The answer was, "Go to hell!" The Professor then resumed his merely verbal monologue addressed to the Doctor.
"Perhaps I should rather say," said Syme on his fingers, "that it resembles that sudden smell of the sea which may be found in the heart of lush woods." His companion disdained to reply.
"Or yet again," tapped Syme, "it is positive, as is the passionate red hair of a beautiful woman." The Professor was continuing his speech, but in the middle of it Syme decided to act.

He leant across the table, and said in a voice that could not be neglected-- "Dr.Bull!" The Doctor's sleek and smiling head did not move, but they could have sworn that under his dark glasses his eyes darted towards Syme.
"Dr.Bull," said Syme, in a voice peculiarly precise and courteous, "would you do me a small favour?
Would you be so kind as to take off your spectacles ?" The Professor swung round on his seat, and stared at Syme with a sort of frozen fury of astonishment.

Syme, like a man who has thrown his life and fortune on the table, leaned forward with a fiery face.

The Doctor did not move.
For a few seconds there was a silence in which one could hear a pin drop, split once by the single hoot of a distant steamer on the Thames.
Then Dr.Bull rose slowly, still smiling, and took off his spectacles.
Syme sprang to his feet, stepping backwards a little, like a chemical lecturer from a successful explosion.

His eyes were like stars, and for an instant he could only point without speaking.
The Professor had also started to his feet, forgetful of his supposed paralysis.