Holmes took a cab at the station and ordered the man to driveto the house of Dr. Leslie Armstrong. A few minutes later, wehad stopped at a large mansion in the busiest thoroughfare. Wewere shown in, and after a long wait were at last admitted into theconsulting-room, where we found the doctor seated behind his table.
It argues the degree in which I had lost touch with myprofession that the name of Leslie Armstrong was unknownto me. Now I am aware that he is not only one of the heads ofthe medical school of the university, but a thinker of Europeanreputation in more than one branch of science. Yet even withoutknowing his brilliant record one could not fail to be impressed bya mere glance at the man, the square, massive face, the broodingeyes under the thatched brows, and the granite moulding of theinflexible jaw. A man of deep character, a man with an alert mind,grim, ascetic, self-contained, formidable—so I read Dr. LeslieArmstrong. He held my friend’s card in his hand, and he looked upwith no very pleased expression upon his dour features.
“I have heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I am awareof your profession—one of which I by no means approve.”
“In that, Doctor, you will find yourself in agreement with everycriminal in the country,” said my friend, quietly.
“So far as your efforts are directed towards the suppressionof crime, sir, they must have the support of every reasonablemember of the community, though I cannot doubt that the officialmachinery is amply sufficient for the purpose. Where your callingis more open to criticism is when you pry into the secrets of privateindividuals, when you rake up family matters which are betterhidden, and when you incidentally waste the time of men who aremore busy than yourself. At the present moment, for example, Ishould be writing a treatise instead of conversing with you.”
“No doubt, Doctor; and yet the conversation may prove moreimportant than the treatise. Incidentally, I may tell you that we aredoing the reverse of what you very justly blame, and that we areendeavouring to prevent anything like public exposure of privatematters which must necessarily follow when once the case is fairlyin the hands of the official police. You may look upon me simplyas an irregular pioneer, who goes in front of the regular forces ofthe country. I have come to ask you about Mr. Godfrey Staunton.”
“What about him?”
“You know him, do you not?”
“He is an intimate friend of mine.”
“You are aware that he has disappeared?”
“Ah, indeed!” There was no change of expression in the ruggedfeatures of the doctor.
“He left his hotel last night—he has not been heard of.”
“No doubt he will return.”
“To-morrow is the ‘Varsity football match.”
“I have no sympathy with these childish games. The youngman’s fate interests me deeply, since I know him and like him. Thefootball match does not come within my horizon at all.”
“I claim your sympathy, then, in my investigation of Mr.
Staunton’s fate. Do you know where he is?”
“Certainly not.”
“You have not seen him since yesterday?”
“No, I have not.”
“Was Mr. Staunton a healthy man?”
“Absolutely.”
“Did you ever know him ill?”
“Never.”
Holmes popped a sheet of paper before the doctor’s eyes. “Thenperhaps you will explain this receipted bill for thirteen guineas, paidby Mr. Godfrey Staunton last month to Dr. Leslie Armstrong, ofCambridge. I picked it out from among the papers upon his desk.”
The doctor flushed with anger.
“I do not feel that there is any reason why I should render anexplanation to you, Mr. Holmes.”
Holmes replaced the bill in his notebook. “If you prefer a publicexplanation, it must come sooner or later,” said he. “I have alreadytold you that I can hush up that which others will be boundto publish, and you would really be wiser to take me into yourcomplete confidence.”
“I know nothing about it.”
“Did you hear from Mr. Staunton in London?”
“Certainly not.”
“Dear me, dear me—the postoffice again!” Holmes sighed,wearily. “A most urgent telegram was dispatched to you fromLondon by Godfrey Staunton at six-fifteen yesterday evening—atelegram which is undoubtedly associated with his disappearance—and yet you have not had it. It is most culpable. I shall certainly godown to the office here and register a complaint.”
Dr. Leslie Armstrong sprang up from behind his desk, and hisdark face was crimson with fury.
“I’ll trouble you to walk out of my house, sir,” said he. “You cantell your employer, Lord Mount-James, that I do not wish to haveanything to do either with him or with his agents. No, sir—notanother word!” He rang the bell furiously. “John, show thesegentlemen out!” A pompous butler ushered us severely to the door,and we found ourselves in the street. Holmes burst out laughing.
“Dr. Leslie Armstrong is certainly a man of energy andcharacter,” said he. “I have not seen a man who, if he turns histalents that way, was more calculated to fill the gap left by theillustrious Moriarty. And now, my poor Watson, here we are,stranded and friendless in this inhospitable town, which we cannotleave without abandoning our case. This little inn just oppositeArmstrong’s house is singularly adapted to our needs. If you wouldengage a front room and purchase the necessaries for the night, Imay have time to make a few inquiries.”
These few inquiries proved, however, to be a more lengthyproceeding than Holmes had imagined, for he did not return tothe inn until nearly nine o’clock. He was pale and dejected, stainedwith dust, and exhausted with hunger and fatigue. A cold supperwas ready upon the table, and when his needs were satisfied andhis pipe alight he was ready to take that half comic and whollyphilosophic view which was natural to him when his affairs weregoing awry. The sound of carriage wheels caused him to rise andglance out of the window. A brougham and pair of grays, under theglare of a gas-lamp, stood before the doctor’s door.
