The Adventure of The
by Conan Doyle
Glancing over the somewhat incoherent series of Memoirs with which I
have endeavored to illustrate a few of the mental peculiarities of my friend
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have been struck by the difficulty which I have
experienced in picking out examples which shall in every way answer my
purpose. For in those cases in which Holmes has performed some tour de
force of analytical reasoning, and has demonstrated the value of his
peculiar methods of investigation, the facts themselves have often been so
slight or so commonplace that I could not feel justified in laying them
before the public. On the other hand, it has frequently happened that he has
been concerned in some research where the facts have been of the most
remarkable and dramatic character, but where the share which he has himself
taken in determining their causes has been less pronounced than I, as his
biographer, could wish. The small matter which I have chronicled under the
heading of "A Study in Scarlet," and that other later one connected with the
loss of the Gloria Scott, may serve as examples of this Scylla and
Charybdis which are forever threatening the historian. It may be that in the
business of which I am now about to write the part which my friend played is
not sufficiently accentuated; and yet the whole train of circumstances is so
remarkable that 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 letter which
he had received by the morning post. For myself, my term of service in India
had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer of 90 was
no hardship. But the paper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen.
Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for the glades of the New Forest or
the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank account 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 his filaments stretching out and
running through them, responsive to every little rumor or suspicion of
unsolved crime. Appreciation of Nature found no place among his many gifts,
and his only change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the
town to track down his brother of the country.
Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation, I had tossed aside
the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair, I fell into a brown study.
Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my thoughts.
"You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem a very preposterous way
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 stared at him
in blank amazement.
"What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything which I could
He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
"You remember," said he, "that some little time ago, when I read you the
passage in one of Poe's sketches, in which a close reasoner follows the
unspoken thought of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matter as
a mere tour de force of the author. On my remarking that I was constantly in
the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity."
"Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly with your
eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a train of
thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity of reading it off, and
eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had been in rapport with
But I was still far from satisfied. "In the example which you read to
me," said I, "the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of the man
whom he observed. If I remember right, he stumbled over a heap of stones,
looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seated quietly in my
chair, and what clues can I have given you?"
"You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as the means
by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithful
"Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from my
"Your features, and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourself
recall how your reverie commenced?"
"No, I cannot."
"Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was the
action which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with a
vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your newly-framed
picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in your face 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 glanced up at the wall, and of course
your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if the portrait were framed
it would just cover that bare space and correspond with Gordon's picture
"You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed.
"So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts went back
to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying the character
in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but you continued to look
across, and your face was thoughtful. You were recalling the incidents of
Beecher's career. I was well aware that you could not do this without
thinking of the mission which he undertook on behalf of the North at the
time of the Civil War, for I remember you expressing your passionate
indignation at the way in which he was received 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, I suspected that your mind had now turned to
the Civil War, and when I observed that your lips set, your eyes sparkled,
and your hands clinched, I was positive that you were indeed thinking of the
gallantry which was shown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But
then, again, your face grew sadder; you shook your head. You were dwelling
upon the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole
towards your own old wound, and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed
me that the ridiculous side of this method of settling international
questions had forced itself upon your mind. At this point I agreed with you
that it was preposterous, and was glad to find that all my deductions had
"Absolutely!" said I. "And now that you have explained it, I confess that
I am as amazed as before."
"It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I should not have
intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulity the other
day. But the evening has brought a breeze with it. What do you say to a
ramble through London?"
I was weary of our little sitting-room and gladly acquiesced. For three
hours we strolled about together, watching the ever-changing kaleidoscope of
life as it ebbs and flows through Fleet Street and the Strand. His
characteristic talk, with its keen observance of detail and subtle power of
inference held me amused and enthralled. It was ten o'clock before we
reached Baker Street again. A brougham was waiting at our door.
"Hum! A doctor's--general practitioner, I perceive," said Holmes. "Not
been long in practice, but has had a good deal to do. Come to consult us, I
fancy! Lucky we came back!"
I was sufficiently conversant with Holmes's methods to be able to follow
his reasoning, and to see that the nature and state of the various medical
instruments in the wicker basket which hung in the lamplight inside the
brougham had given him the data for his swift deduction. The light in our
window above showed that this late visit was indeed intended for us. With
some curiosity as to what could have sent a brother medico to us at such an
hour, I followed Holmes into our sanctum.
A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up from a chair by the
fire as we entered. His age may not have been more than three or four and
thirty, but his haggard expression and unhealthy hue told of a life which
has sapped his strength and robbed him of his youth. His manner was nervous
and shy, like that of a sensitive gentleman, and the thin white hand which
he laid on the mantelpiece as he rose was that of an artist rather than of a
surgeon. His dress was quiet and sombre--a black frock-coat, dark trousers,
and a touch of color about his necktie.
"Good-evening, doctor," said Holmes, cheerily. "I am glad to see that you
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 your
seat and let me know how I can serve you."
"My name is Doctor Percy Trevelyan," said our visitor, "and I live at 403
"Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervous lesions?" I
His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work was known
"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 are
yourself, I presume, a medical man?"
"A retired army surgeon."
"My own hobby has always been nervous disease. I should wish to make it
an absolute specialty, but, of course, a man must take what he can get 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 very singular
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 impossible for 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 the
circumstances are which have disturbed you."
"One or two of them are so trivial," said Dr. Trevelyan, "that really I
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 shall lay it all
before you, and you shall judge what is essential and what is not.
"I am compelled, to begin with, to say something of my own college
career. I am a London University man, you know, and I am sure that your will
not think that I am unduly singing my own praises if I say that my student
career was considered by my professors to be a very promising one. After I
had graduated I continued to devote myself to research, occupying a minor
position in King's College Hospital, and I was fortunate enough to excite
considerable interest by my research into the pathology of catalepsy, and
finally to win the Bruce Pinkerton prize and medal by the monograph on
nervous lesions to which your friend has just alluded. I should not go too
far if I were to say that there was a general impression at that time that a
distinguished career lay before me.
"But the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of capital. As you will
readily understand, a specialist who aims high is compelled to start in one
of a dozen streets in the Cavendish Square quarter, all of which entail
enormous rents and furnishing expenses. Besides this preliminary outlay, he
must be prepared to keep himself for some years, and to hire a presentable
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 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 a
complete stranger to me. He came up to my room one morning, and plunged into
business in an instant.
"'You are the same Percy Trevelyan who has had so distinguished a career
and own a great prize lately?' said he.
"'Answer me frankly,' he continued, 'for you will find it to your
interest to do so. You have all the cleverness which makes a successful man.
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 these
qualities, why are you not in practice?'
"I shrugged my shoulders.
"'Come, come!' said he, in his bustling way. 'It's the old story. More in
your brains than in your pocket, eh? What would you say if I were to start
you in Brook Street?'
"I stared at him in astonishment.
"'Oh, it's for my sake, not for yours,' he cried. 'I'll be perfectly
frank with you, and if it suits you it will suit me very well. I have a few
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 run
the whole place. All you have to do is just to wear out your chair in the
consulting-room. I'll let you have pocket-money and everything. Then you
hand over to me three quarters of what you earn, and you keep the other
quarter for yourself.'
"This was the strange proposal, Mr. Holmes, with which the man
Blessington approached me. I won't weary you with the account of how we
bargained and negotiated. It ended in my moving into the house next
Lady-day, and starting in practice on very much the same conditions as he
had suggested. He came himself to live with me in the character of a
resident patient. His heart was weak, it appears, and he needed constant
medical supervision. He turned the two best rooms of the first floor into a
sitting-room and bedroom for himself. He was a man of singular habits,
shunning company and very seldom going out. His life was irregular, but in
one respect he was regularity itself. Every evening, at the same hour, he
walked into the consulting-room, examined the books, 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 his
speculation. From the first it was a success. A few good cases and the
reputation 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 to
bring 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, he said,
had been committed in the West End, and he appeared, I remember, to be quite
unnecessarily excited about it, declaring that a day should not 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 short walk which had usually been
the prelude to his dinner. From his manner it struck me that he was in
mortal dread of something or somebody, but when I questioned him upon the
point he became so offensive that I was compelled to drop the subject.
Gradually, as time passed, his fears appeared to die away, and he had
renewed his former habits, when a fresh event 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 I now
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 cataleptic attacks, on which, as is
well known, Dr. Trevelyan is an authority. He proposes to call at about
quarter 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, then,
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
"'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 ceased 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
"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 came 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
"'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
"'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
"'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
"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 with an intentness
which showed me that his interest was keenly aroused. His face was as
impassive as ever, but his lids had drooped more heavily over his eyes, and
his smoke had curled up more thickly from his pipe to emphasize each curious
episode in the doctor's tale. As our visitor concluded, Holmes sprang up
without a word, handed me my hat, picked his own from the table, and
followed Dr. Trevelyan to the door. Within a quarter of an hour we had been
dropped at the door of the physician's residence in Brook Street, one of
those sombre, flat-faced houses which one associates with a West-End
practice. A small page admitted us, and we began at once to ascend the
broad, well-carpeted stair.
But a singular interruption brought us to a standstill. The light at the
top was suddenly whisked out, and from the darkness came a reedy, quivering
"I have a pistol," it cried. "I give you my word that I'll fire if you
come any nearer."
"This really grows outrageous, Mr. Blessington," cried Dr. Trevelyan.
"Oh, then it is you, doctor," said the voice, with a great heave of
relief. "But those other gentlemen, are they what they pretend to be?"
We were conscious of a long scrutiny out of the darkness.
"Yes, yes, it's all right," said the voice at last. "You can come up, and
I am sorry if my precautions have annoyed you."
He relit the stair gas as he spoke, and we saw before us a
singular-looking man, whose appearance, as well as his voice, testified to
his jangled nerves. He was very fat, but had apparently at some time been
much fatter, so that the skin hung about his face in loose pouches, like the
cheeks of a blood-hound. He was of a sickly color, and his thin, sandy hair
seemed to bristle up with the intensity of his emotion. In his hand he held
a pistol, but he thrust it into his pocket as we advanced.
"Good-evening, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I am sure I am very much obliged to
you for coming round. No one ever needed your advice more than I do. I
suppose that Dr. Trevelyan has told you of this most unwarrantable intrusion
into my rooms."
"Quite so," said Holmes. "Who are these two men Mr. Blessington, and why
do they wish to molest you?"
"Well, well," said the resident patient, in a nervous fashion, "of course
it is hard to say that. You can hardly expect me to answer that, Mr.
"Do you mean that you don't know?"
"Come in here, if you please. Just have the kindness to step in
He led the way into his bedroom, which was large and comfortably
"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
"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
"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
"Is there not one alternative," I suggested, "grotesquely improbably, no
doubt, but still just conceivable? Might the whole story of the cataleptic
Russian and his son be a concoction of Dr. Trevelyan's, who has, for his own
purposes, been in Blessington's rooms?"
I saw in the gaslight that Holmes wore an amused smile at this brilliant
departure of mine.
"My dear fellow," said he, "it was one of the first solutions which
occurred to me, but I was soon able to corroborate the doctor's tale. This
young man has left prints upon the stair-carpet which made it quite
superfluous for me to ask to see those which he had made in the room. When I
tell you that his shoes were square-toed instead of being pointed like
Blessington's, and were quite an inch and a third longer than the doctor's,
you will acknowledge that there can be no doubt as to his individuality. But
we may sleep on it now, for I shall be surprised if we do not hear something
further from Brook Street in the morning."
Sherlock Holmes's prophecy was soon fulfilled, and in a dramatic fashion.
At half-past seven next morning, in the first glimmer of daylight, I found
him standing by my bedside in his dressing-gown.
"There's a brougham waiting for us, Watson," said he.
"What's the matter, then?"
"The Brook Street business."
"Any fresh news?"
"Tragic, but ambiguous," said he, pulling up the blind. "Look at this--a
sheet from a note-book, with 'For God's sake come at once--P. T.,' scrawled
upon it in pencil. Our friend, the doctor, was hard put to it when he wrote
this. Come along, my dear fellow, for it's an urgent call."
In a quarter of an hour or so we were back at the physician's house. He
came running out to meet us with a face of horror.
"Oh, such a business!" he cried, with his hands to his temples.
"Blessington has committed suicide!"
"Yes, he hanged himself during the night."
We had entered, and the doctor had preceded us into what was evidently
"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
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
"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.
"Why should any one murder a man in so clumsy a fashion as by hanging
"That is what we have to find out."
"How could they get in?"
"Through the front door."
"It was barred in the morning."
"Then it was barred after them."
"How do you know?"
"I saw their traces. Excuse me a moment, and I may be able to give you
some further information about it."
He went over to the door, and turning the lock he examined it in his
methodical way. Then he took out the key, which was on the inside, and
inspected that also. The bed, the carpet, the chairs the mantelpiece, the
dead body, and the rope were each in turn examined, until at last he
professed himself satisfied, and with my aid and that of the inspector cut
down the wretched object and laid it reverently under a sheet.
"How about this rope?" he asked.
"It is cut off this," said Dr. Trevelyan, drawing a large coil from under
the bed. "He was morbidly nervous of fire, and always kept this beside him,
so that he might escape by the window in case the stairs were burning."
"That must have saved them trouble," said Holmes, thoughtfully. "Yes, the
actual facts are very plain, and I shall be surprised if by the afternoon I
cannot give you the reasons for them as well. I will take this photograph of
Blessington, which I see upon the mantelpiece, as it may help me in my
"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, 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 by a 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, has only recently come into your
"The young imp cannot be found," said Dr. Trevelyan; "the maid and the
cook have just been searching for him."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"He has played a not unimportant part in this drama," said he. "The three
men having ascended the stairs, which they did on tiptoe, the elder man
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 the footmarks.
I had the advantage of learning which was which last night. They ascended,
then, to Mr. Blessington's room, the door of which they found to be locked.
With the help of a wire, however, they forced round the key. Even without
the lens you will perceive, by the scratches on this 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 paralyzed with
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, was unheard.
"Having secured him, it is evident to me that a consultation of some sort
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 these cigars were
smoked. The older man sat in that wicker chair; it was he who used the
cigar-holder. The younger man sat over yonder; he knocked his ash 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 be
"Well, it ended by their taking Blessington and hanging him. The matter
was so prearranged that it is my belief that they brought with them some
sort of block or pulley which might serve as a gallows. That screw-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 behind them by their
We had all listened with the deepest interest to this sketch of the
night's doings, 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
in his reasoning. The inspector hurried away on the instant to make
inquiries about the page, while Holmes and I returned to Baker Street for
"I'll be back by three," said he, when we had finished our meal. "Both
the inspector and the doctor will meet me here at that hour, and I hope by
that time to have cleared up any little obscurity which the case may still
Our visitors arrived at the appointed time, but it was a quarter to four
before my friend put in an appearance. From his expression as he entered,
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,
as I expected, well known at headquarters, and so are his assailants. 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," said
Holmes. "Five men were in it--these four and a fifth called Cartwright.
Tobin, the care-taker, was murdered, and the thieves got away with seven
thousand pounds. This was in 1875. They were all five arrested, but the
evidence against them was by no means conclusive. This Blessington or
Sutton, who was the worst of the gang, turned informer. On his evidence
Cartwright was hanged and the other three got fifteen years apiece. When
they 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 to avenge
the death of their comrade upon him. Twice they tried to get at him and
failed; a third time, you see, it came off. Is there anything further which
I can explain, Dr. Trevelyan?"
"I think you have made it all remarkable clear," said the doctor. "No
doubt the day on which he was perturbed was the day when he had seen 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 old
associates, 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 bring himself to
divulge it. However, wretch as he was, he was still living under the shield
of British law, and I have no doubt, Inspector, that you will see that,
though that shield may fail to guard, the sword of justice is still there to
Such were the singular circumstances in connection with the Resident
Patient and the Brook Street Doctor. From that night nothing has been seen
of the three murderers by the police, and it is surmised at Scotland Yard
that they were among the passengers of the ill-fated steamer Norah Creina,
which was lost some years ago with all hands upon the Portuguese coast, some
leagues to the north of Oporto. The proceedings against the page broke down
for want of evidence, and the Brook Street Mystery, as it was called, has
never until now been fully dealt with in any public print.