the markings on the shoulders.'
'An animal!' said Grayson. 'The devil you say! What sort of animal? A rabid hound, perhaps?'
'Unlikely. If it was a hound, then it would need to be a very large one indeed. Note the spacing of the marks upon the deceased's face. Imagine the size of the paw that would have made those wounds. However, you'll notice that there are five slash marks. A dog has only four claws on its forepaw and they are hardly sharp enough to create wounds such as these.'
'What then?' Grayson said. 'A jungle cat? Some animal escaped from a circus or the zoo?'
'Again, not very likely, for the same reason I've just mentioned. The number of claws would be insufficient. Besides, there have been no recent reports of any such animals escaping from the zoological gardens and at present, there are no circuses in town. Look here.'
He made a claw of his right hand and positioned it over the wounds.
'Good Lord!' said Grayson. 'Surely you're not suggesting that a human hand could have done that!”
'A hand not unlike a human's, at the very least. You see. Grayson? An opposed thumb is called for. It is possible that a great ape might have done it, one of the larger primates. such as an orangutan. I believe there is such a creature at the Zoological Gardens. However, them have been no reports of its escaping, though it would be simple enough to make an inquiry. Even so, it would seem highly unlikely that such a creature could manage to make its way from Regent's Park to Whitechapel unobserved by anyone. It is a curious matter, indeed.'
'A bloody headache. is what it is.' said Grayson. 'Something like this could get entirely out of hand. What would your Mr. Sherlock Holmes have made of this'!'
Conan Doyle smiled. 'I was waiting for you to ask me that,' he said. 'Somehow, I did not think that it was only my medical expertise that you were seeking. Those damned stories have become something of a nuisance for me.'
'Come now, Doctor,' Grayson said, 'surely you can employ some of this art of deduction that you write of so convincingly to cast some light upon this case. After all, the creator of a detective as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes must surely possess some of his abilities.'
'You flatter me, Inspector.' said Conan Doyle. 'However, Sherlock Holmes is dead and dead he shall remain. I have had such an overdose of him that I feel towards him as I do towards pate de foie Eras, of which I once ate too much, so that the name of it gives me a sickly feeling to this day. I tossed him over the falls at Reichenbach and there's an end to him. And although I must admit that assisting Scotland Yard in an actual case intrigues me. it would do much to increase the already intolerable clamor for more of my stories about Holmes if word of this were to get out.'
Grayson cleared his throat uncomfortably. 'Yes, well, with all due respect. Dr. Doyle,' he said, 'perhaps in that case you will understand why I would very much appreciate it if this consultation were to remain strictly unofficial. Soliciting your opinion as a medical man is one thing, however-'
'Consulting a writer of popular fiction would be quite another,' Conan Doyle said. 'I quite understand. The slant the newspapers would give to such a consultation could prove somewhat embarrassing to Scotland Yard. And it would be no less embarrassing to me, come to think of it, if I proved unable to assist you in any way.' He chuckled and clapped the man on the shoulder. 'You can set your mind at ease, Grayson. We shall keep this matter strictly between ourselves.'
Grayson sighed gratefully. 'I'm so glad you understand. Doctor. Frankly, I must admit that I am baffled by this case. And if, as you suggest, we are indeed faced with some wild animal running about loose in the East End, there could be widespread panic. Something must be done and quickly.'
'Well, let us see what Constable Jones has to tell us about his assailant,' Conan Doyle said, bending down over the body. 'Hold my pipe a moment, will you. Grayson? Thank you. Now, it would seem reasonable to assume that a stout young man like Jones would not surrender his life meekly. He would certainly have struggled. Therefore, it is entirely possible that if we were to examine underneath his fingernails… ah, what have we here?'
'What is it?' Grayson said, leaning forward intently.
'If you would be so kind,' said Conan Doyle, pointing, 'I noticed a small wooden box beside that microscope there on the counter. undoubtedly it holds some glass slides. No. no, bring the entire box, please. The slide must be quite clean. Thank you. Ah, yes, perfect. Now, we shall place our find upon this slide here..
'What is it,' said Grayson, bending over and squinting at the slide. 'Hair?'
'So it would appear,' said Conan Doyle. 'Now, the question is, what sort of hair?'
'Can you tell just by looking at it through the microscope?' said Grayson.
'To some extent,' said Conan Doyle. 'I have studied zoology and there are certain differences to be observed between human and animal hair, coarseness of the fibre, for example, the thickness of the shaft
… let's sec now, ah, there we have it.' He peered into the microscope. 'It has been some time since I have observed various samples of animal hair through a microscope while at Edinburgh University, but I am fortunate in that I possess an excellent memory. I had given some thought to writing a monograph upon the subject, but
… well! That is curious!'
'What is it, Doctor?' Grayson said. 'What do you see?' 'See for yourself,' said Conan Doyle.
Grayson squinted through the eyepiece, then straightened up with an apologetic shrug. 'I never studied zoology,' he said. 'I couldn't tell that bit of hair from one plucked out of my own head.•
'If that sample had been obtained from your own head.' said Conan Doyle. 'I would be tempted to make a most unorthodox diagnosis of your condition, Grayson. In that event, I would suspect that you were suffering from a disease generally regarded as a form of insanity.'
'And what disease would that be, Doctor?'
'Lycanthropy. Inspector Grayson. The belief that one is capable of becoming a wolf or, more specifically. a legendary creature known in folklore as a werewolf.”
1
The man who came to the door of 7 Mornington Place in northwest London was of medium build, with blue eyes, light brown hair parted neatly on the side and a large, full and slightly drooping moustache that somehow did not quite seem to fit his boyish face. His eyes were expressive and alert as he gazed past Amy Robbins at the three strangers on his doorstep. They were well dressed. two men and a young woman. One man was clean-shaven, with angular features, blond hair and a hooked nose. The other was heavyset, muscular. with dark red hair and a full beard. The woman was very blond, statuesque, with an erect carriage and a very striking face.
'These people insist on speaking with you,' Amy Robbins said. 'I have told them you were very busy-'
'That's all right, Jane.' he said, using her pet name. 'How may I help you?'
'Mr. Wells?' said Finn Delaney.
'I am H. G. Wells. We have not met before?'
'No, sir. we haven't. My name is Finn Delaney. This is Mr. Creed Steiger and this is Miss Andre Cross. We have come a long way to speak with you on a matter of some importance. It concerns your writing. We understand that you are a busy man and we are quite prepared to compensate you for your time.'
'Well, I must say, your offer is appreciated. but quite unnecessary. Do come in.'
They entered the modest, but comfortable rooms. 'May I offer you some tea?' said Wells.
'Please don't trouble yourself, Mr. Wells,• said Steiger. 'We won't take up much of your time.•'
'No trouble at all. Please, come this way.'
He led them to a small and tidy study, filled with bookshelves and a writing desk. The desk had some papers spread out on it and a wastebasket beside the desk was filled with crumpled paper. Several of the crumpled sheets had missed the wastebasket.
'I have been busy writing articles for the Pall Mall Gazette,' said Wells, picking up the errant litter. 'Merely some light sketches, dialogues and essays, an occasional book review… excuse me, you are American, are you not?'
