The case-book of Sherlock Holmes
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."