                              A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA





                                Table of contents
                                     Chapter 1
                                     Chapter 2
                                     Chapter 3















          CHAPTER 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.
     Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely shared
     with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of my former
     friend and companion.

     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. As I passed the
     well-remembered door, which must always be associated in my mind with
     my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was
     seized with a keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was
     employing his extraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit,
     and, even as I looked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in
     a dark silhouette against the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly,
     eagerly, with his head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped
     behind him. To me, who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude
     and manner told their own story. He was at work again. He had risen
     out of his drug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new
     problem. I rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which had
     formerly been in part my own.

     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 slavey. As to your practice, if a gentleman walks into my
     rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black mark of nitrate of silver
     upon his right forefinger, and a bulge on the right side of his
     top-hat to show where he has secreted his stethoscope, I must be
     dull, indeed, if I do not pronounce him to be an active member of the
     medical profession."

     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 note-paper 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 theorize 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.
     'Remarkable as being the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for
     its numerous glass-factories and paper-mills.' Ha, ha, my boy, what
     do you make of that?" His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue
     triumphant cloud from his cigarette.

     "The paper was made in Bohemia," I said.

     "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, be looked upon as
     akin to bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the
     sleeves and fronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue
     cloak which was thrown over his shoulders was lined with
     flame-coloured silk and secured at the neck with a brooch which
     consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots which extended halfway up
     his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur,
     completed the impression of barbaric opulence which was suggested by
     his whole appearance. He carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand,
     while he wore across the upper part of his face, extending down past
     the cheekbones, a black vizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted
     that very moment, for his hand was still raised to it as he entered.
     From the lower part of the face he appeared to be a man of strong
     character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chin
     suggestive of resolution pushed to the length of obstinacy.

     "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 for the purpose of consulting you."

     "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, I made the acquaintance of the well-known
     adventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you."

     "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 in the year 1858.
     Contralto--hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of
     Warsaw--yes! Retired from operatic stage--ha! Living in London--quite
     so! Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this young
     person, wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of
     getting those letters back."

     "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
     for the present?"

     "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 Wood."

     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."





          CHAPTER II



     At three o'clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not
     yet returned. The landlady informed me that he had left the house
     shortly after eight o'clock in the morning. I sat down beside the
     fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him, however long he
     might be. I was already deeply interested in his inquiry, for, though
     it was surrounded by none of the grim and strange features which were
     associated with the two crimes which I have already recorded, still,
     the nature of the case and the exalted station of his client gave it
     a character of its own. Indeed, apart from the nature of the
     investigation which my friend had on hand, there was something in his
     masterly grasp of a situation, and his keen, incisive reasoning,
     which made it a pleasure to me to study his system of work, and to
     follow the quick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the most
     inextricable mysteries. So accustomed was I to his invariable success
     that the very possibility of his failing had ceased to enter into my
     head.

     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. See the advantages of a
     cabman as a confidant. They had driven him home a dozen times from
     Serpentine-mews, and knew all about him. When I had listened to all
     they had to tell, I began to walk up and down near Briony Lodge once
     more, and to think over my plan of campaign.

     "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. It was a delicate point, and it
     widened the field of my inquiry. I fear that I bore you with these
     details, but I have to let you see my little difficulties, if you are
     to understand the situation."

     "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, John,' she cried, 'and half a sovereign
     if you reach it in twenty minutes.'

     "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, and she to
     her own house. 'I shall drive out in the park at five as usual,' she
     said as she left him. I heard no more. They drove away in different
     directions, and I went off to make my own arrangements."

     "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, and it still
     wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine
     Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as
     we paced up and down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming
     of its occupant. The house was just such as I had pictured it from
     Sherlock Holmes' succinct description, but the locality appeared to
     be less private than I expected. On the contrary, for a small street
     in a quiet neighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. There was a
     group of shabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a
     scissors-grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with
     a nurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who were lounging up
     and down with cigars in their mouths.

     "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 side-lights 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
     business. A married woman grabs at her baby; an unmarried one reaches
     for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to me that our lady of to-day had
     nothing in the house more precious to her than what we are in quest
     of. She would rush to secure it. The alarm of fire was admirably
     done. The smoke and shouting were enough to shake nerves of steel.
     She responded beautifully. The photograph is in a recess behind a
     sliding panel just above the right bell-pull. She was there in an
     instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as she half-drew it out. When I
     cried out that it was a false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the
     rocket, rushed from the room, and I have not seen her since. I rose,
     and, making my excuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether
     to attempt to secure the photograph at once; but the coachman had
     come in, and as he was watching me narrowly it seemed safer to wait.
     A little over-precipitance may ruin all."

     "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 and had stopped at the door. He was
     searching his pockets for the key when someone passing said:

     "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."





          CHAPTER III



     I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our
     toast and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia rushed into
     the room.

     "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 up stairs, 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 to see my husband.
     "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, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by
     a woman's wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women,
     but I have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene
     Adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the
     honourable title of the woman.

