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"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?"

"Yes, I heard something of them."

"Have you formed any opinion?"

"As far as I can see, the man has been driven out of his senses by fright.

The bed has been well slept in, you see.

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