The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

by Arthur Conan Doyle

I. A Scandal in Bohemia

To Sherlock Holmes, she is always "the woman."
He rarely calls her by name.
Her name was Irene Adler.
To him, she is more special than any other woman.

But Holmes did not love her.
Holmes did not like feelings.
He had a cold, careful mind.
He was the best thinker and watcher in the world.
Feelings could make him make mistakes.
So he stayed away from love.

He only spoke of love with a joke.
Feelings were good to watch in other people.
Feelings helped him understand what people do.
But feelings were not good for him to have.
A strong feeling could hurt his clear thinking.
Still, there was one woman he never forgot.
That woman was Irene Adler.

I had not seen much of Holmes lately.
I got married.
My new home kept me busy.
Holmes did not like being around people.
He stayed in our old rooms on Baker Street.
He read old books there.
Some days he took a drug called cocaine.
Other days he worked hard on cases.

Holmes still loved solving crimes.
He used his sharp mind to solve mysteries.
He solved cases that police could not solve.
I heard small bits of news about him.
He helped solve a murder in Odessa.
He solved a sad case in Trincomalee.
He helped a royal family in Holland.
But I did not know much more about my old friend.

One night, I was walking home from a patient's house.
It was March 20th, 1888.
I walked past Baker Street.
I remembered that street well.
I wanted to see Holmes again.

His windows were bright with light.
I saw his tall shadow walking back and forth.
His head was down.
His hands were behind his back.
I knew this look well.
He was working on a new case!

I rang the bell.
Someone showed me up to his room.

Holmes was not very excited to see me.
He never was.
But I think he was happy.
He waved me to a chair.
He gave me cigars and a drink.
Then he looked at me closely.

"Marriage suits you," he said.
"Watson, you have gained weight."

"Only a little," I said.

"More than a little, I think," said Holmes.
"And you are working as a doctor again.
You did not tell me that."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"I see it. I figure it out.
I also know you got very wet lately.
And your servant girl is clumsy and careless."

"Holmes!" I said.
"This is too much!
I did walk in the rain on Thursday.
But I changed my clothes.
How do you know that?
And yes, my servant Mary Jane is careless.
My wife is letting her go.
But how do you know all this?"

Holmes laughed and rubbed his hands together.

"It is simple," he said.
"Look at your shoe.
There are scratches on the leather.
Someone scraped mud off carelessly.
That tells me you got very wet.
And that your servant is bad at cleaning shoes.

As for your work as a doctor —
you smell like medicine.
Your finger has a black mark from silver nitrate.
Your hat has a bulge where you hide your stethoscope.
So I know you are a busy doctor."

I laughed at how easy this all sounded.
"When you explain it," I said,
"it always sounds so simple.
But I could never see it myself."

"You see things," said Holmes,
"but you do not really look closely.
There is a difference.
For example — you have walked up these stairs many times."

"Yes, many times."

"How many steps are there?"

"I don't know."

"You see, but you do not look closely.
I know there are seventeen steps.
I both see and look closely.

Since you like these small puzzles,
you might like this letter.
It came in the mail today."

He handed me a pink piece of paper.
It had no name and no date.

I read it aloud:

"Someone will visit you tonight.
He will come at a quarter to eight.
He has an important problem.
You have helped royal families before.
We know you can be trusted.
Please wait for him.
He will wear a mask."

"This is a mystery," I said.
"What do you think it means?"

"I do not know yet," said Holmes.
"It is a mistake to guess before we have facts.
But let's look at the letter itself.
What do you notice?"

I looked at the paper carefully.

"The writer must be rich," I said.
"This paper is expensive and strong."

"Good," said Holmes.
"This is not English paper.
Hold it up to the light."

I saw some letters woven into the paper:
a big "E," a small "g,"
a "P," and a big "G" with a small "t."

"What do these letters mean?" asked Holmes.

"Maybe the maker's name?" I guessed.

"Not quite," said Holmes.
"'G' with a small 't' means 'Company' in German.
'P' means 'Paper' in German.
Now let's look at 'Eg' in our book of places."

He pulled out a big book.
"Here it is — Egria.
It is a town in Bohemia.
They make glass and paper there."

"So the paper is from Bohemia," I said.

"Yes!" said Holmes.
"And the writer is German.
Look at how the sentences are written.
Only a German would write this way.
Now we must find out —
what does this masked German man want?
And here he comes now!"

We heard horse hooves outside.
Then wheels stopping.
Then a loud knock at the door.

"Two horses, by the sound," said Holmes.
He looked out the window.
"A fancy carriage.
Very expensive horses.
There is money in this case, Watson."

"Maybe I should go," I said.

"No, stay," said Holmes.
"I need you here.
This will be interesting.
Sit down and watch."

Heavy footsteps came up the stairs.
Then a loud knock.

"Come in!" said Holmes.

A very tall man walked in.
He was over six feet six inches tall.
He was big and strong, like a giant.
His clothes were very fancy — maybe too fancy.
He wore a rich coat with fur trim.
He wore a blue cloak lined with orange silk.
A big jewel called a beryl was pinned at his neck.
His boots came up to his knees.
They had fur trim too.

He held a big hat in his hand.
He wore a black mask over the top of his face.
His hand was still near the mask,
as if he had just put it on.
His mouth and chin showed strength...