Adventure VIII. The Resident Patient
In glancing over the somewhat incoherent series of Memoirs with which Ihave endeavored to illustrate a few of the mental peculiarities of myfriend Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have been struck by the difficulty which Ihave experienced in picking out examples which shall in every way answermy purpose. For in those cases in which Holmes has performed some tourde force of analytical reasoning, and has demonstrated the value of hispeculiar methods of investigation, the facts themselves have often beenso slight or so commonplace that I could not feel justified in layingthem before the public. On the other hand, it has frequently happenedthat he has been concerned in some research where the facts have been ofthe most remarkable and dramatic character, but where the share which hehas himself taken in determining their causes has been less pronouncedthan I, as his biographer, could wish. The small matter which I havechronicled under the heading of "A Study in Scarlet," and that otherlater one connected with the loss of the Gloria Scott, may serve asexamples of this Scylla and Charybdis which are forever threatening thehistorian. It may be that in the business of which I am now about towrite the part which my friend played is not sufficiently accentuated;and yet the whole train of circumstances is so remarkable that I cannotbring 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 received by the morning post. For myself, my term ofservice in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold, anda thermometer of 90 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 tohim. He loved to lie in the very centre of five millions of people, withhis filaments stretching out and running through them, responsive toevery little rumor or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation ofNature found no place among his many gifts, and his only change waswhen he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down hisbrother of the country.
Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation, I had tossedaside the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair, I fell into abrown study. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my thoughts.
"You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem a very preposterous wayof settling a dispute."
"Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then, suddenly realizing howhe had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair andstared at him in blank amazement.
"What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything which I couldhave imagined."
He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
"You remember," said he, "that some little time ago, when I read you thepassage in one of Poe's sketches, in which a close reasoner follows theunspoken thought of his companion, you were inclined to treat thematter as a mere tour de force of the author. On my remarking that Iwas constantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressedincredulity."
"Oh, no!"
"Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly with youreyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a trainof thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity of reading itoff, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had been inrapport 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 heapof stones, looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seatedquietly in my 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 witha vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon yournewly-framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration inyour face that a train of thought had been started. But it did not leadvery far. Your eyes turned across to the unframed portrait of Henry WardBeecher which stands upon the top of your books. You then glanced up atthe wall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinkingthat if the 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 studyingthe character in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, butyou continued 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 undertookon behalf of the North at the time of the Civil War, for I rememberyou expressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he wasreceived by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly aboutit that I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of thatalso. When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture,I suspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and whenI observed that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your handsclinched, I was positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantrywhich was shown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then,again, your face grew sadder; you shook your head. You were dwellingupon the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stoletowards your own old wound, and a smile quivered on your lips,which showed me that the ridiculous side of this method of settlinginternational questions had forced itself upon your mind. At this pointI agreed with you that it was preposterous, and was glad to find thatall my deductions had been correct."
"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. Forthree hours 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 detailand subtle power of inference held me amused and enthralled. It was teno'clock before we reached Baker Street again. A brougham was waiting atour door.
"Hum! A doctor's--general practitioner, I perceive," said Holmes. "Notbeen long in practice, but has had a good deal to do. Come to consultus, I fancy! Lucky we came back!"
I was sufficiently conversant with Holmes's methods to be able to followhis reasoning, and to see that the nature and state of the variousmedical instruments in the wicker basket which hung in the lamplightinside the brougham had given him the data for his swift deduction.The light in our window above showed that this late visit was indeedintended for us. With some curiosity as to what could have sent abrother medico to us at such an hour, I followed Holmes into oursanctum.
A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up from a chair by thefire 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 has sapped his strength and robbed him of his youth. His mannerwas nervous and shy, like that of a 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 color 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 Doctor Percy Trevelyan," said our visitor, "and I live at403 Brook Street."
"Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervous lesions?" Iasked.
His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work was knownto me.
"I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it was quite dead," saidhe. "My publishers gave me a most discouraging account of its sale. Youare yourself, I presume, a medical man?"
"A retired army surgeon."
"My own hobby has always been nervous disease. I should wish to make itan absolute specialty, but, of course, a man must take what he can getat first. This, however, is beside the question, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,and I quite appreciate how valuable your time is. The fact is that avery singular train of events has occurred recently at my house in BrookStreet, and to-night they came to such a head that I felt it was quiteimpossible for me to wait another hour before asking for your advice andassistance."
Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe. "You are very welcometo 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 reallyI am almost ashamed to mention them. But the matter is so inexplicable,and the recent turn which it has taken is so elaborate, that I shalllay it all before you, and you shall judge what is essential and what isnot.
"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 hasjust alluded. I should not go too far if I were to say that there was ageneral impression at that time that a distinguished career lay beforeme.
"But the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of capital. As youwill readily understand, a specialist who aims high is compelled tostart in one of a dozen streets in the Cavendish Square quarter, allof which entail enormous rents and furnishing expenses. Besides thispreliminary outlay, he must be prepared to keep himself for some years,and to hire a presentable carriage and horse. To do this was quitebeyond my power, and I could only hope that by economy I might in tenyears' time save enough to enable me to put up my plate. Suddenly,however, an unexpected incident opened up quite a new prospect to me.
"This was a visit from a gentleman of the name of Blessington, who was acomplete stranger to me. He came up to my room one morning, and plungedinto business in an instant.
"'You are the same Percy Trevelyan who has had so distinguished a careerand 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. Morein your brains than in your pocket, eh? What would you say if I were tostart you in Brook Street?'
"I stared at him in astonishment.
"'Oh, it's for my sake, not for yours,' he cried. 'I'll be perfectlyfrank with you, and if it suits you it will suit me very well. I have afew thousands 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 runthe whole place. All you have to do is just to wear out your chair inthe consulting-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 floorinto a sitting-room and bedroom for himself. He was a man of singularhabits, shunning company and very seldom going out. His life wasirregular, but in one respect he was regularity itself. Every evening,at the same hour, he walked into the consulting-room, examined thebooks, put down five and three-pence for every guinea that I had earned,and carried the rest off to 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 thefront, 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 to me,a state of considerable agitation. He spoke of some burglary which, hesaid, had been committed in the West End, and he appeared, I remember,to be quite unnecessarily excited about it, declaring that a day shouldnot pass before we should add stronger bolts to our windows and doors.For a week he continued to be in a peculiar state of restlessness,peering continually out of the windows, and ceasing to take the shortwalk which had usually been the prelude to his dinner. From his mannerit struck 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 had renewed his former habits, when a freshevent reduced him to the pitiable state of prostration in which he nowlies.
"What happened was this. Two days ago I received the letter which I nowread to you. Neither address nor date is attached to it.
"'A Russian nobleman who is now resident in England,' it runs, 'wouldbe glad to avail himself of the professional assistance of Dr. PercyTrevelyan. He has been for some years a victim to cataleptic attacks, onwhich, as is well known, Dr. Trevelyan is an authority. He proposes tocall at about quarter past six to-morrow evening, if Dr. Trevelyan willmake 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, thepage showed in the patient.
"He was an elderly man, thin, demure, and commonplace--by no means theconception one forms of a Russian nobleman. I was much more struck bythe appearance of his companion. This was a tall young man, surprisinglyhandsome, with a dark, fierce face, and the limbs and chest of aHercules. 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, speaking Englishwith 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 ofthese dreadful seizures I am convinced that I should never surviveit. My own nervous system is an exceptionally sensitive one. With yourpermission, I will remain in the waiting-room while you go into myfather's case.'
"To this, of course, I assented, and the young man withdrew. The patientand I then plunged into a discussion of his case, of which I tookexhaustive notes. He was not remarkable for intelligence, and hisanswers were frequently obscure, which I attributed to his limitedacquaintance with our language. Suddenly, however, as I sat writing,he ceased to give any answer at all to my inquiries, and on my turningtowards him I was shocked to see that he was sitting bolt upright in hischair, staring at me with a perfectly blank and rigid face. He was againin the grip of his mysterious malady.
"My first feeling, as I have just said, was one of pity and horror.My second, I fear, was rather one of professional satisfaction. I madenotes of my patient's pulse and temperature, tested the rigidity of hismuscles, and examined his reflexes. There was nothing markedly abnormalin any of these conditions, which harmonized with my former experiences.I had obtained good results in such cases by the inhalation of nitriteof amyl, and the present seemed an admirable opportunity of testingits virtues. The bottle was downstairs in my laboratory, so leaving mypatient seated in his chair, I ran down to get it. There was some littledelay in finding it--five minutes, let us say--and then I returned.Imagine my amazement to find 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 downstairs,and runs up to show patients out when I ring the consulting-room bell.He had 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 inthe way 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 same hourthis evening, they both came marching into my consulting-room, just asthey 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 thewaiting-room, naturally thought that the consultation had come to anend. It was not until we had reached home that I began to realize thetrue state of affairs.'
"'Well,' said I, laughing, 'there is no harm done except that youpuzzled me terribly; so if you, sir, would kindly step into thewaiting-room I shall be happy to continue our consultation which wasbrought to so abrupt an ending.'
"'For half an hour or so I discussed that 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.
"'D'you mean to say those are mine?' he cried.
"They were certainly very much larger than any which he could have made,and were evidently quite fresh. It rained hard this afternoon, as youknow, and my patients were the only people who called. It must have beenthe case, then, that the man in the waiting-room had, for some unknownreason, while I was busy with the other, ascended to the room of myresident patient. Nothing had been touched or taken, but there were thefootprints to prove that the intrusion was an undoubted fact.
"Mr. Blessington seemed more excited over the matter than I should havethought possible, though of course it was enough to disturb anybody'speace of mind. He actually sat crying in an arm-chair, and I couldhardly get him to speak coherently. It was his suggestion that I shouldcome 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 Ican hardly hope that you will be able to explain this remarkableoccurrence."
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 emphasize eachcurious episode in the doctor's tale. As our visitor concluded, Holmessprang up without a word, handed me my hat, picked his own from thetable, and followed Dr. Trevelyan to the door. Within a quarter of anhour 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 atthe 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 youcome any nearer."
"This really grows outrageous, Mr. Blessington," cried Dr. Trevelyan.
"Oh, then it is you, doctor," said the voice, with a great heave ofrelief. "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 asingular-looking man, whose appearance, as well as his voice, testifiedto his jangled nerves. He was very fat, but had apparently at some timebeen 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 histhin, 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 weadvanced.
"Good-evening, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I am sure I am very much obligedto 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 unwarrantableintrusion into my rooms."
"Quite so," said Holmes. "Who are these two men Mr. Blessington, and whydo they wish to molest you?"
"Well, well," said the resident patient, in a nervous fashion, "ofcourse 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 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 butone investment in 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 whatit means to me when unknown people force themselves into my rooms."
Holmes looked at Blessington in his questioning way and s
hook 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 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 half way 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 atlast. "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, butat least 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 onthe second occasion that young man penetrated to Blessington's room,while his confederate, by an ingenious device, kept the doctor frominterfering."
"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 havedone it myself."
"And then?"
"By the purest chance Blessington was out on each occasion. Their reasonfor choosing so unusual an hour for a consultation was obviously toinsure that there should be no other patient in the waiting-room. Itjust happened, 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 merelyafter plunder they would at least have made some attempt to search forit. Besides, I can read in a man's eye when it is his own skin that heis frightened for. It is inconceivable that this fellow could have madetwo 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 possiblethat to-morrow may find him in a more communicative mood."
"Is there not one alternative," I suggested, "grotesquely improbable,no doubt, but still just conceivable? Might the whole story of thecataleptic Russian and his son be a concoction of Dr. Trevelyan's, whohas, for his own purposes, been in Blessington's rooms?"
I saw in the gaslight 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.This young 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 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 ifwe do 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 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--asheet 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 toit when he wrote this. Come along, my dear fellow, for it's an urgentcall."
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 was evidentlyhis 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 the maidentered, about seven, there the unfortunate fellow was hanging in themiddle of the room. He had tied his cord to the hook on which the heavylamp used to hang, and he had jumped off from the top of the very boxthat he showed us yesterday."
Holmes stood for a moment in deep thought.
"With your permission," said he at last, "I should like to go upstairsand 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. Ihave spoken of the impression of flabbiness which this man Blessingtonconveyed. As he dangled from the hook it was exaggerated and intensifieduntil he was scarce human in his appearance. The neck was drawn outlike a plucked chicken's, making the rest of him seem the more obese andunnatural by the contrast. He was clad only in his long night-dress, andhis swollen ankles and ungainly feet protruded starkly from beneath it.Beside him stood a smart-looking police-inspector, who was taking notesin a pocket-book.
"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."
"Have you formed any opinion?"
"As far as I can see, the man has been driven out of his senses byfright. The bed has been well slept in, you see. There's his impressiondeep enough. It's about five in the morning, you know, that suicides aremost common. That would be about his time for hanging himself. It seemsto have 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 tohave smoked heavily during the night, too. Here are four cigar-ends thatI 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 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 them withhis 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 endsbitten 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 hanginghim?"
"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,the dead body, and the rope were each in turn examined, until at last heprofessed himself satisfied, and with my aid and that of the inspectorcut down 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 fromunder the bed. "He was morbidly nervous of fire, and always kept thisbeside him, so that he might escape by the window in case the stairswere burning."
"That must have saved them trouble," said Holmes, thoughtfully. "Yes,the actual facts are very plain, and I shall be surprised if by theafternoon I cannot give you the reasons for them as well. I will takethis photograph of Blessington, which I see upon the mantelpiece, as itmay help 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 athird, to whose identity I have no clue. The first two, I need hardlyremark, are the same who masqueraded as the Russian count and his son,so we can give a very full description of them. They were admitted bya confederate inside the house. If I might offer you a word of advice,Inspector, it would be to arrest the page, who, as I understand, hasonly recently come into your service, Doctor."
"The young imp cannot be found," said Dr. Trevelyan; "the maid and thecook 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, theelder man first, the younger man second, and the unknown man in therear--"
"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 onthis ward, 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 it is conceivable that his shriek, if he had time to utter one, wasunheard.
"Having secured him, it is evident to me that a consultation of somesort was held. Probably it was something in the nature of a judicialproceeding. It must have lasted for some time, for it was then thatthese cigars were smoked. The older man sat in that wicker chair; itwas he who used the cigar-holder. The younger man sat over yonder; heknocked his ash off against the chest of drawers. The third fellow pacedup and down. Blessington, I think, sat upright in the bed, but of that Icannot be absolutely certain.
"Well, it ended by their taking Blessington and hanging him. The matterwas so prearranged that it is my belief that they brought with themsome sort of block or pulley which might serve as a gallows. Thatscrew-driver and those screws were, as I conceive, for fixing it up.Seeing the hook, however they naturally saved themselves the trouble.Having finished their work they made off, and the door was barred behindthem by their confederate."
We had all listened with the deepest interest to this sketch of thenight's doings, which Holmes had deduced from signs so subtle and minutethat, even when he had pointed them out to us, we could scarcely followhim in his reasoning. The inspector hurried away on the instant to makeinquiries about the page, while Holmes and I returned to Baker Streetfor breakfast.
"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 hopeby that time to have cleared up any little obscurity which the case maystill present."
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 Blessingtonis, as I expected, well known at headquarters, and so are hisassailants. Their names 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," saidHolmes. "Five men were in it--these four and a fifth called Cartwright.Tobin, the care-taker, was murdered, and the thieves got away with seventhousand pounds. This was in 1875. They were all five arrested, but theevidence against them was by no means conclusive. This Blessington orSutton, who was the worst of the gang, turned informer. On his evidenceCartwright was hanged and the other three got fifteen years apiece. Whenthey got out the other day, which was some years before their full term,they set themselves, as you perceive, to hunt down the traitor and toavenge the death of their comrade upon him. Twice they tried to get athim and failed; a third time, you see, it came off. Is there anythingfurther 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 perturbed was the day when he had seen oftheir 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 aslong 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 livingunder the shield of British law, and I have no doubt, Inspector, thatyou will see that, though that shield may fail to guard, the sword ofjustice is still there to avenge."
Such were the singular circumstances in connection with the ResidentPatient and the Brook Street Doctor. From that night nothing hasbeen seen of the three murderers by the police, and it is surmisedat Scotland Yard that they were among the passengers of the ill-fatedsteamer Norah Creina, which was lost some years ago with all handsupon the Portuguese coast, some leagues to the north of Oporto. Theproceedings against the page broke down for want of evidence, and theBrook Street Mystery, as it was called, has never until now been fullydealt with in any public print.
The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes Page 9
