ah slepp at Baker Street thet night, an' we were ingaged upon our toast an' a six pack in th' mo'nin' when th' Kin' of Bohemia rushed into th' room, dawgone it.
"Yuoo hefe-a reelly gut it!" he cried, graspin' Sherlock Holmes by eifer sh'der an' lookin' eagerly into his face.
"Not yet. Man!"
"Boot yuoo hefe-a hupes?"
"I gots hopes."
"Zeen, cume-a. I em ell impeteeence-a tu be-a gune-a."
"We gots'ta have some cab. Co' got d' beat!"
"Nu, my bruooghem is veeeting."
"Den dat gots'ta simplify matters." We dexcended an' started off once mo'e fo' Briony Lodge.
"Irene Adla' is married," remarked Holmes.
"Merreeed! Vhee?"
"Yesterday. Slap mah fro!"
"Boot tu vhum?"
"To an English lawya' dojiggerd No'ton. 'S coo', bro."
"Boot she-a cuoold nut lufe-a heem."
"I's gots'ta be in hopes dat she duz."
"Und vhy in hupes?"
"A'cuz it would spare yo' Majesty all fear uh future annoyance. If de lady loves ha' husband, she duz not love yo' Majesty. Slap mah fro! If she duz not love yo' Majesty, dere be no reason why she should interfere wid yo' Majesty's plan. 'S coo', bro."
"It is trooe-a. Und yet--Vell! I veesh she-a hed beee ooff my oovn steshun! Vhet a qooeee she-a vuoold hefe-a mede-a!" He relapsed into a moody silence, which was not busted until we drew up in Serpentine Avenue.
Th' dore of Briony Lodge was open, an' an elderly woomin stood upon th' steps. She watched us wif a sardonic eye as we stepped fum th' brougham, dawgone it.
"Guvnor Sherlock 'olmes, right, I believe?" said she.
"I's gots'ta be Mr. Holmes," answered mah companion, lookin' at her wif a quesshunin' an' rather startled gaze.
"Indeed! Oi! Me mistress told me that yer were likely ter call. She left this mornin' wiv 'er ole man by the 5:15 train from Charin' Cross for the Continent."
"Whut! Right on!" Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white wif chagrin an' surprise. "Do ya' mean dat she gots left England?"
"Never ter return."
"Und zee pepers?" axed th' Kin' hoarsely. "Ell is lust. Um de hur de hur de hur."
"We shall see." He pushed past th' servant an' rushed into th' drawin'-room, follered by th' Kin' an' mahse'f. Th' furniture was scattered about in ev'ry direckshun, wif dismantled shelves an' open drawers, as eff'n th' lady had hurriedly ransacked them befo'e her flight. Holmes rushed at th' bell-pull, to'e back a small slidin' shetter, an', plungin' in his han', pulled out a photograph an' a letter. Th' photograph was of Irene Adler herse'f in evenin' dress, th' letter was superscribed t'"Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be lef' till called fo'." Mah friend to'e it open an' we all three read it togither. It was dated at midnight of th' precedin' night an' scooted in this hyar way:
MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,--You real did it behy webuhll. Duh, you took me in c'plete. Until affeh de alarm of fire, uh uh uh, I had not a suspicion. Gawlly! But den, when I found duh, how I had betrayid myself, uh uh uh uh uh, I began t' dink. I had been warnid against you monds ago. I had been told dat if de Kigg employid an agent it wudd cehtain be you. And your abbress had been giben me. Duh, yet, uh, wid all dis, duuhhhh, you made me rebeal what you wantid to know. DOIHH! Eben affeh I became suspicious, duuhhhh, I found it hard t' dink ebil of such a dear, kind old clehgyman. DOIHH! But, uh, you know, uh uh uh uh uh uh, I habe been trainid as an ackress myself. Male costume is nodigg new t' me. I often take adbantage of the, uh uh uh, freedom which it gibes. Gawlly! I sent Dgohn, the, errr, coachman, t' watch you, ran up stairs, duuhhhh, got into my walkigg-clodes, duuhhhh, as I call dem, 'n came down dgust as you departed.
Webuhll, I follid you t' your door, 'n so made sure dat I was real an obbuhjeck of innerest t' the, errr, celebratid Mr. DOIHH! Shehlock Holmes. Den I, radeh iprudent, wishid you good-nite, 'n startid f' de Temble t' see my husband. Webuh bod dought de best resuhce was flite, when pursuid by so f'midaggle an antagonist; so you will find de nest empty when you call to-morrow. As t' de photograph, your client may rest in peace. I lobe 'n am lobid by a betteh man dan he. De Kigg may do what he will widout hindrass from one whom he has cruel wronged. I keep it on to safeguard myself, uh uh uh uh uh, 'n to presehbe a webuhapon which will allays secure me from any steps which he mite take in the, uh uh uh, future. I lee a photograph which he mite care t' possess; 'n I remain, dear Mr. Shehlock Holmes, duuhhhh,
Behy tru yours, duuhhhh, IRENE NORTON, nee ADLER.
"Vhet a vumun--ooh, vhet a vumun!" cried th' Kin' of Bohemia, when we had all three read this hyar epistle. "Deed I nut tell yuoo hoo qooeeck und resuloote-a she-a ves? Vuoold she-a nut hefe-a mede-a un edmureble-a qooeee? Is it nut a peety thet she-a ves nut oon my lefel?"
"From whut ah' have seen uh de lady she seems indeed t'be on some very different level t'yo' Majesty," said Holmes coldly. "I's gots'ta be so'ry dat ah' have not been able t'brin' yo' Majesty's business t'a mo'e successful conclusion. 'S coo', bro."
"Oon zee cuntrery, my deer sur," cried th' Kin'; "nutheeng cuoold be-a mure-a sooccessffool. I knoo thet her vurd is infeeulete-a. Zee phutugreph is noo es seffe-a es iff it vere-a in zee fure-a."
"I's gots'ta be glad t'hear yo' Majesty say so. 'S coo', bro."
"I em immensely indebted tu yuu. Hurty flurty schnipp schnipp! Prey tell me-a in vhet vey I cun rooerd yuu. Hurty flurty schnipp schnipp! Thees reeng--" He slipped an emerald snake rin' fum his finger an' held it out upon th' palm of his han'.
"Yo' Majesty gots sump'n which ah' should value even mo'e highly," said Holmes.
"Yuoo hefe-a boot tu neme-a it. Um de hur de hur de hur."
"Dis photograph! Right on!"
Th' Kin' stared at him in amazement.
"Irene's phutugreph!" he cried, cuss it all t' tarnation. "Certeeenly, iff yuoo veesh it. Um de hur de hur de hur."
"I dank yo' Majesty. Slap mah fro! Den dere be no mo'e t'be done in de matter. Ah be baaad... ah' have da damn hono' t'wish ya' some very baaaad-mo'nin'." He bowed, an', turnin' away wifout observin' th' han' which th' Kin' had stretched out t'him, he set off in mah compenny fo' his chambers.
An' thet was how a great scan'al thrett uped t'affeck th' kin'dom of Bohemia, an' how th' bess plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were bett up by a woomin's wit. He used t'make merry on over th' clevahness of wimmen, but ah have not heard him does it of late. An' when he speaks of Irene Adler, o' when he refers t'her photograph, it is allus unner th' hono'able title of th' woomin.
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If you liked the story you may check other stories by Dmytro Shynkarenko:
HAVE A GOOD TIME!
A Bohemian Mess: Sherlock Holmes Mystery Page 7
