波希米亚，即今之捷克。第一次世界大战前受奥地利统治。——译者注
　　 一
　　 歇洛克·福尔摩斯始终称呼她为那位女人。我很少听见他提到她时用过别的称呼。在他的心目中，她才貌超群，其他女人无不黯然失色。这倒并不是说他对艾琳·艾德勒有什么近乎爱情的感情。因为对于他那强调理性、严谨刻板和令人钦佩、冷静沉着的头脑来说，一切情感，特别是爱情这种情感，都是格格不入的。我认为，他简直是世界上一架用于推理和观察的最完美无瑕的机器。但是作为情人，他却会把自己置于错误的地位。他从来不说温情脉脉的话，更不用说讲话时常带着讥讽和嘲笑的口吻。而观察家对于这种温柔的情话，却是赞赏的——因为它对于揭示人们的动机和行为是再好不过的东西了。但是对于一个训练有素的理论家来说，容许这种情感侵扰他自己那种细致严谨的性格，就会使他分散精力，使他所取得的全部的智力成果受到怀疑。在精密仪其中落入砂粒，或者他的高倍放大镜镜头产生了裂纹，都不会比在他这样的性格中掺入一种强烈的感情更起扰乱作用的了。然而只有一个女人，而这个女人就是已故的艾琳·艾德勒，还在他那模糊的成问题的记忆之中。
　　 最近很少和福尔摩斯晤面。我婚后就和他疏于往来。我的完满的幸福和第一次感到自己成为家庭的主人而产生的家庭乐趣，吸引了我的全部注意力。可是福尔摩斯，他却豪放不羁，厌恶社会上一切繁缛的礼仪，所以依然住在我们那所贝克街的房子里，埋头于旧书堆中。他一个星期服用可卡因，另一个星期又充满了干劲，就这样交替地处于用药物引起的瞌睡状态和他自己那种热烈性格的旺盛精力状态中。正如往常一样，他仍醉心于研究犯罪行为，并用他那卓越的才能和非凡的观察力去找那些线索和打破那些难解之谜，而这些谜是官厅认为毫无希望解答而被放弃了的。我不时模模糊糊地听到一些关于他活动的情况：如关于他被召到敖德萨去办理特雷波夫暗杀案；关于侦破亭可马里非常怪的阿特金森兄弟惨案；以及最后关于他为荷兰皇家完成得那么微妙和出色的使命等等。这些情况，我和其他读者一样，仅仅是从报纸上读到的。除此之外，关于我的老友和伙伴的其它情况我就知道得很少了。
　　 有一天晚上——一八八八年三月二十日的晚上——我在出诊回来的途中（此时我已又开业行医），正好经过贝克街。那所房子的大门，我还记忆犹新。在我的心中，我总是把它同我所追求的东西并同在"血字的研究"一案中的神秘事件联系在一起。当我路过那大门时，我突然产生了与福尔摩斯叙谈叙谈的强烈愿望，想了解他那非凡的智力目前正倾注于什么问题。他的几间屋子，灯光雪亮。我抬头仰视，可以看见反映在窗帘上的他那瘦高条黑色侧影两次掠过。他的头低垂胸前，两手紧握在背后，迅速而又急切地在屋里踱来踱去。我深悉他的各种精神状态和生活习惯，所以对我来说，他的姿态和举止本身就显示出那是怎么一回事——他又在工作了。他一定是刚从服药后的睡梦中起身，正热衷于探索某些新问题的线索。我揿了揿电铃，然后被引到一间屋子里，而这间屋子以前有一部分是属于我的。
　　 他的态度不很热情，这种情况是少见的，但是我认为他看到我时还是高兴的。他几乎一言不发，可是目光亲切，指着一张扶手椅让我坐下，然后把他的雪茄烟盒扔了过来，并指了指放在角落里的酒精瓶和小型煤气炉。他站在壁炉前，用他那独特的内省的神态看着我。
　　 “结婚对你很合适，”他说，“华生，我想自从我们上次见面以来，你体重增加了七磅半。”
　　 “七磅。"我回答说。
　　 “真的！我想是七磅多。华生，我想是七磅多一点。据我的观察，你又开业给人看病了吧。可是你过去没告诉过我，你打算行医。”
　　 “这你怎么知道的呢？”
　　 “这是我看出来的，是我推断出来的。否则我怎么知道你最近一直挨淋，而且有一位最笨手笨脚和粗心大意的使女的呢？”
　　 “我亲爱的福尔摩斯，"我说，“你简直太厉害了。你要是活在几世纪以前，一定会被用火刑烧死的。的确，星期四我步行到乡下去过一趟，回家时被雨淋得一塌糊涂。可是我已经换了衣服，真想象不出你是怎样推断出来的。至于玛丽·珍，她简直是不可救药，我的妻子已经打发她走了。但是这件事我也看不出你是怎样推断出来的。”
　　 他自己嘻嘻地笑了起来，搓着他那双细长的神经质的手。
　　 “这些事本身很简单，”他说，“我的眼睛告诉我，在你左脚那只鞋的里侧，也就是炉火刚好照到的地方，其面上有六道几乎平行的裂痕。很明显，这些裂痕是由于有人为了去掉沾在鞋跟的泥疙瘩，粗心大意地顺着鞋跟刮泥时造成的。因此，你瞧，我就得出这样的双重推断，认为你曾经在恶劣的天气中出去过，以及你穿的皮靴上出现的特别难看的裂痕是伦敦年轻而没有经验的女佣人干的。至于你开业行医嘛，那是因为如果一位先生走进我的屋子，身上带着碘的气味，他的右手食指上有硝酸银的黑色斑点，他的大礼帽右侧面鼓起一块，表明他曾藏过他的听诊器，我要不说他是医药界的一位积极分子，那我就真够愚蠢的了。”
　　 他解释推理的过程是那么毫不费力，我不禁笑了起来。"听你讲这些推理时，"我说，“事情仿佛总是显得那么简单，几乎简单到了可笑的程度，甚至我自己也能推理，在你解释推理过程之前，我对你推理的下一步的每一情况总是感到迷惑不解。但我还是觉得我的眼力不比你的差。”
　　 “的确如此，"他点燃了一支香烟，全身舒展地倚靠在扶手椅上，回答道，“你是在看而不是在观察。这二者之间的区别是很清楚的。比如说，你常看到从下面大厅到这间屋子的梯级吧？”
　　 “经常看到的。”
　　 “多少次了？”
　　 “嗯，不下于几百次吧。”
　　 “那么，有多少梯级？”
　　 “多少梯级？我不知道。”
　　 “那就对啦！因为你没有观察，而只是看嘛。这恰恰是我要指出的要害所在。你瞧，我知道共有十七个梯级。因为我不但看而且观察了。顺便说说，由于你对这些小问题有兴趣，又由于你善于把我的一两个小经验记录下来，你对这个东西也许会感兴趣的。"他把一直放在他桌子上的一张粉红色的厚厚的便条纸扔了过来。“这是最近一班邮差送来的，”他说，“你大声地念念看。”
　　 这张便条没有日期，也没有签名和地址。
　　 〔便条里写道：〕"某君将于今晚平时三刻趋访，渠有至为重要之事拟与阁下相商。阁下最近为欧洲一王室出力效劳表明，委托阁下承办难于言喻之大事，足可信赖。此种传述，广播四方，我等知之甚稔。届时望勿外出。来客如戴面具，请勿介意是幸。”
　　 “这的确是件很神秘的事，"我说，“你想这是什么意思？”
　　 “我还没有可以作为论据的事实。在我们得到这些事实之前就加以推测，那是最大的错误。有人不知不觉地以事实牵强附会地来适应理论，而不是以理论来适应事实。但是现在只有这么一张便条，你看能不能从中推断出些什么来？”
　　 我仔细地检查笔迹和这张写着字的纸。
　　 “写这张条子的人大概相当有钱，"我说着，尽力模仿我伙伴的推理方法。"这种纸半个克朗买不到一叠。纸质特别结实和挺括。”
　　 “特别——正是这两个字，"福尔摩斯说，“这根本不是一张英国造的纸。你举起来向亮处照照看。”
　　 我这样做了。看到纸质纹理中有一个大"Ｅ"和一个小"g"、一个"Ｐ"以及一个"Ｇ"和一个小"t"交织在一起。
　　 “你了解这是什么意思？"福尔摩斯问道。
　　 “无疑，是制造者的名字，更确切地说，是他名字的交织字母。”
　　 “完全不对，‘Ｇ'和小'ｔ'代表的是"Ｇｅｓｅｌｌｓｃｈａeｔ’也就是德文'公司'这个词。象我们'Ｃｏ．'这么一个惯用的缩写词一样。当然，‘Ｐ'代表的是'Ｐａｐｉｅｒ’——'纸'。现在该轮到'Ｅｇ’了。让我们翻一下《大陆地名词典》。"他从书架上拿下一本很厚的棕色书皮的书。"ＥｇｌｏｗＥｇｌｏｎｉｔｚ，——有了，Ｅｇｒｉａ。那是在说德语的国家里——也就是在波希米亚，离卡尔斯巴德不远。'以瓦伦斯坦卒于此地而闻名，同时也以其玻璃工厂和造纸厂林立而著称。'哈，哈，老兄，你了解这是什么意思？"他的眼睛闪闪发光，得意地喷出一大口蓝色的香烟的烟雾。
　　 “这种纸是在波希米亚制造的。”
　　 “完全正确。写这张纸条的是德国人。你是否注意到'此种传述，广播四方，我等知之甚稔'这种句子的特殊结构？法国人或人是不会这样写的。只有德国人才这样乱用动词。因此，现在有待查明的是这位用波希米亚纸写字、宁愿戴面具以掩盖他的庐山真面目的德国人到底想干些什么。——瞧，要是我没有搞错的话，他来了，他将打破我们的一切疑团。”
　　 就在他说话的时候，响起了一阵清脆的马蹄声和马车轮子摩擦路边镶边石的轧轧声，接着有人猛烈地拉着门铃。福尔摩斯吹了一下口哨。
　　 “听声响是两骑马，”他说。“不错，"他接着说，眼睛朝窗外瞧了一眼，“一辆可爱的小马车和一对漂亮的马，每匹值一百五十畿尼。华生，要是没有什么别的话，这个案子可有的是钱。”
　　 “我想我该走了，福尔摩斯。”
　　 “哪儿的话，医生，你就呆在这里。要是没有我自己的包斯威尔，我将不知所措。这个案子看来很有趣，错过它那就太①遗憾了。”
　　 “可是你的委托人……”
　　 “甭管他。我可能需要你的帮助，他也许同样如此。他来啦。你就坐在那张扶手椅子里，医生，好好地端详着我们吧。”
　　 我们听到一阵缓慢而沉重的脚步声。先是在楼梯上，然后在过道上，到了门口骤然停止。接着是声音响亮和神气活现的叩门声。
　　 “请进来！"福尔摩斯说。
　　 一个人走了进来，他的身材不下于六英尺六英寸，胸部宽阔，四肢有力。他的衣着华丽。但那那富丽堂皇的装束，在英国这地方显得有点近乎庸俗。他的袖子和双排纽扣的上衣前襟的开叉处都镶着宽阔的羔皮镶边，肩上披的深蓝色大氅用腥红色的丝绸作衬里，领口别着一只用单颗火焰形的绿宝石镶嵌的饰针。加上脚上穿着一双高到小腿肚的皮靴，靴口上镶着深棕色毛皮，这就使得人们对于他整个外表粗野奢华的印象，更加深刻。他手里拿着一顶大檐帽，脸的上半部戴着一只黑色的盖过颧骨的遮护面具。显然他刚刚整理过面具，因为进屋时，他的手还停留在面具上。由脸的下半部看，他嘴唇厚而下垂，下巴又长又直，显示出一种近乎顽固的果断，象是个性格坚强的人。
　　 ①包斯威尔是英国著名文学家约翰生的一名得力助手。——译者注
　　 “你收到我写的条子了吗？"他问道，声音深沉、沙哑，带着浓重的德国口音。"我告诉过你，我要来拜访你。"他轮流地瞧着我们两个人，好象拿不准跟谁说话似的。
　　 “请坐，"福尔摩斯说，“这位是我的朋友和同事——华生医生。他经常大力帮助我办案子。请问，我应该怎么称呼您？”
　　 “你可以称呼我冯·克拉姆伯爵。我是波希米亚贵族。我想这位先生——你的朋友，是位值得尊敬和十分审慎的人，我也可以把极为重要的事托付给他。否则，我宁愿跟你单独谈。”
　　 我站起身来要走，可是福尔摩斯抓住我的手腕，把我推回到原来的扶手椅里。"要谈两个一起谈，要就不谈，"他对来客说，“在这位先生跟前，凡是您可以跟我谈的您尽管谈好了。”
　　 伯爵耸了耸他那宽阔的肩膀说道，“那么我首先得约定你们二位在两年内绝对保密，两年后这事就无关重要了。目前说它重要得也许可以影响整个欧洲历史的进程都不过分。”
　　 “我保证遵约，"福尔摩斯答道。
　　 “我也是。”
　　 “这面具你们不在意吧，"我们这位陌生的不速之客继续说，“派我来的贵人不愿意让你们知道他派来的代理人是谁，因此我可以立刻承认我刚才所说的并不是我自己真正的称号。”
　　 “这我知道，"，福尔摩斯冷冰冰地答道。
　　 “情况十分微妙。我们必须采取一切预防措施，尽力防止使事情发展成一个大丑闻，以免使一个欧洲王族遭到严重损害。坦率地说，这件事会使伟大的奥姆斯坦家族——波希米亚世袭国王——受到牵连。”
　　 “这我也知道，"，福尔摩斯喃喃地说道，随即坐到扶手椅里，阖上了眼睛。
　　 在来客的心目中，他过去无疑是被刻画为欧洲分析问题最透彻的推理者和精力最充沛的侦探。这时我们的来客不禁对这个人倦怠的、懒洋洋的体态用一种明显的惊讶目光扫了一眼。福尔摩斯慢条斯理地重新张开双眼，不耐烦地瞧着他那身躯魁伟的委托人。
　　 “要是陛下肯屈尊将案情阐明，”他说，“那我就会更好地为您效劳。”
　　 这人从椅子里猛地站了起来，激动得无以自制地在屋子里踱来踱去。接着，他以一种绝望的姿态把脸上的面具扯掉扔到地下。
　　 “你说对了，"他喊道，“我就是国王，我为什么要隐瞒呢？”
　　 “嗯，真的吗？"福尔摩斯喃喃地说，“陛下还没开口，我就知道我是要跟卡斯尔－费尔施泰因大公、波希米亚的世袭国王、威廉·戈特赖希·西吉斯蒙德·冯·奥姆施泰因交谈。”
　　 “但是你能理解，"我们破怪的来客又重新坐下来，用手摸了一下他那又高又白的前额说道，“你能理解我是不惯于亲自办这种事的。可是这件事是如此地微妙，以致于如果我把它告诉一个侦探，就不得不使自己任起摆布。我是为了向你征询意见才微服出行，从布拉格来此的。”
　　 “那就请谈吧，"福尔摩斯说道，随即又把眼睛阖上了。
　　 “简单地说，事情是这样的：大约五年以前，在我到华沙长期访问期间，我认识了大名鼎鼎的女冒险家艾琳·艾德勒。无疑你是很熟悉这名字的。”
　　 “医生，请你在我的资料索引中查查艾琳·艾德勒这个人，"福尔摩斯喃喃地说，眼睛睁也没睁开一下。他多年来采取这么一种办法，就是把有关许多人和事的一些材料贴上签条备查。因此，要想说出一个他不能马上提供起情况的人或事，那是岂不容易的。关于这件案子，我找到了关于她的个人经历的材料。它是夹在一个犹太法学博士和写过一起关于深海鱼类专题论文的参谋官这两份历史材料中间的。
　　 “让我瞧瞧，"福尔摩斯说，“嗯！一八五八年生于新泽西州。女低音——嗯！意大利歌剧院——嗯！华沙帝国歌剧院首席女歌手——对了！退出了歌剧舞台——哈！住在伦敦——一点不错！据我理解，陛下和这位年轻女人有牵连。您给她写过几封会使自己受连累的信，现在则急于想把那些信弄回来。”
　　 “一点不错。但是，怎么才能……”
　　 “曾经和她秘密结过婚吗？”
　　 “没有。”
　　 “没有法律文件或证明吗？”
　　 “没有。”
　　 “那我就不明白了，陛下。如果这位年轻女人想用信来达到讹诈或其他目的时，她怎么能够证明这些信是真的呢？”
　　 “有我写的字。”
　　 “呸！伪造的。”
　　 “我私人的信笺。”
　　 “偷的。”
　　 “我自己的印鉴。”
　　 “仿造的。”
　　 “我的照片。”
　　 “买的。”
　　 “我们两人都在这张照片里哩。”
　　 “噢，天哪！那就糟了。陛下的生活的确是太不检点了。”
　　 “我当时真是疯了——精神错乱。”
　　 “您已经对您造成了严重的损害。”
　　 “当时我只不过是个王储，还很年轻。现在我也不过三十岁。”
　　 “那就必须把那张像起重新收回。”
　　 “我们已经试过，但是都失败了。”
　　 “陛下必须出钱，把照片买过来。”
　　 “她一定不卖。”
　　 “那么就偷吧。”
　　 “我们已经试过五次了。有两次我出钱雇小偷搜遍了她的房子。一次她在旅行时我们调换了她的行李。还有两次我们对她进行了拦路抢劫。可是都一无所获。”
　　 “那张像片的痕迹一点都没有？”
　　 “一丝一毫都没有。”
　　 福尔摩斯笑了，说道：“这完全是一个微不足道的问题。”
　　 “但是对我来说，却是个十分严重的问题。"国王用责备的口气顶了他一句。
　　 “十分严重。的确如此。那她打算用这照片干些什么呢。”
　　 “把我毁掉。”
　　 “怎么个毁法？”
　　 “我即将结婚了。”
　　 “我听说了。”
　　 “我将和斯堪的纳维亚国王的二公主克洛蒂尔德·洛特曼·冯·札克斯迈宁根结婚。你可能知道他们的严格家规吧。她自己就是一个极为敏感的人。只要对我的行为有丝毫怀疑，就会使这婚事告吹。”
　　 “那么艾琳·艾德勒呢？”
　　 “威胁着要把照片送给他们。而她是会那样做的。我知道她是会那样做的。你不了解她，她的个性坚强如钢。她既有最美丽的女人的面容，又有最刚毅的男人的心。只要我和另一个女人结婚，她是什么事都做得出来的。”
　　 “您敢肯定她还没有把照片送出去吗？”
　　 “我敢肯定。”
　　 “为什么？”
　　 “因为她说过，她要在婚约公开宣布的那一天把照片送出去。那就是下星期一。”
　　 “噢，那咱们还有三天时间，"福尔摩斯说着，打了一个呵欠。"太幸运了，因为目前我还有一两桩重要的事情要调查调查。当然。陛下暂时要待在伦敦罗？”
　　 “对。你可以在兰厄姆旅馆找到我。用的名字是冯·克拉姆伯爵。”
　　 “我将写封短信让您知道我们的进展情况。”
　　 “那太好了。我非常急于知道。”
　　 “那么，关于钱的事怎么样？”
　　 “由你全权处理。”
　　 “毫无条件吗？”
　　 “我可以告诉你，为了得到那张照片，我愿意拿我领土中的一个省来交换。”
　　 “那么眼前的费用呢？”
　　 国王从他的大氅下面拿出一个很重的羚羊起袋，把它放在桌上。
　　 “这里有三百镑金币和气百镑钞票。"他说。
　　 福尔摩斯在他笔记本的一张纸上潦潦草草地写了收条，然后递给他。
　　 “那位小姐的地址呢？"他问道。
　　 “圣约翰伍德，塞彭泰恩大街，布里翁尼府第。”
　　 福尔摩斯记了下来。“还有一个问题，”他说道，“照片是六英寸的吗？”
　　 “是的。”
　　 “那么，再见，陛下，我相信我们不久就会给您带来好消息。华生，再见，"他接着对我说，这时皇家四轮马车正向街心驶去。"我想请你明天下午三点钟来，跟你聊聊这件小事情。”
　　 '三点钟整，我到了贝克街，福尔摩斯尚未回来。据女房东说，他是在早晨刚过八点的时候出去的。尽管如此，我在壁炉旁坐下，打算不管他去多久都要等待，因为我已经对他的调查深感兴趣。虽然这案子缺乏我记录过的那两件罪案所具有的那种残忍和不可思议的特征，可是，这案子的性质及其委托人的高贵地位，却使它具有其本身应有的特色。的确，除了我的朋友正在进行调查的案子的性质外，他那种巧妙地掌握情况和敏锐而又透彻地推理的工作方式，以及那种解决最难解决的奥秘的迅速而精细的方法，很值得我去研究和学习，并且从中得到很大乐趣。他一贯取胜，这在我已是司空见惯。所以，在我的脑海里从未产生过他也有可能失败的想法。
　　 四点钟左右，屋门开了，走进来一个醉醺醺的马夫。他样子邋邋遢遢，留着络腮胡须，面红耳赤，衣衫破烂不堪。尽管我对我朋友的化装术的惊人技巧已经习以为常了，我还是要再三审视才敢肯定真的是他。他向我点头招呼一下就进了卧室。不消五分钟，他就和往常一样身穿花呢衣服，风度高雅地出现在我面前。他把手插在衣袋里，在壁炉前舒展开双腿，尽情地笑了一阵子。
　　 “噢，真的吗？"他喊道，忽然呛住了喉咙，接着又笑了起来，直到笑得软弱无力地躺在椅子上。
　　 “这是怎么回事？”
　　 “简直太有趣了。我敢说你怎么也猜不出我上午在忙什么，或者忙的结果是什么。”
　　 “我想象不出来。也许你一直在注意观察艾琳·艾德勒小姐的生活习惯，也许还观察了她的房子。”
　　 “一点不错，但是结局却相当不平常。不过我愿意把情况告诉你。我今天早晨八点稍过一点离开这里，扮成一个失业的马夫。在那些马夫中间存在着一种美好的互相同情、意气相投的感情。如果你成为他们之中的一员，你就可以知道你要想知道的一切。我很快就找到了布里翁尼府第。那是一幢小巧雅致的别墅，后面有个花园。这是一幢两层楼房，面对着马路建造的。门上挂着洽伯锁。右边是宽敞的起居室，内部装饰华丽，窗户之长几乎到达地面，然而那些可笑的英国窗闩连小孩都能打开。除了从马车房的房顶可以够得着过道的窗户以外，就没有什么值得注意的了。我围绕别墅巡行了一遍，从各个角度仔细侦察，但并未发现任何令人感兴趣之处。
　　 “接着我顺着街道漫步，果然不出所料，我发现在靠着花园墙的小巷里，有一排马房。我帮助那些马夫梳洗马匹。他们酬劳我两个便士、一杯混合酒、两烟斗装得满满的板烟丝，①并且提供了许多我想知道的有关艾德勒小姐的情况。除她之外，他们还告诉我住在附近的其他六、起个人的情况，我对这些人丝毫不感兴趣，但是又不得不听下去。”
　　 ①黑啤酒和烈啤酒或新陈两种啤酒各半的混合物。——译者注
　　 “艾琳·艾德勒的情况如何？"我问道。
　　 “噢，她使那一带所有的男人都拜倒在她的石榴裙下。她是世界上最俏丽的佳人了。在塞彭泰恩大街马房，人人都是这么说的。她过着宁静的生活，在音乐会上演唱。每天五点钟出去，七点钟回家吃晚餐。她除了演唱外，其余时间则深居简出。她只与一个男人交往，而且过从甚密。他肤色黝黑，体态英俊，很有朝气。他每天至少来看她一回，经常是两回。他是住在坦普尔的戈弗雷·诺顿先生。你懂一个作为心腹车夫的好处吗？这些马车夫为他赶车不下十几次，从塞彭泰恩大街马房送他回家，对他的事无不知晓。我听完了他们所谈的一切之后，便开始再一次在布里翁尼府第附近漫步徘徊，思考我的行动方案。
　　 “这个戈弗雷·诺顿显然是这件事的关键性人物。他是一位律师。这听起来不大妙。他们两人之间是什么关系呢？他不断地来看她有什么目的？她是他的委托人，他的朋友，或者是他的情妇？如果是他的委托人，她大概已经把照片交给他保存了。如果是他的情妇，那就不大会那么做。这个问题的答案将决定我应当继续对布里翁尼府第的调查工作呢，还是把我的注意力转到那位先生在坦普尔的住宅方面。这是必须加以小心从事的要点所在，这就扩大了我调查的范围。我担心这些琐琐碎碎的细节会使你感觉厌烦，但是我必须让你看到我的一点困难，如果你要想了解情况的话。”
　　 “我正在仔细地倾听呢，"我回答道。
　　 “我心里正在权衡着利害得失的时候，忽地瞧见一辆双轮马车赶到布里翁尼府第门前，由车里跳出一位绅士。他是一位非常漂亮的男人，黑黑的，鹰钩鼻子，留着小胡子——显然就是我听说的那个人。他仿佛十万火急似的样子，大声吆喝要车夫等着他。他从替他开门的女仆面前擦身而过，显示出毫无拘束的神态。
　　 “他在屋子里逗留了大约半个小时。我透过起居室的窗户可以隐隐约约地看见他踱来踱去，挥舞双臂兴奋地谈着。至于她，我什么也没看到。他随即走了出来，好象比刚才更加急忙的样子。他在登上马车时，从口袋里掏出一块金表，热切地看了看喊道，‘拚命快赶，先到摄政街格罗斯·汉基旅馆，然后到埃破丰尔路圣莫尼卡教堂。你要是能在二十分钟之内赶到，我就赏给你半个畿尼。'
　　 “他们一下子就走了。我正在犹豫不决是否应该紧紧尾随的当儿，忽地从小巷里来了一辆小巧雅致的四轮马车。那马车夫的上衣的扣子只有一半是扣上的，领带歪在耳边，马起挽具上所有金属箍头却都由带扣中突出来。车还没停稳，她就由大门飞奔出来一头钻进车厢。在这霎那间，我只瞥了她一眼，但已可看出她是个可爱的女人，容貌之标致足令男人倾倒。
　　 “'约翰，去圣莫尼卡教堂，'她喊道，‘要是你能在二十分钟之内赶到那里的话，我就赏给你半镑金币。'
　　 “华生，这是不可错过的好机会。我正权衡是应当赶上去呢，还是应当攀在车后时，恰好一辆出租马车从这街上经过。赶车人对那菲薄的车费瞧了又瞧。但我在他可能表示不干之前就跳进车里。'圣莫尼卡教堂，'我说，‘给你半镑金币，要是你在二十分钟之内赶到那里的话。'那时是十一点三十五分，将要发生什么事情，那当然是很清楚的。
　　 “我的马车夫赶得飞快。我觉得我从未赶得这么快过，但那两辆马车已经比我们先行到达。在我赶到的时候，那辆出租马车和那辆四轮马车早已停在门前了，两骑马正气喘吁吁冒着热气。我付了车钱，急忙走进教堂。在那里除了我所追踪的两个人和一个身穿白色法衣、好象正在劝告他们什么似的牧师外，别无他人。他们三个人围在一起站在圣坛前。我就象偶尔浪荡到教堂里来的其他游手好闲的人一样，信步顺着两旁的通道往前走。使我感到惊异的是，忽然间在圣坛前的这三个人的脸都转过来朝着我。戈弗雷·诺顿拚命向我跑来。
　　 “谢天谢地！'他喊道，‘有了你就行了。来！来！'
　　 “这是怎么回事？'我问道。
　　 “来，老兄，来，只要三分钟就够了，要不然就不合法了。'
　　 “我是被半拖半拉上圣坛的。在我还没弄清楚我站在什么地方以前，我发觉我自己正喃喃地对我耳边低低的话语作出答复，为我一无所知的事作证。总的来说是帮助把未婚女子艾琳·艾德勒和单身汉戈弗雷·诺顿紧密地结合在一起。这一切是在很短的时间内完成的。接着男方在我这一边对我表示感谢，女方在我那一边对我表示感谢，而牧师则在我对面向我微笑。这是我有生以来从未碰到过的最荒谬绝伦的场面。刚才我一想到这件事就禁不住大笑起来了。看来他们的结婚证明有点不够合法，牧师在没有某些证人的情况下，断然拒绝给他们证婚，幸而有我出现使得新郎不至于必须跑到大街上去找一位傧相。新娘赏给我一镑金币。我打算把它拴在表链上戴着，以纪念这次的际遇。”
　　 “这真是一件完全出乎意料的事，"我说道，“后来又怎样呢？”
　　 “咳，我觉得我的计划受到严重的威胁。看来这一对有可能立刻离开这里，因此我必须采取迅速而有力的措施。他们在教堂门口分手。他坐车回坦普尔，而她则回到她自己的住处。'我还象平常一样，五点钟坐车到公园去，'她辞别他时说道，我就听到这些。他们各自乘车驶向不同的方向，我也离开了那里去为自己作些安排。”
　　 “是什么安排？”
　　 “一些卤牛肉和一杯啤酒，"他揿了一下电铃答道，“我一直忙得不可开交，没工夫想到吃东西，今晚我很可能还要更忙些。顺便说一句，大夫，我将需要你的合作。”
　　 “我很乐意。”
　　 “你不怕犯法吗？”
　　 “一点也不。”
　　 “也不怕万一被捕吗？”
　　 “为了一个高尚的目标，我不怕。”
　　 “噢，这目标是再高尚不过了。”
　　 “那么，我就是你所需要的人了。”
　　 “我原先就肯定我是可以依仗你的。”
　　 “可是你打算怎么办呢？”
　　 “特纳太太一端来盘子，我就向你说明。现在，"他饥肠辘辘地转向女房东拿来的简单食品，说道，“我不得不边吃边谈这件事，因为我的时间所剩无几。现在快五点钟了。我们必须在两个钟头内赶到行动地点。艾琳小姐，不，是夫人，将在起点钟驱车归来。我们必须在布里翁尼府第与她相遇。”
　　 “然后怎么样？”
　　 “这以后的事一定要让我来办。我对将要发生的事情已有所安排。现在只有一点我必须坚持的，那就是，不管发生什么情况，你都一定不要干预。你懂吗？”
　　 “难道我什么事也不管吗？”
　　 “什么事都别管。也许会有些小小的不愉快事件。你可不要介入。在我被送进屋子时，这种不愉快的事就会结束的。四、五分钟以后，起居室的窗户将会打开。你要在紧挨着打开窗户的地方守候着。”
　　 “是。”
　　 “你一定要盯着我，我总是会让你看得见的。”
　　 “是。”
　　 “我一举手——就象这样——你就把我让你扔的东西扔进屋子里去，同时，提高嗓门喊'着火了'。你完全听清楚我的话了吗？”
　　 “完全懂了。”
　　 “那没有什么大不了的事，"他从口袋里掏出一只长长的象雪茄烟模样的卷筒说道，“这是一只管子工用的普通烟火筒，两头都有盖子，可以自燃。你的任务就是专管这东西。当你高喊着火的时候，一定有许多人赶来救火。这样你就可以走到街的那一头去。我在十分钟之内和你重新会合。我希望你已经明白我所说的话了，是吗？”
　　 “我应该保持不介入的状态；靠近窗户；盯着你；一看到信号，就把这东西扔进去；然后喊着火了；并且到街的拐角那里去等你。”
　　 “完全正确。”
　　 “那你就瞧我的吧。”
　　 “这太好了。我想，也许快到我为扮演新角色作准备的时候了。”
　　 他隐没到卧室里去。过了几分钟再出来时已装扮成一个和蔼可亲而单纯朴素的新教牧师。他那顶宽大的黑帽、宽松下垂的裤子、白色的领带、富于同情心的微笑以及那种凝视的、仁慈的、好破的神态，只有约翰·里尔先生堪与比拟。福尔①摩斯不仅仅是换了装束，连他的表情、他的态度、甚至他的灵魂似乎都随着他所装扮的新角色而起了变化。当他成为一位研究罪行的专家的时候，舞台上就少了一位出色的演员，甚至会使科学界少了一位敏锐的推理家。
　　 我们离开贝克街的时候是六点一刻。我们提前十分钟到达塞彭泰恩大街。时已黄昏，我们在布里翁尼府第外面踱来踱去等屋主回来时，正好亮灯了。这所房子正如我根据福尔摩斯的简单描述所想象的那样。但是地点不象我预期的那么平静，恰恰相反，对于附近地区都很安静的一条小街来说，它十分热闹。街头拐角有一群穿得破破烂烂、抽着烟、说说笑笑的人，一个带着脚踏磨轮的磨剪子的人，两个正在同保姆调情的警卫，以及几个衣着体面、嘴里叼着雪茄烟、吊儿郎当的年轻人。"你看，"当我们在房子前面踱来踱去的时候，福尔摩斯说道，“他们结了婚倒使事情简单化了。那张照片现在变成双刃武器了。很可能她之怕它被戈弗雷·诺顿看见，犹如我们的委托人之怕它出现在公主跟前一样。眼前的问题是，我们到哪里去找那张照片？”
　　 ①十九世纪中叶到本世纪初英国著名喜剧演员。——译者注
　　 “真的，到哪儿去找呀？”
　　 “她随身带着它的可能性是最小的。因为那是张六英寸照片，要在一件女人的衣服里轻易地藏起来，未免嫌太大了些。而且她知道国王是会拦劫和搜查她的。这类的尝试已经发生过两次了。因此，我们可以推断她是不会随身带着它的。”
　　 “那么，在哪儿呢？”
　　 “在她的银行家或者律师的手里。是有这两种可能性的。但是我却觉得哪一种可能性都不现实。女人天生就好保密，她们喜欢采取她们自己的隐藏东西的方法。她为什么要把照AE琝f3交给别人呢？她对自己的监护能力是信得过的。可是一个办理实务的人可能会受到什么样间接的或的影响，那她就说不上来了。此外，你可别忘了她是决意要在几天之内利用这张照片的。因此一定在她随手可以拿到的地方，一定在她自己的屋子里。”
　　 “但是屋子已经两次被盗了。”
　　 “哼！他们不知道怎么去找。”
　　 “可你又怎么个找法？”
　　 “我根本不找。”
　　 “那又怎么办？”
　　 “我要使她把照漂亮给我看。”
　　 “那她是不会干的。”
　　 “她不能不干。我听见车轮声了。那是她坐的马车。现在要严格按照我的命令行事。”
　　 他说话时，马车两侧车灯发出的闪烁灯光顺着弯曲的街道绕过来。那是一辆漂亮的四轮小马车咯哒咯哒地驶到布里翁尼府第门前。马车刚一停下，一个流浪汉从角落里冲上前去开车门，希望赚个铜子，但是却被抱着同样想法窜在前头的另一个流浪汉挤开。于是爆发了一场激烈的争吵，两个警卫站在一个流浪汉一边，而磨剪刀的则同样起劲地站在另一个流浪汉一边。这样争吵得就更厉害了。接着不知是谁先动手开打，这时这位夫人刚好下车，立刻就被卷进纠缠在一起的人群中间。这些人满面通红，扭在一起拳打棒击，野蛮地互相殴斗。福尔摩斯猛地冲入人群去保卫夫人。但是，刚到她的身边，就大喊一声，倒卧于地，脸上鲜血直流。众人见他倒地，两个警卫朝一个方向拔脚溜走，那些流浪汉朝另一个方向逃之夭夭。此时，有些衣着比较整齐、只看热闹而没有参加殴斗的人挤了进来，为夫人解围和照顾这位受伤的先生。艾琳·艾德勒——我还愿意这么称呼她——急忙跑上台阶。但是她在最高一层台阶站住了，门厅里的灯光勾划出了她的极起优美的身材的轮廓。她回头朝街道问道：
　　 “那位可怜的先生伤得厉害吗？”
　　 “他已经死啦，"几个声音一起喊道。
　　 “不，不，还活着呢，"另一声音高叫着，“但是等不到你们把他送进医院，他就会死去的。”
　　 “他是个勇敢的人，"一个女人说道，“要不是他的话，那些流浪汉早就把夫人的钱包和表抢走了。他们是一帮，而且是一帮粗暴的家伙。啊，他现在能呼吸了。”
　　 “不能让他躺在街上。我们可以把他抬进屋子里去吗，夫人？”
　　 “当然可以。把他抬到起居室里去。那儿有一张舒服的沙发。请到这边来吧。"大家缓慢而庄严地把他抬进布里翁尼府第，安置在正房里。这时我由站在靠近窗口的地方一直在看着整个事情的经过。灯都点燃了。可是窗帘没有拉上，所以我可以看到福尔摩斯是怎样被安放在长沙发上的。当时他对他扮演的角色是否感到有些内疚我不知道，但是我却知道，我自己有生以来从未比看见我所密谋反对的美人或者看到她服侍伤者的那种温雅和亲切的仪态更感到由衷的羞愧了。可是现在对福尔摩斯委托我扮演的角色半途甩手不干了，未免是一种对他最卑鄙的背叛。我硬下心肠，从我的长外套里取出烟火筒。我想，我们毕竟不是伤害这美人，我们不过是不让她伤害别人罢了。
　　 福尔摩斯靠在那张长沙发上。我看到他的动作很象一个需要空气的那种人的样子。一个女仆匆忙走过去把窗户猛地推开。就在那一霎那我看到他举起手来。根据这个信号，我把烟火筒扔进屋里去，高声喊道：“着火啦！"我的喊声刚落，全部看热闹的人，穿得体面的和穿得不那么体面的人，绅士、马夫和女仆们，也齐声尖叫起来：“着火啦！"浓烟滚滚，缭绕全室，并且从打开的窗户冒了出去。我瞥见争先恐后匆匆跑动的人影。稍过片刻，我还听到从房里传出福尔摩斯要大家放心那是一场虚惊的喊声。我急速穿过惊呼的人群，跑到街道的拐角。不到十分钟的时间，我高兴地发现了我的朋友，他縜e着我的胳膊逃离喧嚣骚动的现场。在我们转到埃破韦尔路的一条安静街道以前，他有几分钟都默默地急速向前走着。
　　 “医生，你干得真漂亮，”他说道，“不可能比这更漂亮了。一切顺利。”
　　 “你弄到那张照片了吗？”
　　 “我知道在哪儿了。”
　　 “你是怎样发现的？”
　　 “这正如我和你说过的那样，是她把照漂亮给我看的。”
　　 “我还不大明白。”
　　 “我不愿意把这个说得很神秘，”他说着笑了起来，“这件事很简单。你当然看得出来在街上的每一个人都是和咱们一伙的。他们今天晚上统统是雇来的。”
　　 “我也猜到了是这么回事。”
　　 “当两边争吵起来的时候，我手掌里有一小块湿的红颜料。我冲上前去，跌倒在地，把手赶紧捂在脸上，这就成为一个令人可怜的样子。这是一套老花招了。”
　　 “这个我也揣摩出来了。”
　　 “然后他们把我抬进去。她不得不把我弄进去。不这么办她又能怎么办？她把我放在起居室里，这正是我预料的那间屋子。那么照片就藏在这间屋子和她的卧室之间，我决定要看看到底是在哪间屋子里。他们把我放在长沙发上，我作出需要空气的动作，他们只好打开窗户，这样你的机会就来了。”
　　 “这对你有什么帮助呢？”
　　 “这太重要了。当一个女人一想到她的房子着火时，她就会本能地立刻抢救她最珍贵的东西。这种完全不可抗拒的冲动，我已经不止一次地利用过了。在达林顿顶替丑闻一案中，我利用了它，在阿恩沃思城堡案中也是如此。结了婚的女人赶紧抱起她的婴孩；没结过婚的女人首先把手伸向珠宝盒。现在我已经清楚，在这房子的东西里，对于我们当前这位夫人来说，没有比我们去追寻的那件东西更为宝贵的了。她一定会冲上前去把它抢到身边。着火的警报放得很出色。喷出的烟雾和惊呼声足以震动钢铁般的神经。她的反应妙极了。那张照片收藏在壁龛里，这个壁龛恰好位于右边铃的拉索上面的那块能挪动的嵌板后面。她在那地方只呆了片刻的时间。当她把那张照片抽出一半的时候，我一眼看到了它。当我高喊那是一场虚惊时，她又把它放回去了。她看了一下烟火筒，就奔出了屋子，此后我就没再看到她了。我站了起来，找个借口偷偷溜出那所房子。我曾犹豫是否应该试着把那张照骑马上弄到手，但是马车夫进来了。他注意地盯着我，因此要等待时机，这样似乎安全些。否则，只要有一点过分鲁莽，就会把整个事情搞糟。”
　　 “现在怎么办？"我问道。
　　 “我们的调查实际上已经完成了。明天我将同国王一块去拜访她。如果你愿意跟我们一起去的话，那你也去。有人会把我们引进起居室里候见那夫人；但是恐怕她出来会客时，她既找不到我们，也找不到那照片了。陛下能够亲手重新得到那张照片，一定是会非常满意的。”
　　 “那么你们什么时候去拜访她呢？”
　　 “早晨八点钟。趁她还没起床的时候，我们就可以放手干。此外，我们必须立即行动起来，因为结婚以后她的生活习惯可能完全变了。我必须立即给国王打个电报。”
　　 这时我们已经走到贝克街，在门口停了下来。正在他从口袋里掏钥匙的时候，有人路过这里，并打了个招呼：
　　 “晚安，福尔摩斯先生。”
　　 这时在人行道上有好几个人。可是这句问候话好象是一个个子细长、身穿长外套的年轻人匆匆走过时说的。
　　 “我以前听见过那声音，"福尔摩斯惊讶地凝视着昏暗的街道说，“可是我不知道和我打招呼的到底是谁。”
　　 那天晚上，我在贝克街过夜。在我们早晨起来正吃烤面包、喝咖啡的时候，波希米亚国王猛地冲了进来。
　　 “你真的拿到那张照片了吗？"他两手抓住歇洛克·福尔摩斯的双肩热切地看着他的脸高声喊道。
　　 “还没有。”
　　 “可是有希望吗？”
　　 “有希望。”
　　 “那么来吧。我恨不得赶快去。”
　　 “我们必须雇辆出租马车。”
　　 “不必了，我的四轮马车在外面等着呢。”
　　 “这样就更省事了。"我们走下台阶，再次动身到布里翁尼府第去。
　　 “艾琳·艾德勒已经结婚了，"福尔摩斯说道。
　　 “结婚了！什么时候？”
　　 “昨天。”
　　 “跟谁结婚？”
　　 “跟一个叫作诺顿的英国律师。”
　　 “但是她不可能爱他。”
　　 “我倒希望她爱他。”
　　 “你为什么这样呢？”
　　 “因为这样就免得陛下害怕将来发生麻烦了。如果这位女士爱她的丈夫，她就不爱陛下。如果她不爱陛下，她就没有理由会干预陛下的计划了。”
　　 “这倒是真的。可是……啊，如果她和我的身份一样就好了，她会是一位多么了不起的王后呀！"说完他又重新陷于忧郁的沉默中，一直到我们在塞彭泰恩大街停下来时都是如此。
　　 布里翁尼府第的大门敞开着。一个上年纪的妇人站在台阶上。她用一种蔑视的眼光瞧着我们从四轮马车里下来。
　　 “我想是歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生吧？"她说道。
　　 “我是福尔摩斯，"我的伙伴诧异地、多少有些惊愕地注视着她答道。
　　 “真是！我的女主人告诉我你多半会来的。今天早晨她跟她的先生一起走了，他们乘五点十五分的火车从蔡林克罗斯到欧洲大陆去了。”
　　 “什么！"歇洛克·福尔摩斯向后打了个趔趄，懊恼和惊异得脸色发白。
　　 “你的意思是说她已经离开英国了吗？”
　　 “再也不回来了。”
　　 “还有那张照片呢？"国王嗄声嗄平地问道，"一切都完了！”
　　 “我们要看一下。"福尔摩斯推开仆人，奔进了客厅，国王和我紧跟在后面。家具四面八方乱七八糟地散摆着，架子拆了下来，抽屉拉开来了，就好象这位女士在她出奔以前匆匆忙忙地翻箱倒柜搜查过一番似的。福尔摩斯冲到铃的拉索的地方，拉开一扇小拉门，伸进手去，掏出一张照片和一封信。照片是艾琳·艾德勒本人穿着夜礼服照的。信封上写着：“歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生，留交本人亲收。"我的朋友把信拆开，我们三个人围着一起读这封信。写信日期是今天凌晨。信中这样写道：
　　 亲爱的歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生：
　　 你的确干得非常漂亮。你完全把我给骗过去了。直到发出火警以前，我一点也不疑心。但是随后当我发觉我已经是如何泄露了自己的秘密时，我开始思索了。几个月以前，人家就警告我要防备你了。有人说要是国王雇一位侦探的话，那一定是你。他们已经告诉我你的地址。可是尽管所有这些，你还是使我泄露了你所想要知道的秘密。甚至在我开始疑心以后，我还觉得很难相信那么一位上了年纪、和蔼可亲的牧师会怀有恶意。但是，你知道，我自己是个训练有素的女演员。男性服装对我并不生疏。我自己就常常女扮男装，并趁机利用它所带来的自由。我派约翰——马车夫——监视你，然后跑上楼，穿上我的散步便服，我下楼来的时候，你正好离开。
　　 随后，我在后面跟着你走到你家门口，这样，我肯定我真的是你这位著名的歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生感兴趣的对象了。于是，我相当冒失地祝你晚安，接着动身到坦普尔去看我的丈夫。
　　 我们俩都认为被这么一位可怕的对手盯着，三十六计走为上策；因此在你明天来时将发现这个窝是空的。至于那张照片，你的委托人可以放心好了。我爱一位比他强的人，而这个人也爱我。国王可以做他愿意做的事，而不必顾虑他所错待过的人会对他有什么妨碍。我保留那张照片，只是为了保护自己。这是保藏一件将能永远保护我不受他将来可能采取的任何手段损害的武器。我现在留给他一张他可能愿意收下的照片。谨此向您——亲爱的歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生致意。
　　 艾琳·艾德勒·诺顿敬上
　　 “多么了不起的女人啊——噢，一个多么了不起的女人啊！"当我们三个人一起念这封信时，波希米亚国王这么喊道。
　　 “我不是告诉过你们，她是多么机敏和果断吗？假如她能当王后，那她不就是一个令人钦佩的王后吗？多么可惜她和我的地位不一样！"①
　　 “从我在这位女士身上所看到的来说，她的水平的确和陛下的水平很不一样，"福尔摩斯冷淡地说道，“我很遗憾没能使陛下的事情得到一个更为成功的结局。”
　　 “亲爱的先生，这可恰恰相反，"国王说道，“再没有任何结局比这个更为成功的了。我知道她是说话算数的。那张照片现在是和它已经被烧掉那样使我感到放心了。”
　　 ①此处"地位"和下面的"水平"，原文都用ｌｅｖｅｌ一词，词意双关。——译者注
　　 “我很高兴听陛下这么说。”
　　 “我真对你感恩不尽。请告诉我怎样酬答你才好。这只戒指……"他从他的手指上脱下一只蛇形的绿宝石戒指，托在手掌上递给他。
　　 “陛下有一件我认为比这戒指甚至更有价值的东西。"福尔摩斯说道。
　　 “你只要说出来是什么东西就成。”
　　 “这张照片！”
　　 国王惊异地睁大眼睛注视着他。
　　 “艾琳的相片！"他喊道，“你要是想要的话，当然可以。”
　　 “谢谢陛下。那么这件事就算办妥了吧。我谨祝您早安。”他鞠了个躬便转身而走，对国王伸向他的手连看都不看一眼。他和我一起返回他的住处去。
　　 这就是波希米亚王国怎样受到一桩大丑闻的威胁，而福尔摩斯的杰出计划又是怎样为一个女人的聪明才智所挫败的经过。他过去对女人的聪明机智常常加以嘲笑，近来我很少听到他这样的嘲笑了。当他说到艾琳·艾德勒或提到她那张照片时，他总是用那位女人这一尊敬的称呼。

　　I.
　　 To Sherlock Holmes she is always THE woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer--excellent for drawing the veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.
　　 I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away from each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in following out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police. From time to time I heard some vague account of his doings: of his summons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the mission which he had accomplished so delicately and successfully for the reigning family of Holland. Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely shared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of my former friend and companion.
　　 One night--it was on the twentieth of March, 1888--I was returning from a journey to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I looked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. He was at work again. He had risen out of his drug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.
　　 His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I think, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the fire and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.
　　 "Wedlock suits you," he remarked. "I think, Watson, that you have put on seven and a half pounds since I saw you."
　　 "Seven!" I answered.
　　 "Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, I fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell me that you intended to go into harness."
　　 "Then, how do you know?"
　　 "I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless servant girl?"
　　 "My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too much. You would certainly have been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had a country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as I have changed my clothes I can't imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice, but there, again, I fail to see how you work it out."
　　 He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together.
　　 "It is simplicity itself," said he; "my eyes tell me that on the inside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it. Hence, you see, my double deduction that you had been out in vile weather, and that you had a particularly malignant boot-slitting specimen of the London slavey. As to your practice, if a gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge on the right side of his top-hat to show where he has secreted his stethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not pronounce him to be an active member of the medical profession."
　　 I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his process of deduction. "When I hear you give your reasons," I remarked, "the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously simple that I could easily do it myself, though at each successive instance of your reasoning I am baffled until you explain your process. And yet I believe that my eyes are as good as yours."
　　 "Quite so," he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself down into an armchair. "You see, but you do not observe. The distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps which lead up from the hall to this room."
　　 "Frequently."
　　 "How often?"
　　 "Well, some hundreds of times."
　　 "Then how many are there?"
　　 "How many? I don't know."
　　 "Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I have both seen and observed. By-the-way, since you are interested in these little problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two of my trifling experiences, you may be interested in this." He threw over a sheet of thick, pink-tinted note-paper which had been lying open upon the table. "It came by the last post," said he. "Read it aloud."
　　 The note was undated, and without either signature or address.
　　 "There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o'clock," it said, "a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses of Europe have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated. This account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor wear a mask."
　　 "This is indeed a mystery," I remarked. "What do you imagine that it means?"
　　 "I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. But the note itself. What do you deduce from it?"
　　 I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was written.
　　 "The man who wrote it was presumably well to do," I remarked, endeavouring to imitate my companion's processes. "Such paper could not be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong and stiff."
　　 "Peculiar--that is the very word," said Holmes. "It is not an English paper at all. Hold it up to the light."
　　 I did so, and saw a large "E" with a small "g," a "P," and a large "G" with a small "t" woven into the texture of the paper.
　　 "What do you make of that?" asked Holmes.
　　 "The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather."
　　 "Not at all. The 'G' with the small 't' stands for 'Gesellschaft,' which is the German for 'Company.' It is a customary contraction like our 'Co.' 'P,' of course, stands for 'Papier.' Now for the 'Eg.' Let us glance at our Continental Gazetteer." He took down a heavy brown volume from his shelves. "Eglow, Eglonitz--here we are, Egria. It is in a German-speaking country--in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. 'Remarkable as being the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous glass-factories and paper-mills.' Ha, ha, my boy, what do you make of that?" His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud from his cigarette.
　　 "The paper was made in Bohemia," I said.
　　 "Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you note the peculiar construction of the sentence--'This account of you we have from all quarters received.' A Frenchman or Russian could not have written that. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It only remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this German who writes upon Bohemian paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his face. And here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts."
　　 As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses' hoofs and grating wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmes whistled.
　　 "A pair, by the sound," said he. "Yes," he continued, glancing out of the window. "A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred and fifty guineas apiece. There's money in this case, Watson, if there is nothing else."
　　 "I think that I had better go, Holmes."
　　 "Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my Boswell. And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity to miss it."
　　 "But your client--"
　　 "Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he comes. Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your best attention."
　　 A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in the passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a loud and authoritative tap.
　　 "Come in!" said Holmes.
　　 A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inches in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was rich with a richness which would, in England, be looked upon as akin to bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and fronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and secured at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots which extended halfway up his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of barbaric opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. He carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper part of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black vizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand was still raised to it as he entered. From the lower part of the face he appeared to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chin suggestive of resolution pushed to the length of obstinacy.
　　 "You had my note?" he asked with a deep harsh voice and a strongly marked German accent. "I told you that I would call." He looked from one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address.
　　 "Pray take a seat," said Holmes. "This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases. Whom have I the honour to address?"
　　 "You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you alone."
　　 I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into my chair. "It is both, or none," said he. "You may say before this gentleman anything which you may say to me."
　　 The Count shrugged his broad shoulders. "Then I must begin," said he, "by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon European history."
　　 "I promise," said Holmes.
　　 "And I."
　　 "You will excuse this mask," continued our strange visitor. "The august person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may confess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is not exactly my own."
　　 "I was aware of it," said Holmes dryly.
　　 "The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal and seriously compromise one of the reigning families of Europe. To speak plainly, the matter implicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary kings of Bohemia."
　　 "I was also aware of that," murmured Holmes, settling himself down in his armchair and closing his eyes.
　　 Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid, lounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him as the most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client.
　　 "If your Majesty would condescend to state your case," he remarked, "I should be better able to advise you."
　　 The man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. "You are right," he cried; "I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?"
　　 "Why, indeed?" murmured Holmes. "Your Majesty had not spoken before I was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of Bohemia."
　　 "But you can understand," said our strange visitor, sitting down once more and passing his hand over his high white forehead, "you can understand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in my own person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to an agent without putting myself in his power. I have come incognito from Prague for the purpose of consulting you."
　　 "Then, pray consult," said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.
　　 "The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you."
　　 "Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor," murmured Holmes without opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish information. In this case I found her biography sandwiched in between that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had written a monograph upon the deep-sea fishes.
　　 "Let me see!" said Holmes. "Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year 1858. Contralto--hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of Warsaw--yes! Retired from operatic stage--ha! Living in London--quite so! Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this young person, wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of getting those letters back."
　　 "Precisely so. But how--"
　　 "Was there a secret marriage?"
　　 "None."
　　 "No legal papers or certificates?"
　　 "None."
　　 "Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person should produce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to prove their authenticity?"
　　 "There is the writing."
　　 "Pooh, pooh! Forgery."
　　 "My private note-paper."
　　 "Stolen."
　　 "My own seal."
　　 "Imitated."
　　 "My photograph."
　　 "Bought."
　　 "We were both in the photograph."
　　 "Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed an indiscretion."
　　 "I was mad--insane."
　　 "You have compromised yourself seriously."
　　 "I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now."
　　 "It must be recovered."
　　 "We have tried and failed."
　　 "Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought."
　　 "She will not sell."
　　 "Stolen, then."
　　 "Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has been waylaid. There has been no result."
　　 "No sign of it?"
　　 "Absolutely none."
　　 Holmes laughed. "It is quite a pretty little problem," said he.
　　 "But a very serious one to me," returned the King reproachfully.
　　 "Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the photograph?"
　　 "To ruin me."
　　 "But how?"
　　 "I am about to be married."
　　 "So I have heard."
　　 "To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, second daughter of the King of Scandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her family. She is herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a doubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to an end."
　　 "And Irene Adler?"
　　 "Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I know that she will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. She has the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of the most resolute of men. Rather than I should marry another woman, there are no lengths to which she would not go--none."
　　 "You are sure that she has not sent it yet?"
　　 "I am sure."
　　 "And why?"
　　 "Because she has said that she would send it on the day when the betrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday."
　　 "Oh, then we have three days yet," said Holmes with a yawn. "That is very fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to look into just at present. Your Majesty will, of course, stay in London for the present?"
　　 "Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name of the Count Von Kramm."
　　 "Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress."
　　 "Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety."
　　 "Then, as to money?"
　　 "You have carte blanche."
　　 "Absolutely?"
　　 "I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom to have that photograph."
　　 "And for present expenses?"
　　 The King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak and laid it on the table.
　　 "There are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in notes," he said.
　　 Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and handed it to him.
　　 "And Mademoiselle's address?" he asked.
　　 "Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood."
　　 Holmes took a note of it. "One other question," said he. "Was the photograph a cabinet?"
　　 "It was."
　　 "Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soon have some good news for you. And good-night, Watson," he added, as the wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. "If you will be good enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three o'clock I should like to chat this little matter over with you."
　　 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.
　　 He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement and concern.
　　 "Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to the other of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition, fastening upon my companion, "I am so glad that you have come. I have driven down to tell you so. I know that James didn't do it. I know it, and I want you to start upon your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. We have known each other since we were little children, and I know his faults as no one else does; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him."
　　 "I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock Holmes. "You may rely upon my doing all that I can."
　　 "But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion? Do you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself think that he is innocent?"
　　 "I think that it is very probable."
　　 "There, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly at Lestrade. "You hear! He gives me hopes."
　　 Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that my colleague has been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he said.
　　 "But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did it. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because I was concerned in it."
　　 "In what way?" asked Holmes.
　　 "It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had many disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that there should be a marriage between us. James and I have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen very little of life yet, and--and--well, he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them."
　　 "And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favour of such a union?"
　　 "No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in favour of it." A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.
　　 "Thank you for this information," said he. "May I see your father if I call to-morrow?"
　　 "I am afraid the doctor won't allow it."
　　 "The doctor?"
　　 "Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for years back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken to his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his nervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive who had known dad in the old days in Victoria."
　　 "Ha! In Victoria! That is important."
　　 "Yes, at the mines."
　　 "Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner made his money."
　　 "Yes, certainly."
　　 "Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to me."
　　 "You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt you will go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do tell him that I know him to be innocent."
　　 "I will, Miss Turner."
　　 "I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if I leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking." She hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.
　　 "I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity after a few minutes' silence. "Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel."
　　 "I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy," said Holmes. "Have you an order to see him in prison?"
　　 "Yes, but only for you and me."
　　 "Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have still time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?"
　　 "Ample."
　　 "Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours."
　　 I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were groping, and I found my attention wander so continually from the action to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room and gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of the day. Supposing that this unhappy young man's story were absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between the time when he parted from his father, and the moment when, drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was something terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon's deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck from behind. That was to some extent in favour of the accused, as when seen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. Still, it did not go for very much, for the older man might have turned his back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to call Holmes' attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying reference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how he met his fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation. And then the incident of the grey cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the murderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his overcoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to return and to carry it away at the instant when the son was kneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off. What a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! I did not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmes' insight that I could not lose hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of young McCarthy's innocence.
　　 It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone, for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.
　　 "The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat down. "It is of importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his very best and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not wish to do it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen young McCarthy."
　　 "And what did you learn from him?"
　　 "Nothing."
　　 "Could he throw no light?"
　　 "None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew who had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced now that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think, sound at heart."
　　 "I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a fact that he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as this Miss Turner."
　　 "Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly, insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a registry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for not doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sort which made him throw his hands up into the air when his father, at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss Turner. On the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself, and his father, who was by all accounts a very hard man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in Bristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark that point. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to him to say that she has a husband already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. I think that that bit of news has consoled young McCarthy for all that he has suffered."
　　 "But if he is innocent, who has done it?"
　　 "Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two points. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would return. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry 'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are the crucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us talk about George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all minor matters until to-morrow."
　　 There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke bright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us with the carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe Pool.
　　 "There is serious news this morning," Lestrade observed. "It is said that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is despaired of."
　　 "An elderly man, I presume?" said Holmes.
　　 "About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This business has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend of McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I have learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."
　　 "Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.
　　 "Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody about here speaks of his kindness to him."
　　 "Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that this McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself was averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not deduce something from that?"
　　 "We have got to the deductions and the inferences," said Lestrade, winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies."
　　 "You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very hard to tackle the facts."
　　 "Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult to get hold of," replied Lestrade with some warmth.
　　 "And that is--"
　　 "That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine."
　　 "Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog," said Holmes, laughing. "But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley Farm upon the left."
　　 "Yes, that is it." It was a widespread, comfortable-looking building, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches of lichen upon the grey walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless chimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight of this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door, when the maid, at Holmes' request, showed us the boots which her master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son's, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured these very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed the winding track which led to Boscombe Pool.
　　 Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent as this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of Baker Street would have failed to recognise him. His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long, sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick, impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his way along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of the woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as is all that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either side. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and once he made quite a little detour into the meadow. Lestrade and I walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous, while I watched my friend with the interest which sprang from the conviction that every one of his actions was directed towards a definite end.
　　 The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water some fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the Hatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner. Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see the red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich landowner's dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reeds which lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at which the body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground, that I could plainly see the traces which had been left by the fall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I could see by his eager face and peering eyes, very many other things were to be read upon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is picking up a scent, and then turned upon my companion.
　　 "What did you go into the pool for?" he asked.
　　 "I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some weapon or other trace. But how on earth--"
　　 "Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its inward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and there it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed all over it. Here is where the party with the lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six or eight feet round the body. But here are three separate tracks of the same feet." He drew out a lens and lay down upon his waterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to himself than to us. "These are young McCarthy's feet. Twice he was walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are deeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That bears out his story. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. Then here are the father's feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? It is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this? Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite unusual boots! They come, they go, they come again--of course that was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?" He ran up and down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we were well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a great beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. Holmes traced his way to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon his face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a long time he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks, gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and examining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of the tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying among the moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. Then he followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the highroad, where all traces were lost.
　　 "It has been a case of considerable interest," he remarked, returning to his natural manner. "I fancy that this grey house on the right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have a word with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having done that, we may drive back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab, and I shall be with you presently."
　　 It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove back into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which he had picked up in the wood.
　　 "This may interest you, Lestrade," he remarked, holding it out. "The murder was done with it."
　　 "I see no marks."
　　 "There are none."
　　 "How do you know, then?"
　　 "The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a few days. There was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. It corresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any other weapon."
　　 "And the murderer?"
　　 "Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket. There are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our search."
　　 Lestrade laughed. "I am afraid that I am still a sceptic," he said. "Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a hard-headed British jury."
　　 "Nous verrons," answered Holmes calmly. "You work your own method, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon, and shall probably return to London by the evening train."
　　 "And leave your case unfinished?"
　　 "No, finished."
　　 "But the mystery?"
　　 "It is solved."
　　 "Who was the criminal, then?"
　　 "The gentleman I describe."
　　 "But who is he?"
　　 "Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not such a populous neighbourhood."
　　 Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am a practical man," he said, "and I really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I should become the laughing-stock of Scotland Yard."
　　 "All right," said Holmes quietly. "I have given you the chance. Here are your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before I leave."
　　 Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where we found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried in thought with a pained expression upon his face, as one who finds himself in a perplexing position.
　　 "Look here, Watson," he said when the cloth was cleared "just sit down in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I don't know quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Light a cigar and let me expound."
　　 "Pray do so."
　　 "Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young McCarthy's narrative which struck us both instantly, although they impressed me in his favour and you against him. One was the fact that his father should, according to his account, cry 'Cooee!' before seeing him. The other was his singular dying reference to a rat. He mumbled several words, you understand, but that was all that caught the son's ear. Now from this double point our research must commence, and we will begin it by presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true."
　　 "What of this 'Cooee!' then?"
　　 "Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The son, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that he was within earshot. The 'Cooee!' was meant to attract the attention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But 'Cooee' is a distinctly Australian cry, and one which is used between Australians. There is a strong presumption that the person whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool was someone who had been in Australia."
　　 "What of the rat, then?"
　　 Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened it out on the table. "This is a map of the Colony of Victoria," he said. "I wired to Bristol for it last night." He put his hand over part of the map. "What do you read?"
　　 "ARAT," I read.
　　 "And now?" He raised his hand.
　　 "BALLARAT."
　　 "Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter the name of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat."
　　 "It is wonderful!" I exclaimed.
　　 "It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down considerably. The possession of a grey garment was a third point which, granting the son's statement to be correct, was a certainty. We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite conception of an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak."
　　 "Certainly."
　　 "And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only be approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could hardly wander."
　　 "Quite so."
　　 "Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of the ground I gained the trifling details which I gave to that imbecile Lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal."
　　 "But how did you gain them?"
　　 "You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles."
　　 "His height I know that you might roughly judge from the length of his stride. His boots, too, might be told from their traces."
　　 "Yes, they were peculiar boots."
　　 "But his lameness?"
　　 "The impression of his right foot was always less distinct than his left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped--he was lame."
　　 "But his left-handedness."
　　 "You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded by the surgeon at the inquest. The blow was struck from immediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how can that be unless it were by a left-handed man? He had stood behind that tree during the interview between the father and son. He had even smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an Indian cigar. I have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, and written a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found the ash, I then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss where he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar, of the variety which are rolled in Rotterdam."
　　 "And the cigar-holder?"
　　 "I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore he used a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife."
　　 "Holmes," I said, "you have drawn a net round this man from which he cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as truly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I see the direction in which all this points. The culprit is--"
　　 "Mr. John Turner," cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of our sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor.
　　 The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His slow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of decrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and his enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual strength of body and of character. His tangled beard, grizzled hair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an air of dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an ashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were tinged with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that he was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease.
　　 "Pray sit down on the sofa," said Holmes gently. "You had my note?"
　　 "Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished to see me here to avoid scandal."
　　 "I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall."
　　 "And why did you wish to see me?" He looked across at my companion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his question was already answered.
　　 "Yes," said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. "It is so. I know all about McCarthy."
　　 The old man sank his face in his hands. "God help me!" he cried. "But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you my word that I would have spoken out if it went against him at the Assizes."
　　 "I am glad to hear you say so," said Holmes gravely.
　　 "I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It would break her heart--it will break her heart when she hears that I am arrested."
　　 "It may not come to that," said Holmes.
　　 "What?"
　　 "I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter who required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests. Young McCarthy must be got off, however."
　　 "I am a dying man," said old Turner. "I have had diabetes for years. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a month. Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a gaol."
　　 Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and a bundle of paper before him. "Just tell us the truth," he said. "I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson here can witness it. Then I could produce your confession at the last extremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall not use it unless it is absolutely needed."
　　 "It's as well," said the old man; "it's a question whether I shall live to the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I should wish to spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the thing clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but will not take me long to tell.
　　 "You didn't know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devil incarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of such a man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years, and he has blasted my life. I'll tell you first how I came to be in his power.
　　 "It was in the early '60's at the diggings. I was a young chap then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything; I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became what you would call over here a highway robber. There were six of us, and we had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from time to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings. Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party is still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang.
　　 "One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and we lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six troopers and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of their saddles at the first volley. Three of our boys were killed, however, before we got the swag. I put my pistol to the head of the wagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I wish to the Lord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every feature. We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our way over to England without being suspected. There I parted from my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and respectable life. I bought this estate, which chanced to be in the market, and I set myself to do a little good with my money, to make up for the way in which I had earned it. I married, too, and though my wife died young she left me my dear little Alice. Even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word, I turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All was going well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me.
　　 "I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in Regent Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot.
　　 "'Here we are, Jack,' says he, touching me on the arm; 'we'll be as good as a family to you. There's two of us, me and my son, and you can have the keeping of us. If you don't--it's a fine, law-abiding country is England, and there's always a policeman within hail.'
　　 "Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking them off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land ever since. There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turn where I would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my elbow. It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more afraid of her knowing my past than of the police. Whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him without question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing which I could not give. He asked for Alice.
　　 "His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I was known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his lad should step into the whole property. But there I was firm. I would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that I had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that was enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I braved him to do his worst. We were to meet at the pool midway between our houses to talk it over.
　　 "When I went down there I found him talking with his son, so I smoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone. But as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in me seemed to come uppermost. He was urging his son to marry my daughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she were a slut from off the streets. It drove me mad to think that I and all that I held most dear should be in the power of such a man as this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying and a desperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, I knew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl! Both could be saved if I could but silence that foul tongue. I did it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply as I have sinned, I have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. But that my girl should be entangled in the same meshes which held me was more than I could suffer. I struck him down with no more compunction than if he had been some foul and venomous beast. His cry brought back his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I was forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in my flight. That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred."
　　 "Well, it is not for me to judge you," said Holmes as the old man signed the statement which had been drawn out. "I pray that we may never be exposed to such a temptation."
　　 "I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?"
　　 "In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that you will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the Assizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is condemned I shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never be seen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or dead, shall be safe with us."
　　 "Farewell, then," said the old man solemnly. "Your own deathbeds, when they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace which you have given to mine." Tottering and shaking in all his giant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.
　　 "God help us!" said Holmes after a long silence. "Why does fate play such tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such a case as this that I do not think of Baxter's words, and say, 'There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.'"
　　 James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of a number of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes and submitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for seven months after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is every prospect that the son and daughter may come to live happily together in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their past.
　　
　　---------------------
　　
　　"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."
　　 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 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.