5 Fire!

Chapter 5 Fire! As soon as Sherlock Holmes was inside, I crept closer to the house until I was standing outside the sitting room window. I positioned myself a little to one side so I could see into the room but was not too visible to its occupants. The lamps had been lit but the blinds had not been drawn, and I could see Holmes lying on the couch. He was playing the part of a kindly clergyman perfectly, smiling bravely through the pain of his injury. Irene Norton came in and handed him a glass of water. Then she seated herself on a nearby chair and spoke gently to my friend, patting his arm and thanking him for his courageous action, while Holmes nodded and said it was what any man would do.

Watching this, I was seized by a sharp guilt for what we were doing, taking advantage of this lady's caring nature. Yet I knew I could never let Holmes down and fail to play my part in his carefully arranged plan. So, gritting my teeth, I took the smoke rocket from inside my coat. After all, I reflected, we're not injuring her—we're preventing her from injuring someone else. Soon afterward, Mrs. Norton left the room and a maid came in with a tray of tea for their guest.

Holmes sat up on the couch and I saw him motion to the maid like a man who was in need of air. The maid went to the window and I quickly backed out of sight before she saw me. She opened the window and then went back to pouring the tea. As soon as her back was turned, Holmes raised his hand and gave the prearranged signal. I tossed the smoke rocket into the room. The cap

detonated as it struck the floor and white smoke began pouring out. "Fire!" I yelled, and the word was no sooner out of my mouth than a whole crowd, who had quietly formed in the street behind me, took up the cry. I hadn't even noticed these people gather —there were the well-dressed and shabby young men from earlier, as well as stable hands from the mews, and servant maids. "Fire!" they all screamed, as thick clouds of smoke curled through the room and out the open window. Through the haze, I glimpsed rushing figures in the sitting room, and a moment later I heard

Holmes's voice assuring them it was a false alarm. Slipping through the shouting crowd, I made my way to the end of the street where I stood waiting for my friend. Ten minutes later, he appeared. We walked swiftly and in silence for several blocks until we found ourselves in one of the quiet streets off Edgware Road. "You did very well, my friend," said Holmes. "Everything went perfectly to plan." "Do you have the photograph?" I asked. "I know where it is." "How did you find out?" "She showed me, as I said she would." "I still don't understand." Holmes laughed. "I don't mean to be so mysterious. My plan was perfectly simple. You saw, of course, that everyone in the street played their part. Thanks to the king of Bohemia and his generous payment, they're all feeling slightly richer this evening."

"I guessed as much," I said. "When the fight broke out, I squeezed a little red paint from a tube into the palm of my hand. Then I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my face, and became an object of pity. It's an old trick." "I worked that out, too," I said. "Then they carried me in—I knew she wouldn't just leave me wounded on the street. I was taken into the sitting room, which was the room where I suspected she kept the photograph. The king's burglars must have targeted her