As readers of these accounts know well, I have often slightly altered names and places to preserve the privacy of Sherlock Holmes' clients. I have also sometimes obscured the time of a case, and it becomes wearisome to be reproached for giving a date which is not to be found on any calendar: I should have thought my intent clear. But these slight blurrings to one side, I have always sought to relate the substance of each case with as much accuracy as I could, Holmes' comments about my poetic and romanticizing tendencies notwithstanding. It came, therefore, as no little shock to me when I discovered, quite by chance, that in the very case with which I began my shorter narrations, and which has been so well received by the reading public, I had been led to an utterly false view of the outcome by my Johnson.
     It was just after Holmes had finally retired, and gone, so I thought, to keep bees upon the Sussex Downs. I had not yet retired, although my practice had developed into one which would bear the occasional vacation on the Continent, and it so chanced that I took one such shortly after Holmes had departed his long-held quarters on Baker Street. I shall not be any more specific than to say that it was in the south of France, in one of those quaint towns, nominally Medieval, but with modern restaurants that have the custom of seating people outside. I was taking an evening stroll through the city one day and as I turned a corner into a new street I noticed a lady sitting at one of those tables.
     She had a familiar look, and as I started to wonder where I might have seen her, I was thunderstruck by the realization that she was none other than Irene Adler, or, as I should say, Irene Norton. The years had been exceptionally kind to her, so that while she was now clearly a lady of "a certain age", she was still the beautiful creature the sight of whom had momentarily stayed my hand at Briony Lodge those many years ago.
     My steps slowed as I approached her, causing her to glance up, but with no initial recognition, and I hesitated to speak. As I was wondering what I might say, a soft smile animated her face, and I heard a very familiar voice from behind:
     "I don't believe you have ever formally met Mrs Norton, Watson."

     I think I was more startled by hearing the voice of a man I knew to be alive than the sight of a woman I had thought dead, and I gladly sank into the chair which they offered me, momentarily bereft of speech.
     "I truly apologize Watson. We had not expected to see you, and so I made no provision to warn you of this possibility."
     This little gesture of contrition gave me enough time to collect myself and remember my manners, and so I first addressed Irene, while also planning how I would later address Holmes.
     "Mrs Norton, I must say I am most pleased to find you still among us, and I hope you will forgive my untimely reporting of your demise."
     She smiled a little more broadly and replied, "I shall, and I shall also forgive you for throwing a smoke bomb into my sitting-room. I rather imagine its next occupants had to change the drapes."
     Holmes had settled himself down, and now spoke. "When I read your published version of the case," he said, "I saw that, although you had all the main facts right -- I will pass over in silence your description of the King of Bohemia's costume, since he was neither that King nor wore that costume -- the man must have made a terrible impression on you -- and though you even caught some of the undertones of those events, you rather failed, as I had remarked upon even then, to observe.
     "By the time the 'King' and I had finished speaking, I had realized that it was most likely that it was Mrs Norton, here, who was being wronged, and so I began my investigations rather more quickly than I implied that I would. I had told you of inspecting windows and noticing locks, but what I really determined from those ostlers was that the house was being watched.
     "I was thus most happy to see our little procession to the altar, because it foreboded what did transpire. Mrs Norton," and here she and Holmes exchanged glances, "claims she recognized me in the church, but I still fancy that she did not.
     "I determined, however, to set my own guard about the place, and so assembled that quite extraordinary crowd of people that you remarked upon. The later events occurred much as you recorded them, Watson, but I have to say it was not a photograph that Mrs Norton started to remove from her hiding-place. When later I was bidden good night, I of course recognized her voice and realized that when we went back in the morning Mrs Norton would have made her escape.
     "The 'King' very nearly gave himself away that morning when he realized that Irene had fled, for he forgot that he was supposed to be seeking a photograph, and cried "and the papers." You obviously caught the phrase but did not see its significance. By that time I was quite tired of the 'King', and so claimed the photograph -- which, I have been assured, was left for me, the 'King' having no real interest in photographs of Mrs Norton -- and departed, rather rudely I fear.
     "It was later, at the end of those travels which caused you so much distress, that I discovered that the Nortons had settled in this part of France, and we have maintained a discreet correspondence ever since."

     As I was absorbing these somewhat belated revelations, an elderly gentleman with a rather professorial air walked up to our table. He was quite tall and thin, and carried his head in a somewhat forward manner, which called attention to his domed forehead. He addressed us in a quiet and precise voice:
     "Hello, Holmes ... Mrs Norton ... and I fancy you must be Dr Watson ... "

     I groaned ...