‘The effect upon my mind is exactly as predicted. I am awarethat Adelbert， that my fiancé， has had a stormy life in which hehas incurred bitter hatreds and most unjust aspersions. You areonly the last of a series who have brought their slanders beforeme. Possibly you mean well， though I learn that you are a paidagent who would have been equally willing to act for the Baron asagainst him. But in any case I wish you to understand once for allthat I love him and that he loves me， and that the opinion of allthe world is no more to me than the twitter of those birds outsidethe window. If his noble nature has ever for an instant fallen，it may be that I have been specially sent to raise it to its trueand lofty level. I am not clear’ —here she turned eyes upon mycompanion— ‘who this young lady may be.’
“I was about to answer when the girl broke in like a whirlwind.
If ever you saw flame and ice face to face， it was those two women.
“ ‘I’ll tell you who I am，’ she cried， springing out of her chair， hermouth all twisted with passion— ‘I am his last mistress. I am oneof a hundred that he has tempted and used and ruined and throwninto the refuse heap， as he will you also. Your refuse heap is morelikely to be a grave， and maybe that’s the best. I tell you， youfoolish woman， if you marry this man he’ll be the death of you. Itmay be a broken heart or it may be a broken neck， but he’ll haveyou one way or the other. It’s not out of love for you I’m speaking.
I don’t care a tinker’s curse whether you live or die. It’s out of hatefor him and to spite him and to get back on him for what he did tome. But it’s all the same， and you needn’t look at me like that， myfine lady， for you may be lower than I am before you are throughwith it.’
“ ‘I should prefer not to discuss such matters，’ said Miss deMerville coldly. ‘Let me say once for all that I am aware of threepassages in my fiancé’s life in which he became entangled withdesigning women， and that I am assured of his hearty repentancefor any evil that he may have done.’
“ ‘Three passages！’ screamed my companion. ‘You fool！ Youunutterable fool！’
“ ‘Mr. Holmes， I beg that you will bring this interview to an end，’
said the icy voice. ‘I have obeyed my father’s wish in seeing you，but I am not compelled to listen to the ravings of this person.’
“With an oath Miss Winter darted forward， and if I had notcaught her wrist she would have clutched this maddening womanby the hair. I dragged her towards the door and was lucky toget her back into the cab without a public scene， for she wasbeside herself with rage. In a cold way I felt pretty furious myself，Watson， for there was something indescribably annoying in thecalm aloofness and supreme self-complaisance of the womanwhom we were trying to save. So now once again you know exactlyhow we stand， and it is clear that I must plan some fresh openingmove， for this gambit won’t work. I’ll keep in touch with you，Watson， for it is more than likely that you will have your part toplay， though it is just possible that the next move may lie withthem rather than with us.”
And it did. Their blow fell—or his blow rather， for never couldI believe that the lady was privy to it. I think I could show youthe very paving-stone upon which I stood when my eyes fell uponthe placard， and a pang of horror passed through my very soul. Itwas between the Grand Hotel and Charing Cross Station， wherea one-legged news-vender displayed his evening papers. The datewas just two days after the last conversation. There， black uponyellow， was the terrible news-sheet：
MURDEROUS ATTACK UPON
SHERLOCK HOLMES
I think I stood stunned for some moments. Then I have aconfused recollection of snatching at a paper， of the remonstranceof the man， whom I had not paid， and， finally， of standing inthe doorway of a chemist’s shop while I turned up the fatefulparagraph. This was how it ran：
We learn with regret that Mr. Sherlock Holmes， the well-knownprivate detective， was the victim this morning of a murderousassault which has left him in a precarious position. There are noexact details to hand， but the event seems to have occurred abouttwelve o’clock in Regent Street， outside the Café Royal. Theattack was made by two men armed with sticks， and Mr. Holmeswas beaten about the head and body， receiving injuries which thedoctors describe as most serious. He was carried to Charing CrossHospital and afterwards insisted upon being taken to his roomsin Baker Street. The miscreants who attacked him appear to havebeen respectably dressed men， who escaped from the bystandersby passing through the Café Royal and out into Glasshouse Streetbehind it. No doubt they belonged to that criminal fraternitywhich has so often had occasion to bewail the activity andingenuity of the injured man.
I need not say that my eyes had hardly glanced over theparagraph before I had sprung into a hansom and was on my wayto Baker Street. I found Sir Leslie Oakshott， the famous surgeon，in the hall and his brougham waiting at the curb.
“No immediate danger，” was his report. “Two lacerated scalpwounds and some considerable bruises. Several stitches have beennecessary. Morphine has been injected and quiet is essential， butan interview of a few minutes would not be absolutely forbidden.”
With this permission I stole into the darkened room. Thesufferer was wide awake， and I heard my name in a hoarse whisper.
The blind was three-quarters down， but one ray of sunlight slantedthrough and struck the bandaged head of the injured man. Acrimson patch had soaked through the white linen compress. I satbeside him and bent my head.
“All right， Watson. Don’t look so scared，” he muttered in a veryweak voice. “It’s not as bad as it seems.”
“Thank God for that！”
“I’m a bit of a single-stick expert， as you know. I took most of themon my guard. It was the second man that was too much for me.”
“What can I do， Holmes？ Of course， it was that damned fellowwho set them on. I’ll go and thrash the hide off him if you give theword.”