The Return of Sherlock Holmes

The Return of Sherlock Holmes
A Collection of Holmes Adventures
by
SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

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 Honourable
Ronald Adair under most unusual and inexplicable circumstances. The
public has already learned those particulars of the crime which came
out in the police investigation, but a good deal was suppressed upon
that occasion, since the case for the prosecution was so overwhelmingly
strong that it was not necessary to bring forward all the facts. Only now,
at the end of nearly ten years, am I allowed to supply those missing
links which make up the whole of that remarkable chain. The crime
was of interest in itself, but that interest was as nothing to me compared
to the inconceivable sequel, which afforded me the greatest shock and
surprise of any event in my adventurous life. Even now, after this long
interval, I find myself thrilling as I think of it, and feeling once more
that sudden flood of joy, amazement, and incredulity which utterly
submerged my mind. Let me say to that public, which has shown some
interest in those glimpses which I have occasionally given them of the
thoughts and actions of a very remarkable man, that they are not to
blame me if I have not shared my knowledge with them, for I should
have considered it my first duty to do so, had I not been barred by a
positive prohibition from his own lips, which was only withdrawn upon
the third of last month.

It can be imagined that my close intimacy with Sherlock Holmes had
interested me deeply in crime, and that after his disappearance I never
failed to read with care the various problems which came before the
public. And I even attempted, more than once, for my own private
satisfaction, to employ his methods in their solution, though with
indifferent success. There was none, however, which appealed to me
like this tragedy of Ronald Adair. As I read the evidence at the inquest,
which led up to a verdict of willful murder against some person or
persons unknown, I realized more clearly than I had ever done the loss
which the community had sustained by the death of Sherlock Holmes.
There were points about this strange business which would, I was sure,
have specially appealed to him, and the efforts of the police would have
been supplemented, or more probably anticipated, by the trained
observation and the alert mind of the first criminal agent in Europe. All
day, as I drove upon my round, I turned over the case in my mind and
found no explanation which appeared to me to be adequate. At the risk
of telling a twice-told tale, I will recapitulate the facts as they were
known to the 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 mother had returned from Australia to undergo the operation for
cataract, and she, her son Ronald, and her daughter Hilda were living
together at 427 Park Lane. The youth moved in the best society--had,
so far as was known, no enemies and no particular vices. He had been
engaged to Miss Edith Woodley, of Carstairs, but the engagement had
been broken off by mutual consent some months before, and there was
no sign that it had left any very profound feeling behind it. For the rest
{sic} the man's life moved in a narrow and conventional circle, for his
habits were quiet and his nature unemotional. Yet it was upon this
easy-going young aristocrat that death came, in most strange and
unexpected form, between the hours of ten and eleven-twenty on the
night of March 30, 1894.
Ronald Adair was fond of cards--playing continually, but never for
such stakes 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 day of his death, he had played a rubber of whist at the latter
club. He had also played there in the afternoon. The evidence of those
who had played with him-- Mr. Murray, Sir John Hardy, and Colonel
Moran--showed that the 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 a considerable one, and such a loss could not in any
way affect him. He had played nearly every day at one club or other,
but he was a cautious player, and usually rose a winner. It came out in
evidence