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1992-12-07
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SHERLOCK HOLMES: THE SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
by Arthur Conan Doyle
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
upstairs, got into my walking-clothes, as I can 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 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.
THE END