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.
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