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 {sic} 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, the Cavendish, and the Bagatelle card clubs.  It was shown that, after dinner on the day of his death, he had played a rubber of whist 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 as four hundred and twenty pounds in a sitting, some weeks before, from Godfrey Milner and Lord Balmoral.  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, 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 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, but no weapon of any sort was to be found in the room.  On the table lay two banknotes for ten pounds each and seventeen pounds ten in silver and gold, the money arranged in little piles of varying amount.  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.