6 Outwitted

Chapter 6 Outwitted I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were eating our toast and coffee in the morning when the king of Bohemia rushed into the room. "Do you have it, Mr. Holmes?" he cried. "Not yet." "But you will have it soon?" "I hope so." "Then let's go. I can't wait any longer." "We'll have to hail a cab," said Holmes. "No, my carriage is waiting." "That makes things simpler." We descended to the street, where the king's luxury, four-wheeled carriage was waiting, and started off once more for Briony Lodge.

"Irene Adler is married," Holmes remarked. "Married?" cried the king. "When, and to whom?" "Yesterday, to a lawyer named Norton." "But she cannot love him." "I hope she does," said Holmes. "Why?" "Because it would solve your Majesty's problem. If she loves her husband, she doesn't love you, and if she doesn't love you, there's no reason for her to interfere with your marriage plans." "It is true!" sighed the king, "and yet... Well, I wish she had been of my own class. What a queen she would have made!"

The king lapsed into a despondent silence, which wasn't broken until we arrived at Serpentine Avenue. The door of Briony Lodge was open and an elderly woman stood waiting for us on the steps. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" she said as we stepped out of the carriage. "I am he," replied my companion, sounding rather startled. "My mistress told me you were likely to visit," said the woman. "She left this morning with her husband on the 5:15 train from Charing Cross. They're heading for the Continent." "What?" cried Holmes, staggering back, pale with surprise. "Do you mean she's left England?" "Never to return." "And my photograph?" asked the king hoarsely.

"We shall see," said Holmes. He brushed past the housekeeper and hastened into the sitting room, followed closely by the king and myself. The room was in a mess, with books scattered about the floor and drawers left open, as if the lady had hurriedly plundered the place for essentials before making her escape. Holmes went to the wall, tore back the sliding shutter, and pulled out the items hidden in the recess.

They consisted of a photograph and a letter. The photograph was of Irene Adler standing alone in evening dress. The letter was addressed to "Sherlock Holmes, Esq." My friend tore it open, and we all three read it together. It was dated midnight last night, and ran as follows: My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Your plan was brilliant. You had me completely fooled. Until the cry of fire went up, I didn't have the slightest suspicion that I was being tricked. At that point, I began to think about what had just happened and remembered I was warned about you months ago. I was told that if the

king of Bohemia employed a detective, it would certainly be you. Yet despite all that, you found a way of making me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after I became suspicious, I found it hard to believe that such a dear, kind, old clergyman could be you in disguise. But, you know, I have trained as an actress myself. Male costume is nothing new to me, and I often take advantage of the freedom it gives. I sent John, my coachman, to watch you. Then I ran upstairs, got into my walking clothes, as I call them, and came down just as you departed. I followed you and discovered from your conversation with your companion that I really was the victim of a clever deception by the famous Mr. Sherlock Holmes.