made, and were evidently quite fresh. It rained hard this afternoon,
as you know, and my patients were the only people who called. It must
have been the case, then, that the man in the waiting-room had, for
some unknown reason, while I was busy with the other, ascended to the
room of my resident patient. Nothing has been touched or taken, but
there were the footprints to prove that the intrusion was an
undoubted fact.
"Mr. Blessington seemed more excited over the matter than I should
have thought possible, though of course it was enough to disturb
anybody's peace of mind. He actually sat crying in an arm-chair, and
I could hardly get him to speak coherently. It was his suggestion
that I should come round to you, and of course I at once saw the
propriety of it, for certainly the incident is a very singular one,
though he appears to completely overrate its importance. If you would
only come back with me in my brougham, you would at least be able to
soothe him, though I can hardly hope that you will be able to explain
this remarkable occurrence."
Sherlock Holmes had listened to this long narrative with an
intentness which showed me that his interest was keenly aroused. His
face was as impassive as ever, but his lids had drooped more heavily
over his eyes, and his smoke had curled up more thickly from his pipe
to emphasize each curious episode in the doctor's tale. As our
visitor concluded, Holmes sprang up without a word, handed me my hat,
picked his own from the table, and followed Dr. Trevelyan to the
door. Within a quarter of an hour we had been dropped at the door of
the physician's residence in Brook Street, one of those sombre,
flat-faced houses which one associates with a West-End practice. A
small page admitted us, and we began at once to ascend the broad,
well-carpeted stair.
But a singular interruption brought us to a standstill. The light at
the top was suddenly whisked out, and from the darkness came a reedy,
quivering voice.
"I have a pistol," it cried. "I give you my word that I'll fire if
you come any nearer."
"This really grows outrageous, Mr. Blessington," cried Dr. Trevelyan.
"Oh, then it is you, doctor," said the voice, with a great heave of
relief. "But those other gentlemen, are they what they pretend to
be?"
We were conscious of a long scrutiny out of the darkness.
"Yes, yes, it's all right," said the voice at last. "You can come up,
and I am sorry if my precautions have annoyed you."
He relit the stair gas as he spoke, and we saw before us a
singular-looking man, whose appearance, as well as his voice,
testified to his jangled nerves. He was very fat, but had apparently
at some time been much fatter, so that the skin hung about his face
in loose pouches, like the cheeks of a blood-hound. He was of a
sickly color, and his thin, sandy hair seemed to bristle up with the
intensity of his emotion. In his hand he held a pistol, but he thrust
it into his pocket as we advanced.
"Good-evening, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I am sure I am very much
obliged to you for coming round. No one ever needed your advice more
than I do. I suppose that Dr. Trevelyan has told you of this most
unwarrantable intrusion into my rooms."
"Quite so," said Holmes. "Who are these two men Mr. Blessington, and
why do they wish to molest you?"
"Well, well," said the resident patient, in a nervous fashion, "of
course it is hard to say that. You can hardly expect me to answer
that, Mr. Holmes."
"Do you mean that you don't know?"
"Come in here, if you please. Just have the kindness to step in
here."
He led the way into his bedroom, which was large and comfortably
furnished.
"You see that," said he, pointing to a big black box at the end of
his bed. "I have never been a very rich man, Mr. Holmes--never made
but one investment in my life, as Dr. Trevelyan would tell you. But I
don't believe in bankers. I would never trust a banker, Mr. Holmes.
Between ourselves, what little I have is in that box, so you can
understand what it means to me when unknown people force themselves
into my rooms."
Holmes looked at Blessington in his questioning way and shook his
head.
"I cannot possibly advise you if you try to deceive me," said he.
"But I have told you everything."
Holmes turned on his heel with a gesture of disgust. "Good-night, Dr.
Trevelyan," said he.
"And no advice for me?" cried Blessington, in a breaking voice.
"My advice to your, sir, is to speak the truth."
A minute later we were in the street and walking for home. We had
crossed Oxford Street and were half way down Harley Street before I
could get a word from my companion.
"Sorry to bring you out on such a fool's errand, Watson," he said at
last. "It is an interesting case, too, at the bottom of it."
"I can make little of it," I confessed.
"Well, it is quite evident that there are two men--more, perhaps, but
at least two--who are determined for some reason to get at this
fellow Blessington. I have no doubt in my mind that both on the first
and on the second occasion that young man penetrated to Blessington's
room, while his confederate, by an ingenious device, kept the doctor
from interfering."
"And the catalepsy?"
"A fraudulent imitation, Watson, though I should hardly dare to hint
as much to our specialist. It is a very easy complaint to imitate. I
have done it myself."
"And then?"
"By the purest chance Blessington was out on each occasion. Their
reason for choosing so unusual an hour for a consultation was
obviously to insure that there should be no other patient in the
waiting-room. It just happened, however, that this hour coincided
with Blessington's constitutional, which seems to show that they were
not very well acquainted with his daily routine. Of course, if they
had been merely after plunder they would at least have made some
attempt to search for it. Besides, I can read in a man's eye when it
is his own skin that he is frightened for. It is inconceivable that
this fellow could have made two such vindictive enemies as these
appear to be without knowing of it. I hold it, therefore, to be
certain that he does know who these men are, and that for reasons of
his own he suppresses it. It is just possible that to-morrow may find
him in a more communicative mood."
"Is there not one alternative," I suggested, "grotesquely improbably,
no doubt, but still just conceivable? Might the whole story of the
cataleptic Russian and his son be a concoction of Dr. Trevelyan's,
who has, for his own purposes, been in Blessington's rooms?"
I saw in the gaslight that Holmes wore an amused smile at this
brilliant departure of mine.
"My dear fellow," said he, "it was one of the first solutions which
occurred to me, but I was soon able to corroborate the doctor's tale.
This young man has left prints upon the stair-carpet which made it
quite superfluous for me to ask to see those which he had made in the
room. When I tell you that his shoes were square-toed instead of
being pointed like Blessington's, and were quite an inch and a third
longer than the doctor's, you will acknowledge that there can be no
doubt as to his individuality. But we may sleep on it now, for I
shall be surprised if we do not hear something further from Brook
Street in the morning."
Sherlock Holmes's prophecy was soon fulfilled, and in a dramatic
fashion. At half-past seven next morning, in the first glimmer of
daylight, I found him standing by my bedside in his dressing-gown.
"There's a brougham waiting for us, Watson," said he.
"What's the matter, then?"
"The Brook Street business."
"Any fresh news?"
"Tragic, but ambiguous," said he, pulling up the blind. "Look at
this--a sheet from a note-book, with 'For God's sake come at once--P.
T.,' scrawled upon it in pencil. Our friend, the doctor, was hard put
to it when he wrote this. Come along, my dear fellow, for it's an
urgent call."
In a quarter of an hour or so we were back at the physician's house.
He came running out to meet us with a face of horror.
"Oh, such a business!" he cried, with his hands to his temples.
"What then?"
"Blessington has committed suicide!"
Holmes whistled.
"Yes, he hanged himself during the night."
We had entered, and the doctor had preceded us into what was
evidently his waiting-room.
"I really hardly know what I am doing," he cried. "The police are
already upstairs. It has shaken me most dreadfully."
"When did you find it out?"
"He has a cup of tea taken in to him early every morning. When the
maid entered, about seven, there the unfortunate fellow was hanging
in the middle of the room. He had tied his cord to the hook on which
the heavy lamp used to hang, and he had jumped off from the top of
the very box that he showed us yesterday."
Holmes stood for a moment in deep thought.
"With your permission," said he at last, "I should like to go
upstairs and look into the matter."
We both ascended, followed by the doctor.
It was a dreadful sight which met us as we entered the bedroom door.
I have spoken of the impression of flabbiness which this man
Blessington conveyed. As he dangled from the hook it was exaggerated
and intensified until he was scarce human in his appearance. The neck
was drawn out like a plucked chicken's, making the rest of him seem
the more obese and unnatural by the contrast. He was clad only in his
long night-dress, and his swollen ankles and ungainly feet protruded
starkly from beneath it. Beside him stood a smart-looking
police-inspector, who was taking notes in a pocket-book.
"Ah, Mr. Holmes," said he, heartily, as my friend entered, "I am
delighted to see you."
"Good-morning, Lanner," answered Holmes; "you won't think me an
intruder, I am sure. Have you heard of the events which led up to
this affair?"
"Yes, I heard something of them."
"Have you formed any opinion?"
"As far as I can see, the man has been driven out of his senses by
fright. The bed has been well slept in, you see. There's his
impression deep enough. It's about five in the morning, you know,
that suicides are most common. That would be about his time for
hanging himself. It seems to have been a very deliberate affair."
"I should say that he has been dead about three hours, judging by the
rigidity of the muscles," said I.
"Noticed anything peculiar about the room?" asked Holmes.
"Found a screw-driver and some screws on the wash-hand stand. Seems
to have smoked heavily during the night, too. Here are four
cigar-ends that I picked out of the fireplace."
"Hum!" said Holmes, "have you got his cigar-holder?"
"No, I have seen none."
"His cigar-case, then?"
"Yes, it was in his coat-pocket."
Holmes opened it and smelled the single cigar which it contained.
"Oh, this is an Havana, and these others are cigars of the peculiar
sort which are imported by the Dutch from their East Indian colonies.
They are usually wrapped in straw, you know, and are thinner for
their length than any other brand." He picked up the four ends and
examined them with his pocket-lens.
"Two of these have been smoked from a holder and two without," said
he. "Two have been cut by a not very sharp knife, and two have had
the ends bitten off by a set of excellent teeth. This is no suicide,
Mr. Lanner. It is a very deeply planned and cold-blooded murder."
"Impossible!" cried the inspector.
"And why?"
"Why should any one murder a man in so clumsy a fashion as by hanging
him?"
"That is what we have to find out."
"How could they get in?"
"Through the front door."
"It was barred in the morning."
"Then it was barred after them."
"How do you know?"
"I saw their traces. Excuse me a moment, and I may be able to give
you some further information about it."
He went over to the door, and turning the lock he examined it in his
methodical way. Then he took out the key, which was on the inside,
and inspected that also. The bed, the carpet, the chairs the
mantelpiece, the dead body, and the rope were each in turn examined,
until at last he professed himself satisfied, and with my aid and
that of the inspector cut down the wretched object and laid it
reverently under a sheet.
"How about this rope?" he asked.
