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 ⁽²⁾ Ronald ⁽³⁾ Adair under most unusual and inexplicable circumstances. The public has already learned those particulars of the crrime 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it my first duty to have done so, had I not been barred by a positive prohibition from his own lips, which was only withdrawn upon the third of last month.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 day ⁽⁵⁾ as I drove upon my round ⁽⁶⁾ 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. ⁽⁷⁾ Adair's mother had returned from Australia to undergo the operation for cataract ⁽⁸⁾, and she, her son Ronald, and her daughter Hilda were living together at 427 Park Lane. ⁽⁹⁾ 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 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 ⁽¹⁰⁾, the Cavendish ⁽¹¹⁾, and the Bagatelle ⁽¹²⁾ card clubs. It was shown that, after dinner on the day of his death, he had played a rubber of whist ⁽¹³⁾ 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. ⁽¹⁴⁾ 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 ⁽¹⁵⁾, 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 ⁽¹⁶⁾, 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. ⁽¹⁷⁾ 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.

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. ⁽¹⁸⁾ The drop was at least twenty feet, however, and a bed of crocuses in full bloom lay beneath. ⁽¹⁹⁾ 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, it ⁽²⁰⁾ 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 ⁽²¹⁾ 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 ⁽²²⁾, 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 ⁽²³⁾, 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 ⁽²⁴⁾, 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.

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. ⁽²⁵⁾ 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 ⁽²⁶⁾, wedged under his right arm.

"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 ⁽²⁷⁾, and very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect yourself, sir ⁽²⁸⁾--here's>British Birds ⁽²⁹⁾, and Catullus ⁽³⁰⁾, and The Holy War ⁽³¹⁾--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. ⁽³²⁾ 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. ⁽³³⁾

"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.

"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 ⁽³⁴⁾ 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 ⁽³⁵⁾ 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."

"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 the end of my career when I perceived the somewhat sinister figure of the late Professor Moriarty standing upon the narrow pathway which led to safety. ⁽³⁶⁾ I read an inexorable purpose in his grey eyes. ⁽³⁷⁾ 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 stick, and 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 and threw his long arms around me. He knew that his own game was up, and was only anxious to revenge himself upon me. We tottered together upon the brink of the fall. I have some knowledge, however, of baritsu ⁽³⁸⁾, or the Japanese system of wrestling, which has more than once been very useful to me. I slipped through his grip, and he with a horrible scream kicked madly for a few seconds, and clawed the air with both his hands. But for all his efforts he could not get his balance, and over he went. With my face over the brink ⁽³⁹⁾, I saw him fall for a long way. Then he struck a rock, bounded off, and splashed into the water."

I listened with amazement to this explanation, which Holmes delivered between the puffs of his cigarette.

"But the tracks!" I cried. "I saw, with my own eyes, that two went down the path and none returned."

"It came about in this way. The instant that the Professor had disappeared, it struck me what a really extraordinarily lucky chance Fate had placed in my way. I knew that Moriarty was not the only man who had sworn my death. There were at least three others whose desire for vengeance upon me would only be increased by the death of their leader. ⁽⁴⁰⁾ They were all most dangerous men. One or other would certainly get me. On the other hand, if all the world was convinced that I was dead they would take liberties, these men; they would ⁽⁴¹⁾ lay themselves open, and sooner or later I could destroy them. Then it would be time for me to announce that I was still in the land of the living. So rapidly does the brain act that I believe I had thought this all out before Professor Moriarty had reached the bottom of the Reichenbach Fall.

"I stood up and examined the rocky wall behind me. In your picturesque account of the matter, which I read with great interest some months later ⁽⁴²⁾, 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 all was an obvious impossibility, and it was equally impossible to make my way along the wet path without leaving some tracks. I might, it is true, have reversed my boots ⁽⁴³⁾, as I have done on similar occasions, but the sight of three sets of tracks in one direction would certainly have suggested a deception. On the whole, then, it was best that I should risk the climb. It was not a pleasant business, Watson. The fall roared beneath me. I am not a fanciful person, but I give you my 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 out in 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 reached a ledge several feet deep and covered with soft green moss, where I could lie unseen, in 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 manner the circumstances of my death.

"At last, when you had all formed your inevitable and totally erroneous conclusions, you departed for the hotel, and I was left alone. I had imagined that I had reached the end of my adventures, but a very unexpected occurrence showed me that there were surprises still in store for me. A huge rock, falling from above, boomed past me, 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 ⁽⁴⁴⁾, and another stone 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 had told me how dangerous a man that confederate was--had kept guard while the Professor had attacked me. ⁽⁴⁶⁾ From a distance, unseen by me, he had been a witness of his friend's death and of my escape. ⁽⁴⁷⁾ He had waited, and then, making his way round to 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 cold blood. It was a hundred times more difficult than getting up. But I had no time to think of the danger, for another stone sang past me ⁽⁴⁸⁾ as I hung by my hands from the edge of the ledge. Half-way down I slipped, but by the blessing of God I landed, torn and bleeding, upon the path. I took to my heels, did ten miles over the mountains in the darkness, and a week later I found myself in Florence, with the certainty that 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 certain that you would not have written so convincing an account of my unhappy end had you not yourself thought that it was true. Several times during the last three years I have taken up my pen to write to you, but always I feared lest your affectionate regard for me should tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray my secret. ⁽⁴⁹⁾ For that reason I turned away from you this evening when you upset my books, for I was in danger at the time, and any show of surprise and emotion upon your part might have drawn attention to my identity and led to the most deplorable and irreparable results. ⁽⁵⁰⁾ As to Mycroft, I had to confide in him in order to obtain the money which I needed. The course of events in London did not run so well as I had hoped, for the trial of the Moriarty gang left two of its most dangerous members, my own most vindictive enemies, at liberty. ⁽⁵¹⁾ I travelled for two years ⁽⁵²⁾ in Tibet ⁽⁵³⁾, therefore, and amused myself by visiting Lhassa ⁽⁵⁴⁾, and spending some days with the head Lama. ⁽⁵⁵⁾ You may have read of the remarkable explorations of a Norwegian named Sigerson ⁽⁵⁶⁾, but I am sure that it never occurred to you that you were receiving news of your friend. I then passed through Persia ⁽⁵⁷⁾, looked in at Mecca ⁽⁵⁸⁾, and paid a short but interesting visit to the Khalifa ⁽⁵⁹⁾ at Khartoum ⁽⁶⁰⁾, the results of which I have communicated to the Foreign Office. Returning to France, I spent some months in a research into the coal-tar derivatives ⁽⁶¹⁾, which I conducted in a laboratory at Montpellier ⁽⁶²⁾, in the South of France. Having concluded this to my satisfaction and learning that only one of my enemies was now left in London ⁽⁶³⁾, I was about to return when 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 peculiar personal opportunities. I came over at once to London, called in my own person at Baker Street, threw Mrs. Hudson into violent hysterics, and found that Mycroft had preserved my rooms and my papers exactly as they had always been. ⁽⁶⁴⁾ So it was, my dear Watson, that at two o'clock to-day I found myself in my old arm-chair in my own old room, and only wishing that I could have seen my old friend Watson in the other chair which he has so often adorned."

Such was the remarkable narrative to which I listened on that April evening--a narrative which would have been utterly incredible to me 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 sad bereavement ⁽⁶⁵⁾, and his sympathy was shown in his manner rather than in his words. "Work is the best antidote to sorrow, my dear Watson," said he, "and I have a piece of work for us both to-night which, if we can 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, when we start upon the notable adventure of the empty house."

It was indeed like old times when, at that hour, I found myself seated beside him in a hansom, my revolver in my pocket, and the thrill of adventure in my heart. Holmes was cold and stern and silent. As the gleam of the street-lamps flashed upon his austere features, I saw that his brows were drawn down in thought and his thin lips compressed. I knew not what wild beast we were about to hunt down in the dark jungle of criminal London, but I was well assured, from the bearing of this master huntsman, that the adventure was a most grave one, while the sardonic smile which occasionally broke through his ascetic gloom boded little good for the object of our quest.

I had imagined that we were bound for Baker Street, but Holmes stopped the cab at the corner of Cavendish Square. ⁽⁶⁶⁾ I observed that as he stepped out he gave a most searching glance to right and left, and at every subsequent street corner he took the utmost pains to assure that he was not followed. Our route was certainly a singular one. ⁽⁶⁷⁾ Holmes's knowledge of the by-ways of London was 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, lined with old, gloomy houses, which led us into Manchester Street, and so to Blandford Street. ⁽⁶⁸⁾ Here he turned swiftly down a narrow passage ⁽⁶⁹⁾, passed through a wooden gate into a deserted yard, and then opened with a key ⁽⁷⁰⁾ the back door of a house. We entered together, and he closed it behind us.

The place was pitch-dark, but it was evident to me that it was an empty house. Our feet creaked and crackled over the bare planking, and my outstretched hand touched a wall from which the paper was hanging in ribbons. Holmes's cold, thin fingers closed round my wrist and led me forwards down a long hall, until I dimly saw the murky fanlight over the 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 was thick with dust, so that we could only just discern each other's figures within. My companion put his hand upon my shoulder and 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 opposite to our own old quarters." ⁽⁷¹⁾

"But why are we here?"

"Because it commands so excellent a view of that picturesque pile. Might I trouble you, my dear Watson, to draw a little nearer to the window, taking every precaution not to show yourself, and then to look up at our old rooms--the starting-point of so many of your little fairy-tales? ⁽⁷²⁾ We will see if my three years of absence have entirely taken away my power to surprise you."

I crept forward and looked across at the familiar window. As my eyes fell upon it, I gave a gasp and a cry of amazement. The blind was down, and a strong light was burning in the room. The shadow of a man who was seated in a chair within 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 effect was 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 to make sure that the man himself was standing beside me. He was quivering with silent laughter.

"Well?" said he.

"Good heavens!" I cried. "It is marvellous."

"I trust that age doth not wither nor custom stale my infinite variety ⁽⁷³⁾," said he, and I recognised in his voice the joy and pride 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 was you."

"The credit of the execution is due to Monsieur Oscar Meunier, of Grenoble ⁽⁷⁴⁾, who spent some days in doing the moulding. It is a bust in wax. ⁽⁷⁵⁾ The rest I arranged myself during my visit to Baker Street this afternoon."

"But why?"

"Because, my dear Watson, I had the strongest possible reason for wishing certain people to think that I was there when I was really elsewhere."

"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 lies in the Reichenbach Fall. You must remember that they knew, and only they knew, that I was still alive. Sooner or later they believed that I should come back to my rooms. They watched them continuously ⁽⁷⁶⁾, and this morning they saw me arrive."

"How do you know?"

"Because I recognised their sentinel when I glanced out of my window. He is a harmless enough fellow, Parker by name, a garroter ⁽⁷⁷⁾ by trade, and a remarkable performer upon the jew's-harp. ⁽⁷⁸⁾ I cared nothing for him. But I cared a great deal for the much more formidable person who was behind him, the bosom friend of Moriarty, the man who dropped the 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 revealing themselves. From this convenient retreat, the watchers were being watched and the trackers tracked. That angular shadow up yonder was the bait, and we were the hunters. In silence we stood together in the darkness and watched the hurrying figures who passed and repassed in front of us. Holmes was silent and motionless; but I could tell that he was keenly alert, and that, his eyes were fixed intently upon the stream of passers-by. It was a bleak and boisterous night, and the wind whistled shrilly down the long street. Many people were moving to and fro, most of them muffled in their coats and cravats. Once or twice it seemed to me that I had seen the same figure before, and I especially noticed two men who appeared to be sheltering themselves from the wind in the doorway of a house some distance up the street. I tried to draw my companion's attention to them, but he gave a little ejaculation of impatience, and continued to stare into the street. More than once he fidgeted with his feet and tapped rapidly with his fingers upon the wall. It was evident to me that he was becoming uneasy, and that his plans were not working out altogether as he had hoped. At last, as midnight approached and the street gradually cleared, he paced up and down the room in uncontrollable agitation. I was about to make some remark to him, when I raised my eyes to the lighted window, and again experienced almost as great a surprise as before. I clutched Holmes's arm, and pointed upwards.

"The shadow has moved!" I cried.

It was, indeed, no longer the profile, but the back, which was turned towards us.

Three years had certainly not smoothed the asperities 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, that I should erect an obvious dummy, and expect that some of the sharpest men in Europe would be 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 an hour. She works it from the front so that her shadow may never be seen. Ah!" He drew in his breath with a shrill, excited intake. In the dim light I saw his head thrown forward, his whole attitude rigid with attention. Outside, the street was absolutely deserted. ⁽⁷⁹⁾ Those two men might still be crouching in the doorway, but I could no longer see them. All was still and dark, save only that brilliant yellow 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 the blackest 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, and yet the dark street still stretched lonely and motionless before us.

But suddenly I was aware of that which his keener senses had already distinguished. A low, stealthy sound came to my ears, not from the direction of Baker Street, but from the back of the very house in which we lay concealed. A door opened and shut. ⁽⁸⁰⁾ An instant later steps crept down the passage--steps which were meant to be silent, but which reverberated harshly through the empty house. Holmes crouched back against the wall, and I did the same, my hand closing upon the handle of my revolver. Peering through the gloom, I saw the vague outline of a man, a shade blacker than the blackness of the open door. He stood for an instant, and then he crept forward, crouching, menacing, into the room. He was within three yards of us, this sinister figure, and I had braced myself to meet his spring, before I realized that he had no idea of our presence. He passed close beside us, stole over to the window, and very softly and noiselessly raised it for half a foot. As he sank to the level of this opening the light 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 features were working convulsively. He was an elderly man, with a thin, projecting nose, a high, bald forehead, and a huge grizzled moustache. An opera-hat ⁽⁸¹⁾ was pushed to the back of his head, and an evening dress shirt-front ⁽⁸²⁾ gleamed out through his open overcoat. His face was gaunt and swarthy, scored with deep, savage lines. In his hand he carried what appeared to be a stick, but as he laid it down upon the floor it gave a metallic clang. Then from the pocket of his overcoat he drew a 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 forward and threw all his weight and strength upon some lever, with the result that there came a long, whirling ⁽⁸³⁾, grinding noise, ending once more in a powerful click. He straightened himself then, and I saw that what he held in his hand was a sort of gun, with a curiously misshapen butt. He opened it at the breech, put something in, and snapped the breech-block. ⁽⁸⁴⁾ Then, crouching down, he rested the end of the barrel upon the ledge of the open window, and I saw his long moustache droop over the stock and his eye gleam as it peered along the sights. I heard a little sigh of satisfaction as he cuddled the butt into his shoulder, and saw that amazing target, the black man on the yellow 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. ⁽⁸⁵⁾ At that instant Holmes sprang like a tiger on to the marksman's back and hurled him flat upon his face. He was up again in a moment, and with convulsive strength he seized Holmes by the throat; but I struck him on the head with the butt of my revolver and he dropped again upon the floor. I fell upon him, and as I held him my comrade blew a shrill call upon a whistle. There was the clatter of running feet upon the pavement, and two policemen in uniform, with one plain-clothes detective, rushed through the 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't do, Lestrade. But you handled the Molesey Mystery ⁽⁸⁶⁾ with less than your usual--that's to say, you handled it fairly well."

We had all risen to our feet, our prisoner breathing hard, with a stalwart constable on each side of him. Already a few loiterers had begun to collect in the street. Holmes stepped up to the window, closed it, and dropped the blinds. Lestrade had produced two candles, and the policemen had uncovered their lanterns. I was able at last to have a good look at our prisoner.

It was a tremendously virile and yet sinister face which was turned towards us. With the brow of a philosopher above ⁽⁸⁷⁾ and the jaw of a sensualist below, the man must have started with great capacities for good or for evil. But one could not look upon his cruel blue eyes, 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 eyes were fixed upon Holmes's face with an expression in which hatred and amazement were equally blended. "You fiend!" he kept on muttering--"you clever, clever fiend!"

"Ah, Colonel!" said Holmes, arranging his rumpled collar, "'journeys end in lovers' meetings,' as the old play says. ⁽⁸⁸⁾ I don't think I have had the pleasure of seeing you since you favoured me with those attentions as I lay on the ledge above the Reichenbach Fall."

The Colonel still stared at my friend like a man in a trance. "You cunning, cunning fiend!" was all that he could say.

"I have not introduced you yet," said Holmes. "This, gentlemen, is Colonel Sebastian ⁽⁸⁹⁾ Moran, once of Her Majesty's Indian Army, and the best heavy game shot that our Eastern Empire has ever produced. I believe I am correct, Colonel, in saying that your bag of tigers still remains unrivalled?"

The fierce old man said nothing, but still glared at my companion; with his savage eyes and bristling moustache he was wonderfully like a tiger himself.

"I wonder that my very simple stratagem ⁽⁹⁰⁾ could deceive so old a shikari ⁽⁹¹⁾," said Holmes. "It must be very familiar to you. Have you not tethered a young kid under a tree, 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 my tiger. You have possibly had other guns in reserve in case there should be several tigers, or in the unlikely supposition of your own aim failing you. These," he pointed around, "are my other guns. The parallel is exact."

Colonel Moran sprang forward, with a snarl of rage, but the constables dragged him back. The fury upon his face was terrible to look at.

"I confess that you had one small surprise for me," said Holmes. "I did not anticipate that you would yourself make 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 for arresting me," said he, "but at least there can be no reason why I should submit to the gibes of this person. If I am in the hands of the law, let things be done in a legal way."

"Well, that's reasonable enough," said Lestrade. "Nothing further you have to say, Mr. Holmes, before we go?"

Holmes had picked up the powerful air-gun from the floor, and was examining its mechanism.

"An admirable and unique weapon," said he, "noiseless and of tremendous power. ⁽⁹²⁾ I knew Von Herder, the blind German mechanic ⁽⁹³⁾, 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 an 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." ⁽⁹⁴⁾

"Not so, Lestrade. I do not propose to appear in the matter at all. ⁽⁹⁵⁾ To you, and to you only, belongs the credit of the remarkable arrest which you have effected. Yes, Lestrade, I congratulate you! With your usual happy mixture of cunning and audacity, you have got him."

"Got him! Got whom, Mr. Holmes?"

"The man that the whole force has been seeking in vain--Colonel Sebastian Moran, who shot the Honourable Ronald Adair with an expanding bullet from an air-gun through the open window of the second-floor front ⁽⁹⁶⁾ of No. 427, Park Lane, upon the 30^th of last month. That's the charge, Lestrade. And now, Watson, if you can endure the draught from a broken window, I think that half an hour in my study over a cigar may afford you some profitable amusement."

Our old chambers had been left unchanged through the supervision of Mycroft Holmes and the immediate care of Mrs. Hudson. ⁽⁹⁷⁾ As I entered I saw, it is true, an unwonted tidiness, but the old landmarks were all in their places. There were the chemical corner and the acid-stained, deal-topped table. ⁽⁹⁸⁾ There upon a shelf was the row of formidable scrap-books and books of reference which many of our fellow-citizens would have been so glad to burn. The diagrams, the violin-case, and the pipe-rack--even the Persian slipper which contained the tobacco--all met my eye as I glanced round me.

There were two occupants of the room--one Mrs. Hudson, who beamed upon us both as we entered, the other the strange dummy which had 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 an old dressing-gown of Holmes's so draped round it that the illusion from the street was absolutely perfect.

"I hope you observed ⁽⁹⁹⁾ all precautions, Mrs. Hudson?" said Holmes.

"I went to it on my knees, sir, just as you told me." ⁽¹⁰⁰⁾

"Excellent. You carried the thing out very well. Did you observe where the bullet went?"

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid it has spoilt your beautiful bust, for it passed right through the head and flattened itself on the wall. I picked it up from the carpet. Here it is!" ⁽¹⁰¹⁾

Holmes held it out to me. "A soft revolver bullet, as you perceive, Watson. There's genius in that--for who would expect to find such a thing fired from an air-gun? All right, Mrs. Hudson. I am much obliged for your assistance. And now, Watson, let me see you in your old seat once more, for there are several points which I should like to discuss with you."

He had thrown off the seedy frock-coat, and now he was the Holmes of old in the mouse-coloured dressing-gown ⁽¹⁰²⁾ which he took from his effigy.

"The old shikari's nerves have not lost their steadiness, nor his eyes their keenness," said he, with a laugh, as he inspected the shattered forehead of his bust.

"Plumb in the middle of the back of the head and smack through the brain. He was the best shot in India, and I expect that there are few better in London. Have you heard the name?"

"No, I have not." ⁽¹⁰³⁾

"Well, well, such is fame! But, then, if I remember aright, you had not heard the name of Professor James ⁽¹⁰⁴⁾ Moriarty, who had one of the great brains of the century. Just give me down my index of biographies from the shelf."

He turned over the pages lazily, leaning back in his chair and blowing great clouds of smoke ⁽¹⁰⁵⁾ from his cigar.

"My collection of M's is a fine one," said he. "Moriarty himself is enough to make any letter illustrious, and here is Morgan the poisoner, and Merridew of abominable memory, and Mathews, who knocked out my left canine ⁽¹⁰⁶⁾ in the waiting-room at Charing Cross, and, finally, here is our friend of to-night." ⁽¹⁰⁷⁾

He handed over the book, and I read:

Moran, Sebastian, Colonel. Unemployed. Formerly 1st Bengalore ⁽¹⁰⁸⁾ Pioneers. ⁽¹⁰⁹⁾ Born London, 1840. Son of Sir Augustus Moran, C.B. ⁽¹¹⁰⁾, once British Minister to Persia. Educated Eton ⁽¹¹¹⁾ and Oxford. ⁽¹¹²⁾ Served in Jowaki Campaign ⁽¹¹³⁾, Afghan Campaign, Charasiab (despatches), Sherpur ⁽¹¹⁴⁾, and Cabul. ⁽¹¹⁵⁾ Author of "Heavy Game of the Western Himalayas" (1881) ⁽¹¹⁶⁾; "Three Months in the Jungle" (1884). Address: Conduit Street. ⁽¹¹⁷⁾ Clubs: The Anglo-Indian ⁽¹¹⁸⁾, the Tankerville ⁽¹¹⁹⁾, the Bagatelle Card Club.

On the margin was written, in Holmes's precise hand:

The second most dangerous man in London. ⁽¹²⁰⁾

"This is astonishing," said I, as I handed back the volume. "The man's career is that of an honourable soldier."

"It is true," Holmes answered. "Up to a certain point he did well. He was always a man of iron nerve, and the story is still told in India how he crawled down a drain after a wounded man-eating tiger. There are some trees, Watson, which grow to a certain height, and then suddenly develop some unsightly eccentricity. You will see it often in humans. I have a theory that the individual represents in his development the whole procession of his ancestors, and that such a sudden turn to good or evil stands for some strong influence which came into the line of his pedigree. The person becomes, as it were, the epitome of the history of his own family."

"It is surely rather fanciful."

"Well, I don't insist upon it. Whatever the cause, Colonel Moran began to go wrong. Without any open scandal, he still made India too hot to hold him. ⁽¹²¹⁾ He retired ⁽¹²²⁾, came to London, and again acquired an evil name. It was at this time that he was sought out by Professor Moriarty ⁽¹²³⁾, to whom for a time he was chief of the staff. Moriarty supplied him liberally with money and used him only in one or two very high-class jobs, which no ordinary criminal could have undertaken. You may have some recollection of the death of Mrs. Stewart, of Lauder ⁽¹²⁴⁾, in 1887. Not? Well, I am sure Moran was at the bottom of it; but nothing could be proved. So cleverly was the Colonel concealed that, even when the Moriarty gang was broken up, we could not incriminate him. You remember at that date, when I called upon you 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 knew of the existence of this remarkable gun, and I knew also that one of the best shots in the world would be behind it. When we were in Switzerland he followed us with Moriarty, and it was undoubtedly he who gave me that evil five minutes on the Reichenbach ledge.

"You may think that I read the papers with some attention during my sojourn in France, on the look-out for any chance of laying him by the heels. So long as he was free in London, my life would really not have been worth living. Night and day the shadow would have been over me, and sooner or later his chance must have come. What could I do? I could not shoot him at sight, or I should myself be in the dock. There was no use appealing to a magistrate. They cannot interfere on the strength of what would appear to them to be a wild suspicion. So I could do nothing. But I watched the criminal news, knowing that sooner 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 that Colonel Moran had done it? He had played cards with the lad; he had followed him 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 head in a noose. ⁽¹²⁵⁾ 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 return with his crime, and to be terribly alarmed. I was sure that he would make an attempt to get 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 ⁽¹²⁶⁾, and, having warned the police that they might be needed--by the way, Watson, you spotted their presence in that doorway with unerring accuracy--I took up what seemed to me to be a judicious post for observation, never dreaming that he would choose the same spot for his attack. Now, my dear Watson, does anything remain for me to explain?"

"Yes," said I. "You have not made it clear what was Colonel Moran's motive in murdering the Honourable Ronald Adair."

"Ah! my dear Watson, there we come into those realms of conjecture, where the most logical mind may be at fault. Each may form his own hypothesis upon the present evidence, and yours is as likely to be correct as mine."

"You have formed one, then?"

"I think that it is not difficult to explain the facts. It came out in evidence that Colonel Moran and young Adair had between them won a considerable amount of money. Now, Moran undoubtedly played foul--of that I have long been aware. I believe that on the day of the murder Adair had 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 the club, and promised not to play cards again. It is unlikely that a youngster like Adair would 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 ruin to Moran, who lived by his ill-gotten card gains. He therefore murdered Adair, who at the time was endeavouring to work out how much money he should himself return, since he could not profit by his partner's foul play. He locked the door lest the ladies should surprise him and insist upon knowing what he was doing with these names and coins. Will it pass?" ⁽¹²⁷⁾

"I have no doubt that you have hit upon the truth."

"It will be verified or disproved at the trial. Meanwhile, come what may, Colonel Moran will trouble us no more ⁽¹²⁸⁾, the famous air-gun of Von Herder will embellish the Scotland Yard Museum ⁽¹²⁹⁾, and once again Mr. Sherlock Holmes is free to devote his life to examining those interesting little problems which the complex life of London so plentifully presents."

Numerous candidates have been put forward for the location of "221B Baker Street" and correspondingly for the "Empty House":

There are far too many studies of the activities of Sherlock Holmes during the years 1891 to 1894 to be dealt with in any but the most cursory fashion in a work such as this. The following, then, should be viewed as a mere sampling of the more interesting conjectures. ⁽¹³⁰⁾ Pastiches (although in many instances admittedly difficult to distinguish from "scholarship" when it comes to the Great Hiatus) are not discussed below:

Fundamentalism

A substantial group of scholars accept Holmes's travel tale as essentially true, although perhaps lacking in explanation. The most detailed study is that of A. Carson Simpson, his four-volume work entitled Sherlock Holmes's Wanderjahre. This consists of four volumes, Pt. 1 entitled Fanget An!, Pt. 2 Post Huc nec ergo Propter Huc Gabetque, Pt. 3. In fernem Land, unnahbar euren Schritten, and Pt. 4, Auf der Erde Rücken rührt' ich mich viel, in which Simpson considers Holmes's homeward trip. Lord Donegall, in "April 1891-April 1894," clearly expresses the faith of the fundamentalist and confirms that the journey could have happened as outlined by Holmes.

Some add background or additional detail to the basic journey. For example, C. Arnold Johnson, in "An East Wind," suggests that Moriarty survived Reichenbach and pursued Holmes to Tibet, where, to gain control of the wealth and resources of the Orient, he disguised himself as a Prince of the Manchus. In his madness, fiction became reality and eventually he emerged as Dr. Fu Manchu.

Others consider possible messages sent by Holmes. Jerold M. Bensky's "'Sigerson'--What Is in a Name?" investigates Holmes's use of the name "Sigerson" as a code or cipher to inform Mycroft of the location where he was hiding or seeking seclusion and possibly to carry vital information to Mycroft about the political situation of each country. Similarly, Patricia Dodd, in "Communicating in Code," suggests that during the Great Hiatus, Holmes continued to keep in touch with both Mycroft and Watson through an intricate network of coded messages. Watson's messages from Mycroft to Sherlock, who was disguised as a fledgling member of Moran's gang, were cleverly inserted in the cases known as the Adventures and the Memoirs.

Tibet and Holmes's sojourn there are the subjects of special study. T. S. Blakeney's "Disjecta Membra" considers the likely path of Holmes's entry into Tibet. In "'A High-at-us,'" Ron Carlson proposes that Holmes used his visit to negotiate with the head lama to grow a certain "'highly' relaxing product" that was to have been marketed by Moriarty. Similarly, Patrick E. Drazen maintains, in his article "The Greater Vehicle: Holmes in Tibet," that Holmes spent two years in Tibet pursuing Tibetan Buddhism to rid himself of the cocaine habit.

In another flight of fancy, Robert S. Chambers, in "The Journey to a Lost Horizon," suggests that Holmes discovered "Shangri-La," first described in a fictionalized narrative by James Hilton. A similar suggestion is made by Dana Martin Batory, in "Hiatus in Paradise." Batory's essay theorizes that Holmes and the Norwegian explorer Sigerson journeyed to Tibet to investigate the disappearance of strange cargo caravans in the Himalayas. Both found themselves "guests" at the lamasery of Shangri-La. Sigerson was never allowed to leave. Holmes was sent back into the world to finish his work.

In a fascinating piece entitled "A Norwegian Named Sigerson," Hans-Uno Bengtsson recounts how, when the thirteenth Dalai Lama came of age in 1895, the retired Regent plotted an assassination, using as his instrument, a pair of cursed slippers. The plot was discovered through some remarkable detective work by the Dalai Lama. Bengtsson proposes that Holmes must have had an audience with the Dalai Lama, in which Holmes gave instruction in the art of detection.

Other aspects of the trip as reported by Holmes are examined. Ed Moorman, in "A Short But Interesting Visit," explains why Holmes would have visited Khartoum to see the Khalifa, who was the murderer of Watson's hero, General Gordon, and how his visit affected England's involvement in world affairs well into the 20th century.

The study of coal-tar derivatives mentioned by Holmes draws special attention. Carol Whitlam, in "Researching the Coal-Tar Derivatives," speculates on the compounds Holmes may have researched in Montpellier in 1894. In "Double 'L'--Why in the Empty House?," Donald A. Redmond considers why Holmes conducted his coal-tar research in Montpellier (France), not Montpelier (Vermont), as spelled by Watson. However, Raymond L. Holly ("A Laboratory at Montpelier") suggests that Holmes may have conducted his research in coal-tar derivatives at Montpelier in England. Brad Keefauver, in "So You Think Coal-Tar Derivatives Are Boring? Not So!," speculates that Holmes, who had considerable knowledge of perfumes, may have been researching synthetic perfumes derived from coal tar. Richard M. Caplan comes to a different conclusion in "Why Coal-Tar Derivatives at Montpellier?," where he suggests that Holmes's research focused on the prospect of identifying and tracing for forensic purposes the origins of aniline dyes and inks.

No Deposit, No Return

There is a distinct school of thought that the Great Hiatus never happened. The leading proponent is Armstrong, whose theory is explored in detail supra. Succinctly, Armstrong argues, "Holmes did not return. He did not return because he had never been away.... Not only was Holmes in London, but he was living in the same house with Watson all the time. Watson has deceived us. But we cannot blame him, for the deception was necessary in order to trap the wily members of the Moriarty gang who remained." (p. 401)

Richard Lancelyn Green follows along the lines of Armstrong in "On Tour with Sigerson," arguing that the only logical place where Holmes could have gone into hiding and, at the same time, maintain contact with the criminal world was in London. He returned to live at 221B, venturing forth in disguise, and only Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, and Lestrade were in his confidence.

Anthony Boucher, in Imposter, also concludes that Holmes did not take the reported journey, because he did, in fact, fall over the cliff at the Reichenbach. The man who in 1894 returned to London was, according to Boucher, in reality Holmes's cousin Sherrinford. This hypothesis is rejected by Jay Finley Christ, supra, note 44, and by Gilbert Shields in "The Mysterious Return of Sherlock Holmes." Boucher offers a reply in verse in "Ballade of the Later Holmes." A different imposter is suggested by Stefan Ernstson, in "The Counterfeit Sherlock Holmes Unmasked," who concludes that the Master's sister replaced Holmes. ⁽¹³¹⁾

An even more spectacular suggestion is that of Harry Halén, set forth in "Sherlock Holmes Venäjällä" ["Sherlock Holmes in Russia"]. "The author's main thesis is that the vanishing trick of the century was performed by Holmes in 1891-1893 and after. In Tibet he underwent a "tantric materialization ritual" that resulted in Sherlock Holmes II, a live copy of the detective--a phantom body with almost all the intellectual and physical faculties of the original. In the company of his newly-born identical brother, the real Holmes, in the guise of a tobacco merchant named Anaxagoras Gurr, arrived in Russia at the invitation of Anton Chekhov. The two Holmeses parted in Riga: the phantom Holmes returned to London and the real Holmes began working in Russia, first in the Baltic provinces. Halén cites several Estonian-language titles of books telling about Holmes's exploits. These books belong to the apocryphal literature on Holmes." ⁽¹³²⁾

Similarly, Robert Keller, in "Sherlock Holmes: A Spectra?," proposes that Holmes did indeed die in the fall at Reichenbach and then returned in a spiritual, resurrected form. His later adventures were actually those of "the world's first consulting ghost."

A Different Journey

A third school of writers construct entirely different itineraries for the Great Hiatus. Anders Fage-Pedersen, in A Case of Identity, demonstrates that Holmes and Dr. Nikola, a mystical doctor who travelled in Tibet during the Hiatus, are the same person.

A love affair is a common theme. Benjamin Grosbayne, in "Sherlock Holmes's Honeymoon," concludes that he married Irene Adler, became a distinguished operatic conductor and toured the musical centres of the world with his wife. Martin J. King ("Holmes in Hoboken?") sees Holmes slipping off to Hoboken, New Jersey, and identifies the Meyers Hotel there as the location of Holmes's tryst with Irene Adler, resulting in the birth of their son, Nero Wolfe. Stanley McComas, supra, note 46, presents evidence that Holmes and Irene Adler (divorced from Godfrey Norton) were married in Florence and then spent the next three years travelling about Asia.

More farfetched is the work of Alastair Martin, in "Finding the Better Half," which identifies Moriarty as the widow of Count Dracula whom Holmes encountered at the Reichenbach, wed, and spent three years with during the Great Hiatus. An even greater leap is taken by James Nelson, in "Sherlock and the Sherpas," who proposes that in Tibet Holmes met and mated with the Abominable Snow-woman. "This takes the prize for the most fanciful of all Sherlockian conjectures!," according to DeWaal (p. II-356).

Several writers conclude that Holmes was involved with the Lizzie Borden case, which occurred in 1892. Edgar W. Smith's "Sherlock Holmes and the Great Hiatus" seems to have been the first. Allen Robertson's "Baker Street, Beecher and Borden" expands on the connection, while in Jon Borden Sisson's "Dr. Handy's Wild-Eyed Man," a document purportedly written in 1892 by Dr. Benjamin Handy of Fall River, Massachusetts, describes Holmes's acquaintance with Lizzie Borden and his investigation of the murders of her father and stepmother. Handy concludes that Holmes may have committed the murders himself, and the article further suggests that Holmes had an affair with Lizzie.

The Russians are a common theme in the "Sherlock Holmes, Secret Agent" line of theories. T. Frederick Foss, in "The Missing Years," argues that Holmes did not spend two years in Tibet posing as a Norwegian explorer named Sigerson, but, instead, assisted his country by ferreting out information on Russian intrigues in India. He expands this argument in "But That Is Another Story," contending that the Indian Government reluctantly agreed to his presence there, but arranged for Kipling's policeman, Strickland, to keep an eye on him.

The eminent writer Poul Anderson, in "Sherlock Holmes, Explorer," suggests that Holmes's travels during the Hiatus were a working out of a lifelong wish to be an explorer, although his activities in Tibet also involved counteracting the machinations of the Russian agent Dorijev. See also Manly Wade Wellman's "Scoundrels in Bohemia," suggesting far-flung espionage activities.

There was spying to be done in Persia as well, contends William P. Collins, in "It Is Time That I Should Turn to Other Memories: Sherlock Holmes and Persia, 1893." Collins's evidence strongly suggests that Holmes indeed spent at least two months in Persia where he observed the activities of the Russians; assessed the effects of the activities of Siyyid Jamálu'd-Dín "al-Afqhání" and Mírzá Malkam Khán on British interests; and made a number of recommendations on British policy to Her Majesty's representatives.

Similarly, John P. and Susan M. Thornton, in "The Adventure of the Elusive Boundary Line: An Account of the Master's Encounter with Destiny in Central Asia," argue that "Holmes was not the casual wanderer that he made himself out to be, but the Foreign Office's master agent who masterminded much of the Empire's success in Central Asia at the turn of the century. In character with his adventures as described in the Canon, he provided the stepping-stones for many others to rise to fame while he remained in the shadows."

Another "secret agent" suggestion is that of Raymond L. Holly in "Europeans in Lhasa in 1891." He points out that H. Rider Haggard attributes his tales She and Ayesha to one Ludwig Horace Holly, who claims to have been in Tibet with his adopted son in 1891. They were saved from execution by a friendly Chinese official, who, Raymond Holly suggests, in reality was Holmes in disguise, working as a secret operative for Her Majesty's Government.

Other activities are proposed as well. Alan Olding, head of the Sherlock Holmes Society of Australia, suggests (in "Holmes in Terra Australis Incognita--Incognito") that Holmes gained his knowledge of the Australian criminal class by spending part of his hiatus in Australia. Bob Reyom, in "The Great Hiatus, or Locked in the Music Room Without My Cello," hypothesizes that the hiatus was spent studying the motets of Orlando di Lasso, while Dana Martin Batory ("Tut, Tut, Sherlock!") examines the possibility that the mysterious Egyptian "detective" Abu Tabah (of Sax Rohmer's Tales of Secret Egypt (1918)) was in actuality Sherlock Holmes, who spent part of his Great Hiatus in Egypt disrupting the hashish trade on behalf of the British government.

On a musical note, Gordon R. Speck's article, "'... And a Week Later I Was in Florence,'" considers that Holmes may have spent the first weeks and the final weeks of the Great Hiatus in Cremona collecting samples from the Stradivari's workshop and in Montpellier analyzing them.

According to Tomas Gejrot ("Was Sherlock Holmes A Patient of Sigmund Freud's?), Holmes spent his Hiatus in Vienna being treated for his addiction to cocaine. Of course, this view was taken to the extreme in Nicholas Meyer's novel Seven-per-cent Solution.

There is almost no disagreement among chronologists that the events of "The Adventure of the Empty House" took place in early April 1894. ⁽¹³³⁾ The following table summarizes their conclusions:

Alberstat, Mark, "The Wicked Colonel's Canadian Connection," Canadian Holmes, 11, No. 2 (Christmas 1987), 31-32, 37.

Anderson, Poul, "Sherlock Holmes, Explorer," Beeman's Christmas Annual (Dec. 1984), 2-4.

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1. © All original material copyright 2000 Leslie S. Klinger.

2. "British conventions in regard to titles of honour are sometimes puzzling to the American reader," writes Christopher Morley in Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson: A Textbook of Friendship [hereinafter "Morley"]. "The etiquette of the subject is too complex for a brief note, but a few points can be mentioned. Young Ronald Adair has the courtesy prefix The Honourable because he is the child of a 'peer' (viz., a nobleman; there are five degrees of nobility: duke, marquis, earl, viscount, baron). Similarly his sister Hilda would be known as The Honourable Hilda Adair. The prefix Honourable is also given by courtesy to judges of the higher courts and some government officials, as is also done, though more casually, in the U.S. This attribution of honour is not acquired by marriage: if Ronald had married Miss Woodley they would have been announced by the butler as The Honourable Ronald Adair and Mrs. Adair. The most frequent error made by those unfamiliar with these traditional labels is to use the title of honour as a substitute for Mister. When Dr. Doyle was knighted and became Sir Arthur Conan Doyle it would be wrong to refer to him as 'Sir Doyle,' just as you would never call Sir Walter Scott 'Sir Scott.' Sir Walter Scott, Bart., means Sir Walter Scott, Baronet; the Baronet's title is hereditary and passes to his son. The order of simple knighthood, as in the case of Doyle, is personal and not hereditary. In these innocent old formalities are many entertaining distinctions. For instance the formal address for the Earl of Maynooth would be Right Honourable the Earl of Maynooth. His wife would be The Countess of Maynooth, but referred to informally as Lady Maynooth. Perhaps it was the complexity of all this that discouraged plain Miss Edith Woodley." (p. 283-84, fn. 2)

3. "Robert" in the original manuscript (corrected) and in the first English edition; the Strand Magazine and Collier's Weekly versions, as well as the American editions, use "Ronald."

4. EMPT was published in the Strand Magazine for October, 1903, and in Collier's Weekly in the issue of September 26, 1903. Philip Weller notes, in The Company Canon: The Adventure of the Empty House [hereinafter "Weller"], "This coincides with the date of Holmes's supposed retirement from active detective work." (p. 35, fn. 5)

5. The exact date is not stated. "One would have thought," remarks June Thomson, in her splendid biography Holmes and Watson, "that, even if [Watson] were not keeping a journal at the time, the day of his reunion with Holmes would have been etched in figures of fire in his memory." (p. 184)

6. "[C]alling on his patients," notes Morley. "We do not know whether Watson's practice had enabled him to keep his own carriage. Probably not. The fact that he kept thinking about the Adair case rather than his patients suggests his heart was not in his profession."

7. At that time, under the Australian Colonies Government Act, known formally as the Act for the Better Government of Her Majesty's Australian Colonies, adopted in August 1850, the self-governing colonies of Australia were New South Wales, Victoria, South Australia, West Australia, Queensland, and Tasmania. At the end of 1893 (which seems to be the appropriate time-frame), the governors were as follows: Sir Robert William Duff (New South Wales); John Adrian Louis Hope, Earl of Hopetoun (Victoria); Algernon Hawkins Thomond Keith-Falconer, Earl of Kintore (South Australia); Sir William Cleaver Francis Robinson (West Australia); General Sir Henry Wylie Norman (Queensland); and Jenico William Joseph Preston, Viscount Gormanston (Tasmania). Foster, S. G., ed. Australians: A Historical Library. It should be noted that the Earls of Hopetoun and Kintore are Scottish nobility, while the Viscount Gormanston is an ancient Irish title. "Maynooth" is a village in Kildare, Ireland, near Dublin.

8. Cataract is a disease of the eye, in which the lens becomes opaque and causes partial or total blindness. It is treated by different surgical operations, all of them consisting of removing the diseased lens from its position opposite the transparent cornea. Jennifer Chorley reports, in "Some Diggings Down Under," "I have a great-uncle, now in his 90's, still living in Melbourne, where he was practising medicine, in 1893-4. I am sure he would agree that a cataract operation could have been performed in Melbourne or Sydney. But Tasmania might not have had the facilities so perhaps the Countess had some justification for returning to England?" (p. 50)

9. "Park Lane is the fashionable street along the eastern side of Hyde Park. It was long famous for many distinguished mansions. Just behind Park Lane is the aristocratic quarter known as Mayfair; the American Embassy is near by, on Grosvenor Square." Morley (p. 288-89, fn. 1)

10. A "card-playing club, which ... admits no strangers, is the Baldwin, in Pall Mall East, which opens at two o'clock in the afternoon. The stakes here are very small," records Ralph Nevill in London Clubs, Their History and Treasures.

11. According to William S. Baring-Gould, in The Annotated Sherlock Holmes [hereinafter "Baring-Gould"], "[t]he Cavendish Club, on the north side of Piccadilly, between Down Street and Park Lane, was later taken over by the Cavalry Club." (vol. II, p. 330, fn. 7) Richard Lancelyn Green, editor of The Return of Sherlock Holmes [hereinafter "Green"], writes, "[T]he Cavendish Club was at 307 Regent Street in the 1880's, then near Oxford Street, and afterwards on the north side of Piccadilly..." (p. 330, fn. 4)

12. "[About 1891], there was a slight epidemic of the gaming fever in the West End of London, and quite a number of so-called 'clubs,' the only object of which was high play, were started, mostly by shrewd veterans of the sporting world... Such clubs were in reality little but miniature casinos, and the main, if not the sole, qualification for membership lay in being possessed of ample funds and a tendency to part with them easily. The chief of these institutions were situated off Piccadilly and St. James's Street, about which the spirit of that reckless speculation which raged in this neighbourhood so fiercely in the eighteenth century has always had a tendency to linger. [Among them were] the Park Club...[and] the Field Club....The clubs just mentioned, it should be added, were quite different from the gaming clubs of the past, the members being rich men well able to take care of themselves, and the only reason for their cessation was that, as the membership was in every case very limited, they got tired of playing at the game of dog eat dog." Nevill, supra, note 10 (p. 186-87).

13. Whist was the forerunner of modern contract bridge. "Prior to 1700," write Alfred H. Morehead, Richard L. Frey, and Geoffrey Mott-Smith, in The New Complete Hoyle, "Whist was not a fashionable game. But this early part of the eighteenth century saw a noteworthy rise in rational thinking throughout England, and even the gambling element among educated men turned from the previous games to the more scientific game of Whist. In London coffee houses, where such men assembled to talk and play, groups of gentlemen took up Whist as a subject of serious study. One of these men was Edmond Hoyle." At 117. Not until 1894 was Bridge (so named) introduced to London. "Bridge was an unprecedentedly rapid success; while Whist remained the serious tournament game, before 1900 Bridge had supplanted it as the standard club game and as the party game in fashionable circles." Id. Other players mentioned in the Canon are the Tregennises (DEVI) and Mr. Merryweather ( REDH). (See Klinger, Leslie S., and Bourke, Timothy, "What Game Was Afoot in The Red-Headed League?")

14. Ian McQueen, in Sherlock Holmes Detected: The Problems of the Long Stories [hereinafter "McQueen"], identifies "Lord Balmoral" as the Prince of Wales and contends that his involvement with Moran was the reason why "a good deal was suppressed [in the police investigation]..." and why, even though "the case for the prosecution was so overwhelmingly strong that it was not necessary to bring forward all the facts," Colonel Moran was not convicted. (p. 210-12) Weller comes to a similar conclusion: "Queen Victoria sometimes used the alias of 'The Duchess of Balmoral' when travelling incognito, and Lord Balmoral may thus be another concealed reference to the Prince of Wales's involvement in the great Baccarat scandal." (p. 37, fn. 26)

15. That is, the third floor in America.

16. In the manuscript, this is a "bullet of an expanding character"; in Collier's Weekly and American editions, an "expanded revolver bullet." Soft-nosed "dumdum" bullets were first made in the town of Dum Dum, a suburb of Calcutta, founded in 1783. It was the headquarters of the Bengal artillery until 1853 and has an ammunition factory in which the dumdum expanding bullet was first made. The town's name was derived from the Persian word damdama, which refers to a raised mound or battery.

17. Thomas L. Stix, writing in "A Little Dirt on The Empty House," asks: "What is [Adair] doing with £37 10s., when the amount was £420? Why should he have the banknotes on the table? He could write, he could play cards, he could do simple arithmetic. No, we must look for a deeper, more pregnant explanation." (p. 95)

18. John Hall, in Sidelights on Holmes [hereinafter "Sidelights"] suggests that Moran did just that but conveniently ignores Watson's statement respecting the undisturbed crocus beds and grass. (p. 122)

19. Gavin Brend points out in My Dear Holmes [hereinafter "Brend"], "The crocus is hardly likely to be blooming [in England] at the end of March, and it would seem that January 30^th would be a more appropriate date." (p. 129) Baring-Gould comments, "Watson evidently confused crocuses with another flower..." (vol. II, p. 331, fn. 11), but as Lionel Needleman writes, "No doubt Watson could have confused crocuses with another flower, but we have no reason to question his identification in this case." He continues, in "A Practical Handbook of Canonical Gardens," "It is not at all improbable that crocuses were blooming at the end of March in Park Lane; they were certainly flowering in Rider Haggard's garden on March 30, 1903, as he noted in his gardening diary ([H. R. Haggard, A Gardener's Year. London: Longmans, Green (1903)] p. 123). Crocuses can, in fact, be seen flowering in the open in England from late August to early April, and one of the most commonly planted groups, the large Dutch hybrids, are usually in bloom at the end of March..." (p. 5)

20. "He" in American editions.

21. "[A] lazy vagabond. Generally considered an Americanism, Loper, or Loafer, however, was in general use as a Cant term in the early part of the [18^th] century. Landloper was a vagabond who begged in the attire of a sailor; and the sea phrase, Land-Lubber was doubtless synonymous.--See the Times, 3d November 1859, for a reference to Loafer." John Camden Hotten's The Slang Dictionary; or The Vulgar Words, Street Phrases, and "Fast" Expressions of High and Low Society [hereinafter "Slang Dictionary"] (p. 172) "Loafers were a common feature in the Victorian age, often to be seen collecting on street corners and outside public houses," states Kelvin I. Jones, in A Sherlock Holmes Dictionary [hereinafter "Jones"] (p. 82).

22. Susan Dahlinger, in "The Adventures of a Hated Rival," suggests that this is Barker, Holmes's "hated rival upon the Surrey shore," described in RETI as "[a] tall, dark, heavily-moustached man...with grey-tinted sun-glasses." D. Martin Dakin, in A Sherlock Holmes Commentary [hereinafter "Dakin"] concurs. (p. 155) However, in "The Tree That Wasn't," Nicholas Utechin makes the original observation that Holmes tells Watson that "[he] was in danger at the time" and proposes that the man is Colonel James Moriarty.

23. Patrick E. Drazen, in "Who Was That Private Detective I Saw You With?," places himself in the "Barker" camp regarding the identity of the man (see note 22, supra) and observes that notwithstanding Watson's dismissal of the man's observations as "absurd," Holmes had carefully positioned himself to listen to the man.

24. Madeleine B. Stern states (in Sherlock Holmes: Rare Book Collector [hereinafter "Stern"]) that "... we may safely assume that what [Watson] called The Origin of Tree Worship was actually Der Baumkultus, written by Bœtticher in 1856, a title to which Watson, for the sake of his English public, translated a bit too freely." (p. 7)

S. Tupper Bigelow disagrees, in "Those Five Volumes": "Oddly enough, there is not a book ever written in the English language called The Origin of Tree Worship. About the closest we can get to it is Tree and Serpent Worship, James Ferguson, London, 1873, and The Sacred Tree in Religion and Myth, Philpot, London, 1897. The latter can be ruled out at once, of course, as it was published after 1894." (p. 34-35) But see also note 30, infra.

25. When and why Watson's practice moved to Kensington from Paddington is a matter of controversy, depending on the chronology followed. Baring-Gould takes the position that Watson married someone in 1886 and moved from Baker Street to Paddington. He returned to Baker Street in early 1887, presumably upon the death of his first wife, and purchased the Paddington practice mentioned in REDH (which Baring-Gould, alone among chronologists, dates in 1887). After the death of Mary Morstan, Watson moved back to Kensington, where he had had a quieter practice, to take up writing.

S. C. Roberts, in Doctor Watson, places Watson in Kensington for the first time after the death of Mary Morstan. In doing so, he unfortunately ignores the plain statement in REDH (which Roberts places in 1890) that Watson "drove home to [his] house in Kensington." (p. 23-24) Dakin (p. 155) points out Roberts's error and concludes that Watson transferred his practice from Paddington to Kensington in 1890, the date assigned to REDH by every major chronologist except Baring-Gould. See generally Peck, Andrew Jay, and Klinger, Leslie S.,"The Date Being--?": A Compendium of Chronological Data [hereinafter "The Date Being--?"].

26. "I wonder," muses Dakin, if Watson had ever tried wedging over a dozen books under one arm? Even if they are quite slim ones, it is an almost impossible feat without spilling them. He must have meant half a dozen; Holmes mentions five immediately after." (p. 158)

27. Did Holmes select the books at random from a Church Street bookseller or were they his own? Stern points out that "[since Holmes had last seen Watson, he had extricated himself from the Reichenbach Fall and traveled for two years in Tibet. Upon his return to London, he had gone immediately to Baker Street, finding that his brother Mycroft had preserved his rooms and papers exactly as they had always been. It is clear, then, that Holmes had taken the four volumes in question from his own shelves rather than from those of a Church Street bookseller before assuming his disguise. The disguise itself is elucidating, however, for Holmes undoubtedly identified himself with the bookseller who had, at some time prior to 1894, supplied him not only with those volumes, but with several others. The dealer was none other than Alfred B. Clementson, who plied his trade at 73 Church Street, Kensington, W. (See London Post-Office Directory for 1890.)" (p. 6)

28. S. Tupper Bigelow, note 24, supra, points out that "quite clearly, Holmes indicated to Watson that his British Birds, Catullus and The Holy War would fill a five-volume gap so we must of necessity look for editions of these books that comprise five volumes." (p. 33)

29. Stern identifies this as "... not a minor nineteenth-century work, but the fine History of British Birds with the Bewick wood engravings printed in two volumes at Newcastle in 1797 and 1804." (p. 7)

Lisa McGaw suggests, in "Some Trifling Notes on Sherlock Holmes and Ornithology," "A perusal of Raymond Irwin's British Bird Books: An Index to British Ornithology, A.D. 1481 to A.D. 1948 (London: Grafton & Co., 1951) reveals no volume entitled simply British Birds prior to early 1894. There is, however, a six-volume work by Francis O. Morris entitled A History of British Birds (Groombridge, 1851-57) and bearing on its spine the label Morris's British Birds. Could that have been what Holmes was carrying? It seems likely, although it would have been nearly an armful in itself if he had all six volumes. To suggest that this work was obscure is misleading because, in its day, it was well known in its field. Three reissues of the first edition, four revised editions, and two cabinet editions attest to its popularity among persons interested in birds. Its 357 hand-colored plates, all rather good, greatly enhanced the work in an era when accurate bird drawings were rare, and that helped to counteract the fact that the information in the text was not too reliable. If this is the work referred to, Holmes undoubtedly possessed a first edition, which would have increased its value as a collector's item." (p. 233)

Bigelow, note 24, supra, contends: "An equally good guess would be Robert Mudie's The Feathered Tribes of the British Islands, lettered on its spine 'Mudie's British Birds,' the first edition of which appeared in London in 1853, and a fourth edition ... . similarly spine-lettered, in 1878... . Furthermore, Bewick's two volumes were spine-lettered 'History of British Birds,' so as between Bewick and Mudie, it would appear that Mudie has the slight advantage...[B]oth books are in two volumes. What we must have, obviously, is a book on British birds in three volumes. We are bound, therefore, to discard Morris' History of British Birds, 1878, in six volumes; and A. Thorburn's British Birds, 1915, in one volume...We are not assisted, either, by the three-volume British Birds and Their Nests by Vesey B. Fitzgerald, London, 1953, nor the three-volume British Birds, Trees and Wild Flowers by Walter M. Gallichan, London, 1915. There seems, indeed, to be only one possible solution. William Yarrell's A History of British Birds was first published in London by John Van Voorst in 1843; a second edition appeared in 1845 and a third in 1846. Each edition was published in three volumes. On the spine of each volume of all editions is lettered 'Yarrell's British Birds.'" But see note 30, infra, regarding the two- vs. three-volume controversy.

McGaw, supra, also points out the existence of Claude W. Wyatt's British Birds: Being illustrations of all the species of passerine birds, both resident and migratory, also of Picarian birds, birds of prey and pigeons, with some notes in reference to their plumage. (p. 234) Published in two volumes, the first was issued in 1894, perhaps in time to be under Holmes's arm.

Green suggests History of British Birds (1883-85) by Henry Seebohm. (p. 331, fn. 7)

30. Stern continues her identification of the volumes with "the first Aldine Catullus: Catullus, Tibulius, Propertius, printed in italic letter by Aldus at Venice in 1502, with the title-page in the first state, reading Propetius for Propertius--a rare edition though, of course, not under the circumstances, an incunable." (p. 6-7)

Morley notes, "Mr. Norman Dodge of Goodspeed's Bookshop in Boston believes the Catullus was the one printed by the noted typographer John Baskerville (1706-1775)." (p.289, fn. 1)

Bliss Austin (in "Two Bibliographical Footnotes") argues that the "Catullus and The Origin of Tree Worship were one and the same book! It is a work by Grant Allen, entitled The Attis of Caius Valerius Catullus, Translated into English Verse, with Dissertations on the Myth of Attis, on the Origin of Tree-Worship,...and on the Galliambic Metre. It was published, in an edition limited to 550 copies, as Volume VI of the Bibliotheque de Carabas in London in 1892 by David Nutt." Austin suggests that when the book was dropped, it fell open and Watson saw the running title at the top of the page, rather than the title on the spine; when Holmes showed Watson his armful of books, it would be the title on the spine that Watson noticed, viz., Catullus. Because 94 of the 154 pages of the volume are devoted to The Origin of Tree Worship, the odds were better than 3 to 2 that the book would fall open to this section. Bigelow, note 24, supra, finds this argument sensible, logical and...ineluctable." (p. 35)

However, Stern destroys Austin's argument as entirely specious: "The running title of Grant Allen's work is nowhere The Origin of Tree Worship, but throughout simply The Attis. On page 31 only, in small type, there appears the phrase On the Origin of Tree-Worship. Hence the chances of the volume being opened to that phrase drop...to 1 to 153." (p. viii] Thus she stands by her choice of a two-volume British Birds and rejects Bigelow's three-volume suggestion.

31. Stern completes the quartet of titles with "... obviously a copy of the 1639 first edition of Thomas Fuller's History of the Holy Warre, and not one of the numerous reprints of that popular work on the Crusades." (p. 7)

Austin, note 30, supra, suggests "as a possible alternative John Bunyan's The Holy War, which bears the subtitle: 'Made by King Shaddai upon Diabolus for the Regaining of the Metropolis of the World; Or the Losing and Taking Again of the Town of Mansoul.' This, the second most famous of Bunyan's works, was first published in 1682 in a small octavo volume which was quite handsome by the standards of the day. It was, within a few years, translated into Dutch, German, Gaelic, Portugese and Turkish. The first edition would, I am certain, have been an item worthy of Holmes's attention." (p. 41)

Bigelow, note 24, supra, agrees: "The Holy War must surely have been some edition of Bunyan's famous work, first published in 1682. Sherlock Holmes's copy could scarcely have been a first edition, as there is no first edition of this work in the United States and the only [known] first edition...is in the British Museum...[N]o known edition ... was published in two volumes [although] there were no less than 44 editions of The Holy War published in England and the United States from 1682 to 1795 inclusive..." (p. 35-36)

David A. Randall argues, in "The Adventure of the Notorious Forger," that Holmes included The Holy War "out of all the millions [of volumes] he could have possessed" because his true reason for returning to England was to unmask Thomas James Wise, the great literary forger, and "he naturally had with him some volumes in which the forger also would be interested....[The William Pickering] edition of Fuller's Holy War [was] a vastly important clue in the unmasking of Wise." (p. 374) Stern points out that unmasking Wise meant comparing the Pickering edition to the original. "While Holmes may have owned both, he would scarcely have carried around with him on the street [the Pickering edition,] 'a vastly important clue.' I submit, therefore, that Fuller's Holy Warre in first edition was one volume in that armful of intriguing books..." (p. ix]

32. "It is true that the manner of Holmes's return was sufficiently melodramatic to accelerate the most sluggish pulse," S. C. Roberts writes in Doctor Watson, "but it is hardly enough to account for an old campaigner like Watson falling into a dead faint. Clearly, his constitution had not fully recovered from the ravages of recent grief and worry [caused by the final illness and subsequent death of Mary Morstan Watson]." (p. 24)

However, Walter P. Armstrong, Jr., in "The Truth About Sherlock Holmes" [hereinafter "Armstrong"], rejects the episode as fictional: "This was such an uncharacteristic act that it has led to the wildest conjectures. It is a weakness to which old soldiers are seldom addicted; but it is one which is all too apparent in the case of writers of fiction. A Watson who in real life had never fainted might easily in composing an imaginative account of an emotional scene which never happened depict Watson as fainting." (p. 398)

33. "Where did this brandy come from?" asks Armstrong. "Did Sherlock Holmes, as one of the properties in his character of an aged bibliophile, carry a hip flask? It does not seem likely. Nor can he, after a three years' absence, have known where the brandy in Watson's home was kept." (p. 398) Nor was this a home which Holmes would have known: Watson's "Kensington" home is not in Paddington (ENGR), nor does it back onto Mortimer Street (FINA).

Ernst Bloomfield Zeisler, however, in Baker Street Chronology: Commentaries on the Sacred Writings of Dr. John H. Watson [hereinafter "Zeisler"], argues that the flask was the Master's: "[S]urely [he] foresaw the possibility, if not the likelihood, that his faithful old friend might be so startled [by his reappearance] as to require resuscitation; he prepared himself for this by pocketing his brandy flask." (p. 62-63)

34. McQueen notes that it is a cigarette and not a pipe or cigar to which Holmes turns in this indelible moment, just as when he took the fateful walk to the Reichenbach Falls, he carried his cigarette case (and Watson made no mention of a pipe). (p. 33)

35. "This is hardly what would be expected of a man who has been wandering in unknown portions of Tibet and under the burning sun of the Egyptian Sudan," continues Armstrong. "But it is exactly what we would expect of a man who has been spending much time indoors and venturing out only in a heavy disguise....

36. "Where," asks Edgar W. Smith, in "The Old Shikari," "...was Colonel Moran after Dr. Watson had left for the inn and the two principal adversaries in the drama were about to come to grips? We know, from the events shortly following, that it was not in any spirit of fair play that Moran's hand was stayed before the struggle had begun: it could only have been because Moriarty's supreme confidence in his own physical prowess led him to order his confederate temporarily off the stage." (p. 31)

37. This is the first time we learn that Moriarty's eyes, like Holmes's (HOUN, inter alia), were grey. For the significance of the hereditary grey eyes, see "A Case of A Case of Identity Recased, or The Gray Eyes Have It," Addendum 2 to Philip José Farmer's Tarzan Alive, in which Farmer demonstrates that Holmes, Moriarty, and numerous other "super-heroes" and "super-villains" are related. See also note 105, infra.

38. Properly Bartitsu, the system of self-defense introduced from Japan into England by E. W. Barton-Wright, after whom the method is called, in 1899. While Moriarty's death predated the Barton-Wright system by eight years, Japanese techniques were known at the time, and publication of EMPT in 1903 followed shortly after the first notice of "Bartitsu" in Pearson's magazine for March and April 1899, resulting in Watson's commission of an anachronism in authoring the tale. In his article, "The Mystery of Baritsu: A Sidelight Upon Sherlock Holmes's Accomplishments," Ralph Judson explains his discovery that a Mr. E. W. Barton-Wright had published in Pearson's Magazine in the March and April 1899 issues, an article called "The New Art of Self-Defence." He "described therein a few of the three hundred methods of attack and counter-attack that comprise the New Art of Self-Defence, to which I have given the name of BARTITSU ..." (after Barton). "In giving the name Bartitsu to a number of selected methods of Ju-Jutsu [sic], adapted to European needs and costume, Mr. Barton-Wright followed a well-established precedent. Many of the exponents of this art in Japan founded their own schools and gave their own names to the methods they taught...[I]s it possible that [Holmes] was a pupil of Barton-Wright and his Japanese partners? It is not...'Bartitsu' did not make its bow in England till 1899.... Dr. Watson must have read Mr. Barton-Wright's article in The Pearson's Magazine in 1899, got the word 'Bartitsu' stuck in his mind, and, in describing, in 1903, the return of his friend, inadvertently written 'Baritsu'(dropping a 't' in the Bartitsu) instead of Ju-Jutsu"--the system of Japanese wrestling by which Holmes actually overcame Professor Moriarty.

"It takes roughly seven years to become proficient in this art and reach instinctive actions and reactions to every kind of attack. It is likely, therefore," argues Judson, "that Sherlock Holmes started his training at least eight years previously, that is, around 1883-1884.... 'I slipped through his grip,' [states Holmes]. In one fast and smooth movement, dropping on one knee, he [must have] gripped with one hand Moriarty's heel, which was closer to the abyss, and lifting the heel and with it the foot, diagonally, away from himself, he [must have] pushed hard, at the same time, with his other hand, into the groin of the captured leg, applying terrific leverage. This caused Moriarty to lose completely his balance and gave him no time to clutch at his opponent." (p. 12, 14-16)

However, in their fascinating work Some Knowledge of Baritsu: An Investigation of the Japanese System of Wrestling Used by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Hirayama Yuichi and John Hall conclude that the Master was not proficient in the art. "The balance of probability must be that Holmes used jujutsu [in his combat with Moriarty, not] sumo...[or] 'bujutsu'.... It seems certain that Holmes, despite his easy defeat of Moriarty at Reichenbach, did not possess a high degree of skill in jujutsu at any time in his career. This is indicated by his inability to cope with the two assailants in the middle of his career in The Reigate Puzzle [1887), and by his defeat at the hands of Gruner's hired villains towards the end of Holmes's career in The Illustrious Client.... [E]ither Holmes learned his skills from a less than masterly teacher, or...Holmes did study with a master, but for too short a time to learn the technique properly." (p. 37-38)

39. "The resultant print of [Holmes's] prone body in the moist earth should have betrayed his escape to the Swiss experts," Anthony Boucher points out in "Was the Later Holmes an Imposter?" [hereinafter "Imposter"], "but it is conceivable that Watson's similar print overlay his." (p. 65)

40. "The reasons given by Holmes...for his daring ascent of the rock-wall above the Reichenbach are unsatisfactory," T. S. Blakeney writes in Sherlock Holmes: Fact or Fiction? [hereina