THE ADVENTURE OF THE EMPTY HOUSE

urpartmighthavedrawnattentiontomyidentityandledtothemostdeplorableandirreparableresults.AstoMycroft,IhadtoconfideinhiminordertoobtainthemoneywhichIneeded.ThecourseofeventsinLondondidnotrunsowellasIhadhoped,forthetrialoftheMoriartyganglefttwoofitsmostdangerousmembers,myownmostvindictiveenemies,atliberty.ItravelledfortwoyearsinTibet,therefore,andamusedmyselfbyvisitingLhassa,andspendingsomedayswiththeheadlama.YoumayhavereadoftheremarkableexplorationsofaNorwegiannamedSigerson,butIamsurethatitneveroccurredtoyouthatyouwerereceivingnewsofyourfriend.IthenpassedthroughPersia,lookedinatMecca,andpaidashortbutinterestingvisittotheKhalifaatKhartoumtheresultsofwhichIhavecommunicatedtotheForeignOffice.ReturningtoFrance,Ispentsomemonthsinaresearchintothecoal-tarderivatives,whichIconductedinalaboratoryatMontpellier,inthesouthofFrance.HavingconcludedthistomysatisfactionandlearningthatonlyoneofmyenemieswasnowleftinLondon,IwasabouttoreturnwhenmymovementswerehastenedbythenewsofthisveryremarkableParkLaneMystery,whichnotonlyappealedtomebyitsownmerits,butwhichseemedtooffersomemostpeculiarpersonalopportunities.IcameoveratoncetoLondon,calledinmyownpersonatBakerStreet,threwMrs.Hudsonintoviolenthysterics,andfoundthatMycrofthadpreservedmyroomsandmypapersexactlyastheyhadalwaysbeen.Soitwas,mydearWatson,thatattwoo’clockto-dayIfoundmyselfinmyoldarmchairinmyownoldroom,andonlywishingthatIcouldhaveseenmyoldfriendWatsonintheotherchairwhichhehassooftenadorned.” SuchwastheremarkablenarrativetowhichIlistenedonthatAprilevening—anarrativewhichwouldhavebeenutterlyincredibletomehaditnotbeenconfirmedbytheactualsightofthetall,sparefigureandthekeen,eagerface,whichIhadneverthoughttoseeagain.Insomemannerhehadlearnedofmyownsadbereavement,andhissympathywasshowninhismannerratherthaninhiswords.“Workisthebestantidotetosorrow,mydearWatson,”saidhe“andIhaveapieceofworkforusbothto-nightwhich,ifwecanbringittoasuccessfulconclusion,willinitselfjustifyaman’slifeonthisplanet.”InvainIbeggedhimtotellmemore.“Youwillhearandseeenoughbeforemorning,”heanswered.“Wehavethreeyearsofthepasttodiscuss.Letthatsufficeuntilhalf-pastnine,whenwestartuponthenotableadventureoftheemptyhouse.” Itwasindeedlikeoldtimeswhen,atthathour,Ifoundmyselfseatedbesidehiminahansom,myrevolverinmypocket,andthethrillofadventureinmyheart.Holmeswascoldandsternandsilent.Asthegleamofthestreet-lampsflasheduponhisausterefeatures,Isawthathisbrowsweredrawndowninthoughtandhisthinlipscompressed.IknewnotwhatwildbeastwewereabouttohuntdowninthedarkjungleofcriminalLondon,butIwaswellassured,fromthebearingofthismasterhuntsman,thattheadventurewasamostgraveone—whilethesardonicsmilewhichoccasionallybrokethroughhisasceticgloombodedlittlegoodfortheobjectofourquest. IhadimaginedthatwewereboundforBakerStreet,butHolmesstoppedthecabatthecornerofCavendishSquare.Iobservedthatashesteppedouthegaveamostsearchingglancetorightandleft,andateverysubsequentstreetcornerhetooktheutmostpainstoassurethathewasnotfollowed.Ourroutewascertainlyasingularone.Holmes’sknowledgeofthebywaysofLondonwasextraordinary,andonthisoccasionhepassedrapidlyandwithanassuredstepthroughanetworkofmewsandstables,theveryexistenceofwhichIhadneverknown.Weemergedatlastintoasmallroad,linedwithold,gloomyhouses,whichledusintoManchesterStreet,andsotoBlandfordStreet.Hereheturnedswiftlydownanarrowpassage,passedthroughawoodengateintoadesertedyard,andthenopenedwithakeythebackdoorofahouse.Weenteredtogether,andhecloseditbehindus. Theplacewaspitchdark,butitwasevidenttomethatitwasanemptyhouse.Ourfeetcreakedandcrackledoverthebareplanking,andmyoutstretchedhandtouchedawallfromwhichthepaperwashanginginribbons.Holmes’scold,thinfingersclosedroundmywristandledmeforwarddownalonghall,untilIdimlysawthemurkyfanlightoverthedoor.HereHolmesturnedsuddenlytotherightandwefoundourselvesinalarge,square,emptyroom,heavilyshadowedinthecorners,butfaintlylitinthecentrefromthelightsofthestreetbeyond.Therewasnolampnear,andthewindowwasthickwithdust,sothatwecouldonlyjustdiscerneachother’sfigureswithin.Mycompanionputhishanduponmyshoulderandhislipsclosetomyear. “Doyouknowwhereweare?”hewhispered. “SurelythatisBakerStreet,”Ianswered,staringthroughthedimwindow. “Exactly.WeareinCamdenHouse,whichstandsoppositetoourownoldquarters.” “Butwhyarewehere?” “Becauseitcommandssoexcellentaviewofthatpicturesquepile.MightItroubleyou,mydearWatson,todrawalittlenearertothewindow,takingeveryprecautionnottoshowyourself,andthentolookupatouroldrooms—thestarting-pointofsomanyofyourlittlefairy-tales?Wewillseeifmythreeyearsofabsencehaveentirelytakenawaymypowertosurpriseyou.” Icreptforwardandlookedacrossatthefamiliarwindow.Asmyeyesfelluponit,Igaveagaspandacryofamazement.Theblindwasdown,andastronglightwasburningintheroom.Theshadowofamanwhowasseatedinachairwithinwasthrowninhard,blackoutlineupontheluminousscreenofthewindow.Therewasnomistakingthepoiseofthehead,thesquarenessoftheshoulders,thesharpnessofthefeatures.Thefacewasturnedhalf-round,andtheeffectwasthatofoneofthoseblacksilhouetteswhichourgrandparentslovedtoframe.ItwasaperfectreproductionofHolmes.SoamazedwasIthatIthrewoutmyhandtomakesurethatthemanhimselfwasstandingbesideme.Hewasquiveringwithsilentlaughter. “Well?”saidhe. “Goodheavens!”Icried.“Itismarvellous.” “Itrustthatagedothnotwithernorcustomstalemyinfinitevariety,”saidhe,andIrecognizedinhisvoicethejoyandpridewhichtheartisttakesinhisowncreation.“Itreallyisratherlikeme,isitnot?” “Ishouldbepreparedtoswearthatitwasyou.” “ThecreditoftheexecutionisduetoMonsieurOscarMeunier,ofGrenoble,whospentsomedaysindoingthemoulding.Itisabustinwax.TherestIarrangedmyselfduringmyvisittoBakerStreetthisafternoon.” “Butwhy?” “Because,mydearWatson,IhadthestrongestpossiblereasonforwishingcertainpeopletothinkthatIwastherewhenIwasreallyelsewhere.” “Andyouthoughttheroomswerewatched?” “Iknewthattheywerewatched.” “Bywhom?” “Bymyoldenemies,Watson.BythecharmingsocietywhoseleaderliesintheReichenbachFall.Youmustrememberthattheyknew,andonlytheyknew,thatIwasstillalive.SoonerorlatertheybelievedthatIshouldcomebacktomyrooms.Theywatchedthemcontinuously,andthismorningtheysawmearrive.” “Howdoyouknow?” “BecauseIrecognizedtheirsentinelwhenIglancedoutofmywindow.Heisaharmlessenoughfellow,Parkerbyname,agarroterbytrade,andaremarkableperformeruponthejew’s-harp.Icarednothingforhim.ButIcaredagreatdealforthemuchmoreformidablepersonwhowasbehindhim,thebosomfriendofMoriarty,themanwhodroppedtherocksoverthecliff,themostcunninganddangerouscriminalinLondon.Thatisthemanwhoisaftermeto-nightWatson,andthatisthemanwhoisquiteunawarethatweareafterhim.” Myfriend’splansweregraduallyrevealingthemselves.Fromthisconvenientretreat,thewatcherswerebeingwatchedandthetrackerstracked.Thatangularshadowupyonderwasthebait,andwewerethehunters.Insilencewestoodtogetherinthedarknessandwatchedthehurryingfigureswhopassedandrepassedinfrontofus.HolmeswassilentandmotionlessbutIcouldtellthathewaskeenlyalert,andthathiseyeswerefixedintentlyuponthestreamofpassers-by.Itwasableakandboisterousnightandthewindwhistledshrillydownthelongstreet.Manypeopleweremovingtoandfro,mostofthemmuffledintheircoatsandcravats.OnceortwiceitseemedtomethatIhadseenthesamefigurebefore,andIespeciallynoticedtwomenwhoappearedtobeshelteringthemselvesfromthewindinthedoorwayofahousesomedistanceupthestreet.Itriedtodrawmycompanion’sattentiontothembuthegavealittleejaculationofimpatience,andcontinuedtostareintothestreet.Morethanoncehefidgetedwithhisfeetandtappedrapidlywithhisfingersuponthewall.Itwasevidenttomethathewasbecominguneasy,andthathisplanswerenotworkingoutaltogetherashehadhoped.Atlast,asmidnightapproachedandthestreetgraduallycleared,hepacedupanddowntheroominuncontrollableagitation.Iwasabouttomakesomeremarktohim,whenIraisedmyeyestothelightedwindow,andagainexperiencedalmostasgreatasurpriseasbefore.IclutchedHolmes’sarm,andpointedupward. “Th