
                       THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
                        A Scandal in Bohemia -- Part 2
          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 horsy 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.

          "`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 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 cooperation."

          "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's 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 today 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."

