I.--The Adventure of the Empty House.
IT was in the spring of the year 1894 that all London was interested,and the fashionable world dismayed, by the murder of the HonourableRonald Adair under most unusual and inexplicable circumstances. Thepublic has already learned those particulars of the crime which came outin the police investigation; but a good deal was suppressed upon thatoccasion, since the case for the prosecution was so overwhelminglystrong that it was not necessary to bring forward all the facts. Onlynow, at the end of nearly ten years, am I allowed to supply thosemissing links which make up the whole of that remarkable chain. Thecrime was of interest in itself, but that interest was as nothing tome compared to the inconceivable sequel, which afforded me the greatestshock and surprise of any event in my adventurous life. Even now,after this long interval, I find myself thrilling as I think of it, andfeeling once more that sudden flood of joy, amazement, and incredulitywhich utterly submerged my mind. Let me say to that public which hasshown some interest in those glimpses which I have occasionally giventhem of the thoughts and actions of a very remarkable man that theyare not to blame me if I have not shared my knowledge with them, for Ishould have considered it my first duty to have done so had I not beenbarred by a positive prohibition from his own lips, which was onlywithdrawn upon the third of last month.
It can be imagined that my close intimacy with Sherlock Holmes hadinterested me deeply in crime, and that after his disappearance I neverfailed to read with care the various problems which came beforethe public, and I even attempted more than once for my own privatesatisfaction to employ his methods in their solution, though withindifferent success. There was none, however, which appealed to me likethis tragedy of Ronald Adair. As I read the evidence at the inquest,which led up to a verdict of wilful murder against some person orpersons unknown, I realized more clearly than I had ever done the losswhich the community had sustained by the death of Sherlock Holmes. Therewere points about this strange business which would, I was sure, havespecially appealed to him, and the efforts of the police would have beensupplemented, or more probably anticipated, by the trained observationand the alert mind of the first criminal agent in Europe. All day asI drove upon my round I turned over the case in my mind, and found noexplanation which appeared to me to be adequate. At the risk of tellinga twice-told tale I will recapitulate the facts as they were known tothe public at the conclusion of the inquest.
The Honourable Ronald Adair was the second son of the Earl of Maynooth,at that time Governor of one of the Australian Colonies. Adair's motherhad returned from Australia to undergo the operation for cataract, andshe, her son Ronald, and her daughter Hilda were living together at427, Park Lane. The youth moved in the best society, had, so far as wasknown, no enemies, and no particular vices. He had been engaged to MissEdith Woodley, of Carstairs, but the engagement had been broken off bymutual consent some months before, and there was no sign that it hadleft any very profound feeling behind it. For the rest the man's lifemoved in a narrow and conventional circle, for his habits were quiet andhis nature unemotional. Yet it was upon this easy-going young aristocratthat death came in most strange and unexpected form between the hours often and eleven-twenty on the night of March 30, 1894.
Ronald Adair was fond of cards, playing continually, but never for suchstakes as would hurt him. He was a member of the Baldwin, the Cavendish,and the Bagatelle card clubs. It was shown that after dinner on the dayof his death he had played a rubber of whist at the latter club. He hadalso played there in the afternoon. The evidence of those who had playedwith him--Mr. Murray, Sir John Hardy, and Colonel Moran--showed thatthe game was whist, and that there was a fairly equal fall of the cards.Adair might have lost five pounds, but not more. His fortune was aconsiderable one, and such a loss could not in any way affect him. Hehad played nearly every day at one club or other, but he was a cautiousplayer, and usually rose a winner. It came out in evidence that inpartnership with Colonel Moran he had actually won as much as fourhundred and twenty pounds in a sitting some weeks before from GodfreyMilner and Lord Balmoral. So much for his recent history, as it came outat the inquest.
On the evening of the crime he returned from the club exactly at ten.His mother and sister were out spending the evening with a relation. Theservant deposed that she heard him enter the front room on the secondfloor, generally used as his sitting-room. She had lit a fire there, andas it smoked she had opened the window. No sound was heard from the roomuntil eleven-twenty, the hour of the return of Lady Maynooth and herdaughter. Desiring to say good-night, she had attempted to enter herson's room. The door was locked on the inside, and no answer could begot to their cries and knocking. Help was obtained and the door forced.The unfortunate young man was found lying near the table. His head hadbeen horribly mutilated by an expanding revolver bullet, but no weaponof any sort was to be found in the room. On the table lay two bank-notesfor ten pounds each and seventeen pounds ten in silver and gold, themoney arranged in little piles of varying amount. There were somefigures also upon a sheet of paper with the names of some club friendsopposite to them, from which it was conjectured that before his death hewas endeavouring to make out his losses or winnings at cards.
A minute examination of the circumstances served only to make the casemore complex. In the first place, no reason could be given why theyoung man should have fastened the door upon the inside. There was thepossibility that the murderer had done this and had afterwards escapedby the window. The drop was at least twenty feet, however, and a bed ofcrocuses in full bloom lay beneath. Neither the flowers nor the earthshowed any sign of having been disturbed, nor were there any marksupon the narrow strip of grass which separated the house from the road.Apparently, therefore, it was the young man himself who had fastened thedoor. But how did he come by his death? No one could have climbed up tothe window without leaving traces. Suppose a man had fired through thewindow, it would indeed be a remarkable shot who could with arevolver inflict so deadly a wound. Again, Park Lane is a frequentedthoroughfare, and there is a cab-stand within a hundred yards of thehouse. No one had heard a shot. And yet there was the dead man, andthere the revolver bullet, which had mushroomed out, as soft-nosedbullets will, and so inflicted a wound which must have causedinstantaneous death. Such were the circumstances of the Park LaneMystery, which were further complicated by entire absence of motive,since, as I have said, young Adair was not known to have any enemy, andno attempt had been made to remove the money or valuables in the room.
All day I turned these facts over in my mind, endeavouring to hit uponsome theory which could reconcile them all, and to find that lineof least resistance which my poor friend had declared to be thestarting-point of every investigation. I confess that I made littleprogress. In the evening I strolled across the Park, and found myselfabout six o'clock at the Oxford Street end of Park Lane. A group ofloafers upon the p
avements, all staring up at a particular window,directed me to the house which I had come to see. A tall, thin man withcoloured glasses, whom I strongly suspected of being a plain-clothesdetective, was pointing out some theory of his own, while the otherscrowded round to listen to what he said. I got as near him as I could,but his observations seemed to me to be absurd, so I withdrew again insome disgust. As I did so I struck against an elderly deformed man,who had been behind me, and I knocked down several books which he wascarrying. I remember that as I picked them up I observed the title ofone of them, "The Origin of Tree Worship," and it struck me that thefellow must be some poor bibliophile who, either as a trade or as ahobby, was a collector of obscure volumes. I endeavoured to apologizefor the accident, but it was evident that these books which I had sounfortunately maltreated were very precious objects in the eyes of theirowner. With a snarl of contempt he turned upon his heel, and I saw hiscurved back and white side-whiskers disappear among the throng.
My observations of No. 427, Park Lane did little to clear up the problemin which I was interested. The house was separated from the street bya low wall and railing, the whole not more than five feet high. It wasperfectly easy, therefore, for anyone to get into the garden, but thewindow was entirely inaccessible, since there was no water-pipe oranything which could help the most active man to climb it. More puzzledthan ever I retraced my steps to Kensington. I had not been in my studyfive minutes when the maid entered to say that a person desired tosee me. To my astonishment it was none other than my strange oldbook-collector, his sharp, wizened face peering out from a frame ofwhite hair, and his precious volumes, a dozen of them at least, wedgedunder his right arm.
"You're surprised to see me, sir," said he, in a strange, croakingvoice.
I acknowledged that I was.
"Well, I've a conscience, sir, and when I chanced to see you go intothis house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to myself, I'll juststep in and see that kind gentleman, and tell him that if I was a bitgruff in my manner there was not any harm meant, and that I am muchobliged to him for picking up my books."
"You make too much of a trifle," said I. "May I ask how you knew who Iwas?"
"Well, sir, if it isn't too great a liberty, I am a neighbour of yours,for you'll find my little bookshop at the corner of Church Street,and very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect yourself, sir;here's 'British Birds,' and 'Catullus,' and 'The Holy War'--a bargainevery one of them. With five volumes you could just fill that gap onthat second shelf. It looks untidy, does it not, sir?"
I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I turned againSherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table. I roseto my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and thenit appears that I must have fainted for the first and the last timein my life. Certainly a grey mist swirled before my eyes, and when itcleared I found my collar-ends undone and the tingling after-taste ofbrandy upon my lips. Holmes was bending over my chair, his flask in hishand.
"My dear Watson," said the well-remembered voice, "I owe you a thousandapologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected."
I gripped him by the arm.
"Holmes!" I cried. "Is it really you? Can it indeed be that you arealive? Is it possible that you succeeded in climbing out of that awfulabyss?"
"Wait a moment," said he. "Are you sure that you are really fit todiscuss things? I have given you a serious shock by my unnecessarilydramatic reappearance."
"I am all right, but indeed, Holmes, I can hardly believe my eyes. Goodheavens, to think that you--you of all men--should be standing in mystudy!" Again I gripped him by the sleeve and felt the thin, sinewy armbeneath it. "Well, you're not a spirit, anyhow," said I. "My dear chap,I am overjoyed to see you. Sit down and tell me how you came alive outof that dreadful chasm."
He sat opposite to me and lit a cigarette in his old nonchalant manner.He was dressed in the seedy frock-coat of the book merchant, but therest of that individual lay in a pile of white hair and old books uponthe table. Holmes looked even thinner and keener than of old, but therewas a dead-white tinge in his aquiline face which told me that his liferecently had not been a healthy one.
"I am glad to stretch myself, Watson," said he. "It is no joke when atall man has to take a foot off his stature for several hours on end.Now, my dear fellow, in the matter of these explanations we have, ifI may ask for your co-operation, a hard and dangerous night's work infront of us. Perhaps it would be better if I gave you an account of thewhole situation when that work is finished."
"I am full of curiosity. I should much prefer to hear now."