

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."




IX


