"stoker-dracula-168" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stoker Bram)

determined then and there to scale the wall again and gain the Count's
room. He might kill me, but death now seemed the happier choice of
evils. Without a pause I rushed up to the east window, and scrambled
down the wall, as before, into the Count's room. It was empty, but
that was as I expected. I could not see a key anywhere, but the heap
of gold remained. I went through the door in the corner and down the
winding stair and along the dark passage to the old chapel. I knew now
well enough where to find the monster I sought.

The great box was in the same place, close against the wall, but the
lid was laid on it, not fastened down, but with the nails ready in
their places to be hammered home. I knew I must reach the body for the
key, so I raised the lid, and laid it back against the wall; and
then I saw something which filled my very soul with horror. There
lay the Count, but looking as if his youth had been half renewed,
for the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the
cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the
mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood,
which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and
neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh,
for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if
the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood. He lay like
a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion. I shuddered as I bent
over to touch him, and every sense in me revolted at the contact;
but I had to search, or I was lost. The coming night might see my
own body a banquet in a similar way to those horrid three. I felt
all over the body, but no sign could I find of the key. Then I stopped
and looked at the Count. There was a mocking smile on the bloated face
which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being I was helping to
transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might,
amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a
new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless.
The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came upon me to rid
the world of such a monster. There was no lethal weapon at hand, but I
seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to fill the cases,
and lifting it high struck, with the edge downward, at the hateful
face. But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell full upon me,
with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to
paralyse me, and the shovel turned in my hand and glanced from the
face, merely making a deep gash above the forehead. The shovel fell
from my hand across the box, and as I pulled it away the flange of the
blade caught the edge of the lid, which fell over again, and hid the
horrid thing from my sight. The last glimpse I had was of the
bloated face, bloodstained and fixed with a grin of malice which would
have held its own in the nethermost hell.

I thought and thought what should be my next move, but my brain
seemed on fire, and I waited with a despairing feeling growing over
me. As I waited I heard in the distance a gipsy song sung by merry
voices coming closer, and through their song the rolling of heavy