



                        THE ADVENTURE OF THE CREEPING MAN

                               Arthur Conan Doyle



     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 armchair
     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 armchair, 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 wolfhound, 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 wolfhound, 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. None the less, 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 onward 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 canula, 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 2d," 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 2d, that Roy attacked the professor as he came from
     his study into the hall. Again, on July 11th, there was a scene of
     the same sort, and then I have a note of yet another upon July 20th.
     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 4th."

     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 halfway 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 paralyzed 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 wit's 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 wolfhound 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 fiancee."

     "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 paralyzed 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 5th," 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 suitcases 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 26th. 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 wisteria. 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 gray 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 wish 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 hotelward. "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 wolfhound 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
     2d, and from then onward 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 3d, which also falls into the
     series, as did August 26th, 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 lookout. 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 lamplit 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 wolfhound 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 wolfhound 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 haemorrhage 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 receipt 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 insure 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."









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