The funeral was arranged for the following day so Lucy and her mother could be buried together.
I took care of all the grim arrangements. The undertaker was extremely polite, and even his staff seemed to have inherited his smooth, professional manner.
After the woman who prepared the bodies had finished with Lucy, she came out of the death room and said to me confidentially,
“She’s a beautiful corpse, sir. It’s almost an honor to care for her. She’ll certainly make our funeral home look good.”
Van Helsing stayed close by the whole time. The household was in complete confusion. There were no relatives nearby, and Arthur had to return the next day for his father’s funeral. We had hardly had time to notify anyone else.
So Van Helsing and I took responsibility for going through the papers.
He insisted on examining Lucy’s papers himself.
“Why?” I asked. “You may not know all the English legal requirements. I’m worried you might accidentally cause unnecessary trouble.”
“I know, I know,” he replied. “You forget that I am a doctor and a lawyer. But this is not only about the law. You knew that when you avoided the coroner. There are other people we must avoid as well. There may be papers like this.”
He took Lucy’s torn memorandum from his pocket.
“When you find the solicitor who handled Mrs. Westenra’s affairs, seal all her papers and write to him tonight,” he continued. “I will stay here and in Miss Lucy’s old room all night. I must search for anything important. Her private thoughts should not fall into the hands of strangers.”
I continued working. Within half an hour, I found the solicitor’s name and address and wrote to him.
Mrs. Westenra’s papers were all in perfect order. She had even left clear instructions about where she wished to be buried.
I had just sealed the letter when Van Helsing suddenly came into the room.
“Can I help you, friend John?” he asked. “I have finished what I was doing. If you need me, I am at your service.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I was not looking for one particular thing. I simply hoped to find everything that might be useful, and I did. There are some letters, a few notes, and a diary that was only recently started.”
He touched the papers he had collected.
“I have them here. For now, we will say nothing about them. I shall speak with that poor young man tomorrow evening. If he gives me permission, I may use some of them.”
When our work was finished, Van Helsing sighed.
“And now, friend John, I think we should sleep. We both need rest. Tomorrow there will be much to do, but tonight we are no longer needed.”
Before going to bed, we went to see Lucy one last time.
The undertaker had done an excellent job. The room had been transformed into a quiet mourning chamber. Beautiful white flowers were everywhere, and everything had been arranged to make death seem as peaceful as possible.
The sheet covered Lucy’s face.
Van Helsing gently pulled it back.
We both stopped in surprise.
Lucy was more beautiful than I had ever seen her.
All the color and softness of life seemed to have returned to her face. Instead of showing the marks of death, she looked young and peaceful. I could hardly believe I was looking at a dead woman.
Van Helsing stood beside her with a grave expression.
“Stay here until I return,” he said.
He left the room.
A few minutes later he came back carrying a handful of wild garlic. He placed the flowers among the others around Lucy’s bed.
Then he took a small golden crucifix from beneath his collar and placed it gently over her mouth.
He pulled the sheet back into place, and we left the room.
I was undressing when Van Helsing knocked softly and entered.
“Tomorrow, before nightfall, I want you to bring me a set of post-mortem knives.”
“Are we going to perform an autopsy?” I asked.
“Yes—and no. I need to perform an operation, but not the kind you are thinking of.”
He looked at me seriously.
“I want to cut off her head and remove her heart.”
I stared at him in shock.
“You’re a surgeon,” he said. “Why are you so horrified? I have seen you perform operations that would make ordinary people tremble.”
Then his voice softened.
“But I have not forgotten that you loved Lucy. I will do the operation myself. You will only help me.”
“I would do it tonight,” he continued, “but Arthur must be allowed to see her tomorrow after his father’s funeral. Once Lucy is placed in her coffin, you and I will come here after everyone is asleep.”
“We will open the coffin, perform the operation, and then put everything back exactly as it was. No one will ever know except us.”
“But why?” I demanded. “She is dead. Why mutilate her body for no reason? If there is nothing to learn from an autopsy, nothing that can help her, us, science, or anyone else, then this is monstrous.”
Van Helsing placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Friend John, I know your heart is broken. That is why I love you even more. If I could carry your pain for you, I would.”
“But there are things you do not know yet. One day you will understand them, and you may even be grateful that I knew them first.”
“Have I ever done anything without a good reason?” he asked. “I may make mistakes because I am only a man, but I believe in what I do.”
“You trusted me when this terrible trouble began. You believed me even when I told you things that seemed impossible.”
“You remember when Arthur wanted to kiss Lucy while she was dying, and I stopped him with all my strength?”
“You were shocked by what I did. But later you saw how Lucy thanked me with her dying eyes. She kissed my rough hand and blessed me. I had promised her that I would protect her.”
Van Helsing looked directly into my eyes.
“I have a very good reason for what I want to do now. You have trusted me for many years. You trusted me during these strange weeks, even when everything I said seemed impossible.”
“Please trust me a little longer.”
“If you cannot trust me, then I must work without the support of my friend. And that will make this terrible work even harder.”
He paused.
“Friend John, there are strange and terrible days ahead of us. Let us not face them as two men. Let us become one in purpose and work together.”
“Will you have faith in me?”
I took his hand.
“Yes. I promise.”
I watched him walk back to his room and close the door.
As I stood there, one of the maids quietly walked down the hallway. She did not see me.
She entered Lucy’s room.
The sight moved me deeply.
Real devotion is rare. We are especially grateful when someone shows it without being asked.
That poor young woman was afraid of death, yet she put aside her fear and went alone to keep watch beside Lucy’s coffin so that the woman she loved would not be left alone.
I must have slept deeply, because daylight had already come when Van Helsing woke me.
He stood beside my bed.
“You do not need to worry about the knives,” he said. “We will not be doing the operation.”
“Why not?”
His face was extremely serious.
“Because it is too late—or perhaps too early.”
He held up the little golden crucifix.
“Look.”
The crucifix was gone from Lucy’s room.
“It was stolen during the night.”
“How can it have been stolen when you have it now?”
“I took it back from the worthless woman who stole it.”
He looked angry.
“She robbed both the dead and the living. Her punishment will come, but not from me. She did not fully understand what she was doing. She only stole because she did not know better.”
“Now we must wait.”
He left me with yet another mystery.
The rest of the morning passed slowly.
At noon, Mrs. Westenra’s solicitor arrived. His name was Mr. Marquand of Wholeman, Sons, Marquand & Lidderdale.
He was friendly and grateful for everything we had done. He immediately took responsibility for the legal details.
During lunch, he told us that Mrs. Westenra had expected that her heart might suddenly fail one day, so she had put all her affairs in order.
He explained that almost everything she owned, both property and money, had been left to Arthur Holmwood.
There was only one exception: a piece of inherited property that had belonged to Lucy’s father. Since Lucy had no direct descendants, that property would return to another branch of the family.
The solicitor shook his head.
“Frankly, we tried very hard to persuade Mrs. Westenra to arrange her will differently.”
“We warned her that certain circumstances could leave her daughter without money, or unable to make her own decisions about marriage.”
“We pushed the matter so strongly that we almost came into conflict with her. She finally asked us whether we were prepared to carry out her wishes or not.”
“Of course, we had no choice but to agree.”
“We were right in principle. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, events would have proved our judgment correct.”
“But in this particular case, another arrangement would actually have prevented her wishes from being carried out.”
“If Mrs. Westenra had died before Lucy, Lucy would have inherited everything. If Lucy had then died even five minutes later without a valid will, her property would have passed according to the law.”
“In that situation, Lord Godalming would have had no legal claim at all.”
“The distant relatives who would inherit would hardly have given up their rights simply because Arthur was Lucy’s beloved.”
“So I must admit that I am extremely pleased with the way things turned out.”
He was a decent man, but I could not help noticing how strange it was that he could speak so cheerfully about one small legal aspect of such a terrible tragedy.
He did not stay long.
He said he would return later to see Lord Godalming.
Still, his visit comforted us. At least we knew that no one would accuse us of mishandling Mrs. Westenra’s affairs.
Arthur was expected at five.
A little before that time, Van Helsing and I went to the death room.
Now both Lucy and her mother lay there.
The undertaker had arranged everything beautifully, but the room still had the unmistakable atmosphere of death. It immediately depressed us.
Van Helsing told the undertaker to restore the arrangement from the previous night.
“Lord Godalming will be here shortly,” he explained. “It will be easier for him if he can see his fiancée alone.”
The undertaker realized his mistake and quickly rearranged everything.
Arthur arrived looking completely broken.
He had just lost his father, and now he had come to say goodbye to Lucy.
He had loved his father deeply, so losing him at such a time had been a terrible blow.
He was warm and friendly with me, and very polite to Van Helsing, but I noticed that he seemed slightly uncomfortable around the Professor.
Van Helsing noticed it too.
He motioned for me to take Arthur upstairs.
I brought him to Lucy’s room and was about to leave him alone.
But Arthur caught my arm and pulled me inside.
“You loved her too, old friend,” he said in a broken voice. “She told me everything. No friend was closer to her heart than you.”
“I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done for her.”
“I can’t think clearly yet.”
Suddenly he broke down.
He put his arms around my shoulders and rested his head against my chest.
“Oh, Jack! Jack! What am I going to do?”
“My whole life seems to have disappeared in a single moment. There is nothing left for me to live for.”
I held him and tried to comfort him.
Sometimes men do not need many words at such moments. A firm handshake, an arm around the shoulder, or simply sharing someone’s grief can say everything that needs to be said.
When his sobbing finally eased, I said quietly,
“Come and look at her.”
We walked to the bed together.
I lifted the cloth from Lucy’s face.
God, she was beautiful.
Her beauty seemed to grow with every passing hour.
It frightened me.
Arthur began trembling violently.
After staring at her for a long time, he whispered,
“Jack, is she really dead?”
“Yes,” I said sadly. “She is.”
I quickly explained that people sometimes look younger and more peaceful after death, especially after a long illness or severe suffering.
That seemed to calm him.
He knelt beside her and looked at her lovingly for a long time.
Eventually he stood.
I told him that he had to say his final goodbye because the coffin needed to be prepared.
Arthur returned to the bed.
He took Lucy’s cold hand and kissed it.
Then he kissed her forehead.
He walked away slowly, looking back at her again and again.
I left him in the drawing room and told Van Helsing that Arthur had said goodbye.
The Professor went to tell the undertaker’s men to finish preparing the coffin.
When he returned, I told him what Arthur had asked.
Van Helsing nodded.
“I am not surprised,” he said. “For a moment, I doubted it myself.”
We had dinner together.
Arthur tried his best to remain composed.
Van Helsing was silent throughout the meal.
After we lit our cigars, he finally spoke.
“Lord—”
Arthur immediately interrupted him.
“No, please. Not that. Not yet.”
“Forgive me,” he added. “I did not mean to be rude. My loss is still too fresh.”
Van Helsing smiled gently.
“I only called you that because I was unsure how to address you. I cannot call you ‘Mr.’ anymore.”
“I have come to love you, Arthur. Yes, my dear boy, I have come to love you.”
Arthur reached out and warmly took the old Professor’s hand.
“Call me whatever you like,” he said. “I hope I can always call you my friend.”
“And I have no words to thank you for everything you did for my poor Lucy.”
He paused.
“I know she understood your kindness even better than I did.”
“If I behaved badly when you acted so strongly to protect her, I hope you will forgive me.”
Van Helsing nodded.
“I know it was difficult for you to trust me then. Such extreme actions are difficult to understand.”
“And I know you still do not understand everything now.”
“There may be other times when I ask you to trust me even though you cannot understand why.”
“But one day, everything will become clear to you.”
“You will understand why I did what I did, and you will thank me for it—for your sake, for the sake of others, and especially for Lucy’s sake, because I promised her that I would protect her.”
Arthur squeezed his hand.
“I truly will trust you, sir.”
“I believe you have a noble heart. You are Jack’s friend, and you were Lucy’s friend.”
“You may do whatever you believe is necessary.”
Van Helsing cleared his throat.
“May I ask you one more thing?”
“Of course.”
“You know that Mrs. Westenra left you all her property.”
“No. I never thought about that.”
“And because everything now belongs to you, you have the right to decide what happens to it.”
“I want your permission to read all of Lucy’s letters and papers.”
“Believe me, I am not asking out of curiosity. I have a reason, and Lucy would have approved.”
“I already have them here. I took them before we knew that everything would come to you because I did not want strangers touching them or reading the thoughts she had written down.”
“I would like to keep them safe.”
“Even you should not read them yet.”
“I promise that nothing will be lost. When the right time comes, I will return everything to you.”
“It is a difficult thing to ask, but will you do it for Lucy’s sake?”
Arthur answered without hesitation.
“Dr. Van Helsing, you may do whatever you think is right.”
“I believe that by saying this, I am doing what Lucy herself would have wanted.”
“I will not ask questions until you believe the time is right.”
Van Helsing slowly stood.
“You are right.”
“There will be pain ahead for all of us. But pain will not be all that awaits us, and this suffering will not be the end.”
“We must pass through the bitter part before we can reach anything sweet.”
“We must be brave. We must put others before ourselves. We must do our duty.”
“If we do that, everything will eventually be well.”
That night I slept on a sofa in Arthur’s room.
Van Helsing did not sleep at all.
He walked through the house like a guard on patrol, constantly checking the room where Lucy lay in her coffin.
Wild garlic covered the coffin, filling the night air with a powerful smell beneath the softer scents of lilies and roses.
Mina Harker’s Journal
September 22
I am on the train to Exeter. Jonathan is asleep.
It feels as if I wrote my last entry only yesterday, yet so much has happened since then.
Whitby seems like another world now.
Jonathan was away, and I had no news of him. Now we are married. He has become a successful solicitor and partner in his firm. Mr. Hawkins has died and been buried, and Jonathan has suffered another attack that may have damaged his mind.
Perhaps one day he will ask me about everything.
I must write it all down.
My shorthand has become terribly rusty. I suppose that is what unexpected prosperity does to a person. Perhaps it is time to practice again.
The funeral service was simple and solemn.
Only a few people attended: the servants, one or two of his old friends from Exeter, his London agent, and a representative of Sir John Paxton, the president of the Incorporated Law Society.
Jonathan and I stood holding hands.
We both felt that we had lost someone very dear to us.
Afterward, we quietly returned to London and took a bus to Hyde Park Corner.
Jonathan thought I might enjoy spending a little time in the Row, so we sat there.
There were very few people around.
The empty chairs made the place seem strangely sad.
They reminded us of the empty chair waiting for us at home.
We got up and walked down Piccadilly.
Jonathan held my arm just as he used to before I went away to school.
I felt that it was slightly improper. After spending years teaching other girls about manners and proper behavior, I had become rather strict about such things myself.
But Jonathan was my husband.
We were not hurting anyone, and we did not care if anyone saw us.
So we continued walking.
I was looking at a beautiful young woman wearing a huge hat. She was sitting in a carriage outside Giuliano’s.
Suddenly Jonathan grabbed my arm so hard that he hurt me.
“My God!” he whispered.
I immediately turned to him.
“What is wrong?”
He was extremely pale.
His eyes were wide with fear as he stared at a tall, thin man nearby.
The stranger had a sharp, hooked nose, a black mustache, and a pointed beard.
He was also staring at the young woman.
He watched her so intensely that he did not notice us, giving me a good look at him.
There was something deeply unpleasant about his face.
It was hard, cruel, and strangely sensual.
His lips were very red, making his large white teeth seem even whiter.
And those teeth were pointed like an animal’s.
Jonathan kept staring at him.
I was afraid the man would notice.
“Why are you so upset?” I asked.
Jonathan looked at me as though he assumed I already knew the answer.
“Do you see who that is?”
“No, dear. I don’t know him. Who is he?”
His answer frightened me.
“It is the man himself!”
Jonathan looked so terrified that I believe he might have collapsed if I had not been there to support him.
A man came out of the shop carrying a small package and handed it to the young woman.
She drove away.
The dark stranger kept watching her.
When her carriage moved up Piccadilly, he immediately followed and called for a cab.
Jonathan watched him disappear.
“I believe it is the Count,” he whispered.
“But he has grown young again.”
“My God, if it really is him!”
“If only I knew. If only I knew!”
He was becoming so distressed that I decided not to question him.
I quietly led him away.
We walked farther and eventually sat down in Green Park.
It was unusually warm for autumn, and we found a comfortable seat in the shade.
After sitting quietly for a few minutes, Jonathan’s eyes closed.
Soon he fell asleep with his head resting on my shoulder.
I thought sleep would help him, so I did not wake him.
About twenty minutes later, he opened his eyes.
He looked cheerful.
“Mina, have I been asleep?”
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Come. Let’s find somewhere and have some tea.”
He seemed to have completely forgotten the strange man.
During his illness, he has sometimes forgotten important events after they happened.
I am deeply worried about this.
It may mean that something is still wrong with his brain.
I dare not question him directly because I might make things worse.
But somehow I must learn what happened during his journey abroad.
I think the time has come.
I must open that parcel and read what is inside.
Jonathan, I hope you will forgive me if I am doing something wrong.
I am only doing it because I love you.
Later
Our return home was sad in every possible way.
The house felt empty without the person who had been so kind to us.
Jonathan was still pale and dizzy from his illness.
Then a telegram arrived from Van Helsing.
I do not even know who this man really is.
The message said:
“Mrs. Westenra died five days ago. Lucy died the day before yesterday. They were both buried today.”
Those few words contained so much sorrow.
Poor Mrs. Westenra.
Poor Lucy.
They were gone forever.
And poor Arthur had lost the woman who had brought so much sweetness into his life.
May God help us all bear what has happened.
Dr. Seward’s Diary
September 22
It is all over.
Arthur has returned to Ring, and Quincey Morris has gone with him.
What a remarkable man Quince is.
I believe he suffered as deeply over Lucy’s death as any of us, but he carried himself through it with incredible strength.
He reminded me of an old Viking warrior.
If America continues producing men like him, it will become a great power indeed.
Van Helsing is resting before his journey.
He is returning to Amsterdam tonight and says he will be back tomorrow night.
He claims that he needs to make some arrangements in person.
Afterward, he intends to stay with me.
He also has some work to do in London that may keep him here for a while.
Poor old friend.
I fear the events of the past week have finally exhausted even his extraordinary strength.
During the funeral, I could see that he was forcing himself to remain calm.
After the service, we stood beside Arthur.
Arthur began talking about the blood transfusion he had given Lucy.
He said that because his blood had flowed into her veins, he felt that they had truly been married in the eyes of God.
Van Helsing’s face became pale, then flushed dark red.
None of us mentioned the other operations.
None of us ever will.
Arthur and Quincey left together for the station.
Van Helsing and I returned here.
The moment we were alone in the carriage, Van Helsing suddenly broke down.
He later insisted that it was not hysteria.
He called it his sense of humor escaping under unbearable pressure.
He laughed until tears ran down his face.
I had to pull down the carriage blinds so no one outside would see us and misunderstand.
Then he cried until he began laughing again.
For a while he was doing both at once.
I tried to speak firmly to him, but nothing helped.
Men and women show emotional pain in very different ways.
When he finally became serious again, I asked him why he had laughed at such a terrible time.
His answer was strange but very much like him.
“Ah, friend John, you do not understand.”
“Do not think I am not sad simply because I laugh.”
“I cried too. Sometimes the laughter itself was choking me.”
“But do not think that every time I cry I am completely sad either.”
“Sometimes the laughter comes at the same time.”
“You must understand that real laughter does not ask permission.”
“It does not wait for the right moment.”
“It simply arrives and says, ‘I am here.’”
“Look at what happened to me.”
“I loved that poor young girl. I gave her my blood, even though I am old and exhausted. I gave her my time, my knowledge, and my sleep.”
“I neglected other patients because I wanted to save her.”
“And yet I could laugh beside her grave.”
“When the gravedigger’s shovel dropped earth onto her coffin, each heavy sound struck my heart.”
“I was grieving for her with everything I had.”
“And I was grieving for that poor young man, too.”
“He is about the same age my own son would have been, if I had been blessed with a living son.”
“That is why I love him so much.”
“He speaks to the father in me.”
“He touches my heart in a way that even you cannot, because you are my equal and he is like a son.”
“And yet, even when my heart is breaking for him, King Laugh comes shouting into my ear.”
“‘Here I am! Here I am!’”
“He forces the blood back into my face and brings a little sunlight with him.”
“It is a strange world, friend John.”
“It is a sad world, full of misery and suffering.”
“But when King Laugh arrives, he makes everything dance to his music.”
“Broken hearts, old bones in the churchyard, and tears burning on people’s faces—all of them dance together.”
“And believe me, laughter is sometimes a kindness.”
“We are like ropes pulled tight from opposite directions.”
“The strain becomes unbearable.”
“Then tears fall like rain and give the ropes enough strength to continue.”
“But sometimes the strain becomes too great, and the rope breaks.”
“Laughter is like sunshine. It loosens the tension.”
“And then we find the strength to continue our work.”
I did not want to hurt him by pretending that I could not understand his meaning.
Still, I could not see what had been so funny.
So I asked him.
His face immediately became serious.
“It was the terrible irony of everything,” he said.
“Look at Lucy.”
“She was covered in flowers and looked so beautiful that, for a moment, we almost wondered whether she was really dead.”
“She was lying in that beautiful marble tomb in the lonely churchyard, beside the mother who had loved her and whom she had loved.”
“The church bell kept ringing slowly.”
“Toll. Toll. Toll.”
“The priests stood there in their white robes, pretending to read their books, though none of them were actually looking at the pages.”
“All of us stood with our heads bowed.”
“And for what?”
“She was dead.”
“Was she not?”
I shook my head.
“For the life of me, Professor, I still cannot see anything funny about that.”
“Your explanation makes it even harder to understand.”
“And what about Arthur?”
“His heart was breaking.”
Van Helsing nodded.
“Exactly.”
“Did he not say that giving Lucy his blood made her his true bride?”
“Yes. And it was a beautiful thought.”
“Exactly.”
“But there is one problem, friend John.”
“If his blood made him her husband, what about the other men who gave her blood?”
He gave a strange laugh.
“Then Lucy would have several husbands.”
“And what about me?”
“My own wife is dead to me in every way except according to the Church, which still considers us married.”
“So I would become a bigamist as well.”
“I still don’t see the joke,” I said.
I was not particularly pleased with him.
Van Helsing placed a hand on my arm.
“Forgive me, friend John, if I have hurt you.”
“I did not show these feelings in front of the others because I did not want to hurt them.”
“I showed them only to you because you are my old friend and I trust you.”
“If you could have looked inside my heart when I wanted to laugh…”
“If you could have seen what happened inside me when the laughter came…”
“And if you could see my heart now, after King Laugh has gone away…”
“He will be gone for a very long time.”
“Perhaps then you would pity me more than anyone.”
His voice was so gentle that I was deeply moved.
“Why?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Because I know.”
Now we are all scattered.
For a long time, loneliness will hang over our homes.
Lucy lies in the tomb of her family, far from the crowded streets of London.
It stands in a quiet churchyard where the air is clean, the sun rises over Hampstead Hill, and wild flowers grow freely.
I think I can end this diary now.
God alone knows whether I will ever write another.
If I do, it will be about different people and different things.
For now, the story of this part of my life is finished.
I must return to my work and try to continue living.
So I can only write one final word:
FINIS
The Westminster Gazette, September 25
A Mystery in Hampstead
Something strange has been happening around Hampstead.
Over the past few days, several young children have wandered away from home or failed to return after playing on the Heath.
The children are too young to give a clear explanation of where they have been.
But they all tell roughly the same story.
They say they were with a “bloofer lady.”
In every case, the children disappeared late in the evening.
On two occasions, they were not found until the following morning.
People in the neighborhood believe that the first child used the phrase “bloofer lady” because a woman supposedly asked him to go for a walk.
The other children may simply have copied the expression.
Children often invent games based on things they hear.
In fact, “bloofer lady” has become a popular game among them.
It is apparently quite amusing to watch these little children pretend to lure one another away.
One correspondent even jokes that some of these grubby-faced children can look more charming in the role than any famous actress.
But there may be something much more serious behind these incidents.
Several of the children who disappeared at night were found with small wounds on their throats.
The injuries are minor.
They look as though they might have been caused by a rat or a small dog.
However, because the wounds are so similar, it seems possible that the same animal—or something behaving like an animal—has been attacking the children.
The police have been ordered to watch carefully for very young children wandering around Hampstead Heath after dark.
They have also been told to look for any stray dogs in the area.
The Westminster Gazette, September 25
Extra Special
The Hampstead Horror
Another Child Injured
The “Bloofer Lady”
We have just received news of another disturbing incident.
A child who disappeared last night was found late this morning beneath a bush on the quieter side of Hampstead Heath, near Shooter’s Hill.
The child had the same small wound on the throat that had been found on the other victims.
The poor child was extremely weak and looked terribly thin.
After partially recovering, the child told the same story as the others.
A “bloofer lady” had lured the child away.