Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - The Adventure of the Dying Detective

Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-sufferingwoman. Not only was her first-floor flat invaded at all hours bythrongs of singular and often undesirable characters but her remarkablelodger showed an eccentricity and irregularity in his life which musthave sorely tried her patience. His incredible untidiness, hisaddiction to music at strange hours, his occasional revolver practicewithin doors, his weird and often malodorous scientific experiments,and the atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him madehim the very worst tenant in London. On the other hand, his paymentswere princely. I have no doubt that the house might have been purchasedat the price which Holmes paid for his rooms during the years that Iwas with him.

The landlady stood in the deepest awe of him and never dared tointerfere with him, however outrageous his proceedings might seem. Shewas fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable gentleness and courtesyin his dealings with women. He disliked and distrusted the sex, but hewas always a chivalrous opponent. Knowing how genuine was her regardfor him, I listened earnestly to her story when she came to my rooms inthe second year of my married life and told me of the sad condition towhich my poor friend was reduced.

"He's dying, Dr. Watson," said she. "For three days he has beensinking, and I doubt if he will last the day. He would not let me geta doctor. This morning when I saw his bones sticking out of his faceand his great bright eyes looking at me I could stand no more of it.'With your leave or without it, Mr. Holmes, I am going for a doctorthis very hour,' said I. 'Let it be Watson, then,' said he. Iwouldn't waste an hour in coming to him, sir, or you may not see himalive."

I was horrified for I had heard nothing of his illness. I need not saythat I rushed for my coat and my hat. As we drove back I asked for thedetails.

"There is little I can tell you, sir. He has been working at a casedown at Rotherhithe, in an alley near the river, and he has broughtthis illness back with him. He took to his bed on Wednesday afternoonand has never moved since. For these three days neither food nor drinkhas passed his lips."

"Good God! Why did you not call in a doctor?"

"He wouldn't have it, sir. You know how masterful he is. I didn'tdare to disobey him. But he's not long for this world, as you'll seefor yourself the moment that you set eyes on him."

He was indeed a deplorable spectacle. In the dim light of a foggyNovember day the sick room was a gloomy spot, but it was that gaunt,wasted face staring at me from the bed which sent a chill to my heart.His eyes had the brightness of fever, there was a hectic flush uponeither cheek, and dark crusts clung to his lips; the thin hands uponthe coverlet twitched incessantly, his voice was croaking andspasmodic. He lay listlessly as I entered the room, but the sight ofme brought a gleam of recognition to his eyes.

"Well, Watson, we seem to have fallen upon evil days," said he in afeeble voice, but with something of his old carelessness of manner.

"My dear fellow!" I cried, approaching him.

"Stand back! Stand right back!" said he with the sharp imperiousnesswhich I had associated only with moments of crisis. "If you approachme, Watson, I shall order you out of the house."

"But why?"

"Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?"

Yes, Mrs. Hudson was right. He was more masterful than ever. It waspitiful, however, to see his exhaustion.

"I only wished to help," I explained.

"Exactly! You will help best by doing what you are told."

"Certainly, Holmes."

He relaxed the austerity of his manner.

"You are not angry?" he asked, gasping for breath.

Poor devil, how could I be angry when I saw him lying in such a plightbefore me?

"It's for your own sake, Watson," he croaked.

"For MY sake?"

"I know what is the matter with me. It is a coolie disease fromSumatraa thing that the Dutch know more about than we, though theyhave made little of it up to date. One thing only is certain. It isinfallibly deadly, and it is horribly contagious."

He spoke now with a feverish energy, the long hands twitching andjerking as he motioned me away.

"Contagious by touch, Watsonthat's it, by touch. Keep your distanceand all is well."

"Good heavens, Holmes! Do you suppose that such a consideration weighswith me of an instant? It would not affect me in the case of astranger. Do you imagine it would prevent me from doing my duty to soold a friend?"

Again I advanced, but he repulsed me with a look of furious anger.

"If you will stand there I will talk. If you do not you must leave theroom."

I have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities of Holmes thatI have always deferred to his wishes, even when I least understoodthem. But now all my professional instincts were aroused. Let him bemy master elsewhere, I at least was his in a sick room.

"Holmes," said I, "you are not yourself. A sick man is but a child,and so I will treat you. Whether you like it or not, I will examineyour symptoms and treat you for them."

He looked at me with venomous eyes.

"If I am to have a doctor whether I will or not, let me at least havesomeone in whom I have confidence," said he.

"Then you have none in me?"

"In your friendship, certainly. But facts are facts, Watson, and,after all, you are only a general practitioner with very limitedexperience and mediocre qualifications. It is painful to have to saythese things, but you leave me no choice."

I was bitterly hurt.

"Such a remark is unworthy of you, Holmes. It shows me very clearlythe state of your own nerves. But if you have no confidence in me Iwould not intrude my services. Let me bring Sir Jasper Meek or PenroseFisher, or any of the best men in London. But someone you MUST have,and that is final. If you think that I am going to stand here and seeyou die without either helping you myself or bringing anyone else tohelp you, then you have mistaken your man."

"You mean well, Watson," said the sick man with something between a soband a groan. "Shall I demonstrate your own ignorance? What do youknow, pray, of Tapanuli fever? What do you know of the black Formosacorruption?"

"I have never heard of either."

"There are many problems of disease, many strange pathologicalpossibilities, in the East, Watson." He paused after each sentence tocollect his failing strength. "I have learned so much during somerecent researches which have a medico-criminal aspect. It was in thecourse of them that I contracted this complaint. You can do nothing."

"Possibly not. But I happen to know that Dr. Ainstree, the greatestliving authority upon tropical disease, is now in London. Allremonstrance is useless, Holmes, I am going this instant to fetch him."I turned resolutely to the door.