“The practical application of what I have said is very closeto the problem which I am investigating. It is a tangled skein,you understand, and I am looking for a loose end. One possibleloose end lies in the question: Why does Professor Presbury’swolfhound, Roy, endeavour to bite him?”
I sank back in my chair in some disappointment. Was it forso trivial a question as this that I had been summoned from mywork? Holmes glanced across at me.
“The same old Watson!” said he. “You never learn that thegravest issues may depend upon the smallest things. But is it noton the face of it strange that a staid, elderly philosopher—you’ve heardof Presbury, of course, the famous Camford physiologist? —thatsuch a man, whose friend has been his devoted wolfhound, shouldnow have been twice attacked by his own dog? What do you makeof 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 specialoccasions. Curious, Watson—very curious. But young Mr. Bennettis before his time if that is his ring. I had hoped to have a longerchat with you before he came.”
There was a quick step on the stairs, a sharp tap at the doorand a moment later the new client presented himself. He was a tall,handsome youth about thirty, well dressed and elegant, but withsomething in his bearing which suggested the shyness of the studentrather than the self-possession of the man of the world. He shookhands with Holmes, and then looked with some surprise at me.
“This matter is very delicate, Mr. Holmes,” he said. “ Considerthe relation in which I stand to Professor Presbury both privatelyand publicly. I really can hardly justify myself if I speak before anythird person.”
“Have no fear, Mr. Bennett. Dr. Watson is the very soul ofdiscretion, and I can assure you that this is a matter in which I amvery likely to need an assistant.”
“As you like, Mr. Holmes. You will, I am sure, understand myhaving some reserves in the matter.”
“You will appreciate it, Watson, when I tell you that thisgentleman, Mr. Trevor Bennett, is professional assistant to thegreat scientist, lives under his roof, and is engaged to his onlydaughter. Certainly we must agree that the professor has everyclaim upon his loyalty and devotion. But it may best be shown bytaking 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 beforeexplaining some fresh developments.”
“I will do so myself,” said Holmes, “in order to show that I havethe events in their due order. The professor, Watson, is a man ofEuropean reputation. His life has been academic. There has neverbeen a breath of scandal. He is a widower with one daughter,Edith. He is, I gather, a man of very virile and positive, one mightalmost say combative, character. So the matter stood until a veryfew months ago.
“Then the current of his life was broken. He is sixty-one years ofage, but he became engaged to the daughter of Professor Morphy,his colleague in the chair of comparative anatomy. It was not, asI understand, the reasoned courting of an elderly man but ratherthe passionate frenzy of youth, for no one could have shownhimself a more devoted lover. The lady, Alice Morphy, was a veryperfect girl both in mind and body, so that there was every excusefor the professor’s infatuation. None the less, it did not meet withfull approval in his own family.”
“We thought it rather excessive,” said our visitor.
“Exactly. Excessive and a little violent and unnatural. ProfessorPresbury was rich, however, and there was no objection upon thepart of the father. The daughter, however, had other views, andthere were already several candidates for her hand, who, if theywere less eligible from a worldly point of view, were at least moreof an age. The girl seemed to like the professor in spite of hiseccentricities. It was only age which stood in the way.
“About this time a little mystery suddenly clouded the normalroutine of the professor’s life. He did what he had never donebefore. He left home and gave no indication where he was going.
He was away a fortnight and returned looking rather travelworn.
He made no allusion to where he had been, although hewas usually the frankest of men. It chanced, however, that ourclient here, Mr. Bennett, received a letter from a fellow-student inPrague, who said that he was glad to have seen Professor Presburythere, although he had not been able to talk to him. Only in thisway did his own household learn where he had been.
“Now comes the point. From that time onward a curiouschange came over the professor. He became furtive and sly. Thosearound him had always the feeling that he was not the man thatthey had known, but that he was under some shadow which haddarkened his higher qualities. His intellect was not affected. Hislectures were as brilliant as ever. But always there was somethingnew, something sinister and unexpected. His daughter, who wasdevoted to him, tried again and again to resume the old relationsand to penetrate this mask which her father seemed to have puton. 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 theletters.”
“You must understand, Dr. Watson, that the professor had nosecrets from me. If I were his son or his younger brother I couldnot have more completely enjoyed his confidence. As his secretaryI handled every paper which came to him, and I opened andsubdivided his letters. Shortly after his return all this was changed.