“Then write now, my young friend,” he said, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder, “write to our friend and to any other, and say, if it will please you, that you shall stay with me until a month from now.”

“Do you wish me to stay so long?” I asked, for my heart grew cold at the thought.

“I desire it much, nay I will take no refusal.  When your master, employer, what you will, engaged that someone should come on his behalf, it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted.  I have not stinted.  Is it not so?”

What could I do but bow acceptance?  It was Mr. Hawkins’ interest, not mine, and I had to think of him, not myself, and besides, while Count Dracula was speaking, there was that in his eyes and in his bearing which made me remember that I was a prisoner, and that if I wished it I could have no choice.  The Count saw his victory in my bow, and his mastery in the trouble of my face, for he began at once to use them, but in his own smooth, resistless way.

“I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse of things other than business in your letters.  It will doubtless please your friends to know that you are well, and that you look forward to getting home to them.  Is it not so?” As he spoke he handed me three sheets of note paper and three envelopes.  They were all of the thinnest foreign post, and looking at them, then at him, and noticing his quiet smile, with the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red underlip, I understood as well as if he had spoken that I should be more careful what I wrote, for he would be able to read it.  So I determined to write only formal notes now, but to write fully to Mr. Hawkins in secret, and also to Mina, for to her I could write shorthand, which would puzzle the Count, if he did see it.  When I had written my two letters I sat quiet, reading a book whilst the Count wrote several notes, referring as he wrote them to some books on his table.  Then he took up my two and placed them with his own, and put by his writing materials, after which, the instant the door had closed behind him, I leaned over and looked at the letters, which were face down on the table.  I felt no compunction in doing so for under the circumstances I felt that I should protect myself in every way I could.

One of the letters was directed to Samuel F. Billington, No. 7, The Crescent, Whitby, another to Herr Leutner, Varna.  The third was to Coutts & Co., London, and the fourth to Herren Klopstock & Billreuth, bankers, Buda Pesth.  The second and fourth were unsealed.  I was just about to look at them when I saw the door handle move.  I sank back in my seat, having just had time to resume my book before the Count, holding still another letter in his hand, entered the room.  He took up the letters on the table and stamped them carefully, and then turning to me, said,