The New Annotated Sherlock Holmes: The Complete Short Stories: The Return of Sherlock Holmes, His Last Bow and The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes (Non-slipcased edition) (Vol. 2) (The Annotated Books)
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CONTENTS
THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
THE ADVENTURE OF THE EMPTY HOUSE
THE GREAT HIATUS
BARITSU
THE DARKENING SKY
THE PATH OF THE COLONEL’S BULLET
THE ADVENTURE OF THE NORWOOD BUILDER
SHERLOCK HOLMES AND FINGERPRINTING
THE ADVENTURE OF THE DANCING MEN
THE DANCING MEN ALPHABET
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SOLITARY CYCLIST
BICYCLING IN THE TIME OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
THE ADVENTURE OF THE PRIORY SCHOOL
THE DUKE OF HOLDERNESSE
WHICH WAY DID THE BICYCLE TRAVEL?
THE ADVENTURE OF BLACK PETER
THE ADVENTURE OF CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SIX NAPOLEONS
THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE STUDENTS
THE STUDY OF EARLY ENGLISH CHARTERS
THE ADVENTURE OF THE GOLDEN PINCE-NEZ
THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING THREE-QUARTER
THE RULES OF RUGBY
THE ADVENTURE OF THE ABBEY GRANGE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND STAIN
“LORD BELLINGER” AND THE “RIGHT HONOURABLE TRELAWNEY HOPE”
HIS LAST BOW
PREFACE
THE ADVENTURE OF WISTERIA LODGE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE RED CIRCLE
THE SECRET MESSAGE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS
AN IMPENDING CHANGE OF GOVERNMENT
NAVAL WARFARE
THE POLYPHONIC MOTETS OF LASSUS
THE ADVENTURE OF THE DYING DETECTIVE
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF LADY FRANCES CARFAX
“THEY COULD BURY HER . . .”
THE ADVENTURE OF THE DEVIL’S FOOT
HIS LAST BOW
THE CASE-BOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
PREFACE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT
THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLANCHED SOLDIER
THE BOER WAR
THE ADVENTURE OF THE MAZARIN STONE
THE AUTHOR OF “THE MAZARIN STONE”
THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GABLES
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUSSEX VAMPIRE
“BUT WHAT DO WE KNOW ABOUT VAMPIRES?”
THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GARRIDEBS
THE PROBLEM OF THOR BRIDGE
SYNOPSIS OF THE FIRST PART OF THE STORY
THE ORIGINAL “PROBLEM OF THOR BRIDGE”
THE ADVENTURE OF THE CREEPING MAN
“AS TO YOUR DATES, THAT IS THE BIGGEST MYSTIFICATION OF ALL”
THE ADVENTURE OF THE LION’S MANE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE VEILED LODGER
HOLMES’S CAREER
THE ADVENTURE OF SHOSCOMBE OLD PLACE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE RETIRED COLOURMAN
THE IDENTITY OF “CARINA”
SELECTED SOURCES
GENERAL
THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
THE MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
HIS LAST BOW
THE CASE-BOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
NOTES FOR SCHOLARS
ACTIVE SHERLOCKIAN SOCIETIES
THE SHERLOCKIAN WEB
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Arthur Conan Doyle.
Frederick Dorr Steele, Collier’s 1903.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE EMPTY HOUSE1
“The Empty House” may be the most widely hailed story of the entire Canon. When it was published in the Strand Magazine’s October 1903 issue, ten years after the public was informed of Holmes’s death (in “The Final Problem”), the magazine made no pretence of that issue’s contents: bold letters at the top of the cover trumpeted “Sherlock Holmes,” with the story title in smaller letters below, and the first page of the story declared “The Return of Sherlock Holmes” in large letters above the title. In September 1903, the Strand had announced: “Fortunately, the news of [Holmes’s] death, though based on circumstantial evidence which at the time seemed conclusive, turns out to be erroneous.” While many read the story for the highly emotional scene of Holmes and Watson’s reunion, there are scholarly issues as well: The murder of Ronald Adair seems impossible as described, unless Moran were on top of a passing bus. Another puzzle is why Moran escaped the gallows for his crime. Finally, there are clues to the location of the “real” 221 Baker Street provided by the description of the “empty house” across the street.
IT WAS IN the spring of the year 1894 that all London was interested, and the fashionable world dismayed, by the murder of the Honourable2 Ronald3 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,4 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 have done 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 wilful 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 day5 as I drove upon my round I turned over the case in my mind6 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.7 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.8 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 so
me 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 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.
Park Lane near Marble Arch.
Victorian and Edwardian London
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.9 It was shown that, after dinner on the day of his death, he had played a rubber of whist10 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 that, in partnership with Colonel Moran, he had actually won as much £420 in a sitting, some weeks before, from Godfrey Milner and Lord Balmoral.11 So much for his recent history as it came out at 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. The servant deposed that she heard him enter the front room on the second floor,12 generally used as his sitting-room. She had lit a fire there, and as it smoked she 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 attempted to enter her son’s room. The door was locked on the inside, and no answer could be got to their cries and knocking. Help was obtained, and the door forced. The unfortunate young man was found lying near the table. His head had been horribly mutilated by an expanding revolver bullet,13 but no weapon of any sort was to be found in the room. On the table lay two bank-notes for £10 each and £10 17s. in silver and gold, the money arranged in little piles of varying amount. There were some figures also upon a sheet of paper, with the names of some club friends opposite to them, from which it was conjectured that before his death he was endeavouring to make out his losses or winnings at cards.
The unfortunate young man was found lying near the table.
G. A. Dowling, Portland Oregonian, July 9, 1911
A minute examination of the circumstances served only to make the case more complex. In the first place, no reason could be given why the young man should have fastened the door upon the inside. There was the possibility that the murderer had 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 any sign of having been disturbed, nor were there any marks upon the narrow strip of grass which separated the house from the road. Apparently, therefore, it was the young man himself who had fastened the door. But how did he come by his death? No one could have climbed up to the window without leaving traces. Suppose a man had fired through the window, it14 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 there the revolver bullet, which had mushroomed out, as soft-nosed bullets will, and so inflicted a wound which must have caused instantaneous death. Such were the circumstances of the Park Lane Mystery, which were further complicated by entire absence of motive, since, as I have said, young Adair was not known to have any enemy, and no 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 upon some theory which could reconcile them all, and to find that line of least resistance which my poor friend had declared to be the starting-point of every investigation. 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, all staring up at a particular window, directed me to the house which I had come to see. A tall, thin man with coloured glasses,15 whom I strongly suspected of being a plain-clothes detective, was pointing out some theory of his own, while the others crowded 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 in some 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 was carrying. I remember that as I picked them up, I observed the title of one of them, The Origin of Tree Worship,16 and it struck me that the fellow must be some poor bibliophile who, either as a trade or as a hobby, was a collector of obscure volumes. I endeavoured to apologize for the accident, but it was evident that these books which I had so unfortunately maltreated were very precious objects in the eyes of their owner. With a snarl of contempt he turned upon his heel, and I saw his curved back and white side-whiskers disappear among the throng.
“I knocked down several books which he was carrying.”
Sidney Paget, Strand Magazine, 1903
My observations of No. 427, Park Lane, did little to clear up the problem in which I was interested. The house was separated from the street by a low wall and railing, the whole not more than five feet high. It was perfectly easy, therefore, for anyone to get into the garden, but the window was entirely inaccessible, since there was no water-pipe or anything which could help the most active man to climb it. More puzzled than ever, I retraced my steps to Kensington. I had not been in my study five minutes when the maid entered to say that a person desired to see me. To my astonishment it was none other than my strange old book collector, his sharp, wizened face peering out from a frame of white hair, and his precious volumes, a dozen of them at least, wedged under his right arm.
I knocked down several books which he was carrying.
Charles Raymond Macaulay, Return of Sherlock Holmes (McClure Phillips), 1905
With a snarl he turned upon his heel.
Frederick Dorr Steele, Collier’s, 1903
“You’re surprised to see me, sir,” said he, in a strange, croaking voice.
I acknowledged that I was.
“Well, I’ve a conscience, sir, and when I 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 in my manner there was not any harm meant, and that I am much obliged to him for picking up my books.”
“You make too much of a trifle,” said I. “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 Church Street, and very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect yourself, sir—here’s British Birds, and Catullus,17 and The Holy War—a bargain, every one of them. With five volumes you could just fill that gap on that second shelf. It looks untidy, does it not, sir?”
I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I turned again, Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table. I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and then it appears that I must have fainted for the first and the last time in my life.18 Certainly a grey mist swirled before my eyes, and when it cleared I found my collar-ends undone and the tingling after-taste of brandy upon my lips. Holmes was bending over my chair, his flask in his hand.19
“My dear Watson,” said the well-remembered voice, “I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected.”
I gripped him by the arm.
Sherlock Holmes stood smiling at me over my study table.
Frederic Dorr Steele, Collier’s, 1903
&
nbsp; When I turned again Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table.
Sidney Paget, Strand Magazine, 1903
“Holmes!” I cried. “Is it really you? Can it indeed be that you are alive? Is it possible that you succeeded in climbing out of that awful abyss?”
“Wait a moment,” said he. “Are you sure that you are really fit to discuss things? I have given you a serious shock by my unnecessarily dramatic reappearance.”
“I am all right, but indeed, Holmes, I can hardly believe my eyes. Good heavens! to think that you—you of all men—should be standing in my study!” Again I gripped him by the sleeve, and felt the 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 out of 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 the rest of that individual lay in a pile of white hair and old books upon the table. Holmes looked even thinner and keener than of old, but there was a dead-white tinge in his aquiline face which told me that his life recently 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 take a foot off his stature for several hours on end. Now, my dear fellow, in the matter of these explanations, we have, if I may ask for your co-operation, a hard and dangerous night’s work in front of us. Perhaps it would be better if I gave you an account 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 dinner before we need go. Well, then, about that chasm. I had no serious difficulty in getting out of it, for the very simple reason that I never was in it.”