack, and without speaking a word, with a gesture, placed us each in position.  Van Helsing, Harker, and I were just behind the door, so that when it was opened the Professor could guard it whilst we two stepped between the incomer and the door.  Godalming behind and Quincey in front stood just out of sight ready to move in front of the window.  We waited in a suspense that made the seconds pass with nightmare slowness.  The slow, careful steps came along the hall.  The Count was evidently prepared for some surprise, at least he feared it.

Suddenly with a single bound he leaped into the room.  Winning a way past us before any of us could raise a hand to stay him.  There was something so pantherlike in the movement, something so unhuman, that it seemed to sober us all from the shock of his coming.  The first to act was Harker, who with a quick movement, threw himself before the door leading into the room in the front of the house.  As the Count saw us, a horrible sort of snarl passed over his face, showing the eyeteeth long and pointed.  But the evil smile as quickly passed into a cold stare of lion-like disdain.  His expression again changed as, with a single impulse, we all advanced upon him.  It was a pity that we had not some better organized plan of attack, for even at the moment I wondered what we were to do.  I did not myself know whether our lethal weapons would avail us anything.

Harker evidently meant to try the matter, for he had ready his great Kukri knife and made a fierce and sudden cut at him.  The blow was a powerful one; only the diabolical quickness of the Count’s leap back saved him.  A second less and the trenchant blade had shorn through his heart.  As it was, the point just cut the cloth of his coat, making a wide gap whence a bundle of bank notes and a stream of gold fell out.  The expression of the Count’s face was so hellish, that for a moment I feared for Harker, though I saw him throw the terrible knife aloft again for another stroke.  Instinctively I moved forward with a protective impulse, holding the Crucifix and Wafer in my left hand.  I felt a mighty power fly along my arm, and it was without surprise that I saw the monster cower back before a similar movement made spontaneously by each one of us.  It would be impossible to describe the expression of hate and baffled malignity, of anger and hellish rage, which came over the Count’s face.  His waxen hue became greenish-yellow by the contrast of his burning eyes, and the red scar on the forehead