THE ADVENTURE OF THE RESIDENT PATIENT

It had been a rainy day in October. In the evening it cleared up, and Holmes and I went out for a stroll. It was ten o'clock when we reached Baker Street again. A carriage was waiting at our door.

"Hum! A doctor's carriage, I see," said Holmes. "He has come to consult us, I suppose."

I knew Holmes's methods well enough to under­stand his reasoning: in the lamp-light inside the carriage we could see various medical instruments in a basket. The light in our window above showed that this late visitor had indeed come to us.

A pale man with sandy whiskers rose up from a chair by the fire as we entered. He was about thir­ty-three or thirty-four years old. His manner was nervous and shy.

"Good-evening, Doctor," said Holmes cheerly. "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 take your seat and let me know how I can serve you."

"My name is Dr. Percy Trevelyan," said our visitor, "and I live at 403 Brook Street. The fact is that very strange events have occurred recently at my house in Brook Street, and tonight they came to such a point that I felt it was necessary for me to ask your advice and assistance."

Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe.

"Pray let me have a detailed account of the cir­cumstances which have disturbed you," he said.

"I must begin with my own college career. I stud­ied at London University, and my student career was considered by my professors to be a very prom­ising one. After I had graduated I devoted myself to research, occupying a minor position in King's College Hospital, and finally won a prize and med­al for the monograph on nervous diseases. A gen­eral impression at that time was that a distin­guished career lay before me.

"But there was one great stumbling-block: I had no money.

"As you understand, a doctor who wants to get an important position and authority must open practice in one of the streets near Cavendish Square, which entails enormous rents and fur­nishing expenses. Besides, he must hire a good carriage and horse. To do all this was quite be­yond my power, and I could only hope that by economy I might in ten years' time save enough money.

"Suddenly, however, an unexpected incident took place.

"This was a visit from a gentleman of the name of Blessington, who was a complete stranger to me.

"He came into my room one morning.

'Are you the same Percy Trevelyan who has had such a distinguished career and won a great prize lately?' said he.

"I bowed.

'Answer me frankly,' he continued, 'for you will find it to your interest to do so. You are clever enough to be a successful man. Why don't you have a practice of your own?'

"I could not help smiling.

'Come, come!' said he. 'It's the old story. More in your brains than in your pocket, eh? What would you say if I offered 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'you see, and I think I'll invest them in you. Listen: I'll rent a house, furnish it, pay the maids, and run the whole place. All you have to do is just to sit on 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, which the man Blessington made me. I agreed I moved into the house soon after and started prac­tice. He came himself to live with me as a resident patient. He said that his heart was weak, 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 did not like company, and very seldom went out. 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 safe in his own room.

"From the first my practice was a success. A few good cases and the reputation which I had won in the hospital made me a fashionable doctor, and dur­ing the last few years I have made him a rich man. "That's my past history, Mr. Holmes, and my relations with Mr. Blessington. It only remains for me now to tell you what has occurred to bring me here tonight.

"Some weeks ago Mr. Blessington came down to me in a state of considerable agitation. He spoke of some burglary which, he said, had been committed in the West End. He was strangely excited about it, and declared that we should add stronger bolts to our windows and doors. For a week he was in a state of restlessness, peering continually out of the windows. He even stopped taking the short walks which he had usually taken before his dinner. It seemed to me that he was in mortal dread of some­thing or somebody. Gradually, as time passed, his fears appeared to die away, and he renewed his former habits, when a fresh event took place.

"What happened was this. Two days ago I re­ceived a letter. Here it is:

'A Russian nobleman who is now resident in Eng­land would be glad to see 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 will call at about a quarter-past six to­morrow evening if it is convenient for Dr. Trevelyan.'

"This letter interested me deeply, because the chief difficulty in the study of catalepsy is the rareness of the disease. I was in my consulting-room when, at the appointed hour, the page showed in the patient.

"He was a thin elderly man. His companion 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. 'Excuse my coming in, Doctor,' he said to me. 'This is my father, and his health is very important to me. With your permission, I will remain in the wait­ing-room while you consult my father.'

"The young man withdrew. The patient and I then began discussing his case, of which I took detailed notes.

"Suddenly, as I sat writing, he stopped answering my questions. 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 a fit of his mysterious disease.

"I felt my patient's pulse and took his tempera­ture, tested the rigidity of his muscles, and exam­ined his reflexes.

"I had obtained good results in such cases by the inhalation of nitrite of amyl, so I was going to apply the same treatment in the present case. 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.

"My page who admits patients is a new boy and by no means quick. He had heard nothing, and the affair remained a complete mystery.

"I have told you that Mr. Blessington general­ly chose this hour of the day for his walk. 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!'

"When I went upstairs with him he pointed to several footprints upon the light carpet.

'Do you mean to say those are mine?' he cried.

"They were certainly very much larger than any which he could 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 had been touched or taken, but the footprints proved that he had been there. "Mr. Blessington seemed terribly excited. He actually sat crying in an armchair, and I could not put in a word.

"It was his suggestion that I should come round to you at once. If you only come back with me in my carriage, you will at least be able to soothe him, though I can hardly hope that you will be able to explain this remarkable occurrence."

As our visitor stopped speaking, 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 were at the door of the doctor's residence in Brook Street. A small page let us in, and we ascended the broad, well-carpeted stairs.

"Good-evening, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Bless­ington as we entered his sitting-room. "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 intrusion into my rooms."

"Quite so," said Holmes. "Who are these two men, Mr. Blessington, and why did they come?

Blessington's room, while his companion kept the doctor from interfering." "And the catalepsy?"

"An imitation, Watson. It is a very easy disease to imitate. I have done it myself."

"And then?"

"By mere chance Blessington was out. Of course, their aim was not to rob him. Otherwise they would at least have made some attempt to search for hid money. Besides, I can read in a man's eyes when it is his own skin that he is frightened for.

"It is impossible that this fellow made such vin­dictive enemies without knowing of it. So of course he knows who these men are, but doesn't want to say it, for reasons unknown to us. Maybe by to­morrow he will change his mind."

Sherlock Holmes's prophecy was soon fulfilled, and in a dramatic fashion. At half-past seven next morning I found him standing by my bedside.

"There's a carriage waiting for us, Watson, m said he. H "What's the matter, then?"

"The Brook Street business."

"Any fresh news?"

"Tragic," said he. "Look at this — a sheet from a notebook, with 'For God's sake come at once. P. T.,' written on it in pencil. Come along, my dear fellow, for it's an urgent call."

In a quarter of an hour or so we were back at the doctor'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. The police are already upstairs." "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, he 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."

We both ascended, followed by the doctor. It was a dreadful sight as we entered the bed­room door. Blessington was hanging from the hook. Beside him stood a smart-looking police-inspector, who was taking notes in a pocketbook.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes," said he heartily as my friend entered, "I am delighted to see you."

"Good-morning, Lanner," answered Holmes. "Have you formed any opinion?"

"As far as I can see, the man was mad with fright. It's about five in the morning, you know, that suicides are most common. Evidentlty he hanged himself at about this time. It seems he had 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-case?"

"Yes, it was in his coat-pocket."

Holmes opened it and smelled the single cigar which it contained. "Oh, this is a Havana¹, and these others are cigars which are imported by the Dutch from their East Indian colonies."

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. Yes, the facts are verjj plain, and I hope that by the afternoon I shall 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 inquiries." "But you have told us nothing!" cried the doctor. "Oh, it's simple enough," 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 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 an accomplice inside the house. I would advise you, Inspector, to arrest the page."

"The young imp cannot be found," said Dr. Trevelyan; "the maid and the cook have just been search­ing for him."

Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "The three men ascended the stairs to Mr. Bless-ington's room," he continued. "On entering the room they first of all gagged Mr. Blessington. He may have been asleep, or he may have been so par­alyzed with terror that he was unable to cry out. Having secured him, they held a consultation of some sort. Probably it was something like a judi­cial proceeding. It must have lasted for some time, for it was then that these cigars were smoked. Well, it ended by their taking Blessington and hanging him. Having finished their work they left, and the door was barred behind them by their accomplice." We had all listened to Holmes with the deepest interest. Then the inspector hurried away to make inquiries about the page, while Holmes and I re­turned to Baker Street for breakfast.

"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 will be able to explain all that is not yet quite clear."

Our visitors arrived at the appointed time, but Holmes appeared only at a quarter to four. From his expression as he entered, however, I could see that everything was all right. "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 to the police, and so are his murderers. 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. The caretaker was murdered, and the thieves got away with seven thousand pounds. This was in 1875. They were all five ar­rested, but there wasn't enough evidence against them. 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 each. When they got out the oth­er day, they set themselves, as you understand, to hunt down the traitor and to avenge the death of their comrade. The first time they failed, but then, as you see, they did it. Is there anything else which I can explain, Dr. Trevelyan?"

"I think you have made it all remarkably clear," said the doctor. "No doubt the day on which he was so frightened was the day when he had read of their release in the newspapers."

"Quite so."

"But why could he not tell you this?" "Well, my dear sir, his secret was a shameful one and he could not bring himself to disclose it."

Such were the 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 they suppose at Scotland Yard that they were among the passen­gers of the ill-fated steamer Norah Creina, which sank some years ago, with everybody on board, near the Portuguese coast.

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