The Adventure at Baskerville Hall & Other Cases

submission. I was therefore unprepared for the further developments that occurred a few evenings later, when Holmes and I returned from one of our evening rambles.
    Such walks were a delight to me; it was one of my favourite activities to stroll the streets and parks of London, feeling my friend's sinewy arm linked with my own and hearing his opinions on the city of which he was quite as much a part as the flower sellers in Covent Garden or the Thames itself. And if I took a little too much interest when our bodies happened to brush during the course of our rambles then such an interest could hurt no-one but myself, since I ensured that its object remained completely and serenely unaware of my feelings toward him. I may not be as accomplished at disguise and deflection as Holmes, but nevertheless a part of me worked unceasingly to ensure that there were some things that London's finest detective could not deduce from the flicker of a fellow's eyebrow or a careless hand gesture. I worked at it every minute of every day, as though my life depended on it. Which, after a fashion, it did.
    Even so, when we returned home and I saw the name on the card that Holmes had thrown on the floor in disgust, it took all my self-control to remain calm in front of him, for I felt as though a cold hand had reached out and taken hold of my heart. That Holmes knew of him was clear, and that he was expecting this visit was equally clear, given that the man's card had provoked disgust but not surprise. Therefore I resolved to extract as much information as possible.
    "Who is he?" I asked.
    "The worst man in London," Holmes answered shortly, sitting down and stretching his long legs towards the fire.
    I turned the card over and read aloud, "Will call at 6.30 – C.A.M."
    "Hm, he's about due, then. Do you feel a creeping, shrinking sensation, Watson?"
    My guilty conscience and my shock were such that it was on the very tip of my tongue to reply in the affirmative and spill out the whole affair, but I was saved by Holmes answering his own question. As he rambled on with comparisons to the snake house in Regent's Park zoo (which I happen to know for a fact that he had only visited to garner information on which were the most deadly serpents), I spared a moment to be grateful that he was facing away from me and could not see my expression. When it looked as though he had finished his musings, I persisted.
    "Holmes, that is very poetical, and will certainly make it into my account should I ever choose to write up this affair, but who is the man?"
    He made a brief sound of annoyance and resettled himself by the crackling fire, its cheery warmth doing nothing to relieve the chill gathering in my stomach. I had a very great desire not to be present during Holmes's meeting with him, and was already inventing prior engagements and excuses for my absence while Holmes continued to speak.
    "I'll tell you. He is the king of all 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."
    "Oh," I managed. I had a horribly growing suspicion that I had rather underestimated the man during our first meeting, but I resolutely reminded myself that his menaces were but empty threats; he could have no possible blackmail material with which to enforce his demands.
    Holmes went on to detail, with an almost admiring tone in his voice, Milverton's ruthlessness and calculation, adding, "There are hundreds in this great city who turn white at his name."
    I felt that I was rapidly joining the number of these unfortunates, and was thankful that Holmes still faced away from me, for even the lowest bumbling constable at Scotland Yard could not have failed to read my pale face at that moment. I tried to master my emotions, and prayed that my voice emerged normally when I asked, "But surely the fellow must be within the grasp of the law?"
    Holmes sighed. "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."
    Holmes outlined the details of his client to me, but I was so engaged in looking at the sleek dark