The Adventure Of Charles Augustus Milverton





It is years since the incidents of which I speak took place, and yet it

is with diffidence that I allude to them. For a long time, even with the

utmost discretion and reticence, it would have been impossible to make

the facts public, but now the principal person concerned is beyond the

reach of human law, and with due suppression the story may be told

in such fashion as to injure no one. It records an absolutely unique

experience in the career both of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and of myself. The

reader will excuse me if I conceal the date or any other fact by which

he might trace the actual occurrence.



We had been out for one of our evening rambles, Holmes and I, and had

returned about six o'clock on a cold, frosty winter's evening. As Holmes

turned up the lamp the light fell upon a card on the table. He glanced

at it, and then, with an ejaculation of disgust, threw it on the floor.

I picked it up and read:



CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON, Appledore Towers, Hampstead. Agent.



"Who is he?" I asked.



"The worst man in London," Holmes answered, as he sat down and stretched

his legs before the fire. "Is anything on the back of the card?"



I turned it over.



"Will call at 6:30--C.A.M.," I read.



"Hum! He's about due. Do you feel a creeping, shrinking sensation,

Watson, when you stand before the serpents in the Zoo, and see the

slithery, gliding, venomous creatures, with their deadly eyes and

wicked, flattened faces? Well, that's how Milverton impresses me. I've

had to do with fifty murderers in my career, but the worst of them never

gave me the repulsion which I have for this fellow. And yet I can't get

out of doing business with him--indeed, he is here at my invitation."



"But who is he?"



"I'll tell you, Watson. He is the king of all the blackmailers. Heaven

help the man, and still more the woman, whose secret and reputation come

into the power of Milverton! With a smiling face and a heart of marble,

he will squeeze and squeeze until he has drained them dry. The fellow is

a genius in his way, and would have made his mark in some more savoury

trade. His method is as follows: He allows it to be known that he is

prepared to pay very high sums for letters which compromise people of

wealth and position. He receives these wares not only from treacherous

valets or maids, but frequently from genteel ruffians, who have gained

the confidence and affection of trusting women. He deals with no niggard

hand. I happen to know that he paid seven hundred pounds to a footman

for a note two lines in length, and that the ruin of a noble family was

the result. Everything which is in the market goes to Milverton, and

there are hundreds in this great city who turn white at his name. No

one knows where his grip may fall, for he is far too rich and far too

cunning to work from hand to mouth. He will hold a card back for years

in order to play it at the moment when the stake is best worth winning.

I have said that he is the worst man in London, and I would ask you how

could one compare the ruffian, who in hot blood bludgeons his mate,

with this man, who methodically and at his leisure tortures the soul and

wrings the nerves in order to add to his already swollen money-bags?"





I had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity of feeling.



"But surely," said I, "the fellow must be within the grasp of the law?"



"Technically, no doubt, but practically not. What would it profit a

woman, for example, to get him a few months' imprisonment if her own

ruin must immediately follow? His victims dare not hit back. If ever he

blackmailed an innocent person, then indeed we should have him, but he

is as cunning as the Evil One. No, no, we must find other ways to fight

him."



"And why is he here?"



"Because an illustrious client has placed her piteous case in my hands.

It is the Lady Eva Blackwell, the most beautiful debutante of last

season. She is to be married in a fortnight to the Earl of Dovercourt.

This fiend has several imprudent letters--imprudent, Watson, nothing

worse--which were written to an impecunious young squire in the country.

They would suffice to break off the match. Milverton will send the

letters to the Earl unless a large sum of money is paid him. I have been

commissioned to meet him, and--to make the best terms I can."



At that instant there was a clatter and a rattle in the street below.

Looking down I saw a stately carriage and pair, the brilliant lamps

gleaming on the glossy haunches of the noble chestnuts. A footman

opened the door, and a small, stout man in a shaggy astrakhan overcoat

descended. A minute later he was in the room.



Charles Augustus Milverton was a man of fifty, with a large,

intellectual head, a round, plump, hairless face, a perpetual frozen

smile, and two keen gray eyes, which gleamed brightly from behind broad,

gold-rimmed glasses. There was something of Mr. Pickwick's benevolence

in his appearance, marred only by the insincerity of the fixed smile and

by the hard glitter of those restless and penetrating eyes. His voice

was as smooth and suave as his countenance, as he advanced with a plump

little hand extended, murmuring his regret for having missed us at his

first visit. Holmes disregarded the outstretched hand and looked at him

with a face of granite. Milverton's smile broadened, he shrugged his

shoulders removed his overcoat, folded it with great deliberation over

the back of a chair, and then took a seat.



"This gentleman?" said he, with a wave in my direction. "Is it discreet?

Is it right?"



"Dr. Watson is my friend and partner."



"Very good, Mr. Holmes. It is only in your client's interests that I

protested. The matter is so very delicate----"



"Dr. Watson has already heard of it."



"Then we can proceed to business. You say that you are acting for Lady

Eva. Has she empowered you to accept my terms?"



"What are your terms?"



"Seven thousand pounds."



"And the alternative?"



"My dear sir, it is painful for me to discuss it, but if the money is

not paid on the 14th, there certainly will be no marriage on the 18th."

His insufferable smile was more complacent than ever.



Holmes thought for a little.



"You appear to me," he said, at last, "to be taking matters too much for

granted. I am, of course, familiar with the contents of these letters.

My client will certainly do what I may advise. I shall counsel her to

tell her future husband the whole story and to trust to his generosity."



Milverton chuckled.



"You evidently do not know the Earl," said he.



From the baffled look upon Holmes's face, I could see clearly that he

did.



"What harm is there in the letters?" he asked.



"They are sprightly--very sprightly," Milverton answered. "The lady

was a charming correspondent. But I can assure you that the Earl of

Dovercourt would fail to appreciate them. However, since you think

otherwise, we will let it rest at that. It is purely a matter of

business. If you think that it is in the best interests of your client

that these letters should be placed in the hands of the Earl, then you

would indeed be foolish to pay so large a sum of money to regain them."

He rose and seized his astrakhan coat.



Holmes was gray with anger and mortification.



"Wait a little," he said. "You go too fast. We should certainly make

every effort to avoid scandal in so delicate a matter."



Milverton relapsed into his chair.



"I was sure that you would see it in that light," he purred.



"At the same time," Holmes continued, "Lady Eva is not a wealthy

woman. I assure you that two thousand pounds would be a drain upon her

resources, and that the sum you name is utterly beyond her power. I beg,

therefore, that you will moderate your demands, and that you will return

the letters at the price I indicate, which is, I assure you, the highest

that you can get."



Milverton's smile broadened and his eyes twinkled humorously.



"I am aware that what you say is true about the lady's resources,"

said he. "At the same time you must admit that the occasion of a lady's

marriage is a very suitable time for her friends and relatives to

make some little effort upon her behalf. They may hesitate as to an

acceptable wedding present. Let me assure them that this little bundle

of letters would give more joy than all the candelabra and butter-dishes

in London."



"It is impossible," said Holmes.



"Dear me, dear me, how unfortunate!" cried Milverton, taking out a bulky

pocketbook. "I cannot help thinking that ladies are ill-advised in

not making an effort. Look at this!" He held up a little note with a

coat-of-arms upon the envelope. "That belongs to--well, perhaps it is

hardly fair to tell the name until to-morrow morning. But at that time

it will be in the hands of the lady's husband. And all because she will

not find a beggarly sum which she could get by turning her diamonds

into paste. It IS such a pity! Now, you remember the sudden end of the

engagement between the Honourable Miss Miles and Colonel Dorking? Only

two days before the wedding, there was a paragraph in the MORNING POST

to say that it was all off. And why? It is almost incredible, but

the absurd sum of twelve hundred pounds would have settled the whole

question. Is it not pitiful? And here I find you, a man of sense,

boggling about terms, when your client's future and honour are at stake.

You surprise me, Mr. Holmes."



"What I say is true," Holmes answered. "The money cannot be found.

Surely it is better for you to take the substantial sum which I offer

than to ruin this woman's career, which can profit you in no way?"



"There you make a mistake, Mr. Holmes. An exposure would profit me

indirectly to a considerable extent. I have eight or ten similar cases

maturing. If it was circulated among them that I had made a severe

example of the Lady Eva, I should find all of them much more open to

reason. You see my point?"



Holmes sprang from his chair.



"Get behind him, Watson! Don't let him out! Now, sir, let us see the

contents of that notebook."



Milverton had glided as quick as a rat to the side of the room and stood

with his back against the wall.



"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes," he said, turning the front of his coat and

exhibiting the butt of a large revolver, which projected from the inside

pocket. "I have been expecting you to do something original. This has

been done so often, and what good has ever come from it? I assure you

that I am armed to the teeth, and I am perfectly prepared to use my

weapons, knowing that the law will support me. Besides, your supposition

that I would bring the letters here in a notebook is entirely mistaken.

I would do nothing so foolish. And now, gentlemen, I have one or two

little interviews this evening, and it is a long drive to Hampstead."

He stepped forward, took up his coat, laid his hand on his revolver, and

turned to the door. I picked up a chair, but Holmes shook his head, and

I laid it down again. With bow, a smile, and a twinkle, Milverton

was out of the room, and a few moments after we heard the slam of the

carriage door and the rattle of the wheels as he drove away.



Holmes sat motionless by the fire, his hands buried deep in his trouser

pockets, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes fixed upon the glowing

embers. For half an hour he was silent and still. Then, with the gesture

of a man who has taken his decision, he sprang to his feet and passed

into his bedroom. A little later a rakish young workman, with a goatee

beard and a swagger, lit his clay pipe at the lamp before descending

into the street. "I'll be back some time, Watson," said he, and vanished

into the night. I understood that he had opened his campaign against

Charles Augustus Milverton, but I little dreamed the strange shape which

that campaign was destined to take.



For some days Holmes came and went at all hours in this attire, but

beyond a remark that his time was spent at Hampstead, and that it was

not wasted, I knew nothing of what he was doing. At last, however, on

a wild, tempestuous evening, when the wind screamed and rattled against

the windows, he returned from his last expedition, and having removed

his disguise he sat before the fire and laughed heartily in his silent

inward fashion.



"You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?"



"No, indeed!"



"You'll be interested to hear that I'm engaged."



"My dear fellow! I congrat----"



"To Milverton's housemaid."



"Good heavens, Holmes!"



"I wanted information, Watson."



"Surely you have gone too far?"



"It was a most necessary step. I am a plumber with a rising business,

Escott, by name. I have walked out with her each evening, and I have

talked with her. Good heavens, those talks! However, I have got all I

wanted. I know Milverton's house as I know the palm of my hand."



"But the girl, Holmes?"



He shrugged his shoulders.



"You can't help it, my dear Watson. You must play your cards as best you

can when such a stake is on the table. However, I rejoice to say that

I have a hated rival, who will certainly cut me out the instant that my

back is turned. What a splendid night it is!"



"You like this weather?"



"It suits my purpose. Watson, I mean to burgle Milverton's house

to-night."



I had a catching of the breath, and my skin went cold at the words,

which were slowly uttered in a tone of concentrated resolution. As a

flash of lightning in the night shows up in an instant every detail of

a wild landscape, so at one glance I seemed to see every possible result

of such an action--the detection, the capture, the honoured career

ending in irreparable failure and disgrace, my friend himself lying at

the mercy of the odious Milverton.



"For heaven's sake, Holmes, think what you are doing," I cried.



"My dear fellow, I have given it every consideration. I am never

precipitate in my actions, nor would I adopt so energetic and, indeed,

so dangerous a course, if any other were possible. Let us look at the

matter clearly and fairly. I suppose that you will admit that the action

is morally justifiable, though technically criminal. To burgle his house

is no more than to forcibly take his pocketbook--an action in which you

were prepared to aid me."



I turned it over in my mind.



"Yes," I said, "it is morally justifiable so long as our object is to

take no articles save those which are used for an illegal purpose."



"Exactly. Since it is morally justifiable, I have only to consider the

question of personal risk. Surely a gentleman should not lay much stress

upon this, when a lady is in most desperate need of his help?"



"You will be in such a false position."



"Well, that is part of the risk. There is no other possible way of

regaining these letters. The unfortunate lady has not the money, and

there are none of her people in whom she could confide. To-morrow is

the last day of grace, and unless we can get the letters to-night, this

villain will be as good as his word and will bring about her ruin. I

must, therefore, abandon my client to her fate or I must play this

last card. Between ourselves, Watson, it's a sporting duel between

this fellow Milverton and me. He had, as you saw, the best of the first

exchanges, but my self-respect and my reputation are concerned to fight

it to a finish."



"Well, I don't like it, but I suppose it must be," said I. "When do we

start?"



"You are not coming."



"Then you are not going," said I. "I give you my word of honour--and

I never broke it in my life--that I will take a cab straight to the

police-station and give you away, unless you let me share this adventure

with you."



"You can't help me."



"How do you know that? You can't tell what may happen. Anyway, my

resolution is taken. Other people besides you have self-respect, and

even reputations."



Holmes had looked annoyed, but his brow cleared, and he clapped me on

the shoulder.



"Well, well, my dear fellow, be it so. We have shared this same room

for some years, and it would be amusing if we ended by sharing the

same cell. You know, Watson, I don't mind confessing to you that I have

always had an idea that I would have made a highly efficient criminal.

This is the chance of my lifetime in that direction. See here!" He took

a neat little leather case out of a drawer, and opening it he exhibited

a number of shining instruments. "This is a first-class, up-to-date

burgling kit, with nickel-plated jemmy, diamond-tipped glass-cutter,

adaptable keys, and every modern improvement which the march of

civilization demands. Here, too, is my dark lantern. Everything is in

order. Have you a pair of silent shoes?"



"I have rubber-soled tennis shoes."



"Excellent! And a mask?"



"I can make a couple out of black silk."



"I can see that you have a strong, natural turn for this sort of thing.

Very good, do you make the masks. We shall have some cold supper before

we start. It is now nine-thirty. At eleven we shall drive as far as

Church Row. It is a quarter of an hour's walk from there to Appledore

Towers. We shall be at work before midnight. Milverton is a heavy

sleeper, and retires punctually at ten-thirty. With any luck we should

be back here by two, with the Lady Eva's letters in my pocket."



Holmes and I put on our dress-clothes, so that we might appear to be two

theatre-goers homeward bound. In Oxford Street we picked up a hansom and

drove to an address in Hampstead. Here we paid off our cab, and with our

great coats buttoned up, for it was bitterly cold, and the wind seemed

to blow through us, we walked along the edge of the heath.



"It's a business that needs delicate treatment," said Holmes. "These

documents are contained in a safe in the fellow's study, and the study

is the ante-room of his bed-chamber. On the other hand, like all these

stout, little men who do themselves well, he is a plethoric sleeper.

Agatha--that's my fiancee--says it is a joke in the servants' hall that

it's impossible to wake the master. He has a secretary who is devoted

to his interests, and never budges from the study all day. That's why we

are going at night. Then he has a beast of a dog which roams the garden.

I met Agatha late the last two evenings, and she locks the brute up so

as to give me a clear run. This is the house, this big one in its own

grounds. Through the gate--now to the right among the laurels. We might

put on our masks here, I think. You see, there is not a glimmer of light

in any of the windows, and everything is working splendidly."



With our black silk face-coverings, which turned us into two of the most

truculent figures in London, we stole up to the silent, gloomy house.

A sort of tiled veranda extended along one side of it, lined by several

windows and two doors.



"That's his bedroom," Holmes whispered. "This door opens straight into

the study. It would suit us best, but it is bolted as well as locked,

and we should make too much noise getting in. Come round here. There's a

greenhouse which opens into the drawing-room."



The place was locked, but Holmes removed a circle of glass and turned

the key from the inside. An instant afterwards he had closed the door

behind us, and we had become felons in the eyes of the law. The thick,

warm air of the conservatory and the rich, choking fragrance of exotic

plants took us by the throat. He seized my hand in the darkness and led

me swiftly past banks of shrubs which brushed against our faces. Holmes

had remarkable powers, carefully cultivated, of seeing in the dark.

Still holding my hand in one of his, he opened a door, and I was vaguely

conscious that we had entered a large room in which a cigar had been

smoked not long before. He felt his way among the furniture, opened

another door, and closed it behind us. Putting out my hand I felt

several coats hanging from the wall, and I understood that I was in a

passage. We passed along it and Holmes very gently opened a door upon

the right-hand side. Something rushed out at us and my heart sprang into

my mouth, but I could have laughed when I realized that it was the cat.

A fire was burning in this new room, and again the air was heavy with

tobacco smoke. Holmes entered on tiptoe, waited for me to follow, and

then very gently closed the door. We were in Milverton's study, and a

portiere at the farther side showed the entrance to his bedroom.



It was a good fire, and the room was illuminated by it. Near the door I

saw the gleam of an electric switch, but it was unnecessary, even if it

had been safe, to turn it on. At one side of the fireplace was a heavy

curtain which covered the bay window we had seen from outside. On the

other side was the door which communicated with the veranda. A desk

stood in the centre, with a turning-chair of shining red leather.

Opposite was a large bookcase, with a marble bust of Athene on the top.

In the corner, between the bookcase and the wall, there stood a tall,

green safe, the firelight flashing back from the polished brass knobs

upon its face. Holmes stole across and looked at it. Then he crept

to the door of the bedroom, and stood with slanting head listening

intently. No sound came from within. Meanwhile it had struck me that

it would be wise to secure our retreat through the outer door, so

I examined it. To my amazement, it was neither locked nor bolted.

I touched Holmes on the arm, and he turned his masked face in that

direction. I saw him start, and he was evidently as surprised as I.



"I don't like it," he whispered, putting his lips to my very ear. "I

can't quite make it out. Anyhow, we have no time to lose."



"Can I do anything?"



"Yes, stand by the door. If you hear anyone come, bolt it on the inside,

and we can get away as we came. If they come the other way, we can

get through the door if our job is done, or hide behind these window

curtains if it is not. Do you understand?"



I nodded, and stood by the door. My first feeling of fear had passed

away, and I thrilled now with a keener zest than I had ever enjoyed when

we were the defenders of the law instead of its defiers. The high object

of our mission, the consciousness that it was unselfish and chivalrous,

the villainous character of our opponent, all added to the sporting

interest of the adventure. Far from feeling guilty, I rejoiced and

exulted in our dangers. With a glow of admiration I watched Holmes

unrolling his case of instruments and choosing his tool with the calm,

scientific accuracy of a surgeon who performs a delicate operation. I

knew that the opening of safes was a particular hobby with him, and I

understood the joy which it gave him to be confronted with this green

and gold monster, the dragon which held in its maw the reputations of

many fair ladies. Turning up the cuffs of his dress-coat--he had placed

his overcoat on a chair--Holmes laid out two drills, a jemmy, and

several skeleton keys. I stood at the centre door with my eyes glancing

at each of the others, ready for any emergency, though, indeed, my plans

were somewhat vague as to what I should do if we were interrupted. For

half an hour, Holmes worked with concentrated energy, laying down one

tool, picking up another, handling each with the strength and delicacy

of the trained mechanic. Finally I heard a click, the broad green door

swung open, and inside I had a glimpse of a number of paper packets,

each tied, sealed, and inscribed. Holmes picked one out, but it was as

hard to read by the flickering fire, and he drew out his little dark

lantern, for it was too dangerous, with Milverton in the next room, to

switch on the electric light. Suddenly I saw him halt, listen intently,

and then in an instant he had swung the door of the safe to, picked

up his coat, stuffed his tools into the pockets, and darted behind the

window curtain, motioning me to do the same.



It was only when I had joined him there that I heard what had alarmed

his quicker senses. There was a noise somewhere within the house. A door

slammed in the distance. Then a confused, dull murmur broke itself into

the measured thud of heavy footsteps rapidly approaching. They were in

the passage outside the room. They paused at the door. The door opened.

There was a sharp snick as the electric light was turned on. The door

closed once more, and the pungent reek of a strong cigar was borne

to our nostrils. Then the footsteps continued backward and forward,

backward and forward, within a few yards of us. Finally there was a

creak from a chair, and the footsteps ceased. Then a key clicked in a

lock, and I heard the rustle of papers.



So far I had not dared to look out, but now I gently parted the division

of the curtains in front of me and peeped through. From the pressure

of Holmes's shoulder against mine, I knew that he was sharing my

observations. Right in front of us, and almost within our reach, was the

broad, rounded back of Milverton. It was evident that we had entirely

miscalculated his movements, that he had never been to his bedroom,

but that he had been sitting up in some smoking or billiard room in the

farther wing of the house, the windows of which we had not seen. His

broad, grizzled head, with its shining patch of baldness, was in the

immediate foreground of our vision. He was leaning far back in the red

leather chair, his legs outstretched, a long, black cigar projecting

at an angle from his mouth. He wore a semi-military smoking jacket,

claret-coloured, with a black velvet collar. In his hand he held a long,

legal document which he was reading in an indolent fashion, blowing

rings of tobacco smoke from his lips as he did so. There was no promise

of a speedy departure in his composed bearing and his comfortable

attitude.



I felt Holmes's hand steal into mine and give me a reassuring shake, as

if to say that the situation was within his powers, and that he was

easy in his mind. I was not sure whether he had seen what was only too

obvious from my position, that the door of the safe was imperfectly

closed, and that Milverton might at any moment observe it. In my own

mind I had determined that if I were sure, from the rigidity of his

gaze, that it had caught his eye, I would at once spring out, throw my

great coat over his head, pinion him, and leave the rest to Holmes. But

Milverton never looked up. He was languidly interested by the papers in

his hand, and page after page was turned as he followed the argument of

the lawyer. At least, I thought, when he has finished the document and

the cigar he will go to his room, but before he had reached the end of

either, there came a remarkable development, which turned our thoughts

into quite another channel.



Several times I had observed that Milverton looked at his watch, and

once he had risen and sat down again, with a gesture of impatience. The

idea, however, that he might have an appointment at so strange an

hour never occurred to me until a faint sound reached my ears from

the veranda outside. Milverton dropped his papers and sat rigid in his

chair. The sound was repeated, and then there came a gentle tap at the

door. Milverton rose and opened it.



"Well," said he, curtly, "you are nearly half an hour late."



So this was the explanation of the unlocked door and of the nocturnal

vigil of Milverton. There was the gentle rustle of a woman's dress. I

had closed the slit between the curtains as Milverton's face had turned

in our direction, but now I ventured very carefully to open it once

more. He had resumed his seat, the cigar still projecting at an insolent

angle from the corner of his mouth. In front of him, in the full glare

of the electric light, there stood a tall, slim, dark woman, a veil over

her face, a mantle drawn round her chin. Her breath came quick and fast,

and every inch of the lithe figure was quivering with strong emotion.



"Well," said Milverton, "you made me lose a good night's rest, my dear.

I hope you'll prove worth it. You couldn't come any other time--eh?"



The woman shook her head.



"Well, if you couldn't you couldn't. If the Countess is a hard mistress,

you have your chance to get level with her now. Bless the girl, what are

you shivering about? That's right. Pull yourself together. Now, let us

get down to business." He took a notebook from the drawer of his desk.

"You say that you have five letters which compromise the Countess

d'Albert. You want to sell them. I want to buy them. So far so good. It

only remains to fix a price. I should want to inspect the letters, of

course. If they are really good specimens--Great heavens, is it you?"



The woman, without a word, had raised her veil and dropped the mantle

from her chin. It was a dark, handsome, clear-cut face which confronted

Milverton--a face with a curved nose, strong, dark eyebrows shading

hard, glittering eyes, and a straight, thin-lipped mouth set in a

dangerous smile.



"It is I," she said, "the woman whose life you have ruined."



Milverton laughed, but fear vibrated in his voice. "You were so very

obstinate," said he. "Why did you drive me to such extremities? I

assure you I wouldn't hurt a fly of my own accord, but every man has his

business, and what was I to do? I put the price well within your means.

You would not pay."



"So you sent the letters to my husband, and he--the noblest gentleman

that ever lived, a man whose boots I was never worthy to lace--he broke

his gallant heart and died. You remember that last night, when I came

through that door, I begged and prayed you for mercy, and you laughed

in my face as you are trying to laugh now, only your coward heart cannot

keep your lips from twitching. Yes, you never thought to see me here

again, but it was that night which taught me how I could meet you face

to face, and alone. Well, Charles Milverton, what have you to say?"



"Don't imagine that you can bully me," said he, rising to his feet. "I

have only to raise my voice and I could call my servants and have you

arrested. But I will make allowance for your natural anger. Leave the

room at once as you came, and I will say no more."



The woman stood with her hand buried in her bosom, and the same deadly

smile on her thin lips.



"You will ruin no more lives as you have ruined mine. You will wring

no more hearts as you wrung mine. I will free the world of a poisonous

thing. Take that, you hound--and that!--and that!--and that!"



She had drawn a little gleaming revolver, and emptied barrel after

barrel into Milverton's body, the muzzle within two feet of his shirt

front. He shrank away and then fell forward upon the table, coughing

furiously and clawing among the papers. Then he staggered to his feet,

received another shot, and rolled upon the floor. "You've done me," he

cried, and lay still. The woman looked at him intently, and ground her

heel into his upturned face. She looked again, but there was no sound

or movement. I heard a sharp rustle, the night air blew into the heated

room, and the avenger was gone.



No interference upon our part could have saved the man from his fate,

but, as the woman poured bullet after bullet into Milverton's shrinking

body I was about to spring out, when I felt Holmes's cold, strong grasp

upon my wrist. I understood the whole argument of that firm, restraining

grip--that it was no affair of ours, that justice had overtaken a

villain, that we had our own duties and our own objects, which were not

to be lost sight of. But hardly had the woman rushed from the room when

Holmes, with swift, silent steps, was over at the other door. He turned

the key in the lock. At the same instant we heard voices in the house

and the sound of hurrying feet. The revolver shots had roused the

household. With perfect coolness Holmes slipped across to the safe,

filled his two arms with bundles of letters, and poured them all into

the fire. Again and again he did it, until the safe was empty. Someone

turned the handle and beat upon the outside of the door. Holmes looked

swiftly round. The letter which had been the messenger of death for

Milverton lay, all mottled with his blood, upon the table. Holmes tossed

it in among the blazing papers. Then he drew the key from the outer

door, passed through after me, and locked it on the outside. "This way,

Watson," said he, "we can scale the garden wall in this direction."



I could not have believed that an alarm could have spread so swiftly.

Looking back, the huge house was one blaze of light. The front door

was open, and figures were rushing down the drive. The whole garden was

alive with people, and one fellow raised a view-halloa as we emerged

from the veranda and followed hard at our heels. Holmes seemed to

know the grounds perfectly, and he threaded his way swiftly among

a plantation of small trees, I close at his heels, and our foremost

pursuer panting behind us. It was a six-foot wall which barred our path,

but he sprang to the top and over. As I did the same I felt the hand

of the man behind me grab at my ankle, but I kicked myself free and

scrambled over a grass-strewn coping. I fell upon my face among some

bushes, but Holmes had me on my feet in an instant, and together we

dashed away across the huge expanse of Hampstead Heath. We had run two

miles, I suppose, before Holmes at last halted and listened intently.

All was absolute silence behind us. We had shaken off our pursuers and

were safe.



We had breakfasted and were smoking our morning pipe on the day after

the remarkable experience which I have recorded, when Mr. Lestrade, of

Scotland Yard, very solemn and impressive, was ushered into our modest

sitting-room.



"Good-morning, Mr. Holmes," said he; "good-morning. May I ask if you are

very busy just now?"



"Not too busy to listen to you."



"I thought that, perhaps, if you had nothing particular on hand, you

might care to assist us in a most remarkable case, which occurred only

last night at Hampstead."



"Dear me!" said Holmes. "What was that?"



"A murder--a most dramatic and remarkable murder. I know how keen you

are upon these things, and I would take it as a great favour if you

would step down to Appledore Towers, and give us the benefit of your

advice. It is no ordinary crime. We have had our eyes upon this Mr.

Milverton for some time, and, between ourselves, he was a bit of a

villain. He is known to have held papers which he used for blackmailing

purposes. These papers have all been burned by the murderers. No article

of value was taken, as it is probable that the criminals were men of

good position, whose sole object was to prevent social exposure."



"Criminals?" said Holmes. "Plural?"



"Yes, there were two of them. They were as nearly as possible captured

red-handed. We have their footmarks, we have their description, it's ten

to one that we trace them. The first fellow was a bit too active, but

the second was caught by the under-gardener, and only got away after a

struggle. He was a middle-sized, strongly built man--square jaw, thick

neck, moustache, a mask over his eyes."



"That's rather vague," said Sherlock Holmes. "My, it might be a

description of Watson!"



"It's true," said the inspector, with amusement. "It might be a

description of Watson."



"Well, I'm afraid I can't help you, Lestrade," said Holmes. "The fact is

that I knew this fellow Milverton, that I considered him one of the most

dangerous men in London, and that I think there are certain crimes

which the law cannot touch, and which therefore, to some extent, justify

private revenge. No, it's no use arguing. I have made up my mind. My

sympathies are with the criminals rather than with the victim, and I

will not handle this case."



Holmes had not said one word to me about the tragedy which we had

witnessed, but I observed all the morning that he was in his most

thoughtful mood, and he gave me the impression, from his vacant eyes and

his abstracted manner, of a man who is striving to recall something to

his memory. We were in the middle of our lunch, when he suddenly sprang

to his feet. "By Jove, Watson, I've got it!" he cried. "Take your hat!

Come with me!" He hurried at his top speed down Baker Street and along

Oxford Street, until we had almost reached Regent Circus. Here, on the

left hand, there stands a shop window filled with photographs of the

celebrities and beauties of the day. Holmes's eyes fixed themselves upon

one of them, and following his gaze I saw the picture of a regal and

stately lady in Court dress, with a high diamond tiara upon her noble

head. I looked at that delicately curved nose, at the marked eyebrows,

at the straight mouth, and the strong little chin beneath it. Then I

caught my breath as I read the time-honoured title of the great nobleman

and statesman whose wife she had been. My eyes met those of Holmes, and

he put his finger to his lips as we turned away from the window.





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