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 savory 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 moneybags?"
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 tomorrow 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 Honorable 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 honor 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 tonight."
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 honored 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. Tomorrow is the last
day of grace, and unless we can get the letters tonight., 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 honor— 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 jimmy, 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 theatergoers 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 anteroom of his bedchamber. On the other hand, like all these
stout, little men who do themselves well, he is a plethoric sleeper. Agatha—that's
my fiancée—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 portière 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 center,
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 jimmy, and several skeleton keys.
I stood at the center 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 colored,
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 favor
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, mustache,
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-honored 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.