“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
_débutante_ 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 grey 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 grey 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 a 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.”