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
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