The case-book of Sherlock Holmes
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
THE ADVENTURE OF THE LION'S MANE
It is a most singular thing that a problem which was certainly as
abstruse and unusual as any which I have faced in my long professional
career should have come to me after my retirement; and be brought, as
it were, to my very door. It occurred after my withdrawal to my little
Sussex home, when I had given myself up entirely to that soothing life
of Nature for which I had so often yearned during the long years spent
amid the gloom of London. At this period of my life the good Watson
had passed almost beyond my ken. An occasional week-end visit was the
most that I ever saw of him. Thus I must act as my own chronicler.
Ah! had he but been with me, how much he might have made of so
wonderful a happening and of my eventual triumph against every
difficulty! As it is, however, I must needs tell my tale in my own
plain way, showing by my words each step upon the difficult road which
lay before me as I searched for the mystery of the Lion's Mane.
My villa is situated upon the southern slope of the Downs, commanding a
great view of the Channel. At this point the coast-line is entirely of
chalk cliffs, which can only be descended by a single, long, tortuous
path, which is steep and slippery. At the bottom of the path lie a
hundred yards of pebbles and shingle, even when the tide is at full.
Here and there, however, there are curves and hollows which make
splendid swimming-pools filled afresh with each flow. This admirable
beach extends for some miles in each direction, save only at one point
where the little cove and village of Fulworth break the line.
My house is lonely. I, my old housekeeper, and my bees have the estate
all to ourselves. Half a mile off, however, is Harold Stackhurst's
well-known coaching establishment. The Gables, quite a large place,
which contains some score of young fellows preparing for various
professions, with a staff of several masters. Stackhurst himself was a
well-known rowing Blue in his day, and an excellent all-round scholar.
He and I were always friendly from the day I came to the coast, and he
was the one man who was on such terms with me that we could drop in on
each other in the evenings without an invitation.
Towards the end of July, 1907, there was a severe gale, the wind
blowing up-Channel, heaping the seas to the base of the cliffs, and
leaving a lagoon at the turn of the tide. On the morning of which I
speak the wind had abated, and all Nature was newly washed and fresh.
It was impossible to work upon so delightful a day, and I strolled out
before breakfast to enjoy the exquisite air. I walked along the cliff
path which led to the steep descent to the beach. As I walked I heard
a shout behind me, and there was Harold Stackhurst waving his hand in
cheery greeting.
"What a morning, Mr. Holmes! I thought I should see you out."
"Going for a swim, I see."
"At your old tricks again," he laughed, patting his bulging pocket.
"Yes. McPherson started early, and I expect I may find him there."