Dracula — London

The Harkers come back from a funeral in Exeter and take a bus to Hyde Park Corner. They sit for a while in the Row, among the empty chairs, then walk down Piccadilly arm in arm.

Outside Guiliano's a pretty girl in a big cart-wheel hat waits in a carriage. A tall, thin man with a beaky nose and a pointed beard is staring at her. Jonathan grips Mina's arm so hard that it hurts.

“I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if this be so!”

When the carriage moves off up Piccadilly, the man hails a hansom and follows it. Mina leads Jonathan into the Green Park and sits him down in the shade, where he falls asleep with his head on her shoulder.

Since his illness, Jonathan has not been sure what he saw in the castle. In Piccadilly, on a hot afternoon, he is sure.

The Pall Mall Gazette sends a reporter to the Zoological Gardens. The keeper of the wolves, Thomas Bilder, will not talk business until supper is over.

His grey wolf, Bersicker, came from Norway and has been at the Zoo four years: "a nice well-behaved wolf". The afternoon before, a tall, thin man with a pointed beard and red eyes stopped at the cage and stroked Bersicker's ears. The keeper warned him the wolf was quick.

‘Never mind,’ he says. ‘I’m used to ’em!’

That night, as soon as the moon was up, every wolf in the section howled. Just before midnight, Bersicker's cage was empty, its rails broken and twisted.

Bilder's theory is that the wolf escaped "simply because he wanted to get out", and he is still laughing at it when Bersicker comes back by himself, his head cut and full of broken glass from some London wall.

The newspaper tells it as a comedy. The reader knows whose window the wolf went to that night.

The Westminster Gazette has a Hampstead mystery. Small children have been straying from home on the Heath and turning up late at night, or the next morning. The first one missed said a "bloofer lady" had asked him to come for a walk, and now they all say it. It is a small child's way of saying beautiful.

The children have made a game of it, luring each other away. The paper finds that funny, and then it does not:

There is, however, possibly a serious side to the question, for some of the children, indeed all who have been missed at night, have been slightly torn or wounded in the throat.

The same day, another child is found under a furze bush on the Heath, terribly weak, with the same tiny wound. Stoker puts the bush on "the Shooter's Hill side of Hampstead Heath"; Shooter's Hill is on the other side of London, in the south-east.

The newspaper does not know who was buried a few days before. The reader does.