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Page 97
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.
"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?"
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