partmighthavedrawnattentiontomyidentityandledtothemostdeplorableandirreparableresults.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,andthewindowwa