The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton - Page 2

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
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 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 gray 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