Sherlock Holmes Short Stories - A Scandal in Bohemia: Part Two

Episode Date: April 9, 2025

The battle of wits between Holmes and Adler reaches its thrilling conclusion as the great detective sets an ingenious trap. But even though his plan unfolds perfectly, he discovers that he may have underestimated his opponent... A Noiser podcast production. Narrated by Hugh Bonneville  Written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Produced by Katrina Hughes and Addison Nugent Sound Design and Audio Editing by George Tapp and Josh Latham Compositions: Dorry Macaulay and Oliver Baines Mix & Mastering: Liam Cameron Series Consultant: Dan Smith For ad-free listening, bonus material and early access to new episodes, join Noiser+. Click the Noiser+ banner to get started. Or, if you’re on Spotify or Android, go to noiser.com/subscriptions Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

With the Fizz loyalty program, you get rewarded just for having a mobile plan. You know, for texting and stuff. And if you're not getting rewards like extra data and dollars off with your mobile plan, you're not with Fizz. Switch today. Conditions apply. Details at fizz.ca. Welcome to Sherlock Holmes Short Stories. I'm Hugh Bonneville, and from the Noiser Podcast Network, this is A Scandal in Bohemia, Part 2. Last time, Dr. Watson paid a visit to 221B Baker Street after a long absence and found Sherlock in the midst of yet another thrilling case. The great detective had received a mysterious

note heralding the arrival of a masked stranger in need of his services. Holmes quickly deduced that this masked man was none other than Wilhelm Gottsreich-Siegismann von Ohmstein, the King of Bohemia. The King confessed that he was being blackmailed by his former lover, Irene Adler. Extraordinary, beautiful, and intelligent, Adler possessed a photo of the two of them that would compromise his impending marriage to a Scandinavian princess. She'd threatened to release the photo in three days' time

when his engagement to the princess was set to be made public. Multiple attempts had been made to retrieve the photograph, but Adler outwitted the king's men at every turn. With the clock ticking, Sherlock promised the king he'd track down the picture before the cunning young woman could cause an international scandal. Watson went home for the night, but precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not yet returned. The landlady informed me that he had left the house shortly after eight o'clock in the morning.

I sat down beside the fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him, however long he might be. I was already deeply interested in his inquiry, for though it was surrounded by none of the grim and strange features which were associated with the two crimes which I have already recorded, still, the nature of the case and the exalted station of his client gave it a character of its own. Indeed, apart from the nature of the investigation which my friend had on hand, there was something in his masterly grasp of a situation, and his keen incisive reasoning which made it

a pleasure to me to study his system of work, and to follow the quick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the most inextricable mysteries. So accustomed was I to his invariable success, that the very possibility of his failing had ceased to enter into my head. It was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed as I was to my friend's amazing powers

and the use of disguises, I had to look three times before I was certain that it was indeed he. With a nod, he vanished into the bedroom. Whence he emerged in five minutes, tweed suited and respectable as of old. Putting his hands into his pockets, he stretched out his legs in front of the fire and laughed heartily for some minutes. Well, really! he cried, and then he choked and laughed again until he was obliged to lie back, — — — — — —

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— — — — — — — I can't imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the habits and perhaps the house of Miss Irene Adler? Quite so, but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you, however. I left the house a little after eight o'clock this morning in the character of a groom out of work. There is a wonderful sympathy and freemasonry among horsey men. Be one of them, and you will know all that there is to know. I soon found Bryony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with a garden at the back, but built out in front right up to the road. Two stories. Chublock to the door, large

sitting-room on the right side, well furnished, with long windows almost to the floor, and those preposterous English window fasteners which a child could open. Behind there was nothing remarkable save that the passage window could be reached from the top of the coach-house. I walked round it and examined it closely from every point of view, but without noting anything else of interest. I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, that there was a muse in a

lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. I lent the Ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses and received in exchange tuppence, a glass of half-and-half, two fills of shag tobacco, and as much information as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say nothing of half a dozen other people in the neighborhood in whom I was not in the least interested, but whose biographies I was compelled to listen to. And what of Irene Adler? I asked. Oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in that part. She is the daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say the serpentine muse to a man.

She lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom goes out at other times except when she sings. Has only one male visitor, but a good deal of him. He is dark, handsome, and dashing, never calls less than once a day, and often twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton of the Inner Temple. See the advantages of a cabman as a confidant. They had driven him home a dozen times from serpentine muse, and knew all about him. When I had listened to all they had to tell, I began to walk up and down near Bryony Lodge

once more and to think over my plan of campaign. This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in the matter. He was a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was the relation between them, and what the object of his repeated visits? Was she his client, his friend, or his mistress? If the former, she had probably transferred the photograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was less likely. On the issue of this question depended whether I should continue my work at Bryony Lodge or turn my attention to the gentlemen's chambers in the temple. It was a delicate point and it

widened the field of my inquiry. I fear that I bore you with these details, but I have to let you see my little difficulties if you are to understand the situation. I am following you closely," I answered. I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a handsome cab drove up to Bryony Lodge and a gentleman sprang out. He was a remarkably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and mustached, evidently the man of whom I had heard. He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the cabman to wait, and brushed past the maid who opened the door with the air of a

man who was thoroughly at home. He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch glimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and down, talking excitedly and waving his arms. Of her, I could see nothing. Presently he emerged, looking even more flooded than before. As he stepped up to the cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it earnestly. Drive like the devil! he shouted, first to Gros and Hankies in Regent Street, and then to the Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road, half a guinea if you do it in 20 minutes. Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do well to follow them,

when up the lane came a neat little carriage, the coachman with his coat only half button and his tie under his ear, while all the tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles. It hadn't pulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it. I only caught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman with a face that a man might die for. The church of St. Monica John, she cried, and hire for sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes." This was quite too good to lose, Watson.

I was just balancing whether I should run for it or whether I should perch behind her carriage when a cab came through the street. The driver looked twice at such a shabby fare, but I jumped in before he could object. "'The Church of St. Monica,' said I, and half a sovereign if you reach it in 20 minutes. It was 25 minutes to 12, and of course it was clear enough what was in the wind. My cabbie drove fast, I don't think I ever drove faster, but the others were there before us. The cab and the landau with their steaming horses were in front of the door when I arrived. I paid the man and hurried into the church. There was not a soul there save the two whom I had

followed and a surpliced clergyman who seemed to be expostulating with them. They were all three standing in a knot in front of the altar. I lounged up the side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a church. Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to me, and Godfrey Norton came running as hard as he could towards me. Thank God, he cried, you'll do, come, come. What then? I asked. Come, man, come, only three minutes or it won't be legal.

I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I was, I found myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear and vouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generally assisting in the secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey Norton, bachelor. Godfrey Norton, Bachelor. It was all done in an instant, and there was the gentleman thanking me on the one side and the lady on the other, while the clergyman beamed on me in front. It was the most preposterous position in which I ever found myself in my life, and it was the thought of it that started me laughing just now. It seems that there had been some informality

about their license, that the clergyman absolutely refused to marry them without a witness of some sort, and that my lucky appearance saved the bridegroom from having to sally out into the streets in search of a best man. The bride gave me a sovereign, and I mean to wear it on my watch chain in memory of the occasion. Okay, Martin, let's try one. Remember, big. You got it.

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Wow, that's like $99 a week. Yeah, it's a big deal. The Ford It's a Big Deal event. Visit your Toronto area Ford store for dotca today. This is a very unexpected turn of affairs said I and what then well I found my plans very seriously menaced it looked as if the pair might take an immediate departure and so necessitate very prompt and energetic measures on my part At the church door, however, they separated he driving back to the temple and she to her own house. I Shall drive out in the park at five as usual. She said as she left him. I

Heard no more they drove away in different directions and I went off to make my own arrangements Which are? Some cold beef and a glass of beer, he answered, ringing the bell. I have been too busy to think of food and I am likely to be busier still this evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want your cooperation. I shall be delighted. You don't mind breaking the law? Not in the least. Nor running a chance of arrest.

Not in a good cause. Oh, the cause is excellent. Then I am your man. I was sure that I might rely on you. But what is it you wish? When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray, I will make it clear to you." Now, he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that our landlady had provided, I must discuss it while I eat, for I have not much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours, we must be on the scene of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive at seven. Or, Madame, rather, returns from her drive at seven. We must be at Bryony Lodge to meet her. And what then? You must leave that to me.

I have already arranged what is to occur. There is only one point on which I must insist. You must not interfere come what may. You understand? I am to be neutral? To do nothing? Whatever. There will probably be some small unpleasantness.

Do not join in it. It will end in my being conveyed into the house. Four or five minutes afterwards, the sitting room window will open. You are to station yourself close to that open window. Yes. You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you. Yes, and when I raise my hand, so you will throw into the room what I give you to throw and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. You quite follow me? Entirely. It is nothing very formidable," he said,

taking a long cigar- shaped roll from his pocket It is an ordinary plumbers smoke rocket fitted with a cap at either end to make it self-lighting Your task is confined to that when you raise your cry of fire It will be taken up by quite a number of people You may then walk to the end of the street and I will rejoin you in 10 minutes I hope that I have made myself clear. I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and at the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire and to wait you at the corner of the street. Precisely.

Then you may entirely rely on me. That is excellent. I think perhaps it is almost time that I prepare for the new role I have to play. He disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in the character of an amiable and simple-minded nonconformist clergyman. His broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic smile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such as famed actor Mr. John Hare alone could have equalled. It was not merely that Holmes changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul, seemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed.

The stage lost a fine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner when he became a specialist in crime. It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as we paced up and down in front of Bryony Lodge, waiting for the coming of its occupant.

The house was just such as I had pictured it from Sherlock Holmes' succinct description, but the locality appeared to be less private than I expected. On the contrary, for a small street in a quiet neighborhood it was remarkably animated. There was a group of shabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse girl, and several well-dressed young men who were lounging up and down with cigars in their mouths. You see, remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of the house, this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photograph becomes a double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she would be as averse to its being

seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton as our client is to its coming to the eyes of his princess. Now the question is, where are we to find the photograph? Where indeed? It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is display portrait size too large for easy concealment about a woman's dress. She knows that the king is capable of having her waylaid and searched. Two attempts of the sort have already been made. We may take it, then, that she does not carry it about with her." "'Where, then?'

"'Her banker, or her lawyer. There is that double possibility, but I am inclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting. Why should she hand it over to anyone else? She could trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell what indirect or political influence might be brought to bear upon a businessman. Besides, remember that she had resolved to use it within a few days. It must be where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be in her own house. But it has twice been burgled. Pfft! They did not know how to look. But how will you

look? I will not look. What then? I will get her to show me. But she will refuse. She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is her carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter."

As he spoke, the gleam of the side lights of a carriage came round the curve of the avenue. It was a smart little land owl, which rattled up to the door of Bryony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of the loafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the door in the hope of earning a copper, but was elbowed away by another loafer, who had rushed up with the same intention.

A fierce quarrel broke out, which was increased by the two guardsmen, who took sides with one of the loungers, and by the scissors grinder who was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was struck, and in an instant the lady who had stepped from her carriage was the center of a little knot of flushed and struggling men who struck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd to protect the lady, but just as he reached her he gave a cry and dropped to the ground with the blood running freely down his face. At

his fall the guardsmen took to their heels in one direction and the loungers in the other, while a number of better-dressed people who had watched the scuffle without taking part in it crowded in to help the lady and to attend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I will still call her, had hurried up the steps. But she stood at the top with her superb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into the street. Is the poor gentleman much hurt? she asked. He is dead! cried several voices.

No, no, there's life in him! shouted another, but he'll be gone before you can get him to hospital. He's a brave fellow, said a woman. They would have had the lady's purse and watch if it hadn't been for him. They were a gang, and a rough one too. Oh, he's breathing now. He can't lie in the street. May we bring him in, ma'am? Surely bring him into the

sitting room. There is a comfortable sofa this way, please." Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Bryony Lodge and laid out in the principal room while I still observed the proceedings from my post by the window. The lamps had been lit, but the blinds had not been drawn so that I could see Holmes as he lay upon the couch. I do not know whether he was seized with compunction at that moment for the part he was playing, but I know that I never felt more heartily ashamed of myself in my life than when I saw the beautiful creature against whom I was conspiring, or

the grace and kindliness with which she waited upon the injured man. And yet it would be the blackest treachery to Holmes to draw back now from the part which he had entrusted to me. I hardened my heart and took the smoke rocket from under my ulster. After all, I thought, we are not injuring her, we are but preventing her from injuring another. Holmes had sat up upon the couch and I saw him motion like a man who is in need of air. A maid rushed across and threw open the window. At the same instant, I saw him raise his hand, and at the signal, I tossed my rocket into the room with a cry of, Fire!

The word was no sooner out of my mouth than the whole crowd of spectators, well-dressed and ill, gentlemen, ostlers and servant maids, joined in a general shriek of, Fire! maids, joined in a general shriek of fire. Thick clouds of smoke curled through the room and out at the open window. I caught a glimpse of rushing figures and a moment later the voice of homes from within, assuring them that it was a false alarm. Slipping through the shouting crowd, I made my way to the corner of the street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my friend's arm in mine, and to get away from the scene of uproar. He walked swiftly and in silence for some few minutes, until we had turned down one

of the quiet streets which lead towards the Edgeware Road. You did it very nicely, Doctor," he remarked. Nothing could have been better. It is all right. You have the photograph? I know where it is. And how did you find out? She showed me.

As I told you, she would. I'm still in the dark. I do not wish to make a mystery," said he, laughing. The matter was perfectly simple. You of course saw that everyone in the street was an accomplice. They were all engaged for the evening. I guessed as much. Then when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint in the palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my face, and became a piteous spectacle.

It is an old trick." That, also, I could fathom. Then, they carried me in. She was bound to have me in. What else could she do? And into her sitting-room, which was the very room which I suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I was determined to see which. They laid me on a couch.

I motioned for air. They were compelled to open the window, and you had your chance." On how did that help you? It was all important. When a woman thinks that her house is on fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she values most. It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have more than once taken advantage of it.

In the case of the Darlington Substitution scandal scandal it was of use to me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle business. A married woman grabs at her baby, an unmarried one reaches for her jewel box. Now it was clear to me that our Lady of today had nothing in the house more precious to her than what we are in quest of. She would rush to secure it. The alarm of fire was admirably done. The smoke and shouting were enough to shake nerves of steel. She responded beautifully. The photograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the right bell-pull.

She was there in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as she half-drew it out. When I cried out that it was a false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from the room, and I have not seen her since. I rose and, making my excuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether to attempt to secure the photograph at once, but the coachman had come in and, as he was watching me narrowly,

it seemed safer to wait. A little over-precipitate may ruin all. And now, I ask, Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the King tomorrow, and with you if you care to come with us. We will be shown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is probable that when she comes she may find neither us nor the photograph. It might be a satisfaction to His Majesty to regain it with his own hands. And when will you call? At eight in the morning, she will not be up, so that we shall have a clear field.

Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage may mean a complete change in her life and habits. I must wire to the King without 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, Mr. 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. 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 in patience to be gone. We must have a cab. No, my carriage is waiting. Then that will simplify matters.

We descended and started off once more for Bryony 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... I... I wish she had been off 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 Bryony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood upon the steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from the carriage. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe, said she. "'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 515 train from Charing Cross for the continent.'

"'What?' fifteen 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' Esquire, 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. 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 made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after I became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind old clergyman. But you know, I have been trained as an actress myself. Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage of the freedom which it gives.

I sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran upstairs, got into my walking clothes, as I call them, and came down just as you departed. Well, I followed you to your door and so made sure that I was really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished you good night and started for the temple to see my husband. We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by so formidable an antagonist. So you will find the nest empty when you call tomorrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest in peace.

I love and am loved by a better man than he. The king may do what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might take in the future. I leave a photograph which he might care to possess, and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, very truly yours, Irene Norton, nay, Adler." What a woman! Oh, what a woman! cried the King of Bohemia when we had all three read this epistle. "'Did I not tell you how quick and resolute she was? Would she not have made an admirable queen?

Is it not a pity that she was not on my level?' "'From what I have seen of the lady, she seems indeed to be on a very different level to your Majesty,' said Holmes coldly. "'I am sorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty's business to a more successful conclusion.' "'On the contrary, my dear sir,' cried the king. Nothing could be more successful. I know that her word is inviolate. The photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire." "'I am glad to hear your majesty say so.' I'm glad to hear your majesty say so. I am immensely indebted to you.

Pray tell me in what way I can reward you. This ring." He slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand. "'Your majesty has something which I should value even more highly,' said Holmes. "'You have but to name it. This photograph.'" The king stared at him in amazement.

"'Irene's photograph?' he cried. "'Certainly, if you wish it.' "'I thank your majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the matter. I have the honor to wish you a very good morning.'" He bowed, and turning away without observing the hand which the king had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his chambers. And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of Bohemia, and how

the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a woman's wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honorable title of The Woman. Next time on Sherlock Holmes Short Stories, Holmes and Watson are joined by the great detective's enigmatic brother, Mycroft, as they embark on a case of international intrigue in The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter. In The Dead of Night, a respected translator is kidnapped and forced to interpret for a

mysterious prisoner whose face is hidden beneath bandages. Through careful deception, he learns of a sinister plot involving family fortunes, murderous intent, and London's criminal underground. Now, the Holmes Brothers find themselves in a race against time, and it will take the combined force of their formidable intellects to track down the villains before innocent lives are lost. That's next time. That's next time. information or click the link in the episode description. And when someone forgets their place, I've got a man for that. For himself. Starring Tom Hardy, Pierce Brosnan,

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