Datasets:
DarqueDante
/
test2

Dataset card Data Studio Files
xet
Community
1
text
stringlengths
0
74
CHAPTER III
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 up stairs, 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