The Resident Patient

One October evening Sherlock Holmes and I were returning to our rooms in Baker Street after a long walk. I had been sharing these lodgings with Holmes since the death of my wife in 1894. It was quite late in the evening, but we saw a carriage waiting outside the house.

There was a gentleman waiting for us in our sitting room. He stood up when we came in. He was about thirty-three or thirty-four years old, had thin, artistic hands, and looked unhealthy and tired. He was dressed entirely in black.

'Good evening,' said Holmes to him cheerfully. 'Please sit down again! What can I do to help you?'

'My name is Doctor Percy Trevelyan,' said our visitor, 'and I live at 403 Brook Street.'

'You have written a book on catalepsy, haven't you?' I asked.

Doctor Trevelyan was very pleased and proud that I knew his book. His pale face became quite red.

'I thought that the book had been completely forgotten!' he said. 'Very few copies were sold. I suppose you are a doctor yourself, sir?'

'I used to be an Army doctor,' I replied, 'and after that I was in private practice for a few years.'

'My own special interest has always been catalepsy,' he said. 'I would like to work only on that disease. But one must take what one can get! However, I must not talk too much about my own interests! I realize that your time is valuable, Mr Holmes. Well, some very strange things have been happening recently at the house in Brook Street. And tonight something new has happened. I felt that I must come and ask for your advice and your help.'

Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe. 'You are welcome!' he said. 'Please give me a complete account of the things that are worrying you. Tell me all the details.'

'Some of them are very small and unimportant,' said Doctor Trevelyan. 'But the affair is so difficult to understand that I will tell you the whole story.

'I am a London University man. I won several prizes at the University. My teachers thought that I would become a very successful doctor. I continued my studies afterwards, worked at King's College Hospital, and wrote my book on catalepsy. But, gentlemen, I had no money. A man who wants to become a specialist must live in the expensive district round Cavendish Square. There are only about a dozen possible streets. And the rents are extremely high! One also has to hire a horse and carriage, and buy furniture for one's house. I would have needed ten years to be able to save the necessary money. But suddenly I had a great surprise.

'A stranger came to see me one day in my room at King's College Hospital. This gentleman's name was Blessington.

'"Are you the young man who has won so many prizes?" he asked.

'"Yes, I am," I said, bowing.

'"I want to ask you some questions," he said. "First of all, have you any bad habits? Do you drink too much?"

'"Really, sir!" I cried. He was not very polite!

'"Please don't be angry," he said. "I had to ask you that question. Why are you not working as a private specialist? I suppose you haven't enough money? I will help you! I will rent a house for you in Brook Street."

'I was very surprised.

'"Oh, I'm making you this offer for my own sake, not for yours!" he said. "I will tell you the truth. I have a few thousand pounds that I am not using. I want to spend this money on you"

'"But why?" I asked him.

'"Because I want my money to grow!" he replied.

'"What must I do for you?" I asked.

'"I want you to work as a doctor—as a brain specialist," he said. "I will buy the furniture for your house, pay the rent, and pay all your expenses each week. You can keep a quarter of the money you earn. You will give me the other three-quarters."

'It was a strange offer, Mr Holmes, but I accepted it. A few weeks later I moved into the house in Brook Street. Mr Blessington came to live there too. He said that his heart was weak: he needed to live near a doctor. He turned the best two rooms on the first floor into a bedroom and a sitting room for himself. He had strange habits. He seemed to have no friends, and very seldom went out. Regularly every evening, he came into my office to find out how much I had earned. He then took all the money and gave me back exactly a quarter of it. Then he took the rest of the money away to the strong box in his bedroom.

'I have been very successful as a specialist, Mr Holmes, and in the last year or two I have made him a rich man.

'A few weeks ago Mr Blessington came down to speak to me. He mentioned a recent London robbery. He seemed to be surprisingly worried and excited, and he wanted workmen to come and put stronger locks on our doors and windows.

'He remained in this strange state of excitement for a week. He never stopped looking anxiously out of the window, and did not go out at all. He seemed to be living in terrible fear of something or of somebody, but when I asked him about this he answered me very rudely. Gradually, however, he seemed to forget his fears.

'Then there was an event in our house which brought all his fears back. Two days ago I received a letter, which I will read to you. There is no address or date on it.

Dear Doctor Trevelyan,

I am a Russian nobleman, but I now live in England. For some years I have been suffering from catalepsy. As you are a great and well-known brain specialist, I would like to see you.

I will call on you at about a quarter past six tomorrow evening.

'Of course I was waiting in my office at that time the following evening.

'The Russian was a thin old man who did not look very much like a nobleman. There was a young man with him. He was tall and good-looking, with a dark, fierce face and very powerful arms and chest. He gently supported the old man with a hand under his arm as they entered. Then he helped him to sit down.

'"Please forgive me for coming in with my father, doctor," said this young man. His voice was that of a foreigner.

'"That is quite all right," I replied. "Would you like to stay with your father while I examine him?"

'"No, thank you," he answered. "I will go back into the waiting room."

'Then the young man went out, and I turned to the older man to begin discussing his disease. He was a little stupid, and also he did not speak English very well—so it was difficult.

'Suddenly, however, he stopped answering my questions. I saw that he was sitting very stiffly, and staring at me with strange, empty eyes. He was in a state of catalepsy. Of course I was excited. I examined him very carefully, and took notes of his condition. He seemed to be in exactly the same state as other people who have the disease.

'I decided to give him some treatment. My idea was to make him breathe a medicine called nitrite of amyl. The bottle was in my store room, which is behind the office. So I went out to get it. Unluckily it took me five minutes to find the bottle. Then I went back into my office. Mr Holmes, the old man was not there!

'The waiting room was empty too. The servants had heard nothing. Mr Blessington, who had been out for a short walk, came in soon afterwards. But I did not tell him about the strange disappearance of my Russian clients.

'Well, I did not think the Russians would ever come back. However, this evening, again at a quarter past six, they both came into my office.

'"I am very sorry that I left so suddenly yesterday, doctor," said the old man.

'"I was certainly surprised!" I replied.

'"I can explain it," he said. "When my catalepsy goes away, my mind is always empty. I do not remember what has been happening. Yesterday I woke up in a strange room. I did not know where I was. So I simply walked out into the street."

'"And when I saw my father come out of your office," said the son, "I thought that the examination was over. I did not realize what had really happened until we had reached home."

'"Well," I said, laughing, "I understand everything now." I turned to the older man. "I will continue the examination now, sir, if you wish."

'For about half an hour I discussed the old gentleman's disease with him, and gave him the best advice I could. Then he and his son went away.

'Mr Blessington, who often went for a walk at that time of day, came in soon afterwards and went up to his rooms. An instant later I heard him running down again, and he rushed into my office. He seemed to be almost mad with fear.

'"Who has been in my rooms?" he cried.

'"No one," I said.

'"That is a lie!" he shouted. "Come up and look."

'I went up with him, and he pointed to several footmarks on the pale brown carpet.

'"Those are certainly not the marks of my feet!" Mr Blessington said.

'They were indeed much larger, and seemed to be quite new. As you know, it rained hard this afternoon, and the two Russians were my only visitors.

'The younger man must have gone up to Mr Blessington's room. But why? Nothing at all was missing.

'I was astonished to see that Mr Blessington was crying. He could hardly speak, but he mentioned your name, and of course I came here at once. He will be greatly relieved if you can come back with me now, in my carriage.'

Holmes said nothing. He simply gave me my hat, picked up his own from the table, and followed Doctor Trevelyan out of the room.

A quarter of an hour later we arrived at the house in Brook Street. A servant let us in, but suddenly somebody turned off the light in the hall.

We heard the person say in a frightened voice:

'I have a gun! If you come any nearer I will shoot you.'

'This is very stupid behaviour, Mr Blessington!' cried the doctor angrily.

'Oh, it is you, Doctor!' said the voice in relief. 'But who are these other gentlemen?' He lit the gas light again and examined us carefully. He was a very fat man, but had once been much fatter: the skin hung loosely on his face, which looked very unhealthy. He had thin red hair.

At last he put his gun back into his pocket and said:

'It's all right now. You may come up. I hope I have not annoyed you.—How do you do, Mr Holmes. You are very kind. You must advise me! I suppose that Doctor Trevelyan has already told you what has happened?'

'Yes, he has,' said Holmes. 'Who are these two strangers, Mr Blessington, and why are they your enemies?'

'I don't know, of course!' the fat man answered. 'But please come up to my rooms.'

We went with him into his bedroom. It was large and comfortably furnished. Pointing to a big black box at the end of the bed, Mr Blessington said:

'I have never been a very rich man, Mr Holmes. But I don't like banks. I don't trust them! All my money is in that box. So of course I am very worried about this affair.'

Holmes looked at Blessington in his strange way, and then shook his head.

'I cannot possibly advise you if you try to deceive me,' he said.

'But I have told you everything!' said Blessington.

Holmes turned away.

'Good night, Doctor Trevelyan,' he said.

'But aren't you going to give me any advice?' cried Blessington in a weak voice.

'My advice to you, sir,' Holmes replied, 'is to tell the truth.'

A minute later we were on our way home. As we walked down Harley Street Holmes said:

'I am sorry we came out so uselessly this evening, Watson. And yet this Brook Street affair is rather interesting.'

'I don't understand it at all,' I confessed.

'Well, those two men intend to harm Blessington for some reason. The young man went up to Blessington's rooms on both days, I am sure. By chance Blessington was out.'

'But Doctor Trevelyan thought the old man really had catalepsy!' I said.

'It is not difficult to imitate catalepsy, Watson: I have done it myself.'

'Why did the men choose such an unusual time of day?'

'Because there must be nobody else in the waiting room. Watson, it is easy to see that Blessington is frightened for his life. And of course he knows who these two terrible enemies are. Perhaps tomorrow he will stop telling me lies.'

Holmes woke me up at half-past seven the next morning.

'There is a carriage waiting for us, Watson,' he said.

'What is the matter?' I asked him.

'I have had a note from Doctor Trevelyan. In it he says: "Come at once"—and nothing else.'

Twenty minutes later we were back at the doctor's house. He came running out to meet us. His face was very white.

'Oh, it's terrible!' he cried, putting his hands to his eyes.

'What has happened?' we asked.

'Blessington has killed himself.'

Holmes whistled.

'Yes,' Doctor Trevelyan continued, 'he hanged himself during the night.'

We went in with him. He took us into the waiting room.

'The police are already up there,' he said. 'This death has been a terrible shock to me.'

'When was he found?' Holmes asked.

'One of the servants takes him a cup of tea at seven o'clock every morning. When she went into his bedroom this morning she saw the poor man hanging in the middle of the room. He had tied a rope to the hook on which the heavy lamp usually hangs. And he had jumped off from the top of his strong box—which he showed us yesterday!'

After thinking for a moment Holmes said:

'I would like to go up now.'

We all went up to Blessington's bedroom.

The body looked hardly human. A police officer was beside it, writing in his notebook.

'Ah, Mr Holmes!' he said. 'I am very glad to see you.'

'Good morning, Lanner,' Holmes said. 'Have you heard of all the events of the last few days?'

'Yes.'

'And what is your opinion of the affair?'

'I think that fear had made Mr Blessington mad. He went to bed—his bed has been used, as you can see. Then at about five o'clock he got up and hanged himself.'

I felt the body.

'Yes, he seems to have been dead for about three hours,' I said.

'Have you found anything unusual in the room?' Holmes asked the police officer.

'Well, sir, Mr Blessington seems to have smoked a lot during the night. I found these four cigar-ends in the fireplace.'

Holmes looked at them.

'And have you found Blessington's cigar-holder?'

'No. I haven't seen one.'

'And where is his cigar-case?'

'Here it is. I found it in his coat-pocket.'

Holmes opened it and smelt the one cigar which it contained.

'Oh, this is a Cuban cigar,' he said. These others are Dutch.' He took out his magnifying-glass and examined them through it. Two of these were smoked through a cigar-holder. The other two were not. Two were cut by a not very sharp knife, and the other two were bitten—by a person with excellent teeth. Mr Blessington did not kill himself, Lanner. He was murdered.'

'That is impossible!' cried Lanner.

'Why?'

'Murderers never hang people! And in any case, how did they get in?'

'Through the front door.'

'The bar was across it this morning.'

'Because someone inside the house put the bar across. In a moment I will tell you how this murder was done.'

He went over to the door and examined the lock. Then he took out the key and examined that too; next he looked at the bed, the carpet, the chairs, the dead body, and the rope. At last he told us that he was satisfied, and we cut the rope and laid the body gently on the bed. We covered it with a sheet.

'Where did the rope come from?' Holmes asked.

'It was cut off this longer one,' said Doctor Trevelyan. He showed us a rope under the bed. 'He was terribly afraid of fire. He always kept this rope near him, so that he could climb down from the window if the stairs were on fire.'

'Yes, all the facts are now very clear,' Holmes said. 'I hope that I shall soon be able to tell you the reasons for them as well. I will borrow this photograph of Blessington, as it may help me in my enquiries.'

'But you haven't told us anything!' cried Doctor Trevelyan.

'Oh, there were two murderers—the men who pretended to be Russian noblemen—and they were helped by one of your own servants.'

'My man has certainly disappeared,' said the doctor.

'He let the murderers into the house,' Holmes went on. 'Mr Blessington's door was locked, but they turned the key with a strong piece of wire. You can see the scratches, even without the magnifying-glass.

'They must have fastened a handkerchief over Mr Blessington's mouth, to prevent him from crying out. Then they held a kind of trial—a trial in which they themselves were the judges. During that trial they smoked cigars.

'When the trial was over they took Blessington and hanged him. Then they left. The servant put the bar across the front door after they had gone.'

Lanner hurried away to try to find the servant. Holmes and I returned to Baker Street for breakfast.

'I shall be back by three o'clock,' he said when we had finished our meal. 'Lanner and Doctor Trevelyan will meet me here then.'

The police officer and the doctor arrived at three, but Holmes did not join us until a quarter to four. I could see, however, that he was cheerful.

'Have you any news, Lanner?' he asked.

'We have caught the servant, sir,' Lanner replied.

'Excellent! And I have discovered who the murderers are. Their names are Biddle and Hayward.'

'The Worthingdon Bank robbers!' cried Lanner.

'Yes. And the man who used the name "Blessington" was another of them.'

'So his real name must have been Sutton. Everything is clear now!' said Lanner.

But Trevelyan and I still did not understand.

'Have you forgotten the great Worthingdon Bank robbery?' said Holmes. 'There were four robbers—Biddle, Hayward, Sutton, and a man called Cartwright. A night watchman was killed, and the thieves got away with seven thousand pounds. That was fifteen years ago. At the trial there was not much proof against the robbers, but this man Blessington (that is, Sutton) decided to help the police. The result was that Cartwright was hanged, and Biddle and Hayward were sent to prison for fifteen years. When they were let out they decided to punish Sutton (that is, Blessington) for what he had done fifteen years before.'

Nobody was punished for Blessington's death. Biddle and Hayward were drowned soon afterwards when a steamer called the Norah Creina sank off the coast of Portugal. And there was not enough proof against Doctor Trevelyan's man. So he was never tried: and no complete account of the Brook Street mystery has ever been given to the public till now.