“Craig’s secret at last!” French muttered hoarsely.  “Bring it to the light, quick!”

They were unemotional men but the moment was supreme.  The key to the mystery of these tragical weeks was there in their hands!  Their eyes almost devoured those few hastily scrawled words buried with so much care: 

    See page 62, January number, American Medical Journal 1905.

They looked at one another.  They repeated vaguely this most commonplace of messages.  As the final result of their strenuous enterprise, these cryptic words seemed pitifully inadequate.  Quest’s face darkened.  He crumpled the paper in his fingers.

“There must be some meaning in this,” he muttered.  “It can’t be altogether a fool’s game we’re on.  Wait.”

He moved towards a table which usually stood against the wall, but which had obviously been dragged out recently into the middle of the room.  It was covered with bound volumes.  Quest glanced at one and exclaimed softly.

“American Medical Journal, 1905! French, there’s something in this message, after all.”

He turned over the pages rapidly.  Then he came to a stop.  Page 60 was there; page 62 had been neatly removed with a pair of scissors.

“The Professor!” he cried.  “The Professor’s been at work here!”

The two men stood looking at one another across the table.  Strange thoughts were framing themselves in the brains of both of them.  Then there came a startling and in its way a dramatic interlude.  Through the empty house came the ringing of the electric bell from the front door, shrill and insistent.  Without a moment’s hesitation, Quest hurried out, and French followed him.  On the door-step was another surprise.  Lenora and Laura were there, the former carrying a small, black-bound volume.

“Don’t be cross,” she begged quickly.  “We just had to come.  Look!  We picked this up underneath the chair where Craig was sitting.  It must have slipped from his pocket.  You see what is written on it?  DIARY OF JOHN CRAIG.”

Quest took it in his hand.

“This ought to be interesting,” he remarked.  “Come along in.”

They passed into the library.  French lingered behind for a moment and caught up with them just as they were opening the book underneath the electric lamp.

“See what I’ve found!” he exclaimed.  “It was just by the side of the wall there.  Where’s that journal?”

He spread out the piece of paper—­it fitted exactly into the empty space.  They all read together: 

“Professor Ashleigh, after being bitten by the anthropoid, rapidly developed hydrophobia of a serious nature.  After treatment with a new serum the patient was relieved of the hydrophobic symptoms, but to my horror this mild-mannered, humane man seems possessed at times of all the characteristics of the brutal anthropoid—­cunning, thievery, brutality.  I do not know what may come of this.  I hesitate to put even these words on to paper.  I am doubtful as to what course, in the interests of humanity, I ought to take.

    (Signed) “JAMES MERRILL, M.D.