It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still wanted
ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine Avenue. It
was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as we paced up and
down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming of its occupant. The
house was just such as I had pictured it from Sherlock Holmes's succinct
description, but the locality appeared to be less private than I expected.
On the contrary, for a small street in a quiet neighborhood, it was
remarkably animated. There was a group of shabbily dressed men smoking and
laughing in a corner, a scissors grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who
were flirting with a nurse girl, and several well-dressed young men who
were lounging up and down with cigars in their mouths.
"You see," remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of the house,
"this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photograph becomes a
double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she would be as averse to
its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton as our client is to its coming to the
eyes of his princess. Now the question is--where are we to find the
photograph?"
"Where, indeed?"
"It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is cabinet
size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman's dress. She knows that
the king is capable of having her waylaid and searched.
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