A Scandal in Bohemia, Chapter 2, part 13

ju ˈdɪd ɪt ˈveri ˈnaɪsli ˈdɒktə hi rɪˈmɑːkt || ˈnʌθɪŋ kəd ə biːm ˈbetə || ɪts ˈɔːl ˈraɪt

ju ˈhæv ðə ˈfəʊtəɡrɑːf

aɪ ˈnəʊ weər ɪt ˈɪz

ən ˈhaʊ dɪʤu ˈfaɪnd ˈaʊt

ʃi ˈʃəʊb mi | ˈæz aɪ ˈtəʊlʤu ʃi ˈwʊd

aɪm ˈstɪl ɪn ðə ˈdɑːk

aɪ ˈdəʊnt ˈwɪʃ tə ˈmeɪk ə ˈmɪstri ˈsed ˈhiː | ˈlɑːfɪŋ || ðə ˈmætə wəz ˈpɜːfɪkli ˈsɪmpl̩ || ju əv ˈkɔːs ˈsɔː | ðət ˈevriwʌn ɪn ðə ˈstriːt | wəz ən əˈkʌmplɪs || ðeɪ wər ˈɔːl ɪŋˈɡeɪʤ fə ði ˈiːvnɪŋ

aɪ ˈɡest əz ˈmʌʧ

ˈðen | ˈwen ðə ˈraʊ ˈbrəʊk ˈaʊt | aɪ hæd ə ˈlɪtl̩ ˈmɔɪs ˈreb ˈpeɪnt | ɪn ðə ˈpɑːm ə maɪ ˈhænd || aɪ ˈrʌʃ ˈfɔːwəd | ˈfel ˈdaʊn | ˈklæp maɪ ˈhæn tə maɪ ˈfeɪs | əm bɪˈkeɪm ə ˈpɪtiəs ˈspektəkl̩ || ɪts ən ˈəʊld | ˈtrɪk

ˈðæt ˈɔːlsəʊ aɪ kəd ˈfæðm

ˈðen ðeɪ ˈkærib mi ˈɪn || ʃi wəz ˈbaʊn tə ˈhæv mi ɪn || ˈwɒt ˈels kəd ʃi ˈduː || ən ˈɪntu ɜː ˈsɪtɪŋ ˈruːm | wɪʧ wəz ðə ˈveri ˈruːm | wɪʧ aɪ səˈspektɪd || ɪt ˈleɪ bəˈtwiːn ˈðæt | ən ɜː ˈbedruːm | ən aɪ wəz dəˈtɜːmɪn tə ˈsiː ˈwɪʧ || ðeɪ ˈleɪb mi ˈɒn ə ˈkaʊʧ | aɪ ˈməʊʃn̩ fər ˈeə | ðeɪ wə kəmˈpel tu ˈəʊpən ðə ˈwɪndəʊ | ən ju ˈhæʤɔː ˈʧɑːns

ˈhaʊ dɪd ˈðæt ˈhelp ju

ɪt wəz ˈɔːl ɪmˈpɔːtn̩t || ˈwen ə ˈwʊmən ˈθɪŋks ðət ɜː ˈhaʊs ɪz ˈɒn ˈfaɪə | hər ˈɪnstɪŋkt | ɪz ət ˈwʌns tə ˈrʌʃ | tə ðə ˈθɪŋ wɪʧ ʃi ˈvaljuːz ˈməʊst || ɪts ə ˈpɜːfɪkli ˈəʊvəˈpaʊərɪŋ ˈɪmpʌls | ən aɪv ˈmɔː ðə ˈwʌns | ˈteɪkən ədˈvɑːntɪʤ əv ɪt || ɪn ðə ˈkeɪs ə ðə ˈdɑːlɪŋtən ˈsʌbstəˈʧuːʃn̩ ˈskændl̩ | ɪt wəz əv ˈjuːs tə mi | ən ˈɔːlsəʊ ɪn ði ˈɑːnzwəθ ˈkɑːsl̩ ˈbɪznəs || ə ˈmærid ˈwʊmən | ˈɡræbz ət ɜː ˈbeɪbi | ən ˈʌnˈmærid ˈwʌn | ˈriːʧɪz fər ə ˈʤuːəl ˈbɒks || ˈnaʊ ɪt wəz ˈklɪə tə mi | ðət ɑː ˈleɪdi əv təˈdeɪ | ˈhæd ˈnʌθɪŋ ɪn ðə ˈhaʊs ˈmɔː ˈpreʃəs tu ə | ðən ˈwɒt wɪər ɪŋ ˈkwest ˈɒv || ʃi wʊd ˈrʌʃ tə səˈkjɔːr ɪt || ði əˈlɑːm əv ˈfaɪə | wəz ˈæbmrəbli ˈdʌn || ðə ˈsməʊk ən ˈʃaʊtɪŋ | wər əˈnʌf tə ˈʃeɪk ˈnɜːvz əv ˈstiːl || ʃi rɪˈspɒndɪb ˈbjuːtəfli || ðə ˈfəʊtəɡrɑːfs ɪn ə ˈriːses | bəˈhaɪnd ə ˈslaɪdɪŋ ˈpænl̩ | ˈʤʌst əˈbʌv ðə ˈraɪp ˈbel ˈpʊl || ʃi wəz ˈðeər ɪn ən ˈɪnstənt | ən aɪ ˈkɔːt ə ˈɡlɪmps əv ɪt | əʒ ʃi ˈhɑːf ˈdruː ɪt ˈaʊt || ˈwen aɪ ˈkraɪd ˈaʊt | ðət ɪt wəz ə ˈfɔːls əˈlɑːm | ʃi rɪˈpleɪst ɪt | ˈɡlɑːnst ət ðə ˈrɒkɪt | ˈrʌʃ frəm ðə ˈruːm | ən aɪv ˈnɒt ˈsiːn ə ˈsɪns || aɪ ˈrəʊz | əm ˈmeɪkɪŋ maɪ ɪkˈskjuːsɪz | ɪˈskeɪp frəm ðə ˈhaʊs || aɪ ˈhezəteɪtɪd | ˈweðə tu əˈtemt tə səˈkjɔː ðə ˈfəʊtəɡrɑːf ət ˈwʌns | bət ðə ˈkəʊʧmən əɡ ˈkʌm ˈɪn | ən ˈæz i wəz ˈwɒʧɪŋ mi ˈnærəli | ɪt ˈsiːm ˈseɪfə tə ˈweɪt || ə ˈlɪtl ˈəʊvə prəˈsɪpətəns | meɪ ˈruːɪn ˈɔːl

“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 am 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.”

“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 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 to-day 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-precipitance may ruin all.”