福尔摩斯案卷-VIII THE ADVENTURE OF THE CREEPING MAN
Mr. Sherlock Holmes was always of
opinion that I should publish the singular
facts connected with Professor Presbury, if only to
dispel once for all the ugly rumours which some
twenty years ago agitated the University and were
echoed in the learned societies of London. There
were, however, certain obstacles in the way, and the
true history of this curious case remained entombed
in the tin box which contains so many records of my
friend's adventures. Now we have at last obtained
permission to ventilate the facts which formed one
of the very last cases handled by Holmes before his
retirement from practice. Even now a certain
reticence and discretion have to be observed in laying
the matter before the public.
It was one Sunday evening early in September of
the year 1903 that I received one of Holmes's laconic
messages: "Come at once if convenient—if
inconvenient come all the same.—S.H." The relations
between us in those latter days were peculiar. He
was a man of habits, narrow and concentrated habits,
and I had become one of them. As an institution I
was like the violin, the shag tobacco, the old black
pipe, the index books, and others perhaps less
excusable. When it was a case of active work and
a comrade was needed upon whose nerve he could
place some reliance, my role was obvious. But apart
from this I had uses. I was a whetstone for his
mind. I stimulated him. He liked to think aloud
in my presence. His remarks could hardly be said
to be made to me—many of them would have been
as appropriately addressed to his bedstead—but
none the less, having formed the habit, it had become
in some way helpful that I should register and
interject. If I irritated him by a certain methodical
slowness in my mentality, that irritation served only
to make his own flame-like intuitions and impressions
flash up the more vividly and swiftly. Such was my
humble role in our alliance.
When I arrived at Baker Street I found him
huddled up in his arm-chair with updrawn knees,
his pipe in his mouth and his brow furrowed with
thought. It was clear that he was in the throes of
some vexatious problem. With a wave of his hand
he indicated my old arm-chair, but otherwise for
half an hour he gave no sign that he was aware of
my presence. Then with a start he seemed to come
from his reverie, and, with his usual whimsical smile,
he greeted me back to what had once been my home.
"You will excuse a certain abstraction of mind,
my dear Watson," said he. "Some curious facts
have been submitted to me within the last twenty-four
hours, and they in turn have given rise to some
speculations of a more general character. I have
serious thoughts of writing a small monograph upon
the uses of dogs in the work of the detective."
"But surely, Holmes, this has been explored,"
said I. "Bloodhounds—sleuth-hounds——"
"No, no, Watson; that side of the matter is, of
course, obvious. But there is another which is far
more subtle. You may recollect that in the case
which you, in your sensational way, coupled with
the Copper Beeches, I was able, by watching the
mind of the child, to form a deduction as to the
criminal habits of the very smug and respectable
father."
"Yes, I remember it well."
"My line of thoughts about dogs is analogous. A
dog reflects the family life. Whoever saw a frisky
dog in a gloomy family, or a sad dog in a happy one?
Snarling people have snarling dogs, dangerous people
have dangerous ones. And their passing moods may
reflect the passing moods of others."
I shook my head. "Surely, Holmes, this is a
little far-fetched," said I.
He had refilled his pipe and resumed his seat,
taking no notice of my comment.
"The practical application of what I have said is
very close to the problem which I am investigating.
It is a tangled skein, you understand, and I am looking
for a loose end. One possible loose end lies in the
question: Why does Professor Presbury's faithful
wolf-hound, Roy, endeavour to bite him?"
I sank back in my chair in some disappointment.
Was it for so trivial a question as this that I had
been summoned from my work? Holmes glanced
across at me.
"The same old Watson!" said he. "You never
learn that the gravest issues may depend upon the
smallest things. But is it not on the face of it
strange that a staid, elderly philosopher—you've
heard of Presbury, of course, the famous Camford
physiologist?—that such a man, whose friend has
been his devoted wolf-hound, should now have been
twice attacked by his own dog? What do you make
of it?"
"The dog is ill."
"Well, that has to be considered. But he attacks
no one else, nor does he apparently molest his master,
save on very special occasions. Curious, Watson—very
curious. But young Mr. Bennett is before his
time, if that is his ring. I had hoped to have a
longer chat with you before he came."
There was a quick step on the stairs, a sharp tap
at the door, and a moment later the new client
presented himself. He was a tall, handsome youth
about thirty, well dressed and elegant, but with
something in his bearing which suggested the
shyness of the student rather than the self-possession
of the man of the world. He shook hands with
Holmes, and then looked with some surprise at me.
"This matter is very delicate, Mr. Holmes," he
said. "Consider the relation in which I stand to
Professor Presbury, both privately and publicly.
I really can hardly justify myself if I speak before
any third person."
"Have no fear, Mr. Bennett. Dr. Watson is the
very soul of discretion, and I can assure you that
this is a matter in which I am very likely to need an
assistant."
"As you like, Mr. Holmes. You will, I am sure,
understand my having some reserves in the matter."
"You will appreciate it, Watson, when I tell you
that this gentleman, Mr. Trevor Bennett, is professional
assistant to the great scientist, lives under
his roof, and is engaged to his only daughter.
Certainly we must agree that the Professor has every
claim upon his loyalty and devotion. But it may
best be shown by taking the necessary steps to clear
up this strange mystery."
"I hope so, Mr. Holmes. That is my one object.
Does Dr. Watson know the situation?"
"I have not had time to explain it."
"Then perhaps I had better go over the ground
again before explaining some fresh developments."
"I will do so myself," said Holmes, "in order to
show that I have the events in their due order. The
Professor, Watson, is a man of European reputation.
His life has been academic. There has never been
a breath of scandal. He is a widower with one
daughter, Edith. He is, I gather, a man of very
virile and positive, one might almost say combative,
character. So the matter stood until a very few
months ago.
"Then the current of his life was broken. He is
sixty-one years of age, but he became engaged to
the daughter of Professor Morphy, his colleague in
the chair of Comparative Anatomy. It was not, as
I understand, the reasoned courting of an elderly
man, but rather the passionate frenzy of youth, for
no one could have shown himself a more devoted
lover. The lady, Alice Morphy, was a very perfect
girl both in mind and body, so that there was every
excuse for the Professor's infatuation. Nonetheless,
it did not meet with full approval in his own family."
"We thought it rather excessive," said our
visitor.
"Exactly. Excessive and a little violent and
unnatural. Professor Presbury was rich, however,
and there was no objection upon the part of the
father. The daughter, however, had other views,
and there were already several candidates for her
hand, who, if they were less eligible from a worldly
point of view, were at least more of an age. The
girl seemed to like the Professor in spite of his
eccentricities. It was only age which stood in the
way.
"About this time a little mystery suddenly
clouded the normal routine of the Professor's life.
He did what he had never done before. He left
home and gave no indication where he was going.
He was away a fortnight, and returned looking rather
travel-worn. He made no allusion to where he had
been, although he was usually the frankest of men.
It chanced, however, that our client here,
Mr. Bennett, received a letter from a fellow-student in
Prague, who said that he was glad to have seen
Professor Presbury there, although he had not been able
to talk to him. Only in this way did his own
household learn where he had been.
"Now comes the point. From that time onwards
a curious change came over the Professor. He
became furtive and sly. Those around him had
always the feeling that he was not the man that
they had known, but that he was under some shadow
which had darkened his higher qualities. His
intellect was not affected. His lectures were as
brilliant as ever. But always there was something
new, something sinister and unexpected. His
daughter, who was devoted to him, tried again and
again to resume the old relations and to penetrate
this mask which her father seemed to have put on.
You, sir, as I understand, did the same—but all
was in vain. And now, Mr. Bennett, tell in your
own words the incident of the letters."
"You must understand, Dr. Watson, that the
Professor had no secrets from me. If I were his
son or his younger brother, I could not have more
completely enjoyed his confidence. As his secretary
I handled every paper which came to him, and I
opened and subdivided his letters. Shortly after
his return all this was changed. He told me that
certain letters might come to him from London which
would be marked by a cross under the stamp.
These were to be set aside for his own eyes only.
I may say that several of these did pass through my
hands, that they had the E.C. mark, and were in an
illiterate handwriting. If he answered them at all
the answers did not pass through my hands nor
into the letter-basket in which our correspondence
was collected."
"And the box," said Holmes.
"Ah, yes, the box. The Professor brought back
a little wooden box from his travels. It was the
one thing which suggested a Continental tour, for
it was one of those quaint carved things which one
associates with Germany. This he placed in his
instrument cupboard. One day, in looking for a
cannula, I took up the box. To my surprise he was
very angry, and reproved me in words which were
quite savage for my curiosity. It was the first time
such a thing had happened and I was deeply hurt.
I endeavoured to explain that it was a mere accident
that I had touched the box, but all the evening I
was conscious that he looked at me harshly and that
the incident was rankling in his mind." Mr. Bennett
drew a little diary book from his pocket. "That
was on July 2," said he.
"You are certainly an admirable witness," said
Holmes. "I may need some of these dates which
you have noted."
"I learned method among other things from my
great teacher. From the time that I observed
abnormality in his behaviour I felt that it was my
duty to study his case. Thus I have it here that it
was on that very day, July 2, that Roy attacked the
Professor, as he came from his study into the hall.
Again on July 11, there was a scene of the same sort
and then I have a note of yet another upon July 20.
After that we had to banish Roy to the stables. He
was a dear, affectionate animal—but I fear I weary
you."
Mr. Bennett spoke in a tone of reproach, for it
was very clear that Holmes was not listening. His
face was rigid and his eyes gazed abstractedly at
the ceiling. With an effort he recovered himself.
"Singular! Most singular!" he murmured.
"These details were new to me, Mr. Bennett. I
think we have now fairly gone over the old ground,
have we not? But you spoke of some fresh developments."
The pleasant, open face of our visitor clouded over,
shadowed by some grim remembrance. "What I
speak of occurred the night before last," said he. "I
was lying awake about two in the morning, when I
was aware of a dull muffled sound coming from the
passage. I opened my door and peeped out. I
should explain that the Professor sleeps at the end
of the passage——"
"The date being——?" asked Holmes.
Our visitor was clearly annoyed at so irrelevant
an interruption.
"I have said, sir, that it was the night before
last—that is, September 4."
Holmes nodded and smiled.
"Pray continue," said he.
"He sleeps at the end of the passage, and would
have to pass my door in order to reach the staircase.
It was a really terrifying experience, Mr. Holmes.
I think that I am as strong-nerved as my neighbours,
but I was shaken by what I saw. The passage was
dark save that one window half-way along it threw
a patch of light. I could see that something was
coming along the passage, something dark and
crouching. Then suddenly it emerged into the light,
and I saw that it was he. He was crawling,
Mr. Holmes—crawling! He was not quite on his hands
and knees. I should rather say on his hands and
feet, with his face sunk between his hands. Yet
he seemed to move with ease. I was so paralysed
by the sight that it was not until he had reached my
door that I was able to step forward and ask if I
could assist him. His answer was extraordinary.
He sprang up, spat out some atrocious word at me,
and hurried on past me, and down the staircase. I
waited about for an hour, but he did not come back. It
must have been daylight before he regained his room."
"Well, Watson, what make you of that?" asked
Holmes, with the air of the pathologist who presents
a rare specimen.
"Lumbago, possibly. I have known a severe
attack make a man walk in just such a way, and
nothing would be more trying to the temper."
"Good, Watson! You always keep us flat-footed
on the ground. But we can hardly accept
lumbago, since he was able to stand erect in a
moment."
"He was never better in health," said Bennett.
"In fact, he is stronger than I have known him for
years. But there are the facts, Mr. Holmes. It is
not a case in which we can consult the police, and
yet we are utterly at our wits' end as to what to
do, and we feel in some strange way that we are
drifting towards disaster. Edith—Miss Presbury—feels
as I do, that we cannot wait passively any
longer."
"It is certainly a very curious and suggestive
case. What do you think, Watson?"
"Speaking as a medical man," said I, "it appears
to be a case for an alienist. The old gentleman's
cerebral processes were disturbed by the love affair.
He made a journey abroad in the hope of breaking
himself of the passion. His letters and the box may
be connected with some other private transaction—a
loan, perhaps, or share certificates, which are in
the box."
"And the wolf-hound no doubt disapproved of
the financial bargain. No, no, Watson, there is
more in it than this. Now, I can only suggest——"
What Sherlock Holmes was about to suggest will
never be known, for at this moment the door opened
and a young lady was shown into the room. As
she appeared Mr. Bennett sprang up with a cry and
ran forward with his hands out to meet those which
she had herself outstretched.
"Edith, dear! Nothing the matter, I hope?"
"I felt I must follow you. Oh, Jack, I have
been so dreadfully frightened! It is awful to be
there alone."
"Mr. Holmes, this is the young lady I spoke of.
This is my fiancée."
"We were gradually coming to that conclusion,
were we not, Watson?" Holmes answered, with a
smile. "I take it, Miss Presbury, that there is
some fresh development in the case, and that you
thought we should know?"
Our new visitor, a bright, handsome girl of a
conventional English type, smiled back at Holmes as
she seated herself beside Mr. Bennett.
"When I found Mr. Bennett had left his hotel
I thought I should probably find him here. Of
course, he had told me that he would consult you.
But, oh, Mr. Holmes, can you do nothing for my
poor father?"
"I have hopes, Miss Presbury, but the case is still
obscure. Perhaps what you have to say may throw
some fresh light upon it."
"It was last night, Mr. Holmes. He had been
very strange all day. I am sure that there are
times when he has no recollection of what he does.
He lives as in a strange dream. Yesterday was such
a day. It was not my father with whom I lived.
His outward shell was there, but it was not really he."
"Tell me what happened."
"I was awakened in the night by the dog barking
most furiously. Poor Roy, he is chained now near
the stable. I may say that I always sleep with my
door locked; for, as Jack—as Mr. Bennett—will
tell you, we all have a feeling of impending danger.
My room is on the second floor. It happened that
the blind was up in my window, and there was
bright moonlight outside. As I lay with my eyes
fixed upon the square of light, listening to the
frenzied barkings of the dog, I was amazed to see
my father's face looking in at me. Mr. Holmes, I
nearly died of surprise and horror. There it was
pressed against the window-pane, and one hand
seemed to be raised as if to push up the window. If
that window had opened, I think I should have gone
mad. It was no delusion, Mr. Holmes. Don't
deceive yourself by thinking so. I dare say it was
twenty seconds or so that I lay paralysed and
watched the face. Then it vanished, but I could
not—I could not spring out of bed and look out
after it. I lay cold and shivering till morning. At
breakfast he was sharp and fierce in manner, and
made no allusion to the adventure of the night.
Neither did I, but I gave an excuse for coming to
town—and here I am."
Holmes looked thoroughly surprised at Miss Presbury's
narrative.
"My dear young lady, you say that your room
is on the second floor. Is there a long ladder in
the garden?"
"No, Mr. Holmes; that is the amazing part of
it. There is no possible way of reaching the
window—and yet he was there."
"The date being September 5," said Holmes.
"That certainly complicates matters."
It was the young lady's turn to look surprised.
"This is the second time that you have alluded
to the date, Mr. Holmes," said Bennett. "Is it
possible that it has any bearing upon the case?"
"It is possible—very possible—and yet I have not
my full material at present."
"Possibly you are thinking of the connection
between insanity and phases of the moon?"
"No, I assure you. It was quite a different line
of thought. Possibly you can leave your notebook
with me and I will check the dates. Now I think,
Watson, that our line of action is perfectly clear.
This young lady has informed us—and I have the
greatest confidence in her intuition—that her father
remembers little or nothing which occurs upon
certain dates. We will therefore call upon him as if
he had given us an appointment upon such a date.
He will put it down to his own lack of memory.
Thus we will open our campaign by having a good
close view of him."
"That is excellent," said Mr. Bennett. "I warn
you, however, that the Professor is irascible and
violent at times."
Holmes smiled. "There are reasons why we
should come at once—very cogent reasons if my
theories hold good. To-morrow, Mr. Bennett, will
certainly see us in Camford. There is, if I
remember right, an inn called the 'Chequers' where the
port used to be above mediocrity, and the linen was
above reproach. I think, Watson, that our lot for
the next few days might lie in less pleasant places."
Monday morning found us on our way to the
famous University town—an easy effort on the part
of Holmes, who had no roots to pull up, but one
which involved frantic planning and hurrying on my
part, as my practice was by this time not
inconsiderable. Holmes made no allusion to the case
until after we had deposited our suit-cases at the
ancient hostel of which he had spoken.
"I think, Watson, that we can catch the Professor
just before lunch. He lectures at eleven, and
should have an interval at home."
"What possible excuse have we for calling?"
Holmes glanced at his notebook.
"There was a period of excitement upon August
26. We will assume that he is a little hazy as to
what he does at such times. If we insist that we
are there by appointment I think he will hardly
venture to contradict us. Have you the effrontery
necessary to put it through?"
"We can but try."
"Excellent, Watson! Compound of the Busy
Bee and Excelsior. We can but try—the motto of
the firm. A friendly native will surely guide us."
Such a one on the back of a smart hansom swept
us past a row of ancient colleges, and finally turning
into a tree-lined drive pulled up at the door of a
charming house, girt round with lawns and covered
with purple wistaria. Professor Presbury was
certainly surrounded with every sign not only of
comfort but of luxury. Even as we pulled up a
grizzled head appeared at the front window, and we
were aware of a pair of keen eyes from under shaggy
brows which surveyed us through large horn glasses.
A moment later we were actually in his sanctum,
and the mysterious scientist, whose vagaries had
brought us from London, was standing before us.
There was certainly no sign of eccentricity either in
his manner or appearance, for he was a portly,
large-featured man, grave, tall, and frock-coated, with the
dignity of bearing which a lecturer needs. His eyes
were his most remarkable feature, keen, observant,
and clever to the verge of cunning.
He looked at our cards. "Pray sit down,
gentlemen. What can I do for you?"
Mr. Holmes smiled amiably.
"It was the question which I was about to put
to you, Professor."
"To me, sir!"
"Possibly there is some mistake. I heard
through a second person that Professor Presbury of
Camford had need of my services."
"Oh, indeed!" It seemed to me that there was
a malicious sparkle in the intense grey eyes. "You
heard that, did you? May I ask the name of your
informant?"
"I am sorry, Professor, but the matter was rather
confidential. If I have made a mistake there is no
harm done. I can only express my regret."
"Not at all. I should wish to go further into
this matter. It interests me. Have you any scrap
of writing, any letter or telegram, to bear out your
assertion?"
"No, I have not."
"I presume that you do not go so far as to assert
that I summoned you?"
"I would rather answer no questions," said
Holmes.
"No, I dare say not," said the Professor, with
asperity. "However, that particular one can be
answered very easily without your aid."
He walked across the room to the bell. Our
London friend, Mr. Bennett, answered the call.
"Come in, Mr. Bennett. These two gentlemen
have come from London under the impression that
they have been summoned. You handle all my
correspondence. Have you a note of anything
going to a person named Holmes?"
"No, sir," Bennett answered, with a flush.
"That is conclusive," said the Professor, glaring
angrily at my companion. "Now, sir"—he leaned
forward with his two hands upon the table—"it
seems to me that your position is a very
questionable one."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"I can only repeat that I am sorry that we have
made a needless intrusion."
"Hardly enough, Mr. Holmes!" the old man
cried, in a high screaming voice, with extraordinary
malignancy upon his face. He got between us and
the door as he spoke, and he shook his two hands at
us with furious passion. "You can hardly get out
of it so easily as that." His face was convulsed and
he grinned and gibbered at us in his senseless rage.
I am convinced that we should have had to fight
our way out of the room if Mr. Bennett had not
intervened.
"My dear Professor," he cried, "consider your
position! Consider the scandal at the University!
Mr. Holmes is a well-known man. You cannot
possibly treat him with such discourtesy."
Sulkily our host—if I may call him so—cleared
the path to the door. We were glad to find ourselves
outside the house, and in the quiet of the
tree-lined drive. Holmes seemed greatly amused by the
episode.
"Our learned friend's nerves are somewhat out
of order," said he. "Perhaps our intrusion was a
little crude, and yet we have gained that personal
contact which I desired. But, dear me, Watson, he
is surely at our heels. The villain still pursues us."
There were the sounds of running feet behind, but
it was, to my relief, not the formidable Professor but
his assistant who appeared round the curve of the
drive. He came panting up to us.
"I am so sorry, Mr. Holmes. I wished to apologize."
"My dear sir, there is no need. It is all in the
way of professional experience."
"I have never seen him in a more dangerous
mood. But he grows more sinister. You can
understand now why his daughter and I are alarmed.
And yet his mind is perfectly clear."
"Too clear!" said Holmes. "That was my
miscalculation. It is evident that his memory is much
more reliable than I had thought. By the way,
can we, before we go, see the window of Miss
Presbury's room?"
Mr. Bennett pushed his way through some shrubs
and we had a view of the side of the house.
"It is there. The second on the left."
"Dear me, it seems hardly accessible. And yet
you will observe that there is a creeper below and a
water-pipe above which give some foothold."
"I could not climb it myself," said Mr. Bennett.
"Very likely. It would certainly be a dangerous
exploit for any normal man."
"There was one other thing I wished to tell you,
Mr. Holmes. I have the address of the man in
London to whom the Professor writes. He seems
to have written this morning and I got it from his
blotting-paper. It is an ignoble position for a
trusted secretary, but what else can I do?"
Holmes glanced at the paper and put it into his
pocket.
"Dorak—a curious name. Slavonic, I imagine.
Well, it is an important link in the chain. We
return to London this afternoon, Mr. Bennett. I
see no good purpose to be served by our remaining.
We cannot arrest the Professor, because he has done
no crime, nor can we place him under constraint,
for he cannot be proved to be mad. No action is as
yet possible."
"Then what on earth are we to do?"
"A little patience, Mr. Bennett. Things will soon
develop. Unless I am mistaken next Tuesday
may mark a crisis. Certainly we shall be in
Camford on that day. Meanwhile, the general position
is undeniably unpleasant, and if Miss Presbury can
prolong her visit——"
"That is easy."
"Then let her stay till we can assure her that all
danger is past. Meanwhile, let him have his way
and do not cross him. So long as he is in a good
humour all is well."
"There he is!" said Bennett, in a startled
whisper. Looking between the branches we saw
the tall, erect figure emerge from the hall door and
look around him. He stood leaning forward, his
hands swinging straight before him, his head
turning from side to side. The secretary with a last
wave slipped off among the trees, and we saw him
presently rejoin his employer, the two entering the
house together in what seemed to be animated and
even excited conversation.
"I expect the old gentleman has been putting
two and two together," said Holmes, as we walked
hotelwards. "He struck me as having a particularly
clear and logical brain, from the little I saw
of him. Explosive, no doubt, but then from his
point of view he has something to explode about if
detectives are put on his track and he suspects his
own household of doing it. I rather fancy that
friend Bennett is in for an uncomfortable time."
Holmes stopped at a post office and sent off a
telegram on our way. The answer reached us in
the evening, and he tossed it across to me. "Have
visited the Commercial Road and seen Dorak.
Suave person, Bohemian, elderly. Keeps large
general store.—Mercer."
"Mercer is since your time," said Holmes. "He
is my general utility man who looks up routine
business. It was important to know something of
the man with whom our Professor was so secretly
corresponding. His nationality connects up with
the Prague visit."
"Thank goodness that something connects with
something," said I. "At present we seem to be
faced by a long series of inexplicable incidents with
no bearing upon each other. For example, what
possible connection can there be between an angry
wolf-hound and a visit to Bohemia, or either of them
with a man crawling down a passage at night? As
to your dates, that is the biggest mystification of all."
Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands. We were,
I may say, seated in the old sitting-room of the
ancient hotel, with a bottle of the famous vintage of
which Holmes had spoken on the table between us.
"Well, now, let us take the dates first," said he,
his finger-tips together and his manner as if he were
addressing a class. "This excellent young man's
diary shows that there was trouble upon July 2,
and from then onwards it seems to have been at
nine-day intervals, with, so far as I remember, only
one exception. Thus the last outbreak upon Friday
was on September 3, which also falls into the series,
as did August 26, which preceded it. The thing
is beyond coincidence."
I was forced to agree.
"Let us, then, form the provisional theory that
every nine days the Professor takes some strong drug
which has a passing but highly poisonous effect.
His naturally violent nature is intensified by it. He
learned to take this drug while he was in Prague,
and is now supplied with it by a Bohemian
intermediary in London. This all hangs together,
Watson!"
"But the dog, the face at the window, the creeping
man in the passage?"
"Well, well, we have made a beginning. I
should not expect any fresh developments until next
Tuesday. In the meantime we can only keep in
touch with friend Bennett and enjoy the amenities
of this charming town."
In the morning Mr. Bennett slipped round to
bring us the latest report. As Holmes had imagined,
times had not been easy with him. Without exactly
accusing him of being responsible for our presence,
the Professor had been very rough and rude in his
speech, and evidently felt some strong grievance.
This morning he was quite himself again, however,
and had delivered his usual brilliant lecture to a
crowded class. "Apart from his queer fits," said
Bennett, "he has actually more energy and vitality
than I can ever remember, nor was his brain ever
clearer. But it's not he—it's never the man whom
we have known."
"I don't think you have anything to fear now
for a week at least," Holmes answered. "I am a
busy man, and Dr. Watson has his patients to attend
to. Let us agree that we meet here at this hour
next Tuesday, and I shall be surprised if before we
leave you again we are not able to explain, even if
we cannot perhaps put an end to, your troubles.
Meanwhile, keep us posted in what occurs."
I saw nothing of my friend for the next few days,
but on the following Monday evening I had a short
note asking me to meet him next day at the train.
From what he told me as we travelled up to Camford
all was well, the peace of the Professor's house had
been unruffled, and his own conduct perfectly normal.
This also was the report which was given us by
Mr. Bennett himself when he called upon us that
evening at our old quarters in the "Chequers." "He
heard from his London correspondent to-day.
There was a letter and there was a small packet,
each with the cross under the stamp which warned
me not to touch them. There has been nothing else."
"That may prove quite enough," said Holmes
grimly. "Now, Mr. Bennett, we shall, I think, come
to some conclusion to-night. If my deductions are
correct we should have an opportunity of bringing
matters to a head. In order to do so it is necessary
to hold the Professor under observation. I would
suggest, therefore, that you remain awake and on
the look out. Should you hear him pass your door
do not interrupt him, but follow him as discreetly
as you can. Dr. Watson and I will not be far off.
By the way, where is the key of that little box of
which you spoke?"
"Upon his watch-chain."
"I fancy our researches must lie in that direction.
At the worst the lock should not be very formidable.
Have you any other able-bodied man on the
premises?"
"There is the coachman, Macphail."
"Where does he sleep?"
"Over the stables."
"We might possibly want him. Well, we can do
no more until we see how things develop.
Good-bye—but I expect that we shall see you before
morning."
It was nearly midnight before we took our station
among some bushes immediately opposite the hall
door of the Professor. It was a fine night, but chilly,
and we were glad of our warm overcoats. There was
a breeze, and clouds were scudding across the sky,
obscuring from time to time the half-moon. It
would have been a dismal vigil were it not for the
expectation and excitement which carried us along,
and the assurance of my comrade that we had
probably reached the end of the strange sequence of
events which had engaged our attention.
"If the cycle of nine days holds good then we
shall have the Professor at his worst to-night," said
Holmes. "The fact that these strange symptoms
began after his visit to Prague, that he is in secret
correspondence with a Bohemian dealer in London, who
presumably represents someone in Prague, and that
he received a packet from him this very day, all
point in one direction. What he takes and why he
takes it are still beyond our ken, but that it emanates
in some way from Prague is clear enough. He takes
it under definite directions which regulate this
ninth-day system, which was the first point which attracted
my attention. But his symptoms are most remarkable.
Did you observe his knuckles?"
I had to confess that I did not.
"Thick and horny in a way which is quite new
in my experience. Always look at the hands first,
Watson. Then cuffs, trouser-knees, and boots. Very
curious knuckles which can only be explained by the
mode of progression observed by——" Holmes
paused, and suddenly clapped his hand to his
forehead. "Oh, Watson, Watson, what a fool I have
been! It seems incredible, and yet it must be true.
All points in one direction. How could I miss seeing
the connection of ideas? Those knuckles—how
could I have passed those knuckles? And the dog!
And the ivy! It's surely time that I disappeared
into that little farm of my dreams. Look out,
Watson! Here he is! We shall have the chance
of seeing for ourselves."
The hall door had slowly opened, and against the
lamp-lit background we saw the tall figure of
Professor Presbury. He was clad in his dressing-gown.
As he stood outlined in the doorway he was erect
but leaning forward with dangling arms, as when we
saw him last.
Now he stepped forward into the drive, and an
extraordinary change came over him. He sank
down into a crouching position, and moved along
upon his hands and feet, skipping every now and
then as if he were overflowing with energy and
vitality. He moved along the face of the house and
then round the corner. As he disappeared Bennett
slipped through the hall door and softly followed him.
"Come, Watson, come!" cried Holmes, and we
stole as softly as we could through the bushes until
we had gained a spot whence we could see the other
side of the house, which was bathed in the light of
the half-moon. The Professor was clearly visible
crouching at the foot of the ivy-covered wall. As
we watched him he suddenly began with incredible
agility to ascend it. From branch to branch he
sprang, sure of foot and firm of grasp, climbing
apparently in mere joy at his own powers, with no
definite object in view. With his dressing-gown
flapping on each side of him he looked like some huge
bat glued against the side of his own house, a great
square dark patch upon the moonlit wall. Presently
he tired of this amusement, and, dropping from
branch to branch, he squatted down into the old
attitude and moved towards the stables, creeping
along in the same strange way as before. The
wolf-hound was out now, barking furiously, and more
excited than ever when it actually caught sight
of its master. It was straining on its chain, and
quivering with eagerness and rage. The Professor
squatted down very deliberately just out of reach
of the hound, and began to provoke it in every
possible way. He took handfuls of pebbles from
the drive and threw them in the dog's face, prodded
him with a stick which he had picked up, flicked his
hands about only a few inches from the gaping
mouth, and endeavoured in every way to increase
the animal's fury, which was already beyond all
control. In all our adventures I do not know that
I have ever seen a more strange sight than this
impassive and still dignified figure crouching
frog-like upon the ground and goading to a wilder
exhibition of passion the maddened hound, which ramped
and raged in front of him, by all manner of ingenious
and calculated cruelty.
And then in a moment it happened! It was not
the chain that broke, but it was the collar that
slipped, for it had been made for a thick-necked
Newfoundland. We heard the rattle of falling metal,
and the next instant dog and man were rolling on
the ground together, the one roaring in rage, the
other screaming in a strange shrill falsetto of terror.
It was a very narrow thing for the Professor's life.
The savage creature had him fairly by the throat,
its fangs had bitten deep, and he was senseless before
we could reach them and drag the two apart. It
might have been a dangerous task for us, but
Bennett's voice and presence brought the great
wolf-hound instantly to reason. The uproar had brought
the sleepy and astonished coachman from his room
above the stables. "I'm not surprised," said he,
shaking his head. "I've seen him at it before. I
knew the dog would get him sooner or later."
The hound was secured, and together we carried
the Professor up to his room, where Bennett, who
had a medical degree, helped me to dress his torn
throat. The sharp teeth had passed dangerously
near the carotid artery, and the hemorrhage was
serious. In half an hour the danger was past, I
had given the patient an injection of morphia, and
he had sunk into deep sleep. Then, and only then,
were we able to look at each other and to take stock
of the situation.
"I think a first-class surgeon should see him,"
said I.
"For God's sake, no!" cried Bennett. "At
present the scandal is confined to our own household.
It is safe with us. If it gets beyond these walls it
will never stop. Consider his position at the
University, his European reputation, the feelings of
his daughter."
"Quite so," said Holmes. "I think it may be
quite possible to keep the matter to ourselves, and
also to prevent its recurrence now that we have a
free hand. The key from the watch-chain,
Mr. Bennett. Macphail will guard the patient and
let us know if there is any change. Let us see
what we can find in the Professor's mysterious box."
There was not much, but there was enough—an
empty phial, another nearly full, a hypodermic
syringe, several letters in a crabbed, foreign hand.
The marks on the envelopes showed that they were
those which had disturbed the routine of the
secretary, and each was dated from the Commercial Road
and signed "A. Dorak." They were mere invoices
to say that a fresh bottle was being sent to Professor
Presbury, or receipts to acknowledge money. There
was one other envelope, however, in a more educated
hand and bearing the Austrian stamp with the
postmark of Prague. "Here we have our material!"
cried Holmes, as he tore out the enclosure.
"HONOURED COLLEAGUE," it ran. "Since your
esteemed visit I have thought much of your case,
and though in your circumstances there are some
special reasons for the treatment, I would none the
less enjoin caution, as my results have shown that
it is not without danger of a kind.
"It is possible that the Serum of Anthropoid
would have been better. I have, as I explained to
you, used black-faced Langur because a specimen
was accessible. Langur is, of course, a crawler and
climber, while Anthropoid walks erect, and is in all
ways nearer.
"I beg you to take every possible precaution that
there be no premature revelation of the process. I
have one other client in England, and Dorak is my
agent for both.
"Weekly reports will oblige.
"Yours with high esteem,
"H. LOWENSTEIN."
Lowenstein! The name brought back to me the
memory of some snippet from a newspaper which
spoke of an obscure scientist who was striving in
some unknown way for the secret of rejuvenescence
and the elixir of life. Lowenstein of Prague!
Lowenstein with the wondrous strength-giving
serum, tabooed by the profession because he refused
to reveal its source. In a few words I said what
I remembered. Bennett had taken a manual of
Zoology from the shelves. "'Langur,'" he read,
"'the great black-faced monkey of the Himalayan
slopes, biggest and most human of climbing
monkeys.' Many details are added. Well, thanks to
you, Mr. Holmes, it is very clear that we have traced
the evil to its source."
"The real source," said Holmes, "lies, of course,
in that untimely love affair which gave our impetuous
Professor the idea that he could only gain his
wish by turning himself into a younger man. When
one tries to rise above Nature one is liable to fall
below it. The highest type of man may revert to
the animal if he leaves the straight road of destiny." He
sat musing for a little with the phial in his hand,
looking at the clear liquid within. "When I have
written to this man and told him that I hold him
criminally responsible for the poisons which he
circulates, we will have no more trouble. But it
may recur. Others may find a better way. There
is danger there—a very real danger to humanity.
Consider, Watson, that the material, the sensual,
the worldly would all prolong their worthless lives.
The spiritual would not avoid the call to something
higher. It would be the survival of the least fit.
What sort of cesspool may not our poor world
become?" Suddenly the dreamer disappeared, and
Holmes, the man of action, sprang from his chair.
"I think there is nothing more to be said,
Mr. Bennett. The various incidents will now fit
themselves easily into the general scheme. The dog, of
course, was aware of the change far more quickly
than you. His smell would ensure that. It was
the monkey, not the Professor, whom Roy attacked,
just as it was the monkey who teased Roy. Climbing
was a joy to the creature, and it was a mere
chance, I take it, that the pastime brought him to
the young lady's window. There is an early train
to town, Watson, but I think we shall just have
time for a cup of tea at the 'Chequers' before we
catch it."