Part 1 - The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes Audiobook by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Adventures 01-02)

Part 1. Classic Literature VideoBook with synchronized text, interactive transcript, and closed captions in multiple languages. Audio courtesy of Librivox. Read by Mark F. Smith.

Playlist for The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL7BE1C414529B0F4E

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes free audiobook at Librivox: http://librivox.org/the-adventures-of-sherlock-holmes-by-sir-arthur-conan-doyle-2/

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes free eBook at Project Gutenberg: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1661

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes at Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Adventures_of_Sherlock_Holmes

View a list of all our videobooks: http://www.ccprose.com/booklist

THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by
SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

ADVENTURE I.
A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA

I.
To Sherlock Holmes she is always THE woman.

I have seldom heard him mention her under
any other name.

In his eyes she eclipses and predominates
the whole of her sex.

It was not that he felt any emotion akin to
love for Irene Adler.

All emotions, and that one particularly,
were abhorrent to his cold, precise but

admirably balanced mind.

He was, I take it, the most perfect
reasoning and observing machine that the

world has seen, but as a lover he would
have placed himself in a false position.

He never spoke of the softer passions, save
with a gibe and a sneer.

They were admirable things for the
observer--excellent for drawing the veil

from men's motives and actions.

But for the trained reasoner to admit such
intrusions into his own delicate and finely

adjusted temperament was to introduce a
distracting factor which might throw a

doubt upon all his mental results.

Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack
in one of his own high-power lenses, would

not be more disturbing than a strong
emotion in a nature such as his.

And yet there was but one woman to him, and
that woman was the late Irene Adler, of

dubious and questionable memory.
I had seen little of Holmes lately.

My marriage had drifted us away from each
other.

My own complete happiness, and the home-
centred interests which rise up around the

man who first finds himself master of his
own establishment, were sufficient to

absorb all my attention, while Holmes, who

loathed every form of society with his
whole Bohemian soul, remained in our

lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his
old books, and alternating from week to

week between cocaine and ambition, the

drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce
energy of his own keen nature.

He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by
the study of crime, and occupied his

immense faculties and extraordinary powers
of observation in following out those

clues, and clearing up those mysteries

which had been abandoned as hopeless by the
official police.

From time to time I heard some vague
account of his doings: of his summons to

Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder,
of his clearing up of the singular tragedy

of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee,

and finally of the mission which he had
accomplished so delicately and successfully

for the reigning family of Holland.

Beyond these signs of his activity,
however, which I merely shared with all the

readers of the daily press, I knew little
of my former friend and companion.

One night--it was on the twentieth of
March, 1888--I was returning from a journey

to a patient (for I had now returned to
civil practice), when my way led me through

Baker Street.

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, I was seized with a

keen desire to see Holmes again, and to

know how he was employing his extraordinary
powers.

His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even
as I looked up, I saw his tall, spare

figure pass twice in a dark silhouette
against the blind.

He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly,
with his head sunk upon his chest and his

hands clasped behind him.

To me, who knew his every mood and habit,
his attitude and manner told their own

story.
He was at work again.

He had risen out of his drug-created dreams
and was hot upon the scent of some new

problem.

I rang the bell and was shown up to the
chamber which had formerly been in part my

own.
His manner was not effusive.

It seldom was; but he was glad, I think, to
see me.

With hardly a word spoken, but with a
kindly eye, he waved me to an armchair,

threw across his case of cigars, and
indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in

the corner.

Then he stood before the fire and looked me
over in his singular introspective fashion.

"Wedlock suits you," he remarked.
"I think, Watson, that you have put on

seven and a half pounds since I saw you."

"Seven!"
I answered.

"Indeed, I should have thought a little
more.

Just a trifle more, I fancy, Watson.

And in practice again, I observe.
You did not tell me that you intended to go

into harness."
"Then, how do you know?"

"I see it, I deduce it.

How do I know that you have been getting
yourself very wet lately, and that you have

a most clumsy and careless servant girl?"
"My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too

much.

You would certainly have been burned, had
you lived a few centuries ago.

It is true that I had a country walk on
Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess,

but as I have changed my clothes I can't
imagine how you deduce it.

As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and
my wife has given her notice, but there,

again, I fail to see how you work it out."
He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long,

nervous hands together.

"It is simplicity itself," said he; "my
eyes tell me that on the inside of your

left shoe, just where the firelight strikes
it, the leather is scored by six almost

parallel cuts.

Obviously they have been caused by someone
who has very carelessly scraped round the

edges of the sole in order to remove
crusted mud from it.

Hence, you see, my double deduction that
you had been out in vile weather, and that

you had a particularly malignant boot-
slitting specimen of the London slavey.

As to your practice, if a gentleman walks
into my rooms smelling of iodoform, with a

black mark of nitrate of silver upon his
right forefinger, and a bulge on the right

side of his top-hat to show where he has

secreted his stethoscope, I must be dull,
indeed, if I do not pronounce him to be an

active member of the medical profession."

I could not help laughing at the ease with
which he explained his process of

deduction.

"When I hear you give your reasons," I
remarked, "the thing always appears to me

to be so ridiculously simple that I could
easily do it myself, though at each

successive instance of your reasoning I am
baffled until you explain your process.

And yet I believe that my eyes are as good
as yours."

"Quite so," he answered, lighting a
cigarette, and throwing himself down into

an armchair.
"You see, but you do not observe.

The distinction is clear.

For example, you have frequently seen the
steps which lead up from the hall to this

room."
"Frequently."

"How often?"

"Well, some hundreds of times."
"Then how many are there?"

"How many?
I don't know."

"Quite so!

You have not observed.
And yet you have seen.

That is just my point.
Now, I know that there are seventeen steps,

because I have both seen and observed.

By-the-way, since you are interested in
these little problems, and since you are

good enough to chronicle one or two of my
trifling experiences, you may be interested

in this."

He threw over a sheet of thick, pink-tinted
note-paper which had been lying open upon

the table.
"It came by the last post," said he.

"Read it aloud."

The note was undated, and without either
signature or address.

"There will call upon you to-night, at a
quarter to eight o'clock," it said, "a

gentleman who desires to consult you upon a
matter of the very deepest moment.

Your recent services to one of the royal
houses of Europe have shown that you are

one who may safely be trusted with matters
which are of an importance which can hardly

be exaggerated.

This account of you we have from all
quarters received.

Be in your chamber then at that hour, and
do not take it amiss if your visitor wear a

mask."

"This is indeed a mystery," I remarked.
"What do you imagine that it means?"

"I have no data yet.
It is a capital mistake to theorize before

one has data.

Insensibly one begins to twist facts to
suit theories, instead of theories to suit

facts.
But the note itself.

What do you deduce from it?"

I carefully examined the writing, and the
paper upon which it was written.

"The man who wrote it was presumably well
to do," I remarked, endeavouring to imitate

my companion's processes.

"Such paper could not be bought under half
a crown a packet.

It is peculiarly strong and stiff."
"Peculiar--that is the very word," said

Holmes.

"It is not an English paper at all.
Hold it up to the light."

I did so, and saw a large "E" with a small
"g," a "P," and a large "G" with a small

"t" woven into the texture of the paper.

"What do you make of that?" asked Holmes.
"The name of the maker, no doubt; or his

monogram, rather."
"Not at all.

The 'G' with the small 't' stands for
'Gesellschaft,' which is the German for

'Company.'
It is a customary contraction like our

'Co.'

'P,' of course, stands for 'Papier.'
Now for the 'Eg.'

Let us glance at our Continental
Gazetteer."

He took down a heavy brown volume from his
shelves.

"Eglow, Eglonitz--here we are, Egria.
It is in a German-speaking country--in

Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad.

'Remarkable as being the scene of the death
of Wallenstein, and for its numerous glass-

factories and paper-mills.'
Ha, ha, my boy, what do you make of that?"

His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great
blue triumphant cloud from his cigarette.

"The paper was made in Bohemia," I said.
"Precisely.

And the man who wrote the note is a German.

Do you note the peculiar construction of
the sentence--'This account of you we have

from all quarters received.'
A Frenchman or Russian could not have

written that.

It is the German who is so uncourteous to
his verbs.

It only remains, therefore, to discover
what is wanted by this German who writes

upon Bohemian paper and prefers wearing a
mask to showing his face.

And here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to
resolve all our doubts."

As he spoke there was the sharp sound of
horses' hoofs and grating wheels against

the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the
bell.

Holmes whistled.

"A pair, by the sound," said he.
"Yes," he continued, glancing out of the

window.
"A nice little brougham and a pair of

beauties.

A hundred and fifty guineas apiece.
There's money in this case, Watson, if

there is nothing else."
"I think that I had better go, Holmes."

"Not a bit, Doctor.

Stay where you are.
I am lost without my Boswell.

And this promises to be interesting.
It would be a pity to miss it."

"But your client--"

"Never mind him.
I may want your help, and so may he.

Here he comes.
Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give

us your best attention."

A slow and heavy step, which had been heard
upon the stairs and in the passage, paused

immediately outside the door.
Then there was a loud and authoritative

tap.

"Come in!" said Holmes.
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-coloured 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,
while he wore across the upper part of his

face, extending down past the cheekbones, a
black vizard mask, which he had apparently

adjusted that very moment, for his hand was
still raised to it as he entered.

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.

"You had my note?" he asked with a deep
harsh voice and a strongly marked German

accent.
"I told you that I would call."

He looked from one to the other of us, as
if uncertain which to address.

"Pray take a seat," said Holmes.

"This is my friend and colleague, Dr.
Watson, who is occasionally good enough to

help me in my cases.
Whom have I the honour to address?"

"You may address me as the Count Von Kramm,
a Bohemian nobleman.

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 communicate
with you alone."

I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the
wrist and pushed me back into my chair.

"It is both, or none," said he.

"You may say before this gentleman anything
which you may say to me."

The Count shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Then I must begin," said he, "by binding
you both to absolute secrecy for two years;

at the end of that time the matter will be
of no importance.

At present it is not too much to say that
it is of such weight it may have an

influence upon European history."
"I promise," said Holmes.

"And I."

"You will excuse this mask," continued our
strange visitor.

"The august person who employs me wishes
his agent to be unknown to you, and I may

confess at once that the title by which I
have just called myself is not exactly my

"I was aware of it," said Holmes dryly.

own."

"The circumstances are of great delicacy,
and every precaution has to be taken to

quench what might grow to be an immense
scandal and seriously compromise one of the

reigning families of Europe.

To speak plainly, the matter implicates the
great House of Ormstein, hereditary kings

of Bohemia."

"I was also aware of that," murmured
Holmes, settling himself down in his

armchair and closing his eyes.

Our visitor glanced with some apparent
surprise at the languid, lounging figure of

the man who had been no doubt depicted to
him as the most incisive reasoner and most

energetic agent in Europe.

Holmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked
impatiently at his gigantic client.

"If your Majesty would condescend to state
your case," he remarked, "I should be

better able to advise you."

The man sprang from his chair and paced up
and down the room in uncontrollable

agitation.

Then, with a gesture of desperation, he
tore the mask from his face and hurled it

upon the ground.
"You are right," he cried; "I am the King.

Why should I attempt to conceal it?"

"Why, indeed?" murmured Holmes.

"Your Majesty had not spoken before I was
aware that I was addressing Wilhelm

Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand
Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary

King of Bohemia."

"But you can understand," said our strange
visitor, sitting down once more and passing

his hand over his high white forehead, "you
can understand that I am not accustomed to

doing such business in my own person.

Yet the matter was so delicate that I could
not confide it to an agent without putting

myself in his power.
I have come incognito from Prague for the

purpose of consulting you."

"Then, pray consult," said Holmes, shutting
his eyes once more.

"The facts are briefly these: Some five
years ago, during a lengthy visit to

Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the
well-known adventuress, Irene Adler.

The name is no doubt familiar to you."

"Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,"
murmured Holmes without opening his eyes.

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.

In this case I found her biography
sandwiched in between that of a Hebrew

rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had
written a monograph upon the deep-sea

fishes.

"Let me see!" said Holmes.
"Hum!

Born in New Jersey in the year 1858.
Contralto--hum!

La Scala, hum!

Prima donna Imperial Opera of Warsaw--yes!
Retired from operatic stage--ha!

Living in London--quite so!

Your Majesty, as I understand, became
entangled with this young person, wrote her

some compromising letters, and is now
desirous of getting those letters back."

"Precisely so.

But how--"
"Was there a secret marriage?"

"None."
"No legal papers or certificates?"

"None."

"Then I fail to follow your Majesty.
If this young person should produce her

letters for blackmailing or other purposes,
how is she to prove their authenticity?"

"There is the writing."

"Pooh, pooh!
Forgery."

"My private note-paper."
"Stolen."

"My own seal."

"Imitated."
"My photograph."

"Bought."
"We were both in the photograph."

"Oh, dear!

That is very bad!
Your Majesty has indeed committed an

indiscretion."
"I was mad--insane."

"You have compromised yourself seriously."

"I was only Crown Prince then.
I was young.

I am but thirty now."
"It must be recovered."

"We have tried and failed."

"Your Majesty must pay.
It must be bought."

"She will not sell."
"Stolen, then."

"Five attempts have been made.

Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her
house.

Once we diverted her luggage when she
travelled.

Twice she has been waylaid.

There has been no result."
"No sign of it?"

"Absolutely none."
Holmes laughed.

"It is quite a pretty little problem," said
he.

"But a very serious one to me," returned
the King reproachfully.

"Very, indeed.

And what does she propose to do with the
photograph?"

"To ruin me."
"But how?"

"I am about to be married."

"So I have heard."
"To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen,

second daughter of the King of Scandinavia.
You may know the strict principles of her

family.

She is herself the very soul of delicacy.
A shadow of a doubt as to my conduct would

bring the matter to an end."
"And Irene Adler?"

"Threatens to send them the photograph.

And she will do it.
I know that she will do it.

You do not know her, but she has a soul of
steel.

She has the face of the most beautiful of
women, and the mind of the most resolute of

men.

Rather than I should marry another woman,
there are no lengths to which she would not

go--none."
"You are sure that she has not sent it

yet?"

"I am sure."
"And why?"

"Because she has said that she would send
it on the day when the betrothal was

publicly proclaimed.

That will be next Monday."
"Oh, then we have three days yet," said

Holmes with a yawn.

"That is very fortunate, as I have one or
two matters of importance to look into just

at present.
Your Majesty will, of course, stay in

London for the present?"

"Certainly.
You will find me at the Langham under the

name of the Count Von Kramm."
"Then I shall drop you a line to let you

know how we progress."

"Pray do so.
I shall be all anxiety."

"Then, as to money?"
"You have carte blanche."

"Absolutely?"

"I tell you that I would give one of the
provinces of my kingdom to have that

photograph."
"And for present expenses?"

The King took a heavy chamois leather bag
from under his cloak and laid it on the

table.
"There are three hundred pounds in gold and

seven hundred in notes," he said.

Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of
his note-book and handed it to him.

"And Mademoiselle's address?" he asked.
"Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St.

John's Wood."

Holmes took a note of it.
"One other question," said he.

"Was the photograph a cabinet?"
"It was."

"Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I
trust that we shall soon have some good

news for you.

And good-night, Watson," he added, as the
wheels of the royal brougham rolled down

the street.

"If you will be good enough to call to-
morrow afternoon at three o'clock I should

like to chat this little matter over with
you."

II.
At three o'clock precisely I was at Baker

Street, but Holmes had not yet returned.

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, however long

he might be.

I was already deeply interested in his
inquiry, for, though it was surrounded by

none of the grim and strange features which
were associated with the two crimes which I

have already recorded, still, the nature of

the case and the exalted station of his
client gave it a character of its own.

Indeed, apart from the nature of the
investigation which my friend had on hand,

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.

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.

With a nod he vanished into the bedroom,
whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-

suited and respectable, as of old.

Putting his hands into his pockets, he
stretched out his legs in front of the fire

and laughed heartily for some minutes.

"Well, really!" he cried, and then he
choked and laughed again until he was

obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in
the chair.

"What is it?"

"It's quite too funny.
I am sure you could never guess how I

employed my morning, or what I ended by
doing."

"I can't imagine.

I suppose that you have been watching the
habits, and perhaps the house, of Miss

Irene Adler."
"Quite so; but the sequel was rather

unusual.

I will tell you, however.
I left the house a little after eight

o'clock this morning in the character of a
groom out of work.

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.

Has only one male visitor, but a good deal
of him.

He is dark, handsome, and dashing, never
calls less than once a day, and often

twice.
He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton, of the Inner

Temple.

See the advantages of a cabman as a
confidant.

They had driven him home a dozen times from
Serpentine-mews, and knew all about him.

When I had listened to all they had to
tell, I began to walk up and down near

Briony Lodge once more, and to think over
my plan of campaign.

"This Godfrey Norton was evidently an
important factor in the matter.

He was a lawyer.
That sounded ominous.

What was the relation between them, and
what the object of his repeated visits?

Was she his client, his friend, or his
mistress?

If the former, she had probably transferred
the photograph to his keeping.

If the latter, it was less likely.

On the issue of this question depended
whether I should continue my work at Briony

Lodge, or turn my attention to the
gentleman's chambers in the Temple.

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 sprang out.

He was a remarkably handsome man, dark,
aquiline, and moustached--evidently the man

of whom I had heard.

He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted
to the cabman to wait, and brushed past the

maid who opened the door with the air of a
man who was thoroughly at home.

"He was in the house about half an hour,
and I could catch glimpses of him in the

windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and
down, talking excitedly, and waving his

arms.

Of her I could see nothing.
Presently he emerged, looking even more

flurried than before.

As he stepped up to the cab, he pulled a
gold watch from his pocket and looked at it

earnestly, 'Drive like the devil,' he
shouted, 'first to Gross & Hankey's in

Regent Street, and then to the Church of
St. Monica in the Edgeware Road.

Half a guinea if you do it in twenty
minutes!'

"Away they went, and I was just wondering
whether I should not do well to follow them

when up the lane came a neat little landau,
the coachman with his coat only half-

buttoned, and his tie under his ear, while

all the tags of his harness were sticking
out of the buckles.

It hadn't pulled up before she shot out of
the hall door and into it.

I only caught a glimpse of her at the
moment, but she was a lovely woman, with a

face that a man might die for.

"'The Church of St. Monica, John,' she
cried, 'and half a sovereign if you reach

it in twenty minutes.'
"This was quite too good to lose, Watson.

I was just balancing whether I should run
for it, or whether I should perch behind

her landau when a cab came through the
street.

The driver looked twice at such a shabby
fare, but I jumped in before he could

'The Church of St. Monica,' said I, 'and
half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty

object.

minutes.'

It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and
of course it was clear enough what was in

the wind.
"My cabby drove fast.

I don't think I ever drove faster, but the
others were there before us.

The cab and the landau with their steaming
horses were in front of the door when I

arrived.

I paid the man and hurried into the church.
There was not a soul there save the two

whom I had followed and a surpliced
clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating

with them.

They were all three standing in a knot in
front of the altar.

I lounged up the side aisle like any other
idler who has dropped into a church.

Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the
altar faced round to me, and Godfrey Norton

came running as hard as he could towards
me.

"'Thank God,' he cried.

'You'll do.
Come!

Come!'
"'What then?'

I asked.

"'Come, man, come, only three minutes, or
it won't be legal.'

"I was half-dragged up to the altar, and
before I knew where I was I found myself

mumbling responses which were whispered in
my ear, and vouching for things of which I

knew nothing, and generally assisting in

the secure tying up of Irene Adler,
spinster, to Godfrey Norton, bachelor.

It was all done in an instant, and there
was the gentleman thanking me on the one

side and the lady on the other, while the
clergyman beamed on me in front.

It was the most preposterous position in
which I ever found myself in my life, and

it was the thought of it that started me
laughing just now.

It seems that there had been some
informality about their license, that the

clergyman absolutely refused to marry them
without a witness of some sort, and that my

lucky appearance saved the bridegroom from

having to sally out into the streets in
search of a best man.

The bride gave me a sovereign, and I mean
to wear it on my watch-chain in memory of

the occasion."

"This is a very unexpected turn of
affairs," said I; "and what then?"

"Well, I found my plans very seriously
menaced.

It looked as if the pair might take an
immediate departure, and so necessitate

very prompt and energetic measures on my
part.

At the church door, however, they
separated, he driving back to the Temple,

and she to her own house.
'I shall drive out in the park at five as

usual,' she said as she left him.

I heard no more.
They drove away in different directions,

and I went off 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 co-
operation."

"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. Turner 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, or Madame, rather, 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 you 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.

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.

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 lighted as we paced up and down

in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the
coming of its occupant.

The house was just such 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.

"You see," remarked Holmes, as we paced to
and fro in front of the house, "this

marriage rather simplifies matters.
The photograph becomes a double-edged

weapon now.

The chances are that she would be as averse
to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton, as

our client is to its coming to the eyes of
his princess.

Now the question is, Where are we to find
the photograph?"

"Where, indeed?"
"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, that 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 business man.

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.

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 intrusted 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.

I caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and
a moment later the voice of Holmes from

within assuring them that it was a false
alarm.

Slipping through the shouting crowd I made
my way to the corner of the street, and in

ten minutes was rejoiced to find my
friend's arm in mine, and to get away from

the scene of uproar.

He walked swiftly and in silence for some
few minutes until we had turned down one of

the quiet streets which lead towards the
Edgeware Road.

"You did it very nicely, Doctor," he
remarked.

"Nothing could have 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.

"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?"
"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.

The alarm of fire was admirably done.

The smoke and shouting were enough to shake
nerves of steel.

She responded beautifully.

The photograph is 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 she half-drew it out.

When I cried out that it was a false alarm,
she replaced it, glanced at the rocket,

rushed from the room, and I have not seen
her since.

I rose, and, making my excuses, escaped
from the house.

I hesitated whether to attempt to secure
the photograph at once; but the coachman

had come in, and as he was watching me
narrowly it seemed safer to wait.

A little over-precipitance may ruin all."

"And now?"
I asked.

"Our quest is practically finished.
I shall call with the King to-morrow, and

with you, if you care to come with us.

We will be shown into the sitting-room to
wait for the lady, but it is probable that

when she comes she may find neither us nor
the photograph.

It might be a satisfaction to his Majesty
to regain it with his own hands."

"And when will you call?"
"At eight in the morning.

She will not be up, so that we shall have a
clear field.

Besides, we must be prompt, for this
marriage may mean a complete change in her

life and habits.

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."

III.
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.

"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."
"We must have a cab."

"No, my brougham is waiting."

"Then that will simplify matters."
We descended and started off once 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 future annoyance.

If the lady loves her husband, she does not
love your Majesty.

If she does not love your Majesty, there is
no reason why she should interfere with

your Majesty's plan."

"It is true.
And yet--Well!

I wish she had been of my own station!
What a queen she would have made!"

He relapsed into a moody silence, which was
not broken until we drew up in Serpentine

Avenue.
The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an

elderly woman stood upon the 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 freedom which

it gives.

I sent John, the coachman, to watch you,
ran up stairs, got into my walking-clothes,

as I call them, and came down just as you
departed.

"Well, I followed you to your door, and so
made sure that I was really an object of

interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock
Holmes.

Then I, rather imprudently, wished you
good-night, and started for the Temple to

see my husband.

"We both thought the best resource was
flight, when pursued by so formidable an

antagonist; so you will find the nest empty
when you call to-morrow.

As to the photograph, your client may rest
in peace.

I love and am loved by a better man than
he.

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 NORTON, née

ADLER."

"What a woman--oh, what a woman!" cried the
King of Bohemia, when we had all three 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 a great scandal threatened
to affect the kingdom of Bohemia, and 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.

>

THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by
SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

ADVENTURE II.
THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE

I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock
Holmes, one day in the autumn of last year

and found him in deep conversation with a
very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman

with fiery red hair.

With an apology for my intrusion, I was
about to withdraw when Holmes pulled me

abruptly into the room and closed the door
behind me.

"You could not possibly have come at a
better time, my dear Watson," he said

cordially.
"I was afraid that you were engaged."

"So I am.

Very much so."
"Then I can wait in the next room."

"Not at all.

This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my
partner and helper in many of my most

successful cases, and I have no doubt that
he will be of the utmost use to me in yours

also."

The stout gentleman half rose from his
chair and gave a bob of greeting, with a

quick little questioning glance from his
small fat-encircled eyes.

"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing
into his armchair and putting his

fingertips together, as was his custom when
in judicial moods.

"I know, my dear Watson, that you share my
love of all that is bizarre and outside the

conventions and humdrum routine of everyday
life.

You have shown your relish for it by the
enthusiasm which has prompted you to

chronicle, and, if you will excuse my
saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of

my own little adventures."

"Your cases have indeed been of the
greatest interest to me," I observed.

"You will remember that I remarked the
other day, just before we went into the

very simple problem presented by Miss Mary
Sutherland, that for strange effects and

extraordinary combinations we must go to

life itself, which is always far more
daring than any effort of the imagination."

"A proposition which I took the liberty of
doubting."

"You did, Doctor, but none the less you
must come round to my view, for otherwise I

shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you
until your reason breaks down under them

and acknowledges me to be right.

Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good
enough to call upon me this morning, and to

begin a narrative which promises to be one
of the most singular which I have listened

to for some time.

You have heard me remark that the strangest
and most unique things are very often

connected not with the larger but with the
smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed,

where there is room for doubt whether any
positive crime has been committed.

As far as I have heard it is impossible for
me to say whether the present case is an

instance of crime or not, but the course of
events is certainly among the most singular

that I have ever listened to.

Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the
great kindness to recommence your

narrative.

I ask you not merely because my friend Dr.
Watson has not heard the opening part but

also because the peculiar nature of the
story makes me anxious to have every

possible detail from your lips.

As a rule, when I have heard some slight
indication of the course of events, I am

able to guide myself by the thousands of
other similar cases which occur to my

memory.

In the present instance I am forced to
admit that the facts are, to the best of my

belief, unique."

The portly client puffed out his chest with
an appearance of some little pride and

pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from
the inside pocket of his greatcoat.

As he glanced down the advertisement
column, with his head thrust forward and

the paper flattened out upon his knee, I
took a good look at the man and

endeavoured, after the fashion of my

companion, to read the indications which
might be presented by his dress or

appearance.
I did not gain very much, however, by my

inspection.

Our visitor bore every mark of being an
average commonplace British tradesman,

obese, pompous, and slow.

He wore rather baggy grey shepherd's check
trousers, a not over-clean black frock-

coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab
waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain,

and a square pierced bit of metal dangling
down as an ornament.

A frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat
with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a

chair beside him.

Altogether, look as I would, there was
nothing remarkable about the man save his

blazing red head, and the expression of
extreme chagrin and discontent upon his

features.

Sherlock Holmes' quick eye took in my
occupation, and he shook his head with a

smile as he noticed my questioning glances.

"Beyond the obvious facts that he has at
some time done manual labour, that he takes

snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has
been in China, and that he has done a

considerable amount of writing lately, I
can deduce nothing else."

Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair,
with his forefinger upon the paper, but his

eyes upon my companion.

"How, in the name of good-fortune, did you
know all that, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.

"How did you know, for example, that I did
manual labour.

It's as true as gospel, for I began as a
ship's carpenter."

"Your hands, my dear sir.
Your right hand is quite a size larger than

your left.

You have worked with it, and the muscles
are more developed."

"Well, the snuff, then, and the
Freemasonry?"

"I won't insult your intelligence by
telling you how I read that, especially as,

rather against the strict rules of your
order, you use an arc-and-compass

breastpin."

"Ah, of course, I forgot that.
But the writing?"

"What else can be indicated by that right
cuff so very shiny for five inches, and the

left one with the smooth patch near the
elbow where you rest it upon the desk?"

"Well, but China?"

"The fish that you have tattooed
immediately above your right wrist could

only have been done in China.

I have made a small study of tattoo marks
and have even contributed to the literature

of the subject.

That trick of staining the fishes' scales
of a delicate pink is quite peculiar to

China.

When, in addition, I see a Chinese coin
hanging from your watch-chain, the matter

becomes even more simple."
Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily.

"Well, I never!" said he.

"I thought at first that you had done
something clever, but I see that there was

nothing in it, after all."
"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes,

"that I make a mistake in explaining.

'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know, and
my poor little reputation, such as it is,

will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid.
Can you not find the advertisement, Mr.

Wilson?"

"Yes, I have got it now," he answered with
his thick red finger planted halfway down

the column.
"Here it is.

This is what began it all.

You just read it for yourself, sir."
I took the paper from him and read as

follows:

"TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of
the bequest of the late Ezekiah Hopkins, of

Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is
now another vacancy open which entitles a

member of the League to a salary of 4
pounds a week for purely nominal services.

All red-headed men who are sound in body
and mind and above the age of twenty-one

years, are eligible.

Apply in person on Monday, at eleven
o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of

the League, 7 Pope's Court, Fleet Street."
"What on earth does this mean?"

I ejaculated after I had twice read over
the extraordinary announcement.

Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair,
as was his habit when in high spirits.

"It is a little off the beaten track, isn't
it?" said he.

"And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch
and tell us all about yourself, your

household, and the effect which this
advertisement had upon your fortunes.

You will first make a note, Doctor, of the
paper and the date."

"It is The Morning Chronicle of April 27,
1890.

Just two months ago."

"Very good.
Now, Mr. Wilson?"

"Well, it is just as I have been telling
you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Jabez

Wilson, mopping his forehead; "I have a
small pawnbroker's business at Coburg

Square, near the City.

It's not a very large affair, and of late
years it has not done more than just give

me a living.

I used to be able to keep two assistants,
but now I only keep one; and I would have a

job to pay him but that he is willing to
come for half wages so as to learn the

business."

"What is the name of this obliging youth?"
asked Sherlock Holmes.

"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's
not such a youth, either.

It's hard to say his age.

I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr.
Holmes; and I know very well that he could

better himself and earn twice what I am
able to give him.

But, after all, if he is satisfied, why
should I put ideas in his head?"

"Why, indeed?

You seem most fortunate in having an
employé who comes under the full market

price.
It is not a common experience among

employers in this age.

I don't know that your assistant is not as
remarkable as your advertisement."

"Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr.
Wilson.

"Never was such a fellow for photography.

Snapping away with a camera when he ought
to be improving his mind, and then diving

down into the cellar like a rabbit into its
hole to develop his pictures.

That is his main fault, but on the whole
he's a good worker.

There's no vice in him."
"He is still with you, I presume?"

"Yes, sir.

He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit
of simple cooking and keeps the place

clean--that's all I have in the house, for
I am a widower and never had any family.

We live very quietly, sir, the three of us;
and we keep a roof over our heads and pay

our debts, if we do nothing more.
"The first thing that put us out was that

advertisement.

Spaulding, he came down into the office
just this day eight weeks, with this very

paper in his hand, and he says:
"'I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I

was a red-headed man.'

"'Why that?'
I asks.

"'Why,' says he, 'here's another vacancy on
the League of the Red-headed Men.

It's worth quite a little fortune to any
man who gets it, and I understand that

there are more vacancies than there are
men, so that the trustees are at their

wits' end what to do with the money.

If my hair would only change colour, here's
a nice little crib all ready for me to step

into.'
"'Why, what is it, then?'

I asked.

You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a very stay-at-
home man, and as my business came to me

instead of my having to go to it, I was
often weeks on end without putting my foot

over the door-mat.

In that way I didn't know much of what was
going on outside, and I was always glad of

a bit of news.

"'Have you never heard of the League of the
Red-headed Men?' he asked with his eyes

open.
"'Never.'

"'Why, I wonder at that, for you are
eligible yourself for one of the

vacancies.'
"'And what are they worth?'

I asked.

"'Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year,
but the work is slight, and it need not

interfere very much with one's other
occupations.'

"Well, you can easily think that that made
me prick up my ears, for the business has

not been over-good for some years, and an
extra couple of hundred would have been

very handy.

"'Tell me all about it,' said I.

"'Well,' said he, showing me the
advertisement, 'you can see for yourself

that the League has a vacancy, and there is
the address where you should apply for

particulars.

As far as I can make out, the League was
founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah

Hopkins, who was very peculiar in his ways.

He was himself red-headed, and he had a
great sympathy for all red-headed men; so

when he died it was found that he had left
his enormous fortune in the hands of

trustees, with instructions to apply the

interest to the providing of easy berths to
men whose hair is of that colour.

From all I hear it is splendid pay and very
little to do.'

"'But,' said I, 'there would be millions of
red-headed men who would apply.'

"'Not so many as you might think,' he
answered.

'You see it is really confined to
Londoners, and to grown men.

This American had started from London when
he was young, and he wanted to do the old

town a good turn.

Then, again, I have heard it is no use your
applying if your hair is light red, or dark

red, or anything but real bright, blazing,
fiery red.

Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. Wilson, you
would just walk in; but perhaps it would

hardly be worth your while to put yourself
out of the way for the sake of a few

hundred pounds.'

"Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may
see for yourselves, that my hair is of a

very full and rich tint, so that it seemed
to me that if there was to be any

competition in the matter I stood as good a
chance as any man that I had ever met.

Vincent Spaulding seemed to know so much
about it that I thought he might prove

useful, so I just ordered him to put up the
shutters for the day and to come right away

with me.

He was very willing to have a holiday, so
we shut the business up and started off for

the address that was given us in the
advertisement.

"I never hope to see such a sight as that
again, Mr. Holmes.

From north, south, east, and west every man
who had a shade of red in his hair had

tramped into the city to answer the
advertisement.

Fleet Street was choked with red-headed
folk, and Pope's Court looked like a

coster's orange barrow.

I should not have thought there were so
many in the whole country as were brought

together by that single advertisement.

Every shade of colour they were--straw,
lemon, orange, brick, Irish-setter, liver,

clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were
not many who had the real vivid flame-

coloured tint.

When I saw how many were waiting, I would
have given it up in despair; but Spaulding

would not hear of it.

How he did it I could not imagine, but he
pushed and pulled and butted until he got

me through the crowd, and right up to the
steps which led to the office.

There was a double stream upon the stair,
some going up in hope, and some coming back

dejected; but we wedged in as well as we
could and soon found ourselves in the

office."

"Your experience has been a most
entertaining one," remarked Holmes as his

client paused and refreshed his memory with
a huge pinch of snuff.

"Pray continue your very interesting
statement."

"There was nothing in the office but a
couple of wooden chairs and a deal table,

behind which sat a small man with a head
that was even redder than mine.

He said a few words to each candidate as he
came up, and then he always managed to find

some fault in them which would disqualify
them.

Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a
very easy matter, after all.

However, when our turn came the little man
was much more favourable to me than to any

of the others, and he closed the door as we
entered, so that he might have a private

word with us.

"'This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,' said my
assistant, 'and he is willing to fill a

vacancy in the League.'
"'And he is admirably suited for it,' the

other answered.

'He has every requirement.
I cannot recall when I have seen anything

so fine.'

He took a step backward, cocked his head on
one side, and gazed at my hair until I felt

quite bashful.

Then suddenly he plunged forward, wrung my
hand, and congratulated me warmly on my

success.
"'It would be injustice to hesitate,' said

'You will, however, I am sure, excuse me
for taking an obvious precaution.'

he.

With that he seized my hair in both his
hands, and tugged until I yelled with the

pain.

'There is water in your eyes,' said he as
he released me.

'I perceive that all is as it should be.

But we have to be careful, for we have
twice been deceived by wigs and once by

paint.
I could tell you tales of cobbler's wax

which would disgust you with human nature.'

He stepped over to the window and shouted
through it at the top of his voice that the

vacancy was filled.

A groan of disappointment came up from
below, and the folk all trooped away in

different directions until there was not a
red-head to be seen except my own and that

of the manager.

"'My name,' said he, 'is Mr. Duncan Ross,
and I am myself one of the pensioners upon

the fund left by our noble benefactor.
Are you a married man, Mr. Wilson?

Have you a family?'

"I answered that I had not.
"His face fell immediately.

"'Dear me!' he said gravely, 'that is very
serious indeed!

I am sorry to hear you say that.

The fund was, of course, for the
propagation and spread of the red-heads as

well as for their maintenance.
It is exceedingly unfortunate that you

should be a bachelor.'

"My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes,
for I thought that I was not to have the

vacancy after all; but after thinking it
over for a few minutes he said that it

would be all right.

"'In the case of another,' said he, 'the
objection might be fatal, but we must

stretch a point in favour of a man with
such a head of hair as yours.

When shall you be able to enter upon your
new duties?'

"'Well, it is a little awkward, for I have
a business already,' said I.

"'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!'
said Vincent Spaulding.

'I should be able to look after that for
you.'

"'What would be the hours?'

I asked.
"'Ten to two.'

"Now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done
of an evening, Mr. Holmes, especially

Thursday and Friday evening, which is just
before pay-day; so it would suit me very

well to earn a little in the mornings.

Besides, I knew that my assistant was a
good man, and that he would see to anything

that turned up.
"'That would suit me very well,' said I.

'And the pay?'

"'Is 4 pounds a week.'
"'And the work?'

"'Is purely nominal.'
"'What do you call purely nominal?'

"'Well, you have to be in the office, or at
least in the building, the whole time.

If you leave, you forfeit your whole
position forever.

The will is very clear upon that point.

You don't comply with the conditions if you
budge from the office during that time.'

"'It's only four hours a day, and I should
not think of leaving,' said I.

"'No excuse will avail,' said Mr. Duncan
Ross; 'neither sickness nor business nor

anything else.
There you must stay, or you lose your

billet.'

"'And the work?'
"'Is to copy out the "Encyclopaedia

Britannica."
There is the first volume of it in that

press.

You must find your own ink, pens, and
blotting-paper, but we provide this table

and chair.
Will you be ready to-morrow?'

"'Certainly,' I answered.

"'Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let
me congratulate you once more on the

important position which you have been
fortunate enough to gain.'

He bowed me out of the room and I went home
with my assistant, hardly knowing what to

say or do, I was so pleased at my own good
fortune.

"Well, I thought over the matter all day,
and by evening I was in low spirits again;

for I had quite persuaded myself that the
whole affair must be some great hoax or

fraud, though what its object might be I
could not imagine.

It seemed altogether past belief that
anyone could make such a will, or that they

would pay such a sum for doing anything so
simple as copying out the 'Encyclopaedia

Britannica.'

Vincent Spaulding did what he could to
cheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned

myself out of the whole thing.

However, in the morning I determined to
have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a

penny bottle of ink, and with a quill-pen,
and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I

started off for Pope's Court.

"Well, to my surprise and delight,
everything was as right as possible.

The table was set out ready for me, and Mr.
Duncan Ross was there to see that I got

fairly to work.

He started me off upon the letter A, and
then he left me; but he would drop in from

time to time to see that all was right with
me.

At two o'clock he bade me good-day,
complimented me upon the amount that I had

written, and locked the door of the office
after me.

"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes,
and on Saturday the manager came in and

planked down four golden sovereigns for my
week's work.

It was the same next week, and the same the
week after.

Every morning I was there at ten, and every
afternoon I left at two.

By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to coming
in only once of a morning, and then, after

a time, he did not come in at all.

Still, of course, I never dared to leave
the room for an instant, for I was not sure

when he might come, and the billet was such
a good one, and suited me so well, that I

would not risk the loss of it.

"Eight weeks passed away like this, and I
had written about Abbots and Archery and

Armour and Architecture and Attica, and
hoped with diligence that I might get on to

the B's before very long.

It cost me something in foolscap, and I had
pretty nearly filled a shelf with my

writings.
And then suddenly the whole business came

to an end."

"To an end?"
"Yes, sir.

And no later than this morning.

I went to my work as usual at ten o'clock,
but the door was shut and locked, with a

little square of cardboard hammered on to
the middle of the panel with a tack.

Here it is, and you can read for yourself."

He held up a piece of white cardboard about
the size of a sheet of note-paper.

It read in this fashion:
THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE

IS

DISSOLVED.
October 9, 1890.

Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt
announcement and the rueful face behind it,

until the comical side of the affair so
completely overtopped every other

consideration that we both burst out into a
roar of laughter.

"I cannot see that there is anything very
funny," cried our client, flushing up to

the roots of his flaming head.

"If you can do nothing better than laugh at
me, I can go elsewhere."

"No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back
into the chair from which he had half

risen.

"I really wouldn't miss your case for the
world.

It is most refreshingly unusual.
But there is, if you will excuse my saying

so, something just a little funny about it.

Pray what steps did you take when you found
the card upon the door?"

"I was staggered, sir.
I did not know what to do.

Then I called at the offices round, but
none of them seemed to know anything about

it.

Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an
accountant living on the ground-floor, and

I asked him if he could tell me what had
become of the Red-headed League.

He said that he had never heard of any such
body.

Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was.
He answered that the name was new to him.

"'Well,' said I, 'the gentleman at No. 4.'

"'What, the red-headed man?'
"'Yes.'

"'Oh,' said he, 'his name was William
Morris.

He was a solicitor and was using my room as
a temporary convenience until his new

premises were ready.
He moved out yesterday.'

"'Where could I find him?'

"'Oh, at his new offices.
He did tell me the address.

Yes, 17 King Edward Street, near St.
Paul's.'

"I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got
to that address it was a manufactory of

artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had
ever heard of either Mr. William Morris or

Mr. Duncan Ross."

"And what did you do then?" asked Holmes.
"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I

took the advice of my assistant.
But he could not help me in any way.

He could only say that if I waited I should
hear by post.

But that was not quite good enough, Mr.
Holmes.

I did not wish to lose such a place without
a struggle, so, as I had heard that you

were good enough to give advice to poor
folk who were in need of it, I came right

away to you."

"And you did very wisely," said Holmes.
"Your case is an exceedingly remarkable

one, and I shall be happy to look into it.

From what you have told me I think that it
is possible that graver issues hang from it

than might at first sight appear."
"Grave enough!" said Mr. Jabez Wilson.

"Why, I have lost four pound a week."

"As far as you are personally concerned,"
remarked Holmes, "I do not see that you

have any grievance against this
extraordinary league.

On the contrary, you are, as I understand,
richer by some 30 pounds, to say nothing of

the minute knowledge which you have gained
on every subject which comes under the

letter A.

You have lost nothing by them."
"No, sir.

But I want to find out about them, and who
they are, and what their object was in

playing this prank--if it was a prank--upon
me.

It was a pretty expensive joke for them,
for it cost them two and thirty pounds."

"We shall endeavour to clear up these
points for you.

And, first, one or two questions, Mr.
Wilson.

This assistant of yours who first called
your attention to the advertisement--how

long had he been with you?"

"About a month then."
"How did he come?"

"In answer to an advertisement."
"Was he the only applicant?"

"No, I had a dozen."

"Why did you pick him?"
"Because he was handy and would come

cheap."
"At half-wages, in fact."

"Yes."

"What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?"
"Small, stout-built, very quick in his

ways, no hair on his face, though he's not
short of thirty.

Has a white splash of acid upon his
forehead."

Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable
excitement.

"I thought as much," said he.

"Have you ever observed that his ears are
pierced for earrings?"

"Yes, sir.
He told me that a gipsy had done it for him

when he was a lad."

"Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep
thought.

"He is still with you?"
"Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him."

"And has your business been attended to in
your absence?"

"Nothing to complain of, sir.
There's never very much to do of a

morning."

"That will do, Mr. Wilson.
I shall be happy to give you an opinion

upon the subject in the course of a day or
two.

To-day is Saturday, and I hope that by
Monday we may come to a conclusion."

"Well, Watson," said Holmes when our
visitor had left us, "what do you make of

it all?"

"I make nothing of it," I answered frankly.
"It is a most mysterious business."

"As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre
a thing is the less mysterious it proves to

be.

It is your commonplace, featureless crimes
which are really puzzling, just as a

commonplace face is the most difficult to
identify.

But I must be prompt over this matter."

"What are you going to do, then?"
I asked.

"To smoke," he answered.

"It is quite a three pipe problem, and I
beg that you won't speak to me for fifty

minutes."

He curled himself up in his chair, with his
thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose,

and there he sat with his eyes closed and
his black clay pipe thrusting out like the

bill of some strange bird.

I had come to the conclusion that he had
dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding

myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his
chair with the gesture of a man who has

made up his mind and put his pipe down upon
the mantelpiece.

"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall
this afternoon," he remarked.

"What do you think, Watson?

Could your patients spare you for a few
hours?"

"I have nothing to do to-day.
My practice is never very absorbing."

"Then put on your hat and come.

I am going through the City first, and we
can have some lunch on the way.

I observe that there is a good deal of
German music on the programme, which is

rather more to my taste than Italian or
French.

It is introspective, and I want to
introspect.

Come along!"

We travelled by the Underground as far as
Aldersgate; and a short walk took us to

Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the
singular story which we had listened to in

the morning.

It was a poky, little, shabby-genteel
place, where four lines of dingy two-

storied brick houses looked out into a
small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of

weedy grass and a few clumps of faded

laurel-bushes made a hard fight against a
smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere.

Three gilt balls and a brown board with
"JABEZ WILSON" in white letters, upon a

corner house, announced the place where our
red-headed client carried on his business.

Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with
his head on one side and looked it all

over, with his eyes shining brightly
between puckered lids.

Then he walked slowly up the street, and
then down again to the corner, still

looking keenly at the houses.

Finally he returned to the pawnbroker's,
and, having thumped vigorously upon the

pavement with his stick two or three times,
he went up to the door and knocked.

It was instantly opened by a bright-
looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who

asked him to step in.

"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wished to
ask you how you would go from here to the

Strand."
"Third right, fourth left," answered the

assistant promptly, closing the door.

"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we
walked away.

"He is, in my judgment, the fourth smartest
man in London, and for daring I am not sure

that he has not a claim to be third.

I have known something of him before."
"Evidently," said I, "Mr. Wilson's

assistant counts for a good deal in this
mystery of the Red-headed League.

I am sure that you inquired your way merely
in order that you might see him."

"Not him."
"What then?"

"The knees of his trousers."

"And what did you see?"
"What I expected to see."

"Why did you beat the pavement?"
"My dear doctor, this is a time for

observation, not for talk.

We are spies in an enemy's country.
We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square.

Let us now explore the parts which lie
behind it."

The road in which we found ourselves as we
turned round the corner from the retired

Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a
contrast to it as the front of a picture

does to the back.

It was one of the main arteries which
conveyed the traffic of the City to the

north and west.

The roadway was blocked with the immense
stream of commerce flowing in a double tide

inward and outward, while the footpaths
were black with the hurrying swarm of

pedestrians.

It was difficult to realise as we looked at
the line of fine shops and stately business

premises that they really abutted on the
other side upon the faded and stagnant

square which we had just quitted.

"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the
corner and glancing along the line, "I

should like just to remember the order of
the houses here.

It is a hobby of mine to have an exact
knowledge of London.

There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the
little newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of

the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian
Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-

building depot.

That carries us right on to the other
block.

And now, Doctor, we've done our work, so
it's time we had some play.

A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then
off to violin-land, where all is sweetness

and delicacy and harmony, and there are no
red-headed clients to vex us with their

conundrums."

My friend was an enthusiastic musician,
being himself not only a very capable

performer but a composer of no ordinary
merit.

All the afternoon he sat in the stalls
wrapped in the most perfect happiness,

gently waving his long, thin fingers in
time to the music, while his gently smiling

face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as

unlike those of Holmes the sleuth-hound,
Holmes the relentless, keen-witted, ready-

handed criminal agent, as it was possible
to conceive.

In his singular character the dual nature
alternately asserted itself, and his

extreme exactness and astuteness
represented, as I have often thought, the

reaction against the poetic and

contemplative mood which occasionally
predominated in him.

The swing of his nature took him from
extreme languor to devouring energy; and,

as I knew well, he was never so truly
formidable as when, for days on end, he had

been lounging in his armchair amid his

improvisations and his black-letter
editions.

Then it was that the lust of the chase
would suddenly come upon him, and that his

brilliant reasoning power would rise to the
level of intuition, until those who were

unacquainted with his methods would look

askance at him as on a man whose knowledge
was not that of other mortals.

When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped
in the music at St. James's Hall I felt

that an evil time might be coming upon
those whom he had set himself to hunt down.

"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he
remarked as we emerged.

"Yes, it would be as well."
"And I have some business to do which will

take some hours.

This business at Coburg Square is serious."
"Why serious?"

"A considerable crime is in contemplation.
I have every reason to believe that we

shall be in time to stop it.

But to-day being Saturday rather
complicates matters.

I shall want your help to-night."
"At what time?"

"Ten will be early enough."

"I shall be at Baker Street at ten."
"Very well.

And, I say, Doctor, there may be some
little danger, so kindly put your army

revolver in your pocket."

He waved his hand, turned on his heel, and
disappeared in an instant among the crowd.

I trust that I am not more dense than my
neighbours, but I was always oppressed with

a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings
with Sherlock Holmes.

Here I had heard what he had heard, I had
seen what he had seen, and yet from his

words it was evident that he saw clearly
not only what had happened but what was

about to happen, while to me the whole
business was still confused and grotesque.

As I drove home to my house in Kensington I
thought over it all, from the extraordinary

story of the red-headed copier of the
"Encyclopaedia" down to the visit to Saxe-

Coburg Square, and the ominous words with
which he had parted from me.

What was this nocturnal expedition, and why
should I go armed?

Where were we going, and what were we to
do?

I had the hint from Holmes that this
smooth-faced pawnbroker's assistant was a

formidable man--a man who might play a deep
game.

I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in
despair and set the matter aside until

night should bring an explanation.

It was a quarter-past nine when I started
from home and made my way across the Park,

and so through Oxford Street to Baker
Street.

Two hansoms were standing at the door, and
as I entered the passage I heard the sound

of voices from above.

On entering his room I found Holmes in
animated conversation with two men, one of

whom I recognised as Peter Jones, the
official police agent, while the other was

a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a very

shiny hat and oppressively respectable
frock-coat.

"Ha!

Our party is complete," said Holmes,
buttoning up his pea-jacket and taking his

heavy hunting crop from the rack.
"Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of

Scotland Yard?

Let me introduce you to Mr. Merryweather,
who is to be our companion in to-night's

adventure."

"We're hunting in couples again, Doctor,
you see," said Jones in his consequential

way.
"Our friend here is a wonderful man for

starting a chase.

All he wants is an old dog to help him to
do the running down."

"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be
the end of our chase," observed Mr.

Merryweather gloomily.

"You may place considerable confidence in
Mr. Holmes, sir," said the police agent

loftily.

"He has his own little methods, which are,
if he won't mind my saying so, just a

little too theoretical and fantastic, but
he has the makings of a detective in him.

It is not too much to say that once or
twice, as in that business of the Sholto

murder and the Agra treasure, he has been
more nearly correct than the official

force."

"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all
right," said the stranger with deference.

"Still, I confess that I miss my rubber.

It is the first Saturday night for seven-
and-twenty years that I have not had my

rubber."

"I think you will find," said Sherlock
Holmes, "that you will play for a higher

stake to-night than you have ever done yet,
and that the play will be more exciting.

For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will
be some 30,000 pounds; and for you, Jones,

it will be the man upon whom you wish to
lay your hands."

"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher,
and forger.

He's a young man, Mr. Merryweather, but he
is at the head of his profession, and I

would rather have my bracelets on him than
on any criminal in London.

He's a remarkable man, is young John Clay.

His grandfather was a royal duke, and he
himself has been to Eton and Oxford.

His brain is as cunning as his fingers, and
though we meet signs of him at every turn,

we never know where to find the man
himself.

He'll crack a crib in Scotland one week,
and be raising money to build an orphanage

in Cornwall the next.
I've been on his track for years and have

never set eyes on him yet."

"I hope that I may have the pleasure of
introducing you to-night.

I've had one or two little turns also with
Mr. John Clay, and I agree with you that he

is at the head of his profession.

It is past ten, however, and quite time
that we started.

If you two will take the first hansom,
Watson and I will follow in the second."

Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative
during the long drive and lay back in the

cab humming the tunes which he had heard in
the afternoon.

We rattled through an endless labyrinth of
gas-lit streets until we emerged into

Farrington Street.
"We are close there now," my friend

remarked.

"This fellow Merryweather is a bank
director, and personally interested in the

matter.
I thought it as well to have Jones with us

also.

He is not a bad fellow, though an absolute
imbecile in his profession.

He has one positive virtue.

He is as brave as a bulldog and as
tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws

upon anyone.
Here we are, and they are waiting for us."

We had reached the same crowded
thoroughfare in which we had found

ourselves in the morning.

Our cabs were dismissed, and, following the
guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed

down a narrow passage and through a side
door, which he opened for us.

Within there was a small corridor, which
ended in a very massive iron gate.

This also was opened, and led down a flight
of winding stone steps, which terminated at

another formidable gate.

Mr. Merryweather stopped to light a
lantern, and then conducted us down a dark,

earth-smelling passage, and so, after
opening a third door, into a huge vault or

cellar, which was piled all round with
crates and massive boxes.

"You are not very vulnerable from above,"
Holmes remarked as he held up the lantern

and gazed about him.

"Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather,
striking his stick upon the flags which

lined the floor.
"Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!" he

remarked, looking up in surprise.

"I must really ask you to be a little more
quiet!" said Holmes severely.

"You have already imperilled the whole
success of our expedition.

Might I beg that you would have the
goodness to sit down upon one of those

boxes, and not to interfere?"

The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself
upon a crate, with a very injured

expression upon his face, while Holmes fell
upon his knees upon the floor and, with the

lantern and a magnifying lens, began to

examine minutely the cracks between the
stones.

A few seconds sufficed to satisfy him, for
he sprang to his feet again and put his

glass in his pocket.

"We have at least an hour before us," he
remarked, "for they can hardly take any

steps until the good pawnbroker is safely
in bed.

Then they will not lose a minute, for the
sooner they do their work the longer time

they will have for their escape.

We are at present, Doctor--as no doubt you
have divined--in the cellar of the City

branch of one of the principal London
banks.

Mr. Merryweather is the chairman of
directors, and he will explain to you that

there are reasons why the more daring
criminals of London should take a

considerable interest in this cellar at
present."

"It is our French gold," whispered the
director.

"We have had several warnings that an
attempt might be made upon it."

"Your French gold?"

"Yes. We had occasion some months ago to
strengthen our resources and borrowed for

that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank
of France.

It has become known that we have never had
occasion to unpack the money, and that it

is still lying in our cellar.

The crate upon which I sit contains 2,000
napoleons packed between layers of lead

foil.

Our reserve of bullion is much larger at
present than is usually kept in a single

branch office, and the directors have had
misgivings upon the subject."

"Which were very well justified," observed
Holmes.

"And now it is time that we arranged our
little plans.

I expect that within an hour matters will
come to a head.

In the meantime Mr. Merryweather, we must
put the screen over that dark lantern."

"And sit in the dark?"

"I am afraid so.
I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket,

and I thought that, as we were a partie
carrée, you might have your rubber after

all.

But I see that the enemy's preparations
have gone so far that we cannot risk the

presence of a light.
And, first of all, we must choose our

positions.

These are daring men, and though we shall
take them at a disadvantage, they may do us

some harm unless we are careful.
I shall stand behind this crate, and do you

conceal yourselves behind those.

Then, when I flash a light upon them, close
in swiftly.

If they fire, Watson, have no compunction
about shooting them down."

I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top
of the wooden case behind which I crouched.

Holmes shot the slide across the front of
his lantern and left us in pitch darkness--

such an absolute darkness as I have never
before experienced.

The smell of hot metal remained to assure
us that the light was still there, ready to

flash out at a moment's notice.

To me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch
of expectancy, there was something

depressing and subduing in the sudden
gloom, and in the cold dank air of the

vault.

"They have but one retreat," whispered
Holmes.

"That is back through the house into Saxe-
Coburg Square.

I hope that you have done what I asked you,
Jones?"

"I have an inspector and two officers
waiting at the front door."

"Then we have stopped all the holes.

And now we must be silent and wait."
What a time it seemed!

From comparing notes afterwards it was but
an hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to

me that the night must have almost gone and
the dawn be breaking above us.

My limbs were weary and stiff, for I feared
to change my position; yet my nerves were

worked up to the highest pitch of tension,
and my hearing was so acute that I could

not only hear the gentle breathing of my

companions, but I could distinguish the
deeper, heavier in-breath of the bulky

Jones from the thin, sighing note of the
bank director.

From my position I could look over the case
in the direction of the floor.

Suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a
light.

At first it was but a lurid spark upon the
stone pavement.

Then it lengthened out until it became a
yellow line, and then, without any warning

or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand
appeared, a white, almost womanly hand,

which felt about in the centre of the
little area of light.

For a minute or more the hand, with its
writhing fingers, protruded out of the

floor.

Then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it
appeared, and all was dark again save the

single lurid spark which marked a chink
between the stones.

Its disappearance, however, was but
momentary.

With a rending, tearing sound, one of the
broad, white stones turned over upon its

side and left a square, gaping hole,
through which streamed the light of a

lantern.

Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut,
boyish face, which looked keenly about it,

and then, with a hand on either side of the
aperture, drew itself shoulder-high and

waist-high, until one knee rested upon the
edge.

In another instant he stood at the side of
the hole and was hauling after him a

companion, lithe and small like himself,
with a pale face and a shock of very red

"It's all clear," he whispered.
"Have you the chisel and the bags?

hair.

Great Scott!
Jump, Archie, jump, and I'll swing for it!"

Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized
the intruder by the collar.

The other dived down the hole, and I heard
the sound of rending cloth as Jones

clutched at his skirts.

The light flashed upon the barrel of a
revolver, but Holmes' hunting crop came

down on the man's wrist, and the pistol
clinked upon the stone floor.

"It's no use, John Clay," said Holmes
blandly.

"You have no chance at all."
"So I see," the other answered with the

utmost coolness.

"I fancy that my pal is all right, though I
see you have got his coat-tails."

"There are three men waiting for him at the
door," said Holmes.

"Oh, indeed!

You seem to have done the thing very
completely.

I must compliment you."
"And I you," Holmes answered.

"Your red-headed idea was very new and
effective."

"You'll see your pal again presently," said
Jones.

"He's quicker at climbing down holes than I
am.

Just hold out while I fix the derbies."

"I beg that you will not touch me with your
filthy hands," remarked our prisoner as the

handcuffs clattered upon his wrists.
"You may not be aware that I have royal

blood in my veins.

Have the goodness, also, when you address
me always to say 'sir' and 'please.'"

"All right," said Jones with a stare and a
snigger.

"Well, would you please, sir, march
upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry

your Highness to the police-station?"
"That is better," said John Clay serenely.

He made a sweeping bow to the three of us
and walked quietly off in the custody of

the detective.

"Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather
as we followed them from the cellar, "I do

not know how the bank can thank you or
repay you.

There is no doubt that you have detected
and defeated in the most complete manner

one of the most determined attempts at bank
robbery that have ever come within my

experience."

"I have had one or two little scores of my
own to settle with Mr. John Clay," said

Holmes.

"I have been at some small expense over
this matter, which I shall expect the bank

to refund, but beyond that I am amply
repaid by having had an experience which is

in many ways unique, and by hearing the

very remarkable narrative of the Red-headed
League."

"You see, Watson," he explained in the
early hours of the morning as we sat over a

glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street,
"it was perfectly obvious from the first

that the only possible object of this

rather fantastic business of the
advertisement of the League, and the

copying of the 'Encyclopaedia,' must be to
get this not over-bright pawnbroker out of

the way for a number of hours every day.

It was a curious way of managing it, but,
really, it would be difficult to suggest a

better.

The method was no doubt suggested to Clay's
ingenious mind by the colour of his

accomplice's hair.

The 4 pounds a week was a lure which must
draw him, and what was it to them, who were

playing for thousands?

They put in the advertisement, one rogue
has the temporary office, the other rogue

incites the man to apply for it, and
together they manage to secure his absence

every morning in the week.

From the time that I heard of the assistant
having come for half wages, it was obvious

to me that he had some strong motive for
securing the situation."

"But how could you guess what the motive
was?"

"Had there been women in the house, I
should have suspected a mere vulgar

intrigue.

That, however, was out of the question.
The man's business was a small one, and

there was nothing in his house which could
account for such elaborate preparations,

and such an expenditure as they were at.

It must, then, be something out of the
house.

What could it be?

I thought of the assistant's fondness for
photography, and his trick of vanishing

into the cellar.
The cellar!

There was the end of this tangled clue.

Then I made inquiries as to this mysterious
assistant and found that I had to deal with

one of the coolest and most daring
criminals in London.

He was doing something in the cellar--
something which took many hours a day for

months on end.
What could it be, once more?

I could think of nothing save that he was
running a tunnel to some other building.

"So far I had got when we went to visit the
scene of action.

I surprised you by beating upon the
pavement with my stick.

I was ascertaining whether the cellar
stretched out in front or behind.

It was not in front.

Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the
assistant answered it.

We have had some skirmishes, but we had
never set eyes upon each other before.

I hardly looked at his face.

His knees were what I wished to see.
You must yourself have remarked how worn,

wrinkled, and stained they were.
They spoke of those hours of burrowing.

The only remaining point was what they were
burrowing for.

I walked round the corner, saw the City and
Suburban Bank abutted on our friend's

premises, and felt that I had solved my
problem.

When you drove home after the concert I
called upon Scotland Yard and upon the

chairman of the bank directors, with the
result that you have seen."

"And how could you tell that they would
make their attempt to-night?"

I asked.

"Well, when they closed their League
offices that was a sign that they cared no

longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence--
in other words, that they had completed

their tunnel.

But it was essential that they should use
it soon, as it might be discovered, or the

bullion might be removed.

Saturday would suit them better than any
other day, as it would give them two days

for their escape.
For all these reasons I expected them to

come to-night."

"You reasoned it out beautifully," I
exclaimed in unfeigned admiration.

"It is so long a chain, and yet every link
rings true."

"It saved me from ennui," he answered,
yawning.

"Alas!
I already feel it closing in upon me.

My life is spent in one long effort to
escape from the commonplaces of existence.

These little problems help me to do so."
"And you are a benefactor of the race,"

said I.

He shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, perhaps, after all, it is of some

little use," he remarked.
"'L'homme c'est rien--l'oeuvre c'est tout,'

as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand."

>