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List of works by Sir A. Conan Doyle, the plot of which is played out in the television series The Tale "Study in Crimson Tones" (1887) The Tale "The Sign of Four" (1890) The story "Dancing Men" (included in the collection "The Return of Sherlock Holmes", 1905) The story "Holmes' last business"

In addition to the sixty official works about Sherlock Holmes, there are several semi-official ones. These are works that, on the one hand, are not a recognized part of the "Sherlockian", but on the other, they cannot be discounted, because they are also completely or

Once again about Sherlock Holmes and the police In the story "The Mosquitoes at Rest", after solving the crime between Holmes and the inspector, a curious conversation takes place: "Excuse me, but how can we not feel hurt when you are with your forbidden methods

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Scandal in Bohemia

I

For Sherlock Holmes, she has always been “That Woman”. I have rarely heard him call her by any other name. In his eyes, she overshadowed all representatives of her gender. Not that he had any kind of love for Irene Adler. All feelings, and especially love, were hated by his cold, precise, but surprisingly balanced mind. In my opinion, he was the most perfect thinking and observing machine the world has ever seen; but as a lover he would be out of place. He always spoke of tender feelings only with contemptuous mockery, with mockery. Tender feelings were in his eyes a magnificent object for observation, an excellent means of tearing the veil from human motives and deeds. But for a sophisticated thinker, to allow such an intrusion of feeling into his refined and splendidly adjusted inner world would mean to introduce confusion there, which would nullify all the gains of his thought. A grain of sand caught in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of its mighty lenses - that is what love would be for a man like Holmes. And yet there was one woman for him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, a person of a very, very dubious reputation.

I have rarely seen Holmes lately - my marriage has alienated us from each other. My personal cloudless happiness and purely family interests that arise in a person when he first becomes the master of his own hearth were enough to absorb all my attention. Meanwhile, Holmes, who hated every form of social life with his gypsy soul, remained to live in our apartment on Baker Street, surrounded by piles of his old books, alternating weeks of addiction to cocaine with bouts of ambition, the drowsy state of a drug addict with the wild energy inherent in his nature.

As before, he was deeply involved in the investigation of crimes. He devoted his enormous abilities and extraordinary gift of observation to the search for threads to clarify those secrets that the official police had found incomprehensible. From time to time I heard vague rumors about his affairs: that he had been summoned to Odessa in connection with Trepov's murder, that he had succeeded in shedding light on the mysterious tragedy of the Atkinson brothers in Trincomalee, and, finally, about the commission of the Dutch royal at home, made by him exceptionally subtly and successfully.

However, apart from this information about his activities, which I, like all readers, drew from the newspapers, I knew little about my former friend and comrade.

One night - it was March 20, 1888 - I was returning from a patient (since I was now back into private practice) and my journey took me to Baker Street.

As I walked past the familiar door, which in my mind is forever connected with the memory of the time of my matchmaking and with the dark events of Etude in Crimson, I was seized with a burning desire to see Holmes again and to find out what problems his wonderful mind is working on today. Its windows were brightly lit, and, looking up, I saw his tall, thin figure, which twice flashed in a dark silhouette on the lowered curtain. He quickly, swiftly walked around the room, his head lowered and his hands behind his back. To me, who knew all his moods and habits, his walking from corner to corner and his whole appearance spoke volumes. He went back to work. He shook off his drug-induced foggy dreams and unraveled the threads of some new mystery. I called and was escorted to a room that was once partly mine.

He met me without enthusiastic outpourings. He rarely indulged in such outpourings, but it seems to me that he was glad of my arrival. Almost without words, he invited me to sit down with a friendly gesture, pushed a box of cigars towards me and pointed to the cellar where the wine was kept. Then he stood in front of the fireplace and looked me over with his special, penetrating gaze.

“Family life is good for you,” he said. “I think, Watson, you have gained seven and a half pounds since I saw you.

- At seven.

- True? No, no, a little more. A little more, I assure you. And practice again, as I see it. You didn't tell me you were going to get busy.

- So how do you know this?

- I see it, I draw conclusions. For example, how do I know that you recently got very wet and that your maid is a big slut?

“Dear Holmes,” I said, “this is too much. You would certainly have been burned at the stake if you had lived several centuries ago. It is true that on Thursday I had to be out of town and I returned home all soiled, but I changed my costume, so there were no traces of the rain. As for Mary Jen, she is truly incorrigible, and her wife has already warned that she wants to fire her. And yet I don't understand how you guessed it.

Holmes laughed softly and rubbed his long, nervous hands.

- As easy as pie! - he said. “My eyes notify me that on the inside of your left shoe, just where the light hits, there are six nearly parallel scratches on your skin. Apparently, the scratches were made by someone who wiped the edges of the sole very casually to remove any dried dirt. From this, as you see, I draw the double conclusion that you went out in bad weather and that you have a very bad example of London servants. As for your practice, if a gentleman who smells of iodoform enters my room, if he has a black nitric acid stain on the index finger of his right hand, and a lump on his cylinder indicating where he hid his stethoscope, I must be a complete fool. so as not to recognize him as an active representative of the medical world.

I could not help laughing as I listened to the ease with which he explained to me the way of his conclusions.

“When you reveal your thoughts,” I remarked, “everything seems ridiculously simple to me, I myself could have figured it all out without difficulty. And in each new case, I am completely overwhelmed until you explain to me the course of your thoughts. Meanwhile, I think that my eyesight is no worse than yours.

“Quite right,” Holmes replied, lighting a cigarette and stretching out in an armchair. - You look, but you do not observe, and this is a big difference. For example, have you often seen the stairs leading from the hallway to this room?

- How often?

- Well, several hundred times!

- Well. How many steps are there?

- How many? I didn't pay attention.

- Just about, did not pay attention. And yet you saw! This is the whole point. Well, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I have seen and observed. By the way, you are interested in those little problems that are my craft to solve, and you were even kind enough to describe two or three of my little experiences. Therefore, you may be interested in this letter.

He tossed me a piece of thick pink notepaper that was lying on the table.

“Just received,” he said. - Read it aloud.

The letter was without date, without signature and without address.

Tonight, at a quarter to eight - said in the note, - a gentleman will come to you, who wants to consult you on a very important matter. Your recent service to one of the royal families of Europe has shown that you can be trusted with matters of extreme importance. We have received such feedback about you from all sides. Be at home at this hour and do not think anything bad if your visitor is wearing a mask.

“It's really mysterious,” I remarked. - What do you think it all means?

- I have no data yet. It is dangerous to theorize without data. Unbeknownst to himself, a person begins to manipulate facts in order to fit them into his theory, instead of substantiating the theory with facts. But the note itself! What conclusions can you draw from the note?

I carefully examined the letter and the paper on which it was written.

“Whoever wrote this letter seems to have the means,” I remarked, trying to imitate my friend’s tricks. “Such paper costs at least half a crown per pack. It is very strong and dense.

“Outlandish is the most appropriate word,” said Holmes.

“And this is not English paper. Look at her in the light.

I did so and saw the watermarks on the paper: a big E and a small g, then a P and a big G with a small t.

- What conclusion can you draw from this? Holmes asked.

- This is undoubtedly the name of the manufacturer, or rather his monogram.

- That's wrong! The big G with the small t is an abbreviation for Gesellschaft, which means company in German. This is a common abbreviation, like our "K °". The "P" of course stands for Papier, paper. Let's decipher now "E". Let's take a look at the foreign gazetteer ... ”He pulled out a heavy tome in brown binding from the shelf. - Eglow, Egl? Nitz ... So we found: Egeria. This is a German-speaking area in Bohemia, near Carlsbad. Wallenstein's place of death is famous for its numerous glass factories and paper mills ... Haha, my boy, what conclusion do you draw from this? His eyes flashed with triumph, and he released a large blue cloud from his pipe.

“The paper was made in Bohemia,” I said.

- Exactly. And the person who wrote the note is German. Do you notice the strange construction of the phrase: “We have received such feedback from all sides about you”? A Frenchman or a Russian could not write like that. Only Germans use their verbs so unceremoniously. Consequently, it remains only to find out what this German, who writes on Bohemian paper, and prefers to wear a mask, so as not to show his face ... Here he is, if I am not mistaken. He will resolve all our doubts.

We heard the sharp thud of horses' hooves and the squeal of wheels sliding along the nearest roadside. Soon then, someone pulled the bell violently.

Holmes whistled.

“Judging by the sound, a twin carriage ... Yes,” he continued, looking out the window, “an elegant little carriage and a pair of trotters… one hundred and fifty guineas each. Anyway, this case smells like money, Watson.

"I think I'd better go, Holmes?"

- No, no, stay! What am I going to do without my Boswell? 1
Boswell, James (1740-1795) - biographer of the English writer, critic and lexicographer S. Johnson (1709-1784). His name has become a common noun in English to denote a biographer who registers every detail in the life of his hero.

The case promises to be interesting. It will be a pity if you miss it.

“But your client ...

- Nothing, nothing. I may need your help, and he too ... Well, here he comes. Sit in that chair, Doctor, and be very careful.

The slow, heavy footsteps that we heard on the stairs and in the corridor died down just before our door. Then there was a loud and imperious knock.

- Come in! - said Holmes.

A man came in, barely six feet and six inches tall, of Herculean build. He was dressed luxuriously, but this luxury would be considered vulgar in England. Heavy stripes of astrakhan fur trimmed the sleeves and cuffs of his double-breasted coat; a navy blue cloak draped over his shoulders was lined with fiery red silk and fastened around his neck with a buckle of glittering beryl. Boots, half-calf and lined with expensive brown fur on top, complemented the impression of barbaric splendor that his entire appearance produced. In his hand he held a wide-brimmed hat, and the top of his face was covered by a black mask that dropped below his cheekbones. This mask, which looked like a visor, he apparently just put on, because when he entered, his hand was still up. Judging by the lower part of his face, he was a man of strong will: a thick protruding lip and a long straight chin spoke of decisiveness turning into stubbornness.

- Did you get my note? He asked in a low, rough voice with a strong German accent. - I said that I would come to you. - He looked first at one of us, then at the other, apparently not knowing who to turn to.

- Sit down please. - said Holmes. “This is my friend and comrade, Dr. Watson. He is so kind that he sometimes helps me in my work. With whom do I have the honor to speak?

“You may think that I am Count von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I believe that this gentleman, your friend, is a man worthy of complete trust, and I can devote him to a matter of utmost importance? If this is not the case, I would prefer to talk with you in private.

I got up to leave, but Holmes grabbed my arm and pushed me back into the chair:

“Talk to both of us, or don’t. In the presence of this gentleman, you can say whatever you would say to me in private.

The Count shrugged his broad shoulders.

- In that case, I must first of all take your word that the case, which I will now tell you about, will remain a secret for two years. After two years, it won't matter. At the present time I can say without exaggeration: this whole story is so serious that it can affect the fate of Europe.

“I give you my word,” said Holmes.

“Forgive me this mask,” the strange visitor continued. - The most august person on whose behalf I am acting wished that his confidant remained unknown to you, and I must confess that the title by which I called myself is not entirely accurate.

“I noticed that,” said Holmes dryly.

- The circumstances are very delicate, and it is necessary to take all measures so that because of them a huge scandal does not grow, which could greatly compromise one of the reigning dynasties of Europe. Simply put, the case is related to the reigning house of the Ormsteins, the kings of Bohemia.

“I thought so,” Holmes muttered, settling himself more comfortably in his chair and closing his eyes.

The visitor looked with obvious surprise at the lazy, indifferent man, whom he was undoubtedly described as the most astute and most energetic of all European detectives. Holmes slowly opened his eyes and looked impatiently at his ponderous client.

“If your Majesty deign to devote us to your business,” he remarked, “it will be easier for me to give you advice.

The visitor jumped up from his chair and began to pace the room in great excitement. Then, with a gesture of despair, he tore off the mask from his face and threw it onto the floor.

“You're right,” he exclaimed, “I'm the king! Why would I try to hide it?

- Indeed, why? Your Majesty had not yet begun to speak, as I already knew that before me was Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismund von Ormstein, the Grand Duke of Kassel-Felstein and the hereditary king of Bohemia.

“But you understand,” said our strange visitor, sitting down again and moving his hand over his high white forehead, “you understand that I am not used to personally doing such things! However, the question is so delicate that I could not entrust it to any of the police agents without risking being in his power. I came from Prague incognito specifically to ask you for advice.

“Please contact me,” Holmes said, closing his eyes again.

- The facts are briefly as follows: five years ago, during an extended stay in Warsaw, I met the well-known adventurer Irene Adler. This name is surely familiar to you?

“Please, doctor, look in my file cabinet,” Holmes muttered without opening his eyes.

Many years ago, he set up a system for registering various facts about people and things, so it was difficult to name a person or object about which he could not immediately give information. In this case, I found a biography of Irene Adler between the biography of a Jewish rabbi and that of a chief of staff who wrote a work on deep sea fish.

“Show me,” said Holmes. - Hm! She was born in New Jersey in 1858. Contralto, um ... La Scala, well, well! .. Diva of the Imperial Opera in Warsaw, yes! Left the opera stage, ha! Lives in London ... that's right! Your Majesty, as far as I understand, got into the net of this young lady, wrote incriminating letters to her and now would like to return these letters.

- Quite right. But how?

- You secretly married her?

- No documents or evidence?

- None.

“In that case, I don’t understand you, your majesty. If this young woman wants to use the letters for blackmail or other purposes, how will she prove their authenticity?

- My handwriting.

- Trivia! Forgery.

- My personal letter paper.

- Stolen.

- My personal seal.

- Fake.

- My Photo.

- Purchased.

- But we were photographed together!

- Oh, that's very bad! Your Majesty really made a big mistake.

- I was crazy about Irene.

- You have seriously compromised yourself.

- Then I was only the crown prince. I was young. I'm only thirty now.

- The photo must be returned by all means.

- We tried, but we failed.

- Your Majesty must go to the costs: the photo must be bought.

- Irene does not want to sell it.

“Then you have to steal her.

- Five attempts were made. I hired burglars twice, and they ransacked her entire house. On one occasion when she was traveling, we searched her luggage. Twice she was trapped. We have not achieved any results.

- None?

- Absolutely none.

Holmes laughed.

- Wow task! - he said.

- But for me this is a very serious task! The king objected reproachfully.

- Yes indeed. What does she intend to do with the photograph?

- Destroy me.

- But how?

- I'm going to get married.

- I heard about it.

- On Clotilde Lotmann von Saxe-Meningen. Perhaps you know the strict principles of this family. Clotilde herself is purity embodied. The slightest shadow of doubt about my past would have led to a break.

- And Irene Adler?

“She threatens to send a photograph to my fiance's parents. And he will send, he will certainly send! You don't know her. She has an iron character. Yes, yes, the face of a charming woman, and the soul of a cruel man. She will stop at nothing to prevent me from marrying another.

- Are you sure she hasn't sent the photo to your fiance yet?

- I'm sure.

- Why?

“She said she would send a photo on the day of my official engagement. And this will be next Monday.

- Oh, we have three days left! Holmes said, yawning. “And this is very pleasant, because now I have to do some important things. Your Majesty, of course, will you stay in London for the time being?

- Of course. You can find me at the Langham Hotel under the name of Count von Kramm.

“In that case, I'll send you a note to let you know how the case is going.

- I'm begging you. I'm so worried!

- Well, what about money?

- Spend as much as you find necessary. You are given complete freedom of action.

- Absolutely?

- Oh, I'm ready to give any of the provinces of my kingdom for this photo!

- And for current expenses?

The king took out a heavy leather pouch from behind his cloak and laid it on the table.

“There’s three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred notes,” he said.

Holmes wrote a receipt on a page of his notebook and handed it to the king.

- Mademoiselle's address? - he asked.

- Briony Lodge, Serpantine Avenue, St. Johnswood.

Holmes wrote it down.

“And one more question,” he said. - Was the photo cabinet-sized?

- Yes, armchair.

“And now good night, your majesty, I hope we have good news soon ... Good night, Watson,” he added as the wheels of the royal carriage rattled on the pavement. “Kindly stop by tomorrow at three o'clock, I would like to talk with you about this matter.

II

At exactly three o'clock I was in Baker Street, but Holmes has not yet returned. The housekeeper informed me that he left the house at the beginning of nine. I sat down by the fireplace with the intention of waiting for him, no matter how long I had to wait. I became deeply interested in his investigation, although it was devoid of the bizarre and dark features inherent in the two crimes I have described elsewhere. But the peculiar features of this case and the high position of the client gave the case an unusual character. Even if we leave aside the very content of my friend's research - how successfully, with what skill he immediately mastered the whole situation and what strict, irrefutable logic was in his conclusions! It was a real pleasure for me to follow the quick, dexterous techniques with which he unraveled the most intricate mysteries. I was so used to his unchanging triumphs that the very possibility of failure did not fit into my head.

It was about four o'clock when the door opened and a tipsy groom entered the room, with sideburns, disheveled hair, a sore face, poorly dressed and vulgar. No matter how accustomed I was to my friend's amazing ability to change his appearance, I had to look closely three times before I was convinced that it was indeed Holmes. Nodding to me as he walked, he disappeared into his bedroom, from where he appeared five minutes later in a dark suit, correct as always. Putting his hands in his pockets, he stretched out his legs towards the blazing fireplace and laughed merrily for several minutes.

- Wonderful! He exclaimed, then coughed and burst out laughing again, so much so that at the end he was exhausted and in complete exhaustion leaned back in his chair.

- What's the matter?

- Funny, incredibly funny! I'm sure you will never guess how I spent this morning and what I finally did.

- I can not imagine. I believe you have been observing habits, or perhaps Miss Irene Adler's house.

- Quite right, but the consequences were quite extraordinary ... However, I will tell you in order. At the beginning of nine o'clock I left the house disguised as an unemployed groom. There is an amazing sympathy, a kind of friendship, between everyone who deals with horses. Become a groom and you will learn everything you need. I quickly found Briony Lodge. This is a tiny luxury villa on two floors; she goes out into the street, behind her is the garden. Massive lock on the garden gate. On the right side is a large living room, well furnished, with high windows, almost to the floor, and ridiculous English window shutters that a child could open. There is nothing special behind the house, except that the gallery window can be reached from the roof of the coach house. I walked around this barn from all sides and examined it very carefully, but did not notice anything interesting. Then I walked along the street and saw, as I expected, in an alley adjacent to the garden wall, a stable. I helped the grooms clean the horses and received two pence, a glass of vodka, two packets of tobacco, and plenty of information about Miss Adler and other local people as well. The locals did not interest me at all, but I had to listen to their biographies.

Arthur Conan Doyle

Sherlock Holmes. Big collection

A study in Scarlet

Mr sherlock holmes

MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES

In 1878, I graduated from the University of London with the title of doctor, and immediately went to Netley, where I took a special course for military surgeons. After finishing my studies, I was appointed assistant surgeon to the Fifth Northumberland Rifle Regiment. At that time, the regiment was stationed in India, and before I could reach it, the second war with Afghanistan broke out. Having landed in Bombay, I learned that my regiment had crossed the pass and advanced far into the depths of enemy territory. Together with other officers who had found themselves in the same situation, I set off in pursuit of my regiment; I managed to get safely to Kandahar, where I finally found him and immediately took up my new duties.

For many, this campaign has brought honors and promotions, but I got nothing but failure and misfortune. I was transferred to the Berkshire regiment, with which I fought in the fateful battle of Maiwand. A rifle bullet hit me in the shoulder, shattered a bone and grazed the subclavian artery.

Most likely, I would have fallen into the hands of the merciless Gazi, if not for the loyalty and courage of my orderly Murray, who threw me over the back of a pack horse and managed to safely deliver me to the location of the British units.

Exhausted by the wound and weakened by prolonged hardship, I, along with many other wounded sufferers, were sent by train to the main hospital in Peshaver. There I began to gradually recover and was already so strong that I could move around the ward and even go out onto the veranda to warm myself a little in the sun, when suddenly typhoid fever, the scourge of our Indian colonies, fell on me. For several months I was considered almost hopeless, and when I finally returned to life, I could hardly stay on my feet from weakness and exhaustion, and the doctors decided that I must immediately be sent to England. I sailed in the military transport "Orontes" and a month later got off to the pier in Plymouth with irreparably damaged health, but with the permission of the fatherly-caring government to restore it within nine months.

In England I had no close friends or relatives, and I was free like the wind, or rather, like a man who is supposed to live on eleven shillings and sixpence a day. Under such circumstances, I naturally strove to London, to this huge dustbin, where idlers and lazy people from all over the empire inevitably end up. In London I lived for some time in a hotel on the Strand and eked out an uncomfortable and meaningless existence, spending my pennies much more freely than I should have. Finally, my financial situation became so threatening that I soon realized that it was necessary either to flee the capital and vegetate somewhere in the village, or to decisively change my lifestyle. Having chosen the latter, I first decided to leave the hotel and find myself some more unassuming and less expensive accommodation.

The day I came to this decision, someone slapped me on the shoulder in the Criterion bar. When I turned around, I saw young Stamford, who had once worked for me as a paramedic in a London hospital. How nice it is for a lonely person to see a suddenly familiar face in the vast wilds of London! In the old days, Stamford and I were never particularly friendly, but now I greeted him almost with delight, and he too, apparently, was glad to see me. Out of excess of feelings I invited him to have breakfast with me, and we immediately took a cab and drove to Holborn.

What have you done to yourself, Watson? he asked with undisguised curiosity as the cab rattled its wheels through the crowded London streets. - You dried up like a splinter and turned yellow like a lemon!

I briefly told him about my misadventures and barely had time to finish the story, as we reached the place.

Eh, poor fellow! - he sympathized, having learned about my troubles. - Well, what are you doing now?

I am looking for an apartment, - I answered. - I am trying to decide whether there are comfortable rooms in the world at a reasonable price.

That's strange, ”my companion noted,“ you are the second person from whom I hear this phrase today.

Who is the first? I asked.

One guy who works in a chemistry lab at our hospital. This morning he lamented: he had found a very nice apartment and could not find a companion for himself, and he could not afford to pay for it entirely.

Hell! I exclaimed. - If he really wants to share the apartment and expenses, then I am at his service! I, too, are much more pleasant to live together than to live alone!

Young Stamford looked at me vaguely over his glass of wine.

You don't know what this Sherlock Holmes is yet, ”he said. - Perhaps you will not want to live with him in a constant neighborhood.

Why? Why is he bad?

I'm not saying he's bad. Just a little eccentric - an enthusiast in some areas of science. But actually, as far as I know, he is a decent man.

Must be looking to become a medic? I asked.

No, I don't even understand what he wants. I think he knows anatomy very well, and he is a first-class chemist, but it seems that he never studied medicine systematically. He is engaged in science in a completely haphazard and somehow strange way, but he has accumulated a mass of knowledge, seemingly unnecessary for the business, which would surprise professors a lot.

Have you ever asked what his goal is? I asked.

No, it is not so easy to pull something out of him, although if he is carried away by something, it happens that you cannot stop him.

I’m not averse to meeting him, ”I said. - If you really have a neighbor in the apartment, then let it be better it will be a quiet person and busy with his own business. I am not strong enough to endure the noise and all sorts of powerful impressions. I had so much of both in Afghanistan that I had enough for the rest of my life on earth. How can I meet your buddy?

Now he is probably sitting in the laboratory, - answered my companion. - He either does not look there for weeks, or sticks out there from morning to evening. If you want, we'll go to him after breakfast.

Of course I want to, ”I said, and the conversation turned to other topics.

While we were driving from Holborn to the hospital, Stamford managed to tell me about some more features of the gentleman with whom I was going to live together.

Don't be mad at me if you don't get along with him, ”he said. “I only know him from random meetings in the laboratory. You yourself decided on this combination, so do not hold me responsible for the further.

If we don't get along, nothing will prevent us from parting, - I replied. “But it seems to me, Stamford,” I added, looking straight at my companion, “that for some reason you want to wash your hands. Well, this guy has a terrible character, or what? Don't be secretive, for God's sake!

Try to explain the inexplicable, ”Stamford laughed. - For my taste, Holmes is too obsessed with science - for him it already borders on heartlessness. I can easily imagine that he will inject his friend with a small dose of some newly discovered plant alkaloid, not out of malice, of course, but simply out of curiosity, in order to have a visual idea of \u200b\u200bits action. However, we must give him justice, I am sure that he will just as willingly give this injection to himself. He has a passion for accurate and reliable knowledge.

Well, that's not bad.

Yes, but even here you can go to extremes. If it comes to the fact that he pounds the corpses in the anatomical with a stick, you must admit that it looks rather strange.

Is he pounding corpses?

Yes, to check if bruising may appear after death. I saw it with my own eyes.

In 1878, I graduated from the University of London with the title of doctor, and immediately went to Netley, where I took a special course for military surgeons. After finishing my studies, I was appointed assistant surgeon to the Fifth Northumberland Rifle Regiment. At that time, the regiment was stationed in India, and before I could reach it, the second war with Afghanistan broke out. Having landed in Bombay, I learned that my regiment had crossed the pass and advanced far into the depths of enemy territory. Together with other officers who had found themselves in the same situation, I set off in pursuit of my regiment; I managed to get safely to Kandahar, where I finally found him and immediately took up my new duties.

For many, this campaign has brought honors and promotions, but I got nothing but failure and misfortune. I was transferred to the Berkshire regiment, with which I fought in the fateful battle of Maiwand. A rifle bullet hit me in the shoulder, shattered a bone and grazed the subclavian artery.

Most likely, I would have fallen into the hands of the merciless Gazi, if not for the loyalty and courage of my orderly Murray, who threw me over the back of a pack horse and managed to safely deliver me to the location of the British units.

Exhausted by the wound and weakened by prolonged hardship, I, along with many other wounded sufferers, were sent by train to the main hospital in Peshaver. There I began to gradually recover and was already so strong that I could move around the ward and even go out onto the veranda to warm myself a little in the sun, when suddenly typhoid fever, the scourge of our Indian colonies, fell on me. For several months I was considered almost hopeless, and when I finally returned to life, I could hardly stay on my feet from weakness and exhaustion, and the doctors decided that I must immediately be sent to England. I sailed in the military transport "Orontes" and a month later got off to the pier in Plymouth with irreparably damaged health, but with the permission of the fatherly-caring government to restore it within nine months.

In England I had no close friends or relatives, and I was free like the wind, or rather, like a man who is supposed to live on eleven shillings and sixpence a day. Under such circumstances, I naturally strove to London, to this huge dustbin, where idlers and lazy people from all over the empire inevitably end up. In London I lived for some time in a hotel on the Strand and eked out an uncomfortable and meaningless existence, spending my pennies much more freely than I should have. Finally, my financial situation became so threatening that I soon realized that it was necessary either to flee the capital and vegetate somewhere in the village, or to decisively change my lifestyle. Having chosen the latter, I first decided to leave the hotel and find myself some more unassuming and less expensive accommodation.

The day I came to this decision, someone slapped me on the shoulder in the Criterion bar. When I turned around, I saw young Stamford, who had once worked for me as a paramedic in a London hospital. How nice it is for a lonely person to see a suddenly familiar face in the vast wilds of London! In the old days, Stamford and I were never particularly friendly, but now I greeted him almost with delight, and he too, apparently, was glad to see me. Out of excess of feelings I invited him to have breakfast with me, and we immediately took a cab and drove to Holborn.

What have you done to yourself, Watson? he asked with undisguised curiosity as the cab rattled its wheels through the crowded London streets. - You dried up like a splinter and turned yellow like a lemon!

I briefly told him about my misadventures and barely had time to finish the story, as we reached the place.

Eh, poor fellow! - he sympathized, having learned about my troubles. - Well, what are you doing now?

I am looking for an apartment, - I answered. - I am trying to decide whether there are comfortable rooms in the world at a reasonable price.

That's strange, ”my companion noted,“ you are the second person from whom I hear this phrase today.

Who is the first? I asked.

One guy who works in a chemistry lab at our hospital. This morning he lamented: he had found a very nice apartment and could not find a companion for himself, and he could not afford to pay for it entirely.

Hell! I exclaimed. - If he really wants to share the apartment and expenses, then I am at his service! I, too, are much more pleasant to live together than to live alone!

Young Stamford looked at me vaguely over his glass of wine.

You don't know what this Sherlock Holmes is yet, ”he said. - Perhaps you will not want to live with him in a constant neighborhood.

Why? Why is he bad?

I'm not saying he's bad. Just a little eccentric - an enthusiast in some areas of science. But actually, as far as I know, he is a decent man.

Must be looking to become a medic? I asked.

No, I don't even understand what he wants. I think he knows anatomy very well, and he is a first-class chemist, but it seems that he never studied medicine systematically. He is engaged in science in a completely haphazard and somehow strange way, but he has accumulated a mass of knowledge, seemingly unnecessary for the business, which would surprise professors a lot.

Have you ever asked what his goal is? I asked.

No, it is not so easy to pull something out of him, although if he is carried away by something, it happens that you cannot stop him.

I’m not averse to meeting him, ”I said. - If you really have a neighbor in the apartment, then let it be better it will be a quiet person and busy with his own business. I am not strong enough to endure the noise and all sorts of powerful impressions. I had so much of both in Afghanistan that I had enough for the rest of my life on earth. How can I meet your buddy?

Now he is probably sitting in the laboratory, - answered my companion. - He either does not look there for weeks, or sticks out there from morning to evening. If you want, we'll go to him after breakfast.

Of course I want to, ”I said, and the conversation turned to other topics.

While we were driving from Holborn to the hospital, Stamford managed to tell me about some more features of the gentleman with whom I was going to live together.

Don't be mad at me if you don't get along with him, ”he said. “I only know him from random meetings in the laboratory. You yourself decided on this combination, so do not hold me responsible for the further.

If we don't get along, nothing will prevent us from parting, - I replied. “But it seems to me, Stamford,” I added, looking straight at my companion, “that for some reason you want to wash your hands. Well, this guy has a terrible character, or what? Don't be secretive, for God's sake!

Try to explain the inexplicable, ”Stamford laughed. - For my taste, Holmes is too obsessed with science - for him it already borders on heartlessness. I can easily imagine that he will inject his friend with a small dose of some newly discovered plant alkaloid, not out of malice, of course, but simply out of curiosity, in order to have a visual idea of \u200b\u200bits action. However, we must give him justice, I am sure that he will just as willingly give this injection to himself. He has a passion for accurate and reliable knowledge.

Well, that's not bad.

Yes, but even here you can go to extremes. If it comes to the fact that he pounds the corpses in the anatomical with a stick, you must admit that it looks rather strange.

Is he pounding corpses?

Yes, to check if bruising may appear after death. I saw it with my own eyes.

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Scandal in Bohemia

I

For Sherlock Holmes, she has always been “That Woman”. I have rarely heard him call her by any other name. In his eyes, she overshadowed all representatives of her gender. Not that he had any kind of love for Irene Adler. All feelings, and especially love, were hated by his cold, precise, but surprisingly balanced mind. In my opinion, he was the most perfect thinking and observing machine the world has ever seen; but as a lover he would be out of place. He always spoke of tender feelings only with contemptuous mockery, with mockery. Tender feelings were in his eyes a magnificent object for observation, an excellent means of tearing the veil from human motives and deeds. But for a sophisticated thinker, to allow such an intrusion of feeling into his refined and splendidly adjusted inner world would mean to introduce confusion there, which would nullify all the gains of his thought. A grain of sand caught in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of its mighty lenses - that is what love would be for a man like Holmes. And yet there was one woman for him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, a person of a very, very dubious reputation.

I have rarely seen Holmes lately - my marriage has alienated us from each other. My personal cloudless happiness and purely family interests that arise in a person when he first becomes the master of his own hearth were enough to absorb all my attention. Meanwhile, Holmes, who hated every form of social life with his gypsy soul, remained to live in our apartment on Baker Street, surrounded by piles of his old books, alternating weeks of addiction to cocaine with bouts of ambition, the drowsy state of a drug addict with the wild energy inherent in his nature.

As before, he was deeply involved in the investigation of crimes. He devoted his enormous abilities and extraordinary gift of observation to the search for threads to clarify those secrets that the official police had found incomprehensible. From time to time I heard vague rumors about his affairs: that he had been summoned to Odessa in connection with Trepov's murder, that he had succeeded in shedding light on the mysterious tragedy of the Atkinson brothers in Trincomalee, and, finally, about the commission of the Dutch royal at home, made by him exceptionally subtly and successfully.

However, apart from this information about his activities, which I, like all readers, drew from the newspapers, I knew little about my former friend and comrade.

One night - it was March 20, 1888 - I was returning from a patient (since I was now back into private practice) and my journey took me to Baker Street. As I walked past the familiar door, which in my mind is forever connected with the memory of the time of my matchmaking and with the dark events of Etude in Crimson, I was seized with a burning desire to see Holmes again and to find out what problems his wonderful mind is working on today. Its windows were brightly lit, and, looking up, I saw his tall, thin figure, which twice flashed in a dark silhouette on the lowered curtain. He quickly, swiftly walked around the room, his head lowered and his hands behind his back. To me, who knew all his moods and habits, his walking from corner to corner and his whole appearance spoke volumes. He went back to work. He shook off his drug-induced foggy dreams and unraveled the threads of some new mystery. I called and was escorted into a room that was once partly mine.

He met me without enthusiastic outpourings. He rarely indulged in such outpourings, but it seems to me that he was glad of my arrival. Almost without words, he invited me to sit down with a friendly gesture, pushed a box of cigars towards me and pointed to the cellar where the wine was kept. Then he stood in front of the fireplace and looked me over with his special, penetrating gaze.

“Family life is good for you,” he said. “I think, Watson, you have gained seven and a half pounds since I saw you.

- At seven.

- True? No, no, a little more. A little more, I assure you. And practice again, as I see it. You didn't tell me you were going to get busy.

- So how do you know this?

- I see it, I draw conclusions. For example, how do I know that you recently got very wet and that your maid is a big slut?

“Dear Holmes,” I said, “this is too much. You would certainly have been burned at the stake if you had lived several centuries ago. It is true that on Thursday I had to be out of town and I returned home all soiled, but I changed my costume, so there were no traces of the rain. As for Mary Jen, she is truly incorrigible, and her wife has already warned that she wants to fire her. And yet I don't understand how you guessed it.

Holmes laughed softly and rubbed his long, nervous hands.

- As easy as pie! - he said. “My eyes notify me that on the inside of your left shoe, just where the light hits, there are six nearly parallel scratches on your skin. Apparently, the scratches were made by someone who wiped the edges of the sole very casually to remove any dried dirt. From this, as you see, I draw the double conclusion that you went out in bad weather and that you have a very bad example of London servants. As for your practice, if a gentleman who smells of iodoform enters my room, if he has a black nitric acid stain on the index finger of his right hand, and a lump on his cylinder indicating where he hid his stethoscope, I must be a complete fool. so as not to recognize him as an active representative of the medical world.

I could not help laughing as I listened to the ease with which he explained to me the way of his conclusions.

“When you reveal your thoughts,” I remarked, “everything seems ridiculously simple to me, I myself could have figured it all out without difficulty. And in each new case, I am completely overwhelmed until you explain to me the course of your thoughts. Meanwhile, I think that my eyesight is no worse than yours.

“Quite right,” Holmes replied, lighting a cigarette and stretching out in an armchair. - You look, but you do not observe, and this is a big difference. For example, have you often seen the stairs leading from the hallway to this room?

- How often?

- Well, several hundred times!

- Well. How many steps are there?

- How many? I didn't pay attention.

- Just about, did not pay attention. And yet you saw! This is the whole point. Well, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I have seen and observed. By the way, you are interested in those little problems that are my craft to solve, and you were even kind enough to describe two or three of my little experiences. Therefore, you may be interested in this letter.

He tossed me a piece of thick pink notepaper that was lying on the table.

“Just received,” he said. - Read it aloud.

The letter was without date, without signature and without address.

Tonight, at a quarter to eight - said in the note, - a gentleman will come to you, who wants to consult you on a very important matter. Your recent service to one of the royal families of Europe has shown that you can be trusted with matters of extreme importance. We have received such feedback about you from all sides. Be at home at this hour and do not think anything bad if your visitor is wearing a mask.

“It's really mysterious,” I remarked. - What do you think it all means?

- I have no data yet. It is dangerous to theorize without data. Unbeknownst to himself, a person begins to manipulate facts in order to fit them into his theory, instead of substantiating the theory with facts. But the note itself! What conclusions can you draw from the note?

I carefully examined the letter and the paper on which it was written.

“Whoever wrote this letter seems to have the means,” I remarked, trying to imitate my friend’s tricks. “Such paper costs at least half a crown per pack. It is very strong and dense.

“Outlandish is the most appropriate word,” said Holmes.

“And this is not English paper. Look at her in the light.

I did so and saw the watermarks on the paper: a big E and a small g, then a P and a big G with a small t.

- What conclusion can you draw from this? Holmes asked.

- This is undoubtedly the name of the manufacturer, or rather his monogram.

- That's wrong! The big G with the small t is an abbreviation for Gesellschaft, which means company in German. This is a common abbreviation, like our "K °". The "P", of course, stands for "Papier," paper. Let's decipher now "E". Let's take a look at the foreign gazetteer ... ”He pulled out a heavy tome in brown binding from the shelf. - Eglow, Eglönitz ... So we found: Egeria. This is a German-speaking area in Bohemia, near Carlsbad. Wallenstein's place of death is famous for its numerous glass factories and paper factories ... Haha, my boy, what conclusion do you draw from this? His eyes flashed with triumph, and he released a large blue cloud from his pipe.

“The paper was made in Bohemia,” I said.

- Exactly. And the person who wrote the note is German. Do you notice the strange construction of the phrase: “We have received such feedback from all sides about you”? A Frenchman or a Russian could not write like that. Only Germans use their verbs so unceremoniously. Consequently, it remains only to find out what this German, who writes on Bohemian paper, and prefers to wear a mask, so as not to show his face ... Here he is, if I am not mistaken. He will resolve all our doubts.

We heard the sharp thud of horses' hooves and the squeal of wheels sliding along the nearest roadside. Soon then, someone pulled the bell violently.

Holmes whistled.

“Judging by the sound, a twin carriage ... Yes,” he continued, looking out the window, “an elegant little carriage and a pair of trotters… one hundred and fifty guineas each. Anyway, this case smells like money, Watson.

"I think I'd better go, Holmes?"

- No, no, stay! What am I going to do without my Boswell? The case promises to be interesting. It will be a shame if you miss it.

“But your client ...

- Nothing, nothing. I may need your help, and he too ... Well, here he comes. Sit in that chair, Doctor, and be very careful.

The slow, heavy footsteps that we heard on the stairs and in the corridor died down just before our door. Then there was a loud and imperious knock.

- Come in! - said Holmes.

A man came in, barely six feet and six inches tall, of Herculean build. He was dressed luxuriously, but this luxury would be considered vulgar in England. Heavy stripes of astrakhan fur trimmed the sleeves and cuffs of his double-breasted coat; a navy blue cloak draped over his shoulders was lined with fiery red silk and fastened around his neck with a buckle of glittering beryl. Boots, half-calf and lined with expensive brown fur on top, complemented the impression of barbaric splendor that his entire appearance produced. In his hand he held a wide-brimmed hat, and the top of his face was covered by a black mask that dropped below his cheekbones. This mask, which looked like a visor, he apparently just put on, because when he entered, his hand was still up. Judging by the lower part of his face, he was a man of strong will: a thick protruding lip and a long straight chin spoke of decisiveness turning into stubbornness.

- Did you get my note? He asked in a low, rough voice with a strong German accent. - I said that I would come to you. - He looked first at one of us, then at the other, apparently not knowing who to turn to.

- Sit down please. - said Holmes. “This is my friend and comrade, Dr. Watson. He is so kind that he sometimes helps me in my work. With whom do I have the honor to speak?

“You may think that I am Count von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I believe that this gentleman, your friend, is a man worthy of complete trust, and I can devote him to a matter of utmost importance? If this is not the case, I would prefer to talk with you in private.

I got up to leave, but Holmes grabbed my arm and pushed me back into the chair:

“Talk to both of us, or don’t. In the presence of this gentleman, you can say whatever you would say to me in private.

The Count shrugged his broad shoulders.

- In that case, I must first of all take your word that the case, which I will now tell you about, will remain a secret for two years. After two years, it won't matter. At the present time I can say without exaggeration: this whole story is so serious that it can affect the fate of Europe.

“I give you my word,” said Holmes.

“Forgive me this mask,” the strange visitor continued. - The most august person on whose behalf I am acting wished that his confidant remained unknown to you, and I must confess that the title by which I called myself is not entirely accurate.

“I noticed that,” said Holmes dryly.

- The circumstances are very delicate, and it is necessary to take all measures so that because of them a huge scandal does not grow, which could greatly compromise one of the reigning dynasties of Europe. Simply put, the case is related to the reigning house of the Ormsteins, the kings of Bohemia.

“I thought so,” Holmes muttered, settling himself more comfortably in his chair and closing his eyes.

The visitor looked with obvious surprise at the lazy, indifferent man, whom he was undoubtedly described as the most astute and most energetic of all European detectives. Holmes slowly opened his eyes and looked impatiently at his ponderous client.

“If your Majesty deign to devote us to your business,” he remarked, “it will be easier for me to give you advice.

The visitor jumped up from his chair and began to pace the room in great excitement. Then, with a gesture of despair, he tore off the mask from his face and threw it onto the floor.

“You're right,” he exclaimed, “I'm the king! Why would I try to hide it?

- Indeed, why? Your Majesty had not yet begun to speak, as I already knew that before me was Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismund von Ormstein, the Grand Duke of Kassel-Felstein and the hereditary king of Bohemia.

“But you understand,” said our strange visitor, sitting down again and moving his hand over his high white forehead, “you understand that I am not used to personally doing such things! However, the question is so delicate that I could not entrust it to any of the police agents without risking being in his power. I came from Prague incognito specifically to ask you for advice.

“Please contact me,” Holmes said, closing his eyes again.

- The facts are briefly as follows: five years ago, during an extended stay in Warsaw, I met the well-known adventurer Irene Adler. This name is surely familiar to you?

“Please, doctor, look in my file cabinet,” Holmes muttered without opening his eyes.

Many years ago, he set up a system for registering various facts about people and things, so it was difficult to name a person or object about which he could not immediately give information. In this case, I found a biography of Irene Adler between the biography of a Jewish rabbi and that of a chief of staff who wrote a work on deep sea fish.

“Show me,” said Holmes. - Hm! She was born in New Jersey in 1858. Contralto, um ... La Scala, well, well! .. Diva of the Imperial Opera in Warsaw, yes! Left the opera stage, ha! Lives in London ... that's right! Your Majesty, as far as I understand, got into the net of this young lady, wrote incriminating letters to her and now would like to return these letters.

- Quite right. But how?

- You secretly married her?

- No documents or evidence?

- None.

“In that case, I don’t understand you, your majesty. If this young woman wants to use the letters for blackmail or other purposes, how will she prove their authenticity?

- My handwriting.

- Trivia! Forgery.

- My personal letter paper.

- Stolen.

- My personal seal.

- Fake.

- My Photo.

- Purchased.

- But we were photographed together!

- Oh, that's very bad! Your Majesty really made a big mistake.

- I was crazy about Irene.

- You have seriously compromised yourself.

- Then I was only the crown prince. I was young. I'm only thirty now.

- The photo must be returned by all means.

- We tried, but we failed.

- Your Majesty must go to the costs: the photo must be bought.

- Irene does not want to sell it.

“Then you have to steal her.

- Five attempts were made. I hired burglars twice, and they ransacked her entire house. On one occasion when she was traveling, we searched her luggage. Twice she was trapped. We have not achieved any results.

- None?

- Absolutely none.

Holmes laughed.

- Wow task! - he said.

- But for me this is a very serious task! The king objected reproachfully.

- Yes indeed. What does she intend to do with the photograph?

- Destroy me.

- But how?

- I'm going to get married.

- I heard about it.

- On Clotilde Lotmann von Saxe-Meningen. Perhaps you know the strict principles of this family. Clotilde herself is purity embodied. The slightest shadow of doubt about my past would have led to a break.

- And Irene Adler?

“She threatens to send a photograph to my fiance's parents. And he will send, he will certainly send! You don't know her. She has an iron character. Yes, yes, the face of a charming woman, and the soul of a cruel man. She will stop at nothing to prevent me from marrying another.

- Are you sure she hasn't sent the photo to your fiance yet?

- I'm sure.

- Why?

“She said she would send a photo on the day of my official engagement. And this will be next Monday.

- Oh, we have three days left! Holmes said, yawning. “And this is very pleasant, because now I have to do some important things. Your Majesty, of course, will you stay in London for the time being?

- Of course. You can find me at the Langham Hotel under the name of Count von Kramm.

“In that case, I'll send you a note to let you know how the case is going.

- I'm begging you. I'm so worried!

- Well, what about money?

- Spend as much as you find necessary. You are given complete freedom of action.

- Absolutely?

- Oh, I'm ready to give any of the provinces of my kingdom for this photo!

- And for current expenses?

The king took out a heavy leather pouch from behind his cloak and laid it on the table.

“There’s three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred notes,” he said.

Holmes wrote a receipt on a page of his notebook and handed it to the king.

- Mademoiselle's address? - he asked.

- Briony Lodge, Serpantine Avenue, St. Johnswood.

Holmes wrote it down.

“And one more question,” he said. - Was the photo cabinet-sized?

- Yes, armchair.

“And now good night, your majesty, I hope we have good news soon ... Good night, Watson,” he added as the wheels of the royal carriage rattled on the pavement. “Kindly stop by tomorrow at three o'clock, I would like to talk with you about this matter.

II

At exactly three o'clock I was in Baker Street, but Holmes has not yet returned. The housekeeper informed me that he left the house at the beginning of nine. I sat down by the fireplace with the intention of waiting for him, no matter how long I had to wait. I became deeply interested in his investigation, although it was devoid of the bizarre and dark features inherent in the two crimes I have described elsewhere. But the peculiar features of this case and the high position of the client gave the case an unusual character. Even if we leave aside the very content of my friend's research - how successfully, with what skill he immediately mastered the whole situation and what strict, irrefutable logic was in his conclusions! It was a real pleasure for me to follow the quick, dexterous techniques with which he unraveled the most intricate mysteries. I was so used to his unchanging triumphs that the very possibility of failure did not fit into my head.

It was about four o'clock when the door opened and a tipsy groom entered the room, with sideburns, disheveled hair, a sore face, poorly dressed and vulgar. No matter how accustomed I was to my friend's amazing ability to change his appearance, I had to look closely three times before I was convinced that it was indeed Holmes. Nodding to me as he walked, he disappeared into his bedroom, from where he appeared five minutes later in a dark suit, correct as always. Putting his hands in his pockets, he stretched out his legs towards the blazing fireplace and laughed merrily for several minutes.

- Wonderful! He exclaimed, then coughed and burst out laughing again, so much so that at the end he was exhausted and in complete exhaustion leaned back in his chair.

- What's the matter?

- Funny, incredibly funny! I'm sure you will never guess how I spent this morning and what I finally did.

- I can not imagine. I believe you have been observing habits, or perhaps Miss Irene Adler's house.

- Quite right, but the consequences were quite extraordinary ... However, I will tell you in order. At the beginning of nine o'clock I left the house disguised as an unemployed groom. There is an amazing sympathy, a kind of friendship, between everyone who deals with horses. Become a groom and you will learn everything you need. I quickly found Briony Lodge. This is a tiny luxury villa on two floors; she goes out into the street, behind her is the garden. Massive lock on the garden gate. On the right side is a large living room, well furnished, with high windows, almost to the floor, and ridiculous English window shutters that a child could open. There is nothing special behind the house, except that the gallery window can be reached from the roof of the coach house. I walked around this barn from all sides and examined it very carefully, but did not notice anything interesting. Then I walked along the street and saw, as I expected, in an alley adjacent to the garden wall, a stable. I helped the grooms clean the horses and received two pence, a glass of vodka, two packets of tobacco, and plenty of information about Miss Adler and other local people as well. The locals did not interest me at all, but I had to listen to their biographies.

- What did you learn about Irene Adler? I asked.

“Oh, she turned the heads of all the men in this part of town. She's the prettiest hat-wearing creature on this planet. All Serpantine grooms speak with one voice. She lives quietly, sometimes performs at concerts, goes out for a drive every day at five o'clock and returns to dinner at seven sharp. She rarely leaves at other times, except when she sings. Only one man visits her - only one, but very often. A brunette, handsome man, he dresses beautifully, visits her every day, and sometimes twice a day. His name is Mr. Godfrey Norton of Inner Temple. You see how profitable it is to gain confidence in the coachmen! They took him home from the Serpentine stables twenty times and everyone knows about him. After hearing what they were telling me, I again began to walk up and down near Briony Lodge and ponder my next steps.

This Godfrey Norton obviously plays a significant role in the whole case. He's a lawyer. It sounds ominous. What connects them and what is the reason for his frequent visits? Who is she: his client? His friend? His beloved? If she's his client, then she probably gave him that photo for safekeeping. If the beloved - hardly. It depends on the decision of this question whether I continue to work at Briony Lodge or pay attention to that gentleman's apartment in Temple. This question is very sensitive and expands the field of my searches ... I am afraid, Watson, that I am bothering you with these details, but for you to understand the whole situation, I must reveal to you my minor difficulties.

“I am closely following your story,” I replied.

“I was still weighing the matter in my head when an elegant carriage drove up to Briony Lodge and a gentleman jumped out of it, unusually handsome, mustachioed, dark-skinned, with an aquiline nose. Obviously, this was the person I heard about. Apparently he was in a great hurry and was extremely agitated. Having ordered the coachman to wait, he ran past the maid, who had opened the door for him, with the air of a man who feels himself to be the master of this house.

He stayed there for about half an hour, and through the living room window I could see him walking up and down the room, talking excitedly about something and waving his arms. I have not seen her. But then he went out into the street, even more agitated. Approaching the carriage, he took a gold watch out of his pocket and looked at it anxiously. “Drive like the devil! He shouted to the coachman. “First to Gross and Henke on Regent Street, and then to St Monica’s Church on Edgewer Road. Half a guinea if you get there in twenty minutes! "

They sped away, and I was just wondering whether to follow them, when suddenly a lovely little landau drove up to the house. The coachman's coat was half-buttoned, a tie knot protruded under his ear, and harness belts popped out of the buckles. The coachman barely had time to stop the horses when Irene flew out of the door of the villa and jumped into the landau. I saw her for only one moment, but that was enough: a very pretty woman with a face that men fall in love with to death. “Church of St. Monica, John! She shouted. “Half a guinea if you get there in twenty minutes!”

This was an opportunity not to be missed, Watson. I was already beginning to ponder which was better: to run after her or to cling to the rear of the landau, when suddenly a cab appeared in the street. The coachman looked twice at such an unprepossessing rider, but I jumped up before he had time to argue. "St. Monica's Church," I said, "and half a guinea if you can get there in twenty minutes!" It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and, of course, it was not difficult to guess what was the matter.

My cab was racing like an arrow. I don’t think I would ever go faster, but the carriage and the landau with the lathered horses were already at the entrance to the church. I settled with the coachman and ran up the steps. There was not a soul in the church, except for those whom I followed, and the priest, who, apparently, addressed them with some kind of reproaches. All three stood in front of the altar. I began to wander along the side chapel, like a loitering person who accidentally entered a church. Suddenly, to my amazement, the three turned to me, and Godfrey Norton threw himself as fast as he could in my direction.

"Thank God! He shouted. “We need you. Come on! Come on! "

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Go, go, kind person, just three minutes!"

I was almost dragged to the altar by force, and before I had time to recover, I muttered the answers whispered in my ear, swore that I did not know at all, and generally helped the marriage of Irene Adler, a girl, to Godfrey Norton, a bachelor.

All this happened in one minute, and now the gentleman thanks me on the one hand, the lady on the other, and the priest still beams with a smile. It was the most ridiculous position I have ever been in; the memory of him made me laugh now. Apparently, they did not have any formalities fulfilled, and the priest flatly refused to perform the wedding ceremony if there was no witness. My successful appearance in the church saved the groom from having to run into the street in search of the first person he met. The bride gave me a guinea and I am going to wear this coin on the watch chain as a memento of my adventure.

“Things have taken a very unexpected turn,” I said. - What will be next?

- Well, I realized that my plans are under serious threat. It looked like the newlyweds were going to leave immediately, and therefore quick and energetic action was required on my part. However, at the door of the church they parted: he went to Temple, she - to her home. “I will go for a drive to the park, as always, at five o'clock,” she said, saying goodbye to him. I heard nothing more. They parted in different directions, and I returned to take up my preparations.

- What are they?

“Some cold meat and a glass of beer,” Holmes answered, tugging at the bell. - I was too busy and completely forgot about food. I'll probably have even more trouble tonight. By the way, doctor, I need your help.

- I will be very glad.

- Aren't you afraid to break laws?

- Not at all.

- And the danger of arrest does not frighten you?

- For the sake of a good deed I am ready for this.

- Oh, it’s great!

- In that case, I am at your service.

“I was sure I could rely on you.

- But what are you up to?

“When Mrs. Turner brings supper, I’ll explain everything to you… Now,” he said, greedily pouncing on the modest food prepared by the housekeeper, “I must discuss the whole matter with you during the meal, because I have little time left. It is now nearly five o'clock. We should be there in two hours. Miss Irene, or rather Mrs., returns from her walk at seven. We have to be at Briony Lodge to meet her.

- Leave this to me. I have already prepared what is to happen. I insist on only one thing: no matter what happens, do not interfere. You understand?

- Should I be neutral?

- That's it. Do nothing. It will probably be a bit of a nuisance. Don't get involved. I will end up being carried into the house. Four or five minutes later, the living room window will open. You should get closer to this open window.

- Good.

“You must watch me because I will be in your sight.

- Good.

- And when I raise my hand - like this - you throw into the room what I will give you for this purpose, and at the same time shout: "Fire!" Do you understand me?

- Quite.

“There’s nothing dangerous here,” he said, taking a cigar-shaped package from his pocket. - This is an ordinary smoke rocket, equipped at both ends with a primer so that it ignites by itself. All your work comes down to this. When you shout "Fire!", Your cry will be picked up by many people, after which you can walk to the end of the street, and I will catch up with you in ten minutes. I hope you understand?

“I must remain neutral, come closer to the window, watch you and, at your signal, throw this object out the window, then raise a cry about fire and wait for you at the street corner.

- Quite right.

- You can rely on me.

- So that's great. Perhaps it's time for me to start preparing for the new role that I will have to play today.

Boswell, James (1740-1795) - biographer of the English writer, critic and lexicographer S. Johnson (1709-1784). His name has become a common noun in English to denote a biographer, registering every detail in the life of his hero.

Inner Temple is one of only four London law corporations that train lawyers. It is located in the Temple - a building that until 1313 belonged to the Order of the Knights Templar and received its name from this.