A Scandal in Bohemia

Arthur Conan Doyle

Chapter 1

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 own.”

“I was aware of it,” said Holmes dryly.

“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.”
 

波希米亚丑闻

第一章

歇洛克-福尔摩斯始终称呼她为那位女人。我很少听见他提到她时用过别的称呼。在他的心目中，她才貌超群，其他女人无不黯然失色。这倒并不是说他对艾琳-艾德勒有什么近乎一爱一情的感情。因为对于他那强调理一性一、严谨刻板和令人钦佩、冷静沉着的头脑来说，一切情感，特别是一爱一情这种情感，都是格格不入的。我认为，他简直是世界上一架用于推理和观察的最完美无瑕的机器。但是作为情一人，他却会把自己置于错误的地位。他从来不说一温一情脉脉的话，更不用说讲话时常带着讥讽和嘲笑的口吻。而观察家对于这种一温一柔的情话，却是赞赏的--因为它对于揭示人们的动机和行为是再好不过的东西了。但是对于一个训练有素的理论家来说，容许这种情感侵扰他自己那种细致严谨的一性一格，就会使他分散一精一力，使他所取得的全部的智力成果受到怀疑。在一精一密仪其中落入砂粒，或者他的高倍放大镜镜头产生了裂纹，都不会比在他这样的一性一格中掺入一种强烈的感情更起扰乱作用的了。然而只有一个女人，而这个女人就是已故的艾琳-艾德勒，还在他那模糊的成问题的记忆之中。

①波希米亚，即今之捷克。第一次世界大战前受奥地利统治--译者注

最近很少和福尔摩斯晤面。我婚后就和他疏于往来。我的完满的幸福和第一次感到自己成为家庭的主人而产生的家庭乐趣，吸引了我的全部注意力。可是福尔摩斯，他却豪放不羁，厌恶社会上一切繁缛的礼仪，所以依然住在我们那所贝克街的房子里，埋头于旧书堆中。他一个星期服用可卡因，另一个星期又充满了干劲，就这样一交一替地处于用一药物引起的瞌睡状态和他自己那种热烈一性一格的旺盛一精一力状态中。正如往常一样，他仍醉心于研究犯罪行为，并用他那卓越的才能和非凡的观察力去找那些线索和打破那些难解之谜，而这些谜是官厅警察认为毫无希望解答而被放弃了的。我不时模模糊糊地听到一些关于他活动的情况：如关于他被召到敖德萨去办理特雷波夫暗杀案；关于侦破亭可马里非常怪的阿特金森兄弟惨案；以及最后关于他为荷兰皇家完成得那么微妙和出色的使命等等。这些情况，我和其他读者一样，仅仅是从报纸上读到的。除此之外，关于我的老友和伙伴的其它情况我就知道得很少了。

有一天晚上--一八八八年三月二十日的晚上--我在出诊回来的途中（此时我已又开业行医），正好经过贝克街。那所房子的大门，我还记忆犹新。在我的心中，我总是把它同我所追求的东西并同在"血字的研究"一案中的神秘事件联系在一起。当我路过那大门时，我突然产生了与福尔摩斯叙谈叙谈的强烈愿望，想了解他那非凡的智力目前正倾注于什么问题。他的几间屋子，灯光雪亮。我抬头仰视，可以看见反映在窗帘上的他那瘦高条黑色侧影两次掠过。他的头低垂胸前，两手紧一握在背后，迅速而又急切地在屋里踱来踱去。我深悉他的各种一精一神状态和生活一习一惯，所以对我来说，他的姿态和举止本身就显示出那是怎么一回事--他又在工作了。他一定是刚从服药后的睡梦中起身，正热衷于探索某些新问题的线索。我揿了揿电铃，然后被引到一间屋子里，而这间屋子以前有一部分是属于我的。

他的态度不很热情，这种情况是少见的，但是我认为他看到我时还是高兴的。他几乎一言不发，可是目光亲切，指着一张扶手椅让我坐下，然后把他的雪茄烟盒扔了过来，并指了指放在角落里的酒一精一瓶和小型煤气炉。他站在壁炉前，用他那独特的内省的神态看着我。

“结婚对你很合适，”他说，“华生，我想自从我们上次见面以来，你体重增加了七磅半。”

“七磅。"我回答说。

“真的！我想是七磅多。华生，我想是七磅多一点。据我的观察，你又开业给人看病了吧。可是你过去没告诉过我，你打算行医。”

“这你怎么知道的呢？”

“这是我看出来的，是我推断出来的。否则我怎么知道你最近一直挨淋，而且有一位最笨手笨脚和粗心大意的使女的呢？”

“我亲一爱一的福尔摩斯，"我说，“你简直太厉害了。你要是活在几世纪以前，一定会被用火刑烧死的。的确，星期四我步行到乡下去过一趟，回家时被雨淋得一塌糊涂。可是我已经换了衣服，真想象不出你是怎样推断出来的。至于玛丽-珍，她简直是不可救药，我的妻子已经打发她走了。但是这件事我也看不出你是怎样推断出来的。”

他自己嘻嘻地笑了起来，一搓一着他那双细长的神经质的手。

“这些事本身很简单，”他说，“我的眼睛告诉我，在你左脚那只鞋的里侧，也就是炉火刚好照到的地方，其面上有六道几乎平行的裂痕。很明显，这些裂痕是由于有人为了去掉沾在鞋跟的泥疙瘩，粗心大意地顺着鞋跟刮泥时造成的。因此，你瞧，我就得出这样的双重推断，认为你曾经在恶劣的天气中出去过，以及你穿的皮靴上出现的特别难看的裂痕是伦敦年轻而没有经验的女佣人干的。至于你开业行医嘛，那是因为如果一位先生走进我的屋子，身上带着碘的气味，他的右手食指上有硝酸银的黑色斑点，他的大礼帽右侧面鼓起一块，表明他曾藏过他的听诊器，我要不说他是医药界的一位积极分子，那我就真够愚蠢的了。”

他解释推理的过程是那么毫不费力，我不禁笑了起来。"听你讲这些推理时，"我说，“事情仿佛总是显得那么简单，几乎简单到了可笑的程度，甚至我自己也能推理，在你解释推理过程之前，我对你推理的下一步的每一情况总是感到迷惑不解。但我还是觉得我的眼力不比你的差。”

“的确如此，"他点燃了一支香烟，全身舒展地倚靠在扶手椅上，回答道，“你是在看而不是在观察。这二者之间的区别是很清楚的。比如说，你常看到从下面大厅到这间屋子的梯级吧？”

“经常看到的。”

“多少次了？”

“嗯，不下于几百次吧。”

“那么，有多少梯级？”

“多少梯级？我不知道。”

“那就对啦！因为你没有观察，而只是看嘛。这恰恰是我要指出的要害所在。你瞧，我知道共有十七个梯级。因为我不但看而且观察了。顺便说说，由于你对这些小问题有兴趣，又由于你善于把我的一两个小经验记录下来，你对这个东西也许会感兴趣的。"他把一直放在他桌子上的一张粉一红色的厚厚的便条纸扔了过来。“这是最近一班邮差送来的，”他说，“你大声地念念看。”

这张便条没有日期，也没有签名和地址。

〔便条里写道：〕"某君将于今晚平时三刻趋访，渠有至为重要之事拟与阁下相商。阁下最近为欧洲一王室出力效劳表明，委托阁下承办难于言喻之大事，足可信赖。此种传述，广播四方，我等知之甚稔。届时望勿外出。来客如戴面具，请勿介意是幸。”

“这的确是件很神秘的事，"我说，“你想这是什么意思？”

“我还没有可以作为论据的事实。在我们得到这些事实之前就加以推测，那是最大的错误。有人不知不觉地以事实牵强附会地来适应理论，而不是以理论来适应事实。但是现在只有这么一张便条，你看能不能从中推断出些什么来？”

我仔细地检查笔迹和这张写着字的纸。

“写这张条子的人一大概相当有钱，"我说着，尽力模仿我伙伴的推理方法。"这种纸半个克朗买不到一叠。纸质特别结实和挺括。”

“特别--正是这两个字，"福尔摩斯说，“这根本不是一张英国造的纸。你举起来向亮处照照看。”

我这样做了。看到纸质纹理中有一个大"Ｅ"和一个小"g"、一个"Ｐ"以及一个"Ｇ"和一个小"t"一交一织在一起。

“你了解这是什么意思？"福尔摩斯问道。

“无疑，是制造者的名字，更确切地说，是他名字的一交一织字母。”

“完全不对，‘Ｇ'和小'ｔ'代表的是"Ｇｅｓｅｌｌｓｃｈａeｔ’也就是德文'公司'这个词。象我们'Ｃｏ．'这么一个惯用的缩写词一样。当然，‘Ｐ'代表的是'Ｐａｐｉｅｒ’--'纸'。现在该轮到'Ｅｇ’了。让我们翻一下《大一陆地名词典》。"他从书架上拿下一本很厚的棕色书皮的书。"ＥｇｌｏｗＥｇｌｏｎｉｔｚ，--有了，Ｅｇｒｉａ。那是在说德语的国家里--也就是在波希米亚，离卡尔斯巴德不远。'以瓦伦斯坦卒于此地而闻名，同时也以其玻璃工厂和造纸厂林立而著称。'哈，哈，老兄，你了解这是什么意思？"他的眼睛闪闪发光，得意地喷一出一大口蓝色的香烟的烟雾。

“这种纸是在波希米亚制造的。”

“完全正确。写这张纸条的是德国人。你是否注意到'此种传述，广播四方，我等知之甚稔'这种句子的特殊结构？法国人或俄国人是不会这样写的。只有德国人才这样乱用动词。因此，现在有待查明的是这位用波希米亚纸写字、宁愿戴面具以掩盖他的庐山真面目的德国人到底想干些什么--瞧，要是我没有搞错的话，他来了，他将打破我们的一切疑一团一。”

就在他说话的时候，响起了一阵清脆的马蹄声和马车轮子摩一擦路边镶边石的轧轧声，接着有人猛烈地拉着门铃。福尔摩斯吹了一下口哨。

“听声响是两骑马，”他说。“不错，"他接着说，眼睛朝窗外瞧了一眼，“一辆可一爱一的小马车和一对漂亮的马，每匹值一百五十畿尼。华生，要是没有什么别的话，这个案子可有的是钱。”

“我想我该走了，福尔摩斯。”

“哪儿的话，医生，你就呆在这里。要是没有我自己的包斯威尔，我将不知所措。这个案子看来很有趣，错过它那就太①遗憾了。”

“可是你的委托人……”

“甭管他。我可能需要你的帮助，他也许同样如此。他来啦。你就坐在那张扶手椅子里，医生，好好地端详着我们吧。”

我们听到一阵缓慢而沉重的脚步声。先是在楼梯上，然后在过道上，到了门口骤然停止。接着是声音响亮和神气活现的叩门声。

“请进来！"福尔摩斯说。

一个人走了进来，他的身材不下于六英尺六英寸，胸部宽阔，四肢有力。他的衣着华丽。但那那富丽堂皇的装束，在英国这地方显得有点近乎庸俗。他的袖子和双排纽扣的上衣前襟的开叉处都镶着宽阔的羔皮镶边，肩上披的深蓝色大氅用腥红色的丝绸作衬里，领口别着一只用单颗火焰形的绿宝石镶嵌的饰针。加上脚上穿着一双高到小腿肚的皮靴，靴口上镶着深棕色一毛一皮，这就使得人们对于他整个外表粗野奢华的印象，更加深刻。他手里拿着一顶大檐帽，脸的上半部戴着一只黑色的盖过颧骨的遮护面具。显然他刚刚整理过面具，因为进屋时，他的手还停留在面具上。由脸的下半部看，他嘴唇厚而下垂，下巴又长又直，显示出一种近乎顽固的果断，象是个一性一格坚强的人。

①包斯威尔是英国著名文学家约翰生的一名得力助手--译者注

“你收到我写的条子了吗？"他问道，声音深沉、沙哑，带着浓重的德国口音。"我告诉过你，我要来拜访你。"他轮流地瞧着我们两个人，好象拿不准跟谁说话似的。

“请坐，"福尔摩斯说，“这位是我的朋友和同事--华生医生。他经常大力帮助我办案子。请问，我应该怎么称呼您？”

“你可以称呼我冯-克拉姆伯爵。我是波希米亚贵族。我想这位先生--你的朋友，是位值得尊敬和十分审慎的人，我也可以把极为重要的事托付给他。否则，我宁愿跟你单独谈。”

我站起身来要走，可是福尔摩斯抓住我的手腕，把我推回到原来的扶手椅里。"要谈两个一起谈，要就不谈，"他对来客说，“在这位先生跟前，凡是您可以跟我谈的您尽避谈好了。”

伯爵耸了耸他那宽阔的肩膀说道，“那么我首先得约定你们二位在两年内绝对保密，两年后这事就无关重要了。目前说它重要得也许可以影响整个欧洲历史的进程都不过分。”

“我保证遵约，"福尔摩斯答道。

“我也是。”

“这面具你们不在意吧，"我们这位陌生的不速之客继续说，“派我来的贵人不愿意让你们知道他派来的代理人是谁，因此我可以立刻承认我刚才所说的并不是我自己真正的称号。”

“这我知道，"，福尔摩斯冷冰冰地答道。

“情况十分微妙。我们必须采取一切预防措施，尽力防止使事情发展成一个大丑闻，以免使一个欧洲王族遭到严重损害。坦率地说，这件事会使伟大的奥姆斯坦家族--波希米亚世袭国王--受到牵连。”

“这我也知道，"，福尔摩斯喃喃地说道，随即坐到扶手椅里，阖上了眼睛。

在来客的心目中，他过去无疑是被刻画为欧洲分析问题最透彻的推理者和一精一力最充沛的侦探。这时我们的来客不禁对这个人倦怠的、懒洋洋的体态用一种明显的惊讶目光扫了一眼。福尔摩斯慢条斯理地重新张开双眼，不耐烦地瞧着他那身躯魁伟的委托人。

“要是陛下肯屈尊将案情阐明，”他说，“那我就会更好地为您效劳。”

这人从椅子里猛地站了起来，激动得无以自制地在屋子里踱来踱去。接着，他以一种绝望的姿态把脸上的面具扯掉扔到地下。

“你说对了，"他喊道，“我就是国王，我为什么要隐瞒呢？”

“嗯，真的吗？"福尔摩斯喃喃地说，“陛下还没开口，我就知道我是要跟卡斯尔－费尔施泰因大公、波希米亚的世袭国王、威廉-戈特赖希-西吉斯蒙德-冯-奥姆施泰因一交一谈。”

“但是你能理解，"我们破怪的来客又重新坐下来，用手摸了一下他那又高又白的前额说道，“你能理解我是不惯于亲自办这种事的。可是这件事是如此地微妙，以致于如果我把它告诉一个侦探，就不得不使自己任起摆一布。我是为了向你征询意见才微服出行，从布拉格来此的。”

“那就请谈吧，"福尔摩斯说道，随即又把眼睛阖上了。

“简单地说，事情是这样的：大约五年以前，在我到华沙长期访问期间，我认识了大名鼎鼎的女冒险家艾琳-艾德勒。无疑你是很熟悉这名字的。”

“医生，请你在我的资料索引中查查艾琳-艾德勒这个人，"福尔摩斯喃喃地说，眼睛睁也没睁开一下。他多年来采取这么一种办法，就是把有关许多人和事的一些材料贴上签条备查。因此，要想说出一个他不能马上提供起情况的人或事，那是岂不容易的。关于这件案子，我找到了关于她的个人经历的材料。它是夹在一个犹太法学博士和写过一起关于深海鱼类专题论文的参谋官这两份历史材料中间的。

“让我瞧瞧，"福尔摩斯说，“嗯！一八五八年生于新泽西州。女低音--嗯！意大利歌剧院--嗯！华沙帝国歌剧院首席女歌手--对了！退出了歌剧舞台--哈！住在伦敦--一点不错！据我理解，陛下和这位年轻女人有牵连。您给她写过几封会使自己受连累的信，现在则急于想把那些信弄回来。”

“一点不错。但是，怎么才能……”

“曾经和她秘密结过婚吗？”

“没有。”

“没有法律文件或证明吗？”

“没有。”

“那我就不明白了，陛下。如果这位年轻女人想用信来达到讹诈或其他目的时，她怎么能够证明这些信是真的呢？”

“有我写的字。”

“呸！伪造的。”

“我私人的信笺。”

“偷的。”

“我自己的印鉴。”

“仿造的。”

“我的照片。”

“买的。”

“我们两人都在这张照片里哩。”

“噢，天哪！那就糟了。陛下的生活的确是太不检点了。”

“我当时真是疯了--一精一神错乱。”

“您已经对您造成了严重的损害。”

“当时我只不过是个王储，还很年轻。现在我也不过三十岁。”

“那就必须把那张像起重新收回。”

“我们已经试过，但是都失败了。”

“陛下必须出钱，把照片买过来。”

“她一定不卖。”

“那么就偷吧。”

“我们已经试过五次了。有两次我出钱雇小偷搜遍了她的房子。一次她在旅行时我们调换了她的行李。还有两次我们对她进行了拦路抢劫。可是都一无所获。”

“那张像片的痕迹一点都没有？”

“一丝一毫都没有。”

福尔摩斯笑了，说道：“这完全是一个微不足道的问题。”

“但是对我来说，却是个十分严重的问题。"国王用责备的口气顶了他一句。

“十分严重。的确如此。那她打算用这照片干些什么呢。”

“把我毁掉。”

“怎么个毁法？”

“我即将结婚了。”

“我听说了。”

“我将和斯堪的纳维亚国王的二公主克洛蒂尔德-洛特曼-冯-札克斯迈宁根结婚。你可能知道他们的严格家规吧。她自己就是一个极为敏一感的人。只要对我的行为有丝毫怀疑，就会使这婚事告吹。”

“那么艾琳-艾德勒呢？”

“威胁着要把照片送给他们。而她是会那样做的。我知道她是会那样做的。你不了解她，她的个一性一坚强如钢。她既有最美丽的女人的面容，又有最刚毅的男人的心。只要我和另一个女人结婚，她是什么事都做得出来的。”

“您敢肯定她还没有把照片送出去吗？”

“我敢肯定。”

“为什么？”

“因为她说过，她要在婚约公开宣布的那一天把照片送出去。那就是下星期一。”

“噢，那咱们还有三天时间，"福尔摩斯说着，打了一个呵欠。"太幸运了，因为目前我还有一两桩重要的事情要调查调查。当然。陛下暂时要待在伦敦罗？”

“对。你可以在兰厄姆旅馆找到我。用的名字是冯-克拉姆伯爵。”

“我将写封短信让您知道我们的进展情况。”

“那太好了。我非常急于知道。”

“那么，关于钱的事怎么样？”

“由你全权处理。”

“毫无条件吗？”

“我可以告诉你，为了得到那张照片，我愿意拿我领土中的一个省来一交一换。”

“那么眼前的费用呢？”

国王从他的大氅下面拿出一个很重的羚羊起袋，把它放在桌上。

“这里有三百镑金币和气百镑钞票。"他说。

福尔摩斯在他笔记本的一张纸上潦潦草草地写了收条，然后递给他。

“那位小一姐的地址呢？"他问道。

“圣约翰伍德，塞彭泰恩大街，布里翁尼府第。”

福尔摩斯记了下来。“还有一个问题，”他说道，“照片是六英寸的吗？”

“是的。”

“那么，再见，陛下，我相信我们不久就会给您带来好消息。华生，再见，"他接着对我说，这时皇家四轮马车正向街心驶去。"我想请你明天下午三点钟来，跟你聊聊这件小事情。”