INITIALIZATION
Knowledgebase: ki-dev
Base Query:  can you explain "the tomb.pdf"?
Model: gemini-1.5-pro-preview-0409
Use Curl?: None
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QUESTIONING
Clarity Score: 10
Give follow-up?: False
Follow-up query: 
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ROUTING
Query type: summary
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RAG PARAMETERS
Max Context To Include: 100
Lowest Score to Consider: 0.1
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VECTOR SEARCH ALGORITHM TO USE 
Use MMR search?: True
Use Similarity search?: False
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PRIMER 
Primer: 
            You are a highly intelligent personal assistant. Your role is to act as an expert
            at summarization and analysis.

            In your responses to enterprise users, prioritize clarity, trustworthiness, and appropriate formality.

            Be honest by admitting when a topic falls outside your scope of knowledge, and suggest
            alternative avenues for obtaining information when necessary.

            Make effective use of chat history to avoid redundancy and enhance response relevance, continuously
            adapting to integrate all necessary details in your interactions.

            Use as much tokens as possible to provide a detailed response.
         Your answer must be in English language. Your tone must be neutral. Your writing style must be standard.
==================================================


FINAL QUERY 
Final Query: CONTEXT: ##########
File: The%20Tomb.txt

Page: 1

Context: The Tomb
by H. P. Lovecraft
In relating the circumstances which have led to my confinement within this refuge for the demented, I am aware that my present position will create a natural doubt of the authenticity of my narrative. It is an unfortunate fact that the bulk of humanity is too limited in its mental vision to weigh with patience and intelligence those isolated phenomena, seen and felt only by a psychologically sensitive few, which lie outside its common experience. Men of broader intellect know that there is no sharp distinction betwixt the real and the unreal; that all things appear as they do only by virtue of the delicate individual physical and mental media through which we are made conscious of them; but the prosaic materialism of the majority condemns as madness the flashes of supersight which penetrate the common veil of obvious empricism.

My name is Jervas Dudley, and from earliest childhood I have been a dreamer and a visionary. Wealthy beyond the necessity of a commercial life, and temperamentally unfitted for the formal studies and social recreation of my acquaintances, I have dwelt ever in realms apart from the visible world; spending my youth and adolescence in ancient and little known books, and in roaming the fields and groves of the region near my ancestral home. I do not think that what I read in these books or saw in these fields and groves was exactly what other boys read and saw there; but of this I must say little, since detailed speech would but confirm those cruel slanders upon my intellect which I sometimes overhear from the whispers of the stealthy attendants around me. It is sufficient for me to relate events without analyzing causes.

I have said that I dwelt apart from the visible world, but I have not said that I dwelt alone. This no human creature may do; for lacking the fellowship of the living, he inevitably draws upon the companionship of things that are not, or are no longer, living. Close by my home there lies a singular wooded hollow, in whose twilight deeps I spent most of my time; reading, thinking, and dreaming. Down its moss-covered slopes my first steps of infancy were taken, and around its grotesquely gnarled oak trees my first fancies of boyhood were woven. Well did I come to know the presiding dryads of those trees, and often have I watched their wild dances in the struggling beams of a waning moon but of these things I must not now speak. I will tell only of the lone tomb in the darkest of the hillside thickets; the deserted tomb of the Hydes, an old and exalted family whose last direct descendant had been laid within its black recesses many decades before my birth.

The vault to which I refer is of ancient granite, weathered and discolored by the mists and dampness of generations. Excavated back into the hillside, the structure is visible only at the entrance. The door, a ponderous and forbidding slab of stone, hangs upon rusted iron hinges, and is fastened ajar in a queerly sinister way by means of heavy iron chains and padlocks, according to a gruesome fashion of half a century ago. The abode of the race whose scions are here inurned had once crowned the declivity which holds the tomb, but had long since fallen victim to the flames which sprang up from a stroke of lightning. Of the midnight storm which destroyed this gloomy mansion, the older inhabitants of the region sometimes speak in hushed and uneasy voices; alluding to what they call 'divine wrath' in a manner that in later years vaguely increased the always strong fascination which I had felt for the forest-darkened sepulcher. One man only had perished in the fire. When the last of the Hydes was buried in this place of shade and stillness, the sad urnful of ashes had come from a distant land, to which the family had repaired when the mansion burned down. No one remains to lay flowers before the granite portal, and few care to brave the depressing shadows which seem to linger strangely about the water-worn stones.

I shall never forget the afternoon when first I stumbled upon the half-hidden house of death. It was in midsummer, when the alchemy of nature transmutes the sylvan landscape to one vivid and almost homogeneous mass of green; when the senses are well-nigh intoxicated with the surging seas of moist verdure and the subtly indefinable odors of the soil and the vegetation. In such surroundings the mind loses its perspective; time and space become trivial and unreal, and echoes of a forgotten prehistoric past beat insistently upon the enthralled consciousness.
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File: The%20Tomb.txt

Page: 1

Context: As the phantom of the burning house faded, I found myself screaming and struggling madly in the arms of two men, one of whom was the spy who had followed me to the tomb. Rain was pouring down in torrents, and upon the southern horizon were flashes of lightning that had so lately passed over our heads. My father, his face lined with sorrow, stood by as I shouted my demands to be laid within the tomb, frequently admonishing my captors to treat me as gently as they could. A blackened circle on the floor of the ruined cellar told of a violent stroke from the heavens; and from this spot a group of curious villagers with lanterns were prying a small box of antique workmanship, which the thunderbolt had brought to light.

Ceasing my futile and now objectless writhing, I watched the spectators as they viewed the treasure-trove, and was permitted to share in their discoveries. The box, whose fastenings were broken by the stroke which had unearthed it, contained many papers and objects of value, but I had eyes for one thing alone. It was the porcelain miniature of a young man in a smartly curled bag-wig, and bore the initials 'J. H.' The face was such that as I gazed, I might well have been studying my mirror.

On the following day I was brought to this room with the barred windows, but I have been kept informed of certain things through an aged and simple-minded servitor, for whom I bore a fondness in infancy, and who, like me, loves the churchyard. What I have dared relate of my experiences within the vault has brought me only pitying smiles. My father, who visits me frequently, declares that at no time did I pass the chained portal, and swears that the rusted padlock had not been touched for fifty years when he examined it. He even says that all the village knew of my journeys to the tomb, and that I was often watched as I slept in the bower outside the grim facade, my half-open eyes fixed on the crevice that leads to the interior. Against these assertions I have no tangible proof to offer, since my key to the padlock was lost in the struggle on that night of horrors. The strange things of the past which I have learned during those nocturnal meetings with the dead he dismisses as the fruits of my lifelong and omnivorous browsing amongst the ancient volumes of the family library. Had it not been for my old servant Hiram, I should have by this time become quite convinced of my madness.

But Hiram, loyal to the last, has held faith in me, and has done that which impels me to make public at least part of my story. A week ago he burst open the lock which chains the door of the tomb perpetually ajar, and descended with a lantern into the murky depths. On a slab in an alcove he found an old but empty coffin whose tarnished plate bears the single word: Jervas. In that coffin and in that vault they have promised me I shall be buried.
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File: The%20Tomb.txt

Page: 1

Context: Accordingly my watches by the dank portal became less persistent, and much of my time was spent in other though equally strange pursuits. I would sometimes rise very quietly in the night, stealing out to walk in those church-yards and places of burial from which I had been kept by my parents. What I did there I may not say, for I am not now sure of the reality of certain things; but I know that on the day after such a nocturnal ramble I would often astonish those about me with my knowledge of topics almost forgotten for many generations. It was after a night like this that I shocked the community with a queer conceit about the burial of the rich and celebrated Squire Brewster, a maker of local history who was interred in 1711, and whose slate headstone, bearing a graven skull and crossbones, was slowly crumbling to powder. In a moment of childish imagination I vowed not only that the undertaker, Goodman Simpson, had stolen the silver-buckled shoes, silken hose, and satin small-clothes of the deceased before burial; but that the Squire himself, not fully inanimate, had turned twice in his mound-covered coffin on the day after interment.

But the idea of entering the tomb never left my thoughts; being indeed stimulated by the unexpected genealogical discovery that my own maternal ancestry possessed at least a slight link with the supposediy extinct family of the Hydes. Last of my paternal race, I was likewise the last of this older and more mysterious line. I began to feel that the tomb was mine, and to look forward with hot eagerness to the time when I might pass within that stone door and down those slimy stone steps in the dark. I now formed the habit of listening very intently at the slightly open portal, choosing my favorite hours of midnight stillness for the odd vigil. By the time I came of age, I had made a small clearing in the thicket before the mold-stained facade of the hillside, allowing the surrounding vegetation to encircle and overhang the space like the walls and roof of a sylvan bower. This bower was my temple, the fastened door my shrine, and here I would lie outstretched on the mossy ground, thinking strange thoughts and dreaming strange dreams.

The night of the first revelation was a sultry one. I must have fallen asleep from fatigue, for it was with a distinct sense of awakening that I heard the voices. Of these tones and accents I hesitate to speak; of their quality I will not speak; but I may say that they presented certain uncanny differences in vocabulary, pronunciation, and mode of utterance. Every shade of New England dialect, from the uncouth syllables of the Puritan colonists to the precise rhetoric of fifty years ago, seemed represented in that shadowy colloquy, though it was only later that I noticed the fact. At the time, indeed, my attention was distracted from this matter by another phenomenon; a phenomenon so fleeting that I could not take oath upon its reality. I barely fancied that as I awoke, a light had been hurriedly extinguished within the sunken sepulcher. I do not think I was either astounded or panic-stricken, but I know that I was greatly and permanently changed that night. Upon returning home I went with much directness to a rotting chest in the attic, wherein I found the key which next day unlocked with ease the barrier I had so long stormed in vain.

It was in the soft glow of late afternoon that I first entered the vault on the abandoned slope. A spell was upon me, and my heart leaped with an exultation I can but ill describe. As I closed the door behind me and descended the dripping steps by the light of my lone candle, I seemed to know the way; and though the candle sputtered with the stifling reek of the place, I felt singularly at home in the musty, charnel-house air. Looking about me, I beheld many marble slabs bearing coffins, or the remains of coffins. Some of these were sealed and intact, but others had nearly vanished, leaving the silver handles and plates isolated amidst certain curious heaps of whitish dust. Upon one plate I read the name of Sir Geoffrey Hyde, who had come from Sussex in 1640 and died here a few years later. In a conspicuous alcove was one fairly well preserved and untenanted casket, adorned with a single name which brought me both a smile and a shudder. An odd impulse caused me to climb upon the broad slab, extinguish my candle, and lie down within the vacant box.
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File: The%20Tomb.txt

Page: 1

Context: All day I had been wandering through the mystic groves of the hollow; thinking thoughts I need not discuss, and conversing with things I need not name. In years a child of ten, I had seen and heard many wonders unknown to the throng; and was oddly aged in certain respects. When, upon forcing my way between two savage clumps of briars, I suddenly encountered the entrance of the vault, I had no knowledge of what I had discovered. The dark blocks of granite, the door so curiously ajar, and the funeral carvings above the arch, aroused in me no associations of mournful or terrible character. Of graves and tombs I knew and imagined much, but had on account of my peculiar temperament been kept from all personal contact with churchyards and cemeteries. The strange stone house on the woodland slope was to me only a source of interest and speculation; and its cold, damp interior, into which I vainly peered through the aperture so tantalizingly left, contained for me no hint of death or decay. But in that instant of curiosity was born the madly unreasoning desire which has brought me to this hell of confinement. Spurred on by a voice which must have come from the hideous soul of the forest, I resolved to enter the beckoning gloom in spite of the ponderous chains which barred my passage. In the waning light of day I alternately rattled the rusty impediments with a view to throwing wide the stone door, and essayed to squeeze my slight form through the space already provided; but neither plan met with success. At first curious, I was now frantic; and when in the thickening twilight I returned to my home, I had sworn to the hundred gods of the grove that at any cost I would some day force an entrance to the black, chilly depths that seemed calling out to me. The physician with the iron-grey beard who comes each day to my room, once told a visitor that this decision marked the beginning of a pitiful monomania; but I will leave final judgment to my readers when they shall have learnt all.

The months following my discovery were spent in futile attempts to force the complicated padlock of the slightly open vault, and in carefully guarded inquiries regarding the nature and history of the structure. With the traditionally receptive ears of the small boy, I learned much; though an habitual secretiveness caused me to tell no one of my information or my resolve. It is perhaps worth mentioning that I was not at all surprised or terrified on learning of the nature of the vault. My rather original ideas regarding life and death had caused me to associate the cold clay with the breathing body in a vague fashion; and I felt that the great and sinister family of the burned-down mansion was in some way represented within the stone space I sought to explore. Mumbled tales of the weird rites and godless revels of bygone years in the ancient hall gave to me a new and potent interest in the tomb, before whose door I would sit for hours at a time each day. Once I thrust a candie within the nearly closed entrance, but could see nothing save a flight of damp stone steps leading downward. The odor of the place repelled yet bewitched me. I felt I had known it before, in a past remote beyond all recollection; beyond even my tenancy of the body I now possess.

The year after I first beheld the tomb, I stumbled upon a worm-eaten translation of Plutarch's Lives in the book-filled attic of my home. Reading the life of Theseus, I was much impressed by that passage telling of the great stone beneath which the boyish hero was to find his tokens of destiny whenever he should become old enough to lift its enormous weight. The legend had the effect of dispelling my keenest impatience to enter the vault, for it made me feel that the time was not yet ripe. Later, I told myself, I should grow to a strength and ingenuity which might enable me to unfasten the heavily chained door with ease; but until then I would do better by conforming to what seemed the will of Fate.
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 3

Context: The	Valley	Of	Fearby
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 5

Context: CONTENTSPART	1—The	Tragedy	of	BirlstoneChapter	1		The	Warning2		Sherlock	Holmes	Discourses3		The	Tragedy	of	Birlstone4		Darkness5		The	People	Of	the	Drama6		A	Dawning	Light7		The	SolutionPART	2—The	Scowrers1		The	Man2		The	Bodymaster3		Lodge	341,	Vermissa4		The	Valley	of	Fear5		The	Darkest	Hour6		Danger7		The	Trapping	of	Birdy	Edwards	Epilogue
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 8

Context: is	instance'?""Because	there	are	many	ciphers	which	I	would	read	as	easily	as	I	do	theapocrypha	of	the	agony	column:	such	crude	devices	amuse	the	intelligencewithout	fatiguing	it.	But	this	is	different.	It	is	clearly	a	reference	to	the	words	ina	page	of	some	book.	Until	I	am	told	which	page	and	which	book	I	ampowerless.""But	why	'Douglas'	and	'Birlstone'?""Clearly	because	those	are	words	which	were	not	contained	in	the	page	inquestion.""Then	why	has	he	not	indicated	the	book?"
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 10

Context: pushed	away	his	untasted	breakfast	and	lit	theunsavoury	pipe	which	was	the	companion	of	his	deepest	meditations.	"Iwonder!"	said	he,	leaning	back	and	staring	at	the	ceiling.	"Perhaps	there	arepoints	which	have	escaped	your	Machiavellian	intellect.	Let	us	consider	theproblem	in	the	light	of	pure	reason.	This	man's	reference	is	to	a	book.	That	is	ourpoint	of	departure.""A	somewhat	vague	one.""Let	us	see	then	if	we	can	narrow	it	down.	As	I	focus	my	mind	upon	it,	itseems	rather	less	impenetrable.	What	indications	have	we	as	to	this	book?""None.""Well,	well,	it	is	surely	not	quite	so	bad	as	that.	The	cipher	message	beginswith	a	large	534,	does	it	not?	We	may	take	it	as	a	working	hypothesis	that	534	isthe	particular	page	to	which	the	cipher	refers.	So	our	book	has	already	become	alarge	book	which	is	surely	something	gained.	What	other	indications	have	we	as
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 11

Context: were	nipped,	tosend	me	the	clue	in	this	envelope.	He	says	so	in	his	note.	This	would	seem	toindicate	that	the	book	is	one	which	he	thought	I	would	have	no	difficulty	infinding	for	myself.	He	had	it—and	he	imagined	that	I	would	have	it,	too.	Inshort,	Watson,	it	is	a	very	common	book.""What	you	say	certainly	sounds	plausible.""So	we	have	contracted	our	field	of	search	to	a	large	book,	printed	in	doublecolumns	and	in	common	use.""The	Bible!"	I	cried	triumphantly."Good,	Watson,	good!	But	not,	if	I	may	say	so,	quite	good	enough!	Even	if	Iaccepted	the	compliment	for	myself	I	could	hardly	name	any	volume	whichwould	be	less	likely	to	lie	at	the	elbow	of	one	of	Moriarty's	associates.	Besides,the	editions	of	Holy	Writ	are	so	numerous	that	he	could	hardly	suppose	that	twocopies	would	have	the	same	pagination.	This	is	clearly	a	book	which	is
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 12

Context: standardized.	He	knows	for	certain	that	his	page	534	will	exactly	agree	with	mypage	534.""But	very	few	books	would	correspond	with	that.""Exactly.	Therein	lies	our	salvation.	Our	search	is	narrowed	down	tostandardized	books	which	anyone	may	be	supposed	to	possess.""Bradshaw!""There	are	difficulties,	Watson.	The	vocabulary	of	Bradshaw	is	nervous	andterse,	but	limited.	The	selection	of	words	would	hardly	lend	itself	to	the	sendingof	general	messages.	We	will	eliminate	Bradshaw.	The	dictionary	is,	I	fear,inadmissible	for	the	same	reason.	What	then	is	left?""An	almanac!""Excellent,	Watson!	I	am	very	much	mistaken	if	you	have	not	touched	thespot.	An	almanac!	Let	us	consider	the	claims	of	Whitaker's	Almanac.	It	is	incommon	use.	It	has	the	requisite	number	of	pages.	It	is	in	double	column.Though	reserved	in	its	earlier	vocabulary,	it	becomes,	if	I	remember	right,	quitegarrulous	towards	the	end."	He	picked	the	volume	from	his	desk.	"Here	is	page534,	column	two,	a	substantial	block	of	print	dea
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 13

Context: letter	of	explanation	been	written.	Now	let	us	see	what	page	534	has	in	store	forus.	Number	thirteen	is	'There,'	which	is	much	more	promising.	Number	onehundred	and	twenty-seven	is	'is'—'There	is'"—Holmes's	eyes	were	gleamingwith	excitement,	and	his	thin,	nervous	fingers	twitched	as	he	counted	the	words—"'danger.'	Ha!	Ha!	Capital!	Put	that	down,	Watson.	'There	is	danger—may—come—very—soon—one.'	Then	we	have	the	name	'Douglas'—	'rich—country—now—at—Birlstone—House—Birlstone—confidence—is—	pressing.'	There,Watson!	What	do	you	think	of	pure	reason	and	its	fruit?	If	the	greengrocer	hadsuch	a	thing	as	a	laurel	wreath,	I	should	send	Billy	round	for	it."I	was	staring	at	the	strange	message	which	I	had	scrawled,	as	he	decipheredit,	upon	a	sheet	of	foolscap	on	my	knee."What	a	queer,	scrambling	way	of	expressing	his	meaning!"	said	I."On	the	contrary,	he	has	done	quite	remarkably	well,"	said	Holmes.	"Whenyou	search	a	single	column	for	words	with	which	to	express	your	meaning,	youcan	hardly	expect
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 14

Context: on't	smoke,	I	thank	you.	I'llhave	to	be	pushing	on	my	way;	for	the	early	hours	of	a	case	are	the	preciousones,	as	no	man	knows	better	than	your	own	self.	But—but—"The	inspector	had	stopped	suddenly,	and	was	staring	with	a	look	of	absoluteamazement	at	a	paper	upon	the	table.	It	was	the	sheet	upon	which	I	had	scrawledthe	enigmatic	message."Douglas!"	he	stammered.	"Birlstone!	What's	this,	Mr.	Holmes?	Man,	it'switchcraft!	Where	in	the	name	of	all	that	is	wonderful	did	you	get	those	names?""It	is	a	cipher	that	Dr.	Watson	and	I	have	had	occasion	to	solve.	But	why—what's	amiss	with	the	names?"The	inspector	looked	from	one	to	the	other	of	us	in	dazed	astonishment.	"Justthis,"	said	he,	"that	Mr.	Douglas	of	Birlstone	Manor	House	was	horriblymurdered	last	night!"Chapter	2
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 15

Context: on	is	dead.	I	aminterested;	but,	as	you	observe,	I	am	not	surprised."In	a	few	short	sentences	he	explained	to	the	inspector	the	facts	about	the	letterand	the	cipher.	MacDonald	sat	with	his	chin	on	his	hands	and	his	great	sandyeyebrows	bunched	into	a	yellow	tangle."I	was	going	down	to	Birlstone	this	morning,"	said	he.	"I	had	come	to	askyou	if	you	cared	to	come	with	me—you	and	your	friend	here.	But	from	what	yousay	we	might	perhaps	be	doing	better	work	in	London.""I	rather	think	not,"	said	Holmes."Hang	it	all,	Mr.	Holmes!"	cried	the	inspector.	"The	papers	will	be	full	of	theBirlstone	mystery	in	a	day	or	two;	but	where's	the	mystery	if	there	is	a	man	inLondon	who	prophesied	the	crime	before	ever	it	occurred?	We	have	only	to	layour	hands	on	that	man,	and	the	rest	will	follow.""No	doubt,	Mr.	Mac.	But	how	do	you	propose	to	lay	your	hands	on	the	so-called	Porlock?"MacDonald	turned	over	the	letter	which	Holmes	had	handed	him.	"Posted	in
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 18

Context: ed.	He	was	always	warmed	by	genuine	admiration—thecharacteristic	of	the	real	artist.	"What	about	Birlstone?"	he	asked."We've	time	yet,"	said	the	inspector,	glancing	at	his	watch.	"I've	a	cab	at	thedoor,	and	it	won't	take	us	twenty	minutes	to	Victoria.	But	about	this	picture:	Ithought	you	told	me	once,	Mr.	Holmes,	that	you	had	never	met	ProfessorMoriarty.""No,	I	never	have.""Then	how	do	you	know	about	his	rooms?""Ah,	that's	another	matter.	I	have	been	three	times	in	his	rooms,	twice	waitingfor	him	under	different	pretexts	and	leaving	before	he	came.	Once—well,	I	canhardly	tell	about	the	once	to	an	official	detective.	It	was	on	the	last	occasion	thatI	took	the	liberty	of	running	over	his	papers—with	the	most	unexpected	results."
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 18

Context: MacDonald	smiled	feebly,	and	looked	appealingly	to	me.	"Your	thoughtsmove	a	bit	too	quick	for	me,	Mr.	Holmes.	You	leave	out	a	link	or	two,	and	I	can'tget	over	the	gap.	What	in	the	whole	wide	world	can	be	the	connection	betweenthis	dead	painting	man	and	the	affair	at	Birlstone?""All	knowledge	comes	useful	to	the	detective,"	remarked	Holmes.	"Even	thetrivial	fact	that	in	the	year	1865	a	picture	by	Greuze	entitled	La	Jeune	Fille	al'Agneau	fetched	one	million	two	hundred	thousand	francs—more	than	fortythousand	pounds—at	the	Portalis	sale	may	start	a	train	of	reflection	in	yourmind."It	was	clear	that	it	did.	The	inspector	looked	honestly	interested."I	may	remind	you,"	Holmes	continued,	"that	the	professor's	salary	can	beascertained	in	several	trustworthy	books	of	reference.	It	is	seven	hundred	a	year.""Then	how	could	he	buy—""Quite	so!	How	could	he?""Ay,	that's	remarkable,"	said	the	inspector	thoughtfully.	"Talk	away,	Mr.Holmes.	I'm	just	loving	it.	It's	fine!"Holmes	smiled.	He	was	always	wa
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 21

Context: ast	there	was	a	fitting	object	for	those	remarkable	powers	which,	like	allspecial	gifts,	become	irksome	to	their	owner	when	they	are	not	in	use.	That	razorbrain	blunted	and	rusted	with	inaction.
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 22

Context: one	which	presented	some	very	perplexing	and	extraordinaryfeatures.	That's	absolutely	all	we	have	at	present,	Mr.	Holmes."
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Context: a	snorter.	Don't	waste	a	moment	ingetting	started.	If	you	can	bring	Mr.	Holmes,	please	do	so;	for	he	will	find	somethingafter	his	own	heart.	We	would	think	the	whole	thing	had	been	fixed	up	for	theatricaleffect	if	there	wasn't	a	dead	man	in	the	middle	of	it.	My	word!	it	is	a	snorter.""Your	friend	seems	to	be	no	fool,"	remarked	Holmes."No,	sir,	White	Mason	is	a	very	live	man,	if	I	am	any	judge.""Well,	have	you	anything	more?""Only	that	he	will	give	us	every	detail	when	we	meet.""Then	how	did	you	get	at	Mr.	Douglas	and	the	fact	that	he	had	been	horriblymurdered?""That	was	in	the	enclosed	official	report.	It	didn't	say	'horrible':	that's	not	arecognized	official	term.	It	gave	the	name	John	Douglas.	It	mentioned	that	hisinjuries	had	been	in	the	head,	from	the	discharge	of	a	shotgun.	It	also	mentionedthe	hour	of	the	alarm,	which	was	close	on	to	midnight	last	night.	It	added	that	thecase	was	undoubtedly	one	of	murder,	but	that	no	arrest	had	been	made,	and	thatthe	case	was	one	which	presented
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Context: e	roseupon	the	ruins	of	the	feudal	castle.
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Context: "Then,	with	your	permission,	we	will	leave	it	at	that,	Mr.	Mac.	Thetemptation	to	form	premature	theories	upon	insufficient	data	is	the	bane	of	ourprofession.	I	can	see	only	two	things	for	certain	at	present—a	great	brain	inLondon,	and	a	dead	man	in	Sussex.	It's	the	chain	between	that	we	are	going	totrace."Chapter	3The	Tragedy	of	BirlstoneNow	for	a	moment	I	will	ask	leave	to	remove	my	own	insignificantpersonality	and	to	describe	events	which	occurred	before	we	arrived	upon	thescene	by	the	light	of	knowledge	which	came	to	us	afterwards.	Only	in	this	waycan	I	make	the	reader	appreciate	the	people	concerned	and	the	strange	setting	inwhich	their	fate	was	cast.The	village	of	Birlstone	is	a	small	and	very	ancient	cluster	of	half-timberedcottages	on	the	northern	border	of	the	county	of	Sussex.	For	centuries	it	hadremained	unchanged;	but	within	the	last	few	years	its	picturesque	appearanceand	situation	have	attracted	a	number	of	well-to-do	residents,	whose	villas	peepout	from	the	woods	around.
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Context: t."What's	this?"	he	asked,	holding	it	up.Barker	looked	at	it	with	curiosity.	"I	never	noticed	it	before,"	he	said.	"Themurderer	must	have	left	it	behind	him.""V.	V.—341.	I	can	make	no	sense	of	that."The	sergeant	kept	turning	it	over	in	his	big	fingers.	"What's	V.	V.?Somebody's	initials,	maybe.	What	have	you	got	there,	Dr.	Wood?"It	was	a	good-sized	hammer	which	had	been	lying	on	the	rug	in	front	of	thefireplace—a	substantial,	workmanlike	hammer.	Cecil	Barker	pointed	to	a	box	ofbrass-headed	nails	upon	the	mantelpiece."Mr.	Douglas	was	altering	the	pictures	yesterday,"	he	said.	"I	saw	him	myself,standing	upon	that	chair	and	fixing	the	big	picture	above	it.	That	accounts	for	thehammer.""We'd	best	put	it	back	on	the	rug	where	we	found	it,"	said	the	sergeant,
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Context: to	come	upon	him,	so	he	murdered	him	and	escaped.""That's	how	I	read	it,"	said	Barker.	"But,	I	say,	aren't	we	wasting	precioustime?	Couldn't	we	start	out	and	scour	the	country	before	the	fellow	gets	away?"The	sergeant	considered	for	a	moment."There	are	no	trains	before	six	in	the	morning;	so	he	can't	get	away	by	rail.	Ifhe	goes	by	road	with	his	legs	all	dripping,	it's	odds	that	someone	will	notice	him.Anyhow,	I	can't	leave	here	myself	until	I	am	relieved.	But	I	think	none	of	youshould	go	until	we	see	more	clearly	how	we	all	stand."The	doctor	had	taken	the	lamp	and	was	narrowly	scrutinizing	the	body."What's	this	mark?"	he	asked.	"Could	this	have	any	connection	with	the	crime?"The	dead	man's	right	arm	was	thrust	out	from	his	dressing	gown,	and	exposedas	high	as	the	elbow.	About	halfway	up	the	forearm	was	a	curious	brown	design,a	triangle	inside	a	circle,	standing	out	in	vivid	relief	upon	the	lard-coloured	skin."It's	not	tattooed,"	said	the	doctor,	peering	through	his	glasses.	"I	never	s
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Context: ards	put	the	nugget	ring	backagain.""That	is	so!"The	worthy	country	policeman	shook	his	head.	"Seems	to	me	the	sooner	weget	London	on	to	this	case	the	better,"	said	he.	"White	Mason	is	a	smart	man.	Nolocal	job	has	ever	been	too	much	for	White	Mason.	It	won't	be	long	now	beforehe	is	here	to	help	us.	But	I	expect	we'll	have	to	look	to	London	before	we	arethrough.	Anyhow,	I'm	not	ashamed	to	say	that	it	is	a	deal	too	thick	for	the	likesof	me."
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Context: Chapter	4DarknessAt	three	in	the	morning	the	chief	Sussex	detective,	obeying	the	urgent	callfrom	Sergeant	Wilson	of	Birlstone,	arrived	from	headquarters	in	a	light	dog-cartbehind	a	breathless	trotter.	By	the	five-forty	train	in	the	morning	he	had	sent	hismessage	to	Scotland	Yard,	and	he	was	at	the	Birlstone	station	at	twelve	o'clockto	welcome	us.	White	Mason	was	a	quiet,	comfortable-looking	person	in	a	loosetweed	suit,	with	a	clean-shaved,	ruddy	face,	a	stoutish	body,	and	powerful	bandylegs	adorned	with	gaiters,	looking	like	a	small	farmer,	a	retired	gamekeeper,	oranything	upon	earth	except	a	very	favourable	specimen	of	the	provincialcriminal	officer."A	real	downright	snorter,	Mr.	MacDonald!"	he	kept	repeating.	"We'll	havethe	pressmen	down	like	flies	when	they	understand	it.	I'm	hoping	we	will	get	ourwork	done	before	they	get	poking	their	noses	into	it	and	messing	up	all	the	trails.There	has	been	nothing	like	this	that	I	can	remember.	There	are	some	bits	thatwill	come	home	to	you,	Mr.
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Context: the	cold,	wintersunshine.Three	centuries	had	flowed	past	the	old	Manor	House,	centuries	of	births	andof	homecomings,	of	country	dances	and	of	the	meetings	of	fox	hunters.	Strangethat	now	in	its	old	age	this	dark	business	should	have	cast	its	shadow	upon	thevenerable	walls!	And	yet	those	strange,	peaked	roofs	and	quaint,	overhunggables	were	a	fitting	covering	to	grim	and	terrible	intrigue.	As	I	looked	at	thedeep-set	windows	and	the	long	sweep	of	the	dull-coloured,	water-lapped	front,	Ifelt	that	no	more	fitting	scene	could	be	set	for	such	a	tragedy."That's	the	window,"	said	White	Mason,	"that	one	on	the	immediate	right	ofthe	drawbridge.	It's	open	just	as	it	was	found	last	night.""It	looks	rather	narrow	for	a	man	to	pass.""Well,	it	wasn't	a	fat	man,	anyhow.	We	don't	need	your	deductions,	Mr.Holmes,	to	tell	us	that.	But	you	or	I	could	squeeze	through	all	right."Holmes	walked	to	the	edge	of	the	moat	and	looked	across.	Then	he	examinedthe	stone	ledge	and	the	grass	border	beyond	it."I've	had
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Context: beyond	it."I've	had	a	good	look,	Mr.	Holmes,"	said	White	Mason.	"There	is	nothingthere,	no	sign	that	anyone	has	landed—but	why	should	he	leave	any	sign?"
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Context: time,	Mr.	White	Mason,	I	claim	the	right	to	work	in	my	own	way	and	give	myresults	at	my	own	time—complete	rather	than	in	stages.""I	am	sure	we	are	honoured	by	your	presence	and	to	show	you	all	we	know,"said	White	Mason	cordially.	"Come	along,	Dr.	Watson,	and	when	the	time	comeswe'll	all	hope	for	a	place	in	your	book."We	walked	down	the	quaint	village	street	with	a	row	of	pollarded	elms	oneach	side	of	it.	Just	beyond	were	two	ancient	stone	pillars,	weather-stained	andlichen-blotched	bearing	upon	their	summits	a	shapeless	something	which	hadonce	been	the	rampant	lion	of	Capus	of	Birlstone.	A	short	walk	along	thewinding	drive	with	such	sward	and	oaks	around	it	as	one	only	sees	in	ruralEngland,	then	a	sudden	turn,	and	the	long,	low	Jacobean	house	of	dingy,	liver-coloured	brick	lay	before	us,	with	an	old-fashioned	garden	of	cut	yews	on	eachside	of	it.	As	we	approached	it,	there	was	the	wooden	drawbridge	and	thebeautiful	broad	moat	as	still	and	luminous	as	quicksilver	in	the	cold,	wintersuns
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Context: "Exactly.	Why	should	he?	Is	the	water	always	turbid?""Generally	about	this	colour.	The	stream	brings	down	the	clay.""How	deep	is	it?""About	two	feet	at	each	side	and	three	in	the	middle.""So	we	can	put	aside	all	idea	of	the	man	having	been	drowned	in	crossing.""No,	a	child	could	not	be	drowned	in	it."We	walked	across	the	drawbridge,	and	were	admitted	by	a	quaint,	gnarled,dried-up	person,	who	was	the	butler,	Ames.	The	poor	old	fellow	was	white	andquivering	from	the	shock.	The	village	sergeant,	a	tall,	formal,	melancholy	man,still	held	his	vigil	in	the	room	of	Fate.	The	doctor	had	departed."Anything	fresh,	Sergeant	Wilson?"	asked	White	Mason."No,	sir.""Then	you	can	go	home.	You've	had	enough.	We	can	send	for	you	if	we	wantyou.	The	butler	had	better	wait	outside.	Tell	him	to	warn	Mr.	Cecil	Barker,	Mrs.Douglas,	and	the	housekeeper	that	we	may	want	a	word	with	them	presently.Now,	gentlemen,	perhaps	you	will	allow	me	to	give	you	the	views	I	have	formedfirst,	and	then	you	will	be	able	to	arri
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Context: "I	don't	think	so."Holmes	walked	across	to	the	desk	and	dabbed	a	little	ink	from	each	bottle	onto	the	blotting	paper.	"It	was	not	printed	in	this	room,"	he	said;	"this	is	black	inkand	the	other	purplish.	It	was	done	by	a	thick	pen,	and	these	are	fine.	No,	it	wasdone	elsewhere,	I	should	say.	Can	you	make	anything	of	the	inscription,	Ames?""No,	sir,	nothing.""What	do	you	think,	Mr.	Mac?""It	gives	me	the	impression	of	a	secret	society	of	some	sort;	the	same	with	hisbadge	upon	the	forearm.""That's	my	idea,	too,"	said	White	Mason."Well,	we	can	adopt	it	as	a	working	hypothesis	and	then	see	how	far	ourdifficulties	disappear.	An	agent	from	such	a	society	makes	his	way	into	thehouse,	waits	for	Mr.	Douglas,	blows	his	head	nearly	off	with	this	weapon,	andescapes	by	wading	the	moat,	after	leaving	a	card	beside	the	dead	man,	whichwill	when	mentioned	in	the	papers,	tell	other	members	of	the	society	thatvengeance	has	been	done.	That	all	hangs	together.	But	why	this	gun,	of	allweapons?""Exactly.""And
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Context: ons?""Exactly.""And	why	the	missing	ring?""Quite	so.""And	why	no	arrest?	It's	past	two	now.	I	take	it	for	granted	that	since	dawnevery	constable	within	forty	miles	has	been	looking	out	for	a	wet	stranger?""That	is	so,	Mr.	Holmes.""Well,	unless	he	has	a	burrow	close	by	or	a	change	of	clothes	ready,	they	canhardly	miss	him.	And	yet	they	have	missed	him	up	to	now!"	Holmes	had	gone	tothe	window	and	was	examining	with	his	lens	the	blood	mark	on	the	sill.	"It	isclearly	the	tread	of	a	shoe.	It	is	remarkably	broad;	a	splay-foot,	one	would	say.Curious,	because,	so	far	as	one	can	trace	any	footmark	in	this	mud-stained
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Context: ays	up.Mr.	Douglas	seldom	went	to	London	or	left	the	village;	but	on	the	day	beforethe	crime	he	had	been	shopping	at	Tunbridge	Wells.	He	(Ames)	had	observedsome	restlessness	and	excitement	on	the	part	of	Mr.	Douglas	that	day;	for	he	hadseemed	impatient	and	irritable,	which	was	unusual	with	him.	He	had	not	gone	tobed	that	night;	but	was	in	the	pantry	at	the	back	of	the	house,	putting	away	thesilver,	when	he	heard	the	bell	ring	violently.	He	heard	no	shot;	but	it	was	hardlypossible	he	would,	as	the	pantry	and	kitchens	were	at	the	very	back	of	the	houseand	there	were	several	closed	doors	and	a	long	passage	between.	Thehousekeeper	had	come	out	of	her	room,	attracted	by	the	violent	ringing	of	thebell.	They	had	gone	to	the	front	of	the	house	together.As	they	reached	the	bottom	of	the	stair	he	had	seen	Mrs.	Douglas	coming
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Context: to	offend	it.	He	could	only	suppose	thatthe	legend	upon	the	placard	had	some	reference	to	this	secret	society."How	long	were	you	with	Douglas	in	California?"	asked	InspectorMacDonald."Five	years	altogether.""He	was	a	bachelor,	you	say?"
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Context: It	was	spoken	with	fervour	and	feeling,	and	yet	Inspector	MacDonald	couldnot	dismiss	the	subject."You	are	aware,"	said	he,	"that	the	dead	man's	wedding	ring	has	been	takenfrom	his	finger?""So	it	appears,"	said	Barker."What	do	you	mean	by	'appears'?	You	know	it	as	a	fact."The	man	seemed	confused	and	undecided.	"When	I	said	'appears'	I	meant	thatit	was	conceivable	that	he	had	himself	taken	off	the	ring.""The	mere	fact	that	the	ring	should	be	absent,	whoever	may	have	removed	it,would	suggest	to	anyone's	mind,	would	it	not,	that	the	marriage	and	the	tragedywere	connected?"Barker	shrugged	his	broad	shoulders.	"I	can't	profess	to	say	what	it	means."he	answered.	"But	if	you	mean	to	hint	that	it	could	reflect	in	any	way	upon	thislady's	honour"—his	eyes	blazed	for	an	instant,	and	then	with	an	evident	effort	hegot	a	grip	upon	his	own	emotions—"well,	you	are	on	the	wrong	track,	that's	all.""I	don't	know	that	I've	anything	else	to	ask	you	at	present,"	said	MacDonald,coldly."There	was	one	small	poi
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Context: ho	has	endured	a	great	shock;	but	her	manner	was	composed,	andthe	finely	moulded	hand	which	she	rested	upon	the	edge	of	the	table	was	assteady	as	my	own.	Her	sad,	appealing	eyes	travelled	from	one	to	the	other	of	uswith	a	curiously	inquisitive	expression.	That	questioning	gaze	transformed	itselfsuddenly	into	abrupt	speech."Have	you	found	anything	out	yet?"	she	asked.Was	it	my	imagination	that	there	was	an	undertone	of	fear	rather	than	of	hopein	the	question?"We	have	taken	every	possible	step,	Mrs.	Douglas,"	said	the	inspector.	"Youmay	rest	assured	that	nothing	will	be	neglected.""Spare	no	money,"	she	said	in	a	dead,	even	tone.	"It	is	my	desire	that	everypossible	effort	should	be	made.""Perhaps	you	can	tell	us	something	which	may	throw	some	light	upon	thematter."
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Context: Holmes—what's	the	game?""Ay,	what's	the	game?"	my	friend	repeated	thoughtfully.White	Mason	chuckled	and	rubbed	his	fat	hands	together	in	his	professionalsatisfaction.	"I	said	it	was	a	snorter!"	he	cried.	"And	a	real	snorter	it	is!"Chapter	6A	Dawning	LightThe	three	detectives	had	many	matters	of	detail	into	which	to	inquire;	so	Ireturned	alone	to	our	modest	quarters	at	the	village	inn.	But	before	doing	so	Itook	a	stroll	in	the	curious	old-world	garden	which	flanked	the	house.	Rows	ofvery	ancient	yew	trees	cut	into	strange	designs	girded	it	round.	Inside	was	abeautiful	stretch	of	lawn	with	an	old	sundial	in	the	middle,	the	whole	effect	sosoothing	and	restful	that	it	was	welcome	to	my	somewhat	jangled	nerves.In	that	deeply	peaceful	atmosphere	one	could	forget,	or	remember	only	assome	fantastic	nightmare,	that	darkened	study	with	the	sprawling,	bloodstainedfigure	on	the	floor.	And	yet,	as	I	strolled	round	it	and	tried	to	steep	my	soul	in	itsgentle	balm,	a	strange	incident	occurred,	which	b
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Context: nt	occurred,	which	brought	me	back	to	the	tragedyand	left	a	sinister	impression	in	my	mind.I	have	said	that	a	decoration	of	yew	trees	circled	the	garden.	At	the	endfarthest	from	the	house	they	thickened	into	a	continuous	hedge.	On	the	other	sideof	this	hedge,	concealed	from	the	eyes	of	anyone	approaching	from	the	directionof	the	house,	there	was	a	stone	seat.	As	I	approached	the	spot	I	was	aware	ofvoices,	some	remark	in	the	deep	tones	of	a	man,	answered	by	a	little	ripple	offeminine	laughter.An	instant	later	I	had	come	round	the	end	of	the	hedge	and	my	eyes	lit	uponMrs.	Douglas	and	the	man	Barker	before	they	were	aware	of	my	presence.	Herappearance	gave	me	a	shock.	In	the	dining-room	she	had	been	demure	anddiscreet.	Now	all	pretense	of	grief	had	passed	away	from	her.	Her	eyes	shone
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Context: doing	fromquarter	to	eleven,	when	the	sound	of	the	shot	brought	them	down,	until	quarterpast	eleven,	when	they	rang	the	bell	and	summoned	the	servants.	What	werethey	doing,	and	why	did	they	not	instantly	give	the	alarm?	That	is	the	questionwhich	faces	us,	and	when	it	has	been	answered	we	shall	surely	have	gone	someway	to	solve	our	problem.""I	am	convinced	myself,"	said	I,	"that	there	is	an	understanding	between
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Context: re	for	the	slamming	door.	Whydid	your	guilty	couple	do	all	this,	Watson?""I	confess	that	I	can't	explain	it.""Then	again,	if	a	woman	and	her	lover	conspire	to	murder	a	husband,	are	theygoing	to	advertise	their	guilt	by	ostentatiously	removing	his	wedding	ring	afterhis	death?	Does	that	strike	you	as	very	probable,	Watson?""No,	it	does	not.""And	once	again,	if	the	thought	of	leaving	a	bicycle	concealed	outside	hadoccurred	to	you,	would	it	really	have	seemed	worth	doing	when	the	dullestdetective	would	naturally	say	this	is	an	obvious	blind,	as	the	bicycle	is	the	firstthing	which	the	fugitive	needed	in	order	to	make	his	escape.""I	can	conceive	of	no	explanation.""And	yet	there	should	be	no	combination	of	events	for	which	the	wit	of	mancannot	conceive	an	explanation.	Simply	as	a	mental	exercise,	without	anyassertion	that	it	is	true,	let	me	indicate	a	possible	line	of	thought.	It	is,	I	admit,mere	imagination;	but	how	often	is	imagination	the	mother	of	truth?"We	will	suppose	that	there	was	a
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Context: ells.	It	was	at	Tunbridge	Wellsthen	that	he	had	become	conscious	of	some	danger.	It	was	clear,	therefore,	that	ifa	man	had	come	over	with	a	bicycle	it	was	from	Tunbridge	Wells	that	he	mightbe	expected	to	have	come.	We	took	the	bicycle	over	with	us	and	showed	it	at	thehotels.	It	was	identified	at	once	by	the	manager	of	the	Eagle	Commercial	asbelonging	to	a	man	named	Hargrave,	who	had	taken	a	room	there	two	daysbefore.	This	bicycle	and	a	small	valise	were	his	whole	belongings.	He	hadregistered	his	name	as	coming	from	London,	but	had	given	no	address.	Thevalise	was	London	made,	and	the	contents	were	British;	but	the	man	himself	wasundoubtedly	an	American.""Well,	well,"	said	Holmes	gleefully,	"you	have	indeed	done	some	solid	workwhile	I	have	been	sitting	spinning	theories	with	my	friend!	It's	a	lesson	in	beingpractical,	Mr.	Mac.""Ay,	it's	just	that,	Mr.	Holmes,"	said	the	inspector	with	satisfaction."But	this	may	all	fit	in	with	your	theories,"	I	remarked.
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Context: r.	Mac,	it	is	very	good	and	very	clear	so	far	as	it	goes.	That	is	yourend	of	the	story.	My	end	is	that	the	crime	was	committed	half	an	hour	earlierthan	reported;	that	Mrs.	Douglas	and	Barker	are	both	in	a	conspiracy	to	concealsomething;	that	they	aided	the	murderer's	escape—or	at	least	that	they	reachedthe	room	before	he	escaped—and	that	they	fabricated	evidence	of	his	escapethrough	the	window,	whereas	in	all	probability	they	had	themselves	let	him	goby	lowering	the	bridge.	That's	my	reading	of	the	first	half."The	two	detectives	shook	their	heads.
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

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Context: untry	inncould	do	for	us.	I	was	already	asleep	when	I	was	partly	awakened	by	hisentrance."Well,	Holmes,"	I	murmured,	"have	you	found	anything	out?"He	stood	beside	me	in	silence,	his	candle	in	his	hand.	Then	the	tall,	leanfigure	inclined	towards	me.	"I	say,	Watson,"	he	whispered,	"would	you	be	afraidto	sleep	in	the	same	room	with	a	lunatic,	a	man	with	softening	of	the	brain,	anidiot	whose	mind	has	lost	its	grip?""Not	in	the	least,"	I	answered	in	astonishment."Ah,	that's	lucky,"	he	said,	and	not	another	word	would	he	utter	that	night.Chapter	7
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Context: ou	will	no	doubt	remember,	that	I	should	notpresent	you	with	half-proved	theories,	but	that	I	should	retain	and	work	out	myown	ideas	until	I	had	satisfied	myself	that	they	were	correct.	For	this	reason	I	amnot	at	the	present	moment	telling	you	all	that	is	in	my	mind.	On	the	other	hand,	Isaid	that	I	would	play	the	game	fairly	by	you,	and	I	do	not	think	it	is	a	fair	gameto	allow	you	for	one	unnecessary	moment	to	waste	your	energies	upon	aprofitless	task.	Therefore	I	am	here	to	advise	you	this	morning,	and	my	advice	toyou	is	summed	up	in	three	words—abandon	the	case."MacDonald	and	White	Mason	stared	in	amazement	at	their	celebratedcolleague."You	consider	it	hopeless!"	cried	the	inspector."I	consider	your	case	to	be	hopeless.	I	do	not	consider	that	it	is	hopeless	toarrive	at	the	truth.""But	this	cyclist.	He	is	not	an	invention.	We	have	his	description,	his	valise,his	bicycle.	The	fellow	must	be	somewhere.	Why	should	we	not	get	him?"
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

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Context: e	Manor	House.""Well,	what	happened?""Ah,	I	can	only	give	you	a	very	general	answer	to	that	for	the	moment.	By	theway,	I	have	been	reading	a	short	but	clear	and	interesting	account	of	the	oldbuilding,	purchasable	at	the	modest	sum	of	one	penny	from	the	localtobacconist."Here	Holmes	drew	a	small	tract,	embellished	with	a	rude	engraving	of	theancient	Manor	House,	from	his	waistcoat	pocket."It	immensely	adds	to	the	zest	of	an	investigation,	my	dear	Mr.	Mac,	whenone	is	in	conscious	sympathy	with	the	historical	atmosphere	of	one'ssurroundings.	Don't	look	so	impatient;	for	I	assure	you	that	even	so	bald	anaccount	as	this	raises	some	sort	of	picture	of	the	past	in	one's	mind.	Permit	me	togive	you	a	sample.	'Erected	in	the	fifth	year	of	the	reign	of	James	I,	and	standingupon	the	site	of	a	much	older	building,	the	Manor	House	of	Birlstone	presentsone	of	the	finest	surviving	examples	of	the	moated	Jacobean	residence—'""You	are	making	fools	of	us,	Mr.	Holmes!"
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

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Context: "Tut,	tut,	Mr.	Mac!—the	first	sign	of	temper	I	have	detected	in	you.	Well,	Iwon't	read	it	verbatim,	since	you	feel	so	strongly	upon	the	subject.	But	when	Itell	you	that	there	is	some	account	of	the	taking	of	the	place	by	a	parliamentarycolonel	in	1644,	of	the	concealment	of	Charles	for	several	days	in	the	course	ofthe	Civil	War,	and	finally	of	a	visit	there	by	the	second	George,	you	will	admitthat	there	are	various	associations	of	interest	connected	with	this	ancient	house.""I	don't	doubt	it,	Mr.	Holmes;	but	that	is	no	business	of	ours.""Is	it	not?	Is	it	not?	Breadth	of	view,	my	dear	Mr.	Mac,	is	one	of	theessentials	of	our	profession.	The	interplay	of	ideas	and	the	oblique	uses	ofknowledge	are	often	of	extraordinary	interest.	You	will	excuse	these	remarksfrom	one	who,	though	a	mere	connoisseur	of	crime,	is	still	rather	older	andperhaps	more	experienced	than	yourself.""I'm	the	first	to	admit	that,"	said	the	detective	heartily.	"You	get	to	your	point,I	admit;	but	you	have	such	a	deuced	r
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

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Context: before	dusk	without	fail—without	fail,	Mr.	Mac.""That	sounds	more	like	sanity.""All	of	it	was	excellent	advice;	but	I	don't	insist,	so	long	as	you	are	here	whenI	need	you.	But	now,	before	we	part,	I	want	you	to	write	a	note	to	Mr.	Barker.""Well?""I'll	dictate	it,	if	you	like.	Ready?"Dear	Sir:"It	has	struck	me	that	it	is	our	duty	to	drain	the	moat,	inthe	hope	that	we	may	find	some—""It's	impossible,"	said	the	inspector.	"I've	made	inquiry.""Tut,	tut!	My	dear	sir,	please	do	what	I	ask	you.""Well,	go	on.""—in	the	hope	that	we	may	find	something	which	may	bearupon	our	investigation.	I	have	made	arrangements,	and	theworkmen	will	be	at	work	early	to-morrow	morning	divertingthe	stream—""Impossible!""—diverting	the	stream;	so	I	thought	it	best	to	explainmatters	beforehand."Now	sign	that,	and	send	it	by	hand	about	four	o'clock.	At	that	hour	we	shallmeet	again	in	this	room.	Until	then	we	may	each	do	what	we	like;	for	I	can
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Context: tin	the	fatal	study.	Everything	else	was	dark	and	still."How	long	is	this	to	last?"	asked	the	inspector	finally.	"And	what	is	it	we	arewatching	for?"
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Context: taccusation,	the	brutal	tap	upon	the	shoulder—what	can	one	make	of	such	adenouement?	But	the	quick	inference,	the	subtle	trap,	the	clever	forecast	ofcoming	events,	the	triumphant	vindication	of	bold	theories—are	these	not	thepride	and	the	justification	of	our	life's	work?	At	the	present	moment	you	thrillwith	the	glamour	of	the	situation	and	the	anticipation	of	the	hunt.	Where	wouldbe	that	thrill	if	I	had	been	as	definite	as	a	timetable?	I	only	ask	a	little	patience,Mr.	Mac,	and	all	will	be	clear	to	you.""Well,	I	hope	the	pride	and	justification	and	the	rest	of	it	will	come	before	weall	get	our	death	of	cold,"	said	the	London	detective	with	comic	resignation.We	all	had	good	reason	to	join	in	the	aspiration;	for	our	vigil	was	a	long	andbitter	one.	Slowly	the	shadows	darkened	over	the	long,	sombre	face	of	the	oldhouse.	A	cold,	damp	reek	from	the	moat	chilled	us	to	the	bones	and	set	our	teethchattering.	There	was	a	single	lamp	over	the	gateway	and	a	steady	globe	of	lightin	the	fatal	study.
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 73

Context: We	passed	along	the	outer	bounds	of	the	Manor	House	park	until	we	came	toa	place	where	there	was	a	gap	in	the	rails	which	fenced	it.	Through	this	weslipped,	and	then	in	the	gathering	gloom	we	followed	Holmes	until	we	hadreached	a	shrubbery	which	lies	nearly	opposite	to	the	main	door	and	thedrawbridge.	The	latter	had	not	been	raised.	Holmes	crouched	down	behind	thescreen	of	laurels,	and	we	all	three	followed	his	example."Well,	what	are	we	to	do	now?"	asked	MacDonald	with	some	gruffness."Possess	our	souls	in	patience	and	make	as	little	noise	as	possible,"	Holmesanswered."What	are	we	here	for	at	all?	I	really	think	that	you	might	treat	us	with	morefrankness."Holmes	laughed.	"Watson	insists	that	I	am	the	dramatist	in	real	life,"	said	he."Some	touch	of	the	artist	wells	up	within	me,	and	calls	insistently	for	a	well-staged	performance.	Surely	our	profession,	Mr.	Mac,	would	be	a	drab	and	sordidone	if	we	did	not	sometimes	set	the	scene	so	as	to	glorify	our	results.	The	bluntaccusation,	the	bru
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Context: the	writingtable."This	is	what	we	are	after,	Mr.	Barker—this	bundle,	weighted	with	a	dumb-bell,	which	you	have	just	raised	from	the	bottom	of	the	moat."
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Context: t	would	be	dried	to-morrow,	which	had,	of	course,	the	effect	thatwhoever	had	hidden	the	bundle	would	most	certainly	withdraw	it	the	momentthat	darkness	enabled	him	to	do	so.	We	have	no	less	than	four	witnesses	as	towho	it	was	who	took	advantage	of	the	opportunity,	and	so,	Mr.	Barker,	I	thinkthe	word	lies	now	with	you."Sherlock	Holmes	put	the	sopping	bundle	upon	the	table	beside	the	lamp	andundid	the	cord	which	bound	it.	From	within	he	extracted	a	dumb-bell,	which	hetossed	down	to	its	fellow	in	the	corner.	Next	he	drew	forth	a	pair	of	boots."American,	as	you	perceive,"	he	remarked,	pointing	to	the	toes.	Then	he	laidupon	the	table	a	long,	deadly,	sheathed	knife.	Finally	he	unravelled	a	bundle	ofclothing,	comprising	a	complete	set	of	underclothes,	socks,	a	gray	tweed	suit,and	a	short	yellow	overcoat."The	clothes	are	commonplace,"	remarked	Holmes,	"save	only	the	overcoat,which	is	full	of	suggestive	touches."	He	held	it	tenderly	towards	the	light.	"Here,as	you	perceive,	is	the	inner	pocket
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

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Context: is	the	inner	pocket	prolonged	into	the	lining	in	such	fashion	asto	give	ample	space	for	the	truncated	fowling	piece.	The	tailor's	tab	is	on	theneck—'Neal,	Outfitter,	Vermissa,	U.	S.	A.'	I	have	spent	an	instructive	afternoonin	the	rector's	library,	and	have	enlarged	my	knowledge	by	adding	the	fact	that
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

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Context: Barker	stared	at	Holmes	with	amazement	in	his	face.	"How	in	thunder	cameyou	to	know	anything	about	it?"	he	asked."Simply	that	I	put	it	there.""You	put	it	there!	You!""Perhaps	I	should	have	said	'replaced	it	there,'"	said	Holmes.	"You	willremember,	Inspector	MacDonald,	that	I	was	somewhat	struck	by	the	absence	of	adumb-bell.	I	drew	your	attention	to	it;	but	with	the	pressure	of	other	events	youhad	hardly	the	time	to	give	it	the	consideration	which	would	have	enabled	you	todraw	deductions	from	it.	When	water	is	near	and	a	weight	is	missing	it	is	not	avery	far-fetched	supposition	that	something	has	been	sunk	in	the	water.	The	ideawas	at	least	worth	testing;	so	with	the	help	of	Ames,	who	admitted	me	to	theroom,	and	the	crook	of	Dr.	Watson's	umbrella,	I	was	able	last	night	to	fish	up	andinspect	this	bundle."It	was	of	the	first	importance,	however,	that	we	should	be	able	to	prove	whoplaced	it	there.	This	we	accomplished	by	the	very	obvious	device	of	announcingthat	the	moat	would	be	dried	to-
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Context: er	grace	from	you.""Oh,	you	think	so,	do	you?	Well,	all	I	can	say	is	that	if	there's	any	secret	hereit	is	not	my	secret,	and	I	am	not	the	man	to	give	it	away.""Well,	if	you	take	that	line,	Mr.	Barker,"	said	the	inspector	quietly,	"we	mustjust	keep	you	in	sight	until	we	have	the	warrant	and	can	hold	you.""You	can	do	what	you	damn	please	about	that,"	said	Barker	defiantly.The	proceedings	seemed	to	have	come	to	a	definite	end	so	far	as	he	wasconcerned;	for	one	had	only	to	look	at	that	granite	face	to	realize	that	no	peineforte	et	dure	would	ever	force	him	to	plead	against	his	will.	The	deadlock	wasbroken,	however,	by	a	woman's	voice.	Mrs.	Douglas	had	been	standing	listeningat	the	half	opened	door,	and	now	she	entered	the	room."You	have	done	enough	for	now,	Cecil,"	said	she.	"Whatever	comes	of	it	inthe	future,	you	have	done	enough.""Enough	and	more	than	enough,"	remarked	Sherlock	Holmes	gravely.	"I	haveevery	sympathy	with	you,	madam,	and	should	strongly	urge	you	to	have	someconfidence	in	t
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Context: ray	eyes,	a	strong,	short-clipped,	grizzled	moustache,	a	square,	projecting	chin,	and	a	humorous	mouth.He	took	a	good	look	at	us	all,	and	then	to	my	amazement	he	advanced	to	me	andhanded	me	a	bundle	of	paper."I've	heard	of	you,"	said	he	in	a	voice	which	was	not	quite	English	and	notquite	American,	but	was	altogether	mellow	and	pleasing.	"You	are	the	historianof	this	bunch.	Well,	Dr.	Watson,	you've	never	had	such	a	story	as	that	passthrough	your	hands	before,	and	I'll	lay	my	last	dollar	on	that.	Tell	it	your	ownway;	but	there	are	the	facts,	and	you	can't	miss	the	public	so	long	as	you	havethose.	I've	been	cooped	up	two	days,	and	I've	spent	the	daylight	hours—as	muchdaylight	as	I	could	get	in	that	rat	trap—in	putting	the	thing	into	words.	You'rewelcome	to	them—you	and	your	public.	There's	the	story	of	the	Valley	of	Fear.""That's	the	past,	Mr.	Douglas,"	said	Sherlock	Holmes	quietly.	"What	wedesire	now	is	to	hear	your	story	of	the	present.""You'll	have	it,	sir,"	said	Douglas.	"May	I	smoke
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 78

Context: aste	ourselves	upon	asearch	that	you	knew	to	be	an	absurd	one?""Not	one	instant,	my	dear	Mr.	Mac.	Only	last	night	did	I	form	my	views	ofthe	case.	As	they	could	not	be	put	to	the	proof	until	this	evening,	I	invited	youand	your	colleague	to	take	a	holiday	for	the	day.	Pray	what	more	could	I	do?When	I	found	the	suit	of	clothes	in	the	moat,	it	at	once	became	apparent	to	methat	the	body	we	had	found	could	not	have	been	the	body	of	Mr.	John	Douglas	atall,	but	must	be	that	of	the	bicyclist	from	Tunbridge	Wells.	No	other	conclusionwas	possible.	Therefore	I	had	to	determine	where	Mr.	John	Douglas	himselfcould	be,	and	the	balance	of	probability	was	that	with	the	connivance	of	his	wifeand	his	friend	he	was	concealed	in	a	house	which	had	such	conveniences	for	afugitive,	and	awaiting	quieter	times	when	he	could	make	his	final	escape.""Well,	you	figured	it	out	about	right,"	said	Douglas	approvingly.	"I	thoughtI'd	dodge	your	British	law;	for	I	was	not	sure	how	I	stood	under	it,	and	also	I	sawmy	chanc
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

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Context: to	your	house,	or	where	to	hide	to	get	you?""I	know	nothing	of	this."Holmes's	face	was	very	white	and	grave.	"The	story	is	not	over	yet,	I	fear,"said	he.	"You	may	find	worse	dangers	than	the	English	law,	or	even	than	yourenemies	from	America.	I	see	trouble	before	you,	Mr.	Douglas.	You'll	take	myadvice	and	still	be	on	your	guard."And	now,	my	long-suffering	readers,	I	will	ask	you	to	come	away	with	me	for
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Context: a	time,	far	from	the	Sussex	Manor	House	of	Birlstone,	and	far	also	from	the	yearof	grace	in	which	we	made	our	eventful	journey	which	ended	with	the	strangestory	of	the	man	who	had	been	known	as	John	Douglas.	I	wish	you	to	journeyback	some	twenty	years	in	time,	and	westward	some	thousands	of	miles	inspace,	that	I	may	lay	before	you	a	singular	and	terrible	narrative—so	singularand	so	terrible	that	you	may	find	it	hard	to	believe	that	even	as	I	tell	it,	even	sodid	it	occur.Do	not	think	that	I	intrude	one	story	before	another	is	finished.	As	you	readon	you	will	find	that	this	is	not	so.	And	when	I	have	detailed	those	distant	eventsand	you	have	solved	this	mystery	of	the	past,	we	shall	meet	once	more	in	thoserooms	on	Baker	Street,	where	this,	like	so	many	other	wonderful	happenings,will	find	its	end.
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

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Context: am	a	stranger	in	theseparts?"
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Context: ifting	smoke,	while	the	strengthand	industry	of	man	found	fitting	monuments	in	the	hills	which	he	had	spilled	bythe	side	of	his	monstrous	excavations.	But	the	town	showed	a	dead	level	of	meanugliness	and	squalor.	The	broad	street	was	churned	up	by	the	traffic	into	ahorrible	rutted	paste	of	muddy	snow.	The	sidewalks	were	narrow	and	uneven.The	numerous	gas-lamps	served	only	to	show	more	clearly	a	long	line	ofwooden	houses,	each	with	its	veranda	facing	the	street,	unkempt	and	dirty.As	they	approached	the	centre	of	the	town	the	scene	was	brightened	by	a	rowof	well-lit	stores,	and	even	more	by	a	cluster	of	saloons	and	gaming	houses,	inwhich	the	miners	spent	their	hard-earned	but	generous	wages."That's	the	Union	House,"	said	the	guide,	pointing	to	one	saloon	which	rosealmost	to	the	dignity	of	being	a	hotel.	"Jack	McGinty	is	the	boss	there.""What	sort	of	a	man	is	he?"	McMurdo	asked."What!	have	you	never	heard	of	the	boss?""How	could	I	have	heard	of	him	when	you	know	that	I	am	a	stranger	in	th
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Context: ve	it?	Vat	about	Milman	and	VanShorst,	and	the	Nicholson	family,	and	old	Mr.	Hyam,	and	little	Billy	James,	andthe	others?	Prove	it!	Is	there	a	man	or	a	voman	in	this	valley	vat	does	not	knowit?""See	here!"	said	McMurdo	earnestly.	"I	want	you	to	take	back	what	you'vesaid,	or	else	make	it	good.	One	or	the	other	you	must	do	before	I	quit	this	room.
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Context: read	all	this.	I	had	understood	that	every	paper	in	the	United	States	was	writingabout	it.""Well,	I	have	read	something,	it	is	true;	but	I	had	thought	it	was	a	story.Maybe	these	men	have	some	reason	in	what	they	do.	Maybe	they	are	wrongedand	have	no	other	way	to	help	themselves.""Oh,	Jack,	don't	let	me	hear	you	speak	so!	That	is	how	he	speaks—the	otherone!""Baldwin—he	speaks	like	that,	does	he?""And	that	is	why	I	loathe	him	so.	Oh,	Jack,	now	I	can	tell	you	the	truth.	Iloathe	him	with	all	my	heart;	but	I	fear	him	also.	I	fear	him	for	myself;	but	aboveall	I	fear	him	for	father.	I	know	that	some	great	sorrow	would	come	upon	us	if	Idared	to	say	what	I	really	felt.	That	is	why	I	have	put	him	off	with	half-promises.It	was	in	real	truth	our	only	hope.	But	if	you	would	fly	with	me,	Jack,	we	couldtake	father	with	us	and	live	forever	far	from	the	power	of	these	wicked	men."Again	there	was	the	struggle	upon	McMurdo's	face,	and	again	it	set	likegranite.	"No	harm	shall	come	to	you,	Ettie—nor	to	you
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Context: quartersin	the	morning."
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Context: "No	time	like	the	present,"	cried	McMurdo."I'll	choose	my	own	time,	mister.	You	can	leave	the	time	to	me.	See	here!"	Hesuddenly	rolled	up	his	sleeve	and	showed	upon	his	forearm	a	peculiar	sign	whichappeared	to	have	been	branded	there.	It	was	a	circle	with	a	triangle	within	it."D'you	know	what	that	means?""I	neither	know	nor	care!""Well,	you	will	know,	I'll	promise	you	that.	You	won't	be	much	older,	either.Perhaps	Miss	Ettie	can	tell	you	something	about	it.	As	to	you,	Ettie,	you'll	comeback	to	me	on	your	knees—d'ye	hear,	girl?—on	your	knees—and	then	I'll	tellyou	what	your	punishment	may	be.	You've	sowed—and	by	the	Lord,	I'll	see	thatyou	reap!"	He	glanced	at	them	both	in	fury.	Then	he	turned	upon	his	heel,	and	aninstant	later	the	outer	door	had	banged	behind	him.For	a	few	moments	McMurdo	and	the	girl	stood	in	silence.	Then	she	threwher	arms	around	him."Oh,	Jack,	how	brave	you	were!	But	it	is	no	use,	you	must	fly!	To-night—Jack—to-night!	It's	your	only	hope.	He	will	have	your	life.	I	read
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Context: ked-looking	revolver."See	here,	my	joker,"	said	he,	"if	I	thought	you	were	playing	any	game	on	us,it	would	be	short	work	for	you.""This	is	a	strange	welcome,"	McMurdo	answered	with	some	dignity,	"for	theBodymaster	of	a	lodge	of	Freemen	to	give	to	a	stranger	brother.""Ay,	but	it's	just	that	same	that	you	have	to	prove,"	said	McGinty,	"and	Godhelp	you	if	you	fail!	Where	were	you	made?""Lodge	29,	Chicago.""When?""June	24,	1872.""What	Bodymaster?"
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Context: from	aninner	pocket.
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Context: companyconsisted	of	young	fellows	from	eighteen	to	twenty-five,	the	ready	and	capableagents	who	carried	out	the	commands	of	their	seniors.	Among	the	older	menwere	many	whose	features	showed	the	tigerish,	lawless	souls	within;	but	lookingat	the	rank	and	file	it	was	difficult	to	believe	that	these	eager	and	open-facedyoung	fellows	were	in	very	truth	a	dangerous	gang	of	murderers,	whose	mindshad	suffered	such	complete	moral	perversion	that	they	took	a	horrible	pride	intheir	proficiency	at	the	business,	and	looked	with	deepest	respect	at	the	man	whohad	the	reputation	of	making	what	they	called	"a	clean	job."
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Context: in	thevictim	himself—who,	however	outnumbered	and	taken	by	surprise,	might	andoccasionally	did	leave	his	mark	upon	his	assailants.McMurdo	had	been	warned	that	some	ordeal	lay	before	him;	but	no	onewould	tell	him	in	what	it	consisted.	He	was	led	now	into	an	outer	room	by	twosolemn	brothers.	Through	the	plank	partition	he	could	hear	the	murmur	of	manyvoices	from	the	assembly	within.	Once	or	twice	he	caught	the	sound	of	his	ownname,	and	he	knew	that	they	were	discussing	his	candidacy.	Then	there	enteredan	inner	guard	with	a	green	and	gold	sash	across	his	chest."The	Bodymaster	orders	that	he	shall	be	trussed,	blinded,	and	entered,"	saidhe.The	three	of	them	removed	his	coat,	turned	up	the	sleeve	of	his	right	arm,	andfinally	passed	a	rope	round	above	the	elbows	and	made	it	fast.	They	next	placeda	thick	black	cap	right	over	his	head	and	the	upper	part	of	his	face,	so	that	hecould	see	nothing.	He	was	then	led	into	the	assembly	hall.It	was	pitch	dark	and	very	oppressive	under	his	hood.	He	heard
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Context: To	their	contorted	natures	it	had	become	a	spirited	and	chivalrous	thing	tovolunteer	for	service	against	some	man	who	had	never	injured	them,	and	whomin	many	cases	they	had	never	seen	in	their	lives.	The	crime	committed,	theyquarrelled	as	to	who	had	actually	struck	the	fatal	blow,	and	amused	one	anotherand	the	company	by	describing	the	cries	and	contortions	of	the	murdered	man.At	first	they	had	shown	some	secrecy	in	their	arrangements;	but	at	the	timewhich	this	narrative	describes	their	proceedings	were	extraordinarily	open,	forthe	repeated	failures	of	the	law	had	proved	to	them	that,	on	the	one	hand,	no	onewould	dare	to	witness	against	them,	and	on	the	other	they	had	an	unlimitednumber	of	stanch	witnesses	upon	whom	they	could	call,	and	a	well-filledtreasure	chest	from	which	they	could	draw	the	funds	to	engage	the	best	legaltalent	in	the	state.	In	ten	long	years	of	outrage	there	had	been	no	singleconviction,	and	the	only	danger	that	ever	threatened	the	Scowrers	lay	in	thevictim	himself
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Context: t	arm,	which	still	smarted	heavily.	There	on	the	flesh	of	theforearm	was	a	circle	with	a	triangle	within	it,	deep	and	red,	as	the	branding	ironhad	left	it.	One	or	two	of	his	neighbours	pulled	up	their	sleeves	and	showed	theirown	lodge	marks."We've	all	had	it,"	said	one;	"but	not	all	as	brave	as	you	over	it.""Tut!	It	was	nothing,"	said	he;	but	it	burned	and	ached	all	the	same.When	the	drinks	which	followed	the	ceremony	of	initiation	had	all	beendisposed	of,	the	business	of	the	lodge	proceeded.	McMurdo,	accustomed	only	tothe	prosaic	performances	of	Chicago,	listened	with	open	ears	and	more	surprisethan	he	ventured	to	show	to	what	followed.
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Context: "The	first	business	on	the	agenda	paper,"	said	McGinty,	"is	to	read	thefollowing	letter	from	Division	Master	Windle	of	Merton	County	Lodge	249.	Hesays:"DEAR	SIR:"There	is	a	job	to	be	done	on	Andrew	Rae	of	Rae	&	Sturmash,	coal	owners	near	thisplace.	You	will	remember	that	your	lodge	owes	us	a	return,	having	had	the	service	oftwo	brethren	in	the	matter	of	the	patrolman	last	fall.	You	will	send	two	good	men,	theywill	be	taken	charge	of	by	Treasurer	Higgins	of	this	lodge,	whose	address	you	know.He	will	show	them	when	to	act	and	where.	Yours	in	freedom,"J.	W.	WINDLE	D.	M.	A.	O.	F."Windle	has	never	refused	us	when	we	have	had	occasion	to	ask	for	the	loanof	a	man	or	two,	and	it	is	not	for	us	to	refuse	him."	McGinty	paused	and	lookedround	the	room	with	his	dull,	malevolent	eyes.	"Who	will	volunteer	for	the	job?"Several	young	fellows	held	up	their	hands.	The	Bodymaster	looked	at	themwith	an	approving	smile."You'll	do,	Tiger	Cormac.	If	you	handle	it	as	well	as	you	did	the	last,	youwon't	be	wrong
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Context: k	who	has	bought	the	property	of	this	man	that	we	have	driven	out	of	thedistrict?"
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Context: ose	with	gloom	upon	his	brow.
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Context: ocket."LAW	AND	ORDER!That's	how	he	heads	it."REIGN	OF	TERROR	IN	THE	COAL	AND	IRON	DISTRICT"Twelve	years	have	now	elapsed	since	the	first	assassinations	which	proved	theexistence	of	a	criminal	organization	in	our	midst.	From	that	day	these	outrages	havenever	ceased,	until	now	they	have	reached	a	pitch	which	makes	us	the	opprobrium	of
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Context: the	civilized	world.	Is	it	for	such	results	as	this	that	our	great	country	welcomes	to	itsbosom	the	alien	who	flies	from	the	despotisms	of	Europe?	Is	it	that	they	shallthemselves	become	tyrants	over	the	very	men	who	have	given	them	shelter,	and	that	astate	of	terrorism	and	lawlessness	should	be	established	under	the	very	shadow	of	thesacred	folds	of	the	starry	Flag	of	Freedom	which	would	raise	horror	in	our	minds	ifwe	read	of	it	as	existing	under	the	most	effete	monarchy	of	the	East?	The	men	areknown.	The	organization	is	patent	and	public.	How	long	are	we	to	endure	it?	Can	weforever	live—""Sure,	I've	read	enough	of	the	slush!"	cried	the	chairman,	tossing	the	paperdown	upon	the	table.	"That's	what	he	says	of	us.	The	question	I'm	asking	you	iswhat	shall	we	say	to	him?""Kill	him!"	cried	a	dozen	fierce	voices."I	protest	against	that,"	said	Brother	Morris,	the	man	of	the	good	brow	andshaved	face.	"I	tell	you,	Brethren,	that	our	hand	is	too	heavy	in	this	valley,	andthat	there	will	come	a	poi
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Context: g	betweenthe	brightly	lit	windows.	From	within	came	the	clanking	of	the	printing	press."Here,	you,"	said	Baldwin	to	McMurdo,	"you	can	stand	below	at	the	door	andsee	that	the	road	is	kept	open	for	us.	Arthur	Willaby	can	stay	with	you.	Youothers	come	with	me.	Have	no	fears,	boys;	for	we	have	a	dozen	witnesses	that
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Context: well	carried	through.	Others,	and	among	them	McMurdo,	broke	away	into	sidestreets,	and	so	by	devious	paths	to	their	own	homes.Chapter	4The	Valley	of	FearWhen	McMurdo	awoke	next	morning	he	had	good	reason	to	remember	hisinitiation	into	the	lodge.	His	head	ached	with	the	effect	of	the	drink,	and	his	arm,where	he	had	been	branded,	was	hot	and	swollen.	Having	his	own	peculiarsource	of	income,	he	was	irregular	in	his	attendance	at	his	work;	so	he	had	a	latebreakfast,	and	remained	at	home	for	the	morning	writing	a	long	letter	to	a	friend.Afterwards	he	read	the	Daily	Herald.	In	a	special	column	put	in	at	the	lastmoment	he	read:OUTRAGE	AT	THE	HERALD	OFFICE—EDITORSERIOUSLY	INJURED.It	was	a	short	account	of	the	facts	with	which	he	was	himself	more	familiar	thanthe	writer	could	have	been.	It	ended	with	the	statement:The	matter	is	now	in	the	hands	of	the	police;	but	it	can	hardly	be	hoped	that	theirexertions	will	be	attended	by	any	better	results	than	in	the	past.	Some	of	the	men	wererecognized,	a
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Context: e	cloud	ofmurder	hangs	thicker	and	lower	than	that	over	the	heads	of	the	people.	It	is	theValley	of	Fear,	the	Valley	of	Death.	The	terror	is	in	the	hearts	of	the	people	fromthe	dusk	to	the	dawn.	Wait,	young	man,	and	you	will	learn	for	yourself.""Well,	I'll	let	you	know	what	I	think	when	I	have	seen	more,"	said	McMurdocarelessly.	"What	is	very	clear	is	that	you	are	not	the	man	for	the	place,	and	thatthe	sooner	you	sell	out—if	you	only	get	a	dime	a	dollar	for	what	the	business	isworth—the	better	it	will	be	for	you.	What	you	have	said	is	safe	with	me;	but,	byGar!	if	I	thought	you	were	an	informer—""No,	no!"	cried	Morris	piteously."Well,	let	it	rest	at	that.	I'll	bear	what	you	have	said	in	mind,	and	maybe	someday	I'll	come	back	to	it.	I	expect	you	meant	kindly	by	speaking	to	me	like	this.Now	I'll	be	getting	home.""One	word	before	you	go,"	said	Morris.	"We	may	have	been	seen	together.They	may	want	to	know	what	we	have	spoken	about.""Ah!	that's	well	thought	of."
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Context: ard	to	signify	the	coining	plant."All	right,"	whispered	McMurdo,	who	had	devised	a	safe	hiding	place	underthe	floor."I'll	bid	you	good-bye,"	said	the	Boss,	shaking	hands.	"I'll	see	Reilly	thelawyer	and	take	the	defense	upon	myself.	Take	my	word	for	it	that	they	won't	beable	to	hold	you.""I	wouldn't	bet	on	that.	Guard	the	prisoner,	you	two,	and	shoot	him	if	he	triesany	games.	I'll	search	the	house	before	I	leave."He	did	so;	but	apparently	found	no	trace	of	the	concealed	plant.	When	he	haddescended	he	and	his	men	escorted	McMurdo	to	headquarters.	Darkness	hadfallen,	and	a	keen	blizzard	was	blowing	so	that	the	streets	were	nearly	deserted;but	a	few	loiterers	followed	the	group,	and	emboldened	by	invisibility	shoutedimprecations	at	the	prisoner.
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Context: the	last	time,	and	make	one	strong	endeavour	to	draw	him	from	those	evilinfluences	which	were	sucking	him	down.	She	went	to	his	house,	as	he	had	oftenbegged	her	to	do,	and	made	her	way	into	the	room	which	he	used	as	his	sitting-room.	He	was	seated	at	a	table,	with	his	back	turned	and	a	letter	in	front	of	him.A	sudden	spirit	of	girlish	mischief	came	over	her—she	was	still	only	nineteen.He	had	not	heard	her	when	she	pushed	open	the	door.	Now	she	tiptoed	forwardand	laid	her	hand	lightly	upon	his	bended	shoulders.If	she	had	expected	to	startle	him,	she	certainly	succeeded;	but	only	in	turn	tobe	startled	herself.	With	a	tiger	spring	he	turned	on	her,	and	his	right	hand	wasfeeling	for	her	throat.	At	the	same	instant	with	the	other	hand	he	crumpled	up	thepaper	that	lay	before	him.	For	an	instant	he	stood	glaring.	Then	astonishmentand	joy	took	the	place	of	the	ferocity	which	had	convulsed	his	features—aferocity	which	had	sent	her	shrinking	back	in	horror	as	from	something	whichhad	never	before
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Context: crossroads	which	is	beyond	its	boundary.	Here	three	men	were	waiting,	withwhom	Lawler	and	Andrews	held	a	short,	eager	conversation.	Then	they	allmoved	on	together.	It	was	clearly	some	notable	job	which	needed	numbers.	Atthis	point	there	are	several	trails	which	lead	to	various	mines.	The	strangers	tookthat	which	led	to	the	Crow	Hill,	a	huge	business	which	was	in	strong	handswhich	had	been	able,	thanks	to	their	energetic	and	fearless	New	Englandmanager,	Josiah	H.	Dunn,	to	keep	some	order	and	discipline	during	the	longreign	of	terror.Day	was	breaking	now,	and	a	line	of	workmen	were	slowly	making	their	way,singly	and	in	groups,	along	the	blackened	path.McMurdo	and	Scanlan	strolled	on	with	the	others,	keeping	in	sight	of	themen	whom	they	followed.	A	thick	mist	lay	over	them,	and	from	the	heart	of	itthere	came	the	sudden	scream	of	a	steam	whistle.	It	was	the	ten-minute	signalbefore	the	cages	descended	and	the	day's	labour	began.When	they	reached	the	open	space	round	the	mine	shaft	there	wer
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Context: lieve.	The	horrible	screams	of	the	deadmanager's	wife	pursued	them	as	they	hurried	to	the	town.	McMurdo	wasabsorbed	and	silent;	but	he	showed	no	sympathy	for	the	weakening	of	hiscompanion.
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Context: dle	employees	who	were	membersof	the	all-powerful	society.	Coffin	notices	hung	outside	his	door	had	notweakened	his	resolution,	and	so	in	a	free,	civilized	country	he	found	himselfcondemned	to	death.The	execution	had	now	been	duly	carried	out.	Ted	Baldwin,	who	sprawlednow	in	the	seat	of	honour	beside	the	Bodymaster,	had	been	chief	of	the	party.His	flushed	face	and	glazed,	blood-shot	eyes	told	of	sleeplessness	and	drink.	Heand	his	two	comrades	had	spent	the	night	before	among	the	mountains.	Theywere	unkempt	and	weather-stained.	But	no	heroes,	returning	from	a	forlornhope,	could	have	had	a	warmer	welcome	from	their	comrades.The	story	was	told	and	retold	amid	cries	of	delight	and	shouts	of	laughter.They	had	waited	for	their	man	as	he	drove	home	at	nightfall,	taking	their	stationat	the	top	of	a	steep	hill,	where	his	horse	must	be	at	a	walk.	He	was	so	furred	tokeep	out	the	cold	that	he	could	not	lay	his	hand	on	his	pistol.	They	had	pulledhim	out	and	shot	him	again	and	again.	He	had	screamed
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Context: "Sure,	it	is	like	a	war,"	he	repeated.	"What	is	it	but	a	war	between	us	andthem,	and	we	hit	back	where	we	best	can."There	was	high	revel	in	the	lodge	room	at	the	Union	House	that	night,	notonly	over	the	killing	of	the	manager	and	engineer	of	the	Crow	Hill	mine,	whichwould	bring	this	organization	into	line	with	the	other	blackmailed	and	terror-stricken	companies	of	the	district,	but	also	over	a	distant	triumph	which	had	beenwrought	by	the	hands	of	the	lodge	itself.It	would	appear	that	when	the	County	Delegate	had	sent	over	five	good	mento	strike	a	blow	in	Vermissa,	he	had	demanded	that	in	return	three	Vermissa	menshould	be	secretly	selected	and	sent	across	to	kill	William	Hales	of	Stake	Royal,one	of	the	best	known	and	most	popular	mine	owners	in	the	Gilmerton	district,	aman	who	was	believed	not	to	have	an	enemy	in	the	world;	for	he	was	in	all	waysa	model	employer.	He	had	insisted,	however,	upon	efficiency	in	the	work,	andhad,	therefore,	paid	off	certain	drunken	and	idle	employees	who	we
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Context: ched	the	lodge	of	secret	gatherings	in	the	Herald	office	and	of	distribution	of
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Context: s,	is	operating.	Thething	has	got	to	be	stopped	right	now."Now	read	the	postscript."
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Context: ss."See	here,	man,"	he	cried,	and	he	almost	screeched	the	words	in	hisexcitement,	"you	won't	gain	anything	by	sitting	keening	like	an	old	wife	at	awake.	Let's	have	the	facts.	Who	is	the	fellow?	Where	is	he?	How	did	you	hear	ofhim?	Why	did	you	come	to	me?""I	came	to	you;	for	you	are	the	one	man	that	would	advise	me.	I	told	you	thatI	had	a	store	in	the	East	before	I	came	here.	I	left	good	friends	behind	me,	andone	of	them	is	in	the	telegraph	service.	Here's	a	letter	that	I	had	from	himyesterday.	It's	this	part	from	the	top	of	the	page.	You	can	read	it	yourself."This	was	what	McMurdo	read:How	are	the	Scowrers	getting	on	in	your	parts?	We	read	plenty	of	them	in	the	papers.Between	you	and	me	I	expect	to	hear	news	from	you	before	long.	Five	bigcorporations	and	the	two	railroads	have	taken	the	thing	up	in	dead	earnest.	They	meanit,	and	you	can	bet	they'll	get	there!	They	are	right	deep	down	into	it.	Pinkerton	hastaken	hold	under	their	orders,	and	his	best	man,	Birdy	Edwards,	is	operating.	The
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Context: nd	discussed,	than	that	a	blowshould	fall	upon	us	without	warning	which	would	destroy	us	all.	I	haveinformation	that	the	most	powerful	and	richest	organizations	in	this	state	havebound	themselves	together	for	our	destruction,	and	that	at	this	very	momentthere	is	a	Pinkerton	detective,	one	Birdy	Edwards,	at	work	in	the	valleycollecting	the	evidence	which	may	put	a	rope	round	the	necks	of	many	of	us,	andsend	every	man	in	this	room	into	a	felon's	cell.	That	is	the	situation	for	thediscussion	of	which	I	have	made	a	claim	of	urgency."There	was	a	dead	silence	in	the	room.	It	was	broken	by	the	chairman."What	is	your	evidence	for	this,	Brother	McMurdo?"	he	asked."It	is	in	this	letter	which	has	come	into	my	hands,"	said	McMurdo.	He	readthe	passage	aloud.	"It	is	a	matter	of	honour	with	me	that	I	can	give	no	furtherparticulars	about	the	letter,	nor	put	it	into	your	hands;	but	I	assure	you	that	thereis	nothing	else	in	it	which	can	affect	the	interests	of	the	lodge.	I	put	the	casebefore	you	as	it	h
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Context: the	order	were	concerned,	and	with	no	notion	of	justice	or	honesty	to	anyonebeyond.	The	treasurer,	Carter,	was	a	middle-aged	man,	with	an	impassive,	rathersulky	expression,	and	a	yellow	parchment	skin.	He	was	a	capable	organizer,	andthe	actual	details	of	nearly	every	outrage	had	sprung	from	his	plotting	brain.	Thetwo	Willabys	were	men	of	action,	tall,	lithe	young	fellows	with	determinedfaces,	while	their	companion,	Tiger	Cormac,	a	heavy,	dark	youth,	was	fearedeven	by	his	own	comrades	for	the	ferocity	of	his	disposition.	These	were	themen	who	assembled	that	night	under	the	roof	of	McMurdo	for	the	killing	of	thePinkerton	detective.Their	host	had	placed	whisky	upon	the	table,	and	they	had	hastened	to	primethemselves	for	the	work	before	them.	Baldwin	and	Cormac	were	already	half-drunk,	and	the	liquor	had	brought	out	all	their	ferocity.	Cormac	placed	his	handson	the	stove	for	an	instant—it	had	been	lighted,	for	the	nights	were	still	cold."That	will	do,"	said	he,	with	an	oath."Ay,"	said	Bald
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Context: s.	When	Ireached	this	place	I	learned	that	I	was	wrong	and	that	it	wasn't	a	dime	novel	afterall.	So	I	stayed	to	look	after	it.	I	never	killed	a	man	in	Chicago.	I	never	minted	adollar	in	my	life.	Those	I	gave	you	were	as	good	as	any	others;	but	I	never	spentmoney	better.	But	I	knew	the	way	into	your	good	wishes	and	so	I	pretended	toyou	that	the	law	was	after	me.	It	all	worked	just	as	I	thought."So	I	joined	your	infernal	lodge,	and	I	took	my	share	in	your	councils.	Maybe
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Context: my	of	God	and	man	in	these	parts.	It	took	a	man	to	getbetween	you	and	the	poor	devils	of	men	and	women	that	you	held	under	yourgrip.	There	was	just	one	way	of	doing	it,	and	I	did	it.	You	call	me	a	traitor;	but	Iguess	there's	many	a	thousand	will	call	me	a	deliverer	that	went	down	into	hellto	save	them.	I've	had	three	months	of	it.	I	wouldn't	have	three	such	monthsagain	if	they	let	me	loose	in	the	treasury	at	Washington	for	it.	I	had	to	stay	till	Ihad	it	all,	every	man	and	every	secret	right	here	in	this	hand.	I'd	have	waited	alittle	longer	if	it	hadn't	come	to	my	knowledge	that	my	secret	was	coming	out.	Aletter	had	come	into	the	town	that	would	have	set	you	wise	to	it	all.	Then	I	had	toact	and	act	quickly."I've	nothing	more	to	say	to	you,	except	that	when	my	time	comes	I'll	die	theeasier	when	I	think	of	the	work	I	have	done	in	this	valley.	Now,	Marvin,	I'll	keepyou	no	more.	Take	them	in	and	get	it	over."There	is	little	more	to	tell.	Scanlan	had	been	given	a	sealed	note	to	be	left	atthe
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Context: ofthe	moated	Manor	House.	His	face	was	drawn	and	haggard."I've	had	bad	news—terrible	news,	Mr.	Holmes,"	said	he."I	feared	as	much,"	said	Holmes."You	have	not	had	a	cable,	have	you?""I	have	had	a	note	from	someone	who	has.""It's	poor	Douglas.	They	tell	me	his	name	is	Edwards;	but	he	will	always	beJack	Douglas	of	Benito	Canyon	to	me.	I	told	you	that	they	started	together	forSouth	Africa	in	the	Palmyra	three	weeks	ago.""Exactly.""The	ship	reached	Cape	Town	last	night.	I	received	this	cable	from	MrsDouglas	this	morning:—"Jack	has	been	lost	overboard	in	gale	off	St	Helena.	No	one	knows	howaccident	occurred.—Ivy	Douglas."
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Context: "Do	you	tell	me	that	we	have	to	sit	down	under	this?	Do	you	say	that	no	onecan	ever	get	level	with	this	king-devil?""No,	I	don't	say	that,"	said	Holmes,	and	his	eyes	seemed	to	be	looking	farinto	the	future.	"I	don't	say	that	he	can't	be	beat.	But	you	must	give	me	time—you	must	give	me	time!"We	all	sat	in	silence	for	some	minutes,	while	those	fateful	eyes	still	strainedto	pierce	the	veil.
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Context: End	of	Project	Gutenberg's	The	Valley	of	Fear,	by	Arthur	Conan	Doyle***	END	OF	THIS	PROJECT	GUTENBERG	EBOOK	THE	VALLEY	OF	FEAR	********	This	file	should	be	named	3776-h.htm	or	3776-h.zip	*****This	and	all	associated	files	of	various	formats	will	be	found	in:								http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/7/3776/Produced	by	Toby	F.	Charkin.		HTML	version	by	Al	Haines.Updated	editions	will	replace	the	previous	one--the	old	editionswill	be	renamed.Creating	the	works	from	public	domain	print	editions	means	that	noone	owns	a	United	States	copyright	in	these	works,	so	the	Foundation(and	you!)	can	copy	and	distribute	it	in	the	United	States	withoutpermission	and	without	paying	copyright	royalties.		Special	rules,set	forth	in	the	General	Terms	of	Use	part	of	this	license,	apply	tocopying	and	distributing	Project	Gutenberg-tm	electronic	works	toprotect	the	PROJECT	GUTENBERG-tm	concept	and	trademark.		ProjectGutenberg	is	a	registered	trademark,	and	may	not	be	used	if	youcharge	for	the	eBooks,	unless	you	re
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Context: g	Project	Gutenberg-tmelectronic	works1.A.		By	reading	or	using	any	part	of	this	Project	Gutenberg-tmelectronic	work,	you	indicate	that	you	have	read,	understand,	agree	toand	accept	all	the	terms	of	this	license	and	intellectual	property(trademark/copyright)	agreement.		If	you	do	not	agree	to	abide	by	allthe	terms	of	this	agreement,	you	must	cease	using	and	return	or	destroyall	copies	of	Project	Gutenberg-tm	electronic	works	in	your	possession.If	you	paid	a	fee	for	obtaining	a	copy	of	or	access	to	a	ProjectGutenberg-tm	electronic	work	and	you	do	not	agree	to	be	bound	by	theterms	of	this	agreement,	you	may	obtain	a	refund	from	the	person	orentity	to	whom	you	paid	the	fee	as	set	forth	in	paragraph	1.E.8.
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Context: ed	to	the	owner	of	the	Project	Gutenberg-tm	trademark,	but	he					has	agreed	to	donate	royalties	under	this	paragraph	to	the					Project	Gutenberg	Literary	Archive	Foundation.		Royalty	payments					must	be	paid	within	60	days	following	each	date	on	which	you					prepare	(or	are	legally	required	to	prepare)	your	periodic	tax					returns.		Royalty	payments	should	be	clearly	marked	as	such	and					sent	to	the	Project	Gutenberg	Literary	Archive	Foundation	at	the					address	specified	in	Section	4,	"Information	about	donations	to					the	Project	Gutenberg	Literary	Archive	Foundation."-	You	provide	a	full	refund	of	any	money	paid	by	a	user	who	notifies					you	in	writing	(or	by	e-mail)	within	30	days	of	receipt	that	s/he					does	not	agree	to	the	terms	of	the	full	Project	Gutenberg-tm					License.		You	must	require	such	a	user	to	return	or					destroy	all	copies	of	the	works	possessed	in	a	physical	medium					and	discontinue	all	use	of	and	all	access	to	other	copies	of					Project	Gutenberg-
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Context: Vanilla	ASCII"	or	other	format	used	in	the	official	versionposted	on	the	official	Project	Gutenberg-tm	web	site	(www.gutenberg.net),you	must,	at	no	additional	cost,	fee	or	expense	to	the	user,	provide	acopy,	a	means	of	exporting	a	copy,	or	a	means	of	obtaining	a	copy	uponrequest,	of	the	work	in	its	original	"Plain	Vanilla	ASCII"	or	otherform.		Any	alternate	format	must	include	the	full	Project	Gutenberg-tmLicense	as	specified	in	paragraph	1.E.1.1.E.7.		Do	not	charge	a	fee	for	access	to,	viewing,	displaying,performing,	copying	or	distributing	any	Project	Gutenberg-tm	worksunless	you	comply	with	paragraph	1.E.8	or	1.E.9.1.E.8.		You	may	charge	a	reasonable	fee	for	copies	of	or	providingaccess	to	or	distributing	Project	Gutenberg-tm	electronic	works	providedthat-	You	pay	a	royalty	fee	of	20%	of	the	gross	profits	you	derive	from					the	use	of	Project	Gutenberg-tm	works	calculated	using	the	method					you	already	use	to	calculate	your	applicable	taxes.		The	fee	is					owed	to	the	owner	of	t
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Context: harmless	from	all	liability,	costs	and	expenses,	including	legal	fees,that	arise	directly	or	indirectly	from	any	of	the	following	which	you	door	cause	to	occur:	(a)	distribution	of	this	or	any	Project	Gutenberg-tmwork,	(b)	alteration,	modification,	or	additions	or	deletions	to	anyProject	Gutenberg-tm	work,	and	(c)	any	Defect	you	cause.Section		2.		Information	about	the	Mission	of	Project	Gutenberg-tmProject	Gutenberg-tm	is	synonymous	with	the	free	distribution	ofelectronic	works	in	formats	readable	by	the	widest	variety	of	computersincluding	obsolete,	old,	middle-aged	and	new	computers.		It	existsbecause	of	the	efforts	of	hundreds	of	volunteers	and	donations	frompeople	in	all	walks	of	life.Volunteers	and	financial	support	to	provide	volunteers	with	theassistance	they	need	are	critical	to	reaching	Project	Gutenberg-tm'sgoals	and	ensuring	that	the	Project	Gutenberg-tm	collection	willremain	freely	available	for	generations	to	come.		In	2001,	the	ProjectGutenberg	Literary	Archive	Foundatio
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Context: ry	Archive	Foundation	was	created	to	provide	a	secureand	permanent	future	for	Project	Gutenberg-tm	and	future	generations.To	learn	more	about	the	Project	Gutenberg	Literary	Archive	Foundationand	how	your	efforts	and	donations	can	help,	see	Sections	3	and	4and	the	Foundation	web	page	at	http://www.pglaf.org.Section	3.		Information	about	the	Project	Gutenberg	Literary	ArchiveFoundationThe	Project	Gutenberg	Literary	Archive	Foundation	is	a	non	profit501(c)(3)	educational	corporation	organized	under	the	laws	of	thestate	of	Mississippi	and	granted	tax	exempt	status	by	the	InternalRevenue	Service.		The	Foundation's	EIN	or	federal	tax	identificationnumber	is	64-6221541.		Its	501(c)(3)	letter	is	posted	athttp://pglaf.org/fundraising.		Contributions	to	the	Project	GutenbergLiterary	Archive	Foundation	are	tax	deductible	to	the	full	extentpermitted	by	U.S.	federal	laws	and	your	state's	laws.The	Foundation's	principal	office	is	located	at	4557	Melan	Dr.	S.Fairbanks,	AK,	99712.,	but	its	volunteers
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Context: rchive	Foundation,	how	to	help	produce	our	new	eBooks,	and	how	tosubscribe	to	our	email	newsletter	to	hear	about	new	eBooks.
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Context: asdfasdfasdfsaf123123131
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