Of all the problems which have been submitted to my friend, Mr.

Sherlock Holmes, for solution during the years of our intimacy,

there were only two which I was the means of introducing to his

notice--that of Mr. Hatherley's thumb, and that of Colonel

Warburton's madness. Of these the latter may have afforded a

finer field for an acute and original observer, but the other was

so strange in its inception and so dramatic in its details that

it may be the more worthy of being placed upon record, even if it

gave my friend fewer openings for those deductive methods of

reasoning by which he achieved such remarkable results. The story

has, I believe, been told more than once in the newspapers, but,

like all such narratives, its effect is much less striking when

set forth en bloc in a single half-column of print than when the

facts slowly evolve before your own eyes, and the mystery clears

gradually away as each new discovery furnishes a step which leads

on to the complete truth. At the time the circumstances made a

deep impression upon me, and the lapse of two years has hardly

served to weaken the effect.

It was in the summer of '89, not long after my marriage, that the

events occurred which I am now about to summarize. I had returned

to civil practice and had finally abandoned Holmes in his Baker

Street rooms, although I continually visited him and occasionally

even persuaded him to forgo his Bohemian habits so far as to come

and visit us. My practice had steadily increased, and as I

happened to live at no very great distance from Paddington

Station, I got a few patients from among the officials. One of

these, whom I had cured of a painful and lingering disease, was

never weary of ../advertising my virtues and of endeavoring to send

me on every sufferer over whom he might have any influence.

One morning, at a little before seven o'clock, I was awakened by

the maid tapping at the door to announce that two men had come

from Paddington and were waiting in the consulting-room. I

dressed hurriedly, for I knew by experience that railway cases

were seldom trivial, and hastened downstairs. As I descended, my

old ally, the guard, came out of the room and closed the door

tightly behind him.

"I've got him here," he whispered, jerking his thumb over his

shoulder; "he's all right."

"What is it, then?" I asked, for his manner suggested that it was

some strange creature which he had caged up in my room.

"It's a new patient," he whispered. "I thought I'd bring him

round myself; then he couldn't slip away. There he is, all safe

and sound. I must go now, Doctor; I have my dooties, just the

same as you." And off he went, this trusty tout, without even

giving me time to thank him.

I entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated by the

table. He was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed with a

soft cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books. Round one of

his hands he had a handkerchief wrapped, which was mottled all

over with bloodstains. He was young, not more than

five-and-twenty, I should say, with a strong, masculine face; but

he was exceedingly pale and gave me the impression of a man who

was suffering from some strong agitation, which it took all his

strength of mind to control.

"I am sorry to knock you up so early, Doctor," said he, "but I

have had a very serious accident during the night. I came in by

train this morning, and on inquiring at Paddington as to where I

might find a doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me

here. I gave the maid a card, but I see that she has left it upon

the side-table."

I took it up and glanced at it. "Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydraulic

engineer, 16A. Victoria Street (3d floor)." That was the name,

style, and abode of my morning visitor. "I regret that I have

kept you waiting," said I, sitting down in my library-chair. "You

are fresh from a night journey, I understand, which is in itself

a monotonous occupation."

"Oh, my night could not be called monotonous," said he, and

laughed. He laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note,

leaning back in his chair and shaking his sides. All my medical

instincts rose up against that laugh.

"Stop it!" I cried; "pull yourself together!" and I poured out

some water from a caraffe.

It was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical

outbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis

is over and gone. Presently he came to himself once more, very

weary and pale-looking.