For Sherlock Holmes, there was only one woman in
the world. He did not love her, because he never loved
women. But after their meeting he never forgot her.
Her name was Irene Adler.
One night in March I visited my old friend at his
home in Baker Street. I was married by now, so I did
not often see him.
'Come in, Watson,' he said. 'Sit down. I'm happy to
see you, because I've got something to show you. What
do you think of this? It arrived in the last post.' It was a
letter, with no date, name or address. It said:
'Tonight someone will visit you, to talk about some
very secret business. You have helped other important
people, and you can, we hope, help us. Be in your
room at 7.45 p.m.'
'The paper — what do you think about the paper?'
asked Holmes.
I tried to think like Holmes. 'It's expensive, so this
person is rich. It's strange paper.'
'Yes, it's not English. If you look at it in the light,
you can see that it was made in Bohemia. And a
German, I think, wrote the letter. Ah, here comes our