boo

Sherlock Holmes she is always the

woman. I have seldom heard him men-

tion her under any other name. In his

eyes she eclipses and predominates the

whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emo-

tion 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 ob-

server—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 dis-

tracting 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 inter-

ests which rise up around the man who first finds

himself master of his own establishment, were suf-

ficient 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 ob-

servation 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 mur-

der, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy of

the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finally

of the mission which he had accomplished so del-

icately and successfully for the reigning family of

Holland. Beyond these signs of his activity, how-

ever, 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 prac-

tice 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 gen-

tleman 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 expe-

riences, 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 sig-

nature 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 mono-

gram, 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 Carls-

bad. '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 whis-

tled.

"A pair, by the sound," said he. "Yes," he con-

tinued, glancing out of the window. "A nice little

brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred and

fty 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 immedi-

ately 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 rich-

ness 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, com-

pleted 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 occasion-

ally 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 gen-

tleman, your friend, is a man of honour and discre-

tion, 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 sur-

prise 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 ad-

vise 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 vis-

itor, 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 pu

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," mur-

mured Holmes without opening his eyes. For many

years he had adopted a system of docketing all para-

graphs 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 War-

saw—yes! Retired from operatic stage—ha! Living

in London—quite so! Your Majesty, as I under-

stand, 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 authen-

ticity?"

"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 prob-

lem," 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, sec-

ond daughter of the King of Scandinavia. You may

know the strict principles of her family. She is her-

self 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 pro-

claimed. 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

"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 after-

noon 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 in-

formed 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 sur-

rounded 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 charac-

ter 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 van-

ished 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 af-

ter 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 pre-

posterous 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.

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 infor-

mation as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say

nothing of half a dozen other people in the neigh-

bourhood 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 bon-

net 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 con-

fidant. 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 impor-

tant 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 photo-

graph 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 remark-

ably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and mous-

tached—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 ex-

citedly, 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 stick-

ing 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 min-

utes.'

"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 expostu-

lating 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 be-

fore 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 o