I was sufficiently conversant with Holmes's methods to be able to followhis reasoning, and to see that the nature and state of the variousmedical instruments in the wicker basket which hung in the lamplightinside the brougham had given him the data for his swift deduction.The light in our window above showed that this late visit was indeedintended for us. With some curiosity as to what could have sent abrother medico to us at such an hour, I followed Holmes into oursanctum.
A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up from a chair by thefire as we entered. His age may not have been more than three or fourand thirty, but his haggard expression and unhealthy hue told of a lifewhich has sapped his strength and robbed him of his youth. His mannerwas nervous and shy, like that of a sensitive gentleman, and the thinwhite hand which he laid on the mantelpiece as he rose was that of anartist rather than of a surgeon. His dress was quiet and sombre--a blackfrock-coat, dark trousers, and a touch of color about his necktie.
"Good-evening
, doctor," said Holmes, cheerily. "I am glad to see thatyou 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 yourseat and let me know how I can serve you."
"My name is Doctor Percy Trevelyan," said our visitor, "and I live at403 Brook Street."
"Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervous lesions?" Iasked.
His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work was knownto me.
"I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it was quite dead," saidhe. "My publishers gave me a most discouraging account of its sale. Youare yourself, I presume, a medical man?"
"A retired army surgeon."
"My own hobby has always been nervous disease. I should wish to make itan absolute specialty, but, of course, a man must take what he can getat first. This, however, is beside the question, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,and I quite appreciate how valuable your time is. The fact is that avery singular train of events has occurred recently at my house in BrookStreet, and to-night they came to such a head that I felt it was quiteimpossible for me to wait another hour before asking for your advice andassistance."
Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe. "You are very welcometo both," said he. "Pray let me have a detailed account of what thecircumstances are which have disturbed you."
"One or two of them are so trivial," said Dr. Trevelyan, "that reallyI 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 shalllay it all before you, and you shall judge what is essential and what isnot.
"I am compelled, to begin with, to say something of my own collegecareer. I am a London University man, you know, and I am sure that youwill not think that I am unduly singing my own praises if I say that mystudent career was considered by my professors to be a very promisingone. After I had graduated I continued to devote myself to research,occupying a minor position in King's College Hospital, and I wasfortunate enough to excite considerable interest by my research into thepathology of catalepsy, and finally to win the Bruce Pinkerton prize andmedal by the monograph on nervous lesions to which your friend hasjust alluded. I should not go too far if I were to say that there was ageneral impression at that time that a distinguished career lay beforeme.
"But the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of capital. As youwill readily understand, a specialist who aims high is compelled tostart in one of a dozen streets in the Cavendish Square quarter, allof which entail enormous rents and furnishing expenses. Besides thispreliminary outlay, he must be prepared to keep himself for some years,and to hire a presentable carriage and horse. To do this was quitebeyond my power, and I could only hope that by economy I might in tenyears' 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 acomplete stranger to me. He came up to my room one morning, and plungedinto business in an instant.
"'You are the same Percy Trevelyan who has had so distinguished a careerand won a great prize lately?' said he.
"I bowed.
"'Answer me frankly,' he continued, 'for you will find it to yourinterest to do so. You have all the cleverness which makes a successfulman. 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 thesequalities, why are you not in practice?'
"I shrugged my shoulders.
"'Come, come!' said he, in his bustling way. 'It's the old story. Morein your brains than in your pocket, eh? What would you say if I were tostart you in Brook Street?'
"I stared at him in astonishment.
"'Oh, it's for my sake, not for yours,' he cried. 'I'll be perfectlyfrank with you, and if it suits you it will suit me very well. I have afew thousands to invest, d'ye see, and I think I'll sink them in you.'
"'But why?' I gasped.