Holmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motionlike a man who is in need of air. A maid rushed across and threwopen the window. At the same instant I saw him raise his handand at the signal I tossed my rocket into the room with a cry of“Fire!” The word was no sooner out of my mouth than the wholecrowd of spectators, well dressed and ill—gentlemen, ostlers, andservant-maids—joined in a general shriek of “Fire!” Thick cloudsof smoke curled through the room and out at the open window. Icaught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later the voiceof Holmes from within assuring them that it was a false alarm.
Slipping through the shouting crowd I made my way to the cornerof the street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my friend’sarm in mine, and to get away from the scene of uproar. He walkedswiftly and in silence for some few minutes until we had turneddown one of the quiet streets which lead towards the EdgewareRoad.
“You did it very nicely, Doctor,” he remarked. “Nothing couldhave been better. It is all right.”
“You have the photograph?”
“I know where it is.”
“And how did you find out?”
“She showed me, as I told you she would.”
“I am still in the dark.”
“I do not wish to make a mystery,” said he, laughing. “Thematter was perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyonein the street was an accomplice. They were all engaged for theevening.”
“I guessed as much.”
“Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint inthe palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my handto my face, and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick.”
“That also I could fathom.”
“Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in. Whatelse could she do? And into her sitting-room, which was the veryroom which I suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom,and I was determined to see which. They laid me on a couch, Imotioned for air, they were compelled to open the window, andyou had your chance.”
“How did that help you?”
“It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house ison fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she valuesmost. It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have morethan once taken advantage of it. In the case of the DarlingtonSubstitution Scandal it was of use to me, and also in the ArnsworthCastle business. A married woman grabs at her baby; an unmarriedone reaches for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to me that ourlady of to-day had nothing in the house more precious to her thanwhat we are in quest of. She would rush to secure it. The alarm offire was admirably done. The smoke and shouting were enough toshake nerves of steel. She responded beautifully. The photographis in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the right bell-pull.
She was there in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as shehalf drew it out. When I cried out that it was a false alarm, shereplaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from the room, and Ihave not seen her since. I rose, and, making my excuses, escapedfrom the house. I hesitated whether to attempt to secure thephotograph at once; but the coachman had come in, and as hewas watching me narrowly, it seemed safer to wait. A little overprecipitancemay ruin all.”
“And now?” I asked.
“Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the King tomorrow,and with you, if you care to come with us. We will beshown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is probablethat when she comes she may find neither us nor the photograph.
It might be a satisfaction to his Majesty to regain it with his ownhands.”
“And when will you call?”
“At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that we shallhave a clear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriagemay mean a complete change in her life and habits. I must wire tothe King without delay.”
We had reached Baker Street and had stopped at the door. Hewas 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 thegreeting appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who hadhurried by.
“I’ve heard that voice before,” said Holmes, staring down thedimly lit street. “Now, I wonder who the deuce that could havebeen.”
III
I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged uponour toast and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemiarushed into the room.
“You have really got it!” he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes byeither 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 offonce 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 futureannoyance. If the lady loves her husband, she does not love yourMajesty. If she does not love your Majesty, there is no reason whyshe should interfere with your Majesty’s plan.”
“It is true. And yet——Well! I wish she had been of my ownstation! What a queen she would have made!” He relapsed intoa moody silence, which was not broken until we drew up inSerpentine Avenue.
The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly womanstood upon the steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as westepped from the brougham.
“Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?” said she.
“I am Mr. Holmes,” answered my companion, looking at herwith a questioning and rather startled gaze.
“Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. Sheleft this morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from CharingCross for the Continent.”
“What!” Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrinand surprise. “Do you mean that she has left England?”
“Never to return.”
“And the papers?” asked the King hoarsely. “All is lost.”
