INITIALIZATION
Knowledgebase: ki-dev-large
Base Query: can you summarize the content of your context in 2 sentences
Model: gemini-1.5-pro-preview-0409
Use Curl?: None
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**Elapsed Time: 0.00 seconds**
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ROUTING
Query type: summary
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**Elapsed Time: 1.66 seconds**
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RAG PARAMETERS
Max Context To Include: 100
Lowest Score to Consider: 0.1
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**Elapsed Time: 0.14 seconds**
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VECTOR SEARCH ALGORITHM TO USE 
Use MMR search?: True
Use Similarity search?: False
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**Elapsed Time: 0.10 seconds**
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VECTOR SEARCH DONE 
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**Elapsed Time: 6.61 seconds**
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FILENAMES AND KEYWORDS 
Keywords Found: ['content', 'context']
All file names: ['The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Tomb.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Picture%20in%20the%20House.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Picture%20in%20the%20House.txt', 'The%20Picture%20in%20the%20House.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Tomb.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Picture%20in%20the%20House.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Picture%20in%20the%20House.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Tomb.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Tomb.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Tomb.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Tomb.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Picture%20in%20the%20House.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Tomb.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Picture%20in%20the%20House.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Picture%20in%20the%20House.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Tomb.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Picture%20in%20the%20House.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Picture%20in%20the%20House.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Tomb.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt', 'The%20Picture%20in%20the%20House.txt']
File names to FILTER: ['The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt']
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**Elapsed Time: 1.05 seconds**
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PRIMER 
Primer: 
            You are Simon, a highly intelligent personal assistant in a system called KIOS. You are a chatbot that
            can read knowledgebases through the "CONTEXT" that is included in the user's chat message.

        
            Your role is to act as an expert at summarization and analysis.

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

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

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

            Use as much tokens as possible to provide a detailed response.
        
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**Elapsed Time: 0.00 seconds**
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FINAL QUERY 
Final Query: CONTEXT: ##########
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

Page: 1

Context: that we can find some shorter cut to a result."
"You are holding something back. It's hardly fair of you, Mr. Holmes." The
inspector was annoyed.
"You know my methods of work, Mr. Mac. But I will hold it back for the
shortest time possible. I only wish to verify my details in one way, which can
very readily be done, and then I make my bow and return to London, leaving my
results entirely at your service. I owe you too much to act otherwise; for in all
my experience I cannot recall any more singular and interesting study."
"This is clean beyond me, Mr. Holmes. We saw you when we returned from
Tunbridge Wells last night, and you were in general agreement with our results.
What has happened since then to give you a completely new idea of the case?"
"Well, since you ask me, I spent, as I told you that I would, some hours last
night at the Manor House."
"Well, what happened?"
"Ah, I can only give you a very general answer to that for the moment. By the
way, I have been reading a short but clear and interesting account of the old
building, purchasable at the modest sum of one penny from the local
tobacconist."
Here Holmes drew a small tract, embellished with a rude engraving of the
ancient Manor House, from his waistcoat pocket.
"It immensely adds to the zest of an investigation, my dear Mr. Mac, when
one is in conscious sympathy with the historical atmosphere of one's
surroundings. Don't look so impatient; for I assure you that even so bald an
account as this raises some sort of picture of the past in one's mind. Permit me to
give you a sample. 'Erected in the fifth year of the reign of James I, and standing
upon the site of a much older building, the Manor House of Birlstone presents
one of the finest surviving examples of the moated Jacobean residence—'"
"You are making fools of us, Mr. Holmes!"
####################
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

Page: 1

Context: concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
http://www.gutenberg.net
This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
####################
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

Page: 1

Context: meshwork of crime. What could I do? Every word I said to make things better
was taken as treason, same as it was last night. I can't get away; for all I have in
the world is in my store. If I leave the society, I know well that it means murder
to me, and God knows what to my wife and children. Oh, man, it is awful—
awful!" He put his hands to his face, and his body shook with convulsive sobs.
McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. "You were too soft for the job," said he.
"You are the wrong sort for such work."
"I had a conscience and a religion; but they made me a criminal among them.
I was chosen for a job. If I backed down I knew well what would come to me.
Maybe I'm a coward. Maybe it's the thought of my poor little woman and the
children that makes me one. Anyhow I went. I guess it will haunt me forever.
"It was a lonely house, twenty miles from here, over the range yonder. I was
told off for the door, same as you were last night. They could not trust me with
the job. The others went in. When they came out their hands were crimson to the
wrists. As we turned away a child was screaming out of the house behind us. It
was a boy of five who had seen his father murdered. I nearly fainted with the
horror of it, and yet I had to keep a bold and smiling face; for well I knew that if
I did not it would be out of my house that they would come next with their
bloody hands and it would be my little Fred that would be screaming for his
father.
"But I was a criminal then, part sharer in a murder, lost forever in this world,
and lost also in the next. I am a good Catholic; but the priest would have no
word with me when he heard I was a Scowrer, and I am excommunicated from
my faith. That's how it stands with me. And I see you going down the same road,
####################
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

Page: 1

Context: conversed in low voices, glancing occasionally at two men on the opposite side
of the car, whose uniforms and badges showed them to be policemen.
Several women of the labouring class and one or two travellers who might
have been small local storekeepers made up the rest of the company, with the
exception of one young man in a corner by himself. It is with this man that we
are concerned. Take a good look at him, for he is worth it.
He is a fresh-complexioned, middle-sized young man, not far, one would
guess, from his thirtieth year. He has large, shrewd, humorous gray eyes which
twinkle inquiringly from time to time as he looks round through his spectacles at
the people about him. It is easy to see that he is of a sociable and possibly simple
disposition, anxious to be friendly to all men. Anyone could pick him at once as
gregarious in his habits and communicative in his nature, with a quick wit and a
ready smile. And yet the man who studied him more closely might discern a
certain firmness of jaw and grim tightness about the lips which would warn him
that there were depths beyond, and that this pleasant, brown-haired young
Irishman might conceivably leave his mark for good or evil upon any society to
which he was introduced.
Having made one or two tentative remarks to the nearest miner, and receiving
only short, gruff replies, the traveller resigned himself to uncongenial silence,
staring moodily out of the window at the fading landscape.
It was not a cheering prospect. Through the growing gloom there pulsed the
red glow of the furnaces on the sides of the hills. Great heaps of slag and dumps
of cinders loomed up on each side, with the high shafts of the collieries towering
above them. Huddled groups of mean, wooden houses, the windows of which
were beginning to outline themselves in light, were scattered here and there
along the line, and the frequent halting places were crowded with their swarthy
inhabitants.
The iron and coal valleys of the Vermissa district were no resorts for the
####################
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

Page: 1

Context: fortalice in the centre of the estate, which had been granted to him by the Red
King. This was destroyed by fire in 1543, and some of its smoke-blackened
corner stones were used when, in Jacobean times, a brick country house rose
upon the ruins of the feudal castle.
The Manor House, with its many gables and its small diamond-paned
windows, was still much as the builder had left it in the early seventeenth
century. Of the double moats which had guarded its more warlike predecessor,
the outer had been allowed to dry up, and served the humble function of a
kitchen garden. The inner one was still there, and lay forty feet in breadth,
though now only a few feet in depth, round the whole house. A small stream fed
it and continued beyond it, so that the sheet of water, though turbid, was never
ditch-like or unhealthy. The ground floor windows were within a foot of the
surface of the water.
The only approach to the house was over a drawbridge, the chains and
windlass of which had long been rusted and broken. The latest tenants of the
Manor House had, however, with characteristic energy, set this right, and the
drawbridge was not only capable of being raised, but actually was raised every
evening and lowered every morning. By thus renewing the custom of the old
feudal days the Manor House was converted into an island during the night—a
fact which had a very direct bearing upon the mystery which was soon to engage
the attention of all England.
The house had been untenanted for some years and was threatening to
moulder into a picturesque decay when the Douglases took possession of it. This
family consisted of only two individuals—John Douglas and his wife. Douglas
was a remarkable man, both in character and in person. In age he may have been
about fifty, with a strong-jawed, rugged face, a grizzling moustache, peculiarly
keen gray eyes, and a wiry, vigorous figure which had lost nothing of the
strength and activity of youth. He was cheery and genial to all, but somewhat
####################
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

Page: 1

Context: would have nothing more to do with him, nor would he allow him to enter the
house. Ettie herself was too deeply in love to give him up altogether, and yet her
own good sense warned her of what would come from a marriage with a man
who was regarded as a criminal.
One morning after a sleepless night she determined to see him, possibly for
the last time, and make one strong endeavour to draw him from those evil
influences which were sucking him down. She went to his house, as he had often
begged her to do, and made her way into the room which he used as his sittingroom.
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 forward
and laid her hand lightly upon his bended shoulders.
If she had expected to startle him, she certainly succeeded; but only in turn to
be startled herself. With a tiger spring he turned on her, and his right hand was
feeling for her throat. At the same instant with the other hand he crumpled up the
paper that lay before him. For an instant he stood glaring. Then astonishment
and joy took the place of the ferocity which had convulsed his features—a
ferocity which had sent her shrinking back in horror as from something which
had never before intruded into her gentle life.
"It's you!" said he, mopping his brow. "And to think that you should come to
me, heart of my heart, and I should find nothing better to do than to want to
strangle you! Come then, darling," and he held out his arms, "let me make it up
to you."
But she had not recovered from that sudden glimpse of guilty fear which she
had read in the man's face. All her woman's instinct told her that it was not the
mere fright of a man who is startled. Guilt—that was it—guilt and fear!
####################
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

Page: 1

Context: "A widower."
"Have you ever heard where his first wife came from?"
"No, I remember his saying that she was of German extraction, and I have
seen her portrait. She was a very beautiful woman. She died of typhoid the year
before I met him."
"You don't associate his past with any particular part of America?"
"I have heard him talk of Chicago. He knew that city well and had worked
there. I have heard him talk of the coal and iron districts. He had travelled a good
deal in his time."
"Was he a politician? Had this secret society to do with politics?"
"No, he cared nothing about politics."
"You have no reason to think it was criminal?"
"On the contrary, I never met a straighter man in my life."
"Was there anything curious about his life in California?"
"He liked best to stay and to work at our claim in the mountains. He would
never go where other men were if he could help it. That's why I first thought that
someone was after him. Then when he left so suddenly for Europe I made sure
that it was so. I believe that he had a warning of some sort. Within a week of his
leaving half a dozen men were inquiring for him."
"What sort of men?"
"Well, they were a mighty hard-looking crowd. They came up to the claim
and wanted to know where he was. I told them that he was gone to Europe and
that I did not know where to find him. They meant him no good—it was easy to
see that."
"Were these men Americans—Californians?"
"Well, I don't know about Californians. They were Americans, all right. But
they were not miners. I don't know what they were, and was very glad to see
their backs."
"That was six years ago?"
"Nearer seven."
"And then you were together five years in California, so that this business
dates back not less than eleven years at the least?"
"That is so."
"It must be a very serious feud that would be kept up with such earnestness
####################
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

Page: 1

Context: instant in his own, "and I acted for the best.
"Well, gentlemen, the day before these happenings I was over in Tunbridge
Wells, and I got a glimpse of a man in the street. It was only a glimpse; but I
have a quick eye for these things, and I never doubted who it was. It was the
worst enemy I had among them all—one who has been after me like a hungry
wolf after a caribou all these years. I knew there was trouble coming, and I came
home and made ready for it. I guessed I'd fight through it all right on my own,
my luck was a proverb in the States about '76. I never doubted that it would be
with me still.
"I was on my guard all that next day, and never went out into the park. It's as
well, or he'd have had the drop on me with that buckshot gun of his before ever I
could draw on him. After the bridge was up—my mind was always more restful
when that bridge was up in the evenings—I put the thing clear out of my head. I
never dreamed of his getting into the house and waiting for me. But when I made
my round in my dressing gown, as was my habit, I had no sooner entered the
study than I scented danger. I guess when a man has had dangers in his life—and
I've had more than most in my time—there is a kind of sixth sense that waves the
red flag. I saw the signal clear enough, and yet I couldn't tell you why. Next
instant I spotted a boot under the window curtain, and then I saw why plain
enough.
"I'd just the one candle that was in my hand; but there was a good light from
the hall lamp through the open door. I put down the candle and jumped for a
hammer that I'd left on the mantel. At the same moment he sprang at me. I saw
the glint of a knife, and I lashed at him with the hammer. I got him somewhere;
####################
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

Page: 1

Context: danger was greater than the past. Was I right?"
Barker beat his head with his clenched fist in his impotent anger.
"Do you tell me that we have to sit down under this? Do you say that no one
can ever get level with this king-devil?"
"No, I don't say that," said Holmes, and his eyes seemed to be looking far
into 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 strained
to pierce the veil.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Valley of Fear, by Arthur Conan Doyle
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####################
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

Page: 1

Context: notebook.
"He's the chief foreman of the Iron Dike Company. He's a hard citizen, an old
colour sergeant of the war, all scars and grizzle. We've had two tries at him; but
had no luck, and Jim Carnaway lost his life over it. Now it's for you to take it
over. That's the house—all alone at the Iron Dike crossroad, same as you see
here on the map—without another within earshot. It's no good by day. He's
armed and shoots quick and straight, with no questions asked. But at night—
well, there he is with his wife, three children, and a hired help. You can't pick or
choose. It's all or none. If you could get a bag of blasting powder at the front
door with a slow match to it—"
"What's the man done?"
"Didn't I tell you he shot Jim Carnaway?"
"Why did he shoot him?"
"What in thunder has that to do with you? Carnaway was about his house at
night, and he shot him. That's enough for me and you. You've got to settle the
thing right."
"There's these two women and the children. Do they go up too?"
"They have to—else how can we get him?"
"It seems hard on them; for they've done nothing."
"What sort of fool's talk is this? Do you back out?"
"Easy, Councillor, easy! What have I ever said or done that you should think I
would be after standing back from an order of the Bodymaster of my own lodge?
If it's right or if it's wrong, it's for you to decide."
"You'll do it, then?"
"Of course I will do it."
"When?"
"Well, you had best give me a night or two that I may see the house and make
my plans. Then—"
"Very good," said McGinty, shaking him by the hand. "I leave it with you. It
####################
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

Page: 1

Context: there is much that is unexplained, and I should strongly recommend that you ask
Mr. Douglas to tell us his own story."
Mrs. Douglas gave a cry of astonishment at Holmes's words. The detectives
and I must have echoed it, when we were aware of a man who seemed to have
emerged from the wall, who advanced now from the gloom of the corner in
which he had appeared. Mrs. Douglas turned, and in an instant her arms were
round him. Barker had seized his outstretched hand.
"It's best this way, Jack," his wife repeated; "I am sure that it is best."
"Indeed, yes, Mr. Douglas," said Sherlock Holmes, "I am sure that you will
find it best."
The man stood blinking at us with the dazed look of one who comes from the
dark into the light. It was a remarkable face, bold gray eyes, a strong, shortclipped,
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 and
handed me a bundle of paper.
"I've heard of you," said he in a voice which was not quite English and not
quite American, but was altogether mellow and pleasing. "You are the historian
of this bunch. Well, Dr. Watson, you've never had such a story as that pass
through your hands before, and I'll lay my last dollar on that. Tell it your own
way; but there are the facts, and you can't miss the public so long as you have
those. I've been cooped up two days, and I've spent the daylight hours—as much
daylight as I could get in that rat trap—in putting the thing into words. You're
welcome 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 we
desire now is to hear your story of the present."
"You'll have it, sir," said Douglas. "May I smoke as I talk? Well, thank you,
####################
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

Page: 1

Context: time, the organizer of every deviltry, the controlling brain of the underworld, a
brain 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, so
admirable in his management and self-effacement, that for those very words that
you have uttered he could hale you to a court and emerge with your year's
pension as a solatium for his wounded character. Is he not the celebrated author
of The Dynamics of an Asteroid, a book which ascends to such rarefied heights
of pure mathematics that it is said that there was no man in the scientific press
capable of criticizing it? Is this a man to traduce? Foul-mouthed doctor and
slandered 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 this
man Porlock."
"Ah, yes—the so-called Porlock is a link in the chain some little way from its
great attachment. Porlock is not quite a sound link—between ourselves. He is the
only flaw in that chain so far as I have been able to test it."
"But no chain is stronger than its weakest link."
"Exactly, my dear Watson! Hence the extreme importance of Porlock. Led on
by some rudimentary aspirations towards right, and encouraged by the judicious
stimulation of an occasional ten-pound note sent to him by devious methods, he
has once or twice given me advance information which has been of value—that
highest value which anticipates and prevents rather than avenges crime. I cannot
doubt that, if we had the cipher, we should find that this communication is of the
nature that I indicate."
Again Holmes flattened out the paper upon his unused plate. I rose and,
leaning over him, stared down at the curious inscription, which ran as follows:
534 C2 13 127 36 31 4 17 21 41
####################
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

Page: 1

Context: jeered as he was pushed into the police station. After a short, formal examination
from the inspector in charge he was put into the common cell. Here he found
Baldwin and three other criminals of the night before, all arrested that afternoon
and waiting their trial next morning.
But even within this inner fortress of the law the long arm of the Freemen
was able to extend. Late at night there came a jailer with a straw bundle for their
bedding, out of which he extracted two bottles of whisky, some glasses, and a
pack of cards. They spent a hilarious night, without an anxious thought as to the
ordeal of the morning.
Nor had they cause, as the result was to show. The magistrate could not
possibly, on the evidence, have held them for a higher court. On the one hand the
compositors and pressmen were forced to admit that the light was uncertain, that
they were themselves much perturbed, and that it was difficult for them to swear
to the identity of the assailants; although they believed that the accused were
among them. Cross examined by the clever attorney who had been engaged by
McGinty, they were even more nebulous in their evidence.
The injured man had already deposed that he was so taken by surprise by the
suddenness of the attack that he could state nothing beyond the fact that the first
man who struck him wore a moustache. He added that he knew them to be
Scowrers, since no one else in the community could possibly have any enmity to
him, and he had long been threatened on account of his outspoken editorials. On
the other hand, it was clearly shown by the united and unfaltering evidence of
six citizens, including that high municipal official, Councillor McGinty, that the
men had been at a card party at the Union House until an hour very much later
than the commission of the outrage.
Needless to say that they were discharged with something very near to an
apology from the bench for the inconvenience to which they had been put,
together with an implied censure of Captain Marvin and the police for their
officious zeal.
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Context: "I can conceive of no explanation."
"And yet there should be no combination of events for which the wit of man
cannot conceive an explanation. Simply as a mental exercise, without any
assertion that it is true, let me indicate a possible line of thought. It is, I admit,
mere imagination; but how often is imagination the mother of truth?
"We will suppose that there was a guilty secret, a really shameful secret in the
life of this man Douglas. This leads to his murder by someone who is, we will
suppose, an avenger, someone from outside. This avenger, for some reason
which I confess I am still at a loss to explain, took the dead man's wedding ring.
The vendetta might conceivably date back to the man's first marriage, and the
ring be taken for some such reason.
"Before this avenger got away, Barker and the wife had reached the room.
The assassin convinced them that any attempt to arrest him would lead to the
publication of some hideous scandal. They were converted to this idea, and
preferred to let him go. For this purpose they probably lowered the bridge, which
can be done quite noiselessly, and then raised it again. He made his escape, and
for some reason thought that he could do so more safely on foot than on the
bicycle. He therefore left his machine where it would not be discovered until he
had got safely away. So far we are within the bounds of possibility, are we not?"
"Well, it is possible, no doubt," said I, with some reserve.
"We have to remember, Watson, that whatever occurred is certainly
something very extraordinary. Well, now, to continue our supposititious case, the
couple—not necessarily a guilty couple—realize after the murderer is gone that
they have placed themselves in a position in which it may be difficult for them to
prove that they did not themselves either do the deed or connive at it. They
rapidly and rather clumsily met the situation. The mark was put by Barker's
bloodstained slipper upon the window-sill to suggest how the fugitive got away.
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Context: "And who bought the mines of Todman and of Lee that came into the market
in the same way last year?"
"The same company, Brother Morris."
"And who bought the ironworks of Manson and of Shuman and of Van Deher
and of Atwood, which have all been given up of late?"
"They were all bought by the West Gilmerton General Mining Company."
"I don't see, Brother Morris," said the chairman, "that it matters to us who
buys them, since they can't carry them out of the district."
"With all respect to you, Eminent Bodymaster, I think it may matter very
much to us. This process has been going on now for ten long years. We are
gradually driving all the small men out of trade. What is the result? We find in
their places great companies like the Railroad or the General Iron, who have
their directors in New York or Philadelphia, and care nothing for our threats. We
can take it out of their local bosses, but it only means that others will be sent in
their stead. And we are making it dangerous for ourselves. The small men could
not harm us. They had not the money nor the power. So long as we did not
squeeze them too dry, they would stay on under our power. But if these big
companies find that we stand between them and their profits, they will spare no
pains and no expense to hunt us down and bring us to court."
There was a hush at these ominous words, and every face darkened as
gloomy looks were exchanged. So omnipotent and unchallenged had they been
that the very thought that there was possible retribution in the background had
been banished from their minds. And yet the idea struck a chill to the most
reckless of them.
"It is my advice," the speaker continued, "that we go easier upon the small
men. On the day that they have all been driven out the power of this society will
have been broken."
Unwelcome truths are not popular. There were angry cries as the speaker
resumed his seat. McGinty rose with gloom upon his brow.
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Context: So you can fix things with him right away."
A heavy, elderly man came plodding up the path. In a few words McMurdo
explained his business. A man of the name of Murphy had given him the address
in Chicago. He in turn had had it from someone else. Old Shafter was quite
ready. The stranger made no bones about terms, agreed at once to every
condition, and was apparently fairly flush of money. For seven dollars a week
paid in advance he was to have board and lodging.
So it was that McMurdo, the self-confessed fugitive from justice, took up his
abode under the roof of the Shafters, the first step which was to lead to so long
and dark a train of events, ending in a far distant land.
Chapter 2
The Bodymaster
McMurdo was a man who made his mark quickly. Wherever he was the folk
around soon knew it. Within a week he had become infinitely the most important
person at Shafter's. There were ten or a dozen boarders there; but they were
honest foremen or commonplace clerks from the stores, of a very different
calibre from the young Irishman. Of an evening when they gathered together his
joke was always the readiest, his conversation the brightest, and his song the
best. He was a born boon companion, with a magnetism which drew good
humour 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 the
fear 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 his
fellow boarders.
From the first he made it evident, by his open admiration, that the daughter of
the house had won his heart from the instant that he had set eyes upon her beauty
and her grace. He was no backward suitor. On the second day he told her that he
loved her, and from then onward he repeated the same story with an absolute
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Context: seen or heard. They had then rushed out into the hall, where Ames had turned
the windlass which lowered the drawbridge. Mr. Barker had then hurried off to
get the police.
Such, in its essentials, was the evidence of the butler.
The account of Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, was, so far as it went, a
corroboration of that of her fellow servant. The housekeeper's room was rather
nearer to the front of the house than the pantry in which Ames had been
working. She was preparing to go to bed when the loud ringing of the bell had
attracted her attention. She was a little hard of hearing. Perhaps that was why she
had not heard the shot; but in any case the study was a long way off. She
remembered hearing some sound which she imagined to be the slamming of a
door. That was a good deal earlier—half an hour at least before the ringing of the
bell. When Mr. Ames ran to the front she went with him. She saw Mr. Barker,
very pale and excited, come out of the study. He intercepted Mrs. Douglas, who
was coming down the stairs. He entreated her to go back, and she answered him,
but what she said could not be heard.
"Take her up! Stay with her!" he had said to Mrs. Allen.
She had therefore taken her to the bedroom, and endeavoured to soothe her.
She was greatly excited, trembling all over, but made no other attempt to go
downstairs. She just sat in her dressing gown by her bedroom fire, with her head
sunk in her hands. Mrs. Allen stayed with her most of the night. As to the other
servants, they had all gone to bed, and the alarm did not reach them until just
before the police arrived. They slept at the extreme back of the house, and could
not possibly have heard anything.
So far the housekeeper could add nothing on cross-examination save
lamentations and expressions of amazement.
Cecil Barker succeeded Mrs. Allen as a witness. As to the occurrences of the
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Context: fashion?"
"Exactly. Of course I have other reasons for thinking so—dozens of exiguous
threads which lead vaguely up towards the centre of the web where the
poisonous, motionless creature is lurking. I only mention the Greuze because it
brings the matter within the range of your own observation."
"Well, Mr. Holmes, I admit that what you say is interesting: it's more than
interesting—it's just wonderful. But let us have it a little clearer if you can. Is it
forgery, coining, burglary—where does the money come from?"
"Have you ever read of Jonathan Wild?"
"Well, the name has a familiar sound. Someone in a novel, was he not? I don't
take much stock of detectives in novels—chaps that do things and never let you
see 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 master
criminal, 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 to
shut yourself up for three months and read twelve hours a day at the annals of
crime. Everything comes in circles—even Professor Moriarty. Jonathan Wild
was the hidden force of the London criminals, to whom he sold his brains and
his organization on a fifteen per cent commission. The old wheel turns, and the
same spoke comes up. It's all been done before, and will be again. I'll tell you
one 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 this
Napoleon-gone-wrong at one end, and a hundred broken fighting men,
pickpockets, blackmailers, and card sharpers at the other, with every sort of
crime in between. His chief of staff is Colonel Sebastian Moran, as aloof and
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Context: this point there are several trails which lead to various mines. The strangers took
that which led to the Crow Hill, a huge business which was in strong hands
which had been able, thanks to their energetic and fearless New England
manager, Josiah H. Dunn, to keep some order and discipline during the long
reign 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 the
men whom they followed. A thick mist lay over them, and from the heart of it
there came the sudden scream of a steam whistle. It was the ten-minute signal
before the cages descended and the day's labour began.
When they reached the open space round the mine shaft there were a hundred
miners waiting, stamping their feet and blowing on their fingers; for it was
bitterly cold. The strangers stood in a little group under the shadow of the engine
house. Scanlan and McMurdo climbed a heap of slag from which the whole
scene lay before them. They saw the mine engineer, a great bearded Scotchman
named Menzies, come out of the engine house and blow his whistle for the cages
to be lowered.
At the same instant a tall, loose-framed young man with a clean-shaved,
earnest face advanced eagerly towards the pit head. As he came forward his eyes
fell upon the group, silent and motionless, under the engine house. The men had
drawn down their hats and turned up their collars to screen their faces. For a
moment the presentiment of Death laid its cold hand upon the manager's heart.
At the next he had shaken it off and saw only his duty towards intrusive
strangers.
"Who are you?" he asked as he advanced. "What are you loitering there for?"
There was no answer; but the lad Andrews stepped forward and shot him in
the stomach. The hundred waiting miners stood as motionless and helpless as if
they were paralyzed. The manager clapped his two hands to the wound and
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Context: 1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
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1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
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warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
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1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
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Context: sent it to me. Instead of that, he had intended, before his plans were nipped, to
send me the clue in this envelope. He says so in his note. This would seem to
indicate that the book is one which he thought I would have no difficulty in
finding for myself. He had it—and he imagined that I would have it, too. In
short, 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 double
columns and in common use."
"The Bible!" I cried triumphantly.
"Good, Watson, good! But not, if I may say so, quite good enough! Even if I
accepted the compliment for myself I could hardly name any volume which
would 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 two
copies would have the same pagination. This is clearly a book which is
standardized. He knows for certain that his page 534 will exactly agree with my
page 534."
"But very few books would correspond with that."
"Exactly. Therein lies our salvation. Our search is narrowed down to
standardized books which anyone may be supposed to possess."
"Bradshaw!"
"There are difficulties, Watson. The vocabulary of Bradshaw is nervous and
terse, but limited. The selection of words would hardly lend itself to the sending
of general messages. We will eliminate Bradshaw. The dictionary is, I fear,
inadmissible for the same reason. What then is left?"
"An almanac!"
"Excellent, Watson! I am very much mistaken if you have not touched the
spot. An almanac! Let us consider the claims of Whitaker's Almanac. It is in
common use. It has the requisite number of pages. It is in double column.
Though reserved in its earlier vocabulary, it becomes, if I remember right, quite
garrulous towards the end." He picked the volume from his desk. "Here is page
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Context: road, or was down in town when you went for him, or stayed indoors when you
thought he would come out, you'll see my work."
"You blasted traitor!" hissed McGinty through his closed teeth.
"Ay, John McGinty, you may call me that if it eases your smart. You and your
like have been the enemy of God and man in these parts. It took a man to get
between you and the poor devils of men and women that you held under your
grip. There was just one way of doing it, and I did it. You call me a traitor; but I
guess there's many a thousand will call me a deliverer that went down into hell
to save them. I've had three months of it. I wouldn't have three such months
again if they let me loose in the treasury at Washington for it. I had to stay till I
had it all, every man and every secret right here in this hand. I'd have waited a
little longer if it hadn't come to my knowledge that my secret was coming out. A
letter had come into the town that would have set you wise to it all. Then I had to
act and act quickly.
"I've nothing more to say to you, except that when my time comes I'll die the
easier when I think of the work I have done in this valley. Now, Marvin, I'll keep
you 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 at
the address of Miss Ettie Shafter, a mission which he had accepted with a wink
and a knowing smile. In the early hours of the morning a beautiful woman and a
much muffled man boarded a special train which had been sent by the railroad
company, and made a swift, unbroken journey out of the land of danger. It was
the last time that ever either Ettie or her lover set foot in the Valley of Fear. Ten
days later they were married in Chicago, with old Jacob Shafter as witness of the
wedding.
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Context: want? And can't I speak alone with a gentleman for five minutes but you must
butt in on us?"
The bartender stood abashed. "I'm sorry, Councillor, but it's Ted Baldwin. He
says he must see you this very minute."
The message was unnecessary; for the set, cruel face of the man himself was
looking over the servant's shoulder. He pushed the bartender out and closed the
door on him.
"So," said he with a furious glance at McMurdo, "you got here first, did you?
I've a word to say to you, Councillor, about this man."
"Then say it here and now before my face," cried McMurdo.
"I'll say it at my own time, in my own way."
"Tut! Tut!" said McGinty, getting off his barrel. "This will never do. We have
a new brother here, Baldwin, and it's not for us to greet him in such fashion.
Hold out your hand, man, and make it up!"
"Never!" cried Baldwin in a fury.
"I've offered to fight him if he thinks I have wronged him," said McMurdo.
"I'll fight him with fists, or, if that won't satisfy him, I'll fight him any other way
he chooses. Now, I'll leave it to you, Councillor, to judge between us as a
Bodymaster should."
"What is it, then?"
"A young lady. She's free to choose for herself."
"Is she?" cried Baldwin.
"As between two brothers of the lodge I should say that she was," said the
Boss.
"Oh, that's your ruling, is it?"
"Yes, it is, Ted Baldwin," said McGinty, with a wicked stare. "Is it you that
would dispute it?"
"You would throw over one that has stood by you this five years in favour of
a man that you never saw before in your life? You're not Bodymaster for life,
Jack McGinty, and by God! when next it comes to a vote—"
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Context: dining-room. Now I met her appealing gaze with an unresponsive eye.
"I fear that you think me callous and hard-hearted." said she.
I shrugged my shoulders. "It is no business of mine," said I.
"Perhaps some day you will do me justice. If you only realized—"
"There is no need why Dr. Watson should realize," said Barker quickly. "As
he has himself said, it is no possible business of his."
"Exactly," said I, "and so I will beg leave to resume my walk."
"One moment, Dr. Watson," cried the woman in a pleading voice. "There is
one question which you can answer with more authority than anyone else in the
world, and it may make a very great difference to me. You know Mr. Holmes
and his relations with the police better than anyone else can. Supposing that a
matter were brought confidentially to his knowledge, is it absolutely necessary
that he should pass it on to the detectives?"
"Yes, that's it," said Barker eagerly. "Is he on his own or is he entirely in with
them?"
"I really don't know that I should be justified in discussing such a point."
"I beg—I implore that you will, Dr. Watson! I assure you that you will be
helping us—helping me greatly if you will guide us on that point."
There was such a ring of sincerity in the woman's voice that for the instant I
forgot all about her levity and was moved only to do her will.
"Mr. Holmes is an independent investigator," I said. "He is his own master,
and would act as his own judgment directed. At the same time, he would
naturally feel loyalty towards the officials who were working on the same case,
and he would not conceal from them anything which would help them in
bringing a criminal to justice. Beyond this I can say nothing, and I would refer
you to Mr. Holmes himself if you wanted fuller information."
So saying I raised my hat and went upon my way, leaving them still seated
behind that concealing hedge. I looked back as I rounded the far end of it, and
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Context: and where there is a lodge I'll find my friends."
The remark had a singular effect upon his companion. He glanced round
suspiciously at the others in the car. The miners were still whispering among
themselves. The two police officers were dozing. He came across, seated himself
close to the young traveller, and held out his hand.
"Put it there," he said.
A hand-grip passed between the two.
"I see you speak the truth," said the workman. "But it's well to make certain."
He raised his right hand to his right eyebrow. The traveller at once raised his left
hand to his left eyebrow.
"Dark nights are unpleasant," said the workman.
"Yes, for strangers to travel," the other answered.
"That's good enough. I'm Brother Scanlan, Lodge 341, Vermissa Valley. Glad
to see you in these parts."
"Thank you. I'm Brother John McMurdo, Lodge 29, Chicago. Bodymaster J.
H. Scott. But I am in luck to meet a brother so early."
"Well, there are plenty of us about. You won't find the order more flourishing
anywhere in the States than right here in Vermissa Valley. But we could do with
some lads like you. I can't understand a spry man of the union finding no work to
do in Chicago."
"I found plenty of work to do," said McMurdo.
"Then why did you leave?"
McMurdo nodded towards the policemen and smiled. "I guess those chaps
would be glad to know," he said.
Scanlan groaned sympathetically. "In trouble?" he asked in a whisper.
"Deep."
"A penitentiary job?"
"And the rest."
"Not a killing!"
"It's early days to talk of such things," said McMurdo with the air of a man
who had been surprised into saying more than he intended. "I've my own good
reasons for leaving Chicago, and let that be enough for you. Who are you that
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Context: long in an iron grip; but nowhere was there any hope for the men and women
who lived under the yoke of the terror. Never had the cloud above them been so
dark and hopeless as in the early summer of the year 1875.
Chapter 6
Danger
It was the height of the reign of terror. McMurdo, who had already been
appointed Inner Deacon, with every prospect of some day succeeding McGinty
as Bodymaster, was now so necessary to the councils of his comrades that
nothing was done without his help and advice. The more popular he became,
however, with the Freemen, the blacker were the scowls which greeted him as he
passed along the streets of Vermissa. In spite of their terror the citizens were
taking heart to band themselves together against their oppressors. Rumours had
reached the lodge of secret gatherings in the Herald office and of distribution of
firearms among the law-abiding people. But McGinty and his men were
undisturbed by such reports. They were numerous, resolute, and well armed.
Their opponents were scattered and powerless. It would all end, as it had done in
the past, in aimless talk and possibly in impotent arrests. So said McGinty,
McMurdo, and all the bolder spirits.
It was a Saturday evening in May. Saturday was always the lodge night, and
McMurdo was leaving his house to attend it when Morris, the weaker brother of
the order, came to see him. His brow was creased with care, and his kindly face
was drawn and haggard.
"Can I speak with you freely, Mr. McMurdo?"
"Sure."
"I can't forget that I spoke my heart to you once, and that you kept it to
yourself, even though the Boss himself came to ask you about it."
"What else could I do if you trusted me? It wasn't that I agreed with what you
said."
"I know that well. But you are the one that I can speak to and be safe. I've a
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Context: "So one would imagine. Still, he has been justified of his wisdom up to date,
at any rate, since he has not been taken. But his description—what of that?"
MacDonald referred to his notebook. "Here we have it so far as they could
give it. They don't seem to have taken any very particular stock of him; but still
the porter, the clerk, and the chambermaid are all agreed that this about covers
the points. He was a man about five foot nine in height, fifty or so years of age,
his hair slightly grizzled, a grayish moustache, a curved nose, and a face which
all of them described as fierce and forbidding."
"Well, bar the expression, that might almost be a description of Douglas
himself," said Holmes. "He is just over fifty, with grizzled hair and moustache,
and about the same height. Did you get anything else?"
"He was dressed in a heavy gray suit with a reefer jacket, and he wore a short
yellow overcoat and a soft cap."
"What about the shotgun?"
"It is less than two feet long. It could very well have fitted into his valise. He
could have carried it inside his overcoat without difficulty."
"And how do you consider that all this bears upon the general case?"
"Well, Mr. Holmes," said MacDonald, "when we have got our man—and you
may be sure that I had his description on the wires within five minutes of hearing
it—we shall be better able to judge. But, even as it stands, we have surely gone a
long way. We know that an American calling himself Hargrave came to
Tunbridge Wells two days ago with bicycle and valise. In the latter was a sawedoff
shotgun; so he came with the deliberate purpose of crime. Yesterday morning
he set off for this place on his bicycle, with his gun concealed in his overcoat.
No one saw him arrive, so far as we can learn; but he need not pass through the
village to reach the park gates, and there are many cyclists upon the road.
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Context: sunshine.
Three centuries had flowed past the old Manor House, centuries of births and
of homecomings, of country dances and of the meetings of fox hunters. Strange
that now in its old age this dark business should have cast its shadow upon the
venerable walls! And yet those strange, peaked roofs and quaint, overhung
gables were a fitting covering to grim and terrible intrigue. As I looked at the
deep-set windows and the long sweep of the dull-coloured, water-lapped front, I
felt 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 of
the 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 examined
the stone ledge and the grass border beyond it.
"I've had a good look, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason. "There is nothing
there, no sign that anyone has landed—but why should he leave any sign?"
"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 and
quivering 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 want
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Context: eyes were of a strange dead black, which, combined with a slight squint, gave
them a particularly sinister appearance.
All else in the man—his noble proportions, his fine features, and his frank
bearing—fitted in with that jovial, man-to-man manner which he affected. Here,
one would say, is a bluff, honest fellow, whose heart would be sound however
rude his outspoken words might seem. It was only when those dead, dark eyes,
deep and remorseless, were turned upon a man that he shrank within himself,
feeling that he was face to face with an infinite possibility of latent evil, with a
strength and courage and cunning behind it which made it a thousand times more
deadly.
Having had a good look at his man, McMurdo elbowed his way forward with
his usual careless audacity, and pushed himself through the little group of
courtiers who were fawning upon the powerful boss, laughing uproariously at
the smallest of his jokes. The young stranger's bold gray eyes looked back
fearlessly through their glasses at the deadly black ones which turned sharply
upon him.
"Well, young man, I can't call your face to mind."
"I'm new here, Mr. McGinty."
"You are not so new that you can't give a gentleman his proper title."
"He's Councillor McGinty, young man," said a voice from the group.
"I'm sorry, Councillor. I'm strange to the ways of the place. But I was advised
to see you."
"Well, you see me. This is all there is. What d'you think of me?"
"Well, it's early days. If your heart is as big as your body, and your soul as
fine as your face, then I'd ask for nothing better," said McMurdo.
"By Gar! you've got an Irish tongue in your head anyhow," cried the saloonkeeper,
not quite certain whether to humour this audacious visitor or to stand
upon his dignity.
"So you are good enough to pass my appearance?"
"Sure," said McMurdo.
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Context: Friend MacDonald, this pleasing and touching interview was, I suppose, in the
professor's study?"
"That's so."
"A fine room, is it not?"
"Very fine—very handsome indeed, Mr. Holmes."
"You sat in front of his writing desk?"
"Just so."
"Sun in your eyes and his face in the shadow?"
"Well, it was evening; but I mind that the lamp was turned on my face."
"It would be. Did you happen to observe a picture over the professor's head?"
"I don't miss much, Mr. Holmes. Maybe I learned that from you. Yes, I saw
the picture—a young woman with her head on her hands, peeping at you
sideways."
"That painting was by Jean Baptiste Greuze."
The inspector endeavoured to look interested.
"Jean Baptiste Greuze," Holmes continued, joining his finger tips and leaning
well back in his chair, "was a French artist who flourished between the years
1750 and 1800. I allude, of course to his working career. Modern criticism has
more 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 direct
and vital bearing upon what you have called the Birlstone Mystery. In fact, it
may in a sense be called the very centre of it."
MacDonald smiled feebly, and looked appealingly to me. "Your thoughts
move a bit too quick for me, Mr. Holmes. You leave out a link or two, and I can't
get over the gap. What in the whole wide world can be the connection between
this dead painting man and the affair at Birlstone?"
"All knowledge comes useful to the detective," remarked Holmes. "Even the
trivial fact that in the year 1865 a picture by Greuze entitled La Jeune Fille a
l'Agneau fetched one million two hundred thousand francs—more than forty
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Context: case was undoubtedly one of murder, but that no arrest had been made, and that
the case was one which presented some very perplexing and extraordinary
features. That's absolutely all we have at present, Mr. Holmes."
"Then, with your permission, we will leave it at that, Mr. Mac. The
temptation to form premature theories upon insufficient data is the bane of our
profession. I can see only two things for certain at present—a great brain in
London, and a dead man in Sussex. It's the chain between that we are going to
trace."
Chapter 3
The Tragedy of Birlstone
Now for a moment I will ask leave to remove my own insignificant
personality and to describe events which occurred before we arrived upon the
scene by the light of knowledge which came to us afterwards. Only in this way
can I make the reader appreciate the people concerned and the strange setting in
which their fate was cast.
The village of Birlstone is a small and very ancient cluster of half-timbered
cottages on the northern border of the county of Sussex. For centuries it had
remained unchanged; but within the last few years its picturesque appearance
and situation have attracted a number of well-to-do residents, whose villas peep
out from the woods around. These woods are locally supposed to be the extreme
fringe of the great Weald forest, which thins away until it reaches the northern
chalk downs. A number of small shops have come into being to meet the wants
of the increased population; so there seems some prospect that Birlstone may
soon grow from an ancient village into a modern town. It is the centre for a
considerable area of country, since Tunbridge Wells, the nearest place of
importance, is ten or twelve miles to the eastward, over the borders of Kent.
About half a mile from the town, standing in an old park famous for its huge
beech trees, is the ancient Manor House of Birlstone. Part of this venerable
building dates back to the time of the first crusade, when Hugo de Capus built a
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Context: 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 loan
of a man or two, and it is not for us to refuse him." McGinty paused and looked
round the room with his dull, malevolent eyes. "Who will volunteer for the job?"
Several young fellows held up their hands. The Bodymaster looked at them
with an approving smile.
"You'll do, Tiger Cormac. If you handle it as well as you did the last, you
won't be wrong. And you, Wilson."
"I've no pistol," said the volunteer, a mere boy in his teens.
"It's your first, is it not? Well, you have to be blooded some time. It will be a
great start for you. As to the pistol, you'll find it waiting for you, or I'm
mistaken. If you report yourselves on Monday, it will be time enough. You'll get
a great welcome when you return."
"Any reward this time?" asked Cormac, a thick-set, dark-faced, brutallooking
young man, whose ferocity had earned him the nickname of "Tiger."
"Never mind the reward. You just do it for the honour of the thing. Maybe
when it is done there will be a few odd dollars at the bottom of the box."
"What has the man done?" asked young Wilson.
"Sure, it's not for the likes of you to ask what the man has done. He has been
judged over there. That's no business of ours. All we have to do is to carry it out
for them, same as they would for us. Speaking of that, two brothers from the
Merton lodge are coming over to us next week to do some business in this
quarter."
"Who are they?" asked someone.
"Faith, it is wiser not to ask. If you know nothing, you can testify nothing,
and no trouble can come of it. But they are men who will make a clean job when
they are about it."
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Context: telegrams, which they were carefully sorting and docketing. Three had been
placed on one side.
"Still on the track of the elusive bicyclist?" Holmes asked cheerfully. "What
is the latest news of the ruffian?"
MacDonald pointed ruefully to his heap of correspondence.
"He is at present reported from Leicester, Nottingham, Southampton, Derby,
East Ham, Richmond, and fourteen other places. In three of them—East Ham,
Leicester, and Liverpool—there is a clear case against him, and he has actually
been arrested. The country seems to be full of the fugitives with yellow coats."
"Dear me!" said Holmes sympathetically. "Now, Mr. Mac and you, Mr. White
Mason, I wish to give you a very earnest piece of advice. When I went into this
case with you I bargained, as you will no doubt remember, that I should not
present you with half-proved theories, but that I should retain and work out my
own ideas until I had satisfied myself that they were correct. For this reason I am
not at the present moment telling you all that is in my mind. On the other hand, I
said that I would play the game fairly by you, and I do not think it is a fair game
to allow you for one unnecessary moment to waste your energies upon a
profitless task. Therefore I am here to advise you this morning, and my advice to
you is summed up in three words—abandon the case."
MacDonald and White Mason stared in amazement at their celebrated
colleague.
"You consider it hopeless!" cried the inspector.
"I consider your case to be hopeless. I do not consider that it is hopeless to
arrive 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?"
"Yes, yes, no doubt he is somewhere, and no doubt we shall get him; but I
would not have you waste your energies in East Ham or Liverpool. I am sure
that we can find some shorter cut to a result."
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Context: DOUGLAS 109 293 5 37 BIRLSTONE
26 BIRLSTONE 9 47 171
"What do you make of it, Holmes?"
"It is obviously an attempt to convey secret information."
"But what is the use of a cipher message without the cipher?"
"In this instance, none at all."
"Why do you say 'in this instance'?"
"Because there are many ciphers which I would read as easily as I do the
apocrypha of the agony column: such crude devices amuse the intelligence
without fatiguing it. But this is different. It is clearly a reference to the words in
a page of some book. Until I am told which page and which book I am
powerless."
"But why 'Douglas' and 'Birlstone'?"
"Clearly because those are words which were not contained in the page in
question."
"Then why has he not indicated the book?"
"Your native shrewdness, my dear Watson, that innate cunning which is the
delight of your friends, would surely prevent you from inclosing cipher and
message in the same envelope. Should it miscarry, you are undone. As it is, both
have to go wrong before any harm comes from it. Our second post is now
overdue, and I shall be surprised if it does not bring us either a further letter of
explanation, or, as is more probable, the very volume to which these figures
refer."
Holmes's calculation was fulfilled within a very few minutes by the
appearance of Billy, the page, with the very letter which we were expecting.
"The same writing," remarked Holmes, as he opened the envelope, "and
actually signed," he added in an exultant voice as he unfolded the epistle.
"Come, we are getting on, Watson." His brow clouded, however, as he glanced
over the contents.
"Dear me, this is very disappointing! I fear, Watson, that all our expectations
come to nothing. I trust that the man Porlock will come to no harm.
"DEAR MR. HOLMES [he says]:
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Context: entrance. Holmes brushed him aside without a word and, followed by all of us,
rushed into the room which had been occupied by the man whom we had been
watching.
The oil lamp on the table represented the glow which we had seen from
outside. It was now in the hand of Cecil Barker, who held it towards us as we
entered. Its light shone upon his strong, resolute, clean-shaved face and his
menacing eyes.
"What the devil is the meaning of all this?" he cried. "What are you after,
anyhow?"
Holmes took a swift glance round, and then pounced upon a sodden bundle
tied together with cord which lay where it had been thrust under the writing
table.
"This is what we are after, Mr. Barker—this bundle, weighted with a dumbbell,
which you have just raised from the bottom of the moat."
Barker stared at Holmes with amazement in his face. "How in thunder came
you to know anything about it?" he asked.
"Simply that I put it there."
"You put it there! You!"
"Perhaps I should have said 'replaced it there,'" said Holmes. "You will
remember, Inspector MacDonald, that I was somewhat struck by the absence of a
dumb-bell. I drew your attention to it; but with the pressure of other events you
had hardly the time to give it the consideration which would have enabled you to
draw deductions from it. When water is near and a weight is missing it is not a
very far-fetched supposition that something has been sunk in the water. The idea
was at least worth testing; so with the help of Ames, who admitted me to the
room, and the crook of Dr. Watson's umbrella, I was able last night to fish up and
inspect this bundle.
"It was of the first importance, however, that we should be able to prove who
placed it there. This we accomplished by the very obvious device of announcing
that the moat would be dried to-morrow, which had, of course, the effect that
whoever had hidden the bundle would most certainly withdraw it the moment
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Context: subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.
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Context: helped me to shove the queer—"
"To do what?"
"Well, it means to pass the dollars out into circulation. Then he said he would
split. Maybe he did split. I didn't wait to see. I just killed him and lighted out for
the coal country."
"Why the coal country?"
"'Cause I'd read in the papers that they weren't too particular in those parts."
McGinty laughed. "You were first a coiner and then a murderer, and you
came to these parts because you thought you'd be welcome."
"That's about the size of it," McMurdo answered.
"Well, I guess you'll go far. Say, can you make those dollars yet?"
McMurdo took half a dozen from his pocket. "Those never passed the
Philadelphia mint," said he.
"You don't say!" McGinty held them to the light in his enormous hand, which
was hairy as a gorilla's. "I can see no difference. Gar! you'll be a mighty useful
brother, I'm thinking! We can do with a bad man or two among us, Friend
McMurdo: for there are times when we have to take our own part. We'd soon be
against the wall if we didn't shove back at those that were pushing us."
"Well, I guess I'll do my share of shoving with the rest of the boys."
"You seem to have a good nerve. You didn't squirm when I shoved this gun at
you."
"It was not me that was in danger."
"Who then?"
"It was you, Councillor." McMurdo drew a cocked pistol from the side pocket
of his peajacket. "I was covering you all the time. I guess my shot would have
been as quick as yours."
"By Gar!" McGinty flushed an angry red and then burst into a roar of
laughter. "Say, we've had no such holy terror come to hand this many a year. I
reckon the lodge will learn to be proud of you.... Well, what the hell do you
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Context: saw that they were still talking very earnestly together, and, as they were gazing
after me, it was clear that it was our interview that was the subject of their
debate.
"I wish none of their confidences," said Holmes, when I reported to him what
had occurred. He had spent the whole afternoon at the Manor House in
consultation with his two colleagues, and returned about five with a ravenous
appetite for a high tea which I had ordered for him. "No confidences, Watson;
for they are mighty awkward if it comes to an arrest for conspiracy and murder."
"You think it will come to that?"
He was in his most cheerful and debonair humour. "My dear Watson, when I
have exterminated that fourth egg I shall be ready to put you in touch with the
whole situation. I don't say that we have fathomed it—far from it—but when we
have traced the missing dumb-bell—"
"The dumb-bell!"
"Dear me, Watson, is it possible that you have not penetrated the fact that the
case hangs upon the missing dumb-bell? Well, well, you need not be downcast;
for between ourselves I don't think that either Inspector Mac or the excellent
local practitioner has grasped the overwhelming importance of this incident. One
dumb-bell, Watson! Consider an athlete with one dumb-bell! Picture to yourself
the unilateral development, the imminent danger of a spinal curvature. Shocking,
Watson, shocking!"
He sat with his mouth full of toast and his eyes sparkling with mischief,
watching my intellectual entanglement. The mere sight of his excellent appetite
was an assurance of success, for I had very clear recollections of days and nights
without a thought of food, when his baffled mind had chafed before some
problem while his thin, eager features became more attenuated with the
asceticism of complete mental concentration. Finally he lit his pipe, and sitting
in the inglenook of the old village inn he talked slowly and at random about his
case, rather as one who thinks aloud than as one who makes a considered
statement.
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Context: "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 the
house. If I get his promise—and I'll let you know if I do—I'd have the whole
seven of you come to me by nine o'clock. We'll get him in. If ever he gets out
alive—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 shut
behind him, and you can leave the rest with us."
Chapter 7
The Trapping of Birdy Edwards
As McMurdo had said, the house in which he lived was a lonely one and very
well suited for such a crime as they had planned. It was on the extreme fringe of
the town and stood well back from the road. In any other case the conspirators
would have simply called out their man, as they had many a time before, and
emptied their pistols into his body; but in this instance it was very necessary to
find out how much he knew, how he knew it, and what had been passed on to his
employers.
It was possible that they were already too late and that the work had been
done. If that was indeed so, they could at least have their revenge upon the man
who had done it. But they were hopeful that nothing of great importance had yet
come to the detective's knowledge, as otherwise, they argued, he would not have
troubled to write down and forward such trivial information as McMurdo
claimed to have given him. However, all this they would learn from his own lips.
Once in their power, they would find a way to make him speak. It was not the
first time that they had handled an unwilling witness.
McMurdo went to Hobson's Patch as agreed. The police seemed to take
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Context: you will wear your warmest coats. It is of the first importance that we should be
in our places before it grows dark; so with your permission we shall get started
at once."
We passed along the outer bounds of the Manor House park until we came to
a place where there was a gap in the rails which fenced it. Through this we
slipped, and then in the gathering gloom we followed Holmes until we had
reached a shrubbery which lies nearly opposite to the main door and the
drawbridge. The latter had not been raised. Holmes crouched down behind the
screen 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," Holmes
answered.
"What are we here for at all? I really think that you might treat us with more
frankness."
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 wellstaged
performance. Surely our profession, Mr. Mac, would be a drab and sordid
one if we did not sometimes set the scene so as to glorify our results. The blunt
accusation, the brutal tap upon the shoulder—what can one make of such a
denouement? But the quick inference, the subtle trap, the clever forecast of
coming events, the triumphant vindication of bold theories—are these not the
pride and the justification of our life's work? At the present moment you thrill
with the glamour of the situation and the anticipation of the hunt. Where would
be 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 we
all 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 and
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Context: village to reach the park gates, and there are many cyclists upon the road.
Presumably he at once concealed his cycle among the laurels where it was
found, and possibly lurked there himself, with his eye on the house, waiting for
Mr. Douglas to come out. The shotgun is a strange weapon to use inside a house;
but he had intended to use it outside, and there it has very obvious advantages, as
it would be impossible to miss with it, and the sound of shots is so common in an
English sporting neighbourhood that no particular notice would be taken."
"That is all very clear," said Holmes.
"Well, Mr. Douglas did not appear. What was he to do next? He left his
bicycle and approached the house in the twilight. He found the bridge down and
no one about. He took his chance, intending, no doubt, to make some excuse if
he met anyone. He met no one. He slipped into the first room that he saw, and
concealed himself behind the curtain. Thence he could see the drawbridge go up,
and he knew that his only escape was through the moat. He waited until quarterpast
eleven, when Mr. Douglas upon his usual nightly round came into the room.
He shot him and escaped, as arranged. He was aware that the bicycle would be
described by the hotel people and be a clue against him; so he left it there and
made his way by some other means to London or to some safe hiding place
which he had already arranged. How is that, Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, Mr. Mac, it is very good and very clear so far as it goes. That is your
end of the story. My end is that the crime was committed half an hour earlier
than reported; that Mrs. Douglas and Barker are both in a conspiracy to conceal
something; that they aided the murderer's escape—or at least that they reached
the room before he escaped—and that they fabricated evidence of his escape
through the window, whereas in all probability they had themselves let him go
by lowering the bridge. That's my reading of the first half."
The two detectives shook their heads.
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Context: It was remarked sometimes, however, by those who knew them best, that the
confidence between the two did not appear to be complete, since the wife was
either very reticent about her husband's past life, or else, as seemed more likely,
was imperfectly informed about it. It had also been noted and commented upon
by a few observant people that there were signs sometimes of some nerve-strain
upon the part of Mrs. Douglas, and that she would display acute uneasiness if her
absent husband should ever be particularly late in his return. On a quiet
countryside, where all gossip is welcome, this weakness of the lady of the Manor
House did not pass without remark, and it bulked larger upon people's memory
when the events arose which gave it a very special significance.
There was yet another individual whose residence under that roof was, it is
true, only an intermittent one, but whose presence at the time of the strange
happenings which will now be narrated brought his name prominently before the
public. This was Cecil James Barker, of Hales Lodge, Hampstead.
Cecil Barker's tall, loose-jointed figure was a familiar one in the main street
of Birlstone village; for he was a frequent and welcome visitor at the Manor
House. He was the more noticed as being the only friend of the past unknown
life of Mr. Douglas who was ever seen in his new English surroundings. Barker
was himself an undoubted Englishman; but by his remarks it was clear that he
had first known Douglas in America and had there lived on intimate terms with
him. He appeared to be a man of considerable wealth, and was reputed to be a
bachelor.
In age he was rather younger than Douglas—forty-five at the most—a tall,
straight, broad-chested fellow with a clean-shaved, prize-fighter face, thick,
strong, black eyebrows, and a pair of masterful black eyes which might, even
without the aid of his very capable hands, clear a way for him through a hostile
crowd. He neither rode nor shot, but spent his days in wandering round the old
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Context: 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. 'It
is bad enough that one of us should have been in its shadow,' he said. 'Please
God it shall never fall upon you!' It was some real valley in which he had lived
and in which something terrible had occurred to him, of that I am certain; but I
can tell you no more."
"And he never mentioned any names?"
"Yes, he was delirious with fever once when he had his hunting accident three
years ago. Then I remember that there was a name that came continually to his
lips. He spoke it with anger and a sort of horror. McGinty was the name—
Bodymaster McGinty. I asked him when he recovered who Bodymaster
McGinty was, and whose body he was master of. 'Never of mine, thank God!' he
answered with a laugh, and that was all I could get from him. But there is a
connection between Bodymaster McGinty and the Valley of Fear."
"There is one other point," said Inspector MacDonald. "You met Mr. Douglas
in a boarding house in London, did you not, and became engaged to him there?
Was there any romance, anything secret or mysterious, about the wedding?"
"There was romance. There is always romance. There was nothing
mysterious."
"He had no rival?"
"No, I was quite free."
"You have heard, no doubt, that his wedding ring has been taken. Does that
suggest anything to you? Suppose that some enemy of his old life had tracked
him down and committed this crime, what possible reason could he have for
taking his wedding ring?"
For an instant I could have sworn that the faintest shadow of a smile flickered
over the woman's lips.
"I really cannot tell," she answered. "It is certainly a most extraordinary
thing."
"Well, we will not detain you any longer, and we are sorry to have put you to
this trouble at such a time," said the inspector. "There are some other points, no
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Context: Moriarty 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 suppose
that this murdered man—this Douglas whose approaching fate was known by
one 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 of
death into them."
"Well, that is one suggestion, Mr. Holmes."
"The other is that it has been engineered by Moriarty in the ordinary course
of business. Was there any robbery?"
"I have not heard."
"If so, it would, of course, be against the first hypothesis and in favour of the
second. Moriarty may have been engaged to engineer it on a promise of part
spoils, or he may have 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 at
Birlstone that we must seek the solution. I know our man too well to suppose
that 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 for
preparation, and that is all."
"And ample for us both," said Holmes, as he sprang up and hastened to
change 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 to
assure us that the case before us might well be worthy of the expert's closest
attention. He brightened and rubbed his thin hands together as he listened to the
meagre but remarkable details. A long series of sterile weeks lay behind us, and
here at last there was a fitting object for those remarkable powers which, like all
special gifts, become irksome to their owner when they are not in use. That razor
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Context: great Boss of Vermissa felt towards him something of the repulsion and fear
which the huge Danton may have felt for the puny but dangerous Robespierre.
One day Scanlan, who was McMurdo's fellow boarder, received a note from
McGinty inclosing one from Evans Pott, which informed him that he was
sending over two good men, Lawler and Andrews, who had instructions to act in
the neighbourhood; though it was best for the cause that no particulars as to their
objects should be given. Would the Bodymaster see to it that suitable
arrangements be made for their lodgings and comfort until the time for action
should arrive? McGinty added that it was impossible for anyone to remain secret
at the Union House, and that, therefore, he would be obliged if McMurdo and
Scanlan would put the strangers up for a few days in their boarding house.
The same evening the two men arrived, each carrying his gripsack. Lawler
was an elderly man, shrewd, silent, and self-contained, clad in an old black frock
coat, which with his soft felt hat and ragged, grizzled beard gave him a general
resemblance to an itinerant preacher. His companion Andrews was little more
than a boy, frank-faced and cheerful, with the breezy manner of one who is out
for a holiday and means to enjoy every minute of it. Both men were total
abstainers, and behaved in all ways as exemplary members of the society, with
the one simple exception that they were assassins who had often proved
themselves to be most capable instruments for this association of murder. Lawler
had already carried out fourteen commissions of the kind, and Andrews three.
They were, as McMurdo found, quite ready to converse about their deeds in
the past, which they recounted with the half-bashful pride of men who had done
good and unselfish service for the community. They were reticent, however, as
to the immediate job in hand.
"They chose us because neither I nor the boy here drink," Lawler explained.
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Context: and I ask you what the end is to be. Are you ready to be a cold-blooded murderer
also, or can we do anything to stop it?"
"What would you do?" asked McMurdo abruptly. "You would not inform?"
"God forbid!" cried Morris. "Sure, the very thought would cost me my life."
"That's well," said McMurdo. "I'm thinking that you are a weak man and that
you make too much of the matter."
"Too much! Wait till you have lived here longer. Look down the valley! See
the cloud of a hundred chimneys that overshadows it! I tell you that the cloud of
murder hangs thicker and lower than that over the heads of the people. It is the
Valley of Fear, the Valley of Death. The terror is in the hearts of the people from
the dusk to the dawn. Wait, young man, and you will learn for yourself."
"Well, I'll let you know what I think when I have seen more," said McMurdo
carelessly. "What is very clear is that you are not the man for the place, and that
the sooner you sell out—if you only get a dime a dollar for what the business is
worth—the better it will be for you. What you have said is safe with me; but, by
Gar! if I thought you were an informer—"
"No, no!" cried Morris piteously.
"Well, let it rest at that. I'll bear what you have said in mind, and maybe some
day I'll come back to it. I expect you meant kindly by speaking to me like this.
Now I'll be getting home."
"One word before you go," said Morris. "We may have been seen together.
They may want to know what we have spoken about."
"Ah! that's well thought of."
"I offer you a clerkship in my store."
"And I refuse it. That's our business. Well, so long, Brother Morris, and may
you find things go better with you in the future."
That same afternoon, as McMurdo sat smoking, lost in thought beside the
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Context: do as I order you, for indeed it's the only way for us. Things are going to happen
in this valley. I feel it in my bones. There may be many of us that will have to
look out for ourselves. I'm one, anyhow. If I go, by day or night, it's you that
must come with me!"
"I'd come after you, Jack."
"No, no, you shall come with me. If this valley is closed to me and I can
never come back, how can I leave you behind, and me perhaps in hiding from
the police with never a chance of a message? It's with me you must come. I
know a good woman in the place I come from, and it's there I'd leave you till we
can get married. Will you come?"
"Yes, Jack, I will come."
"God bless you for your trust in me! It's a fiend out of hell that I should be if I
abused it. Now, mark you, Ettie, it will be just a word to you, and when it
reaches you, you will drop everything and come right down to the waiting room
at the depot and stay there till I come for you."
"Day or night, I'll come at the word, Jack."
Somewhat eased in mind, now that his own preparations for escape had been
begun, McMurdo went on to the lodge. It had already assembled, and only by
complicated signs and counter-signs could he pass through the outer guard and
inner guard who close-tiled it. A buzz of pleasure and welcome greeted him as
he entered. The long room was crowded, and through the haze of tobacco smoke
he saw the tangled black mane of the Bodymaster, the cruel, unfriendly features
of Baldwin, the vulture face of Harraway, the secretary, and a dozen more who
were among the leaders of the lodge. He rejoiced that they should all be there to
take counsel over his news.
"Indeed, it's glad we are to see you, Brother!" cried the chairman. "There's
business here that wants a Solomon in judgment to set it right."
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Context: self-possessed to a remarkable degree, very different from the tragic and
distracted figure I had pictured. It is true that her face was pale and drawn, like
that of one who has endured a great shock; but her manner was composed, and
the finely moulded hand which she rested upon the edge of the table was as
steady as my own. Her sad, appealing eyes travelled from one to the other of us
with a curiously inquisitive expression. That questioning gaze transformed itself
suddenly 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 hope
in the question?
"We have taken every possible step, Mrs. Douglas," said the inspector. "You
may rest assured that nothing will be neglected."
"Spare no money," she said in a dead, even tone. "It is my desire that every
possible effort should be made."
"Perhaps you can tell us something which may throw some light upon the
matter."
"I fear not; but all I know is at your service."
"We have heard from Mr. Cecil Barker that you did not actually see—that
you were never in the room where the tragedy occurred?"
"No, he turned me back upon the stairs. He begged me to return to my room."
"Quite so. You had heard the shot, and you had at once come down."
"I put on my dressing gown and then came down."
"How long was it after hearing the shot that you were stopped on the stair by
Mr. Barker?"
"It may have been a couple of minutes. It is so hard to reckon time at such a
moment. He implored me not to go on. He assured me that I could do nothing.
Then Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, led me upstairs again. It was all like some
dreadful dream."
"Can you give us any idea how long your husband had been downstairs
before you heard the shot?"
"No, I cannot say. He went from his dressing room, and I did not hear him go.
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Context: and made the mark on the sill to give an idea of how the murderer escaped. It
was 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 happened
afterward you know. And so, gentlemen, you can do what you please; but I've
told you the truth and the whole truth, so help me God! What I ask you now is
how 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 your
deserts from that, Mr. Douglas. But I would ask you how did this man know that
you lived here, or how to get into your house, or where to hide to get you?"
"I know nothing of this."
Holmes's face was very white and grave. "The story is not over yet, I fear,"
said he. "You may find worse dangers than the English law, or even than your
enemies from America. I see trouble before you, Mr. Douglas. You'll take my
advice and still be on your guard."
And now, my long-suffering readers, I will ask you to come away with me for
a time, far from the Sussex Manor House of Birlstone, and far also from the year
of grace in which we made our eventful journey which ended with the strange
story of the man who had been known as John Douglas. I wish you to journey
back some twenty years in time, and westward some thousands of miles in
space, that I may lay before you a singular and terrible narrative—so singular
and so terrible that you may find it hard to believe that even as I tell it, even so
did it occur.
Do not think that I intrude one story before another is finished. As you read
on you will find that this is not so. And when I have detailed those distant events
and you have solved this mystery of the past, we shall meet once more in those
rooms on Baker Street, where this, like so many other wonderful happenings,
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Context: 534, column two, a substantial block of print dealing, I perceive, with the trade
and resources of British India. Jot down the words, Watson! Number thirteen is
'Mahratta.' Not, I fear, a very auspicious beginning. Number one hundred and
twenty-seven is 'Government'; which at least makes sense, though somewhat
irrelevant to ourselves and Professor Moriarty. Now let us try again. What does
the Mahratta government do? Alas! the next word is 'pig's-bristles.' We are
undone, my good Watson! It is finished!"
He had spoken in jesting vein, but the twitching of his bushy eyebrows
bespoke his disappointment and irritation. I sat helpless and unhappy, staring
into the fire. A long silence was broken by a sudden exclamation from Holmes,
who dashed at a cupboard, from which he emerged with a second yellowcovered
volume in his hand.
"We pay the price, Watson, for being too up-to-date!" he cried. "We are
before our time, and suffer the usual penalties. Being the seventh of January, we
have very properly laid in the new almanac. It is more than likely that Porlock
took his message from the old one. No doubt he would have told us so had his
letter of explanation been written. Now let us see what page 534 has in store for
us. Number thirteen is 'There,' which is much more promising. Number one
hundred and twenty-seven is 'is'—'There is'"—Holmes's eyes were gleaming
with 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,
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Context: statement.
"A lie, Watson—a great, big, thumping, obtrusive, uncompromising lie—
that's what meets us on the threshold! There is our starting point. The whole
story 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 we
have the clear problem. Why are they lying, and what is the truth which they are
trying so hard to conceal? Let us try, Watson, you and I, if we can get behind the
lie and reconstruct the truth.
"How do I know that they are lying? Because it is a clumsy fabrication which
simply could not be true. Consider! According to the story given to us, the
assassin had less than a minute after the murder had been committed to take that
ring, which was under another ring, from the dead man's finger, to replace the
other ring—a thing which he would surely never have done—and to put that
singular card beside his victim. I say that this was obviously impossible.
"You may argue—but I have too much respect for your judgment, Watson, to
think that you will do so—that the ring may have been taken before the man was
killed. The fact that the candle had been lit only a short time shows that there
had been no lengthy interview. Was Douglas, from what we hear of his fearless
character, a man who would be likely to give up his wedding ring at such short
notice, or could we conceive of his giving it up at all? No, no, Watson, the
assassin was alone with the dead man for some time with the lamp lit. Of that I
have no doubt at all.
"But the gunshot was apparently the cause of death. Therefore the shot must
have been fired some time earlier than we are told. But there could be no mistake
about such a matter as that. We are in the presence, therefore, of a deliberate
conspiracy upon the part of the two people who heard the gunshot—of the man
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Context: rooms on Baker Street, where this, like so many other wonderful happenings,
will find its end.
PART 2
The Scowrers
Chapter 1
The Man
It was the fourth of February in the year 1875. It had been a severe winter,
and the snow lay deep in the gorges of the Gilmerton Mountains. The steam
ploughs had, however, kept the railroad open, and the evening train which
connects the long line of coal-mining and iron-working settlements was slowly
groaning its way up the steep gradients which lead from Stagville on the plain to
Vermissa, the central township which lies at the head of Vermissa Valley. From
this point the track sweeps downward to Bartons Crossing, Helmdale, and the
purely agricultural county of Merton. It was a single-track railroad; but at every
siding—and they were numerous—long lines of trucks piled with coal and iron
ore told of the hidden wealth which had brought a rude population and a bustling
life to this most desolate corner of the United States of America.
For desolate it was! Little could the first pioneer who had traversed it have
ever imagined that the fairest prairies and the most lush water pastures were
valueless compared to this gloomy land of black crag and tangled forest. Above
the dark and often scarcely penetrable woods upon their flanks, the high, bare
crowns of the mountains, white snow, and jagged rock towered upon each flank,
leaving a long, winding, tortuous valley in the centre. Up this the little train was
slowly crawling.
The oil lamps had just been lit in the leading passenger car, a long, bare
carriage in which some twenty or thirty people were seated. The greater number
of these were workmen returning from their day's toil in the lower part of the
valley. At least a dozen, by their grimed faces and the safety lanterns which they
carried, proclaimed themselves miners. These sat smoking in a group and
conversed in low voices, glancing occasionally at two men on the opposite side
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Context: say this much, that if Stanger got his full deserts there would be more trouble
than we need ask for. These editors hang together, and every journal in the state
would be crying out for police and troops. But I guess you can give him a pretty
severe warning. Will you fix it, Brother Baldwin?"
"Sure!" said the young man eagerly.
"How many will you take?"
"Half a dozen, and two to guard the door. You'll come, Gower, and you,
Mansel, and you, Scanlan, and the two Willabys."
"I promised the new brother he should go," said the chairman.
Ted Baldwin looked at McMurdo with eyes which showed that he had not
forgotten nor forgiven. "Well, he can come if he wants," he said in a surly voice.
"That's enough. The sooner we get to work the better."
The company broke up with shouts and yells and snatches of drunken song.
The bar was still crowded with revellers, and many of the brethren remained
there. The little band who had been told off for duty passed out into the street,
proceeding in twos and threes along the sidewalk so as not to provoke attention.
It was a bitterly cold night, with a half-moon shining brilliantly in a frosty, starspangled
sky. The men stopped and gathered in a yard which faced a high
building. The words "Vermissa Herald" were printed in gold lettering between
the 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 and
see that the road is kept open for us. Arthur Willaby can stay with you. You
others come with me. Have no fears, boys; for we have a dozen witnesses that
we are in the Union Bar at this very moment."
It was nearly midnight, and the street was deserted save for one or two
revellers upon their way home. The party crossed the road, and, pushing open
the door of the newspaper office, Baldwin and his men rushed in and up the stair
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Context: was possible. Therefore I had to determine where Mr. John Douglas himself
could be, and the balance of probability was that with the connivance of his wife
and his friend he was concealed in a house which had such conveniences for a
fugitive, and awaiting quieter times when he could make his final escape."
"Well, you figured it out about right," said Douglas approvingly. "I thought
I'd dodge your British law; for I was not sure how I stood under it, and also I saw
my chance to throw these hounds once for all off my track. Mind you, from first
to last I have done nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing that I would not do
again; but you'll judge that for yourselves when I tell you my story. Never mind
warning me, Inspector: I'm ready to stand pat upon the truth.
"I'm not going to begin at the beginning. That's all there," he indicated my
bundle of papers, "and a mighty queer yarn you'll find it. It all comes down to
this: That there are some men that have good cause to hate me and would give
their last dollar to know that they had got me. So long as I am alive and they are
alive, there is no safety in this world for me. They hunted me from Chicago to
California, then they chased me out of America; but when I married and settled
down in this quiet spot I thought my last years were going to be peaceable.
"I never explained to my wife how things were. Why should I pull her into it?
She would never have a quiet moment again; but would always be imagining
trouble. I fancy she knew something, for I may have dropped a word here or a
word there; but until yesterday, after you gentlemen had seen her, she never
knew the rights of the matter. She told you all she knew, and so did Barker here;
for on the night when this thing happened there was mighty little time for
explanations. She knows everything now, and I would have been a wiser man if I
had told her sooner. But it was a hard question, dear," he took her hand for an
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Context: this man who dominated them, were set motionless with utter terror. Then, with
a sudden shivering of glass, a bristle of glistening rifle barrels broke through
each window, while the curtains were torn from their hangings.
At the sight Boss McGinty gave the roar of a wounded bear and plunged for
the half-opened door. A levelled revolver met him there with the stern blue eyes
of Captain Marvin of the Mine Police gleaming behind the sights. The Boss
recoiled and fell back into his chair.
"You're safer there, Councillor," said the man whom they had known as
McMurdo. "And you, Baldwin, if you don't take your hand off your pistol, you'll
cheat the hangman yet. Pull it out, or by the Lord that made me—There, that will
do. There are forty armed men round this house, and you can figure it out for
yourself what chance you have. Take their pistols, Marvin!"
There was no possible resistance under the menace of those rifles. The men
were disarmed. Sulky, sheepish, and amazed, they still sat round the table.
"I'd like to say a word to you before we separate," said the man who had
trapped them. "I guess we may not meet again until you see me on the stand in
the courthouse. I'll give you something to think over between now and then. You
know me now for what I am. At last I can put my cards on the table. I am Birdy
Edwards of Pinkerton's. I was chosen to break up your gang. I had a hard and
dangerous game to play. Not a soul, not one soul, not my nearest and dearest,
knew that I was playing it. Only Captain Marvin here and my employers knew
that. But it's over to-night, thank God, and I am the winner!"
The seven pale, rigid faces looked up at him. There was unappeasable hatred
in their eyes. He read the relentless threat.
"Maybe you think that the game is not over yet. Well, I take my chance of
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Context: one could swear to his face, poor devil! I brought down this suit of clothes, and
in a quarter of an hour Barker and I had put my dressing gown on him and he lay
as you found him. We tied all his things into a bundle, and I weighted them with
the only weight I could find and put them through the window. The card he had
meant 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
held out his muscular hand, "you can see for yourselves that I had struck the
limit. I have not moved it since the day I was married, and it would have taken a
file to get it off. I don't know, anyhow, that I should have cared to part with it;
but if I had wanted to I couldn't. So we just had to leave that detail to take care of
itself. On the other hand, I brought a bit of plaster down and put it where I am
wearing one myself at this instant. You slipped up there, Mr. Holmes, clever as
you are; for if you had chanced to take off that plaster you would have found no
cut underneath it.
"Well, that was the situation. If I could lie low for a while and then get away
where I could be joined by my 'widow' we should have a chance at last of living
in peace for the rest of our lives. These devils would give me no rest so long as I
was above ground; but if they saw in the papers that Baldwin had got his man,
there would be an end of all my troubles. I hadn't much time to make it all clear
to Barker and to my wife; but they understood enough to be able to help me. I
knew all about this hiding place, so did Ames; but it never entered his head to
connect 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 window
and made the mark on the sill to give an idea of how the murderer escaped. It
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Context: power to penetrate it."
Sherlock Holmes had pushed away his untasted breakfast and lit the
unsavoury pipe which was the companion of his deepest meditations. "I
wonder!" said he, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "Perhaps there are
points which have escaped your Machiavellian intellect. Let us consider the
problem in the light of pure reason. This man's reference is to a book. That is our
point of departure."
"A somewhat vague one."
"Let us see then if we can narrow it down. As I focus my mind upon it, it
seems 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 begins
with a large 534, does it not? We may take it as a working hypothesis that 534 is
the particular page to which the cipher refers. So our book has already become a
large book which is surely something gained. What other indications have we as
to the nature of this large book? The next sign is C2. What do you make of that,
Watson?"
"Chapter the second, no doubt."
"Hardly that, Watson. You will, I am sure, agree with me that if the page be
given, the number of the chapter is immaterial. Also that if page 534 finds us
only in the second chapter, the length of the first one must have been really
intolerable."
"Column!" I cried.
"Brilliant, Watson. You are scintillating this morning. If it is not column, then
I am very much deceived. So now, you see, we begin to visualize a large book
printed in double columns which are each of a considerable length, since one of
the words is numbered in the document as the two hundred and ninety-third.
Have we reached the limits of what reason can supply?"
"I fear that we have."
"Surely you do yourself an injustice. One more coruscation, my dear Watson
—yet another brain-wave! Had the volume been an unusual one, he would have
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Context: to-night!"
McMurdo found himself under sentence of banishment both from his
comfortable quarters and from the girl whom he loved. He found her alone in the
sitting-room that same evening, and he poured his troubles into her ear.
"Sure, your father is after giving me notice," he said. "It's little I would care if
it was just my room, but indeed, Ettie, though it's only a week that I've known
you, you are the very breath of life to me, and I can't live without you!"
"Oh, hush, Mr. McMurdo, don't speak so!" said the girl. "I have told you,
have I not, that you are too late? There is another, and if I have not promised to
marry him at once, at least I can promise no one else."
"Suppose I had been first, Ettie, would I have had a chance?"
The girl sank her face into her hands. "I wish to heaven that you had been
first!" she sobbed.
McMurdo was down on his knees before her in an instant. "For God's sake,
Ettie, let it stand at that!" he cried. "Will you ruin your life and my own for the
sake of this promise? Follow your heart, acushla! 'Tis a safer guide than any
promise before you knew what it was that you were saying."
He had seized Ettie's white hand between his own strong brown ones.
"Say that you will be mine, and we will face it out together!"
"Not here?"
"Yes, here."
"No, no, Jack!" His arms were round her now. "It could not be here. Could
you take me away?"
A struggle passed for a moment over McMurdo's face; but it ended by setting
like granite. "No, here," he said. "I'll hold you against the world, Ettie, right here
where we are!"
"Why should we not leave together?"
"No, Ettie, I can't leave here."
"But why?"
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Context: It would appear that when the County Delegate had sent over five good men
to strike a blow in Vermissa, he had demanded that in return three Vermissa men
should 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, a
man who was believed not to have an enemy in the world; for he was in all ways
a model employer. He had insisted, however, upon efficiency in the work, and
had, therefore, paid off certain drunken and idle employees who were members
of the all-powerful society. Coffin notices hung outside his door had not
weakened his resolution, and so in a free, civilized country he found himself
condemned to death.
The execution had now been duly carried out. Ted Baldwin, who sprawled
now 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. He
and his two comrades had spent the night before among the mountains. They
were unkempt and weather-stained. But no heroes, returning from a forlorn
hope, 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 station
at the top of a steep hill, where his horse must be at a walk. He was so furred to
keep out the cold that he could not lay his hand on his pistol. They had pulled
him out and shot him again and again. He had screamed for mercy. The screams
were repeated for the amusement of the lodge.
"Let's hear again how he squealed," they cried.
None of them knew the man; but there is eternal drama in a killing, and they
had shown the Scowrers of Gilmerton that the Vermissa men were to be relied
upon.
There had been one contretemps; for a man and his wife had driven up while
they were still emptying their revolvers into the silent body. It had been
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Context: business here that wants a Solomon in judgment to set it right."
"It's Lander and Egan," explained his neighbour as he took his seat. "They
both claim the head money given by the lodge for the shooting of old man
Crabbe over at Stylestown, and who's to say which fired the bullet?"
McMurdo rose in his place and raised his hand. The expression of his face
froze the attention of the audience. There was a dead hush of expectation.
"Eminent Bodymaster," he said, in a solemn voice, "I claim urgency!"
"Brother McMurdo claims urgency," said McGinty. "It's a claim that by the
rules of this lodge takes precedence. Now Brother, we attend you."
McMurdo took the letter from his pocket.
"Eminent Bodymaster and Brethren," he said, "I am the bearer of ill news this
day; but it is better that it should be known and discussed, than that a blow
should fall upon us without warning which would destroy us all. I have
information that the most powerful and richest organizations in this state have
bound themselves together for our destruction, and that at this very moment
there is a Pinkerton detective, one Birdy Edwards, at work in the valley
collecting the evidence which may put a rope round the necks of many of us, and
send every man in this room into a felon's cell. That is the situation for the
discussion 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 read
the passage aloud. "It is a matter of honour with me that I can give no further
particulars about the letter, nor put it into your hands; but I assure you that there
is nothing else in it which can affect the interests of the lodge. I put the case
before you as it has reached me."
"Let me say, Mr. Chairman," said one of the older brethren, "that I have heard
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Context: murdered last night!"
Chapter 2
Sherlock Holmes Discourses
It was one of those dramatic moments for which my friend existed. It would
be an overstatement to say that he was shocked or even excited by the amazing
announcement. Without having a tinge of cruelty in his singular composition, he
was undoubtedly callous from long over-stimulation. Yet, if his emotions were
dulled, his intellectual perceptions were exceedingly active. There was no trace
then of the horror which I had myself felt at this curt declaration; but his face
showed rather the quiet and interested composure of the chemist who sees the
crystals 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? I
receive an anonymous communication from a quarter which I know to be
important, warning me that danger threatens a certain person. Within an hour I
learn that this danger has actually materialized and that the person is dead. I am
interested; but, as you observe, I am not surprised."
In a few short sentences he explained to the inspector the facts about the letter
and the cipher. MacDonald sat with his chin on his hands and his great sandy
eyebrows bunched into a yellow tangle.
"I was going down to Birlstone this morning," said he. "I had come to ask
you if you cared to come with me—you and your friend here. But from what you
say we might perhaps be doing better work in London."
"I rather think not," said Holmes.
"Hang it all, Mr. Holmes!" cried the inspector. "The papers will be full of the
Birlstone mystery in a day or two; but where's the mystery if there is a man in
London who prophesied the crime before ever it occurred? We have only to lay
our hands on that man, and the rest will follow."
"No doubt, Mr. Mac. But how do you propose to lay your hands on the socalled
Porlock?"
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Context: for the knife tinkled down on the floor. He dodged round the table as quick as an
eel, and a moment later he'd got his gun from under his coat. I heard him cock it;
but I had got hold of it before he could fire. I had it by the barrel, and we
wrestled for it all ends up for a minute or more. It was death to the man that lost
his grip.
"He never lost his grip; but he got it butt downward for a moment too long.
Maybe it was I that pulled the trigger. Maybe we just jolted it off between us.
Anyhow, he got both barrels in the face, and there I was, staring down at all that
was left of Ted Baldwin. I'd recognized him in the township, and again when he
sprang for me; but his own mother wouldn't recognize him as I saw him then.
I'm used to rough work; but I fairly turned sick at the sight of him.
"I was hanging on the side of the table when Barker came hurrying down. I
heard my wife coming, and I ran to the door and stopped her. It was no sight for
a woman. I promised I'd come to her soon. I said a word or two to Barker—he
took it all in at a glance—and we waited for the rest to come along. But there
was no sign of them. Then we understood that they could hear nothing, and that
all that had happened was known only to ourselves.
"It was at that instant that the idea came to me. I was fairly dazzled by the
brilliance of it. The man's sleeve had slipped up and there was the branded mark
of the lodge upon his forearm. See here!"
The man whom we had known as Douglas turned up his own coat and cuff to
show a brown triangle within a circle exactly like that which we had seen upon
the dead man.
"It was the sight of that which started me on it. I seemed to see it all clear at a
glance. There were his height and hair and figure, about the same as my own. No
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Context: that. Anyhow, some of you will take no further hand, and there are sixty more
besides yourselves that will see a jail this night. I'll tell you this, that when I was
put upon this job I never believed there was such a society as yours. I thought it
was paper talk, and that I would prove it so. They told me it was to do with the
Freemen; so I went to Chicago and was made one. Then I was surer than ever
that it was just paper talk; for I found no harm in the society, but a deal of good.
"Still, I had to carry out my job, and I came to the coal valleys. When I
reached this place I learned that I was wrong and that it wasn't a dime novel after
all. So I stayed to look after it. I never killed a man in Chicago. I never minted a
dollar in my life. Those I gave you were as good as any others; but I never spent
money better. But I knew the way into your good wishes and so I pretended to
you 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
they will say that I was as bad as you. They can say what they like, so long as I
get you. But what is the truth? The night I joined you beat up old man Stanger. I
could not warn him, for there was no time; but I held your hand, Baldwin, when
you would have killed him. If ever I have suggested things, so as to keep my
place among you, they were things which I knew I could prevent. I could not
save Dunn and Menzies, for I did not know enough; but I will see that their
murderers are hanged. I gave Chester Wilcox warning, so that when I blew his
house in he and his folk were in hiding. There was many a crime that I could not
stop; but if you look back and think how often your man came home the other
road, or was down in town when you went for him, or stayed indoors when you
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Context: Watson! What do you think of pure reason and its fruit? If the greengrocer had
such 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 deciphered
it, 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. "When
you search a single column for words with which to express your meaning, you
can hardly expect to get everything you want. You are bound to leave something
to the intelligence of your correspondent. The purport is perfectly clear. Some
deviltry is intended against one Douglas, whoever he may be, residing as stated,
a rich country gentleman. He is sure—'confidence' was as near as he could get to
'confident'—that it is pressing. There is our result—and a very workmanlike
little bit of analysis it was!"
Holmes had the impersonal joy of the true artist in his better work, even as he
mourned darkly when it fell below the high level to which he aspired. He was
still chuckling over his success when Billy swung open the door and Inspector
MacDonald of Scotland Yard was ushered into the room.
Those were the early days at the end of the '80's, when Alec MacDonald was
far from having attained the national fame which he has now achieved. He was a
young but trusted member of the detective force, who had distinguished himself
in several cases which had been entrusted to him. His tall, bony figure gave
promise of exceptional physical strength, while his great cranium and deep-set,
lustrous eyes spoke no less clearly of the keen intelligence which twinkled out
from behind his bushy eyebrows. He was a silent, precise man with a dour nature
and a hard Aberdonian accent.
Twice already in his career had Holmes helped him to attain success, his own
sole reward being the intellectual joy of the problem. For this reason the
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Context: something like that. If there are worse devils down yonder than some we could
name, it's more than I'd expect. I guess you are new to this part, young man?"
"Well, what if I am?" McMurdo answered in a surly voice.
"Just this, mister, that I should advise you to be careful in choosing your
friends. I don't think I'd begin with Mike Scanlan or his gang if I were you."
"What the hell is it to you who are my friends?" roared McMurdo in a voice
which brought every head in the carriage round to witness the altercation. "Did I
ask you for your advice, or did you think me such a sucker that I couldn't move
without it? You speak when you are spoken to, and by the Lord you'd have to
wait a long time if it was me!" He thrust out his face and grinned at the
patrolmen like a snarling dog.
The two policemen, heavy, good-natured men, were taken aback by the
extraordinary vehemence with which their friendly advances had been rejected.
"No offense, stranger," said one. "It was a warning for your own good, seeing
that you are, by your own showing, new to the place."
"I'm new to the place; but I'm not new to you and your kind!" cried McMurdo
in cold fury. "I guess you're the same in all places, shoving your advice in when
nobody asks for it."
"Maybe we'll see more of you before very long," said one of the patrolmen
with a grin. "You're a real hand-picked one, if I am a judge."
"I was thinking the same," remarked the other. "I guess we may meet again."
"I'm not afraid of you, and don't you think it!" cried McMurdo. "My name's
Jack McMurdo—see? If you want me, you'll find me at Jacob Shafter's on
Sheridan Street, Vermissa; so I'm not hiding from you, am I? Day or night I dare
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Context: "Well, anyhow, he had never seen one."
MacDonald shook his obstinate Scotch head. "I'm not convinced yet that
there was ever anyone in the house," said he. "I'm asking you to conseedar" (his
accent became more Aberdonian as he lost himself in his argument) "I'm asking
you to conseedar what it involves if you suppose that this gun was ever brought
into the house, and that all these strange things were done by a person from
outside. Oh, man, it's just inconceivable! It's clean against common sense! I put
it to you, Mr. Holmes, judging it by what we have heard."
"Well, state your case, Mr. Mac," said Holmes in his most judicial style.
"The man is not a burglar, supposing that he ever existed. The ring business
and 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 committing
murder. He knows, if he knows anything, that he will have a deeficulty in
making his escape, as the house is surrounded with water. What weapon would
he choose? You would say the most silent in the world. Then he could hope
when the deed was done to slip quickly from the window, to wade the moat, and
to get away at his leisure. That's understandable. But is it understandable that he
should go out of his way to bring with him the most noisy weapon he could
select, knowing well that it will fetch every human being in the house to the spot
as quick as they can run, and that it is all odds that he will be seen before he can
get across the moat? Is that credible, Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, you put the case strongly," my friend replied thoughtfully. "It certainly
needs a good deal of justification. May I ask, Mr. White Mason, whether you
examined the farther side of the moat at once to see if there were any signs of the
man having climbed out from the water?"
"There were no signs, Mr. Holmes. But it is a stone ledge, and one could
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Context: It was pitch dark and very oppressive under his hood. He heard the rustle and
murmur of the people round him, and then the voice of McGinty sounded dull
and distant through the covering of his ears.
"John McMurdo," said the voice, "are you already a member of the Ancient
Order of Freemen?"
He bowed in assent.
"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 indeed
one of us," said McGinty. "We would have you know, however, that in this
county and in other counties of these parts we have certain rites, and also certain
duties 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, pressing
upon them so that it appeared as if he could not move forward without a danger
of losing them. None the less, he nerved himself to step resolutely out, and as he
did so the pressure melted away. There was a low murmur of applause.
"He is of stout heart," said the voice. "Can you bear pain?"
"As well as another," he answered.
"Test him!"
It was all he could do to keep himself from screaming out, for an agonizing
pain shot through his forearm. He nearly fainted at the sudden shock of it; but he
bit his lip and clenched his hands to hide his agony.
"I can take more than that," said he.
This time there was loud applause. A finer first appearance had never been
made in the lodge. Hands clapped him on the back, and the hood was plucked
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Context: "Maybe in some places. Not here!"
"What is it here?"
"It's a murder society, that's vat it is."
McMurdo laughed incredulously. "How can you prove that?" he asked.
"Prove it! Are there not fifty murders to prove it? Vat about Milman and Van
Shorst, and the Nicholson family, and old Mr. Hyam, and little Billy James, and
the others? Prove it! Is there a man or a voman in this valley vat does not know
it?"
"See here!" said McMurdo earnestly. "I want you to take back what you've
said, or else make it good. One or the other you must do before I quit this room.
Put yourself in my place. Here am I, a stranger in the town. I belong to a society
that I know only as an innocent one. You'll find it through the length and breadth
of the States, but always as an innocent one. Now, when I am counting upon
joining it here, you tell me that it is the same as a murder society called the
Scowrers. 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 one
are the bosses of the other. If you offend the one, it is the other vat vill strike
you. 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 are
yourself one of them. You vill soon be as bad as the rest. But you vill find other
lodgings, mister. I cannot have you here. Is it not bad enough that one of these
people come courting my Ettie, and that I dare not turn him down, but that I
should have another for my boarder? Yes, indeed, you shall not sleep here after
to-night!"
McMurdo found himself under sentence of banishment both from his
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Context: crime in between. His chief of staff is Colonel Sebastian Moran, as aloof and
guarded 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 American
business principle. I learned that detail quite by chance. It's more than the Prime
Minister gets. That gives you an idea of Moriarty's gains and of the scale on
which he works. Another point: I made it my business to hunt down some of
Moriarty's checks lately—just common innocent checks that he pays his
household bills with. They were drawn on six different banks. Does that make
any 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 know
what he had. I have no doubt that he has twenty banking accounts; the bulk of
his 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 of
Professor Moriarty."
Inspector MacDonald had grown steadily more impressed as the conversation
proceeded. He had lost himself in his interest. Now his practical Scotch
intelligence brought him back with a snap to the matter in hand.
"He can keep, anyhow," said he. "You've got us side-tracked with your
interesting anecdotes, Mr. Holmes. What really counts is your remark that there
is some connection between the professor and the crime. That you get from the
warning received through the man Porlock. Can we for our present practical
needs get any further than that?"
"We may form some conception as to the motives of the crime. It is, as I
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 that
Moriarty rules with a rod of iron over his people. His discipline is tremendous.
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Context: "That's the Union House," said the guide, pointing to one saloon which rose
almost 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 these
parts?"
"Well, I thought his name was known clear across the country. It's been in the
papers often enough."
"What for?"
"Well," the miner lowered his voice—"over the affairs."
"What affairs?"
"Good Lord, mister! you are queer, if I must say it without offense. There's
only one set of affairs that you'll hear of in these parts, and that's the affairs of
the Scowrers."
"Why, I seem to have read of the Scowrers in Chicago. A gang of murderers,
are they not?"
"Hush, on your life!" cried the miner, standing still in alarm, and gazing in
amazement at his companion. "Man, you won't live long in these parts if you
speak in the open street like that. Many a man has had the life beaten out of him
for less."
"Well, I know nothing about them. It's only what I have read."
"And I'm not saying that you have not read the truth." The man looked
nervously round him as he spoke, peering into the shadows as if he feared to see
some lurking danger. "If killing is murder, then God knows there is murder and
to spare. But don't you dare to breathe the name of Jack McGinty in connection
with it, stranger; for every whisper goes back to him, and he is not one that is
likely to let it pass. Now, that's the house you're after, that one standing back
from the street. You'll find old Jacob Shafter that runs it as honest a man as lives
in this township."
"I thank you," said McMurdo, and shaking hands with his new acquaintance
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Context: You've seen how he's been opening his mouth against us again?"
There was a murmur of assent, with many a muttered oath. McGinty took a
slip of paper from his waistcoat pocket.
"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 the
existence of a criminal organization in our midst. From that day these outrages have
never ceased, until now they have reached a pitch which makes us the opprobrium of
the civilized world. Is it for such results as this that our great country welcomes to its
bosom the alien who flies from the despotisms of Europe? Is it that they shall
themselves become tyrants over the very men who have given them shelter, and that a
state of terrorism and lawlessness should be established under the very shadow of the
sacred folds of the starry Flag of Freedom which would raise horror in our minds if
we read of it as existing under the most effete monarchy of the East? The men are
known. The organization is patent and public. How long are we to endure it? Can we
forever live—"
"Sure, I've read enough of the slush!" cried the chairman, tossing the paper
down upon the table. "That's what he says of us. The question I'm asking you is
what 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 and
shaved face. "I tell you, Brethren, that our hand is too heavy in this valley, and
that there will come a point where in self-defense every man will unite to crush
us out. James Stanger is an old man. He is respected in the township and the
district. His paper stands for all that is solid in the valley. If that man is struck
down, there will be a stir through this state that will only end with our
destruction."
"And how would they bring about our destruction, Mr. Standback?" cried
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Context: A few minutes later we were in the study. Holmes had brought with him the
carpet slippers from the hall. As Ames had observed, the soles of both were dark
with blood.
"Strange!" murmured Holmes, as he stood in the light of the window and
examined them minutely. "Very strange indeed!"
Stooping with one of his quick feline pounces, he placed the slipper upon the
blood mark on the sill. It exactly corresponded. He smiled in silence at his
colleagues.
The inspector was transfigured with excitement. His native accent rattled like
a stick upon railings.
"Man," he cried, "there's not a doubt of it! Barker has just marked the
window himself. It's a good deal broader than any bootmark. I mind that you
said it was a splay-foot, and here's the explanation. But what's the game, Mr.
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 professional
satisfaction. "I said it was a snorter!" he cried. "And a real snorter it is!"
Chapter 6
A Dawning Light
The three detectives had many matters of detail into which to inquire; so I
returned alone to our modest quarters at the village inn. But before doing so I
took a stroll in the curious old-world garden which flanked the house. Rows of
very ancient yew trees cut into strange designs girded it round. Inside was a
beautiful stretch of lawn with an old sundial in the middle, the whole effect so
soothing and restful that it was welcome to my somewhat jangled nerves.
In that deeply peaceful atmosphere one could forget, or remember only as
some fantastic nightmare, that darkened study with the sprawling, bloodstained
figure on the floor. And yet, as I strolled round it and tried to steep my soul in its
gentle balm, a strange incident occurred, which brought me back to the tragedy
and left a sinister impression in my mind.
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Context: "No such luck. But they've found his bicycle. The fellow left his bicycle
behind him. Come and have a look. It is within a hundred yards of the hall door."
We found three or four grooms and idlers standing in the drive inspecting a
bicycle which had been drawn out from a clump of evergreens in which it had
been concealed. It was a well used Rudge-Whitworth, splashed as from a
considerable journey. There was a saddlebag with spanner and oilcan, but no
clue as to the owner.
"It would be a grand help to the police," said the inspector, "if these things
were numbered and registered. But we must be thankful for what we've got. If
we can't find where he went to, at least we are likely to get where he came from.
But what in the name of all that is wonderful made the fellow leave it behind?
And how in the world has he got away without it? We don't seem to get a gleam
of light in the case, Mr. Holmes."
"Don't we?" my friend answered thoughtfully. "I wonder!"
Chapter 5
The People Of the Drama
"Have you seen all you want of the study?" asked White Mason as we
reentered the house.
"For the time," said the inspector, and Holmes nodded.
"Then perhaps you would now like to hear the evidence of some of the
people in the house. We could use the dining-room, Ames. Please come yourself
first and tell us what you know."
The butler's account was a simple and a clear one, and he gave a convincing
impression of sincerity. He had been engaged five years before, when Douglas
first came to Birlstone. He understood that Mr. Douglas was a rich gentleman
who had made his money in America. He had been a kind and considerate
employer—not quite what Ames was used to, perhaps; but one can't have
everything. He never saw any signs of apprehension in Mr. Douglas: on the
contrary, he was the most fearless man he had ever known. He ordered the
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Context: "It must have caused great pain when it was inflicted. It is undoubtedly a
burn. Now, I observe, Ames, that there is a small piece of plaster at the angle of
Mr. Douglas's jaw. Did you observe that in life?"
"Yes, sir, he cut himself in shaving yesterday morning."
"Did you ever know him to cut himself in shaving before?"
"Not for a very long time, sir."
"Suggestive!" said Holmes. "It may, of course, be a mere coincidence, or it
may point to some nervousness which would indicate that he had reason to
apprehend danger. Had you noticed anything unusual in his conduct, yesterday,
Ames?"
"It struck me that he was a little restless and excited, sir."
"Ha! The attack may not have been entirely unexpected. We do seem to make
a little progress, do we not? Perhaps you would rather do the questioning, Mr.
Mac?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, it's in better hands than mine."
"Well, then, we will pass to this card—V. V. 341. It is rough cardboard. Have
you any of the sort in the house?"
"I don't think so."
Holmes walked across to the desk and dabbed a little ink from each bottle on
to the blotting paper. "It was not printed in this room," he said; "this is black ink
and the other purplish. It was done by a thick pen, and these are fine. No, it was
done 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 his
badge 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 our
difficulties disappear. An agent from such a society makes his way into the
house, waits for Mr. Douglas, blows his head nearly off with this weapon, and
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Context: or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
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File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

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Context: He did the round of the house every night, for he was nervous of fire. It is the
only thing that I have ever known him nervous of."
"That is just the point which I want to come to, Mrs. Douglas. You have
known your husband only in England, have you not?"
"Yes, we have been married five years."
"Have you heard him speak of anything which occurred in America and
might bring some danger upon him?"
Mrs. Douglas thought earnestly before she answered. "Yes." she said at last,
"I have always felt that there was a danger hanging over him. He refused to
discuss it with me. It was not from want of confidence in me—there was the
most complete love and confidence between us—but it was out of his desire to
keep all alarm away from me. He thought I should brood over it if I knew all,
and so he was silent."
"How did you know it, then?"
Mrs. Douglas's face lit with a quick smile. "Can a husband ever carry about a
secret all his life and a woman who loves him have no suspicion of it? I knew it
by his refusal to talk about some episodes in his American life. I knew it by
certain precautions he took. I knew it by certain words he let fall. I knew it by
the way he looked at unexpected strangers. I was perfectly certain that he had
some powerful enemies, that he believed they were on his track, and that he was
always on his guard against them. I was so sure of it that for years I have been
terrified if ever he came home later than was expected."
"Might I ask," asked Holmes, "what the words were which attracted your
attention?"
"The Valley of Fear," the lady answered. "That was an expression he has used
when I questioned him. 'I have been in the Valley of Fear. I am not out of it
yet.'—'Are we never to get out of the Valley of Fear?' I have asked him when I
have seen him more serious than usual. 'Sometimes I think that we never shall,'
he has answered."
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Context: to be master of himself and his emotions; he had opened the door which was
nearest to the entrance and he had beckoned to the sergeant to follow him. At
that moment there arrived Dr. Wood, a brisk and capable general practitioner
from the village. The three men entered the fatal room together, while the horrorstricken
butler followed at their heels, closing the door behind him to shut out
the terrible scene from the maid servants.
The dead man lay on his back, sprawling with outstretched limbs in the
centre of the room. He was clad only in a pink dressing gown, which covered his
night clothes. There were carpet slippers on his bare feet. The doctor knelt
beside him and held down the hand lamp which had stood on the table. One
glance at the victim was enough to show the healer that his presence could be
dispensed with. The man had been horribly injured. Lying across his chest was a
curious weapon, a shotgun with the barrel sawed off a foot in front of the
triggers. It was clear that this had been fired at close range and that he had
received the whole charge in the face, blowing his head almost to pieces. The
triggers had been wired together, so as to make the simultaneous discharge more
destructive.
The country policeman was unnerved and troubled by the tremendous
responsibility which had come so suddenly upon him. "We will touch nothing
until my superiors arrive," he said in a hushed voice, staring in horror at the
dreadful head.
"Nothing has been touched up to now," said Cecil Barker. "I'll answer for
that. You see it all exactly as I found it."
"When was that?" The sergeant had drawn out his notebook.
"It was just half-past eleven. I had not begun to undress, and I was sitting by
the fire in my bedroom when I heard the report. It was not very loud—it seemed
to be muffled. I rushed down—I don't suppose it was thirty seconds before I was
in the room."
"Was the door open?"
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File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

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Context: in the garden.
"Well at least they gave that impression. However, we will suppose that they
are an extraordinarily astute couple, who deceive everyone upon this point, and
conspire to murder the husband. He happens to be a man over whose head some
danger hangs—"
"We have only their word for that."
Holmes looked thoughtful. "I see, Watson. You are sketching out a theory by
which everything they say from the beginning is false. According to your idea,
there was never any hidden menace, or secret society, or Valley of Fear, or Boss
MacSomebody, or anything else. Well, that is a good sweeping generalization.
Let us see what that brings us to. They invent this theory to account for the
crime. They then play up to the idea by leaving this bicycle in the park as proof
of the existence of some outsider. The stain on the windowsill conveys the same
idea. So does the card on the body, which might have been prepared in the
house. That all fits into your hypothesis, Watson. But now we come on the nasty,
angular, uncompromising bits which won't slip into their places. Why a cut-off
shotgun of all weapons—and an American one at that? How could they be so
sure that the sound of it would not bring someone on to them? It's a mere chance
as it is that Mrs. Allen did not start out to inquire for the slamming door. Why
did your guilty couple do all this, Watson?"
"I confess that I can't explain it."
"Then again, if a woman and her lover conspire to murder a husband, are they
going to advertise their guilt by ostentatiously removing his wedding ring after
his death? Does that strike you as very probable, Watson?"
"No, it does not."
"And once again, if the thought of leaving a bicycle concealed outside had
occurred to you, would it really have seemed worth doing when the dullest
detective would naturally say this is an obvious blind, as the bicycle is the first
thing which the fugitive needed in order to make his escape."
"I can conceive of no explanation."
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File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

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Context: and left a sinister impression in my mind.
I have said that a decoration of yew trees circled the garden. At the end
farthest from the house they thickened into a continuous hedge. On the other side
of this hedge, concealed from the eyes of anyone approaching from the direction
of the house, there was a stone seat. As I approached the spot I was aware of
voices, some remark in the deep tones of a man, answered by a little ripple of
feminine laughter.
An instant later I had come round the end of the hedge and my eyes lit upon
Mrs. Douglas and the man Barker before they were aware of my presence. Her
appearance gave me a shock. In the dining-room she had been demure and
discreet. Now all pretense of grief had passed away from her. Her eyes shone
with the joy of living, and her face still quivered with amusement at some
remark of her companion. He sat forward, his hands clasped and his forearms on
his knees, with an answering smile upon his bold, handsome face. In an instant
—but it was just one instant too late—they resumed their solemn masks as my
figure came into view. A hurried word or two passed between them, and then
Barker rose and came towards me.
"Excuse me, sir," said he, "but am I addressing Dr. Watson?"
I bowed with a coldness which showed, I dare say, very plainly the
impression which had been produced upon my mind.
"We thought that it was probably you, as your friendship with Mr. Sherlock
Holmes is so well known. Would you mind coming over and speaking to Mrs.
Douglas for one instant?"
I followed him with a dour face. Very clearly I could see in my mind's eye
that shattered figure on the floor. Here within a few hours of the tragedy were his
wife and his nearest friend laughing together behind a bush in the garden which
had been his. I greeted the lady with reserve. I had grieved with her grief in the
dining-room. Now I met her appealing gaze with an unresponsive eye.
####################
File: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt

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Context: The two detectives shook their heads.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of one mystery into
another," said the London inspector.
"And in some ways a worse one," added White Mason. "The lady has never
been in America in all her life. What possible connection could she have with an
American assassin which would cause her to shelter him?"
"I freely admit the difficulties," said Holmes. "I propose to make a little
investigation of my own to-night, and it is just possible that it may contribute
something to the common cause."
"Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?"
"No, no! Darkness and Dr. Watson's umbrella—my wants are simple. And
Ames, the faithful Ames, no doubt he will stretch a point for me. All my lines of
thought lead me back invariably to the one basic question—why should an
athletic man develop his frame upon so unnatural an instrument as a single
dumb-bell?"
It was late that night when Holmes returned from his solitary excursion. We
slept in a double-bedded room, which was the best that the little country inn
could do for us. I was already asleep when I was partly awakened by his
entrance.
"Well, Holmes," I murmured, "have you found anything out?"
He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. Then the tall, lean
figure inclined towards me. "I say, Watson," he whispered, "would you be afraid
to sleep in the same room with a lunatic, a man with softening of the brain, an
idiot 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
The Solution
Next morning, after breakfast, we found Inspector MacDonald and White
Mason seated in close consultation in the small parlour of the local police
sergeant. On the table in front of them were piled a number of letters and
telegrams, which they were carefully sorting and docketing. Three had been
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"""QUERY: can you summarize the content of your context in 2 sentences"""

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Final Files Sources: The%20Valley%20of%20Fear.txt - Page 1
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Answer: You are asking me to summarize the content of my context in 2 sentences, however, I have no context to summarize. Please provide me with the content you would like me to summarize. 

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