Perkins:
For a moment there I weren't sure which of 'em I'd have to catch. Dr. Mortimer, he turned near as white as Sir Henry did, and I can't say as I didn't feel my own heart head for my boots. The Stapletons dead? And married one to the other? Why, I'd seen her into a carriage time and again and him too and no hint of nothing like love. That he'd killed her I could believe for he was the sort that would rather put a pin through a butterfly's heart than let it go on giving joy to the rest of us, but loved her? No. She'd brightened more at the sight of Sir Henry or Dr. Watson or even old Mortimer than she had for him.
Holmes had paled too, when Dr. Watson said that he'd shot Jack Stapleton and he shot a look to the stranger in the chair by the fire before he bent to take hold of Watson's good shoulder. "He would have shot me if you hadn't," he said, and the stranger sat up a little more, listening.
"I should have killed him sooner," Watson replied, and grimaced as Dr. Mortimer made another stitch in his arm.
"Shoot an unarmed man under the eye of a Scotland Yard detective?" Holmes said, with a quirk of a smile. "You wouldn't have thanked me for allowing it at your trial. Lestrade would have had to arrest you. His duty would have demanded nothing less."
"I may have to yet," said the stranger. "But I doubt it will come to anything more than a coroner's inquest. He'd admitted his guilt when he stole my gun and escaped."
Sir Henry was trembling under my hand. He stared at Holmes. "But why?" he cried. "Why has all this happened? You said the danger was past!"