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 the fire, I had
not a suspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed
myself, I began to think. I had been warned against you months
ago. I had been told that if the king employed an agent, it would
certainly be you. And your address had been given me. Yet, with
all this, you made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after
I became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a
dear, kind old clergyman. But, you know, I have been trained as
an actress myself. Male costume is nothing new to me. I often
take advantage of the freedom which it gives. I sent John, the
coachman, to watch you, ran upstairs, got into my walking
clothes, as I call them, and came down just as you departed.
"Well, I followed you to the 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 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 honor 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 honorable title
of _the_ woman.
_The Red-Headed League_
I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of
last year, and found him in deep conversation with a very stout,
florid-faced elderly gentleman, with fiery red hair. With an apology for
my intrusion, I was about to withdraw, when Holmes pulled me abruptly into
the room and closed the door behind me.
"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson," he
said, cordially.
"I was afraid that you were engaged."
"So I am. Very much so."
"Then I can wait in the next room."
"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and helper in
many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that he will be of
the utmost use to me in yours also."
The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of greeting,
with a quick little questioning glance from his small, fat-encircled eyes.
"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair, and putting
his finger tips together, as was his custom when in judicial moods. "I
know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and
outside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life. You have
shown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to
chronicle, and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so
many of my own little adventures."
"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," I observed.
"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went into
the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that for
strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life itself,
which is always far more daring than any effort of the imagination."
"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting."
"You did, doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view, for
otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you, until your reason
breaks down under them and acknowledge me to be right. Now, Mr. Jabez
Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this morning, and to
begin a narrative which promises to be one of the most singular which I
have listened to for some time. You have heard me remark that the
strangest and most unique things are very often connected not with the
larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there
is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been committed. As far as
I have heard, it is impossible for me to say whether the present case is
an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is certainly among
the most singular that I have ever listened to. Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you
would have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. I ask you, not
merely because my friend, Dr. Watson, has not heard the opening part, but
also because the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have
every possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard some
slight indication of the course of events I am able to guide myself by the
thousands of other similar cases which occur to my memory. In the present
instance I am forced to admit that the facts are, to the best of my
belief, unique."
The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some little
pride, and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of
his greatcoat. As he glanced down the advertisement column, with his head
thrust forward, and the paper flattened out upon his knee, I took a good
look at the man, and endeavored, after the fashion of my companion, to
read the indications which might be presented by his dress or appearance.
I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore
every mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese,
pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy gray shepherd's check trousers, a
not overclean black frock coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab
waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of
metal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed top hat and a faded brown
overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him.
Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man
save his blazing red head and the expression of extreme chagrin and
discontent upon his features.
Sherlock Holmes's quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his head
with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. "Beyond the obvious
facts that he has at some time done manual labor, that he takes snuff,
that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and that he has done a
considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else."
Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the
paper, but his eyes upon my companion.
"How, in the name of good fortune, did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?" he
asked. "How did you know, for example, that I did manual labor? It's as
true as gospel, for I began as a ship's carpenter."
"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than your
left. You have worked with it and the muscles are more developed."
"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?"
"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,
especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use an
arc and compass breastpin."
"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?"
"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five
inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where you
rest it upon the desk."
"Well, but China?"
"The fish which you have tattooed immediately above your wrist could only
have been done in China. I have made a small study of tattoo marks, and
have even contributed to the literature of the subject. That trick of
staining the fishes' scales of a delicate pink is quite peculiar to China.
When, in addition, I see a Chinese coin hanging from your watch chain, the
matter becomes even more simple."
Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never!" said he. "I thought at
first that you had done something clever, but I see that there was nothing
in it after all."
"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a mistake in
explaining. '_Omne ignotom pro magnifico_,' you know, and my poor little
reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid. Can
you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?"
"Yes, I have got it now," he answered, with his thick, red finger planted
halfway down the column. "Here it is. This is what began it all. You just
read it for yourself, sir."