I understood
the whole argument of that firm, restraining grip -- that it was
no affair of ours; that justice had overtaken a villain; that we
had our own duties and our own objects which were not to be lost
sight of. But hardly had the woman rushed from the room when
Holmes, with swift, silent steps, was over at the other door.
He turned the key in the lock. At the same instant we heard
voices in the house and the sound of hurrying feet. The
revolver shots had roused the household. With perfect coolness
Holmes slipped across to the safe, filled his two arms with
bundles of letters, and poured them all into the fire. Again
and again he did it, until the safe was empty. Someone turned
the handle and beat upon the outside of the door. Holmes looked
swiftly round. The letter which had been the messenger of death
for Milverton lay, all mottled with his blood, upon the table.
Holmes tossed it in among the blazing papers. Then he drew the
key from the outer door, passed through after me, and locked it
on the outside. "This way, Watson," said he; "we can scale the
garden wall in this direction."
I could not have believed that an alarm could have spread so
swiftly.
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