minnbanya/nlp-a2-sherlock · Datasets at Hugging Face

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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.”

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.”