modische wohnzimmer

the return of sherlock holmesby sir arthur conan doyle chapter i: “the adventure of the empty house” it was in the spring of the year 1894 thatall 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 particularsof the crime which came out in the police investigation; but a good deal was suppressedupon that occasion, since the case for the prosecution was so overwhelmingly strong thatit 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 remarkablechain. the crime was of interest in itself, but thatinterest was as nothing to me compared to the inconceivable sequel, which afforded methe greatest shock and surprise of any event in my adventurous life. even now, after this long interval, i findmyself 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 shownsome interest in those glimpses which i have occasionally given them of the thoughts andactions of a very remarkable man that they

are not to blame me if i have not shared myknowledge with them, for i should have considered it my first duty to have done so had i notbeen barred by a positive prohibition from his own lips, which was only withdrawn uponthe third of last month. it can be imagined that my close intimacywith sherlock holmes had interested me deeply in crime, and that after his disappearancei never failed to read with care the various problems which came before the public, andi even attempted more than once for my own private satisfaction to employ his methodsin their solution, though with indifferent success. there was none, however, which appealed tome like this tragedy of ronald adair.

as i read the evidence at the inquest, whichled up to a verdict of willful murder against some person or persons , i realized more clearlythan i had ever done the loss which the community had sustained by the death of sherlock holmes. there were points about this strange businesswhich would, i was sure, have specially appealed to him, and the efforts of the police wouldhave been supplemented, or more probably anticipated, by the trained observation and the alert mindof the first criminal agent in europe. all day as i drove upon my round i turnedover 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 iwill recapitulate the facts as they were known

to the public at the conclusion of the inquest. the honourable ronald adair was the secondson of the earl of maynooth, at that time governor of one of the australian colonies. adair’s mother had returned from australiato undergo the operation for cataract, and she, her son ronald, and her daughter hildawere 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 the man’s life moved in a narrowand conventional circle, for his habits were quiet and his nature unemotional. yet it was upon this easy-going young aristocratthat death came in most strange and unexpected form between the hours of ten and eleven-twentyon 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 dayof 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 withhim —mr. murray, sir john hardy, and colonel moran—showed that the game was whist, andthat there was a fairly equal fall of the cards. adair might have lost five pounds, but notmore. his fortune was a considerable one, and sucha loss could not in any way affect him. he had played nearly every day at one clubor other, but he was a cautious player, and usually rose a winner. it came out in evidence that in partnershipwith colonel moran he had actually won as

much as four hundred and twenty pounds ina sitting some weeks before from godfrey milner and lord balmoral. so much for his recent history, as it cameout at the inquest. on the evening of the crime he returned fromthe club exactly at ten. his mother and sister were out spending theevening with a relation. the servant deposed that she heard him enterthe front room on the second floor, generally used as his sitting-room. she had lit a fire there, and as it smokedshe had opened the window. no sound was heard from the room until eleven-twenty,the hour of the return of lady maynooth and

her daughter. desiring to say good-night, she had attemptedto enter her son’s room. the door was locked on the inside, and noanswer could be got to their cries and knocking. help was obtained and the door forced. the unfortunate young man was found lyingnear the table. his head had been horribly mutilated by anexpanding revolver bullet, but no weapon of any sort was to be found in the room. on the table lay two bank-notes for ten poundseach and seventeen pounds ten in silver and gold, the money arranged in little piles ofvarying amount.

there were some figures also upon a sheetof paper with the names of some club friends opposite to them, from which it was conjecturedthat before his death he was endeavouring to make out his losses or winnings at cards. a minute examination of the circumstancesserved only to make the case more complex. in the first place, no reason could be givenwhy the young man should have fastened the door upon the inside. there was the possibility that the murdererhad done this and had afterwards escaped by the window. the drop was at least twenty feet, however,and a bed of crocuses in full bloom lay beneath.

neither the flowers nor the earth showed anysign of having been disturbed, nor were there any marks upon the narrow strip of grass whichseparated the house from the road. apparently, therefore, it was the young manhimself who had fastened the door. but how did he come by his death? no one could have climbed up to the windowwithout leaving traces. suppose a man had fired through the window,it would indeed be a remarkable shot who could with a revolver inflict so deadly a wound. again, park lane is a frequented thoroughfare,and there is a cab-stand within a hundred yards of the house.

no one had heard a shot. and yet there was the dead man, and therethe revolver bullet, which had mushroomed out, as soft-nosed bullets will, and so inflicteda wound which must have caused instantaneous death. such were the circumstances of the park lanemystery, which were further complicated by entire absence of motive, since, as i havesaid, young adair was not known to have any enemy, and no attempt had been made to removethe money or valuables in the room. all day i turned these facts over in my mind,endeavouring to hit upon some theory which could reconcile them all, and to find thatline of least resistance which my poor friend

had declared to be the starting-point of everyinvestigation. i confess that i made little progress. in the evening i strolled across the park,and found myself about six o’clock at the oxford street end of park lane. a group of loafers upon the pavements, allstaring up at a particular window, directed me to the house which i had come to see. a tall, thin man with coloured glasses, whomi strongly suspected of being a plain-clothes detective, was pointing out some theory ofhis own, while the others crowded round to listen to what he said.

i got as near him as i could, but his observationsseemed to me to be absurd, so i withdrew again in some disgust. as i did so i struck against an elderly deformedman, who had been behind me, and i knocked down several books which he was carrying. i remember that as i picked them up i observedthe title of one 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 a hobby, was a collectorof obscure volumes. i endeavoured to apologize for the accident,but it was evident that these books which i had so unfortunately maltreated were veryprecious objects in the eyes of their owner.

with a snarl of contempt he turned upon hisheel, and i saw his curved back and white side-whiskers disappear among the throng. my observations of no. 427, park lane didlittle to clear up the problem in 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 was perfectly easy, therefore, for anyoneto get into the garden, but the window was entirely inaccessible, since there was nowater-pipe or anything which could help the most active man to climb it.

more puzzled than ever i retraced my stepsto kensington. i had not been in my study five minutes whenthe maid entered to say that a person desired to see me. to my astonishment it was none other thanmy strange old book-collector, his sharp, wizened face peering out from a frame of whitehair, and his precious volumes, a dozen of them at least, wedged under his right arm. “you’re surprised to see me, sir,” saidhe, in a strange, croaking voice. i acknowledged that i was. “well, i’ve a conscience, sir, and wheni chanced to see you go into this house, as

i came hobbling after you, i thought to myself,i’ll just step in and see that kind gentleman, and tell him that if i was a bit gruff inmy manner there was not any harm meant, and that i am much obliged to him for pickingup my books.” “you make too much of a trifle,” saidi. “may i ask how you knew who i was?” “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 churchstreet, 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 bargain every one ofthem. with five volumes you could just fill thatgap on that second shelf.

it looks untidy, does it not, sir?” i moved my head to look at the cabinet behindme. when i turned again sherlock holmes was standingsmiling at me across my study table. i rose to my feet, stared at him for someseconds in utter amazement, and then it appears that i must have fainted for the first andthe last time in my life. certainly a grey mist swirled before my eyes,and when it cleared i found my collar-ends undone and the tingling after-taste of brandyupon my lips. holmes was bending over my chair, his flaskin his hand. “my dear watson,” said the well-rememberedvoice, “i owe you a thousand apologies.

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 are alive? is it possible that you succeeded in climbingout of that awful abyss?” “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 canhardly believe my eyes. good heavens, to think that you—you of allmen— should be standing in my study!” again i gripped him by the sleeve and feltthe thin, sinewy arm beneath 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 cigarettein his old nonchalant manner. he was dressed in the seedy frock-coat ofthe book merchant, but the rest of that individual

lay in a pile of white hair and old booksupon the table. holmes looked even thinner and keener thanof old, but there was 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 a tall man has to takea foot off his stature for several hours on end. now, my dear fellow, in the matter of theseexplanations we have, if i may ask for your co-operation, a hard and dangerous night’swork in front of us. perhaps it would be better if i gave you anaccount of the whole situation when that work

is finished.” “i am full of curiosity. i should much prefer to hear now.” “you’ll come with me to-night?” “when you like and where you like.” “this is indeed like the old days. we shall have time for a mouthful of dinnerbefore we need go. well, then, about that chasm. i had no serious difficulty in getting outof it, for the very simple reason that i never

was in it.” “you never were in it?” “no, watson, i never was in it. my note to you was absolutely genuine. i had little doubt that i had come to theend of my career when i perceived the somewhat sinister figure of the late professor moriartystanding upon the narrow pathway which led to safety. i read an inexorable purpose in his grey eyes. i exchanged some remarks with him, therefore,and obtained his courteous permission to write

the short note which you afterwards received. i left it with my cigarette-box and my stickand i walked along the pathway, moriarty still at my heels. when i reached the end i stood at bay. he drew no weapon, but he rushed at me andthrew his long arms around me. he knew that his own game was up, and wasonly anxious to revenge himself upon me. we tottered together upon the brink of thefall. i have some knowledge, however, of baritsu,or the japanese system of wrestling, which has more than once been very useful to me.

i slipped through his grip, and he with ahorrible scream kicked madly for a few seconds and clawed the air with both his hands. but for all his efforts he could not get hisbalance, and over he went. with my face over the brink i saw him fallfor a long way. then he struck a rock, bounded off, and splashedinto the water.” i listened with amazement to this explanation,which holmes delivered between the puffs of his cigarette. “but the tracks!” “i saw with my own eyes that two went downthe path and none returned.”

“it came about in this way. the instant that the professor had disappearedit struck me what a really extraordinarily lucky chance fate had placed in my way. i knew that moriarty was not the only manwho had sworn my death. there were at least three others whose desirefor vengeance upon me would only be increased by the death of their leader. they were all most dangerous men. one or other would certainly get me. on the other hand, if all the world was convincedthat i was dead they would take liberties,

these men, they would lay themselves open,and sooner or later i could destroy them. then it would be time for me to announce thati was still in the land of the living. so rapidly does the brain act that i believei had thought this all out before professor moriarty had reached the bottom of the reichenbachfall. “i stood up and examined the rocky wallbehind me. in your picturesque account of the matter,which i read with great interest some months later, you assert that the wall was sheer. this was not literally true. a few small footholds presented themselves,and there was some indication of a ledge.

the cliff is so high that to climb it allwas an obvious impossibility, and it was equally impossible to make my way along the wet pathwithout leaving some tracks. i might, it is true, have reversed my boots,as i have done on similar occasions, but the sight of three sets of tracks in one directionwould certainly have suggested a deception. on the whole, then, it was best that i shouldrisk the climb. it was not a pleasant business, watson. the fall roared beneath me. i am not a fanciful person, but i give youmy word that i seemed to hear moriarty’s voice screaming at me out of the abyss.

a mistake would have been fatal. more than once, as tufts of grass came outin my hand or my foot slipped in the wet notches of the rock, i thought that i was gone. but i struggled upwards, and at last i reacheda ledge several feet deep and covered with soft green moss, where i could lie unseenin the most perfect comfort. there i was stretched when you, my dear watson,and all your following were investigating in the most sympathetic and inefficient mannerthe circumstances of my death. “at last, when you had all formed your inevitableand totally erroneous conclusions, you departed for the hotel and i was left alone.

i had imagined that i had reached the endof my adventures, but a very unexpected occurrence showed me that there were surprises stillin store for me. a huge rock, falling from above, boomed pastme, struck the path, and bounded over into the chasm. for an instant i thought that it was an accident;but a moment later, looking up, i saw a man’s head against the darkening sky, and anotherstone struck the very ledge upon which i was stretched, within a foot of my head. of course, the meaning of this was obvious. moriarty had not been alone.

a confederate—and even that one glance hadtold me how dangerous a man that confederate was— had kept guard while the professorhad attacked me. from a distance, unseen by me, he had beena witness of his friend’s death and of my escape. he had waited, and then, making his way roundto the top of the cliff, he had endeavoured to succeed where his comrade had failed. “i did not take long to think about it,watson. again i saw that grim face look over the cliff,and i knew that it was the precursor of another stone.

i scrambled down on to the path. i don’t think i could have done it in coldblood. it was a hundred times more difficult thangetting up. but i had no time to think of the danger,for another stone sang past me as i hung by my hands from the edge of the ledge. halfway down i slipped, but by the blessingof god i landed, torn and bleeding, upon the path. i took to my heels, did ten miles over themountains in the darkness, and a week later i found myself in florence with the certaintythat no one in the world knew what had become

of me. “i had only one confidant—my brother mycroft. i owe you many apologies, my dear watson,but it was all-important that it should be thought i was dead, and it is quite certainthat you would not have written so convincing an account of my unhappy end had you not yourselfthought that it was true. several times during the last three yearsi have taken up my pen to write to you, but always i feared lest your affectionate regardfor me should tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray my secret. for that reason i turned away from you thisevening when you upset my books, for i was

in danger at the time, and any show of surpriseand emotion upon your part might have drawn attention to my identity and led to the mostdeplorable and irreparable results. as to mycroft, i had to confide in him inorder to obtain the money which i needed. the course of events in london did not runso well as i had hoped, for the trial of the moriarty gang left two of its most dangerousmembers, my own most vindictive enemies, at liberty. i traveled for two years in tibet, therefore,and amused myself by visiting lhassa and spending some days with the head llama. you may have read of the remarkable explorationsof a norwegian named sigerson, but i am sure

that it never occurred to you that you werereceiving news of your friend. i then passed through persia, looked in atmecca, and paid a short but interesting visit to the khalifa at khartoum, the results ofwhich i have communicated to the foreign office. returning to france i spent some months ina research into the coal-tar derivatives, which i conducted in a laboratory at montpelier,in the south of france. having concluded this to my satisfaction,and learning that only one of my enemies was now left in london, i was about to returnwhen my movements were hastened by the news of this very remarkable park lane mystery,which not only appealed to me by its own merits, but which seemed to offer some most peculiarpersonal opportunities.

i came over at once to london, called in myown person at baker street, threw mrs. hudson into violent hysterics, and found that mycrofthad preserved my rooms and my papers exactly as they had always been. so it was, my dear watson, that at two o’clockto-day i found myself in my old arm-chair in my own old room, and only wishing thati could have seen my old friend watson in the other chair which he has so often adorned.” such was the remarkable narrative to whichi listened on that april evening—a narrative which would have been utterly incredible tome had it not been confirmed by the actual sight of the tall, spare figure and the keen,eager face, which i had never thought to see

again. in some manner he had learned of my own sadbereavement, and his sympathy was shown in his manner rather than in his words. “work is the best antidote to sorrow, mydear watson,” said he, “and i have a piece of work for us both to-night which, if wecan bring it to a successful conclusion, will in itself justify a man’s life on this planet.” in vain i begged him to tell me more. “you will hear and see enough before morning,”he answered. “we have three years of the past to discuss.

let that suffice until half-past nine, whenwe start upon the notable adventure of the empty house.” it was indeed like old times when, at thathour, i found myself seated beside him in a hansom, my revolver in my pocket and thethrill of adventure in my heart. holmes was cold and stern and silent. as the gleam of the street-lamps flashed uponhis austere features i saw that his brows were drawn down in thought and his thin lipscompressed. i knew not what wild beast we were about tohunt down in the dark jungle of criminal london, but i was well assured from the bearing ofthis master huntsman that the adventure was

a most grave one, while the sardonic smilewhich occasionally broke through his ascetic gloom boded little good for the object ofour quest. i had imagined that we were bound for bakerstreet, but holmes stopped the cab at the corner of cavendish square. i observed that as he stepped out he gavea most searching glance to right and left, and at every subsequent street corner he tookthe utmost pains to assure that he was not followed. our route was certainly a singular one. holmes’s knowledge of the byways of londonwas extraordinary, and on this occasion he

passed rapidly, and with an assured step,through a network of mews and stables the very existence of which i had never known. we emerged at last into a small road, linedwith old, gloomy houses, which led us into manchester street, and so to blandford street. here he turned swiftly down a narrow passage,passed through a wooden gate into a deserted yard, and then opened with a key the backdoor of a house. we entered together and he closed it behindus. the place was pitch-dark, but it was evidentto me that it was an empty house. our feet creaked and crackled over the bareplanking, and my outstretched hand touched

a wall from which the paper was hanging inribbons. holmes’s cold, thin fingers closed roundmy wrist and led me forwards down a long hall, until i dimly saw the murky fanlight overthe door. here holmes turned suddenly to the right,and we found ourselves in a large, square, empty room, heavily shadowed in the corners,but faintly lit in the centre from the lights of the street beyond. there was no lamp near and the window wasthick with dust, so that we could only just discern each other’s figures within. my companion put his hand upon my shoulderand his lips close to my ear.

“do you know where we are?” he whispered. “surely that is baker street,” i answered,staring through the dim window. “exactly. we are in camden house, which stands oppositeto our own old quarters.” “but why are we here?” “because it commands so excellent a viewof that picturesque pile. might i trouble you, my dear watson, to drawa little nearer to the window, taking every precaution not to show yourself, and thento look up at our old rooms—the starting-point of so many of our little adventures?

we will see if my three years of absence haveentirely taken away my power to surprise you.” a housei crept forward and looked across at the familiar window. as my eyes fell upon it i gave a gasp anda cry of amazement. the blind was down and a strong light wasburning in the room. the shadow of a man who was seated in a chairwithin was thrown in hard, black outline upon the luminous screen of the window. there was no mistaking the poise of the head,the squareness of the shoulders, the sharpness of the features.

the face was turned half-round, and the effectwas that of one of those black silhouettes which our grandparents loved to frame. it was a perfect reproduction of holmes. so amazed was i that i threw out my hand tomake sure that the man himself was standing beside me. he was quivering with silent laughter. “well?” said he. “good heavens!” “it is marvelous.”

“i trust that age doth not wither nor customstale my infinite variety,’” said he, and i recognized in his voice the joy andpride which the artist takes in his own creation. “it really is rather like me, is it not?” “i should be prepared to swear that it wasyou.” “the credit of the execution is due to monsieuroscar meunier, of grenoble, who spent some days in doing the moulding. it is a bust in wax. the rest i arranged myself during my visitto baker street this afternoon.” “but why?”

“because, my dear watson, i had the strongestpossible reason for wishing certain people to think that i was there when i was reallyelsewhere.” “and you thought the rooms were watched?” “i knew that they were watched.” “by whom?” “by my old enemies, watson. by the charming society whose leader liesin the reichenbach fall. you must remember that they knew, and onlythey knew, that i was still alive. sooner or later they believed that i shouldcome back to my rooms.

they watched them continuously, and this morningthey saw me arrive.” “how do you know?” “because i recognized their sentinel wheni glanced out of my window. he is a harmless enough fellow, parker byname, a garroter by trade, and a remarkable performer upon the jew’s harp. i cared nothing for him. but i cared a great deal for the much moreformidable person who was behind him, the bosom friend of moriarty, the man who droppedthe rocks over the cliff, the most cunning and dangerous criminal in london.

that is the man who is after me to-night,watson, and that is the man who is quite unaware that we are after him.” my friend’s plans were gradually revealingthemselves. from this convenient retreat the watcherswere being watched and the trackers tracked. that angular shadow up yonder was the baitand we were the hunters. in silence we stood together in the darknessand watched the hurrying figures who passed and repassed in front of us. holmes was silent and motionless; but i couldtell that he was keenly alert, and that his eyes were fixed intently upon the stream ofpassers-by.

it was a bleak and boisterous night, and thewind whistled shrilly down the long street. many people were moving to and fro, most ofthem muffled in their coats and cravats. once or twice it seemed to me that i had seenthe same figure before, and i especially noticed two men who appeared to be sheltering themselvesfrom the wind in the doorway of a house some distance up the street. i tried to draw my companion’s attentionto them, but he gave a little ejaculation of impatience and continued to stare intothe street. more than once he fidgeted with his feet andtapped rapidly with his fingers upon the wall. it was evident to me that he was becominguneasy and that his plans were not working

out altogether as he had hoped. at last, as midnight approached and the streetgradually cleared, he paced up and down the room in uncontrollable agitation. i was about to make some remark to him wheni raised my eyes to the lighted window and again experienced almost as great a surpriseas before. i clutched holmes’s arm and pointed upwards. “the shadow has moved!” it was, indeed, no longer the profile, butthe back, which was turned towards us. three years had certainly not smoothed theasperities of his temper or his impatience

with a less active intelligence than his own. “of course it has moved,” said he. “am i such a farcical bungler, watson, thati should erect an obvious dummy and expect that some of the sharpest men in europe wouldbe deceived by it? we have been in this room two hours, and mrs.hudson has made some change in that figure eight times, or once in every quarter of anhour. she works it from the front so that her shadowmay never be seen. ah!” he drew in his breath with a shrill, excitedintake.

in the dim light i saw his head thrown forward,his whole attitude rigid with attention. outside, the street was absolutely deserted. those two men might still be crouching inthe doorway, but i could no longer see them. all was still and dark, save only that brilliantyellow screen in front of us with the black figure outlined upon its centre. again in the utter silence i heard that thin,sibilant note which spoke of intense suppressed excitement. an instant later he pulled me back into theblackest corner of the room, and i felt his warning hand upon my lips.

the fingers which clutched me were quivering. never had i known my friend more moved, andyet the dark street still stretched lonely and motionless before us. but suddenly i was aware of that which hiskeener senses had already distinguished. a low, stealthy sound came to my ears, notfrom the direction of baker street, but from the back of the very house in which we layconcealed. a door opened and shut. an instant later steps crept down the passage—stepswhich were meant to be silent, but which reverberated harshly through the empty house.

holmes crouched back against the wall andi did the same, my hand closing upon the handle of my revolver. peering through the gloom, i saw the vagueoutline of a man, a shade blacker than the blackness of the open door. he stood for an instant, and then he creptforward, crouching, menacing, into the room. he was within three yards of us, this sinisterfigure, and i had braced myself to meet his spring, before i realized that he had no ideaof our presence. he passed close beside us, stole over to thewindow, and very softly and noiselessly raised it for half a foot.

as he sank to the level of this opening thelight of the street, no longer dimmed by the dusty glass, fell full upon his face. the man seemed to be beside himself with excitement. his two eyes shone like stars and his featureswere working convulsively. he was an elderly man, with a thin, projectingnose, a high, bald forehead, and a huge grizzled moustache. an opera-hat was pushed to the back of hishead, and an evening dress shirt-front gleamed out through his open overcoat. his face was gaunt and swarthy, scored withdeep, savage lines.

in his hand he carried what appeared to bea stick, but as he laid it down upon the floor it gave a metallic clang. then from the pocket of his overcoat he drewa bulky object, and he busied himself in some task which ended with a loud, sharp click,as if a spring or bolt had fallen into its place. still kneeling upon the floor he bent forwardand threw all his weight and strength upon some lever, with the result that there camea long, whirling, grinding noise, ending once more in a powerful click. he straightened himself then, and i saw thatwhat he held in his hand was a sort of gun,

with a curiously misshapen butt. he opened it at the breech, put somethingin, and snapped the breech-block. then, crouching down, he rested the end ofthe barrel upon the ledge of the open window, and i saw his long moustache droop over thestock and his eye gleam as it peered along the sights. i heard a little sigh of satisfaction as hecuddled the butt into his shoulder, and saw that amazing target, the black man on theyellow ground, standing clear at the end of his fore sight. for an instant he was rigid and motionless.

then his finger tightened on the trigger. there was a strange, loud whiz and a long,silvery tinkle of broken glass. at that instant holmes sprang like a tigeron to the marksman’s back and hurled him flat upon his face. he was up again in a moment, and with convulsivestrength he seized holmes by the throat; but i struck him on the head with the butt ofmy revolver and he dropped again upon the floor. i fell upon him, and as i held him my comradeblew a shrill call upon a whistle. there was the clatter of running feet uponthe pavement, and two policemen in uniform,

with one plain-clothes detective, rushed throughthe front entrance and into the room. “that you, lestrade?” said holmes. “yes, mr. holmes. i took the job myself. it’s good to see you back in london, sir.” “i think you want a little unofficial help. three undetected murders in one year won’tdo, lestrade. but you handled the molesey mystery with lessthan your usual—that’s to say, you handled it fairly well.”

we had all risen to our feet, our prisonerbreathing hard, with a stalwart constable on each side of him. already a few loiterers had begun to collectin the street. holmes stepped up to the window, closed it,and dropped the blinds. lestrade had produced two candles and thepolicemen had uncovered their lanterns. i was able at last to have a good look atour prisoner. it was a tremendously virile and yet sinisterface which was turned towards us. with the brow of a philosopher above and thejaw of a sensualist below, the man must have started with great capacities for good orfor evil.

but one could not look upon his cruel blueeyes, with their drooping, cynical lids, or upon the fierce, aggressive nose and the threatening,deep-lined brow, without reading nature’s plainest danger-signals. he took no heed of any of us, but his eyeswere fixed upon holmes’s face with an expression in which hatred and amazement were equallyblended. “you fiend!” he kept on muttering. “you clever, clever fiend!” “ah, colonel!” said holmes, arranginghis rumpled collar; “‘journeys end in lovers’ meetings,’ as the old play says.

i don’t think i have had the pleasure ofseeing you since you favoured me with those attentions as i lay on the ledge above thereichenbach fall.” the colonel still stared at my friend likea man in a trance. “you cunning, cunning fiend!” was allthat he could say. “i have not introduced you yet,” saidholmes. “this, gentlemen, is colonel sebastian moran,once of her majesty’s indian army, and the best heavy game shot that our eastern empirehas ever produced. i believe i am correct, colonel, in sayingthat your bag of tigers still remains unrivalled?” the fierce old man said nothing, but stillglared at my companion; with his savage eyes

and bristling moustache he was wonderfullylike a tiger himself. “i wonder that my very simple stratagemcould deceive so old a shikari,” said holmes. “it must be very familiar to you. have you not tethered a young kid under atree, lain above it with your rifle, and waited for the bait to bring up your tiger? this empty house is my tree and you are mytiger. you have possibly had other guns in reservein case there should be several tigers, or in the unlikely supposition of your own aimfailing you. these,” he pointed around, “are my otherguns.

the parallel is exact.” colonel moran sprang forward, with a snarlof rage, but the constables dragged him back. the fury upon his face was terrible to lookat. “i confess that you had one small surprisefor me,” said holmes. “i did not anticipate that you would yourselfmake use of this empty house and this convenient front window. i had imagined you as operating from the street,where my friend lestrade and his merry men were awaiting you. with that exception all has gone as i expected.”

colonel moran turned to the official detective. “you may or may not have just cause forarresting me,” said he, “but at least there can be no reason why i should submitto the gibes of this person. if i am in the hands of the law let thingsbe done in a legal way.” “well, that’s reasonable enough,” saidlestrade. “nothing further you have to say, mr. holmes,before we go?” holmes had picked up the powerful air-gunfrom the floor and was examining its mechanism. “an admirable and unique weapon,” saidhe, “noiseless and of tremendous power. i knew von herder, the blind german mechanic,who constructed it to the order of the late

professor moriarty. for years i have been aware of its existence,though i have never before had the opportunity of handling it. i commend it very specially to your attention,lestrade, and also the bullets which fit it.” “you can trust us to look after that, mr.holmes,” said lestrade, as the whole party moved towards the door. “anything further to say?” “only to ask what charge you intend to prefer?” “what charge, sir?

why, of course, the attempted murder of mr.sherlock holmes.” “not so, lestrade. i do not propose to appear in the matter atall. to you, and to you only, belongs the creditof the remarkable arrest which you have effected. yes, lestrade, i congratulate you! with your usual happy mixture of cunning andaudacity you have got him.” “got him! got whom, mr. holmes?” “the man that the whole force has been seekingin vain— colonel sebastian moran, who shot

the honourable ronald adair with an expandingbullet from an air-gun through the open window of the second-floor front of no. 427, parklane, upon the 30th of last month. that’s the charge, lestrade. and now, watson, if you can endure the draughtfrom a broken window, i think that half an hour in my study over a cigar may afford yousome profitable amusement.” our old chambers had been left unchanged throughthe supervision of mycroft holmes and the immediate care of mrs. hudson. as i entered i saw, it is true, an unwontedtidiness, but the old landmarks were all in their place.

there were the chemical corner and the acid-stained,deal-topped table. there upon a shelf was the row of formidablescrap-books and books of reference which many of our fellow-citizens would have been soglad to burn. the diagrams, the violin-case, and the pipe-rack—eventhe persian slipper which contained the tobacco—all met my eyes as i glanced round me. there were two occupants of the room— onemrs. hudson, who beamed upon us both as we entered; the other the strange dummy whichhad played so important a part in the evening’s adventures. it was a wax-coloured model of my friend,so admirably done that it was a perfect facsimile.

it stood on a small pedestal table with anold dressing-gown of holmes’s so draped round it that the illusion from the streetwas absolutely perfect. “i hope you preserved all precautions, mrs.hudson?” said holmes. “i went to it on my knees, sir, just asyou told me.” “excellent. you carried the thing out very well. did you observe where the bullet went?” “yes, sir. i’m afraid it has spoilt your beautifulbust, for it passed right through the head

and flattened itself on the wall. i picked it up from the carpet. here it is!” holmes held it out to me. “a soft revolver bullet, as you perceive,watson. there’s genius in that, for who would expectto find such a thing fired from an air-gun. all right, mrs. hudson, i am much obligedfor your assistance. and now, watson, let me see you in your oldseat once more, for there are several points which i should like to discuss with you.”

he had thrown off the seedy frock-coat, andnow he was the holmes of old in the mouse-coloured dressing-gown which he took from his effigy. “the old shikari’s nerves have not losttheir steadiness nor his eyes their keenness,” said he, with a laugh, as he inspected theshattered forehead of his bust. “plumb in the middle of the back of thehead and smack through the brain. he was the best shot in india, and i expectthat there are few better in london. have you heard the name?” “no, i have not.” “well, well, such is fame!

but, then, if i remember aright, you had notheard the name of professor james moriarty, who had one of the great brains of the century. just give me down my index of biographiesfrom the shelf.” he turned over the pages lazily, leaning backin his chair and blowing great clouds from his cigar. “my collection of m’s is a fine one,”said he. “moriarty himself is enough to make anyletter illustrious, and here is morgan the poisoner, and merridew of abominable memory,and mathews, who knocked out my left canine in the waiting-room at charing cross, and,finally, here is our friend of to-night.”

he handed over the book, and i read: “moran,sebastian, colonel. unemployed. formerly 1st bengalore pioneers. born london, 1840. son of sir augustus moran, c.b., once britishminister to persia. educated eton and oxford. served in jowaki campaign, afghan campaign,charasiab (despatches), sherpur, and cabul. author of ‘heavy game of the western himalayas,’1881; ‘three months in the jungle,’ 1884. address: conduit street.

clubs: the anglo-indian, the tankerville,the bagatelle card club.” on the margin was written, in holmes’s precisehand: “the second most dangerous man in london.” “this is astonishing,” said i, as i handedback the volume. “the man’s career is that of an honourablesoldier.” “it is true,” holmes answered. “up to a certain point he did well. he was always a man of iron nerve, and thestory is still told in india how he crawled down a drain after a wounded man-eating tiger.

there are some trees, watson, which grow toa certain height and then suddenly develop some unsightly eccentricity. you will see it often in humans. i have a theory that the individual representsin his development the whole procession of his ancestors, and that such a sudden turnto good or evil stands for some strong influence which came into the line of his pedigree. the person becomes, as it were, the epitomeof the history of his own family.” “it is surely rather fanciful.” “well, i don’t insist upon it.

whatever the cause, colonel moran began togo wrong. without any open scandal he still made indiatoo hot to hold him. he retired, came to london, and again acquiredan evil name. it was at this time that he was sought outby professor moriarty, to whom for a time he was chief of the staff. moriarty supplied him liberally with moneyand used him only in one or two very high-class jobs which no ordinary criminal could haveundertaken. you may have some recollection of the deathof mrs. stewart, of lauder, in 1887. not?

well, i am sure moran was at the bottom ofit; but nothing could be proved. so cleverly was the colonel concealed thateven when the moriarty gang was broken up we could not incriminate him. you remember at that date, when i called uponyou in your rooms, how i put up the shutters for fear of air-guns? no doubt you thought me fanciful. i knew exactly what i was doing, for i knewof the existence of this remarkable gun, and i knew also that one of the best shots inthe world would be behind it. when we were in switzerland he followed uswith moriarty, and it was undoubtedly he who

gave me that evil five minutes on the reichenbachledge. “you may think that i read the papers withsome attention during my sojourn in france, on the look-out for any chance of laying himby the heels. so long as he was free in london my life wouldreally not have been worth living. night and day the shadow would have been overme, and sooner or later his chance must have come. what could i do? i could not shoot him at sight, or i shouldmyself be in the dock. there was no use appealing to a magistrate.

they cannot interfere on the strength of whatwould appear to them to be a wild suspicion. so i could do nothing. but i watched the criminal news, knowing thatsooner or later i should get him. then came the death of this ronald adair. my chance had come at last! knowing what i did, was it not certain thatcolonel moran had done it? he had played cards with the lad; he had followedhim home from the club; he had shot him through the open window. there was not a doubt of it.

the bullets alone are enough to put his headin a noose. i came over at once. i was seen by the sentinel, who would, i knew,direct the colonel’s attention to my presence. he could not fail to connect my sudden returnwith his crime and to be terribly alarmed. i was sure that he would make an attempt toget me out of the way at once, and would bring round his murderous weapon for that purpose. i left him an excellent mark in the window,and, having warned the police that they might be needed—by the way, watson, you spottedtheir presence in that doorway with unerring accuracy—i took up what seemed to me tobe a judicious post for observation, never

dreaming that he would choose the same spotfor his attack. now, my dear watson, does anything remainfor me to explain?” “yes,” said i. “you have not made it clear what was colonelmoran’s motive in murdering the honourable ronald adair.” “ah! my dear watson, there we come intothose realms of conjecture where the most logical mind may be at fault. each may form his own hypothesis upon thepresent evidence, and yours is as likely to be correct as mine.”

“you have formed one, then?” “i think that it is not difficult to explainthe facts. it came out in evidence that colonel moranand young adair had between them won a considerable amount of money. now, moran undoubtedly played foul—of thati have long been aware. i believe that on the day of the murder adairhad discovered that moran was cheating. very likely he had spoken to him privately,and had threatened to expose him unless he voluntarily resigned his membership of theclub and promised not to play cards again. it is unlikely that a youngster like adairwould at once make a hideous scandal by exposing

a well-known man so much older than himself. probably he acted as i suggest. the exclusion from his clubs would mean ruinto moran, who lived by his ill-gotten card gains. he therefore murdered adair, who at the timewas endeavouring to work out how much money he should himself return, since he could notprofit by his partner’s foul play. he locked the door lest the ladies shouldsurprise him and insist upon knowing what he was doing with these names and coins. will it pass?”

“i have no doubt that you have hit uponthe truth.” “it will be verified or disproved at thetrial. meanwhile, come what may, colonel moran willtrouble us no more, the famous air-gun of von herder will embellish the scotland yardmuseum, and once again mr. sherlock holmes is free to devote his life to examining thoseinteresting little problems which the complex life of london so plentifully presents.”

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