19. From V Tsuion: Werewolf
Holmes' notes to summon me from my practice were often enigmatic. This one, however, was the most outlandish he had ever sent (a high distinction).
Client convinced he's werewolf. Need medical input. Come quickly. -SH
I hastened myself to Baker Street as soon as I could, where a Mr. Hansel Grotwein was pacing around Holmes, who sat serenely at his chair.
"Ah, good, Watson," Holmes said, clasping his hands together. "Mr. Grotwein, my colleague, Dr. Watson. Please tell him your tale exactly as you told it to me."
"Ah, I hope you can help me," he said in heavily accented German. "I have recently emigrated to England to consult on a government matter I am afraid I cannot give details for. Before that, I hailed from Bavaria, near the Black Forest. There are still tales of wolf-men in my village, men who disappear into the night, snarls at their old windows, and children and animals vanishing. Wives' tales, I had thought...even my own grandfather was supposedly one of this men who entered the forest and never returned...
"The last night in my old home, I heard a snuffling at my door. I approached, cautiously, with my gun, and I recall opening the door to a terrible pair of red eyes and the full moon, and then, I awoke back in my bed. My arm was coated in dried blood, and it seemed I had been bitten. But I could remember nothing, and when I cleaned the wound, it seemed superficial enough to delay a doctor until my arrival in England.
"An associate met me at the station, and we traveled together some time. The full moon rose again the first night we crossed into England. I recall a strange dreaminess coming upon me, and I saw my hands contort into claws...I recall little else, but when I came too again, it was morning, and I remained in the coach on the road outside my associate's abode, and he was gone, with only blood in his seat and around my mouth and hands to show where he might've gone. I fled to London, and have tried to merely do my work quietly.
"And every full moon since, I find myself this way, Doctor Watson. No matter what precautions I take, I awake and experience the strangest dream, and awake back the following morning with blood around my mouth and hands, my clothes tattered, and often, feathers or fur on the floor, like I have...fed. The last full moon, I found the bonnet of an infant child. Further still, I have noticed my skin paling, my hair thickening on my arms and face, and sensitivity to the sun. As though it is worsening, and I am becoming less man and more wolf each day."
I was quite astonished at this tale, and merely nodded. Holmes said, not unkindly, "Please return to your rooms tonight, sir. It is not a full moon tonight, and we will be visiting soon."
"And what do you think, Watson?" Holmes asked after our visitor left.
"Medically?" I answered. "A great deal comes to mind."
"I suspected as much," Holmes said. "Tell me, could the symptoms he mentioned be medically induced?"
"Pallor, sun sensitivity, hair growth, paranoia," I considered. "Yes, with a cocktail of drugs. From my brief examination, I might think our Mr. Grotwein suffering from Porphyria. It is genetic in nature, and somewhat rare, but more common in Germanic peoples. I have read that the disease can manifest when the patient is given certain drugs, including barbiturates, which might explain his dreamlike confusion before his supposed transformations. The hair growth would merely require certain vitamins. Neither would be difficult to acquire with the right connections."
"You have confirmed what I thought, Watson," Holmes said. "Someone is trying to make Mr. Grotwein believe he has become a monster, and hope to drive him to insanity to learn the nature of his work. If I am right, he is here in a military capacity, and there is a spy in the ranks."
"So what do we do?"
"We must convince Mr. Grotwein to allow us to guard him the next full moon. There is a great deal of preparation and planning in this scheme. We will undoubtedly find our man at the ready to make Mr. Grotwein believe he has killed again. In this matter, Watson, I must request your service revolver. This is a clever man, and a dangerous one. We must be on our guard."
And so we found ourselves hidden in an alcove outside our client's room, which had been boarded up at his insistence. He seemed wary to have men so close to him.
"I have personally watched the preparation and delivery of all of Mr. Grotwein's food today," Holmes whispered. "He should not have received a dose of sedatives today. I hope he may rest while we solve the matter."
The wait was long; the moon rose high over head. Near nodding, I was startled when Holmes elbowed me. A figure was creeping towards the door of our client. He carried a sack, no doubt filled with bloody rags to trick our poor Mr. Grotwein, and began to pick the lock with a wire. Holmes motioned me forward, and I, gun drawn, crept along with him. His eyes darted up, and he saw us, and dropped his sack and began to run. Holmes and I pursued, separating to cut him off from either end of the hall, and I skidded around the corner to find Holmes cornering him.
"This has gone far enough," Holmes said, sternly. "My associate has excellent aim and will not hesitate. You will accompany us to Baker Street, and Scotland Yard will collect you shortly, Mr. Wilson. Treason, espionage, and attempted murder, I dare say- I suggest you cooperate, as you have already hurt yourself greatly."
And so Lionel Wilson, turncoat, was dealt with by the Queen's government, and Hansel Grotwein finished his work under my careful observation and treatment, and then returned home. He remained somewhat convinced in the supernatural, but was greatly relieved to learn he had harmed no one under the light of the full moon. Wilson could nary say the same.