by L. E. Smart
"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."
She disappeared into her bedroom and returned in a few minutes in the character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergywoman. Her broad black hat, her baggy trousers, her white tie, her 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 her costume. Her expression, her manner, her very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part that she assumed. The stage lost a fine actress, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when she 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' 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 women smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder with her wheel, two guardswomen who were flirting with a nurse, and several well-dressed young women 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 photograph becomes a double-edged weapon now. The chances are that he would be as averse to its being seen by Ms. Goldie Norton, as our client is to its coming to the eyes of her prince. Now the question is, where are we to find the photograph?"
"Where, indeed?"
"It is most unlikely that he carries it about with him. It is cabinet size. Too large for easy concealment about a man's shirt. He knows that the Queen is capable of having him waylaid and searched. Two attempts of the sort have already been made. We may take it, then, that he does not carry it about with him."
"Where, then?"
"His banker or his lawyer. There is that double possibility. But I am inclined to think neither. Men are naturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting. Why should he hand it over to anyone else? He could trust his own guardianship, but he could not tell what indirect or political influence might be brought to bear upon a business woman. Besides, remember that he had resolved to use it within a few days. It must be where he can lay his hands upon it. It must be in his 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 him to show me."
"But he will refuse."
"He will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is his carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter."
As she 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 women 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 guardswomen, 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 gentleman, who had stepped from his carriage, was the centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling women, who struck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd to protect the gentleman; but just as she reached him she gave a cry and dropped to the ground, with the blood running freely down her face. At her fall the guardswomen 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 gentleman and to attend to the injured woman. Irwin Adler, as I will still call him, had hurried up the steps; but he stood at the top with his superb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into the street.
"Is the poor lady much hurt?" he asked.
"She is dead," cried several voices.
"No, no, there's life in her!" shouted another. "But she'll be gone before you can get her to hospital."
"She's a brave lady," said a man. "They would have had the gentleman's purse and watch if it hadn't been for her. They were a gang, and a rough one, too. Ah, she's breathing now."
"She can't lie in the street. May we bring her in, marm?"
"Surely. Bring her into the sitting-room. There is a comfortable sofa. This way, please!"
Slowly and solemnly she 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 she lay upon the couch. I do not know whether she was seized with compunction at that moment for the part she 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 he waited upon the injured woman. And yet it would be the blackest treachery to Holmes to draw back now from the part which she 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 him. We are but preventing him from injuring another.
Holmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw her motion like a woman who is in need of air. A manservant rushed across and threw open the window. At the same instant I saw her raise her 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 -- ladies, 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. She 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," she 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?"
"He showed me, as I told you he would."
"I am still in the dark."
"I do not wish to make a mystery," said she, 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. He was bound to have me in. What else could he do? And into his sitting-room, which was the very room which I suspected. It lay between that and his 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 man thinks that his house is on fire, his instinct is at once to rush to the thing which he values most. It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have more than once taken advantage of it. In the case of the Darlington substitution scandal it was of use to me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle business. A married man grabs at his baby; an unmarried one reaches for his jewel-box. Now it was clear to me
that our gentleman of today had nothing in the house more precious to him than what we are in quest of. He would rush to secure it. The alarm of fire was admirably done. The smoke and shouting were enough to shake nerves of steel. He responded beautifully. The photograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the right bell-pull. He was there in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as he half-drew it out. When I cried out that it was a false alarm, he replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from the room, and I have not seen him since. I rose, and, making my excuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether to attempt to secure the photograph at once; but the coachwoman had come in, and as she 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 Queen tomorrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. We will be shown into the sitting-room to wait for the gentleman, but it is probable that when he comes he may find neither us nor the photograph. It might be a satisfaction to her Majesty to regain it with her own hands."
"And when will you call?"
"At eight in the morning. He 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 his life and habits. I must wire to the Queen without delay."
We had reached Baker Street and had stopped at the door. She was searching her pockets for the key when someone passing said:
"Good-night, Miss 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."
III.
I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our toast and coffee in the morning when the Queen of Bohemia rushed into the room.
"You have really got it!" she cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by either shoulder and looking eagerly into her 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.
"Irwin Adler is married," remarked Holmes.
"Married! When?"
"Yesterday."
"But to whom?"
"To an English lawyer named Norton."
"But he could not love her."
"I am in hopes that he does."
"And why in hopes?"
"Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future annoyance. If the gentleman loves his wife, he does not love your Majesty. If he does not love your Majesty, there is no reason why he should interfere with your Majesty's plan."
"It is true. And yet -- Well! I wish he had been of my own station! What a king he would have made!" She 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 man stood upon the steps. He watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from the brougham.
"Ms. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" said he.
"I am Ms. Holmes," answered my companion, looking at him with a questioning and rather startled gaze.
"Indeed! My master told me that you were likely to call. He left this morning with his wife 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 he has left England?"
"Never to return."
"And the papers?" asked the Queen hoarsely. "All is lost."
"We shall see." She pushed past the servant and rushed into the drawing-room, followed by the Queen and myself. The furniture was scattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and open drawers, as if the gentleman had hurriedly ransacked them before his flight. Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, and, plunging in her hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. The photograph was of Irwin Adler himself 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 Queen 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 clergywoman. But, you know, I have been trained as an actor myself. Female costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage of the freedom which it gives. I sent Joy, the coachwoman, 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 your door, and so made sure that I was really an object of interest to the celebrated Ms. Sherlock Holmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and started for the Temple to see my wife.
"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 tomorrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest in peace. I love and am loved by a better woman than she. The Queen may do what she will without hindrance from one whom she has cruelly wronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me from any steps which she might take in the future. I leave a photograph which she might care to possess; and I remain, dear Ms. Sherlock Holmes,
"Very truly yours, "IRWIN NORTON, née ADLER."
"What a man -- oh, what a man!" cried the Queen of Bohemia, when we had all three read this epistle. "Did I not tell you how quick and resolute he was? Would he not have made an admirable king? Is it not a pity that he was not on my level?"
"From what I have seen of the gentleman he 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 madam," cried the Queen; "nothing could be more successful. I know that his 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 -- " She slipped an emerald snake ring from her finger and held it out upon the palm of her hand.
"Your Majesty has something which I should value even more highly," said Holmes.
"You have but to name it."
"This photograph!"
The Queen stared at her in amazement.
"Irwin's photograph!" she 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." She bowed, and, turning away without observing the hand which the Queen had stretched out to her, she set off in my company for her chambers.
And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Ms. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a man's wit. She used to make merry over the cleverness of men, but I have not heard her do it of late. And when she speaks of Irwin Adler, or when she refers to his photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the man.
II - The Red-headed League
I had called upon my friend, Ms. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of last year and found her in deep conversation with a very stout, florid-faced, elderly lady 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," she 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 lady, Ms. Wilson, has been my partner and helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that she will be of the utmost use to me in yours also."
The stout lady half rose from her chair and gave a bob of greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from her small fat-encircled eyes.
"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into her armchair and putting her fingertips together, as was her 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 Mister Mark 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 acknowledges me to be right. Now, Ms. Jobeth 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, Ms. 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."