Hudson was waiting, trembling and weeping, in the passage.
Behind me as I passed from the flat I heard Holmes’s high, thinvoice in some delirious chant. Below, as I stood whistling for a cab,a man came on me through the fog.
“How is Mr. Holmes, sir?” he asked.
It was an old acquaintance, Inspector Morton, of Scotland Yard,dressed in unofficial tweeds.
“He is very ill,” I answered.
He looked at me in a most singular fashion. Had it not beentoo fiendish, I could have imagined that the gleam of the fanlightshowed exultation in his face.
“I heard some rumour of it,” said he.
The cab had driven up, and I left him.
Lower Burke Street proved to be a line of fine houses lying inthe vague borderland between Notting Hill and Kensington. Theparticular one at which my cabman pulled up had an air of smugand demure respectability in its old-fashioned iron railings, itsmassive folding-door, and its shining brasswork. All was in keepingwith a solemn butler who appeared framed in the pink radiance ofa tinted electrical light behind him.
“Yes, Mr. Culverton Smith is in. Dr. Watson! Very good, sir, Iwill take up your card.”
My humble name and title did not appear to impress Mr.
The Complete Sherlock Holmes
Culverton Smith. Through the half-open door I heard a high,petulant, penetrating voice.
“Who is this person? What does he want? Dear me, Staples,how often have I said that I am not to be disturbed in my hours ofstudy?”
There came a gentle flow of soothing explanation from thebutler.
“Well, I won’t see him, Staples. I can’t have my work interruptedlike this. I am not at home. Say so. Tell him to come in themorning if he really must see me.”
Again the gentle murmur.
“Well, well, give him that message. He can come in the morning,or he can stay away. My work must not be hindered.”
I thought of Holmes tossing upon his bed of sickness andcounting the minutes, perhaps, until I could bring help to him. Itwas not a time to stand upon ceremony. His life depended uponmy promptness. Before the apologetic butler had delivered hismessage I had pushed past him and was in the room.
With a shrill cry of anger a man rose from a reclining chairbeside the fire. I saw a great yellow face, coarse-grained and greasy,with heavy, double-chin, and two sullen, menacing gray eyes whichglared at me from under tufted and sandy brows. A high bald headhad a small velvet smoking-cap poised coquettishly upon one sideof its pink curve. The skull was of enormous capacity, and yet aslooked down I saw to my amazement that the figure of the manwas small and frail, twisted in the shoulders and back like one whohas suffered from rickets in his childhood.
“What’s this?” he cried in a high, screaming voice. “What is themeaning of this intrusion? Didn’t I send you word that I would seeyou to-morrow morning?”
“I am sorry,” said I, “but the matter cannot be delayed. Mr.
Sherlock Holmes—”
The mention of my friend’s name had an extraordinary effectupon the little man. The look of anger passed in an instant fromhis face. His features became tense and alert.
“Have you come from Holmes?” he asked.
“I have just left him.”
“What about Holmes? How is he?”
“He is desperately ill. That is why I have come.”
The man motioned me to a chair, and turned to resume his own.
As he did so I caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror over themantelpiece. I could have sworn that it was set in a malicious andabominable smile. Yet I persuaded myself that it must have beensome nervous contraction which I had surprised, for he turned tome an instant later with genuine concern upon his features.
The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge 1177
“I am sorry to hear this,” said he. “I only know Mr. Holmesthrough some business dealings which we have had, but I haveevery respect for his talents and his character. He is an amateur ofcrime, as I am of disease. For him the villain, for me the microbe.
There are my prisons,” he continued, pointing to a row of bottlesand jars which stood upon a side table. “Among those gelatinecultivations some of the very worst offenders in the world are nowdoing time.”
“It was on account of your special knowledge that Mr. Holmesdesired to see you. He has a high opinion of you and thought thatyou were the one man in London who could help him.”
The little man started, and the jaunty smoking-cap slid to thefloor.
“Why?” he asked. “Why should Mr. Homes think that I couldhelp him in his trouble?”
“Because of your knowledge of Eastern diseases.”
“But why should he think that this disease which he hascontracted is Eastern?”
“Because, in some professional inquiry, he has been workingamong Chinese sailors down in the docks.”
Mr. Culverton Smith smiled pleasantly and picked up hissmoking-cap.
“Oh, that’s it—is it?” said he. “I trust the matter is not so graveas you suppose. How long has he been ill?”
“About three days.”
“Is he delirious?”
“Occasionally.”
“Tut, tut! This sounds serious. It would be inhuman not toanswer his call. I very much resent any interruption to my work,Dr. Watson, but this case is certainly exceptional. I will come withyou at once.”
I remembered Holmes’s injunction.
“I have another appointment,” said I.
“Very good. I will go alone. I have a note of Mr. Holmes’saddress. You can rely upon my being there within half an hour atmost.”
It was with a sinking heart that I reentered Holmes’s bedroom.
For all that I knew the worst might have happened in my absence.
To my enormous relief, he had improved greatly in the interval.
His appearance was as ghastly as ever, but all trace of delirium hadleft him and he spoke in a feeble voice, it is true, but with evenmore than his usual crispness and lucidity.
“Well, did you see him, Watson?”
“Yes; he is coming.”
“Admirable, Watson! Admirable! You are the best of messengers.”
1178 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
“He wished to return with me.”
“That would never do, Watson. That would be obviouslyimpossible. Did he ask what ailed me?”
“I told him about the Chinese in the East End.”
