The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

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