“It was morning when I wakened, and it seemed to me thatinstead of coming out into a world of sanity I had emerged intosome extraordinary nightmare. The African sun flooded throughthe big, curtainless windows, and every detail of the great, bare,whitewashed dormitory stood out hard and clear. In front of mewas standing a small, dwarf-like man with a huge, bulbous head,who was jabbering excitedly in Dutch, waving two horrible handswhich looked to me like brown sponges. Behind him stood a groupof people who seemed to be intensely amused by the situation,but a chill came over me as I looked at them. Not one of themwas a normal human being. Every one was twisted or swollenor disfigured in some strange way. The laughter of these strangemonstrosities was a dreadful thing to hear.
“It seemed that none of them could speak English, but thesituation wanted clearing up, for the creature with the big headwas growing furiously angry, and, uttering wild-beast cries, hehad laid his deformed hands upon me and was dragging me outof bed, regardless of the fresh flow of blood from my wound. Thelittle monster was as strong as a bull, and I don’t know what hemight have done to me had not an elderly man who was clearlyThe Case Book of Sherlock Holmes 1269
in authority been attracted to the room by the hubbub; He said afew stern words in Dutch, and my persecutor shrank away. Thenhe turned upon me, gazing at me in the utmost amazement.
“ ‘How in the world did you come here?’ he asked in amazement.
‘Wait a bit! I see that you are tired out and that wounded shoulderof yours wants looking after. I am a doctor, and I’ll soon have youtied up. But, man alive! you are in far greater danger here than everyou were on the battlefield. You are in the Leper Hospital, and youhave slept in a leper’s bed.’
“Need I tell you more, Jimmie? It seems that in view of theapproaching battle all these poor creatures had been evacuated theday before. Then, as the British advanced, they had been broughtback by this, their medical superintendent, who assured me that,though he believed he was immune to the disease, he would nonethe less never have dared to do what I had done. He put me ina private room, treated me kindly, and within a week or so I wasremoved to the general hospital at Pretoria.
“So there you have my tragedy. I hoped against hope, but it wasnot until I had reached home that the terrible signs which you seeupon my face told me that I had not escaped. What was I to do?
I was in this lonely house. We had two servants whom we couldutterly trust. There was a house where I could live. Under pledgeof secrecy, Mr. Kent, who is a surgeon, was prepared to stay withme. It seemed simple enough on those lines. The alternative wasa dreadful one—segregation for life among strangers with never ahope of release. But absolute secrecy was necessary, or even in thisquiet countryside there would have been an outcry, and I shouldhave been dragged to my horrible doom. Even you, Jimmie—evenyou had to be kept in the dark. Why my father has relented Icannot imagine.”
Colonel Emsworth pointed to me.
“This is the gentleman who forced my hand.” He unfolded thescrap of paper on which I had written the word “Leprosy.” “Itseemed to me that if he knew so much as that it was safer that heshould know all.”
“And so it was,” said I. “Who knows but good may come ofit? I understand that only Mr. Kent has seen the patient. May Iask, sir, if you are an authority on such complaints, which are, Iunderstand, tropical or semi-tropical in their nature?”
“I have the ordinary knowledge of the educated medical man,” he observed with some stiffness.
“I have no doubt, sir, that you are fully competent, but I am surethat you will agree that in such a case a second opinion is valuable.
You have avoided this, I understand, for fear that pressure shouldbe put upon you to segregate the patient.”
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“That is so,” said Colonel Emsworth.
“I foresaw this situation,” I explained, “and I have brought withme a friend whose discretion may absolutely be trusted. I was ableonce to do him a professional service, and he is ready to advise as afriend rather than as a specialist. His name is Sir James Saunders.”
The prospect of an interview with Lord Roberts would not haveexcited greater wonder and pleasure in a raw subaltern than wasnow reflected upon the face of Mr. Kent.
“I shall indeed be proud,” he murmured.
“Then I will ask Sir James to step this way. He is at present inthe carriage outside the door. Meanwhile, Colonel Emsworth,we may perhaps assemble in your study, where I could give thenecessary explanations.”
And here it is that I miss my Watson. By cunning questions andejaculations of wonder he could elevate my simple art, which is butsystematized common sense, into a prodigy. When I tell my ownstory I have no such aid. And yet I will give my process of thoughteven as I gave it to my small audience, which included Godfrey’smother in the study of Colonel Emsworth.
“That process,” said I, “starts upon the supposition that whenyou have eliminated all which is impossible, then whateverremains, however improbable, must be the truth. It may wellbe that several explanations remain, in which case one tries testafter test until one or other of them has a convincing amount ofsupport. We will now apply this principle to the case in point. Aswas first presented to me, there were three possible explanationsof the seclusion or incarceration of this gentleman in an outhouseof his father’s mansion. There was the explanation that he was inhiding for a crime, or that he was mad and that they wished toavoid an asylum, or that he had some disease which caused hissegregation. I could think of no other adequate solutions. These,then, had to be sifted and balanced against each other.