福尔摩斯-爬行人 The Adventure of the Creeping Man

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.”

爬行人

歇洛克-福尔摩斯先生一直主张我发表有关普莱斯伯利教授的异闻，这样做至少可以消除谣言，因为在二十来年以前这种谣言曾经震动大学并传到伦敦的学术界。然而总是有些障碍使我未能发表它，结果事情的真相一直埋藏在我那个装满福尔摩斯案情记录的铅盒子里。直到今天我们才被获准发表这个在福尔摩斯退休之前不久办理的案子。即使在今天，也还是需要谨慎从事，不可孟一浪一多言。

那是一九○三年九月，在一个星期天晚上，我收到一个福尔摩斯惯用的那种语焉不详的条子：

如有时间请立即前来——如无时间亦来。

Ｓ.Ｈ．

在他晚年我们的关系是特别的。他是一个受一习一惯支配的人，他有一些狭隘而根深蒂固的一习一惯，而我已经成了他的一习一惯之一。做为一种一习一惯，我好比他的提琴，板烟丝，陈年老烟斗，旧案索引，以及其他一些不那么体面的一习一惯。每当他遇到吃力的案子，需要一个在勇气方面他多少可以依靠的同伴时，我的用处就显出来了。但除此以外我还有别的用途。对于他的脑子，我好比是一块磨刀石。我可以刺激他的思维。他愿意在我面前大声整理他的思想。他的话也很难说就是对我讲的，大抵对墙壁讲也是同样可行的，但不管怎么说，一旦养成了对我讲话的一习一惯，我的表情以及我发出的感叹词之类对他的思考还是有些帮助的。如果说，我头脑的那种一贯的迟钝有时会使他不耐烦，这种烦躁反倒使他的灵感更欢快地迸发出来。在我们的友谊中，这就是我的微不足道的用处。

我来到贝克街，只见他缩着身一子坐在沙发上，两膝高拱，口衔烟斗，眉头深皱而若有所思。看来他正在苦思一个烦人的问题。他指了指我惯坐的沙发，但此外没有表示他注意到我的在场。这样过了半小时。后来他突然从默想中醒转过来，用他惯常的古怪笑容欢迎我回到老家。

“请你原谅我的出神，华生，"他说。“在已过去的二十四小时里，有人向我反映了一些极其古怪的情况，它引起我思考了一些更有普遍意义的问题。我真的打算写一篇小小的论文，来讨论侦查工作中狗的用途。”

“不过，福尔摩斯，这别人早讨论过了，"我说。"比方象猎犬，警犬——”

“不是这个，华生，这方面的问题当然是谁都知道了。但问题还有更微妙的一面。你大概记得那个案子，就是你用你那种耸人听闻的方式处理铜山一毛一榉案的那回，我曾经通过观察小儿头脑活动的方法，来推论那个自负体面的父亲的犯罪一习一惯，你记得吧。”

“当然，我记得很清楚。”

“我对于狗的想法大抵相同。狗能反映一个家庭的生活。谁见过一陰一沉的家庭里有欢快的狗，或者快乐的家庭里有忧郁的狗呢？残忍的人必有残忍的狗，危险人物必有危险的狗。狗的情绪也可能反映人的情绪。”

我不禁摇了摇头。"这个，恐怕有点牵强吧，"我说道。

他刚把烟斗重新装满，又坐下了，根本没有理会我的AE-f1语。

“刚才我说的那种理论，在实施方面，与我目前研究的这个问题很有关系。这是一一团一乱麻，我正在找一个头绪。有一个头绪可能是：为什么普莱斯伯利教授的狼狗罗依会咬他呢？”

我失望地往椅背上一靠。难道就是为了这么无聊的一个小问题把我从繁忙的工作中召来的吗？福尔摩斯朝我扫了一眼。

“华生还是老样子！"他说。“你总是不能学会，最重大的问题往往取决于最琐屑的小事情。但是这件事即使从表面看上去不是也很古怪吗？你大概听说过剑津大学的著名生理学教授普莱斯伯利，象他这样一位资望俱重的老学者，他一向珍一爱一的狼狗怎么会一再咬其他来了呢？你怎么看这个问题？”

“狗生病了。”

“这个可能一性一当然需要考虑。但这狗不咬别人，另外它只是在极特殊的情况下才咬主人，平时并不捣乱。华生，很古怪，非常古怪。这是铃声，看来年轻的伯内特先生比约定时间来得要早一点。我本来希望在他来之前多跟你谈一会儿的。”

楼梯上脚步声甚急，敲门声也很急促，接着这位新主顾就进来了。他是一个身材修长、仪容俊秀的青年，大约三十岁，穿着考究而大方，举止之间有一种学者的一温一婉而没有一交一际场上那种自负不凡。他和福尔摩斯握了握手，仿佛对我的在场有些惊讶。

“福尔摩斯先生，我的事情是一个非常敏一感的问题，"他说道。"请你考虑到我和教授在私人和工作上的关系都很密切，我实在没有理由在第三者面前讲述我的情况。”

“不要担心，伯内特先生。华生医生是最谨慎的人，另外说实在的，这个案子我很可能需要一个助手来帮忙。”

“好吧，悉从尊便吧。请不要介意我的慎重态度。”

“华生，伯内特先生是那位著名教授的助教，就住在教授家里，而且是教授女儿的未婚夫。咱们当然同意，他有义务替教授保密，对教授忠实。但表示忠实的最好方式是采取必要的措施来澄清这个古怪的谜。”

“我也希望这样，福尔摩斯先生。这是我唯一的目的。请问华生医生知道基本情况了吗？”

“我刚才还没有来得及告诉他。”

“那么我最好还是先把情况再讲一遍，然后再解释最近的新情况。”

“还是由我来重述吧，"福尔摩斯说，“这样可以试试我掌握的基本事实。华生，教授是一个在全欧洲有名望的人。他生平过着学院生活，从来没有过一丝流言蜚语。他是一个鳏夫，有一个女儿，叫易迪丝。他的一性一格是刚强、果断的，差不多可以说是好斗的。这就是一般情况，直到数月之前都是如此。

“后来他的生活常轨被打破了。他今年六十一岁，但他和他的同行——解剖学教授莫尔非的女儿订了婚。照我理解，这次订婚不是那种上年纪人的理智的求婚，倒是象年轻人那种狂一热的求一爱一，因为他表现得十分热烈。女方一爱一丽丝-莫尔非是一位心身俱佳的少女，所以教授的痴情也是不足为奇的。然而，在他自己的亲属方面，教授并没有得到完全的同情。”

“我们认为他这样做太过分了。”

“是的。过分，过激，而且违反自然。但教授是富有的，女孩的父亲并不反对。然而女儿的看法却不这样。她另外还有几个追求者。这些人在财产地位方面虽说不那么可取，但在年龄上却是与她相当的。这个姑一娘一似乎并不在乎教授的怪起起，她还是喜欢他的。唯一的障碍就是年龄。

“就在这时候，教授的正常生活突然被一个谜笼罩住了。他做出从来没有做过的事。他离家外出，不说去向。他走了两个礼拜，疲惫而归。至于上哪儿去了，他一字不提，而平时他是最坦率的人。碰巧，咱们这位主顾伯内特先生，收到一个同学自布拉格寄来的信，说他有幸在布拉格见到教授但没能跟他说话。这样，教授的亲属才知道他的去向。

“现在讲关键问题。就从教授回来以后，他发生了奇异的变化。他变成一个鬼鬼祟祟的人。四周的熟人都觉得他不再是原先他们了解的那个人了，有一个一陰一影罩住了他的高级本一性一。他的智能未受影响，他的讲课还是那么才气横溢。但在他身上总是表现出一种新的东西，一种意外而不祥的东西。他的女儿一向是忠心耿耿地一爱一父亲的，她多次试图回到以前那种亲密无间的父女关系中去，试图打破父亲的面具。而你，伯内特先生，也做了同样的努力——但一切都白费力气。现在，伯内特先生，请你亲自讲讲信件的问题吧。”

“华生医生，请你了解，教授一向对我是没有秘密的，即使我是他的儿子或弟弟，也不会得到更多的信任。做为他的秘书，一切他的信件都由我经手，也是由我拆开他的信件并加以分类。但从这次他回来后这一点就被改变了，他告诉我，可能有一些自伦敦寄来的信件，在邮票下面画有十字，这些信要放在一边，由他亲自来拆看。后来一经我手收到的果然有这么几封信，上有伦敦东区的邮戳，信上是没有文化的人写的笔迹。如果教授写过回信的话，他的回信不是由我办的，也没有把回信放在我们发信的邮筐内。”

“还有小匣子的情况，"福尔摩斯说。

“是的，小匣子。教授旅行回来时，带回一个小木匣子。这个东西是唯一表明他到大一陆去旅行过的物品，那是一个雕刻一精一巧的木匣，一般人认为是德国手工艺品。他把木匣放在工具橱内。有一次我去找插管，无意中拿起这个匣子来看。不料教授大发雷霆，用十分野蛮的话来斥责我，而我只是出于普通的好奇心罢了。这样的事还是头一次发生，我的自尊心大受伤害。我极力解释，我只是偶然地拿起匣子而已，而那天整个一个晚上我都觉得他狠狠地瞪着我，他对这事儿是耿耿于怀的。"说到这里，伯内特先生从口袋里掏出一个小日记本。"这件事发生在七月二日，"他补充说。

“你真是一个理想的见证人，"福尔摩斯说。"你记的这些日期对我可能是有用的。”

“系统方法也是我向这位著名老师学来的知识之一。自从我发现他的行为变一态以来，我就感到有责任研究他的病历。所以，我这里记下了，就是在七月二日这一天，当他从书房走到门厅的时候，罗依咬了他。后来，在七月十一日，发生了类似事件。我又记下了在七月二十日发生的同一情况。后来我们只好把罗依关到马厩里去了。罗依是一条听话懂事的好狗——我这样说大概使你厌倦了吧。”

伯内特的口气是不大高兴的，因为福尔摩斯显然在独自出神，不是在听他讲话。福尔摩斯绷着脸，两眼瞪着天花板出神。后来，他用力醒转过来。

“怪事，真是怪事！"他喃喃地说道，“这种事我还没听说过呢，伯内特先生。原有的情况咱们已经重述的差不多了吧，对不对？你刚才说事态又有了新的发展。”

说到这里，客人那爽直活泼的脸顿时一陰一沉下来，那是由于他想起了可憎的事情。“现在我要讲的事发生在前天夜里，"他说道，“大约在夜里两点钟，我醒了，躺在一床一上，这时我听见一种沉闷不清的响声自楼道里移动过来。我打开屋门往外张望。教授是住在楼道另一端——”

“日期是——"福尔摩斯插了一句。

客人对这个不相干的问题表现出明显的不耐烦。

“我刚才说了，是在前天晚上，就是九月四日。”

福尔摩斯点头微笑。

“请往下讲吧，"他说。

“他住在楼道另一端，必须经过我的门口才能到达楼梯。那天我看见的情景实在太骇人了，福尔摩斯先生。我认为我的神经绝不比一般人弱，但那天的情景把我吓坏了。楼道整个是黑暗的，只有中间的一个窗子透过一道光线。我看见有个东西从楼道那边移动过来，是个黑乎乎的在地上爬的东西。它突然爬到光亮的地方，我一看却是教授。他在地上爬着，福尔摩斯先生，在地上爬！倒不是用膝和手在爬，而是用脚和手在爬，脑袋向下垂着。但他的样子似乎很轻松省力。我都吓糊涂了，直到他爬到我的门口，我才走上去问他，要不要我扶其他来。他的回答是极其特别的。他一跃而起，骂了一句最可怕的骂街话，立刻从我面前走过去，下楼去了。我等了约莫一个钟头，他也没回来。他大约直到天亮才回屋。”

“华生，你的看法如何？"福尔摩斯的口气就仿佛是一个病理学家，拿一个稀有的病例来问我。

“可能是风湿一性一腰痛。我见过一个严重的病人，就是这样走路的，而且这个病比什么都令人心烦，容易发脾气。”

“你真行，华生！你总是言之成理，脚踏实地。不过风湿一性一腰痛是讲不通的，因为他当即一跃而起。”

“他的身一体棒极了，"伯内特说，“说实在的，这些年来我还没见他象现在这么棒过。但还是发生了这些事实。这不是一个可以找警场去解决的案件，而我们又实实在在一筹莫展，不知怎么办，我们模糊地感到灾祸即将发生。易迪丝，就是起莱斯伯利小一姐，同我都感到不能再这样束手等待下去了。”

“这确实是一个极其奇特和引人深思的案子。华生，你的意见呢？”

“从医生的角度来讲，"我说道，“我觉得这是一个应由一精一神病学家来处理的病例。老教授的脑神经受了恋一爱一的刺激。他到外国去旅行，是为的解脱情网。他的信件和木匣可能与其他私人事务有关——比如借款，或者股票证券，是放在匣子里的。”

“而狼狗反对他的证券一交一易。不对，华生，这里面还有文章。目前我只能提示——”

福尔摩斯的提示谁也不会知道了，因为门突然打开，一位小一姐被引进屋来。伯内特登时跳起来，伸开两手跑过去，拉住了她也伸过来的手。

“易迪丝，我亲一爱一的！没出事吧？”

“我觉得非来找你不可了，杰克，我吓坏了！我不敢一个人呆在那里。”

“福尔摩斯先生，这就是我刚才说的那位小一姐，我的未婚妻。”

“怎么样，先生，刚才咱们不正是要得出这样的结论吗？”福尔摩斯笑着说。"普莱斯伯利小一姐，大概你是想告诉我们事态又有发展吧？”

我们的新客人是一个传统英国型的漂亮姑一娘一，她微笑着向福尔摩斯招呼了一下，就坐在伯内特身边。

“我发现伯内特先生不在旅馆，我想他可能在这里。自然他早已告诉过我他要请你帮忙。福尔摩斯先生，你能不能帮帮我那可怜的父亲啊？”

“有希望解决，普莱斯伯利小一姐，但是案情还不够明朗。说不定你带来的新情况可以阐明一些问题。”

“这是昨晚发生的事，福尔摩斯先生。昨天一天他的样子都很古怪。我相信有的时候他对自己做过的事情并不记得。他好象在做梦似的。昨天就是那样。他不象是我父亲。他的外壳还是老样子，但实际上不是他了。”

“请你把昨天发生的情况告诉我。”

“夜里我被狗的狂叫一声吵醒了。可怜的罗依，它现在是被锁在马厩旁边。我总是把屋门锁上才睡觉，杰克——伯内特先生会告诉你的，我们都有一种不祥之感。我的卧室在楼上。碰巧昨晚我的窗帘是打开的，而外面有很好的月光。我正躺在一床一上两眼盯着白色的窗口，耳朵倾听狗的狂吠，突然看见我父亲的脸在窗外看我。我几乎吓昏过去。他的脸贴在玻璃上，一只手举起来，仿佛扶着窗框。如果窗子被他打开的话，我非疯了不可。那不是幻觉，福尔摩斯先生，不要以为是幻觉。我肯定，约莫有二十秒钟的时间，我就那样瘫在一床一上看着他的脸。后来就不见了，但我动不了，不能下一床一到窗口去看他上哪儿去了。我躺在一床一上，一身冷汗，直到天亮。早餐时他的态度很粗一暴，没有提到夜里的事。我也没说什么，只是撒了个谎就进城了——我就上这儿来了。”

福尔摩斯似乎对小一姐的叙述十分惊讶。

“小一姐，你说你的卧室是在楼上。园子里有高梯子吗？”

“没有，这正是令人害怕的缘故，根本没有够得着窗子的办法，而他偏在窗口出现了。”

“日期是九月五日，"福尔摩斯说。"这就更复杂了。”

这回轮到小一姐表示惊讶了。

“福尔摩斯先生，这是你第二次提到日期问题了，"伯内特说。"难道日期对这个案子有重大关系吗？”

“可能——很可能——但我还没有掌握充足的资料。”

“是不是你在考虑一精一神失常与月球运转有关？”

“不，不是。我的思路与此无关。也许你能把日记本留给我，我来核对一下日期。华生，我看咱们的行动计划可以定下来了。小一姐已经告诉咱们——而我对她的直觉是十分信任的——她父亲在某些日期对自己干过的事并不记得。所以，咱们将在这种日期去拜访他，假装是他约咱们去的。他大概会以为是自己记不清了。这样咱们就可以从近处观察他，做为侦查的起点。”

“这样很好，"伯内特说，“不过，我得提醒你，教授有时候脾气很大，行为粗一暴。”

福尔摩斯微微一笑。"我们有理由尽快去见他，可以说有十足的理由马上就去，如果我的设想符合实际的话。伯内特先生，这样吧，明天我们一定到剑津。如果我没记错的话，那里有一个切克旅馆，供应的葡萄酒超过中常水平，而一床一单的清洁度超过挨骂的水平。先生，咱们未来几天的命运说不定会落到比这更糟的地方去呢。”

星期一早晨我们就在通往著名大学镇的路上了——这对福尔摩斯是件容易事儿，因为他没家没业，但对我来说却需要拼命安排和乱忙一通，因为现在我的业务范围已经不算小了。一路上他没有提起案情的事儿，直到我们把衣箱在他说的那家旅馆内存好之后，他才开腔。

“华生，我看咱们可以在午饭之前找到教授。他在十一点讲课，中午应该在家休息。”

“给访问找个什么借口呢？”

福尔摩斯匆匆看了一下日记本。

“在八月二十六日有过一段躁狂时期。咱们可以假设，他在这种时候脑子不大清楚。如果咱们硬说是有人约咱们来的，他大概不敢否认。你能不能厚着脸皮干一下？”

“只好试试。”

“有你的，华生！既是勤勤恳恳，又是一精一益求一精一。只好试试——这是意志坚定者的格