Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes THE RESIDENT PATIENT

IN GLANCING over the somewhat incoherent series of Memoirs withwhich I have endeavoured to illustrate a few of the mental peculiarities ofmy friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have been struck by the difficultywhich I have experienced in picking out examples which shall in everyway answer my purpose. For in those cases in which Holmes hasperformed some tour de force of analytical reasoning, and hasdemonstrated the value of his peculiar methods of investigation, the factsthemselves have often been so slight or so commonplace that I could notfeel justified in laying them before the public. On the other hand, it hasfrequently happened that he has been concerned in some research wherethe facts have been of the most remarkable and dramatic character, butwhere the share which he has himself taken in determining their causeshas been less pronounced than I, as his biographer, could wish. The smallmatter which I have chronicled under the heading of "A Study inScarlet," and that other later one connected with the loss of the GloriaScott, may serve as examples of this Scylla and Charybdis which areforever threatening the historian. It may be that in the business of which Iam now about to write the part which my friend played is not sufficientlyaccentuated; and yet the whole train of circumstances is so remarkablethat I cannot bring myself to omit it entirely from this series.It had been a close, rainy day in October. Our blinds were half-drawn,and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letterwhich he had [423] received by the morning post. For myself, my term ofservice in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and athermometer of ninety was no hardship. But the paper was uninteresting.Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for theglades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bankaccount had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion,neither the country nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to him.He loved to lie in the very centre of five millions of people, with hisfilaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to everylittle rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of nature foundno place among his many gifts, and his only change was when he turnedhis mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down his brother of thecountry.Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation, I had tossedaside the barren paper, and, leaning back in my chair I fell into a brownstudy. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my thoughts."You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem a very preposterousway of settling a dispute.""Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then, suddenly realizing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and staredat him in blank amazement."What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything which Icould have imagined."He laughed heartily at my perplexity."You remember," said he, "that some little time ago, when I read youthe passage in one of Poe's sketches, in which a close reasoner followsthe unspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to treat thematter as a mere tour de force of the author. On my remarking that I wasconstantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity.""Oh, no!""Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly withyour eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enterupon a train of thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity ofreading it off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had beenin rapport with you."But I was still far from satisfied. "In the example which you read tome," said I, "the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of theman whom he observed. If I remember right, he stumbled over a heap ofstones, looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seated quietly inmy chair, and what clues can I have given you?""You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as themeans by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithfulservants.""Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from myfeatures?""Your features, and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourselfrecall how your reverie commenced?""No, I cannot.""Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was theaction which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with avacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your newlyframed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in yourface that a train of thought had been started. But it did not lead very far.Your eyes turned across to the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher,which stands upon the top of your books. You then [424] glanced up at thewall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that ifthe portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space andcorrespond with Gordon's picture over there.""You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed."So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts wentback to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying thecharacter in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but youcontinued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. You wererecalling the incidents of Beecher's career. I was well aware that youcould not do this without thinking of the mission which he undertook onbehalf of the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember youexpressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he wasreceived by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about it that I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of that also.When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, Isuspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and when Iobserved that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clinched, Iwas positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which wasshown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then, again, your facegrew sadder; you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the sadnessand horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole towards your ownold wound, and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me that theridiculous side of this method of settling international questions hadforced itself upon your mind. At this point I agreed with you that it waspreposterous, and was glad to find that all my deductions had beencorrect.""Absolutely!" said I. "And now that you have explained it, I confessthat I am as amazed as before.""It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I should nothave intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulitythe other day. But the evening has brought a breeze with it. What do yousay to a ramble through London?"I was weary of our little sitting-room and gladly acquiesced. For threehours we strolled about together, watching the ever-changingkaleidoscope of life as it ebbs and flows through Fleet Street and theStrand. His characteristic talk, with its keen observance of detail andsubtle power of inference, held me amused and enthralled. It was teno'clock before we reached Baker Street again. A brougham was waitingat our door."Hum! A doctor's-general practitioner, I perceive," said Holmes. "Notbeen long in practice, but has a good deal to do. Come to consult us, Ifancy! Lucky we came back!"I was sufficiently conversant with Holmes's methods to be able tofollow his reasoning, and to see that the nature and state of the variousmedical instruments in the wicker basket which hung in the lamp-lightinside the brougham had given him the data for his swift deduction. Thelight in our window above showed that this late visit was indeed intendedfor us. With some curiosity as to what could have sent a brother medico tous at such an hour, I followed Holmes into our sanctum.A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up from a chair bythe fire as we entered. His age may not have been more than three or fourand thirty, but his haggard expression and unhealthy hue told of a lifewhich had sapped his strength and robbed him of his youth. His mannerwas nervous and shy, like that of a [425] sensitive gentleman, and the thinwhite hand which he laid on the mantelpiece as he rose was that of anartist rather than of a surgeon. His dress was quiet and sombre-a blackfrock-coat, dark trousers, and a touch of colour about his necktie."Good-evening, Doctor," said Holmes cheerily. "I am glad to see thatyou have only been waiting a very few minutes.""You spoke to my coachman, then?""No, it was the candle on the side-table that told me. Pray resume yourseat and let me know how I can serve you.""My name is Dr. Percy Trevelyan," said our visitor, "and I live at 403Brook Street.""Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervouslesions?" I asked.His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work wasknown to me."I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it was quite dead," said he."My publishers gave me a most discouraging account of its sale. You areyourself, I presume, a medical man?""A retired army surgeon.""My own hobby has always been nervous disease. I should wish tomake it an absolute specialty, but of course a man must take what he canget at first. This, however, is beside the question, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,and I quite appreciate how valuable your time is. The fact is that a verysingular train of events has occurred recently at my house in Brook Street,and to-night they came to such a head that I felt it was quite impossiblefor me to wait another hour before asking for your advice and assistance."Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe. "You are very welcome to both," said he. "Pray let me have a detailed account of what thecircumstances are which have disturbed you.""One or two of them are so trivial," said Dr. Trevelyan, "that really Iam almost ashamed to mention them. But the matter is so inexplicable,and the recent turn which it has taken is so elaborate, that I shall lay it allbefore you, and you shall judge what is essential and what is not."I am compelled, to begin with, to say something of my own collegecareer. I am a London University man, you know, and I am sure that youwill not think that I am unduly singing my own praises if I say that mystudent career was considered by my professors to be a very promisingone. After I had graduated I continued to devote myself to research,occupying a minor position in King's College Hospital, and I wasfortunate enough to excite considerable interest by my research into thepathology of catalepsy, and finally to win the Bruce Pinkerton prize andmedal by the monograph on nervous lesions to which your friend has justalluded. I should not go too far if I were to say that there was a generalimpression at that time that a distinguished career lay before me."But the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of capital. As youwill readily understand, a specialist who aims high is compelled to start inone of a dozen streets in the Cavendish Square quarter, all of which entailenormous rents and furnishing expenses. Besides this preliminary outlay,he must be prepared to keep himself for some years, and to hire apresentable carriage and horse. To do this was quite beyond my power,and I could only hope that by economy I might in ten years' time saveenough to enable me to put up my plate. Suddenly, however, anunexpected incident opened up quite a new prospect to me."This was a visit from a gentleman of the name of Blessington, whowas a [426] complete stranger to me. He came up into my room onemorning, and plunged into business in an instant." 'You are the same Percy Trevelyan who has had so distinguished acareer and won a great prize lately?' said he."I bowed." 'Answer me frankly,' he continued, 'for you will find it to yourinterest to do so. You have all the cleverness which makes a successfulman. Have you the tact?'"I could not help smiling at the abruptness of the question." 'I trust that I have my share,' I said." 'Any bad habits? Not drawn towards drink, eh?'" 'Really, sir!' I cried." 'Quite right! That's all right! But I was bound to ask. With all thesequalities, why are you not in practice?'"I shrugged my shoulders." 'Come, come!' said he in his bustling way. 'It's the old story. More inyour brains than in your pocket, eh? What would you say if I were to startyou in Brook Street?'"I stared at him in astonishment." 'Oh, it's for my sake, not for yours,' he cried. 'I'll be perfectly frankwith you, and if it suits you it will suit me very well. I have a fewthousands to invest, d'ye see, and I think I'll sink them in you.'" 'But why?' I gasped." 'Well, it's just like any other speculation, and safer than most.'" 'What am I to do, then?'" 'I'll tell you. I'll take the house, furnish it, pay the maids, and run thewhole place. All you have to do is just to wear out your chair in theconsulting-room. I'll let you have pocket-money and everything. Thenyou hand over to me three quarters of what you earn, and you keep theother quarter for yourself.'"This was the strange proposal, Mr. Holmes, with which the manBlessington approached me. I won't weary you with the account of howwe bargained and negotiated. It ended in my moving into the house nextLady Day, and starting in practice on very much the same conditions ashe had suggested. He came himself to live with me in the character of aresident patient. His heart was weak, it appears, and he needed constantmedical supervision. He turned the two best rooms of the first floor into asitting-room and bedroom for himself. He was a man of singular habits,shunning company and very seldom going out. His life was irregular, butin one respect he was regularity itself. Every evening, at the same hour,he walked into the consulting-room, examined the books, put down fiveand three-pence for every guinea that I had earned, and carried the rest offto the strong-box in his own room."I may say with confidence that he never had occasion to regret hisspeculation. From the first it was a success. A few good cases and thereputation which I had won in the hospital brought me rapidly to the front, and during the last few years I have made him a rich man."So much, Mr. Holmes, for my past history and my relations with Mr.Blessington. It only remains for me now to tell you what has occurred tobring me here to-night."Some weeks ago Mr. Blessington came down to me in, as it seemed tome, a state of considerable agitation. He spoke of some burglary which,he said, had been [427] committed in the West End, and he appeared, Iremember, to be quite unnecessarily excited about it, declaring that a dayshould not pass before we should add stronger bolts to our windows anddoors. For a week he continued to be in a peculiar state of restlessness,peering continually out of the windows, and ceasing to take the short walkwhich had usually been the prelude to his dinner. From his manner itstruck me that he was in mortal dread of something or somebody, butwhen I questioned him upon the point he became so offensive that I wascompelled to drop the subject. Gradually, as time passed, his fearsappeared to die away, and he renewed his former habits, when a freshevent reduced him to the pitiable state of prostration in which he now lies."What happened was this. Two days ago I received the letter which Inow read to you. Neither address nor date is attached to it."A Russian nobleman who is now resident in England [it runs],would be glad to avail himself of the professional assistance of Dr.Percy Trevelyan. He has been for some years a victim to catalepticattacks, on which, as is well known, Dr. Trevelyan is an authority.He proposes to call at about a quarter-past six to-morrow evening,if Dr. Trevelyan will make it convenient to be at home."This letter interested me deeply, because the chief difficulty in thestudy of catalepsy is the rareness of the disease. You may believe, then,that I was in my consulting-room when, at the appointed hour, the pageshowed in the patient."He was an elderly man, thin, demure, and commonplace-by no meansthe conception one forms of a Russian nobleman. I was much more struckby the appearance of his companion. This was a tall young man,surprisingly handsome, with a dark, fierce face, and the limbs and chest ofa Hercules. He had his hand under the other's arm as they entered, andhelped him to a chair with a tenderness which one would hardly haveexpected from his appearance." 'You will excuse my coming in, Doctor,' said he to me, speakingEnglish with a slight lisp. 'This is my father, and his health is a matter ofthe most overwhelming importance to me.'"I was touched by this filial anxiety. 'You would, perhaps, care toremain during the consultation?' said I." 'Not for the world,' he cried with a gesture of horror. 'It is morepainful to me than I can express. If I were to see my father in one of thesedreadful seizures I am convinced that I should never survive it. My ownnervous system is an exceptionally sensitive one. With your permission, Iwill remain in the waiting-room while you go into my father's case.'"To this, of course, I assented, and the young man withdrew. Thepatient and I then plunged into a discussion of his case, of which I tookexhaustive notes. He was not remarkable for intelligence, and his answerswere frequently obscure, which I attributed to his limited acquaintancewith our language. Suddenly, however, as I sat writing, he ceased to giveany answer at all to my inquiries, and on my turning towards him I wasshocked to see that he was sitting bolt upright in his chair, staring at mewith a perfectly blank and rigid face. He was again in the grip of hismysterious malady."My first feeling, as I have just said, was one of pity and horror. Mysecond, I fear, was rather one of professional satisfaction. I made notes ofmy patient's pulse and temperature, tested the rigidity of his muscles, andexamined his [428] reflexes. There was nothing markedly abnormal in anyof these conditions, which harmonized with my former experiences. I hadobtained good results in such cases by the inhalation of nitrite of amyl,and the present seemed an admirable opportunity of testing its virtues.The bottle was downstairs in my laboratory, so, leaving my patient seatedin his chair, I ran down to get it. There was some little delay in findingit-five minutes, let us say-and then I returned. Imagine my amazement tofind the room empty and the patient gone."Of course, my first act was to run into the waiting-room. The son hadgone also. The hall door had been closed, but not shut. My page whoadmits patients is a new boy and by no means quick. He waits downstairsand runs up to show patients out when I ring the consulting-room bell. Hehad heard nothing, and the affair remained a complete mystery. Mr.Blessington came in from his walk shortly afterwards, but I did not sayanything to him upon the subject, for, to tell the truth, I have got in theway of late of holding as little communication with him as possible."Well, I never thought that I should see anything more of the Russianand his son, so you can imagine my amazement when, at the very samehour this evening, they both came marching into my consulting-room, justas they had done before." 'I feel that I owe you a great many apologies for my abrupt departureyesterday, Doctor,' said my patient." 'I confess that I was very much surprised at it,' said I." 'Well, the fact is,' he remarked, 'that when I recover from theseattacks my mind is always very clouded as to all that has gone before. Iwoke up in a strange room, as it seemed to me, and made my way out intothe street in a sort of dazed way when you were absent.' " 'And I,' said the son, 'seeing my father pass the door of the waitingroom, naturally thought that the consultation had come to an end. It wasnot until we had reached home that I began to realize the true state ofaffairs.'" 'Well,' said I, laughing, 'there is no harm done except that youpuzzled me terribly; so if you, sir, would kindly step into the waitingroom I shall be happy to continue our consultation which was brought toso abrupt an ending.'"For half an hour or so I discussed the old gentleman's symptoms withhim, and then, having prescribed for him, I saw him go off upon the armof his son."I have told you that Mr. Blessington generally chose this hour of theday for his exercise. He came in shortly afterwards and passed upstairs.An instant later I heard him running down, and he burst into myconsulting-room like a man who is mad with panic." 'Who has been in my room?' he cried." 'No one,' said I." 'It's a lie!' he yelled. 'Come up and look!'"I passed over the grossness of his language, as he seemed half out ofhis mind with fear. When I went upstairs with him he pointed to severalfootprints upon the light carpet." 'Do you mean to say those are mine?' he cried."They were certainly very much larger than any which he could havemade, and were evidently quite fresh. It rained hard this afternoon, as youknow, and my patients were the only people who called. It must havebeen the case, then, that the man in the waiting-room had, for someunknown reason, while I was busy with the other, ascended to the room ofmy resident patient. Nothing had been touched [429] or taken, but therewere the footprints to prove that the intrusion was an undoubted fact. "Mr. Blessington seemed more excited over the matter than I shouldhave thought possible, though of course it was enough to disturbanybody's peace of mind. He actually sat crying in an armchair, and Icould hardly get him to speak coherently. It was his suggestion that Ishould 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 tocompletely overrate its importance. If you would only come back with mein my brougham, you would at least be able to soothe him, though I canhardly hope that you will be able to explain this remarkable occurrence."Sherlock Holmes had listened to this long narrative with an intentnesswhich showed me that his interest was keenly aroused. His face was asimpassive as ever, but his lids had drooped more heavily over his eyes,and his smoke had curled up more thickly from his pipe to emphasizeeach curious episode in the doctor's tale. As our visitor concluded,Holmes sprang up without a word, handed me my hat, picked his ownfrom the table, and followed Dr. Trevelyan to the door. Within a quarterof an hour we had been dropped at the door of the physician's residencein Brook Street, one of those sombre, flat-faced houses which oneassociates with a West End practice. A small page admitted us, and webegan at once to ascend the broad, well-carpeted stair.But a singular interruption brought us to a standstill. The light at the topwas suddenly whisked out, and from the darkness came a reedy,quavering voice."I have a pistol," it cried. "I give you my word that I'll fire if you comeany 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 Iam sorry if my precautions have annoyed you."He relit the stair gas as he spoke, and we saw before us a singularlooking man, whose appearance, as well as his voice, testified to hisjangled nerves. He was very fat, but had apparently at some time beenmuch fatter, so that the skin hung about his face in loose pouches, like thecheeks of a bloodhound. He was of a sickly colour, and his thin, sandyhair seemed to bristle up with the intensity of his emotion. In his hand heheld a pistol, but he thrust it into his pocket as we advanced."Good-evening, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I am sure I am very muchobliged to you for coming round. No one ever needed your advice morethan I do. I suppose that Dr. Trevelyan has told you of this mostunwarrantable 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 itis 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 comfortablyfurnished."You see that," said he, pointing to a big black box at the end of hisbed. "I have never been a very rich man, Mr. Holmes-never made but oneinvestment in [430] my life, as Dr. Trevelyan would tell you. But I don'tbelieve in bankers. I would never trust a banker, Mr. Holmes. Betweenourselves, what little I have is in that box, so you can understand what itmeans to me when unknown people force themselves into my rooms."Holmes looked at Blessington in his questioning way and shook hishead."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 you, sir, is to speak the truth."A minute later we were in the street and walking for home. We hadcrossed Oxford Street and were halfway down Harley Street before Icould 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 atleast two-who are determined for some reason to get at this fellowBlessington. I have no doubt in my mind that both on the first and on thesecond occasion that young man penetrated to Blessington's room, whilehis confederate, by an ingenious device, kept the doctor from interfering.""And the catalepsy?""A fraudulent imitation, Watson, though I should hardly dare to hint asmuch to our specialist. It is a very easy complaint to imitate. I have doneit myself.""And then?""By the purest chance Blessington was out on each occasion. Theirreason for choosing so unusual an hour for a consultation was obviouslyto insure that there should be no other patient in the waiting-room. It justhappened, however, that this hour coincided with Blessington'sconstitutional, which seems to show that they were not very wellacquainted with his daily routine. Of course, if they had been merely afterplunder 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 isfrightened for. It is inconceivable that this fellow could have made twosuch vindictive enemies as these appear to be without knowing of it. Ihold it, therefore, to be certain that he does know who these men are, andthat for reasons of his own he suppresses it. It is just possible that tomorrow may find him in a more communicative mood.""Is there not one alternative," I suggested, "grotesquely improbable, nodoubt, but still just conceivable? Might the whole story of the catalepticRussian and his son be a concoction of Dr. Trevelyan's, who has, for hisown purposes, been in Blessington's rooms?"I saw in the gas-light that Holmes wore an amused smile at this brilliantdeparture of mine."My dear fellow," said he, "it was one of the first solutions whichoccurred to me, but I was soon able to corroborate the doctor's tale. Thisyoung man has left prints upon the stair-carpet which made it quitesuperfluous 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 pointedlike Blessington's, and were quite an inch and a [431] third longer than thedoctor's, you will acknowledge that there can be no doubt as to hisindividuality. But we may sleep on it now, for I shall be surprised if wedo not hear something further from Brook Street in the morning."Sherlock Holmes's prophecy was soon fulfilled, and in a dramaticfashion. At half-past seven next morning, in the first dim glimmer ofdaylight, 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 notebook, with 'For God's sake come at once. P. T.,'scrawled upon it in pencil. Our friend, the doctor, was hard put to it whenhe 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. Hecame 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 wasevidently his waiting-room."I really hardly know what I am doing," he cried. "The police arealready 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 themaid entered, about seven, there the unfortunate fellow was hanging inthe middle of the room. He had tied his cord to the hook on which theheavy lamp used to hang, and he had jumped off from the top of the verybox 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 andlook into the matter."We both ascended, followed by the doctor.It was a dreadful sight which met us as we entered the bedroom door. Ihave spoken of the impression of flabbiness which this man Blessingtonconveyed. As he dangled from the hook it was exaggerated andintensified until he was scarce human in his appearance. The neck wasdrawn out like a plucked chicken's, making the rest of him seem the moreobese and unnatural by the contrast. He was clad only in his long nightdress, and his swollen ankles and ungainly feet protruded starkly frombeneath it. Beside him stood a smart-looking police-inspector, who wastaking notes in a pocketbook."Ah, Mr. Holmes," said he heartily as my friend entered, "I amdelighted to see you.""Good-morning, Lanner," answered Holmes; "you won't think me anintruder, I am sure. Have you heard of the events which led up to thisaffair?""Yes, I heard something of them."[432] "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, deepenough. It's about five in the morning, you know, that suicides are mostcommon. That would be about his time for hanging himself. It seems tohave been a very deliberate affair.""I should say that he has been dead about three hours, judging by therigidity 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-endsthat 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 a Havana, and these others are cigars of the peculiar sortwhich are imported by the Dutch from their East Indian colonies. Theyare usually wrapped in straw, you know, and are thinner for their lengththan any other brand." He picked up the four ends and examined themwith his pocket-lens."Two of these have been smoked from a holder and two without," saidhe. "Two have been cut by a not very sharp knife, and two have had theends 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 anyone murder a man in so clumsy a fashion as byhanging 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 yousome further information about it."He went over to the door, and turning the lock he examined it in hismethodical way. Then he took out the key, which was on the inside, andinspected that also. The bed, the carpet, the chairs, the mantelpiece, thedead body, and the rope were each in turn examined, until at last heprofessed himself satisfied, and with my aid and that of the inspector cutdown the wretched object and laid it reverently under a sheet."How about this rope?" he asked."It is cut off this," said Dr. Trevelyan, drawing a large coil from underthe bed. "He was morbidly nervous of fire, and always kept this besidehim, so that he might escape by the window in case the stairs wereburning.""That must have saved them trouble," said Holmes thoughtfully. "Yes,the actual facts are very plain, and I shall be surprised if by the afternoonI cannot [433] give you the reasons for them as well. I will take thisphotograph of Blessington, which I see upon the mantelpiece, as it mayhelp me in my inquiries.""But you have told us nothing!" cried the doctor."Oh, there can be no doubt as to the sequence of events," said Holmes."There were three of them in it: the young man, the old man, and a third,to whose identity I have no clue. The first two, I need hardly remark, arethe same who masqueraded as the Russian count and his son, so we cangive a very full description of them. They were admitted by a confederateinside the house. If I might offer you a word of advice, Inspector, it wouldbe to arrest the page, who, as I understand, has only recently come intoyour service, Doctor.""The young imp cannot be found," said Dr. Trevelyan; "the maid andthe cook have just been searching for him."Holmes shrugged his shoulders."He has played a not unimportant part in this drama," said he. "Thethree men having ascended the stairs, which they did on tiptoe, the elderman first, the younger man second, and the unknown man in the rear- -""My dear Holmes!" I ejaculated."Oh, there could be no question as to the superimposing of thefootmarks. I had the advantage of learning which was which last night.They ascended, then, to Mr. Blessington's room, the door of which theyfound to be locked. With the help of a wire, however, they forced roundthe key. Even without the lens you will perceive, by the scratches on thisward, where the pressure was applied."On entering the room their first proceeding must have been to gag Mr.Blessington. He may have been asleep, or he may have been so paralyzedwith terror as to have been unable to cry out. These walls are thick, and itis conceivable that his shriek, if he had time to utter one, was unheard."Having secured him, it is evident to me that a consultation of somesort was held. Probably it was something in the nature of a judicial proceeding. It must have lasted for some time, for it was then that thesecigars were smoked. The older man sat in that wicker chair; it was he whoused the cigar-holder. The younger man sat over yonder; he knocked hisash off against the chest of drawers. The third fellow paced up and down.Blessington, I think, sat upright in the bed, but of that I cannot beabsolutely certain."Well, it ended by their taking Blessington and hanging him. Thematter was so prearranged that it is my belief that they brought with themsome sort of block or pulley which might serve as a gallows. That screwdriver and those screws were, as I conceive, for fixing it up. Seeing thehook, however, they naturally saved themselves the trouble. Havingfinished their work they made off, and the door was barred behind themby their confederate."We had all listened with the deepest interest to this sketch of the night'sdoings, which Holmes had deduced from signs so subtle and minute that,even when he had pointed them out to us, we could scarcely follow him inhis reasonings. The inspector hurried away on the instant to makeinquiries about the page, while Holmes and I returned to Baker Street forbreakfast."I'll be back by three," said he when we had finished our meal. "Boththe inspector and the doctor will meet me here at that hour, and I hope bythat time to have cleared up any little obscurity which the case may stillpresent."[434] Our visitors arrived at the appointed time, but it was a quarter tofour before my friend put in an appearance. From his expression as heentered, however, I could see that all had gone well with him."Any news, Inspector?""We have got the boy, sir.""Excellent, and I have got the men.""You have got them!" we cried, all three."Well, at least I have got their identity. This so-called Blessington is, asI expected, well known at headquarters, and so are his assailants. Theirnames are Biddle, Hayward, and Moffat.""The Worthingdon bank gang," cried the inspector."Precisely," said Holmes."Then Blessington must have been Sutton.""Exactly," said Holmes."Why, that makes it as clear as crystal," said the inspector.But Trevelyan and I looked at each other in bewilderment."You must surely remember the great Worthingdon bank business,"said Holmes. "Five men were in it-these four and a fifth calledCartwright. Tobin, the care-taker, was murdered, and the thieves got awaywith seven thousand pounds. This was in 1875. They were all fivearrested, but the evidence against them was by no means conclusive. ThisBlessington or Sutton, who was the worst of the gang, turned informer.On his evidence Cartwright was hanged and the other three got fifteenyears apiece. When they got out the other day, which was some yearsbefore their full term, they set themselves, as you perceive, to hunt downthe traitor and to avenge the death of their comrade upon him. Twice theytried to get at him and failed; a third time, you see, it came off. Is thereanything further which I can explain, Dr. Trevelyan?""I think you have made it all remarkably clear," said the doctor. "Nodoubt the day on which he was so perturbed was the day when he hadseen of their release in the newspapers.""Quite so. His talk about a burglary was the merest blind.""But why could he not tell you this?""Well, my dear sir, knowing the vindictive character of his oldassociates, he was trying to hide his own identity from everybody as long as he could. His secret was a shameful one, and he could not bringhimself to divulge it. However, wretch as he was, he was still living underthe shield of British law, and I have no doubt, Inspector, that you will seethat, though that shield may fail to guard, the sword of justice is still thereto avenge."Such were the singular circumstances in connection with the ResidentPatient and the Brook Street Doctor. From that night nothing has beenseen of the three murderers by the police, and it is surmised at ScotlandYard that they were among the passengers of the ill-fated steamer NorahCreina, which was lost some years ago with all hands upon thePortuguese coast, some leagues to the north of Oporto. The proceedingsagainst the page broke down for want of evidence, and the Brook StreetMystery, as it was called, has never until now been fully dealt with in anypublic print.