The Adventure at Baskerville Hall & Other Cases

impossible!"
    "Come, come, Doctor. Are you really so sure? You have not even considered how you might exert yourself to raise the sum, it is not impossible for you at all. And have you seriously contemplated the consequences of failure?" he smiled at me sardonically.
    "Please," I begged, "give me some time to come up with the money."
    He shrugged. "Very well, it is all one to me. Although," as he turned from the carriage, into which he had been about to climb, "if you truly found yourself at a loss then there is something which you could do for me."
    Every instinct in my body was screaming in protest at negotiating with the man, but I did not see a choice.
    "Name it," I said curtly.
    "Apply pressure to Sherlock Holmes to ... persuade the Lady Eva to find the amount I indicated."
    I laughed harshly.
    "Evidently you have no idea of the man's character. You will have more luck extracting the sum you mention from me. Even if I thought he would countenance such an outrageous suggestion from me, I would never attempt to persuade him to a dishonourable course of action."
    "Ah well," Milverton shrugged again. "Just as you like. Although, if I may offer my literary opinion, your charming letter does not give the impression that, shall we say, dishonouring him is something to which you have a very great aversion."
    The thought of this poisonous adder of a man reading those words I had not meant for any eyes save my own was too much. I started towards him, but even as I moved he placed his hand once more on his revolver.
    "Have a care, Doctor," he breathed. "I am very well-armed, there are police constables patrolling the corner of the street, and Jonathon here will certainly step in to help me. Violence will not avail you anything."
    I glanced at the footman standing impassively by the carriage. He was a tall fellow, dark-haired and broad in the shoulders, with a countenance that was far too open and handsome for his sordid work, and he returned my look without the slightest change in expression. Thus I was forced to stand helplessly by the carriage as Milverton settled himself inside with my precious letter.
    "I will be in touch," he nodded at me.
    Closing the carriage door behind him – rather harder than it warranted, I will admit – I stood back to watch his carriage until it turned the corner onto Oxford Street and disappeared.
    * * * *
    By this point, I fully understood the gravity of my situation, and reaction had set in. Upon re-entering the building, I went straight up to my room. I felt nauseous, my hands were trembling, and I was shaking like a leaf. How could I ever have been so stupid as to commit such damning sentiments to paper, and how was I ever to get out of the mess in which I now found myself? I did not for one moment entertain Milverton's suggestion that I try to persuade Holmes to extract the money from Lady Eva. Nor could I permit the letter to see the light of day, as my friend's life would certainly be ruined. I was willing to accept the consequences to myself – God knows I deserved them – but to ruin the man I loved more than the breath in my body was intolerable. It simply remained, then, for me to either find the money, or to take Holmes into my confidence and explain the whole account to him. I had no doubt his quicksilver mind would see a way out of the problem where all was dark to me, but I would surely lose his friendship over such a matter when he found that I had been foolish enough to implicate him as well as myself.
    I pulled on my dressing-gown and tied it firmly, hoping that Holmes would take my shaking for shivering after being outside in the cold air, and descended to our sitting-room. Holmes was once more sitting in his armchair, staring into the fire contemplatively. I sat opposite him and stretched my hands out towards the flames, trying to bring some warmth to my cold extremities. After a short while, he spoke.
    "It is a bad business, Watson."
    "I should say so," I agreed fervently.
    "And yet," he continued, a distinct thread of annoyance creeping into his voice, "it could all be avoided if the lady had only resisted the temptation to commit such sentiments to paper. Her, and a hundred others like her every day, have really no-one else to blame when they find that–"
    "For God's sake, man, what would you know of it?" I practically snarled at him. Given my situation, it may well be imagined that his words had all the comfort for me of vinegar in an open wound, and I could not