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"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: