convenient for all of us. As to what it is we--Well, that's what we
are watching for!"
As he spoke the bright, yellow light in the study was obscured by
somebody passing to and fro before it. The laurels among which we lay
were immediately opposite the window and not more than a hundred feet
from it. Presently it was thrown open with a whining of hinges, and
we could dimly see the dark outline of a man's head and shoulders
looking out into the gloom. For some minutes he peered forth in
furtive, stealthy fashion, as one who wishes to be assured that he is
unobserved. Then he leaned forward, and in the intense silence we
were aware of the soft lapping of agitated water. He seemed to be
stirring up the moat with something which he held in his hand. Then
suddenly he hauled something in as a fisherman lands a fish--some
large, round object which obscured the light as it was dragged
through the open casement.
"Now!" cried Holmes. "Now!"
We were all upon our feet, staggering after him with our stiffened
limbs, while he ran swiftly across the bridge and rang violently at
the bell. There was the rasping of bolts from the other side, and the
amazed Ames stood in the 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
dumb-bell, 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 that darkness enabled him to do
so. We have no less than four witnesses as to who it was who took
advantage of the opportunity, and so, Mr. Barker, I think the word
lies now with you."
Sherlock Holmes put the sopping bundle upon the table beside the lamp
and undid the cord which bound it. From within he extracted a
dumb-bell, which he tossed down to its fellow in the corner. Next he
drew forth a pair of boots. "American, as you perceive," he remarked,
pointing to the toes. Then he laid upon the table a long, deadly,
sheathed knife. Finally he unravelled a bundle of clothing,
comprising a complete set of underclothes, socks, a gray tweed suit,
and a short yellow overcoat.
"The clothes are commonplace," remarked Holmes, "save only the
overcoat, which is full of suggestive touches." He held it tenderly
towards the light. "Here, as you perceive, is the inner pocket
prolonged into the lining in such fashion as to give ample space for
the truncated fowling piece. The tailor's tab is on the neck--'Neal,
Outfitter, Vermissa, U. S. A.' I have spent an instructive afternoon
in the rector's library, and have enlarged my knowledge by adding the
fact that Vermissa is a flourishing little town at the head of one of
the best known coal and iron valleys in the United States. I have
some recollection, Mr. Barker, that you associated the coal districts
with Mr. Douglas's first wife, and it would surely not be too
far-fetched an inference that the V. V. upon the card by the dead
body might stand for Vermissa Valley, or that this very valley which
sends forth emissaries of murder may be that Valley of Fear of which
we have heard. So much is fairly clear. And now, Mr. Barker, I seem
to be standing rather in the way of your explanation."
It was a sight to see Cecil Barker's expressive face during this
exposition of the great detective. Anger, amazement, consternation,
and indecision swept over it in turn. Finally he took refuge in a
somewhat acrid irony.
"You know such a lot, Mr. Holmes, perhaps you had better tell us some
more," he sneered.
"I have no doubt that I could tell you a great deal more, Mr. Barker;
but it would come with a better grace from you."
"Oh, you think so, do you? Well, all I can say is that if there's any
secret here it is not my secret, and I am not the man to give it
away."
"Well, if you take that line, Mr. Barker," said the inspector
quietly, "we must just keep you in sight until we have the warrant
and can hold you."
"You can do what you damn please about that," said Barker defiantly.
The proceedings seemed to have come to a definite end so far as he
was concerned; for one had only to look at that granite face to
realize that no peine forte et dure would ever force him to plead
against his will. The deadlock was broken, however, by a woman's
voice. Mrs. Douglas had been standing listening at the half opened
door, and now she entered the room.
"You have done enough for now, Cecil," said she. "Whatever comes of
it in the future, you have done enough."
"Enough and more than enough," remarked Sherlock Holmes gravely. "I
have every sympathy with you, madam, and should strongly urge you to
have some confidence in the common sense of our jurisdiction and to
take the police voluntarily into your complete confidence. It may be
that I am myself at fault for not following up the hint which you
conveyed to me through my friend, Dr. Watson; but, at that time I had
every reason to believe that you were directly concerned in the
crime. Now I am assured that this is not so. At the same time, 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, short-clipped, grizzled moustache, a square,
projecting chin, and a humorous mouth. He took a good look at us all,
and then to my amazement he advanced to me 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, Mr. Holmes. You're a smoker yourself, if I remember right,
and you'll guess what it is to be sitting for two days with tobacco
in your pocket and afraid that the smell will give you away." He
leaned against the mantelpiece and sucked at the cigar which Holmes
had handed him. "I've heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I never guessed that
I should meet you. But before you are through with that," he nodded
at my papers, "you will say I've brought you something fresh."
Inspector MacDonald had been staring at the newcomer with the
greatest amazement. "Well, this fairly beats me!" he cried at last.
"If you are Mr. John Douglas of Birlstone Manor, then whose death
have we been investigating for these two days, and where in the world
have you sprung from now? You seemed to me to come out of the floor
like a jack-in-a-box."
"Ah, Mr. Mac," said Holmes, shaking a reproving forefinger, "you
would not read that excellent local compilation which described the
concealment of King Charles. People did not hide in those days
without excellent hiding places, and the hiding place that has once
been used may be again. I had persuaded myself that we should find
Mr. Douglas under this roof."
"And how long have you been playing this trick upon us, Mr. Holmes?"
said the inspector angrily. "How long have you allowed us to waste
ourselves upon a search that you knew to be an absurd one?"
"Not one instant, my dear Mr. Mac. Only last night did I form my
views of the case. As they could not be put to the proof until this
evening, I invited you and your colleague to take a holiday for the
day. Pray what more could I do? When I found the suit of clothes in
the moat, it at once became apparent to me that the body we had found
could not have been the body of Mr. John Douglas at all, but must be
that of the bicyclist from Tunbridge Wells. No other conclusion 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 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
