The Adventures of Sherlock
Holmes
ADVENTURE 1: “A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA”
Item II.
At three o’clock
precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not yet returned. The landlady
informed 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 surrounded 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 character 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 vanished 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
after 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 preposterous
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.
“I then lounged down
the street and found, as I 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 information as I could desire about Miss Adler, to
say nothing of half a dozen other people in the neighbourhood 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 bonnet 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 confidant. 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 important 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 photograph 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 remarkably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and
moustached—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 excitedly, 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 sticking 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
minutes.’
“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
expostulating 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.
“‘’ 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 before 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 of Irene Adler,
spinster, to Godfrey Norton, bachelor. It was all done in an instant, and there
was the gentleman thanking me on the one side and the lady on the other, while
the clergyman beamed on me in front. It was the most preposterous position in
which I ever found myself in my life, and it was the thought of it that started
me laughing just now. It seems that there had been some informality about their
license, that the clergyman absolutely refused to marry them without a witness
of some sort, and that my lucky appearance saved the bridegroom from having to
sally out into the streets in search of a best man. The bride gave me a
sovereign, and I mean to wear it on my watch-chain in memory of the occasion.”
“This is a very
unexpected turn of affairs,” said I; “and what then?”
“Well, I found my plans
very seriously menaced. It looked as if the pair might take an immediate
departure, and so necessitate very prompt and energetic measures on my part. At
the church door, however, they separated, he driving back to the Temple, and
she to her own house. ‘I shall drive out in the park at five as usual,’ she
said as she left him. I heard no more. They drove away in different directions,
and I went off to make my own arrangements.”
“Which are?”
“Some cold beef and a
glass of beer,” he answered, ringing the bell. “I have been too busy to think
of food, and I am likely to be busier still this evening. By the way, Doctor, I
shall want your co-operation.”
“I shall be delighted.”
“You don’t mind
breaking the law?”
“Not in the least.”
“Nor running a chance
of arrest?”
“Not in a good cause.”
“Oh, the cause is
excellent!”
“Then I am your man.”
“I was sure that I might
rely on you.”
“But what is it you
wish?”
“When Mrs. Turner has
brought in the tray I will make it clear to you. Now,” he said as he turned
hungrily on the simple fare that our landlady had provided, “I must discuss it
while I eat, for I have not much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we
must be on the scene of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her
drive at seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her.”
“And what then?”
“You must leave that to
me. I have already arranged what is to occur. There is only one point on which
I must insist. You must not interfere, come what may. You understand?”
“I am to be neutral?”
“To do nothing
whatever. There will probably be some small unpleasantness. Do not join in it.
It will end in my being conveyed into the house. Four or five minutes
afterwards the sitting-room window will open. You are to station yourself close
to that open window.”
“Yes.”
“You are to watch me,
for I will be visible to you.”
“Yes.”
“And when I raise my
hand—so—you will throw into the room what I give you to throw, and will, at the
same time, raise the cry of fire. You quite follow me?”
“Entirely.”
“It is nothing very
formidable,” he said, taking a long cigar-shaped roll from his pocket. “It is
an ordinary plumber’s smoke-rocket, fitted with a cap at either end to make it
self-lighting. Your task is confined to that. When you raise your cry of fire,
it will be taken up by quite a number of people. You may then walk to the end
of the street, and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have made
myself clear?”
“I am to remain
neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and at the signal to throw in
this object, then to raise the cry of fire, and to wait you at the corner of
the street.”
“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.”
He disappeared into his
bedroom and returned in a few minutes in the character of an amiable and
simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. His broad black hat, his baggy trousers,
his white tie, his 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 his costume. His expression, his manner, his
very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost
a fine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he 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 men smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder with his
wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse-girl, and several
well-dressed young men 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 she would be as averse to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey
Norton, as our client is to its coming to the eyes of his princess. Now the
question is, Where are we to find the photograph?”
“Where, indeed?”
“It is most unlikely
that she carries it about with her. It is cabinet size. Too large for easy
concealment about a woman’s dress. She knows that the King is capable of having
her waylaid and searched. Two attempts of the sort have already been made. We
may take it, then, that she does not carry it about with her.”
“Where, then?”
“Her banker or her
lawyer. There is that double possibility. But I am inclined to think neither. Women
are naturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting. Why should
she hand it over to anyone else? She could trust her own guardianship, but she
could not tell what indirect or political influence might be brought to bear
upon a business man. Besides, remember that she had resolved to use it within a
few days. It must be where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be in her 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 her to show
me.”
“But she will refuse.”
“She will not be able
to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is her carriage. Now carry out my
orders to the letter.”
As he 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 men 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 guardsmen, 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 lady, who had stepped from her carriage, was the
centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who struck savagely at
each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd to protect
the lady; but just as he reached her he gave a cry and dropped to the ground,
with the blood running freely down his face. At his fall the guardsmen 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 lady and to attend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I
will still call her, had hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with
her superb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into
the street.
“Is the poor gentleman
much hurt?” she asked.
“He is dead,” cried
several voices.
“No, no, there’s life
in him!” shouted another. “But he’ll be gone before you can get him to
hospital.”
“He’s a brave fellow,”
said a woman. “They would have had the lady’s purse and watch if it hadn’t been
for him. They were a gang, and a rough one, too. Ah, he’s breathing now.”
“He can’t lie in the
street. May we bring him in, marm?”
“Surely. Bring him into
the sitting-room. There is a comfortable sofa. This way, please!”
Slowly and solemnly he
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 he lay upon
the couch. I do not know whether he was seized with compunction at that moment
for the part he 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 she waited upon the injured
man. And yet it would be the blackest treachery to Holmes to draw back now from
the part which he 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
her. We are but preventing her from injuring another.
Holmes had sat up upon
the couch, and I saw him motion like a man who is in need of air. A maid rushed
across and threw open the window. At the same instant I saw him raise his 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—gentlemen, 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. He 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,” he 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?”
“She showed me, as I
told you she would.”
“I am still in the
dark.”
“I do not wish to make
a mystery,” said he, 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. She was bound to have me in. What else could she do? And into her
sitting-room, which was the very room which I suspected. It lay between that
and her 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 woman thinks that her house is on fire, her instinct is at once to rush
to the thing which she 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 woman grabs at her baby; an unmarried one reaches for her
jewel-box. Now it was clear to me that our lady of to-day had nothing in the
house more precious to her than what we are in quest of. She would rush to
secure it. The alarm of fire was admirably done. The smoke and shouting were
enough to shake nerves of steel. She responded beautifully. The photograph is
in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the right bell-pull. She was
there in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as she half-drew it out. When
I cried out that it was a false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the rocket,
rushed from the room, and I have not seen her since. I rose, and, making my
excuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether to attempt to secure the
photograph at once; but the coachman had come in, and as he 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 King to-morrow, and with you, if
you care to come with us. We will be shown into the sitting-room to wait for
the lady, but it is probable that when she comes she may find neither us nor
the photograph. It might be a satisfaction to his Majesty to regain it with his
own hands.”
“And when will you
call?”
“At eight in the
morning. She 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 her life and
habits. I must wire to the King without delay.”
We had reached Baker
Street and had stopped at the door. He was searching his pockets for the key
when someone passing said:
“Good-night, Mister
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.”
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