“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 Brackwell, 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 astrachan 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 grey eyes, which gleamed brightly from behind broad,
golden-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 astrachan coat.
Holmes was grey with anger and mortification.
“Wait a little,” he said. “You go too fast. We would 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
pocket-book. “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 note-book.”
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 note-book 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 am 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 wide 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 pocket-book--an action in which you
were prepared to aid me.”