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've 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 note 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 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 ground 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 glass-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 foot-marks, 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. "Why, it might be a
description of Watson!"
"It's true," said the inspector, with much amusement. "It might be a
description of Watson."
"Well, I am 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 ADVENTURE OF THE SIX NAPOLEONS
It was no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, to
look in upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome to
Sherlock Holmes, for they enabled him to keep in touch with all that
was going on at the police head-quarters. In return for the news
which Lestrade would bring, Holmes was always ready to listen with
attention to the details of any case upon which the detective was
engaged, and was able occasionally, without any active interference,
to give some hint or suggestion drawn from his own vast knowledge and
experience.
On this particular evening Lestrade had spoken of the weather and the
newspapers. Then he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully at his
cigar. Holmes looked keenly at him.
"Anything remarkable on hand?" he asked.
"Oh, no, Mr. Holmes, nothing very particular."
"Then tell me about it."
Lestrade laughed.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying that there is something on
my mind. And yet it is such an absurd business that I hesitated to
bother you about it. On the other hand, although it is trivial, it is
