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               A Scandal in Bohemia

  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 draw-
ing the veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained
teasoner 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 ques-
tionable 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 lodg-
ings in Baker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating
from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsi-
ness 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 associ-
ated 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 extraordi-
nary 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 ridicu-
lously 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 fre-
quently 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 experi-
ences, 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 exagger-
    ated. This account of you we have from all quarters re-
    ceived. 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 "f" 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 'Gesell-
schaft,' 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 ac-
count 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 dis-
cover 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 be-
gin," 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 drily.
  "The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precau-
tion 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 him-
self 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 impa-
tiently 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 desper-
ation, 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 farmiliar
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 com-
mitted 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 stnct 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 wlll be good enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three
o'clock I should like to chat this little matter over with you."


  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 inextri-
cable 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 horsy 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 keep-
ing. 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 balanc-
ing 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 clergy-
man, 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 appear-
ance 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 l; "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 cooperation."
  "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
sittingno i
frindow 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 comer 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 min-
utes in the character of an amiable and simple-minded Noncon-
formist 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 cos-
tume. 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's 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 flirt-
ing 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 pho-
tograph 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 secre-
tive, and they like to do their own secreting. Why should she
hand it over to anyone else? She could trust her own guardian-
ship, but she could not tell what indirect or political influence
might be brought to bear upon a business man. Besides, remem-
ber 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
hcr 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 comfort-
able 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 sittingno i
. 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 Darling-
ton 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."


  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 an-
noyance. 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 Char-
ing 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 furni-
ture 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, nee 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 photogMph!" 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.