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 clews, 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 20th 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 lighted, 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-slicking 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 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 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 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 wears 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 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 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
front 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 cheek-bones, a black visard
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,
Doctor 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 that 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 sprung 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 for 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-Meiningen, 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 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 notebook, 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, thoughtfully.
"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."