INITIALIZATION
Knowledgebase: ki-dev
Base Query:  can you make a 500 word story taking inspiration from "the tomb"?
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: creative_writing
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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 writer.

            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.

            If the user provides a specific structure for the article or output, please follow it intently.

            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.
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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: In the gray light of dawn I staggered from the vault and locked the chain of the door behind me. I was no longer a young man, though but twenty-one winters had chilled my bodily frame. Early-rising villagers who observed my homeward progress looked at me strangely, and marveled at the signs of ribald revelry which they saw in one whose life was known to be sober and solitary. I did not appear before my parents till after a long and refreshing sleep.

Henceforward I haunted the tomb each night; seeing, hearing, and doing things I must never recall. My speech, always susceptible to environmental influences, was the first thing to succumb to the change; and my suddenly acquired archaism of diction was soon remarked upon. Later a queer boldness and recklessness came into my demeanor, till I unconsciously grew to possess the bearing of a man of the world despite my lifelong seclusion. My formerly silent tongue waxed voluble with the easy grace of a Chesterfield or the godless cynicism of a Rochester. I displayed a peculiar erudition utterly unlike the fantastic, monkish lore over which I had pored in youth; and covered the fly-leaves of my books with facile impromptu epigrams which brought up suggestions of Gay, Prior, and the sprightliest of the Augustan wits and rimesters. One morning at breakfast I came close to disaster by declaiming in palpably liquorish accents an effusion of Eighteenth Century bacchanalian mirth, a bit of Georgian playfulness never recorded in a book, which ran something like this:

Come hither, my lads, with your tankards of ale,

And drink to the present before it shall fail;

Pile each on your platter a mountain of beef,

For 'tis eating and drinking that bring us relief:

So fill up your glass, For life will soon pass;

When you're dead ye'll ne'er drink to your king or your lass!

Anacreon had a red nose, so they say;

But what's a red nose if ye're happy and gay?

Gad split me! I'd rather be red whilst I'm here,

Than white as a lily and dead half a year!

So Betty, my miss,

Come give me kiss;

In hell there's no innkeeper's daughter like this!

Young Harry, propp'd up just as straight as he's able,

Will soon lose his wig and slip under the table,

But fill up your goblets and pass 'em around

Better under the table than under the ground!

So revel and chaff

As ye thirstily quaff:

Under six feet of dirt 'tis less easy to laugh!

The fiend strike me blue! l'm scarce able to walk,

And damn me if I can stand upright or talk!

Here, landlord, bid Betty to summon a chair;

l'll try home for a while, for my wife is not there!

So lend me a hand;

I'm not able to stand,

But I'm gay whilst I linger on top of the land!

About this time I conceived my present fear of fire and thunderstorms. Previously indifferent to such things, I had now an unspeakable horror of them; and would retire to the innermost recesses of the house whenever the heavens threatened an electrical display. A favorite haunt of mine during the day was the ruined cellar of the mansion that had burned down, and in fancy I would picture the structure as it had been in its prime. On one occasion I startled a villager by leading him confidently to a shallow subcellar, of whose existence I seemed to know in spite of the fact that it had been unseen and forgotten for many generations.
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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: 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%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: At last came that which I had long feared. My parents, alarmed at the altered manner and appearance of their only son, commenced to exert over my movements a kindly espionage which threatened to result in disaster. I had told no one of my visits to the tomb, having guarded my secret purpose with religious zeal since childhood; but now I was forced to exercise care in threading the mazes of the wooded hollow, that I might throw off a possible pursuer. My key to the vault I kept suspended from a cord about my neck, its presence known only to me. I never carried out of the sepulcher any of the things I came upon whilst within its walls.

One morning as I emerged from the damp tomb and fastened the chain of the portal with none too steady hand, I beheld in an adjacent thicket the dreaded face of a watcher. Surely the end was near; for my bower was discovered, and the objective of my nocturnal journeys revealed. The man did not accost me, so I hastened home in an effort to overhear what he might report to my careworn father. Were my sojourns beyond the chained door about to be proclaimed to the world? Imagine my delighted astonishment on hearing the spy inform my parent in a cautious whisper that I had spent the night in the bower outside the tomb; my sleep-filmed eyes fixed upon the crevice where the padlocked portal stood ajar! By what miracle had the watcher been thus deluded? I was now convinced that a supernatural agency protected me. Made bold by this heaven-sent circumstance, I began to resume perfect openness in going to the vault; confident that no one could witness my entrance. For a week I tasted to the full joys of that charnel conviviality which I must not describe, when the thing happened, and I was borne away to this accursed abode of sorrow and monotony.

I should not have ventured out that night; for the taint of thunder was in the clouds, and a hellish phosphoresence rose from the rank swamp at the bottom of the hollow. The call of the dead, too, was different. Instead of the hillside tomb, it was the charred cellar on the crest of the slope whose presiding demon beckoned to me with unseen fingers. As I emerged from an intervening grove upon the plain before the ruin. I beheld in the misty moonlight a thing I had always vaguely expected. The mansion, gone for a century, once more reared its stately height to the raptured vision; every window ablaze with the splendor of many candles. Up the long drive rolled the coaches of the Boston gentry, whilst on foot came a numerous assemblage of powdered exquisites from the neighboring mansions. With this throng I mingled, though I knew I belonged with the hosts rather than with the guests. Inside the hall were music, laughter, and wine on every hand. Several faces I recognized; though I should have known them better had they been shriveled or eaten away by death and decomposition. Amidst a wild and reckless throng I was the wildest and most abandoned. Gay blasphemy poured in torrents from my lips, and in shocking sallies I heeded no law of God, or nature.

Suddenly a peal of thunder, resonant even above the din of the swinish revelry, clave the very roof and laid a hush of fear upon the boisterous company. Red tongues of flame and searing gusts of heat engulfed the house; and the roysterers, struck with terror at the descent of a calamity which seemed to transcend the bounds of unguided nature, fled shrieking into the night. I alone remained, riveted to my seat by a groveling fear which I had never felt before. And then a second horror took possession of my soul. Burnt alive to ashes, my body dispersed by the four winds, I might never lie in the tomb of the Hydesi Was not my coffin prepared for me? Had I not a right to rest till eternity amongst the descendants of Sir Geoffrey Hyde? Aye! I would claim my heritage of death, even though my soul go seeking through the ages for another corporeal tenement to represent it on that vacant slab in the alcove of the vault. Jervas Hyde should never share the sad fate of Palinurus!
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File: zxcvzxcvzx.txt.txt

Page: 1

Context: edited 04MAY2024
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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

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Context: Sir	Arthur	Conan	Doyle
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

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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

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Context: eyes	of	thelaw—and	there	lie	the	glory	and	the	wonder	of	it!	The	greatest	schemer	of	alltime,	the	organizer	of	every	deviltry,	the	controlling	brain	of	the	underworld,	abrain	which	might	have	made	or	marred	the	destiny	of	nations—that's	the	man!But	so	aloof	is	he	from	general	suspicion,	so	immune	from	criticism,	soadmirable	in	his	management	and	self-effacement,	that	for	those	very	words	thatyou	have	uttered	he	could	hale	you	to	a	court	and	emerge	with	your	year'spension	as	a	solatium	for	his	wounded	character.	Is	he	not	the	celebrated	authorof	The	Dynamics	of	an	Asteroid,	a	book	which	ascends	to	such	rarefied	heightsof	pure	mathematics	that	it	is	said	that	there	was	no	man	in	the	scientific	presscapable	of	criticizing	it?	Is	this	a	man	to	traduce?	Foul-mouthed	doctor	andslandered	professor—such	would	be	your	respective	roles!	That's	genius,Watson.	But	if	I	am	spared	by	lesser	men,	our	day	will	surely	come.""May	I	be	there	to	see!"	I	exclaimed	devoutly.	"But	you	were	speaking	of	thism
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

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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

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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

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Context: "No	less!	When	any	of	that	party	talk	about	'He'	you	know	whom	they	mean.There	is	one	predominant	'He'	for	all	of	them.""But	what	can	he	do?""Hum!	That's	a	large	question.	When	you	have	one	of	the	first	brains	ofEurope	up	against	you,	and	all	the	powers	of	darkness	at	his	back,	there	areinfinite	possibilities.	Anyhow,	Friend	Porlock	is	evidently	scared	out	of	hissenses—kindly	compare	the	writing	in	the	note	to	that	upon	its	envelope;	whichwas	done,	he	tells	us,	before	this	ill-omened	visit.	The	one	is	clear	and	firm.	Theother	hardly	legible.""Why	did	he	write	at	all?	Why	did	he	not	simply	drop	it?""Because	he	feared	I	would	make	some	inquiry	after	him	in	that	case,	andpossibly	bring	trouble	on	him.""No	doubt,"	said	I.	"Of	course."	I	had	picked	up	the	original	cipher	messageand	was	bending	my	brows	over	it.	"It's	pretty	maddening	to	think	that	animportant	secret	may	lie	here	on	this	slip	of	paper,	and	that	it	is	beyond	humanpower	to	penetrate	it."Sherlock	Holmes	had	pushed	away	his	unta
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

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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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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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Context: ed	to	him.	His	tall,	bony	figure	gavepromise	of	exceptional	physical	strength,	while	his	great	cranium	and	deep-set,lustrous	eyes	spoke	no	less	clearly	of	the	keen	intelligence	which	twinkled	outfrom	behind	his	bushy	eyebrows.	He	was	a	silent,	precise	man	with	a	dour	natureand	a	hard	Aberdonian	accent.Twice	already	in	his	career	had	Holmes	helped	him	to	attain	success,	his	own
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Context: sole	reward	being	the	intellectual	joy	of	the	problem.	For	this	reason	theaffection	and	respect	of	the	Scotchman	for	his	amateur	colleague	were	profound,and	he	showed	them	by	the	frankness	with	which	he	consulted	Holmes	in	everydifficulty.	Mediocrity	knows	nothing	higher	than	itself;	but	talent	instantlyrecognizes	genius,	and	MacDonald	had	talent	enough	for	his	profession	toenable	him	to	perceive	that	there	was	no	humiliation	in	seeking	the	assistance	ofone	who	already	stood	alone	in	Europe,	both	in	his	gifts	and	in	his	experience.Holmes	was	not	prone	to	friendship,	but	he	was	tolerant	of	the	big	Scotchman,and	smiled	at	the	sight	of	him."You	are	an	early	bird,	Mr.	Mac,"	said	he.	"I	wish	you	luck	with	your	worm.	Ifear	this	means	that	there	is	some	mischief	afoot.""If	you	said	'hope'	instead	of	'fear,'	it	would	be	nearer	the	truth,	I'm	thinking,Mr.	Holmes,"	the	inspector	answered,	with	a	knowing	grin.	"Well,	maybe	a	weenip	would	keep	out	the	raw	morning	chill.	No,	I	won't	smoke,	I	thank
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Context: Sherlock	Holmes	DiscoursesIt	was	one	of	those	dramatic	moments	for	which	my	friend	existed.	It	wouldbe	an	overstatement	to	say	that	he	was	shocked	or	even	excited	by	the	amazingannouncement.	Without	having	a	tinge	of	cruelty	in	his	singular	composition,	hewas	undoubtedly	callous	from	long	over-stimulation.	Yet,	if	his	emotions	weredulled,	his	intellectual	perceptions	were	exceedingly	active.	There	was	no	tracethen	of	the	horror	which	I	had	myself	felt	at	this	curt	declaration;	but	his	faceshowed	rather	the	quiet	and	interested	composure	of	the	chemist	who	sees	thecrystals	falling	into	position	from	his	oversaturated	solution."Remarkable!"	said	he.	"Remarkable!""You	don't	seem	surprised.""Interested,	Mr.	Mac,	but	hardly	surprised.	Why	should	I	be	surprised?	Ireceive	an	anonymous	communication	from	a	quarter	which	I	know	to	beimportant,	warning	me	that	danger	threatens	a	certain	person.	Within	an	hour	Ilearn	that	this	danger	has	actually	materialized	and	that	the	person	is	dead.	I	aminte
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Context: st	who	flourished	between	the	years1750	and	1800.	I	allude,	of	course	to	his	working	career.	Modern	criticism	hasmore	than	indorsed	the	high	opinion	formed	of	him	by	his	contemporaries."The	inspector's	eyes	grew	abstracted.	"Hadn't	we	better—"	he	said."We	are	doing	so,"	Holmes	interrupted.	"All	that	I	am	saying	has	a	very	directand	vital	bearing	upon	what	you	have	called	the	Birlstone	Mystery.	In	fact,	itmay	in	a	sense	be	called	the	very	centre	of	it."
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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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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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Context: read	of	Jonathan	Wild?""Well,	the	name	has	a	familiar	sound.	Someone	in	a	novel,	was	he	not?	I	don'ttake	much	stock	of	detectives	in	novels—chaps	that	do	things	and	never	let	yousee	how	they	do	them.	That's	just	inspiration:	not	business.""Jonathan	Wild	wasn't	a	detective,	and	he	wasn't	in	a	novel.	He	was	a	mastercriminal,	and	he	lived	last	century—1750	or	thereabouts.""Then	he's	no	use	to	me.	I'm	a	practical	man.""Mr.	Mac,	the	most	practical	thing	that	you	ever	did	in	your	life	would	be	toshut	yourself	up	for	three	months	and	read	twelve	hours	a	day	at	the	annals	ofcrime.	Everything	comes	in	circles—even	Professor	Moriarty.	Jonathan	Wildwas	the	hidden	force	of	the	London	criminals,	to	whom	he	sold	his	brains	andhis	organization	on	a	fifteen	per	cent	commission.	The	old	wheel	turns,	and	the
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Context: same	spoke	comes	up.	It's	all	been	done	before,	and	will	be	again.	I'll	tell	youone	or	two	things	about	Moriarty	which	may	interest	you.""You'll	interest	me,	right	enough.""I	happen	to	know	who	is	the	first	link	in	his	chain—a	chain	with	thisNapoleon-gone-wrong	at	one	end,	and	a	hundred	broken	fighting	men,pickpockets,	blackmailers,	and	card	sharpers	at	the	other,	with	every	sort	ofcrime	in	between.	His	chief	of	staff	is	Colonel	Sebastian	Moran,	as	aloof	andguarded	and	inaccessible	to	the	law	as	himself.	What	do	you	think	he	pays	him?""I'd	like	to	hear.""Six	thousand	a	year.	That's	paying	for	brains,	you	see—the	Americanbusiness	principle.	I	learned	that	detail	quite	by	chance.	It's	more	than	the	PrimeMinister	gets.	That	gives	you	an	idea	of	Moriarty's	gains	and	of	the	scale	onwhich	he	works.	Another	point:	I	made	it	my	business	to	hunt	down	some	ofMoriarty's	checks	lately—just	common	innocent	checks	that	he	pays	hishousehold	bills	with.	They	were	drawn	on	six	different	banks.	Does	tha
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Context: rent	banks.	Does	that	makeany	impression	on	your	mind?""Queer,	certainly!	But	what	do	you	gather	from	it?""That	he	wanted	no	gossip	about	his	wealth.	No	single	man	should	knowwhat	he	had.	I	have	no	doubt	that	he	has	twenty	banking	accounts;	the	bulk	ofhis	fortune	abroad	in	the	Deutsche	Bank	or	the	Credit	Lyonnais	as	likely	as	not.Sometime	when	you	have	a	year	or	two	to	spare	I	commend	to	you	the	study	ofProfessor	Moriarty."Inspector	MacDonald	had	grown	steadily	more	impressed	as	the	conversationproceeded.	He	had	lost	himself	in	his	interest.	Now	his	practical	Scotchintelligence	brought	him	back	with	a	snap	to	the	matter	in	hand."He	can	keep,	anyhow,"	said	he.	"You've	got	us	side-tracked	with	yourinteresting	anecdotes,	Mr.	Holmes.	What	really	counts	is	your	remark	that	thereis	some	connection	between	the	professor	and	the	crime.	That	you	get	from	thewarning	received	through	the	man	Porlock.	Can	we	for	our	present	practicalneeds	get	any	further	than	that?""We	may	form	some	conception	as
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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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Context: been	paid	so	much	down	to	manage	it.	Either	is	possible.But	whichever	it	may	be,	or	if	it	is	some	third	combination,	it	is	down	atBirlstone	that	we	must	seek	the	solution.	I	know	our	man	too	well	to	supposethat	he	has	left	anything	up	here	which	may	lead	us	to	him.""Then	to	Birlstone	we	must	go!"	cried	MacDonald,	jumping	from	his	chair."My	word!	it's	later	than	I	thought.	I	can	give	you,	gentlemen,	five	minutes	forpreparation,	and	that	is	all.""And	ample	for	us	both,"	said	Holmes,	as	he	sprang	up	and	hastened	tochange	from	his	dressing	gown	to	his	coat.	"While	we	are	on	our	way,	Mr.	Mac,I	will	ask	you	to	be	good	enough	to	tell	me	all	about	it.""All	about	it"	proved	to	be	disappointingly	little,	and	yet	there	was	enough	toassure	us	that	the	case	before	us	might	well	be	worthy	of	the	expert's	closestattention.	He	brightened	and	rubbed	his	thin	hands	together	as	he	listened	to	themeagre	but	remarkable	details.	A	long	series	of	sterile	weeks	lay	behind	us,	andhere	at	last	there	was	a	fitt
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Context: gather	from	your	original	remarks,	an	inexplicable,	or	at	least	an	unexplained,murder.	Now,	presuming	that	the	source	of	the	crime	is	as	we	suspect	it	to	be,there	might	be	two	different	motives.	In	the	first	place,	I	may	tell	you	thatMoriarty	rules	with	a	rod	of	iron	over	his	people.	His	discipline	is	tremendous.There	is	only	one	punishment	in	his	code.	It	is	death.	Now	we	might	supposethat	this	murdered	man—this	Douglas	whose	approaching	fate	was	known	byone	of	the	arch-criminal's	subordinates—had	in	some	way	betrayed	the	chief.His	punishment	followed,	and	would	be	known	to	all—if	only	to	put	the	fear	ofdeath	into	them.""Well,	that	is	one	suggestion,	Mr.	Holmes.""The	other	is	that	it	has	been	engineered	by	Moriarty	in	the	ordinary	courseof	business.	Was	there	any	robbery?""I	have	not	heard.""If	so,	it	would,	of	course,	be	against	the	first	hypothesis	and	in	favour	of	thesecond.	Moriarty	may	have	been	engaged	to	engineer	it	on	a	promise	of	partspoils,	or	he	may	have	been	paid	so	much	d
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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: from	the	village.	The	three	men	entered	the	fatal	room	together,	while	the	horror-stricken	butler	followed	at	their	heels,	closing	the	door	behind	him	to	shut	outthe	terrible	scene	from	the	maid	servants.The	dead	man	lay	on	his	back,	sprawling	with	outstretched	limbs	in	thecentre	of	the	room.	He	was	clad	only	in	a	pink	dressing	gown,	which	covered	hisnight	clothes.	There	were	carpet	slippers	on	his	bare	feet.	The	doctor	kneltbeside	him	and	held	down	the	hand	lamp	which	had	stood	on	the	table.	Oneglance	at	the	victim	was	enough	to	show	the	healer	that	his	presence	could	bedispensed	with.	The	man	had	been	horribly	injured.	Lying	across	his	chest	was	acurious	weapon,	a	shotgun	with	the	barrel	sawed	off	a	foot	in	front	of	thetriggers.	It	was	clear	that	this	had	been	fired	at	close	range	and	that	he	hadreceived	the	whole	charge	in	the	face,	blowing	his	head	almost	to	pieces.	Thetriggers	had	been	wired	together,	so	as	to	make	the	simultaneous	discharge	moredestructive.The	country	policeman	w
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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: inlyneeds	a	good	deal	of	justification.	May	I	ask,	Mr.	White	Mason,	whether	youexamined	the	farther	side	of	the	moat	at	once	to	see	if	there	were	any	signs	of	theman	having	climbed	out	from	the	water?""There	were	no	signs,	Mr.	Holmes.	But	it	is	a	stone	ledge,	and	one	couldhardly	expect	them.""No	tracks	or	marks?""None.""Ha!	Would	there	be	any	objection,	Mr.	White	Mason,	to	our	going	down	tothe	house	at	once?	There	may	possibly	be	some	small	point	which	might	besuggestive.""I	was	going	to	propose	it,	Mr.	Holmes;	but	I	thought	it	well	to	put	you	intouch	with	all	the	facts	before	we	go.	I	suppose	if	anything	should	strike	you—"White	Mason	looked	doubtfully	at	the	amateur."I	have	worked	with	Mr.	Holmes	before,"	said	Inspector	MacDonald.	"Heplays	the	game.""My	own	idea	of	the	game,	at	any	rate,"	said	Holmes,	with	a	smile.	"I	go	intoa	case	to	help	the	ends	of	justice	and	the	work	of	the	police.	If	I	have	everseparated	myself	from	the	official	force,	it	is	because	they	have	first	separatedthe
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Context: "The	man	is	not	a	burglar,	supposing	that	he	ever	existed.	The	ring	businessand	the	card	point	to	premeditated	murder	for	some	private	reason.	Very	good.Here	is	a	man	who	slips	into	a	house	with	the	deliberate	intention	of	committingmurder.	He	knows,	if	he	knows	anything,	that	he	will	have	a	deeficulty	inmaking	his	escape,	as	the	house	is	surrounded	with	water.	What	weapon	wouldhe	choose?	You	would	say	the	most	silent	in	the	world.	Then	he	could	hopewhen	the	deed	was	done	to	slip	quickly	from	the	window,	to	wade	the	moat,	andto	get	away	at	his	leisure.	That's	understandable.	But	is	it	understandable	that	heshould	go	out	of	his	way	to	bring	with	him	the	most	noisy	weapon	he	couldselect,	knowing	well	that	it	will	fetch	every	human	being	in	the	house	to	the	spotas	quick	as	they	can	run,	and	that	it	is	all	odds	that	he	will	be	seen	before	he	canget	across	the	moat?	Is	that	credible,	Mr.	Holmes?""Well,	you	put	the	case	strongly,"	my	friend	replied	thoughtfully.	"It	certainlyneeds	a	good	dea
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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: 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: anby	using	a	shotgun	when	silence	was	his	one	chance	of	escape?	Come,	Mr.Holmes,	it's	up	to	you	to	give	us	a	lead,	since	you	say	Mr.	White	Mason's	theoryis	unconvincing."Holmes	had	sat	intently	observant	during	this	long	discussion,	missing	noword	that	was	said,	with	his	keen	eyes	darting	to	right	and	to	left,	and	his
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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: re	was	one	small	point,"	remarked	Sherlock	Holmes.	"When	you	enteredthe	room	there	was	only	a	candle	lighted	on	the	table,	was	there	not?""Yes,	that	was	so.""By	its	light	you	saw	that	some	terrible	incident	had	occurred?""Exactly.""You	at	once	rang	for	help?""Yes.""And	it	arrived	very	speedily?""Within	a	minute	or	so."
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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: usual.	'Sometimes	I	think	that	we	never	shall,'he	has	answered.""Surely	you	asked	him	what	he	meant	by	the	Valley	of	Fear?""I	did;	but	his	face	would	become	very	grave	and	he	would	shake	his	head.	'Itis	bad	enough	that	one	of	us	should	have	been	in	its	shadow,'	he	said.	'PleaseGod	it	shall	never	fall	upon	you!'	It	was	some	real	valley	in	which	he	had	livedand	in	which	something	terrible	had	occurred	to	him,	of	that	I	am	certain;	but	Ican	tell	you	no	more.""And	he	never	mentioned	any	names?""Yes,	he	was	delirious	with	fever	once	when	he	had	his	hunting	accident	threeyears	ago.	Then	I	remember	that	there	was	a	name	that	came	continually	to	hislips.	He	spoke	it	with	anger	and	a	sort	of	horror.	McGinty	was	the	name—Bodymaster	McGinty.	I	asked	him	when	he	recovered	who	BodymasterMcGinty	was,	and	whose	body	he	was	master	of.	'Never	of	mine,	thank	God!'	heanswered	with	a	laugh,	and	that	was	all	I	could	get	from	him.	But	there	is	aconnection	between	Bodymaster	McGinty	and	the	Valley	of	Fear.""
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Context: Was	there	any	romance,	anything	secret	or	mysterious,	about	the	wedding?""There	was	romance.	There	is	always	romance.	There	was	nothingmysterious.""He	had	no	rival?""No,	I	was	quite	free.""You	have	heard,	no	doubt,	that	his	wedding	ring	has	been	taken.	Does	thatsuggest	anything	to	you?	Suppose	that	some	enemy	of	his	old	life	had	trackedhim	down	and	committed	this	crime,	what	possible	reason	could	he	have	fortaking	his	wedding	ring?"For	an	instant	I	could	have	sworn	that	the	faintest	shadow	of	a	smile	flickeredover	the	woman's	lips."I	really	cannot	tell,"	she	answered.	"It	is	certainly	a	most	extraordinarything.""Well,	we	will	not	detain	you	any	longer,	and	we	are	sorry	to	have	put	you	tothis	trouble	at	such	a	time,"	said	the	inspector.	"There	are	some	other	points,	nodoubt;	but	we	can	refer	to	you	as	they	arise."She	rose,	and	I	was	again	conscious	of	that	quick,	questioning	glance	withwhich	she	had	just	surveyed	us.	"What	impression	has	my	evidence	made	uponyou?"	The	question	might	as
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Context: "I'll	see,	sir."He	came	back	in	a	moment	to	say	that	Barker	was	in	the	garden."Can	you	remember,	Ames,	what	Mr.	Barker	had	on	his	feet	last	night	whenyou	joined	him	in	the	study?""Yes,	Mr.	Holmes.	He	had	a	pair	of	bedroom	slippers.	I	brought	him	his	bootswhen	he	went	for	the	police.""Where	are	the	slippers	now?""They	are	still	under	the	chair	in	the	hall.""Very	good,	Ames.	It	is,	of	course,	important	for	us	to	know	which	tracksmay	be	Mr.	Barker's	and	which	from	outside.""Yes,	sir.	I	may	say	that	I	noticed	that	the	slippers	were	stained	with	blood—so	indeed	were	my	own.""That	is	natural	enough,	considering	the	condition	of	the	room.	Very	good,Ames.	We	will	ring	if	we	want	you."A	few	minutes	later	we	were	in	the	study.	Holmes	had	brought	with	him	thecarpet	slippers	from	the	hall.	As	Ames	had	observed,	the	soles	of	both	were	darkwith	blood."Strange!"	murmured	Holmes,	as	he	stood	in	the	light	of	the	window	andexamined	them	minutely.	"Very	strange	indeed!"Stooping	with	one	of	his	quick	feli
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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: ud	than	as	one	who	makes	a	consideredstatement."A	lie,	Watson—a	great,	big,	thumping,	obtrusive,	uncompromising	lie—that's	what	meets	us	on	the	threshold!	There	is	our	starting	point.	The	wholestory	told	by	Barker	is	a	lie.	But	Barker's	story	is	corroborated	by	Mrs.	Douglas.Therefore	she	is	lying	also.	They	are	both	lying,	and	in	a	conspiracy.	So	now	wehave	the	clear	problem.	Why	are	they	lying,	and	what	is	the	truth	which	they	aretrying	so	hard	to	conceal?	Let	us	try,	Watson,	you	and	I,	if	we	can	get	behind	thelie	and	reconstruct	the	truth."How	do	I	know	that	they	are	lying?	Because	it	is	a	clumsy	fabrication	whichsimply	could	not	be	true.	Consider!	According	to	the	story	given	to	us,	theassassin	had	less	than	a	minute	after	the	murder	had	been	committed	to	take	thatring,	which	was	under	another	ring,	from	the	dead	man's	finger,	to	replace	theother	ring—a	thing	which	he	would	surely	never	have	done—and	to	put	thatsingular	card	beside	his	victim.	I	say	that	this	was	obviously	impossibl
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Context: n	the	study	can	penetrate	to	me	in	the	pantry	when	thedoors	are	all	shut."It	is	otherwise,	however,	from	the	housekeeper's	room.	It	is	not	so	far	downthe	corridor,	and	from	it	I	could	vaguely	hear	a	voice	when	it	was	very	loudlyraised.	The	sound	from	a	shotgun	is	to	some	extent	muffled	when	the	dischargeis	at	very	close	range,	as	it	undoubtedly	was	in	this	instance.	It	would	not	be	veryloud,	and	yet	in	the	silence	of	the	night	it	should	have	easily	penetrated	to	Mrs.Allen's	room.	She	is,	as	she	has	told	us,	somewhat	deaf;	but	none	the	less	shementioned	in	her	evidence	that	she	did	hear	something	like	a	door	slamming	halfan	hour	before	the	alarm	was	given.	Half	an	hour	before	the	alarm	was	givenwould	be	a	quarter	to	eleven.	I	have	no	doubt	that	what	she	heard	was	the	reportof	the	gun,	and	that	this	was	the	real	instant	of	the	murder."If	this	is	so,	we	have	now	to	determine	what	Barker	and	Mrs.	Douglas,presuming	that	they	are	not	the	actual	murderers,	could	have	been	doing	fromquarter	to
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Context: those	two	people.	She	must	be	a	heartless	creature	to	sit	laughing	at	some	jestwithin	a	few	hours	of	her	husband's	murder.""Exactly.	She	does	not	shine	as	a	wife	even	in	her	own	account	of	whatoccurred.	I	am	not	a	whole-souled	admirer	of	womankind,	as	you	are	aware,Watson,	but	my	experience	of	life	has	taught	me	that	there	are	few	wives,	havingany	regard	for	their	husbands,	who	would	let	any	man's	spoken	word	standbetween	them	and	that	husband's	dead	body.	Should	I	ever	marry,	Watson,	Ishould	hope	to	inspire	my	wife	with	some	feeling	which	would	prevent	her	frombeing	walked	off	by	a	housekeeper	when	my	corpse	was	lying	within	a	fewyards	of	her.	It	was	badly	stage-managed;	for	even	the	rawest	investigators	mustbe	struck	by	the	absence	of	the	usual	feminine	ululation.	If	there	had	beennothing	else,	this	incident	alone	would	have	suggested	a	prearranged	conspiracyto	my	mind.""You	think	then,	definitely,	that	Barker	and	Mrs.	Douglas	are	guilty	of	themurder?""There	is	an	appalling	directnes
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Context: "Well,	I'll	borrow	that	if	I	may.""Certainly—but	what	a	wretched	weapon!	If	there	is	danger—""Nothing	serious,	my	dear	Watson,	or	I	should	certainly	ask	for	yourassistance.	But	I'll	take	the	umbrella.	At	present	I	am	only	awaiting	the	return	ofour	colleagues	from	Tunbridge	Wells,	where	they	are	at	present	engaged	intrying	for	a	likely	owner	to	the	bicycle."It	was	nightfall	before	Inspector	MacDonald	and	White	Mason	came	backfrom	their	expedition,	and	they	arrived	exultant,	reporting	a	great	advance	in	ourinvestigation."Man,	I'll	admeet	that	I	had	my	doubts	if	there	was	ever	an	outsider,"	saidMacDonald,	"but	that's	all	past	now.	We've	had	the	bicycle	identified,	and	wehave	a	description	of	our	man;	so	that's	a	long	step	on	our	journey.""It	sounds	to	me	like	the	beginning	of	the	end,"	said	Holmes.	"I'm	sure	Icongratulate	you	both	with	all	my	heart.""Well,	I	started	from	the	fact	that	Mr.	Douglas	had	seemed	disturbed	since	theday	before,	when	he	had	been	at	Tunbridge	Wells.	It	was	at	Tunb
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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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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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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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Context: ew	to	him.	"Well,	if	it	is	good	enough	for	the	inspector,	it	isgood	enough	for	me,"	he	said	at	last."Capital!"	said	Holmes.	"Well,	then,	I	should	recommend	a	nice,	cheerycountry	walk	for	both	of	you.	They	tell	me	that	the	views	from	Birlstone	Ridgeover	the	Weald	are	very	remarkable.	No	doubt	lunch	could	be	got	at	somesuitable	hostelry;	though	my	ignorance	of	the	country	prevents	me	fromrecommending	one.	In	the	evening,	tired	but	happy—""Man,	this	is	getting	past	a	joke!"	cried	MacDonald,	rising	angrily	from	hischair."Well,	well,	spend	the	day	as	you	like,"	said	Holmes,	patting	him	cheerfullyupon	the	shoulder.	"Do	what	you	like	and	go	where	you	will,	but	meet	me	here
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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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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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

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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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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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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: is	suit	of	clothes,	andin	a	quarter	of	an	hour	Barker	and	I	had	put	my	dressing	gown	on	him	and	he	layas	you	found	him.	We	tied	all	his	things	into	a	bundle,	and	I	weighted	them	withthe	only	weight	I	could	find	and	put	them	through	the	window.	The	card	he	hadmeant	to	lay	upon	my	body	was	lying	beside	his	own."My	rings	were	put	on	his	finger;	but	when	it	came	to	the	wedding	ring,"	he
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Context: earto	Barker	and	to	my	wife;	but	they	understood	enough	to	be	able	to	help	me.	Iknew	all	about	this	hiding	place,	so	did	Ames;	but	it	never	entered	his	head	toconnect	it	with	the	matter.	I	retired	into	it,	and	it	was	up	to	Barker	to	do	the	rest."I	guess	you	can	fill	in	for	yourselves	what	he	did.	He	opened	the	windowand	made	the	mark	on	the	sill	to	give	an	idea	of	how	the	murderer	escaped.	Itwas	a	tall	order,	that;	but	as	the	bridge	was	up	there	was	no	other	way.	Then,when	everything	was	fixed,	he	rang	the	bell	for	all	he	was	worth.	What	happenedafterward	you	know.	And	so,	gentlemen,	you	can	do	what	you	please;	but	I'vetold	you	the	truth	and	the	whole	truth,	so	help	me	God!	What	I	ask	you	now	ishow	do	I	stand	by	the	English	law?"There	was	a	silence	which	was	broken	by	Sherlock	Holmes."The	English	law	is	in	the	main	a	just	law.	You	will	get	no	worse	than	yourdeserts	from	that,	Mr.	Douglas.	But	I	would	ask	you	how	did	this	man	know	thatyou	lived	here,	or	how	to	get	into	your	house,	or	wh
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

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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: slantwise	to	the	light,	the	glint	upon	the	rims	of	the	copper	shells	within	thedrum	showed	that	it	was	fully	loaded.	He	quickly	restored	it	to	his	secret	pocket,but	not	before	it	had	been	observed	by	a	working	man	who	had	seated	himselfupon	the	adjoining	bench."Hullo,	mate!"	said	he.	"You	seem	heeled	and	ready."The	young	man	smiled	with	an	air	of	embarrassment."Yes,"	said	he,	"we	need	them	sometimes	in	the	place	I	come	from.""And	where	may	that	be?""I'm	last	from	Chicago.""A	stranger	in	these	parts?""Yes.""You	may	find	you	need	it	here,"	said	the	workman."Ah!	is	that	so?"	The	young	man	seemed	interested."Have	you	heard	nothing	of	doings	hereabouts?""Nothing	out	of	the	way.""Why,	I	thought	the	country	was	full	of	it.	You'll	hear	quick	enough.	Whatmade	you	come	here?""I	heard	there	was	always	work	for	a	willing	man.""Are	you	a	member	of	the	union?""Sure.""Then	you'll	get	your	job,	I	guess.	Have	you	any	friends?""Not	yet;	but	I	have	the	means	of	making	them.""How's	that,	then?"
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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: Chapter	2The	BodymasterMcMurdo	was	a	man	who	made	his	mark	quickly.	Wherever	he	was	the	folkaround	soon	knew	it.	Within	a	week	he	had	become	infinitely	the	most	importantperson	at	Shafter's.	There	were	ten	or	a	dozen	boarders	there;	but	they	werehonest	foremen	or	commonplace	clerks	from	the	stores,	of	a	very	differentcalibre	from	the	young	Irishman.	Of	an	evening	when	they	gathered	together	hisjoke	was	always	the	readiest,	his	conversation	the	brightest,	and	his	song	thebest.	He	was	a	born	boon	companion,	with	a	magnetism	which	drew	goodhumour	from	all	around	him.And	yet	he	showed	again	and	again,	as	he	had	shown	in	the	railway	carriage,a	capacity	for	sudden,	fierce	anger,	which	compelled	the	respect	and	even	thefear	of	those	who	met	him.	For	the	law,	too,	and	all	who	were	connected	with	it,he	exhibited	a	bitter	contempt	which	delighted	some	and	alarmed	others	of	hisfellow	boarders.From	the	first	he	made	it	evident,	by	his	open	admiration,	that	the	daughter	ofthe	house	had	won	his	hear
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Context: Put	yourself	in	my	place.	Here	am	I,	a	stranger	in	the	town.	I	belong	to	a	societythat	I	know	only	as	an	innocent	one.	You'll	find	it	through	the	length	and	breadthof	the	States,	but	always	as	an	innocent	one.	Now,	when	I	am	counting	uponjoining	it	here,	you	tell	me	that	it	is	the	same	as	a	murder	society	called	theScowrers.	I	guess	you	owe	me	either	an	apology	or	else	an	explanation,	Mr.Shafter.""I	can	but	tell	you	vat	the	whole	vorld	knows,	mister.	The	bosses	of	the	oneare	the	bosses	of	the	other.	If	you	offend	the	one,	it	is	the	other	vat	vill	strikeyou.	We	have	proved	it	too	often.""That's	just	gossip—I	want	proof!"	said	McMurdo."If	you	live	here	long	you	vill	get	your	proof.	But	I	forget	that	you	areyourself	one	of	them.	You	vill	soon	be	as	bad	as	the	rest.	But	you	vill	find	otherlodgings,	mister.	I	cannot	have	you	here.	Is	it	not	bad	enough	that	one	of	thesepeople	come	courting	my	Ettie,	and	that	I	dare	not	turn	him	down,	but	that	Ishould	have	another	for	my	boarder?	Yes,	indeed,
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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: from	aninner	pocket.
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Context: imate	as	the	weeks	went	by.In	his	bedroom	at	his	new	abode	McMurdo	felt	it	safe	to	take	out	the	coiningmoulds,	and	under	many	a	pledge	of	secrecy	a	number	of	brothers	from	thelodge	were	allowed	to	come	in	and	see	them,	each	carrying	away	in	his	pocketsome	examples	of	the	false	money,	so	cunningly	struck	that	there	was	never	theslightest	difficulty	or	danger	in	passing	it.	Why,	with	such	a	wonderful	art	at	hiscommand,	McMurdo	should	condescend	to	work	at	all	was	a	perpetual	mysteryto	his	companions;	though	he	made	it	clear	to	anyone	who	asked	him	that	if	helived	without	any	visible	means	it	would	very	quickly	bring	the	police	upon	histrack.One	policeman	was	indeed	after	him	already;	but	the	incident,	as	luck	wouldhave	it,	did	the	adventurer	a	great	deal	more	good	than	harm.	After	the	firstintroduction	there	were	few	evenings	when	he	did	not	find	his	way	to	McGinty'ssaloon,	there	to	make	closer	acquaintance	with	"the	boys,"	which	was	the	jovial
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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: 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: "Is	your	lodge	No.	29,	Chicago?"He	bowed	again."Dark	nights	are	unpleasant,"	said	the	voice."Yes,	for	strangers	to	travel,"	he	answered."The	clouds	are	heavy.""Yes,	a	storm	is	approaching.""Are	the	brethren	satisfied?"	asked	the	Bodymaster.There	was	a	general	murmur	of	assent."We	know,	Brother,	by	your	sign	and	by	your	countersign	that	you	are	indeedone	of	us,"	said	McGinty.	"We	would	have	you	know,	however,	that	in	thiscounty	and	in	other	counties	of	these	parts	we	have	certain	rites,	and	also	certainduties	of	our	own	which	call	for	good	men.	Are	you	ready	to	be	tested?""I	am.""Are	you	of	stout	heart?""I	am.""Take	a	stride	forward	to	prove	it."As	the	words	were	said	he	felt	two	hard	points	in	front	of	his	eyes,	pressingupon	them	so	that	it	appeared	as	if	he	could	not	move	forward	without	a	dangerof	losing	them.	None	the	less,	he	nerved	himself	to	step	resolutely	out,	and	as	hedid	so	the	pressure	melted	away.	There	was	a	low	murmur	of	applause."He	is	of	stout	heart,"	said	the	voice.	"C
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 118

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 122

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 123

Context: have	had	for	some	time!	You'veno	heart	yourself,	and	you	try	to	take	the	heart	out	of	others.	It	will	be	an	ill	dayfor	you,	Brother	Morris,	when	your	own	name	comes	on	our	agenda	paper,	andI'm	thinking	that	it's	just	there	that	I	ought	to	place	it."Morris	had	turned	deadly	pale,	and	his	knees	seemed	to	give	way	under	himas	he	fell	back	into	his	chair.	He	raised	his	glass	in	his	trembling	hand	and	drank
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 123

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 124

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 125

Context: oaction.	Leaving	the	limp	and	motionless	body	of	the	editor	at	the	head	of	thestair,	the	criminals	rushed	down	and	made	their	way	swiftly	along	the	street.Having	reached	the	Union	House,	some	of	them	mixed	with	the	crowd	inMcGinty's	saloon,	whispering	across	the	bar	to	the	Boss	that	the	job	had	been
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 126

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 137

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 142

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 143

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 144

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 144

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 154

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 155

Context: dwin,"	he	said.	"You	and	Ihave	had	our	differences,	but	you	have	said	the	true	word	to-night.""Where	is	he,	then?	Where	shall	we	know	him?""Eminent	Bodymaster,"	said	McMurdo,	earnestly,	"I	would	put	it	to	you	thatthis	is	too	vital	a	thing	for	us	to	discuss	in	open	lodge.	God	forbid	that	I	shouldthrow	a	doubt	on	anyone	here;	but	if	so	much	as	a	word	of	gossip	got	to	the	earsof	this	man,	there	would	be	an	end	of	any	chance	of	our	getting	him.	I	would	askthe	lodge	to	choose	a	trusty	committee,	Mr.	Chairman—yourself,	if	I	mightsuggest	it,	and	Brother	Baldwin	here,	and	five	more.	Then	I	can	talk	freely	ofwhat	I	know	and	of	what	I	advise	should	be	done."The	proposition	was	at	once	adopted,	and	the	committee	chosen.	Besides	thechairman	and	Baldwin	there	were	the	vulture-faced	secretary,	Harraway,	TigerCormac,	the	brutal	young	assassin,	Carter,	the	treasurer,	and	the	brothersWillaby,	fearless	and	desperate	men	who	would	stick	at	nothing.
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 157

Context: ge	for	a	price.	You	bet	he'll	tumble	to	it.	I'll	tellhim	the	papers	are	at	my	house,	and	that	it's	as	much	as	my	life	would	be	worthto	let	him	come	while	folk	were	about.	He'll	see	that	that's	horse	sense.	Let	himcome	at	ten	o'clock	at	night,	and	he	shall	see	everything.	That	will	fetch	himsure.""Well?""You	can	plan	the	rest	for	yourselves.	Widow	MacNamara's	is	a	lonely	house.She's	as	true	as	steel	and	as	deaf	as	a	post.	There's	only	Scanlan	and	me	in	thehouse.	If	I	get	his	promise—and	I'll	let	you	know	if	I	do—I'd	have	the	wholeseven	of	you	come	to	me	by	nine	o'clock.	We'll	get	him	in.	If	ever	he	gets	outalive—well,	he	can	talk	of	Birdy	Edwards's	luck	for	the	rest	of	his	days!""There's	going	to	be	a	vacancy	at	Pinkerton's	or	I'm	mistaken.	Leave	it	at	that,McMurdo.	At	nine	to-morrow	we'll	be	with	you.	You	once	get	the	door	shutbehind	him,	and	you	can	leave	the	rest	with	us."
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 158

Context: Chapter	7The	Trapping	of	Birdy	EdwardsAs	McMurdo	had	said,	the	house	in	which	he	lived	was	a	lonely	one	and	verywell	suited	for	such	a	crime	as	they	had	planned.	It	was	on	the	extreme	fringe	ofthe	town	and	stood	well	back	from	the	road.	In	any	other	case	the	conspiratorswould	have	simply	called	out	their	man,	as	they	had	many	a	time	before,	andemptied	their	pistols	into	his	body;	but	in	this	instance	it	was	very	necessary	tofind	out	how	much	he	knew,	how	he	knew	it,	and	what	had	been	passed	on	to	hisemployers.It	was	possible	that	they	were	already	too	late	and	that	the	work	had	beendone.	If	that	was	indeed	so,	they	could	at	least	have	their	revenge	upon	the	manwho	had	done	it.	But	they	were	hopeful	that	nothing	of	great	importance	had	yetcome	to	the	detective's	knowledge,	as	otherwise,	they	argued,	he	would	not	havetroubled	to	write	down	and	forward	such	trivial	information	as	McMurdoclaimed	to	have	given	him.	However,	all	this	they	would	learn	from	his	own	lips.Once	in	their	power,	th
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 163

Context: "Hush!"	McMurdo	raised	his	hand	in	caution.	An	exulting	glance	went	roundthe	circle,	and	hands	were	laid	upon	hidden	weapons."Not	a	sound,	for	your	lives!"	McMurdo	whispered,	as	he	went	from	theroom,	closing	the	door	carefully	behind	him.With	strained	ears	the	murderers	waited.	They	counted	the	steps	of	theircomrade	down	the	passage.	Then	they	heard	him	open	the	outer	door.	Therewere	a	few	words	as	of	greeting.	Then	they	were	aware	of	a	strange	step	insideand	of	an	unfamiliar	voice.	An	instant	later	came	the	slam	of	the	door	and	theturning	of	the	key	in	the	lock.	Their	prey	was	safe	within	the	trap.	Tiger	Cormaclaughed	horribly,	and	Boss	McGinty	clapped	his	great	hand	across	his	mouth."Be	quiet,	you	fool!"	he	whispered.	"You'll	be	the	undoing	of	us	yet!"There	was	a	mutter	of	conversation	from	the	next	room.	It	seemedinterminable.	Then	the	door	opened,	and	McMurdo	appeared,	his	finger	upon	hislip.He	came	to	the	end	of	the	table	and	looked	round	at	them.	A	subtle	changehad	come	over	him.
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 164

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 165

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 166

Context: worthy	mate,	and	lived	for	five	years	as	a	Sussex	county	gentleman,	a	lifewhich	ended	with	the	strange	happenings	of	which	we	have	heard.Epilogue
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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 167

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 169

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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File: The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf

Page: 172

Context: Project	Gutenberg-tm	works.-	You	provide,	in	accordance	with	paragraph	1.F.3,	a	full	refund	of	any					money	paid	for	a	work	or	a	replacement	copy,	if	a	defect	in	the					electronic	work	is	discovered	and	reported	to	you	within	90	days					of	receipt	of	the	work.-	You	comply	with	all	other	terms	of	this	agreement	for	free					distribution	of	Project	Gutenberg-tm	works.1.E.9.		If	you	wish	to	charge	a	fee	or	distribute	a	Project	Gutenberg-tm
##########

"""QUERY:  can you make a 500 word story taking inspiration from "the tomb"?"""

Consider the chat history for relevant information. Use all information included. Use as much tokens as needed.
Final Files Sources: The%20Tomb.txt - Page 1, zxcvzxcvzx.txt.txt - Page 1, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 3, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 4, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 5, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 7, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 8, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 10, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 11, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 13, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 14, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 15, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 17, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 18, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 19, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 20, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 21, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 22, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 23, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 27, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 32, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 35, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 36, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 37, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 39, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 41, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 49, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 50, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 52, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 53, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 54, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 55, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 58, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 59, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 60, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 63, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 66, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 67, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 68, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 69, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 70, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 71, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 73, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 74, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 75, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 77, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 78, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 80, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 81, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 82, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 86, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 90, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 93, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 97, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 99, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 105, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 111, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 114, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 115, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 116, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 118, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 122, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 123, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 124, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 125, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 126, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 137, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 142, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 143, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 144, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 154, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 155, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 157, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 158, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 163, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 164, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 165, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 166, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 167, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 169, The-Valley-of-Fear.pdf - Page 172
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FINAL ANSWER 
Answer: The old house stood hunched against the wind, its shadow stretching long and skeletal across the overgrown lawn.  Elias Thorne, a man haunted by a lineage he barely understood, had inherited the crumbling estate after his grandfather’s death.  He knew little of the old man, only whispers of eccentricity and a fascination with the family crypt, a mausoleum tucked away in the woods behind the house. 

Elias, a pragmatic historian, scoffed at such superstitious nonsense. Yet, he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that followed him through the echoing halls of the house, a sense of unseen eyes watching his every move.  He found himself drawn to the library, its shelves crammed with leather-bound volumes chronicling centuries of Thorne family history.  He devoured the accounts of his ancestors, their triumphs and tragedies, their eccentricities and obsessions.  One recurring theme emerged: a morbid fascination with death and the afterlife, a belief that the Thorne bloodline held a unique connection to the spectral realm.

One blustery evening, as rain lashed against the windows, Elias stumbled upon a hidden journal tucked within a dusty tome.  The faded script detailed his grandfather’s nightly vigils at the family crypt, his claims of hearing voices emanating from within, whispers of forgotten dialects and long-dead relatives.  Elias, despite his rational mind, felt a shiver crawl down his spine.  The journal spoke of a hidden chamber within the crypt, a secret room accessible only to those who possessed the Thorne blood.  A crude map, sketched on the back of a yellowed letter, promised to reveal its location.

Driven by a curiosity he couldn't explain, Elias found himself standing before the imposing iron gates of the crypt as a storm raged overhead.  Lightning illuminated the weathered stone, revealing the intricate carvings of angels and skulls that adorned its surface.  He fumbled with the rusted lock, the journal’s description guiding his hand.  With a groan, the gates swung open, releasing a gust of cold, damp air that smelled of earth and decay.

Inside, the air hung heavy with the weight of ages.  Elias, his heart pounding in his chest, followed the map’s directions, his flashlight beam dancing across the names etched on the stone sarcophagi lining the walls.  He found the hidden lever, concealed behind a crumbling inscription, and with a grinding sound, a section of the wall slid open, revealing a narrow passage leading down into darkness.

He descended, the air growing colder and more oppressive with each step.  The passage opened into a small, circular chamber, its walls lined with shelves holding dusty artifacts: ancient tomes bound in human skin, tarnished silver chalices, and a collection of skulls arranged in a macabre tableau.  In the center of the room stood a single, empty sarcophagus, its lid ajar.  A name, etched in elegant script, adorned its side: Elias Thorne.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, the weight of his ancestry pressing down on his shoulders.  He felt a presence in the room, a cold touch on the back of his neck.  He spun around, his flashlight beam illuminating nothing but the silent, grinning skulls.  He fled, scrambling back up the passage and out into the storm, the heavy iron gates clanging shut behind him.

Back in the house, huddled by the fireplace, Elias tried to rationalize his experience.  He had found no ghosts, no spectral figures whispering secrets from beyond the grave.  Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had stumbled upon something ancient and powerful, a truth about his lineage that both terrified and fascinated him.  He knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that he would return to the crypt, drawn back to the empty sarcophagus that bore his name, forever bound to the legacy of the Thornes. 

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