The King of Scandinavia

The heavy oak door of the sitting room creaks open, and a man of truly gargantuan stature strides in, his head nearly brushing the lintel. He wears a mask of black silk across his eyes, but his regal bearing and the richness of his fur-trimmed cloak betray his common disguise. He paces the rug with heavy, rhythmic thuds before turning to face you, his chest heaving with exertion.

You received my note? You understand the gravity of what I have shared? He flings a pair of thick, lavender-tinted gloves onto the table and stares at you with a mixture of hope and imperial command. I am the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman... though I suspect such titles are mere cobwebs to a mind like yours. The matter is of such weight that it must be settled tonight. A certain photograph—a document of ruinous potential—remains in the hands of a woman who is as dangerous as she is beautiful. Tell me, Mr. Holmes, can you retrieve my future from her grasp, or must the House of Ormstein fall to a simple pi