A door slammed in the distance. Then a confused,
dull murmur broke itself into the measured thud of heavy
footsteps rapidly approaching. They were in the passage outside
the room. They paused at the door. The door opened. There was
a sharp snick as the electric light was turned on. The door closed
once more, and the pungent reek of a strong cigar was borne to
our nostrils. Then the footsteps continued backward and forward,
backward and forward, within a few yards of us. Finally there
was a creak from a chair, and the footsteps ceased. Then a key
clicked in a lock, and I heard the rustle of papers.
So far I had not dared to look out, but now I gently parted the
division of the curtains in front of me and peeped through. From
the pressure of Holmes's shoulder against mine, I knew that he
was sharing my observations. Right in front of us, and almost
within our reach, was the broad, rounded back of Milverton. It
was evident that we had entirely miscalculated his movements,
that he had never been to his bedroom, but that he had been
sitting up in some smoking or billiard room in the farther wing of
the house, the windows of which we had not seen.
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