                                      1904
                                SHERLOCK HOLMES
                  THE ADVENTURE OF CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON
                           by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
  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, be 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 home 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 redhanded. 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.


                             -THE END-
