Datasets:
elapt1c
/
ElapticAI-512

Dataset card Data Studio Files Community
1
Search is not available for this dataset
text
stringlengths
0
149M
delay.
We had reached Baker Street and had stopped at the door. He was
searching his pockets for the key when someone passing said:
“Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes.
There were several people on the pavement at the time, but the greeting
appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had hurried by.
“I’ve heard that voice before, said Holmes, staring down the dimly lit
street. “Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have been.
III.
I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our toast
and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia rushed into the
room.
“You have really got it! he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by either
shoulder and looking eagerly into his face.
“Not yet.
“But you have hopes?
“I have hopes.
“Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone.
“We must have a cab.
“No, my brougham is waiting.
“Then that will simplify matters. We descended and started off once
more for Briony Lodge.
“Irene Adler is married, remarked Holmes.
“Married! When?
“Yesterday.
“But to whom?
“To an English lawyer named Norton.
“But she could not love him.
“I am in hopes that she does.
“And why in hopes?
“Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future annoyance. If
the lady loves her husband, she does not love your Majesty. If she does
not love your Majesty, there is no reason why she should interfere with
your Majesty’s plan.
“It is true. And yet—! Well! I wish she had been of my own station!
What a queen she would have made! He relapsed into a moody silence,
which was not broken until we drew up in Serpentine Avenue.
The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood upon the
steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from the
brougham.
“Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe? said she.
“I am Mr. Holmes, answered my companion, looking at her with a
questioning and rather startled gaze.
“Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She left
this morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Charing Cross for
the Continent.
“What! Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and
surprise. “Do you mean that she has left England?
“Never to return.
“And the papers? asked the King hoarsely. “All is lost.
“We shall see. He pushed past the servant and rushed into the
drawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furniture was
scattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and open
drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before her flight.
Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, and,
plunging in his hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. The
photograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening dress, the letter was
superscribed to “Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for. My
friend tore it open, and we all three read it together. It was dated at
midnight of the preceding night and ran in this way:
“MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,—You really did it very well. You took
me in completely. Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a
suspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, I
began to think. I had been warned against you months ago. I had
been told that, if the King employed an agent, it would certainly
be you. And your address had been given me. Yet, with all this, you