Detection by Gaslight by Douglas G. Greene Read Free Book Online Page B

anything about him. One or two shopkeepers in the street where he was found were asked, but knew nothing of him—indeed, had never seen him before.
    â€œBut the curiousest thing,” the policeman proceeded, “was in this ‘ere room, when I brought him a loaf to give him a bit of a snack, seein’ he looked so weak an’ ’ungry. You’d ‘a thought we was a-goin’ to poison ‘im. He fair screamed at the very sight o’ the bread, an’ he scrouged hisself up in that corner an’ put his hands in front of his face. I couldn’t make out what was up at first—didn’t tumble to it’s bein’ the bread he was frightened of, seein’ as he looked like a man as ‘ud be frightened at anything else afore that. But the nearer I came with it the more he yelled, so I took it away an’ left it outside, an’ then he calmed down. An’ s‘elp me, when I cut some bits off that there very loaf an’ brought ‘em in, with a bit o’ beef, he just went for ‘em like one o’clock. He wasn’t frightened o’ no bread then, you bet. Rum thing, how the fancies takes ‘em when they’re a bit touched, ain’t it? All one way one minute, all the other the next.”
    â€œYes, it is. By the way, have you another uncut loaf in the place?”
    â€œYes, sir. Half a dozen if you like.”
    â€œOne will be enough. I am going over to speak to the doctor. Wait awhile until he seems very quiet and fairly comfortable; then bring a loaf in quietly and put it on the table, not far from his elbow. Don’t attract his attention to what you are doing.”
    The doctor stood looking thoughtfully down on the Frenchman, who, for his part, stared gloomily, but tranquilly, at the fire-place. Hewitt stepped quietly over to the doctor and, without disturbing the man by the fire, said interrogatively, “Aphasia?”
    The doctor tightened his lips, frowned, and nodded significantly. “Motor,” he murmured, just loudly enough for Hewitt to hear; “and there’s a general nervous break-down as well, I should say. By the way, perhaps there’s no agraphia. Have you tried him with pen and paper?”
    Pen and paper were brought and set before the man. He was told, slowly and distinctly, that he was among friends, whose only object was to restore him to his proper health. Would he write his name and address, and any other information he might care to give about himself, on the paper before him?
    The Frenchman took the pen and stared at the paper; then slowly, and with much hesitation, he traced these marks:—

    The man paused after the last of these futile characters, and his pen stabbed into the paper with a blot, as he dazedly regarded his work. Then with a groan he dropped it, and his face sank again into the bend of his arm.
    The doctor took the paper and handed it to Hewitt. “Complete agraphia, you see,” he said. “He can’t write a word. He begins to write ‘Monsieur’ from sheer habit in beginning letters thus; but the word tails off into a scrawl. Then his attempts become mere scribble, with just a trace of some familiar word here and there—but quite meaningless all.”
    Although he had never before chanced to come across a case of aphasia (happily a rare disease), Hewitt was acquainted with its general nature. He knew that it might arise either from some physical injury to the brain, or from a break-down consequent on some terrible nervous strain. He knew that in the case of motor aphasia the sufferer, though fully conscious of all that goes on about him, and though quite understanding what is said to him is entirely powerless to put his own thoughts into spoken words—has lost, in fact, the connection between words and their spoken symbols. Also that in most bad cases agraphia—the loss of ability to write words with any reference to their meaning-is commonly