this house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to myself, I'll
just step in and see that kind gentleman, and tell him that if I was
a bit gruff in my manner there was not any harm meant, and that I am
much obliged to him for picking up my books."
"You make too much of a trifle," said I. "May I ask how you knew who
I was?"
"Well, sir, if it isn't too great a liberty, I am a neighbour of
yours, for you'll find my little bookshop at the corner of Church
Street, and very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect
yourself, sir; here's British Birds, and Catullus, and The Holy
War--a bargain every one of them. With five volumes you could just
fill that gap on that second shelf. It looks untidy, does it not,
sir?"
I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I turned again
Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table. I
rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement,
and then it appears that I must have fainted for the first and the
last time in my life. 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.
"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 in his old nonchalant
manner. He was dressed in the seedy frock-coat of the book merchant,
but the rest of that individual lay in a pile of white hair and old
books upon the table. Holmes looked even thinner and keener than of
old, but there was a dead-white tinge in his aquiline face which told
me that his life recently had not been a healthy one.
"I am glad to stretch myself, Watson," said he. "It is no joke when a
tall man has to take a foot off his stature for several hours on end.
Now, my dear fellow, in the matter of these explanations we have, if
I may ask for your co-operation, a hard and dangerous night's work in
front of us. Perhaps it would be better if I gave you an account of
the whole situation when that work is finished."
"I am full of curiosity. I should much prefer to hear now."
"You'll come with me to-night?"
"When you like and where you like."
"This is indeed like the old days. We shall have time for a mouthful
of dinner before we need go. Well, then, about that chasm. I had no
serious difficulty in getting out of it, for the very simple reason
that I never was in it."
"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. I read
an inexorable purpose in his grey eyes. I exchanged some remarks with
him, therefore, and obtained his courteous permission to write the
short note which you afterwards received. I left it with my
cigarette-box and my 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, 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 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. 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 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, 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, 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, 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. From a distance, unseen by me, he had been
a witness of his friend's death and of my escape. 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 as I hung by my hands from the edge of the
ledge. Halfway 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. 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. 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. I travelled for two years in Tibet,
therefore, and amused myself by visiting Lhassa and spending some
days with the head Llama. You may have read of the remarkable
explorations of a Norwegian named Sigerson, but I am sure that it
never occurred to you that you were receiving news of your friend. I
then passed through Persia, looked in at Mecca, and paid a short but
interesting visit to the Khalifa at Khartoum, 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, which I
conducted in a laboratory at Montpelier, in the South of France.
Having concluded this to my satisfaction, and learning that only one
of my enemies was now left in London, I was about to 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. 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, 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. I observed that as
he stepped out he gave a most searching glance to right and left, and
