I.
To Sherlock Holmes she is always the
woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name.
In his eyes
she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any
emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly,
were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take
it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen,
but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke
of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable
things for the observer—excellent for drawing the veil from men’s motives and
actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own
delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor
which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive
instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more
disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And yet there was but
one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and
questionable memory.
I had seen little of Holmes
lately. My marriage had drifted us away from each other. My own complete
happiness, and the home-centred interests which rise up around the man who
first finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb
all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his
whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his
old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the
drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He was
still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his
immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in following out
those clues, and clearing up those mysteries which had been abandoned as
hopeless by the official police. From time to time I heard some vague account
of his doings: of his summons to Odessa in the
case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy of the
Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the mission which he had
accomplished so delicately and successfully for the reigning family of Holland
One night—it was on the twentieth
of March, 1888—I was returning from a journey to a patient (for I had now
returned to civil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street
His manner was not effusive. It
seldom was; but he was glad, I think, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but
with a kindly eye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars,
and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before
the fire and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.
“Wedlock suits you,” he remarked.
“I think, Watson, that you have put on seven and a half pounds since I saw
you.”
“Seven!” I answered.
“Indeed, I should have thought a
little more. Just a trifle more, I fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I
observe. You did not tell me that you intended to go into harness.”
“Then, how do you know?”
“I see it, I deduce it. How do I
know that you have been getting yourself very wet lately, and that you have a
most clumsy and careless servant girl?”
“My dear Holmes,” said I, “this
is too much. You would certainly have been burned, had you lived a few
centuries ago. It is true that I had a country walk on Thursday and came home
in a dreadful mess, but as I have changed my clothes I can’t imagine how you
deduce it. As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her
notice, but there, again, I fail to see how you work it out.”
He chuckled to himself and rubbed
his long, nervous hands together.
“It is simplicity itself,” said
he; “my eyes tell me that on the inside of your left shoe, just where the
firelight strikes it, the leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts.
Obviously they have been caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped
round the edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it. Hence, you
see, my double deduction that you had been out in vile weather, and that you
had a particularly malignant boot-slitting specimen of the London
I could not help laughing at the
ease with which he explained his process of deduction. “When I hear you give
your reasons,” I remarked, “the thing always appears to me to be so
ridiculously simple that I could easily do it myself, though at each successive
instance of your reasoning I am baffled until you explain your process. And yet
I believe that my eyes are as good as yours.”
“Quite so,” he answered, lighting
a cigarette, and throwing himself down into an armchair. “You see, but you do
not observe. The distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen
the steps which lead up from the hall to this room.”
“Frequently.”
“How often?”
“Well, some hundreds of times.”
“Then how many are there?”
“How many? I don’t know.”
“Quite so! You have not observed.
And yet you have seen. That is just my point. Now, I know that there are
seventeen steps, because I have both seen and observed. By the way, since you
are interested in these little problems, and since you are good enough to
chronicle one or two of my trifling experiences, you may be interested in
this.” He threw over a sheet of thick, pink-tinted notepaper which had been
lying open upon the table. “It came by the last post,” said he. “Read it
aloud.”
The note was undated, and without
either signature or address.
“There will call upon you
to-night, at a quarter to eight o’clock,” it said, “a gentleman who desires to
consult you upon a matter of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to
one of the royal houses of Europe have shown
that you are one who may safely be trusted with matters which are of an
importance which can hardly be exaggerated. This account of you we have from
all quarters received. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do not take it
amiss if your visitor wear a mask.”
“This is indeed a mystery,” I
remarked. “What do you imagine that it means?”
“I have no data yet. It is a
capital mistake to theorise before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist
facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. But the note itself.
What do you deduce from it?”
I carefully examined the writing,
and the paper upon which it was written.
“The man who wrote it was
presumably well to do,” I remarked, endeavouring to imitate my companion’s
processes. “Such paper could not be bought under half a crown a packet. It is
peculiarly strong and stiff.”
“Peculiar—that is the very word,”
said Holmes. “It is not an English paper at all. Hold it up to the light.”
I did so, and saw a large “E”
with a small “g,” a “P,” and a large “G” with a small “t” woven into the
texture of the paper.
“What do you make of that?” asked
Holmes.
“The name of the maker, no doubt;
or his monogram, rather.”
“Not at all. The ‘G’ with the
small ‘t’ stands for ‘Gesellschaft,’ which is the German for ‘Company.’ It is a
customary contraction like our ‘Co. ’ ‘P,’ of
course, stands for ‘Papier.’ Now for the ‘Eg.’ Let us glance at our Continental
Gazetteer.” He took down a heavy brown volume from his shelves. “Eglow,
Eglonitz—here we are, Egria. It is in a German-speaking country—in Bohemia , not far from Carlsbad
“The paper was made in Bohemia
“Precisely. And the man who wrote
the note is a German. Do you note the peculiar construction of the
sentence—‘This account of you we have from all quarters received.’ A Frenchman
or Russian could not have written that. It is the German who is so uncourteous
to his verbs. It only remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this
German who writes upon Bohemian paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his
face. And here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts.”
As he spoke there was the sharp
sound of horses’ hoofs and grating wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp
pull at the bell. Holmes whistled.
“A pair, by the sound,” said he.
“Yes,” he continued, glancing out of the window. “A nice little brougham and a
pair of beauties. A hundred and fifty guineas apiece. There’s money in this
case, Watson, if there is nothing else.”
“I think that I had better go,
Holmes.”
“Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where
you are. I am lost without my Boswell. And this promises to be interesting. It
would be a pity to miss it.”
“But your client—”
“Never mind him. I may want your
help, and so may he. Here he comes. Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give
us your best attention.”
A slow and heavy step, which had
been heard upon the stairs and in the passage, paused immediately outside the
door. Then there was a loud and authoritative tap.
“Come in!” said Holmes.
A man entered who could hardly
have been less than six feet six inches in height, with the chest and limbs of
a Hercules. His dress was rich with a richness which would, in England
“You had my note?” he asked with
a deep harsh voice and a strongly marked German accent. “I told you that I
would call.” He looked from one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to
address.
“Pray take a seat,” said Holmes.
“This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough
to help me in my cases. Whom have I the honour to address?”
“You may address me as the Count
Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I understand that this gentleman, your friend,
is a man of honour and discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most
extreme importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you
alone.”
I rose to go, but Holmes caught
me by the wrist and pushed me back into my chair. “It is both, or none,” said
he. “You may say before this gentleman anything which you may say to me.”
The Count shrugged his broad
shoulders. “Then I must begin,” said he, “by binding you both to absolute
secrecy for two years; at the end of that time the matter will be of no
importance. At present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it
may have an influence upon European history.”
“I promise,” said Holmes.
“And I.”
“You will excuse this mask,”
continued our strange visitor. “The august person who employs me wishes his
agent to be unknown to you, and I may confess at once that the title by which I
have just called myself is not exactly my own.”
“I was aware of it,” said Holmes
dryly.
“The circumstances are of great
delicacy, and every precaution has to be taken to quench what might grow to be
an immense scandal and seriously compromise one of the reigning families of Europe . To speak plainly, the matter implicates the great
House of Ormstein, hereditary kings of Bohemia
“I was also aware of that,”
murmured Holmes, settling himself down in his armchair and closing his eyes.
Our visitor glanced with some
apparent surprise at the languid, lounging figure of the man who had been no
doubt depicted to him as the most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in
Europe . Holmes slowly reopened his eyes and
looked impatiently at his gigantic client.
“If your Majesty would condescend
to state your case,” he remarked, “I should be better able to advise you.”
The man sprang from his chair and
paced up and down the room in uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of
desperation, he tore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. “You
are right,” he cried; “I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?”
“Why, indeed?” murmured Holmes.
“Your Majesty had not spoken before I was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm
Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and
hereditary King of Bohemia.”
“But you can understand,” said
our strange visitor, sitting down once more and passing his hand over his high
white forehead, “you can understand that I am not accustomed to doing such business
in my own person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to
an agent without putting myself in his power. I have come incognito from
Prague
“Then, pray consult,” said
Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.
“The facts are briefly these:
Some five years ago, during a lengthy visit to Warsaw
“Kindly look her up in my index,
Doctor,” murmured Holmes without opening his eyes. For many years he had
adopted a system of docketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that
it was difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not at once
furnish information. In this case I found her biography sandwiched in between
that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had written a
monograph upon the deep-sea fishes.
“Let me see!” said Holmes. “Hum!
Born in New Jersey La
Scala , hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of Warsaw—yes! Retired
from operatic stage—ha! Living in London
“Precisely so. But how—”
“Was there a secret marriage?”
“None.”
“No legal papers or
certificates?”
“None.”
“Then I fail to follow your
Majesty. If this young person should produce her letters for blackmailing or
other purposes, how is she to prove their authenticity?”
“There is the writing.”
“Pooh, pooh! Forgery.”
“My private note-paper.”
“Stolen.”
“My own seal.”
“Imitated.”
“My photograph.”
“Bought.”
“We were both in the photograph.”
“Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your
Majesty has indeed committed an indiscretion.”
“I was mad—insane.”
“You have compromised yourself
seriously.”
“I was only Crown Prince then. I
was young. I am but thirty now.”
“It must be recovered.”
“We have tried and failed.”
“Your Majesty must pay. It must
be bought.”
“She will not sell.”
“Stolen, then.”
“Five attempts have been made.
Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her house. Once we diverted her luggage when
she travelled. Twice she has been waylaid. There has been no result.”
“No sign of it?”
“Absolutely none.”
Holmes laughed. “It is quite a
pretty little problem,” said he.
“But a very serious one to me,”
returned the King reproachfully.
“Very, indeed. And what does she
propose to do with the photograph?”
“To ruin me.”
“But how?”
“I am about to be married.”
“So I have heard.”
“To Clotilde Lothman von
Saxe-Meningen, second daughter of the King of Scandinavia. You may know the
strict principles of her family. She is herself the very soul of delicacy. A
shadow of a doubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to an end.”
“And Irene Adler?”
“Threatens to send them the
photograph. And she will do it. I know that she will do it. You do not know
her, but she has a soul of steel. She has the face of the most beautiful of
women, and the mind of the most resolute of men. Rather than I should marry
another woman, there are no lengths to which she would not go—none.”
“You are sure that she has not
sent it yet?”
“I am sure.”
“And why?”
“Because she has said that she
would send it on the day when the betrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will
be next Monday.”
“Oh, then we have three days
yet,” said Holmes with a yawn. “That is very fortunate, as I have one or two
matters of importance to look into just at present. Your Majesty will, of
course, stay in London
“Certainly. You will find me at
the Langham under the name of the Count Von Kramm.”
“Then I shall drop you a line to
let you know how we progress.”
“Pray do so. I shall be all
anxiety.”
“Then, as to money?”
“You have carte blanche.”
“Absolutely?”
“I tell you that I would give one
of the provinces of my kingdom to have that photograph.”
“And for present expenses?”
The King took a heavy chamois
leather bag from under his cloak and laid it on the table.
“There are three hundred pounds
in gold and seven hundred in notes,” he said.
Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a
sheet of his note-book and handed it to him.
“And Mademoiselle’s address?” he
asked.
“Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue , St. John’s
Holmes took a note of it. “One
other question,” said he. “Was the photograph a cabinet?”
“It was.”
“Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we
shall soon have some good news for you. And good-night, Watson,” he added, as
the wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. “If you will be good
enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three o’clock I should like to chat this
little matter over with you.”
II.
At three o’clock precisely I was
at Baker Street
It was close upon four before the
door opened, and a drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an
inflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed as I
was to my friend’s amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look three
times before I was certain that it was indeed he. With a nod he vanished into
the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-suited and respectable, as
of old. Putting his hands into his pockets, he stretched out his legs in front
of the fire and laughed heartily for some minutes.
“Well, really!” he cried, and
then he choked and laughed again until he was obliged to lie back, limp and
helpless, in the chair.
“What is it?”
“It’s quite too funny. I am sure
you could never guess how I employed my morning, or what I ended by doing.”
“I can’t imagine. I suppose that
you have been watching the habits, and perhaps the house, of Miss Irene Adler.”
“Quite so; but the sequel was
rather unusual. I will tell you, however. I left the house a little after eight
o’clock this morning in the character of a groom out of work. There is a
wonderful sympathy and freemasonry among horsey men. Be one of them, and you
will know all that there is to know. I soon found Briony Lodge. It is a bijou
villa, with a garden at the back, but built out in front right up to the road,
two stories. Chubb lock to the door. Large sitting-room on the right side, well
furnished, with long windows almost to the floor, and those preposterous
English window fasteners which a child could open. Behind there was nothing
remarkable, save that the passage window could be reached from the top of the
coach-house. I walked round it and examined it closely from every point of
view, but without noting anything else of interest.
“I then lounged down the street
and found, as I expected, that there was a mews in a lane which runs down by
one wall of the garden. I lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses,
and received in exchange twopence, a glass of half-and-half, two fills of shag
tobacco, and as much information as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say
nothing of half a dozen other people in the neighbourhood in whom I was not in
the least interested, but whose biographies I was compelled to listen to.”
“And what of Irene Adler?” I
asked.
“Oh, she has turned all the men’s
heads down in that part. She is the daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet.
So say the Serpentine-mews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts,
drives out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom
goes out at other times, except when she sings. Has only one male visitor, but
a good deal of him. He is dark, handsome, and dashing, never calls less than
once a day, and often twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton, of the Inner Temple
“This Godfrey Norton was
evidently an important factor in the matter. He was a lawyer. That sounded ominous.
What was the relation between them, and what the object of his repeated visits?
Was she his client, his friend, or his mistress? If the former, she had
probably transferred the photograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was less
likely. On the issue of this question depended whether I should continue my
work at Briony Lodge, or turn my attention to the gentleman’s chambers in the Temple
“I am following you closely,” I
answered.
“I was still balancing the matter
in my mind when a hansom cab drove up to Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang
out. He was a remarkably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached—evidently
the man of whom I had heard. He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the
cabman to wait, and brushed past the maid who opened the door with the air of a
man who was thoroughly at home.
“He was in the house about half
an hour, and I could catch glimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room,
pacing up and down, talking excitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I could see
nothing. Presently he emerged, looking even more flurried than before. As he
stepped up to the cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it
earnestly, ‘Drive like the devil,’ he shouted, ‘first to Gross & Hankey’s
in Regent Street, and then to the Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road.
Half a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!’
“Away they went, and I was just
wondering whether I should not do well to follow them when up the lane came a
neat little landau, the coachman with his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie
under his ear, while all the tags of his harness were sticking out of the
buckles. It hadn’t pulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it.
I only caught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, with
a face that a man might die for.
“ ‘The Church of St. Monica
“This was quite too good to lose,
Watson. I was just balancing whether I should run for it, or whether I should
perch behind her landau when a cab came through the street. The driver looked
twice at such a shabby fare, but I jumped in before he could object. ‘The
Church of St. Monica,’ said I, ‘and half a
sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.’ It was twenty-five minutes to
twelve, and of course it was clear enough what was in the wind.
“My cabby drove fast. I don’t
think I ever drove faster, but the others were there before us. The cab and the
landau with their steaming horses were in front of the door when I arrived. I
paid the man and hurried into the church. There was not a soul there save the
two whom I had followed and a surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be
expostulating with them. They were all three standing in a knot in front of the
altar. I lounged up the side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a
church. Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to me, and
Godfrey Norton came running as hard as he could towards me.
“ ‘Thank God,’ he cried.
‘You’ll do. Come! Come!’
“ ‘What then?’ I asked.
“ ‘Come, man, come, only
three minutes, or it won’t be legal.’
“I was half-dragged up to the
altar, and before I knew where I was I found myself mumbling responses which
were whispered in my ear, and vouching for things of which I knew nothing, and
generally assisting in the secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey
Norton, bachelor. It was all done in an instant, and there was the gentleman
thanking me on the one side and the lady on the other, while the clergyman
beamed on me in front. It was the most preposterous position in which I ever
found myself in my life, and it was the thought of it that started me laughing
just now. It seems that there had been some informality about their license,
that the clergyman absolutely refused to marry them without a witness of some
sort, and that my lucky appearance saved the bridegroom from having to sally
out into the streets in search of a best man. The bride gave me a sovereign,
and I mean to wear it on my watch chain in memory of the occasion.”
“This is a very unexpected turn
of affairs,” said I; “and what then?”
“Well, I found my plans very
seriously menaced. It looked as if the pair might take an immediate departure,
and so necessitate very prompt and energetic measures on my part. At the church
door, however, they separated, he driving back to the Temple
“Which are?”
“Some cold beef and a glass of
beer,” he answered, ringing the bell. “I have been too busy to think of food,
and I am likely to be busier still this evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall
want your co-operation.”
“I shall be delighted.”
“You don’t mind breaking the
law?”
“Not in the least.”
“Nor running a chance of arrest?”
“Not in a good cause.”
“Oh, the cause is excellent!”
“Then I am your man.”
“I was sure that I might rely on
you.”
“But what is it you wish?”
“When Mrs. Turner has brought in
the tray I will make it clear to you. Now,” he said as he turned hungrily on
the simple fare that our landlady had provided, “I must discuss it while I eat,
for I have not much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must be on the
scene of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive at
seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her.”
“And what then?”
“You must leave that to me. I
have already arranged what is to occur. There is only one point on which I must
insist. You must not interfere, come what may. You understand?”
“I am to be neutral?”
“To do nothing whatever. There
will probably be some small unpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in
my being conveyed into the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the
sitting-room window will open. You are to station yourself close to that open
window.”
“Yes.”
“You are to watch me, for I will
be visible to you.”
“Yes.”
“And when I raise my hand—so—you
will throw into the room what I give you to throw, and will, at the same time,
raise the cry of fire. You quite follow me?”
“Entirely.”
“It is nothing very formidable,”
he said, taking a long cigar-shaped roll from his pocket. “It is an ordinary
plumber’s smoke-rocket, fitted with a cap at either end to make it
self-lighting. Your task is confined to that. When you raise your cry of fire,
it will be taken up by quite a number of people. You may then walk to the end
of the street, and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have made
myself clear?”
“I am to remain neutral, to get
near the window, to watch you, and at the signal to throw in this object, then
to raise the cry of fire, and to wait you at the corner of the street.”
“Precisely.”
“Then you may entirely rely on
me.”
“That is excellent. I think,
perhaps, it is almost time that I prepare for the new role I have to play.”
He disappeared into his bedroom
and returned in a few minutes in the character of an amiable and simple-minded
Nonconformist clergyman. His broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white
tie, his sympathetic smile, and general look of peering and benevolent
curiosity were such as Mr. John Hare alone could have equalled. It was not
merely that Holmes changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very
soul seemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a
fine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist
in crime.
It was a quarter past six when we
left Baker Street Serpentine Avenue
“You see,” remarked Holmes, as we
paced to and fro in front of the house, “this marriage rather simplifies
matters. The photograph becomes a double-edged weapon now. The chances are that
she would be as averse to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton, as our client
is to its coming to the eyes of his princess. Now the question is, Where are we
to find the photograph?”
“Where, indeed?”
“It is most unlikely that she
carries it about with her. It is cabinet size. Too large for easy concealment
about a woman’s dress. She knows that the King is capable of having her waylaid
and searched. Two attempts of the sort have already been made. We may take it,
then, that she does not carry it about with her.”
“Where, then?”
“Her banker or her lawyer. There
is that double possibility. But I am inclined to think neither. Women are
naturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting. Why should she
hand it over to anyone else? She could trust her own guardianship, but she
could not tell what indirect or political influence might be brought to bear
upon a business man. Besides, remember that she had resolved to use it within a
few days. It must be where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be in her own
house.”
“But it has twice been burgled.”
“Pshaw! They did not know how to
look.”
“But how will you look?”
“I will not look.”
“What then?”
“I will get her to show me.”
“But she will refuse.”
“She will not be able to. But I
hear the rumble of wheels. It is her carriage. Now carry out my orders to the
letter.”
As he spoke the gleam of the
sidelights of a carriage came round the curve of the avenue. It was a smart
little landau which rattled up to the door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up,
one of the loafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the door in the
hope of earning a copper, but was elbowed away by another loafer, who had
rushed up with the same intention. A fierce quarrel broke out, which was
increased by the two guardsmen, who took sides with one of the loungers, and by
the scissors-grinder, who was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was
struck, and in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage, was the
centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who struck savagely at
each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd to protect
the lady; but, just as he reached her, he gave a cry and dropped to the ground,
with the blood running freely down his face. At his fall the guardsmen took to
their heels in one direction and the loungers in the other, while a number of
better dressed people, who had watched the scuffle without taking part in it,
crowded in to help the lady and to attend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I
will still call her, had hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with
her superb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into
the street.
“Is the poor gentleman much
hurt?” she asked.
“He is dead,” cried several
voices.
“No, no, there’s life in him!”
shouted another. “But he’ll be gone before you can get him to hospital.”
“He’s a brave fellow,” said a
woman. “They would have had the lady’s purse and watch if it hadn’t been for
him. They were a gang, and a rough one, too. Ah, he’s breathing now.”
“He can’t lie in the street. May
we bring him in, marm?”
“Surely. Bring him into the
sitting-room. There is a comfortable sofa. This way, please!”
Slowly and solemnly he was borne
into Briony Lodge and laid out in the principal room, while I still observed
the proceedings from my post by the window. The lamps had been lit, but the
blinds had not been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay upon the couch.
I do not know whether he was seized with compunction at that moment for the
part he was playing, but I know that I never felt more heartily ashamed of
myself in my life than when I saw the beautiful creature against whom I was
conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which she waited upon the injured
man. And yet it would be the blackest treachery to Holmes to draw back now from
the part which he had intrusted to me. I hardened my heart, and took the
smoke-rocket from under my ulster. After all, I thought, we are not injuring
her. We are but preventing her from injuring another.
Holmes had sat up upon the couch,
and I saw him motion like a man who is in need of air. A maid rushed across and
threw open the window. At the same instant I saw him raise his hand and at the
signal I tossed my rocket into the room with a cry of “Fire!” The word was no
sooner out of my mouth than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed and
ill—gentlemen, ostlers, and servant maids—joined in a general shriek of “Fire!”
Thick clouds of smoke curled through the room and out at the open window. I
caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later the voice of Holmes
from within assuring them that it was a false alarm. Slipping through the
shouting crowd I made my way to the corner of the street, and in ten minutes
was rejoiced to find my friend’s arm in mine, and to get away from the scene of
uproar. He walked swiftly and in silence for some few minutes until we had
turned down one of the quiet streets which lead towards the Edgeware Road
“You did it very nicely, Doctor,”
he remarked. “Nothing could have been better. It is all right.”
“You have the photograph?”
“I know where it is.”
“And how did you find out?”
“She showed me, as I told you she
would.”
“I am still in the dark.”
“I do not wish to make a mystery,”
said he, laughing. “The matter was perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that
everyone in the street was an accomplice. They were all engaged for the
evening.”
“I guessed as much.”
“Then, when the row broke out, I
had a little moist red paint in the palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell
down, clapped my hand to my face, and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old
trick.”
“That also I could fathom.”
“Then they carried me in. She was
bound to have me in. What else could she do? And into her sitting-room, which
was the very room which I suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I
was determined to see which. They laid me on a couch, I motioned for air, they
were compelled to open the window, and you had your chance.”
“How did that help you?”
“It was all-important. When a
woman thinks that her house is on fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the
thing which she values most. It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have
more than once taken advantage of it. In the case of the Darlington
Substitution Scandal it was of use to me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle
“And now?” I asked.
“Our quest is practically
finished. I shall call with the King to-morrow, and with you, if you care to
come with us. We will be shown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady, but
it is probable that when she comes she may find neither us nor the photograph.
It might be a satisfaction to his Majesty to regain it with his own hands.”
“And when will you call?”
“At eight in the morning. She
will not be up, so that we shall have a clear field. Besides, we must be
prompt, for this marriage may mean a complete change in her life and habits. I
must wire to the King without delay.”
We had reached Baker Street
“Good-night, Mister Sherlock
Holmes.”
There were several people on the
pavement at the time, but the greeting appeared to come from a slim youth in an
ulster who had hurried by.
“I’ve heard that voice
before,” said Holmes, staring down the dimly lit street. “Now, I wonder who the
deuce that could have been.”
III.
I slept at Baker Street
“You have really got it!” he
cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by either shoulder and looking eagerly into his
face.
“Not yet.”
“But you have hopes?”
“I have hopes.”
“Then, come. I am all impatience
to be gone.”
“We must have a cab.”
“No, my brougham is waiting.”
“Then that will simplify
matters.” We descended and started off once more for Briony Lodge.
“Irene Adler is married,”
remarked Holmes.
“Married! When?”
“Yesterday.”
“But to whom?”
“To an English lawyer named
Norton.”
“But she could not love him.”
“I am in hopes that she does.”
“And why in hopes?”
“Because it would spare your Majesty
all fear of future annoyance. If the lady loves her husband, she does not love
your Majesty. If she does not love your Majesty, there is no reason why she
should interfere with your Majesty’s plan.”
“It is true. And yet—! Well! I
wish she had been of my own station! What a queen she would have made!” He
relapsed into a moody silence, which was not broken until we drew up in Serpentine Avenue
The door of Briony Lodge was
open, and an elderly woman stood upon the steps. She watched us with a sardonic
eye as we stepped from the brougham.
“Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?”
said she.
“I am Mr. Holmes,” answered my
companion, looking at her with a questioning and rather startled gaze.
“Indeed! My mistress told me that
you were likely to call. She left this morning with her husband by the 5:15
train from Charing Cross for the Continent.”
“What!” Sherlock Holmes staggered
back, white with chagrin and surprise. “Do you mean that she has left England
“Never to return.”
“And the papers?” asked the King
hoarsely. “All is lost.”
“We shall see.” He
pushed past the servant and rushed into the drawing-room, followed by the King
and myself. The furniture was scattered about in every direction, with
dismantled shelves and open drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked
them before her flight. Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small
sliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out a photograph and a
letter. The photograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening dress, the letter
was superscribed to “Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for.” My
friend tore it open, and we all three read it together. It was dated at
midnight of the preceding night and ran in this way:
“MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,—You
really did it very well. You took me in completely. Until after the alarm of
fire, I had not a suspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed myself,
I began to think. I had been warned against you months ago. I had been told
that, if the King employed an agent, it would certainly be you. And your
address had been given me. Yet, with all this, you made me reveal what you
wanted to know. Even after I became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil
of such a dear, kind old clergyman. But, you know, I have been trained as an
actress myself. Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage of
the freedom which it gives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran
upstairs, got into my walking clothes, as I call them, and came down just as
you departed.
“Well, I followed you to your
door, and so made sure that I was really an object of interest to the
celebrated Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished you
good-night, and started for the Temple
“We both thought the best
resource was flight, when pursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you will
find the nest empty when you call to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client
may rest in peace. I love and am loved by a better man than he. The King may do
what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. I keep it
only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me
from any steps which he might take in the future. I leave a photograph which he
might care to possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
“Very truly yours,
“IRENE NORTON, née ADLER.”
“What a woman—oh, what a woman!”
cried the King of Bohemia, when we had all three read this epistle. “Did I not
tell you how quick and resolute she was? Would she not have made an admirable
queen? Is it not a pity that she was not on my level?”
“From what I have seen of the
lady, she seems, indeed, to be on a very different level to your Majesty,” said
Holmes coldly. “I am sorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty’s
business to a more successful conclusion.”
“On the contrary, my dear sir,”
cried the King; “nothing could be more successful. I know that her word is
inviolate. The photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire.”
“I am glad to hear your Majesty
say so.”
“I am immensely indebted to you.
Pray tell me in what way I can reward you. This ring—” He slipped an emerald
snake ring from his finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand.
“Your Majesty has something which
I should value even more highly,” said Holmes.
“You have but to name it.”
“This photograph!”
The King stared at him in
amazement.
“Irene’s photograph!” he cried.
“Certainly, if you wish it.”
“I thank your Majesty.
Then there is no more to be done in the matter. I have the honour to wish you a
very good morning.” He bowed, and, turning away without observing the hand
which the King had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his
chambers.
And that was how a
great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of Bohemia
