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
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 backwards and
forwards, backwards and forwards, 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'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 crimi
nals
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.
{--------------------------------------------------------}
{-------------------- End of Text -----------------------}
{--------------------------------------------------------}
{------------------- Textual Notes ----------------------}
{1} {debutante: the first e has a forward (/) accent}
{2} {fiancee: the first e has a forward (/) accent}
{3} {portiere: the first e has a backward () accent}
{---------------- End of Textual Notes ------------------}
{--------------------------------------------------------}
{SIX, Rev 4, 1/17/96 rms, 4th proofing}
{The Adventure of the Six Napoleons, Arthur Conan Doyle}
{Source: The Strand Magazine, 27 (May 1904)}
{Etext prepared by Roger Squires
[email protected]}
{Braces({}) in the text indicate textual end-notes}
{Underscores (_) in the text indicate italics}
VIII. -- 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 undoubtedly
queer, and I know that you have a taste for all that is
out of the common. But in my opinion it comes more in
Dr. Watson's line than ours."
"Disease?" said I.
"Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness too! You wouldn't
think there was anyone living at this time of day who had
such a hatred of Napoleon the First that he would break any
image of him that he could see."
Holmes sank back in his chair.
"That's no business of mine," said he.
"Exactly. That's what I said. But then, when the man commits
burglary in order to break images which are not his own,
that brings it away from the doctor and on to the policeman."
Holmes sat up again.
"Burglary! This is more interesting. Let me hear the
details."