آتش!

Chapter three

“Fire!”

That evening Holmes again wore different clothes, and a large, black hat. But it was not just the clothes that were different. He changed his face, his hair - everything. He was a different man.

We walked together to Serpentine Avenue. Outside the house there were a lot of people who were smoking, laughing and talking. Holmes and I walked up and down in front of the house.

‘You see,’ said Holmes to me, ‘I think she doesn’t want her new husband to see the photograph. But where is it? At her bank? No. Women like to keep important things themselves. I’m sure it’s in her house.’

‘But the King’s men tried to find it,’ I said.

‘Yes, but they didn’t know where to look,’ said Holmes.

‘But how will you know,’ I asked.

‘I won’t look. She’ll show me. She’ll have to.’

Just then a taxi arrived. One of the men in the street ran to open the door, then another man pushed him. Other men were also pushing and shouting, and a fight began. Irene Norton was in the middle of it, but Sherlock Holmes ran to help her. Then suddenly he fell to the ground, with blood running down his face. Irene Norton hurried to her front door, but she looked back.

‘How kind of him to help me! Is the poor man hurt,’ she called.

‘He’s dead,’ cried some voices.

‘No, he’s only hurt,’ cried others.

‘Bring him into the sitting-room,’ she said.

Some people carried Holmes into the house. I waited outside the window and watched. I saw how beautiful Irene Norton was. Then Holmes put up his hand, and I threw the smoke-stick into the room. Immediately the people in the street and in the house all began to shout “Fire” very loudly. The house was full of smoke. I walked away, and ten minutes later Holmes came to meet me.

‘Well done, Watson,’ he said.

‘Have you got the photograph,’ I asked.

‘I know where it is. She showed me,’ he answered.

‘But why did she show you?’

‘It’s easy,’ he said, and laughed. ‘You saw all those people in the street? I paid them to help us. It wasn’t a real fight and the blood wasn’t real. When people shout “Fire”, a woman runs to the most important thing in her house, her baby, her gold, or – a photograph. Mrs Norton ran to find her photograph, which is in a cupboard in the sitting-room. I saw it. But I did not take it. Tomorrow we will go to her house with the King. We’ll go very early, before she gets up. The King himself can take the photograph from the cupboard. And then we’ll go.’

While Holmes was talking, we were walking home to Baker Street. When we arrived at my friend’s house, a young man hurried past us, and said: ‘Good night, Mr Sherlock Holmes.’

‘I’ve heard that voice before,’ said Holmes to me. He looked down the street. ‘But who was it?’