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 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