once again recovered its poise。 Now Officer O'Shaughnessy； looking skeptical； emerged from the shadows。 Nora wondered what； exactly； the policeman had to do with Pendergast。
They stood before the large； grotesque elephant's foot； replete with brass fittings。
〃So it's an elephant's foot；〃 O'Shaughnessy said。 〃So？〃
〃Not just a foot； Sergeant；〃 Pendergast replied。 〃A box； made from an elephant's foot。 Quite mon among big…game hunters and collectors in the last century。 Rather a nice specimen； too； if a little worn。〃 He turned to Nora。 〃Shall we look inside？〃
Nora unclasped the fittings and lifted the top of the box。 The grayish skin felt rough and nubbled beneath her gloved fingers。 An unpleasant smell rose up。 The box was empty。
She glanced over at Pendergast。 If the agent was disappointed； he showed no sign。
For a moment； the little group was still。 Then Pendergast himself bent over the open box。 He examined it a moment； his body immobile save for the pale blue eyes。 Then his fingers shot forward and began moving over the surface of the box； pressing here and there； alighting at one spot for a moment； then scuttling on。 Suddenly there was a click； and a narrow drawer shot out from below； raising a cloud of dust。 Nora jumped at the sound。
〃Rather clever；〃 said Pendergast； removing a large envelope； faded and slightly foxed； from the drawer。 He turned it over once or twice； speculatively。 Then he ran a gloved finger beneath the seam； easing it open and withdrawing several sheets of cream…laid paper。 He unfolded them carefully； passed his hand across the topmost sheet。
And then he began to read。
FIVE
TO MY COLLEAGUE； Tinbury McFadden
July 12； 1881
Esteemed Colleague；
I write these lines in earnest hope that you will never have need to read them； that I will be able to tear them up and dash them into the coal scuttle； products of an overworked brain and fevered imagination。 And yet in my soul I know my worst fears have already been proven true。 Everything I have uncovered points incontrovertibly to such a fact。 I have always been eager to think the best of my fellow man…after all； are we not all moulded from the same clay？ The ancients believed life to have generated spontaneously within the rich mud of the Nile； and who am I to question the symbolism； if not the scientific fact； of such belief？ And yet there have been Events； McFadden； dreadful events that can support no innocent explanation。
It is quite possible that the details I relate herein may cause you to doubt the quality of my mind。 Before I proceed； let me assure you that I am in full mand of my faculties。 I offer this document as evidence； both to my dreadful theorem and to the proofs I have undertaken in its defense。
I have spoken before of my growing doubts over this business of Leng。 You know； of course； the reasons I allowed him to take rooms on the third floor of the Cabinet。 His talks at the Lyceum proved the depth of his scientific and medical knowledge。 In taxonomy and chemistry he has few； if any； peers。 The notion that enlightening； perhaps even forward…reaching； experiments would be taking place beneath my own roof was a pleasant one。 And； on a practical note； the additional hard currency offered by his rent was not unwele。
At first； my trust in the man seemed fully justified。 His curatorial work at the Cabinet proved excellent。 Although he kept highly irregular hours； he was unfailingly polite； if a little reserved。 He paid his rent money promptly； and even offered medical advice during the bouts of grippe that plagued me throughout the winters of '73 and '74。
It is hard to date with any precision my first glimmerings of suspicion。 Perhaps it began with what； in my perception； was a growing sense of secretiveness about the man's affairs。 Although he had promised early on to share the formal results of his experiments； except for an initial joint inspection when the lease was signed I was never invited to see his chambers。 As the years passed； he seemed to grow more and more absorbed in his own studies； and I was forced to take on much of the curatorial duties for the Cabinet myself。
I had always believed Leng to be rather sensitive about his work。 You will no doubt recall the early and somewhat eccentric talk on Bodily Humours he presented to the Lyceum。 It was not well received…some members even had the ill breeding to titter on one or two occasions during the lecture…and henceforth Leng never returned to the subject。 His future talks were all models of traditional scholarship。 So at first； I ascribed his hesitancy to discuss personal work to this same innate circumspection。 However； as time went on； I began to realize that what I had thought to be professional shyness was； in fact； active concealment。
One spring evening earlier this year； I had occasion to stay on very late at the Cabinet； finishing work on an accumulation of documents and preparing the exhibition space for my latest acquisition； the double…brained child； of which we have previously spoken。 This latter task proved far more engrossing than the tiresome paperwork； and I was rather surprised to hear the city bell toll midnight。
It was in the moments following； as I stood； listening to the echoes of the bell die away； that I became aware of another sound。 It came from over my head： a kind of heavy shuffling； as if of a man bearing some heavy burden。 I cannot tell you why precisely； McFadden； but there was something in that sound that sent a thrill of dread coursing through me。 I listened more intently。 The sound died away slowly； the footsteps retreating into a more distant room。
Of course there was nothing for me to do。 In the morning； as I reflected on the event； I realized the culprit was undoubtedly my own tired nerves。 Unless some more sinister meaning should prove to be attached to the footsteps…which seemed a remote possibility…there was no cause for approaching Leng on the matter。 I ascribed my alarm to my own perverse state of mind at the time。 I had succeeded in creating a rather sensational backdrop for displaying the double…brained child； and no doubt this； along with the late hour； had roused the more morbid aspects of my imagination。 I resolved to put the matter behind me。
It chanced that some few weeks later…the fifth of July； last week； to be precise…another event took place to which I most earnestly mend your attention。 The circumstances were similar： I remained late at the Cabinet； preparing my uping paper for the Lyceum journal。 As you know； writing for learned bodies such as the Lyceum is difficult for me； and I have fallen into certain routines which ease the process somewhat。 My old teakwood writing desk； the fine vellum paper upon which this note is now being written； the fuchsia…colored ink made by M。 Dupin in Paris…these are the petty niceties which make position less onerous。 This evening； inspiration came rather more easily than usual； however； and around half past ten I found it necessary to sharpen some new pens before work could continue。 I turned away from my desk briefly to effect this。 When I returned I found； to my utmost astonishment； that the page on which I had been at work had been soiled with some small number of inkstains。
I am most fastidious with a pen； and was at a loss to explain how this came about。 It was only when I took up my blotter to clear away the stains that I realized they differed slightly in color from the fuchsia of my pen； being a somewhat lighter shade。 And when I blotted them aside； I realized they were of a thicker； more viscous； consistency than my French ink。
Imagine my horror； then； when a fresh drop landed upon my wrist as I was in the act of lifting the blotter from the paper。
Immediately； I lifted my eyes to the ceiling above my head。 What devilment was this？ A small but widening crimson stain was leaching between the floorboards of Leng's chambers overhead。
It was the work of a moment to mount the stairs and pound upon his door。 I cannot describe precisely the sequence of thoughts that ran through my mind…foremost among them； however； was fear that the Doctor had fallen victim to foul play。 There had been rumors circulating through th