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 Ronald Adair
             under most unusual
                   and inexplicable circumstances.

    The public
        has already
              learned those particulars
                   of the crime
          which came
               out in the police investigation;
        but a good deal
            was suppressed upon
             that occasion,
           since the case
               for the prosecution
            was so overwhelmingly strong
             that it
                was not necessary to bring
                     forward all the facts.

    Only now,
           at the end
               of nearly ten years,
         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              withdrawn upon the third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 as
         I drove upon my round
           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.

    Adair's mother
        had returned from Australia
              to undergo the operation
                   for cataract,
           and she,
         her son Ronald,
           and her daughter Hilda
            were living together at 427,
         Park Lane.

    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