| PREFACE |
| Dracula’s Guest |
| The Judge’s House |
| The Squaw |
| The Secret of the Growing Gold |
| The Gipsy Prophecy |
| The Coming of Abel Behenna |
| The Burial of the Rats |
| A Dream of Red Hands |
| Crooken Sands |
A few months before the lamented death of my husband—I might say evenas the shadow of death was over him—he planned three series of shortstories for publication, and the present volume is one of them. To hisoriginal list of stories in this book, I have added an hithertounpublished episode from Dracula. It was originally excised owing tothe length of the book, and may prove of interest to the many readers ofwhat is considered my husband’s most remarkable work. The other storieshave already been published in English and American periodicals. Had myhusband lived longer, he might have seen fit to revise this work, whichis mainly from the earlier years of his strenuous life. But, as fate hasentrusted to me the issuing of it, I consider it fitting and proper tolet it go forth practically as it was left by him.
FLORENCE BRAM STOKER
When we started for our drive the sun was shining brightly on Munich,and the air was full of the joyousness of early summer. Just as we wereabout to depart, Herr Delbrück (the maître d’hôtel of the QuatreSaisons, where I was staying) came down, bareheaded, to the carriageand, after wishing me a pleasant drive, said to the coachman, stillholding his hand on the handle of the carriage door:
“Remember you are back by nightfall. The sky looks bright but there is ashiver in the north wind that says there may be a sudden storm. But I amsure you will not be late.” Here he smiled, and added, “for you knowwhat night it is.”
Johann answered with an emphatic, “Ja, mein Herr,” and, touching hishat, drove off quickly. When we had cleared the town, I said, aftersignalling to him to stop:
“Tell me, Johann, what is tonight?”
He crossed himself, as he answered laconically: “Walpurgis nacht.” Thenhe took out his watch, a great, old-fashioned German silver thing as bigas a turnip, and looked at it, with his eyebrows gathered together and alittle impatient shrug of his shoulders. I realised that this was hisway of respectfully protesting against the unnecessary delay, and sankback in the carriage, merely motioning him to proceed. He started offrapidly, as if to make up for lost time. Every now and then the horsesseemed to throw up their heads and sniffed the air suspiciously. On suchoccasions I often looked round in alarm. The road was pretty bleak, forwe were traversing a sort of high, wind-swept plateau. As we drove, Isaw a road that looked but little used, and which seemed to dip througha little, winding valley. It looked so inviting that, even at the riskof offending him, I called Johann to stop—and when he had pulled up, Itold him I would like to drive down that road.