past six to-morrow evening, if Dr. Trevelyan will make
it convenient to be at home.'
"This letter interest me deeply, because the chief
difficulty in the study of catalepsy is the rareness
of the disease. You may believe, than, that I was in
my consulting-room when, at the appointed hour, the
page showed in the patient.
He was an elderly man, thin, demure, and
common-place--by no means the conception one forms of
a Russian nobleman. I was much more struck by the
appearance of his companion. This was a tall young
man, surprisingly handsome, with a dark, fierce face,
and the limbs and chest of a Hercules. He had his
hand under the other's arm as they entered, and helped
him to a chair with a tenderness which one would
hardly have expected from his appearance.
"'You will excuse my coming in, doctor,' said he to
me, speaking English with a slight lisp. 'This is my
father, and his health is a matter of the most
overwhelming importance to me.'
"I was touched by this filial anxiety. 'You would,
perhaps, care to remain during the consultation?' said
I.
"'Not for the world,' he cried with a gesture of
horror. 'It is more painful to me than I can express.
If I were to see my father in one of these dreadful
seizures I am convinced that I should never survive
it. My own nervous system is an exceptionally
sensitive one. With your permission, I will remain in
the waiting-room while you go into my father's case.'
"To this, of course, I assented, and the young man
withdrew. The patient and I then plunged into a
discussion of his case, of which I took exhaustive
notes. He was not remarkable for intelligence, and
his answers were frequently obscure, which I
attributed to his limited acquaintance with our
language. Suddenly, however, as I sat writing, he
cased to give any answer at all to my inquiries, and
on my turning towards him I was shocked to see that he
was sitting bolt upright in his chair, staring at me
with a perfectly blank and rigid face. He was again
in 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 made notes of my
patient's pulse and temperature, tested the rigidity
of his muscles, and examined his reflexes. There was
nothing markedly abnormal in any of these conditions,
which harmonized with my former experiences. I had
obtained 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 seated in his chair, I ran down to get it.
There was some little delay 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 had gone also. The hall door
had been closed, but not shut. My page who admits
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 cam in from his walk shortly afterwards,
but I did not say anything to him upon the subject,
for, to tell the truth, I have got in the way of late
of holding as little communication with him as
possible.
"Well, I never thought that I should see anything more
of the Russian and his son, so you can imagine my
amazement when, at the very same hour this evening,
they both came marching into my consulting-room, just
as they had done before.
"'I feel that I owe you a great many apologies for my
abrupt departure yesterday, 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 these attacks my mind is always very
clouded as to all that has gone before. I woke up in
a strange room, as it seemed to me, and made my way
out into the street in a sort of dazed way when you
were absent.'
"'And I,' said the son, 'seeing my father pass the
door of the waiting-room, naturally thought that the
consultation had come to an end. It was not until we
had reached home that I began to realize the true
state of affairs.'
"'Well,' said I, laughing, 'there is no harm done
except that you puzzled me terribly; so if you, sir,
would kindly step into the waiting-room I shall be
happy to continue our consultation which was brought
to so abrupt an ending.'
"'For half an hour or so I discussed that old
gentleman's symptoms with him, and then, having
prescribed for him, I saw him go off upon the arm of
his son.
"I have told you that Mr. Blessington generally chose
this hour of the day for his exercise. He came in
shortly afterwards and passed upstairs. An instant
later I heard him running down, and he burst into my
consulting-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 of his mind with fear. When I went
upstairs with him he pointed to several footprints
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 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 overtake 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
r /> 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 dripped
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 tow 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, Wats
on," 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