
                       THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
                        A Scandal in Bohemia -- Part 3
          I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon
      our toast and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia
      rushed into the room.

          "You have really got it!" he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes
      by either shoulder and looking eagerly into his face.

          "Not yet."

          "But you have hopes?"

          "I have hopes."

          "Then, come.  I am all impatience to be gone."

          "We must have a cab."

          "No, my brougham is waiting."

          "Then that will simplify matters."  We descended and started
      off once more for Briony Lodge.

          "Irene Adler is married," remarked Holmes.

          "Married!  When?"

          "Yesterday."

          "But to whom?"

          "To an English lawyer named Norton."

          "But she could not love him."

          "I am in hopes that she does."

          "And why in hopes?"

          "Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future
      annoyance.  If the lady loves her husband, she does not love your
      Majesty.  If she does not love your Majesty, there is no reason
      why she should interfere with your Majesty's plan."

          "It is true.  And yet-- Well!  I wish she had been of my own
      station!  What a queen she would have made!"  He relapsed into a
      moody silence, which was not broken until we drew up in Serpentine
      Avenue.

          The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood
      upon the steps.  She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped
      from the brougham.

          "Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" said she.

          "I am Mr. Holmes," answered my companion, looking at her with
      a questioning and rather startled gaze.

          "Indeed!  My mistress told me that you were likely to call.
      She left this morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from
      Charing Cross for the Continent."

          "What!"  Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin
      and surprise.  "Do you mean that she has left England?"

          "Never to return."

          "And the papers?" asked the King hoarsely.  "All is lost."

          "We shall see."  He pushed past the servant and rushed into
      the drawing-room, followed by the King and myself.  The furniture
      was scattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves
      and open drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them
      before her flight.  Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a
      small sliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out a
      photograph and a letter.  The photograph was of Irene Adler
      herself in evening dress, the letter was superscribed to "Sherlock
      Holmes, Esq.  To be left till called for."  My friend tore it
      open, and we all three read it together.  It was dated at midnight
      of the preceding night and ran in this way:

          MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:

              You really did it very well.  You took me in completely.
          Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a suspicion.  But
          then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, I began to
          think.  I had been warned against you months ago.  I had been
          told that if the King employed an agent it would certainly be
          you.  And your address had been given me.  Yet, with all this,
          you made me reveal what you wanted to know.  Even after I
          became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a
          dear, kind old clergyman.  But, you know, I have been trained
          as an actress myself.  Male costume is nothing new to me.  I
          often take advantage of the freedom which it gives.  I sent
          John, the coachman, to watch you, ran upstairs, got into my
          walking-clothes, as I call them, and came down just as you
          departed.

              Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I
          was really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr.
          Sherlock Holmes.  Then I, rather imprudently, wished you
          good-night, and started for the Temple to see my husband.

              We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued
          by so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest
          empty when you call to-morrow.  As to the photograph, your
          client may rest in peace.  I love and am loved by a better man
          than he.  The King may do what he will without hindrance from
          one whom he has cruelly wronged.  I keep it only to safeguard
          myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me
          from any steps which he might take in the future.  I leave a
          photograph which he might care to possess; and I remain, dear
          Mr. Sherlock Holmes,

                                                 Very truly yours,
                                            IRENE NORTON, nee ADLER.

          "What a woman--oh, what a woman!" cried the King of Bohemia,
      when we had all three read this epistle.  "Did I not tell you how
      quick and resolute she was?  Would she not have made an admirable
      queen?  Is it not a pity that she was not on my level?"

          "From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on a
      very different level to your Majesty," said Holmes coldly.  "I am
      sorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty's business
      to a more successful conclusion."

          "On the contrary, my dear sir," cried the King; "nothing could
      be more successful.  I know that her word is inviolate.  The
      photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire."

          "I am glad to hear your Majesty say so."

          "I am immensely indebted to you.  Pray tell me in what way I
      can reward you.  This ring--" He slipped an emerald snake ring
      from his finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand.

          "Your Majesty has something which I should value even more
      highly," said Holmes.

          "You have but to name it."

          "This photograph!"

          The King stared at him in amazement.

          "Irene's photograph!" he cried.  "Certainly, if you wish it."

          "I thank your Majesty.  Then there is no more to be done in
      the matter.  I have the honour to wish you a very good-morning."
      He bowed, and, turning away without observing the hand which the
      King had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his
      chambers.

          And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the
      kingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes
      were beaten by a woman's wit.  He used to make merry over the
      cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late.  And
      when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her
      photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.

