heels, and our foremost pursuer panting behind us.  It was a six-foot wall which barred our path, but he sprang to the top and over.  As I did the same I felt the hand of the man behind me grab at my ankle, but I kicked myself free and scrambled over a grass-strewn coping.  I fell upon my face among some bushes, but Holmes had me on my feet in an instant, and together we dashed away across the huge expanse of Hampstead Heath.  We had run two miles, I suppose, before Holmes at last halted and listened intently.  All was absolute silence behind us.  We had shaken off our pursuers and were safe.

We had breakfasted and were smoking our morning pipe on the day after the remarkable experience which I have recorded, when Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, very solemn and impressive, was ushered into our modest sitting-room.

“Good-morning, Mr. Holmes,” said he; “good-morning.  May I ask if you are very busy just now?”

“Not too busy to listen to you.”

“I thought that, perhaps, if you had nothing particular on hand, you might care to assist us in a most remarkable case, which occurred only last night at Hampstead.”

“Dear me!” said Holmes.  “What was that?”

“A murder—­a most dramatic and remarkable murder.  I know how keen you are upon these things, and I would take it as a great favour if you would step down to Appledore Towers, and give us the benefit of your advice.  It is no ordinary crime.  We have had our eyes upon this Mr. Milverton for some time, and, between ourselves, he was a bit of a villain.  He is known to have held papers which he used for blackmailing purposes.  These papers have all been burned by the murderers.  No article of value was taken, as it is probable that the criminals were men of good position, whose sole object was to prevent social exposure.”

“Criminals?” said Holmes.  “Plural?”

“Yes, there were two of them.  They were as nearly as possible captured red-handed.  We have their footmarks, we have their description, it’s ten to one that we trace them.  The first fellow was a bit too active, but the second was caught by the under-gardener, and only got away after a struggle.  He was a middle-sized, strongly built man—­square jaw, thick neck, moustache, a mask over his eyes.”

“That’s rather vague,” said Sherlock Holmes.  “My, it might be a description of Watson!”

“It’s true,” said the inspector, with amusement.  “It might be a description of Watson.”

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you, Lestrade,” said Holmes.  “The fact is that I knew this fellow Milverton, that I considered him one of the most dangerous men in London, and that I think there are certain crimes which the law cannot touch, and which therefore, to some extent, justify private revenge.  No, it’s no use arguing.  I have made up my mind.  My sympathies are with the criminals rather than with the victim, and I will not handle this case.”