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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, née 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.
THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the
autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a very
stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman 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,"
he 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 gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and
helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that
he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also."
The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of
greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small
fat-encircled eyes.
"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and
putting his fingertips together, as was his 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