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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."