It was in the summer of ’89， not long after my marriage， thatthe events occurred which I am now about to summarise. I hadreturned to civil practice and had finally abandoned Holmes inhis Baker Street rooms， although I continually visited him andoccasionally even persuaded him to forgo his Bohemian habits sofar as to come and visit us. My practice had steadily increased， andas I happened to live at no very great distance from PaddingtonStation， I got a few patients from among the officials. One ofthese， whom I had cured of a painful and lingering disease， wasnever weary of advertising my virtues and of endeavouring to sendme on every sufferer over whom he might have any influence.
One morning， at a little before seven o’clock， I was awakenedby the maid tapping at the door to announce that two men hadcome from Paddington and were waiting in the consulting-room. Idressed hurriedly， for I knew by experience that railway cases wereseldom trivial， and hastened downstairs. As I descended， my oldally， the guard， came out of the room and closed the door tightlybehind him.
“I’ve got him here，” he whispered， jerking his thumb over hisshoulder； “he’s all right.”
“What is it， then？” I asked， for his manner suggested that it wassome strange creature which he had caged up in my room.
“It’s a new patient，” he whispered. “I thought I’d bring himround myself； then he couldn’t slip away. There he is， all safe andsound. I must go now， Doctor； I have my dooties， just the sameas you.” And off he went， this trusty tout， without even giving metime to thank him.
I entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated bythe table. He was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed with asoft cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books. Round oneof his hands he had a handkerchief wrapped， which was mottledall over with bloodstains. He was young， not more than five-andtwenty，I should say， with a strong， masculine face； but he wasexceedingly pale and gave me the impression of a man who wassuffering from some strong agitation， which it took all his strengthof mind to control.
“I am sorry to knock you up so early， Doctor，” said he， “but I havehad a very serious accident during the night. I came in by train thismorning， and on inquiring at Paddington as to where I might finda doctor， a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me here. I gave themaid 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， hydraulicengineer， 16A， Victoria Street （3d floor）.” That was the name， style，and abode of my morning visitor. “I regret that I have kept youwaiting，” said I， sitting down in my library-chair. “You are freshfrom a night journey， I understand， which is in itself a monotonousoccupation.”
“Oh， my night could not be called monotonous，” said he， andlaughed. He laughed very heartily， with a high， ringing note，leaning back in his chair and shaking his sides. All my medicalinstincts rose up against that laugh.
“Stop it！” I cried； “pull yourself together！” and I poured outsome water from a caraffe.
It was useless， however. He was off in one of those hystericaloutbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisisis over and gone. Presently he came to himself once more， veryweary and pale-looking.
“I have been making a fool of myself，” he gasped.
“Not at all. Drink this.” I dashed some brandy into the water，and the colour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.
“That’s better！” said he. “And now， Doctor， perhaps you wouldkindly attend to my thumb， or rather to the place where mythumb used to be.”
He unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gaveeven my hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were fourprotruding fingers and a horrid red， spongy surface where thethumb should have been. It had been hacked or torn right outfrom the roots.
“Good heavens！” I cried， “this is a terrible injury. It must havebled considerably.”
“Yes， it did. I fainted when it was done， and I think that I musthave been senseless for a long time. When I came to I found thatit was still bleeding， so I tied one end of my handkerchief verytightly round the wrist and braced it up with a twig.”
“Excellent！ You should have been a surgeon.”
“It is a question of hydraulics， you see， and came within my ownprovince.”
“This has been done，” said I， examining the wound， “by a veryheavy and sharp instrument.”
“A thing like a cleaver，” said he.
“An accident， I presume？”
“By no means.”
“What！ a murderous attack？”
“Very murderous indeed.”
“You horrify me.”
I sponged the wound， cleaned it， dressed it， and finally coveredit over with cotton wadding and carbolised bandages. He lay backwithout wincing， though he bit his lip from time to time.
“How is that？” I asked when I had finished.
“Capital！ Between your brandy and your bandage， I feel a newman. I was very weak， but I have had a good deal to go through.”
“Perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. It is evidentlytrying to your nerves.”
“Oh， no， not now. I shall have to tell my tale to the police； but，between ourselves， if it were not for the convincing evidence ofthis wound of mine， I should be surprised if they believed mystatement， for it is a very extraordinary one， and I have not muchin the way of proof with which to back it up； and， even if theybelieve me， the clues which I can give them are so vague that it isa question whether justice will be done.”
“Ha！” cried I， “if it is anything in the nature of a problem whichyou desire to see solved， I should strongly recommend you tocome to my friend， Mr. Sherlock Holmes， before you go to theofficial police.”
“Oh， I have heard of that fellow，” answered my visitor， “andI should be very glad if he would take the matter up， though ofcourse I must use the official police as well. Would you give me anintroduction to him？”
“I’ll do better. I’ll take you round to him myself.”
“I should be immensely obliged to you.”
“We’ll call a cab and go together. We shall just be in time to havea little breakfast with him. Do you feel equal to it？”