“My private paper.”

“Could be stolen.”

“My personal seal.”

“Could be copied.”

“My photograph.”

“She could have bought it.”

“We are both in the photograph.”

“Oh no! That’s very bad! Your Majesty really made a mistake.”

“I was foolish—crazy.”

“You’ve seriously put yourself in danger.”

“I was only the Crown Prince back then. I was young. I’m only thirty now.”

“It must be taken back.”

“We’ve already tried and failed.”

“Then Your Majesty must pay for it. Buy it.”

“She refuses to sell.”

“Then it must be stolen.”

“We’ve tried five times. Twice, burglars I hired searched her house. Once, we took her luggage when she was traveling. Twice, she was stopped on the street. Nothing worked.”

“No sign of it at all?”

“Not at all.”

Holmes laughed. “It’s quite a clever little mystery,” he said.

“But a very serious one for me,” the King said sadly.

“Very serious, yes. And what does she plan to do with the photograph?”

“She wants to ruin me.”

“But how?” Holmes asked.

“I’m about to get married.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, the second daughter of the King of Scandinavia. Her family is very strict. She herself is very proper and delicate. Even the smallest doubt about my past would end the marriage.”

“And Irene Adler?”

“She is threatening to send them the photograph. And she will. I know she will. You don’t know her, but she is incredibly strong-willed. She has the beauty of the most lovely woman and the determination of the strongest man. She would do anything to stop me from marrying someone else—anything.”

“You’re sure she hasn’t sent it yet?”

“I’m sure.”

“Why?”

“Because she said she would send it on the day the engagement is officially announced. That will be next Monday.”

“Oh, then we have three days,” said Holmes with a yawn. “That’s lucky, because I have one or two other matters to take care of right now. Your Majesty will stay in London?”

“Of course. You can find me at the Langham Hotel under the name Count Von Kramm.”

“Then I’ll send you a note to let you know what we find out.”

“Please do. I’ll be very anxious.”

“And about money?”

“You have full permission to spend whatever is needed.”

“Completely?”

“I would give away a whole province of my kingdom to get that photograph.”

“And for expenses right now?”

The King took a heavy soft leather bag from under his cloak and put it on the table.

“There’s three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in paper notes,” he said.

Holmes quickly wrote a receipt on a page from his notebook and handed it over.

“And her address?” he asked.

“She lives at Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John’s Wood.”

Holmes wrote it down. “One more question,” he said. “Was the photograph a cabinet size?”

“It was.”

“Then, good night, Your Majesty. I hope we’ll have good news for you soon. And good night, Watson,” he added, as the wheels of the King’s carriage rolled down the street. “Please come by tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock. I’d like to talk more about this little case with you.”

II

At exactly three o’clock, I arrived at Baker Street, but Holmes had not come back yet. The landlady told me he had left the house shortly after eight that morning. I sat down by the fire and decided to wait for him, no matter how long it would take. I was already very interested in the case. Even though it didn’t have the dark or strange parts like the two crimes I had written about before, it still had its own importance. The kind of problem and the high status of Holmes’s client made it unique. In fact, it wasn’t just the case itself—I always enjoyed watching Holmes’s brilliant way of handling things. His sharp mind and clever thinking were a pleasure to observe. I had seen him solve so many impossible mysteries that I had stopped thinking he could ever fail.

It was almost four o’clock when the door finally opened, and a drunken-looking stable worker came in. He was messy, with red cheeks, big sideburns, and worn-out clothes. Even though I was used to Holmes’s amazing disguises, I had to look at him three times before I was sure it was really him. He nodded to me and went into the bedroom. Five minutes later, he came out dressed in neat tweed clothes, looking respectable as always. He put his hands in his pockets, stretched his legs out in front of the fire, and laughed loudly for several minutes.

“Well, really!” he said, then he started laughing again so hard that he had to lie back in the chair, weak and out of breath.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s just too funny. I’m sure you’ll never guess how I spent my morning—or what I ended up doing.”

“I can’t imagine. I suppose you’ve been watching Miss Irene Adler and maybe her house.”

“Exactly right; but the ending was a bit strange. Let me tell you. I left the house a little after eight this morning dressed as a groom looking for work. Horse people have a strong connection with each other. If you act like one of them, you’ll learn everything. I quickly found Briony Lodge. It’s a small, fancy house with a garden in the back, but the front is built right up to the road. It has two floors. There’s a Chubb lock on the door. On the right side, there’s a big sitting room, nicely furnished, with long windows almost to the floor. The windows have those silly English latches that even a child could open. Behind the house, nothing special—except that someone could reach the hallway window from the top of the coach house. I walked around and looked at everything carefully from every side, but I didn’t see anything else important.”

“Then I wandered down the street and, as I guessed, there was a stable yard in a side lane along the garden wall. I helped the stable boys brush down the horses and got paid with twopence, a glass of half-and-half beer, two fills of shag tobacco, and all the information I could want about Miss Adler. I also had to hear about half a dozen other people I didn’t care about, but I had to listen to their life stories anyway.”

“And what did you learn about Irene Adler?” I asked.

“Oh, she’s made all the men in that area fall for her. They say she’s the prettiest thing ever to wear a bonnet. That’s what every man in Serpentine Mews says. She lives quietly, sings at concerts, goes for a drive at five each day, and comes back at exactly seven for dinner. She almost never goes out at other times, except for performances. She only has one male visitor—but he visits often. He’s dark-haired, good-looking, full of charm, and he comes no less than once a day, sometimes twice. His name is Mr. Godfrey Norton, of the Inner Temple. That’s the benefit of talking to cab drivers—they had driven him home many times from Serpentine Mews and knew all about him. After I heard everything they had to say, I started walking near Briony Lodge again and began to think over my plan.”

“This Godfrey Norton was clearly important to the case. He was a lawyer. That made things more serious. What was his relationship with Irene Adler? And why did he visit her so often? Was she his client, his friend, or his lover? If she was his client, maybe she had given him the photograph to keep safe. If she was his lover, that was less likely. My next move depended on the answer. Should I stay focused on Briony Lodge, or start watching the lawyer’s office in the Temple? It was a tricky question, and it made the case more complicated. I’m sorry if I’m boring you with these small details, but I want you to understand the little problems I faced.”

“I’m following closely,” I said.

“I was still thinking about it when a hansom cab stopped at Briony Lodge, and a man jumped out. He was very handsome—dark hair, sharp features, and a moustache. He had to be the man I’d heard about. He looked like he was in a big hurry, shouted to the cab driver to wait, and rushed past the maid at the door like he belonged there. He stayed in the house for about half an hour, and I saw him through the windows walking back and forth, talking with big gestures. I couldn’t see Irene Adler. Soon, he came out again, looking more nervous than before. As he stepped into the cab, he pulled out a gold watch and checked the time. ‘Drive like the wind!’ he yelled. ‘First to Gross & Hankey’s on Regent Street, then to the Church of St. Monica on Edgeware Road. Half a guinea if you get there in twenty minutes!’

“They drove off, and I was just thinking whether I should follow them when a small carriage came up the lane. The driver’s coat was half buttoned, his tie was crooked, and his harness was all messy. The carriage hadn’t even stopped before Irene Adler ran out of the house and jumped in. I only saw her for a second, but she was truly beautiful—a woman any man might fall for. ‘To the Church of St. Monica, John!’ she called, ‘and I’ll give you half a sovereign if you get there in twenty minutes!’ That was too good to miss, Watson. I was trying to decide whether to run after her or jump onto the back of her carriage when a cab came down the street. The driver looked surprised at such a poor-looking customer, but I jumped in before he could say anything. ‘To the Church of St. Monica,’ I said, ‘and half a sovereign if you get there in twenty minutes!’ It was 11:35, and of course, it was clear what was going on.”

“My cab driver went as fast as he could. I don’t think I’ve ever gone faster in a carriage—but even so, the others got there before me. The cab and the landau were already at the church, their horses steaming from the run. I paid my driver and hurried inside. No one was there except the two people I had followed and a clergyman in a white robe, who looked like he was arguing with them. They were all standing together in front of the altar. I walked slowly up the side aisle like someone just visiting the church. Suddenly, to my surprise, the three of them turned and looked at me, and Godfrey Norton ran toward me as fast as he could.

“‘Thank God,’ he shouted. ‘You’ll do! Come on!’

“‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

“‘Quick, man, quick—only three minutes left or it won’t be legal!’

“I was half-pulled up to the altar, and before I knew what was happening, I was mumbling answers whispered in my ear, agreeing to things I didn’t understand, and helping tie Irene Adler, single woman, to Godfrey Norton, single man, in marriage. It was over in a flash. The man thanked me on one side, the woman thanked me on the other, and the priest smiled at me from the front. It was the strangest situation I’ve ever been in, and that’s why I was laughing just now. It turns out there was a small problem with their license, and the priest wouldn’t marry them without a witness. I arrived at just the right moment, so the groom didn’t have to run out and find someone off the street. The bride gave me a gold coin, and I plan to wear it on my watch chain to remember this wild moment.”

“This is very unexpected,” I said. “And what happened next?”

“Well, my whole plan was suddenly in danger. It looked like they might leave town right away, so I knew I had to act fast. But at the church door, they went in separate directions—he went back to the Temple, and she went home. ‘I’ll go for my usual ride in the park at five,’ she said as they said goodbye. That was the last thing I heard. They each left in a different carriage, and I went off to make my own plans.”

“What are your plans?” I asked.

“Some cold beef and a glass of beer,” he replied, ringing the bell. “I’ve been too busy to think about food, and I’ll be even busier tonight. By the way, Doctor, I’ll need your help.”

“I’d be happy to help.”

“You don’t mind breaking the law?”

“Not at all.”

“Or risking being arrested?”

“Not if it’s for a good reason.”

“Oh, it’s a very good reason!”

“Then I’m with you.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

“But what exactly do you want me to do?”

“I’ll explain everything when Mrs. Turner brings in the food tray. Now,” he said, turning his attention to the simple meal our landlady had brought, “I need to talk while I eat. There’s no time to waste. It’s almost five o’clock now. In two hours, we must be ready. Miss Irene—actually, I should say Madame—comes back from her ride at seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her.”

“And then what?”

“You’ll have to trust me. I’ve already planned everything. But there’s one thing I must ask: you must not interfere, no matter what happens. Do you understand?”

“I’m just to stay out of it?”

“To do absolutely nothing. Things might get a little unpleasant. Don’t get involved. It will end with me being taken inside the house. Four or five minutes later, the sitting-room window will open. You should be standing close to that window.”

“All right.”

“You must watch me. I’ll make sure you can see me clearly.”

“Yes.”

“And when I raise my hand—like this—you must throw into the room what I give you to throw, and at the same time shout ‘Fire!’ Do you understand me clearly?”

“Completely.”

“It’s nothing dangerous,” he said, pulling out a long, cigar-shaped object from his pocket. “It’s just a plumber’s smoke-rocket, made to light itself with a cap on each end. That’s all you have to do. When you shout ‘Fire,’ others will repeat it. Then you can walk to the end of the street, and I’ll meet you there in ten minutes. Is that clear?”

“I’m to stay out of the way, go near the window, watch you, and when you give the signal, throw in this thing, shout ‘Fire,’ and wait at the corner.”

“Exactly.”

“You can count on me completely.”

“Excellent. I think it’s almost time for me to change into the role I’m going to play.”

He went into his bedroom and came back a few minutes later dressed as a friendly and simple-minded clergyman. His wide black hat, loose pants, white tie, kind smile, and curious, gentle expression made him look perfect for the part. Only a real actor like Mr. John Hare could have done it as well. Holmes didn’t just change his clothes—his face, voice, and whole way of being changed too. The stage lost a great actor, just as science lost a brilliant mind, when he chose to focus on solving crimes.

It was 6:15 when we left Baker Street, and by 6:50 we arrived at Serpentine Avenue. It was already getting dark, and the street lamps were being lit as we walked up and down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for Miss Adler to return. The house looked exactly like Holmes had described it, but the area was not as quiet as I had imagined. For a small street in a peaceful neighbourhood, it was surprisingly busy. There were a few poorly dressed men smoking and laughing in one corner, a man sharpening scissors, two guards talking to a nurse, and several stylish young men walking around with cigars in their mouths.

“You see,” Holmes said as we walked back and forth, “this marriage actually makes things easier. The photograph now becomes a danger to both sides. She probably doesn’t want Mr. Godfrey Norton to see it, just like our client doesn’t want his future bride to see it. So the real question is—where is the photograph hidden?”

“Where, indeed?”

“It’s very unlikely that she carries it with her. It’s a cabinet-size photograph—too big to hide easily in a woman’s dress. She knows the King might have her stopped and searched. That’s already been tried twice. So we can be sure she doesn’t carry it around.”

“Then where is it?”

“With her banker or her lawyer. Those are two possible places. But I don’t think it’s either. Women are naturally private, and they like to hide their own secrets. Why would she give it to someone else? She could trust herself to keep it safe, but not a business man, who might be pressured by others. Also, she plans to use the photograph very soon. It must be somewhere easy for her to reach. It must be in her own house.”

“But her house has already been searched twice.”

“Bah! They didn’t know how to search properly.”

“So how will you find it?”

“I won’t look for it.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I’ll make her show me.”

“But she won’t agree.”

“She won’t be able to stop herself. But listen—I hear wheels. Her carriage is coming. Now follow my instructions exactly.”

As he spoke, the light from a carriage turned the corner into the avenue. A fancy little landau pulled up in front of Briony Lodge. As it stopped, one of the lazy men on the corner ran forward to open the door and try to earn a tip—but he was pushed aside by another man doing the same. They started a loud fight. Then the two guards joined in, taking one man’s side, while the scissors-grinder supported the other. Someone threw a punch, and suddenly the lady, who had just stepped from her carriage, was surrounded by a group of red-faced men fighting with fists and sticks. Holmes ran into the crowd to protect her, but just as he reached her, he gave a loud cry and fell to the ground, blood running down his face. When he fell, the guards ran one way and the other men ran the opposite way. A few well-dressed people, who had been watching but hadn’t joined in, now came to help the lady and check on the hurt man. Irene Adler—yes, I will still call her that—had rushed up the steps, but now she stood at the top, her beautiful figure glowing in the light of the hallway, looking back at the scene in the street.

“Is the poor gentleman badly hurt?” she asked.

“He’s dead!” shouted several people.

“No, no—he’s still alive!” shouted another. “But he’ll die before you get him to the hospital!”

“He’s a brave man,” said a woman. “Those thieves would’ve taken 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 stay lying in the street. Can we carry him inside, ma’am?”