“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 or 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?”