“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
