Hello, thank you for the comments and for reading this. Sorry for the late update, this chapter was hard to write, and I would like to thank Arthur Conan Doyle for his characters, and BBC for some of their personalities. While this chapter does not follow the actions of our dear protagonists Seraphina or Albus, it does tie some characters further into the story and introduce a bit of background for others. The next chapter would be back onto the Hogwarts years of the duo.

From now on, I will be trying my best to do weekly updates.

Thanks again for reading, and please, if possible, review, it really helps.

Chapter 19 A Mysterious Interlude

Watson POV

"Well then, Sir Cunningham, it seems that your arm is recovering quite nicely. Nothing to be concerned about. All you need to do is to take a spoonful of this medicine once after every meal and you will be right as rain in no time." I added as I wiped my hands on my handkerchief before rummaging through my gladstone bag for the bottle of Codeine.

"Thank you, Doctor Watson." Sir Cunningham replied jovially as he grabbed the bottle, chuckling. "My lady and my daughter would not leave me alone until I had my arm checked out by you. She trusts you and your wife a great deal after your adventure, as you remember."

I smiled. "How could I forget? Mrs Forrester is quite a caring woman, I am indebted to her for creating the opportunity for my wife and I to meet."

He laughed, paying me my fee.

"Well, I will be off now. Take good care of your arm and try not to move it too much." I picked up my bag and turned to leave.

The cool afternoon air breezed through the air as I walked down the streets, turning down a very familiar corner. 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, it occurred to me that I have not visited Holmes since the investigation of the witch. I was seized with a keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers.

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, so long has it been since we last met. 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.

It was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room.

"Hello there! I have an appointment with the detective, will you be he?" The man asked.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, I am waiting for him myself. Perhaps I may pass on a message for you?"

The man shook his head vehemently. "No, I mustn't! You see, I have specific instructions to speak to him and him alone! It's related to his case, you see!"

I was intrigued, for the cases my dear friend took were never dull. "Perhaps you would like to wait with me?"

The man muttered as if indecisive, my ears caught words such as 'urgent' and 'a waste of time', until suddenly the door burst open. 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-colored 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. 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. The man looked me up and down as if judging my very being.

"Do you know where I may find Sherlock Holmes?" He asked in a deep, harsh voice with a heavy Germanic accent.

I shook my head. "I believe he will return soon, until then, may I invite you to wait with myself and the gentleman next to me?"

The man looked at me up and down with an air of incredulity, I held his gaze evenly, not in the least intimidated, until suddenly, the drunken man laughed loud and heartily for some minutes, to the point where his body was bent over in laughter, startling us out of our little staring contest. The two of us were so stunned by this oddity that we did nothing but watch him until the man had run out of breath and returned to his full height.

He raised his hand onto his face, ripping off his unkempt beard, His entire face seemed to shift as the removal uncovered his high and sharp cheekbones, his entire body almost growing an entire foot as he straightened his posture. With the beard came the unhealthy red glow, which vanished without a trace, as if by magic. His entire demeanour changed, his eyes revealing a calm logical calculation even as his body straightened in confidence, revealing my dear friend Holmes under the disguise. It was not merely that Holmes changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a fine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in crime.

"My dear Holmes!" I gasped almost involuntarily, so startled was I, by his transformation, even with how accustomed as I was to my friend's amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look three times before I was certain that it was indeed, he, instead of a trick of my eyes.

"What the devil is this?" The man yelled simultaneously.

Holmes nodded at me in greeting. He looked at him, traces of amusement on his face, only evident to me from the long hours I have spent with him.

"Greetings, your Majesty. Forgive my current attire, I have yet to change out of my disguise from this morning's investigation."

The man nodded and waved his hand dismissively. "Please change, it is impossible for me to look upon your current state and take you seriously!"

With a nod Holmes vanished into the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-suited and respectable, as of old. "This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases."

"Well that's much better!" The man grumbled. "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 continue to communicate with you alone."

I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into my chair. "You may say before this gentleman anything which you may say to me."

"I am eager for any news, how goes your investigation? I trust you have borne fruit, so far?" The man asked.

"Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you, however. I am confident that I will have the location of the photograph by to-morrow."

"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!"

Holmes chuckled. "Ah, but we must wait, my friend. It will not do to alarm our dear guest before we set the trap."

The man harrumphed and turned to go.

I turned to face my dear friend. "My dear Holmes! It has been too long! What adventures have you been up to since I last saw you?"

He chuckled. "There have been a few cases since we last met, my friend. As you can tell, my current case is going quite smoothly. It's good fortune that you are here. I shall want your co-operation for the next part of my plan."

"I shall be delighted."

"You don't mind breaking the law?"

"Not in the least."

"Nor running a chance of arrest?"

"Not in a good cause."

"Oh, the cause is excellent!"

"Then I am your man."

"I was sure that I might rely on you."

"But first, tell me, what is this case and what is it you wish?" I asked.

"Seeing how you shall now play a crucial role in my resolution of this case, and have already met the client's approval, I suppose it is only fair if I start from the beginning. Our client, whom you have no doubt heard me call 'your Majesty', is the heir to the Bulgarian throne."

"The one about to be married?" I asked.

"The very one." He confirmed. "He has tasked me with the retrieval of a compromising photograph of himself and the famed adventuress Miss Irene Adler." Said he, as he rose to retrieve a card, the style no doubt taken from his index for this case. 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. I accepted the card he handed me and began reading.

Born in New Jersey in the year 1858. Contralto. La Scala. Prima donna Imperial Opera of Warsaw— Retired from operatic stage. Living in London.

Silently I handed the card back, it seemed like this woman was nothing but an average entertainer. "So, it seems like a simple case. Why did he require your assistance?"

Holmes gave a deep chuckle. "This is where you are mistaken, my old friend. This Irene Adler has connections to almost every member of the royal family across the continent. From my scouting this morning, I am certain that she has connections to the hidden world as well."

I frowned. The hidden world is what Holmes had taken to calling the magical world ever since I was introduced to its existence by the witch. "Is she another witch, then?"

"I don't believe so. If she is, I believe she would have wiped the memory of our client instead of resorting to black mail. But let me tell you about my adventures today. I left the house a little after eight o'clock this morning in the character of a groom out of work. Hence my attire. There is a wonderful sympathy and freemasonry among horsey men. Be one of them, and you will know all that there is to know. I soon found Briony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with a garden at the back, but built out in front right up to the road, two stories. Chubb lock to the door. Large sitting-room on the right side, well furnished, with long windows almost to the floor, and those preposterous English window fasteners which a child could open. Behind there was nothing remarkable, save that the passage window could be reached from the top of the coach-house. I walked round it and examined it closely from every point of view, but without noting anything else of interest. I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, that there was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. I lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and received in exchange twopence, a glass of half and half, two fills of shag tobacco, and as much information as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say nothing of half a dozen other people in the neighbourhood in whom I was not in the least interested, but whose biographies I was compelled to listen to."

"And what of Irene Adler?" I asked.

"Oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in that part. She is the daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say the Serpentine-mews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom goes out at other times, except when she sings and has no visitors except for a single man. The town has never seen him enter, but his silhouette could be seen often. It was a delicate point, and it widened the field of my inquiry. I fear that I bore you with these details, but I have to let you see my little difficulties, if you are to understand the situation."

"I am following you closely," I answered.

"I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom cab drove up to Briony Lodge, and a gentleman of South Asian descent sprang out. He carried a case with him most obviously enchanted, the enchantment so thick that even a blind man would be compelled to look away from his being completely. Within seconds, the streets cleared a path for him, without any conscious effort of any person in the neighbourhood. In my mind I have no doubt that this is the gentleman who has been visiting Miss Adler. I followed him towards the house, and saw him talking animatedly with her, yet his face betrayed anxiety. Finally, he took what seemed to be quite a few pieces of artwork– sculptures and paintings alike – from his case, handing them to Miss Adler before he left."

"I was at a crossroads, Watson, I had a choice to make, whether to follow the man and solve the mystery he presents or to continue spying on Miss Adler, in case she places those artworks with the photograph. In the end she made up my mind for me, by placing those pieces of art into various places around her house, treating them as if they were nothing more than normal decor. I continued observing her as she put on some music with her phonograph, imagine my surprise when those objects began dancing! The sculptures themselves were ones of stone, and the paintings were mere oil on canvas. There was no doubt that their cause of animation is magic. It was then I knew that the case was most likely not as simple as our client has made out."

"Goodness!" I exclaimed. "How did you manage to get dragged into the hidden world again so quickly when all your previous cases were normal?"

Holmes chuckled. "My dear friend, my cases were often involved with the hidden world, you were only not privy to the information. The witch's visit forcefully removed that blindness from you, so only now am I free to discuss some of those vital details which had eluded many of our companions. Continuing with my tale, it was then Miss Adler left for a concert, which has been clearly marked on her calendar so I left to make my own arrangements."

"Which are?"

"Some cold beef and a glass of beer," he answered, ringing the bell. "I have been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to be busier still this evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want your cooperation."

"I shall be delighted."

"You don't mind breaking the law?"

"Not in the least."

"Nor running a chance of arrest?"

"Not in a good cause."

"Oh, the cause is excellent!"

"Then I am your man."

"I was sure that I might rely on you."

"But what is it you wish?"

"When Mrs. Hudson has brought in the tray I will make it clear to you. Now," he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that our landlady had provided, "I must discuss it while I eat, for I have not much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must be on the scene of action. Miss Irene, returns from her drive at seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her."

"And what then?"

"You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to occur. There is only one point on which I must insist. You must not interfere, come what may. You understand?"

"I am to be neutral?"

"To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small unpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being conveyed into the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room window will open. You are to station yourself close to that open window."

"Yes."

"You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you."

"Yes."

"And when I raise my hand—so—you will throw into the room what I give you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. You quite follow me?"

"Entirely."

"It is nothing very formidable," he said, taking a long cigar-shaped roll from his pocket. "It is an ordinary plumber's smoke-rocket, fitted with a cap at either end to make it self-lighting. Your task is confined to that. When you raise your cry of fire, it will be taken up by quite a number of people. You may then walk to the end of the street, and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have made myself clear?"

"I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and at the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire, and to wait at the corner of the street."

"Precisely."

"Then you may entirely rely on me."

"That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I prepare for the new role I have to play."

He disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in the character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. His broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic smile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such as Mr. John Hare alone could have equalled. No trace of the man who was my friend Sherlock Holmes remained. Once again, I am taken completely by his transformation, if I did not know the impossibility of it, I would have sworn he had physically transformed his soul and body to fit each part he plays.

It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lit as we paced up and down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming of its occupant. The house was just as I had pictured it from Sherlock Holmes' succinct description, but the locality appeared to be less private than I expected. On the contrary, for a small street in a quiet neighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. There was a group of shabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who were lounging up and down with cigars in their mouths.

"Where are we to find the photograph?" I asked Holmes.

"It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is cabinet size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman's dress. She knows that the King is capable of having her waylaid and searched. Two attempts of the sort have already been made. We may take it, then she does not carry it about with her."

"Where, then?"

"Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But I am inclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting. Why should she hand it over to anyone else? She could trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell what indirect or political influence might be brought to bear upon a businessman. Besides, remember that she had resolved to use it within a few days. It must be where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be in her own house."

"But it has twice been burgled."

"Pshaw! They did not know how to look."

"But how will you look?"

"I will not look."

"What then?"

"I will get her to show me."

"But she will refuse."

"She will not be able to. It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house is on fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she values most. It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have more than once taken advantage of it. In the case of the Darlington substitution scandal it was of use to me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle business. A married woman grabs at her baby; an unmarried one reaches for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to me that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house more precious to her than what we are in quest of. She would rush to secure it. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is her carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter."

As he spoke the gleam of the side-lights of a carriage came round the curve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which rattled up to the door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of the loafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the door in the hope of earning a copper, but was elbowed away by another loafer, who had rushed up with the same intention. A fierce quarrel broke out, which was increased by the two guardsmen, who took sides with one of the loungers, and by the scissors-grinder, who was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was struck, and in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage, was the centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who struck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but just as he reached her he gave a cry and dropped to the ground, with the blood running freely down his face. At his fall the guardsmen took to their heels in one direction and the loungers in the other, while a number of better-dressed people, who had watched the scuffle without taking part in it, crowded in to help the lady and to attend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I will still call her, had hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with her superb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into the street.

"Is the poor gentleman much hurt?" she asked.

"He is dead," cried several voices.

"No, no, there's life in him!" shouted another. "But he'll be gone before you can get him to hospital."

"He's a brave fellow," said a woman. "They would have had 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 lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?"

"Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is a comfortable sofa. This way, please!"

Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge and laid out in the principal room, while I still observed the proceedings from my post by the window. The lamps had been lit, but the blinds had not been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay upon the couch. I do not know whether he was seized with compunction at that moment for the part he was playing, but I know that I never felt more heartily ashamed of myself in my life than when I saw the beautiful creature against whom I was conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which she waited upon the injured man. And yet it would be the blackest treachery to Holmes to draw back now from the part which he had entrusted to me. I hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket from under my ulster. After all, I thought, we are not injuring her. We are but preventing her from injuring another.

Holmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motion like a man who is in need of air. A maid rushed across and threw open the window. At the same instant I saw him raise his hand and 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 whole crowd of spectators, well dressed and ill—gentlemen, ostlers, and servant-maids—joined in a general shriek of "Fire!" Thick clouds of smoke curled through the room and out at the open window.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed my arm in a painfully tight grip, which I had no chance of breaking out of. I looked up and saw a burly man dressed in a butler's suit. Without saying a single word, he dragged me inside the house, near Holmes.

"Miss, I saw this man toss something inside the house seconds before the fire started." Said he.

I refused to meet Holmes' gaze or Miss Adler's cursing my ill fate in being caught red handed. The lovely Miss Adler's demeanour instantly changed. She looked towards Holmes before glancing back towards me.

"How lovely. I presume Wilhelm sent you?" She said casually.

It took me a few seconds to realise that she was talking about the King. To my surprise, Holmes confirmed her suspicions.

"Yes. He was under the impression that you intended to use the photograph to drive his kingdom into ruin with the scandal."

She sighed. "Of course he said that. I take it that he did not mention anything else?"

"Like your smuggling of magical artefacts to the muggle world or the fact that your sister is a witch who you have recently fallen out with and is trying to reconcile, and the dozen of royal family members who you spy on? No."

Irene Adler stiffened. "How did you know that?" She asked in a barely audible whisper.

"The fact that the statues moved was a clue in your involvement in the magical world. Your index finger has the slight tan of a ring, which suggests someone is either courting you or you used to wear a ring from your family member. The small rectangular dustless spot on your mantelpiece suggests a recently removed photograph, which matched the small framed one of yourself and another woman a few years younger than you which we saw when we passed your bedroom. The matching rings on said photograph and the fact that your photo moved indicated the fact that you have a younger sister who is a witch that you have recently had a fall out with. The fact that your nails, which have clearly been usually very well taken care of, have small triangular cuts indicate that you have recently been stressed, most likely about said falling out and your situation with the Bulgarian royalty. The fact that his highness was so concerned but still refused to strike a deal with you indicated that there was more to you and between the two of you than he was letting on. Finally, the dozen moving statues clearly trained to be inconspicuous and of the identical classical Greek style would suggest smuggling. Finally, the small engraving of the crown at the tail of each statue tells of their status as royal property. String that all together, you get the list of facts." He explained.

"Very good, Mister Holmes." She said, looking at him, surprised. "I am presuming that you will now proceed to tell me where I keep my photograph?"

Holmes stood up. "If you don't mind."

At her nod, he moved towards the pullbell, with a yank, he opened the hidden flap, revealing a safe with a single keyhole. Holmes stared at her before walking away, closely followed by myself and the butler. We reached Miss Adler's room and he grabbed the photograph. With a sharp tug, a bronze key popped out of its stand.

"Quite devious, Miss Adler. Quite devious indeed." He murmured.

The three of us returned to the room, but Miss Adler was nowhere to be seen. Holmes inserted the key, opening the safe with a few clicks. Finally, he swung open the door.

What happened next was not something I had expected. A loud bang echoed throughout the house as the very statues seemed to come to life. Within seconds, our eyesights were blurred by the flurry of movements. Stone beated against my hands as I protected my head from what looked like stone dragons. They fled into the darkening sky through a window, leaving the two of us behind. Confident that the creatures were gone, I stood up.

The room was a mess. The butler and Miss Irene were nowhere to be seen. The entire house seemed stripped bare, the furniture overturned as if they were ransacked in a hurry. Holmes placed his hand inside the safe and pulled out a letter written on parchment and a photo. Not one of a scandal, but one of Miss Adler in a lovely evening gown on stage, yet she swayed gently as she sang, her eyes opening and closing slowly. Any chance that she might not be involved in the magical world is instantly removed from my mind. I leaned in closer to read it with him.

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.

My suspicions were confirmed when I saw my 'butler' enter. The man was, in fact, myself in my walking clothes as I like to call them. You were correct in most of your assumptions, of course. Except on the idea that I had tossed away my ring in anger. It was a tell which could have jeopardised her safety, I was anxious also because of this, not to reunite with her. The curious little gadget around my neck is the real reason why Wilhelm is after me. While I have indeed had adventures with him, but not of the variety he implied. The two of us encountered a merchant selling magical objects to the royal families. We brought one of them, with my sister as an unspeakable, she was able to reverse engineer one of the sculptures and turn it into the receiver, allowing Wilhelm and myself access to the secrets of the other royal families. Learning so much of what happens behind closed doors spurred Wilhelm's fears, and he has been pursuing me in hopes of gaining leverage to control my mouth. By fate or chance I found the merchant again, which spurred me to seek safety through the merchant and his arts. The last I have seen of him, he was on the run, trying to avoid the pursuit of one relentless Auror Grindelwald. The artefacts he handed me were of that very same effect.

I thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty by the time you finish reading this letter. As to the photograph, your client may rest in peace. 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 Adler

"A formidable woman indeed." Said Holmes.

"You have the photograph?" I asked, perplexed.

"I know where it was."

"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. "The matter was perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone in the street was an accomplice. They were all engaged for the evening."

"I guessed as much."

"Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint in the palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand to 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. What else could she do? And into her sitting-room, which was the very room which I suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I was determined to see which. They laid me on a couch, I motioned for air, they were compelled to open the window, and you had your chance."

"How did that help you?"

"The alarm of fire was admirably done. The smoke and shouting were enough to shake nerves of steel. She responded beautifully. She was there in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as she half-drew it out. When I cried out that it was a false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the rocket before you were brought in."

"And now?" I asked.

"Our quest is practically finished. 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."

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.

"Do you have the photo?" He asked.

Holmes took out the letter and the photo, which the King eagerly collapsed in his hands, reading the letter with vigour.

"What a woman—oh, what a woman!" cried the King of Bohemia, when he had 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 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.