I once remarked that I was the means of introducing two cases to the notice of Mr Sherlock Holmes. I have already set down the details of the adventure of the Engineer's Thumb; but the episode of Colonel Warburton's madness, although not containing the drama of the first, demonstrated my friend's remarkable powers to such a degree that I have long wished to lay the details before the public. Circumstances now permit this, so I hasten to put pen to paper.

It was early in the year 1889, and my days had been busy with my new practice, so I had seen little of my friend. That he had been engaged in several cases I had deduced from his intimations on one of my few visits to our old rooms; but my new situation had rendered my assistance impossible, and I had to a large extent lost contact with him.

My day had been a long and tiring one; by evening I was ready for some well-won ease, and was perusing a copy of the Lancet while Mary sat at her desk, writing a letter. Eventually, the effort of reading became too onerous and I sat back in my armchair, my eyes closing; and it was with some resignation that I heard the door-bell sound. Mary looked up.

`Poor John,' she said with a sigh, `it really is too bad, a patient at this time of night, and on such a day as this has been for you. I could not but agree as the maid came into the room, bearing a card upon a tray. I picked it up, then gave an exclamation as I read aloud the name on it.

`Captain Gavin Warburton,' repeated Mary. `Is he a friend of yours, John?'

`Yes. Warburton was in the Fusiliers when I served in Afghanistan. He was one of the officers who, like myself, arrived in Bombay to find that our regiment had advanced into enemy country. We struck up a friendship on the way to joining our corps.'

The name brought back a host of memories. During the months of my recovery I had heard of young Warburton's rapid advancement. Upon his return to England he had contacted me, and I had dined with him upon one or two occasions. I knew that he had been much involved with his family affairs in Sussex, and I had not seen him for some time.

The maid ushered Warburton into the room, and I rose to grasp his extended hand. He was of medium height, with a ruddy complexion and an open, honest face. After introducing Mary and exchanging pleasantries, I motioned him to a seat, and Mary excused herself. I poured two brandy-and-sodas and, after making sure he was comfortable, sat back, wondering what had brought him to my study at such an hour.

That he was burdened with a trouble of some kind was obvious. For the first few minutes he spoke in a desultory fashion of inconsequential matters, and it was clear that he was attempting to come to grips with a dilemma; but it was not until after I had poured him a second drink that he came to a decision. He took a large sip from the glass, then leaned forward in his chair to address me.

`I've come to you for help, Watson, because I have no one else to whom I can turn. I have read of your work with Mr Sherlock Holmes, and now I appeal to you to persuade your friend to come to my assistance.' He was silent for a moment; when he spoke again it was in a grave, low tone, as if the words cost him a great deal.

`You have not met my father, Watson. It would make this easier if you had, for you would perhaps be able to better understand him and his nature. He served in India, and was there at the time of the Mutiny. He was one of the first officers to arrive in Cawnpore, and saw first-hand the atrocities that had been committed.

`I believe that this had a deeper effect on him than he has ever admitted, although he has seldom spoken of the matter. He returned from England and retired from the Army immediately upon the death of my grandfather in 1858.

`He married shortly after his arrival home, and he and my mother lived very happily together until her death two years ago. It is since that time that I have noticed a marked change in him. Whereas until my mother's death he was always active in the affairs of the village, and our estate, which is extensive, he has now withdrawn almost totally from both, and has given no explanation. The steward is at a loss, and it is this state of affairs which has taken me to the estate many times over the past two years.'

He paused, and I took the opportunity to ask, `Has anyone approached your father and sought an explanation?'

Warburton smiled ruefully. `That is why I wish you knew my father. He is a very . . . forceful man, and I have always been rather intimidated by him. Oh, I have broached matters with him more than once, but I receive no answer beyond the fact that he is tired, and there is no need for him to take as great an interest as before in these mundane affairs.'

`Surely this explanation is not unreasonable?' I enquired. `Following the death of your mother, your father might easily have decided to spend his remaining years in a more quiet fashion.'

`Yes, that is what I thought at first. And yet, after spending so much time with him in recent months, I cannot help but feel that there is a deeper and more subtle explanation for his actions; and that is why I am seeking the help of you and your friend.

`Watson, I believe that my father is going mad!'

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