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.