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As published for the first time in The Strand Magazine, Vols. XLVIII and XLIX, September 1914-May1915.
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&odq;I am inclined to think — &cdq; said I.
&odq;I should do so,&cdq; Sherlock Holmes remarked
impatiently.
I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals;
but I'll admit that I was annoyed at the sardonic interruption.
&odq;Really, Holmes,&cdq; said I severely, &odq;you are a
little trying at times.&cdq;
He was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to give any
immediate answer to my remonstrance. He leaned upon his hand,
with his untasted breakfast before him, and he stared at the slip of
paper which he had just drawn from its envelope. Then he took
the envelope itself, held it up to the light, and very carefully
studied both the exterior and the flap.
&odq;It is Porlock's writing,&cdq; said he thoughtfully.
&odq;I can hardly doubt that it is Porlock's writing, though I
have seen it only twice before. The Greek e with the peculiar
top flourish is distinctive. But if it is Porlock, then it
must be something of the very first importance.&cdq;
He was speaking to himself rather than to me; but my vexation
disappeared in the interest which the words awakened.
&odq;Who then is Porlock?&cdq; I asked.
&odq;Porlock, Watson, is a nom-de-plume, a mere
identification mark; but behind it lies a shifty and evasive
personality. In a former letter he frankly informed me that
the name was not his own, and defied me ever to trace him among the
teeming millions of this great city. Porlock is important, not
for himself, but for the great man with whom he is in touch.
Picture to yourself the pilot fish with the shark, the jackal
with the lion — anything that is insignificant in
companionship with what is formidable: not only formidable, Watson,
but sinister — in the highest degree sinister. That is
where he comes within my purview. You have heard me speak of
Professor Moriarty?&cdq;
&odq;The famous scientific criminal, as famous among crooks as
— &cdq;
&odq;My blushes, Watson!&cdq; Holmes murmured in a
deprecating voice.
&odq;I was about to say, as he is unknown to the public.&cdq;
&odq;A touch! A distinct touch!&cdq; cried Holmes.
&odq;You are developing a certain unexpected vein of pawky
humour, Watson, against which I must learn to guard myself.
But in calling Moriarty a criminal you are uttering libel in
the eyes of the law — and there lie the glory and the wonder
of it! The greatest schemer of all 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.&cdq;
&odq;May I be there to see!&cdq; I exclaimed devoutly.
&odq;But you were speaking of this man Porlock.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;But no chain is stronger than its weakest link.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
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 DOUGLAS 109 293 5 37 BIRLSTONE 26 BIRLSTONE 9 47 171
&odq;What do you make of it, Holmes?&cdq;
&odq;It
is obviously an attempt to convey secret information.&cdq;
&odq;But what is the use of a cipher message without the
cipher?&cdq;
&odq;In this instance, none at all.&cdq;
&odq;Why
do you say &onq;in this instance&cnq;?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;But why &onq;Douglas&cnq; and &onq;Birlstone&cnq;?&cdq;
&odq;Clearly because those are words which were not
contained in the page in question.&cdq;
&odq;Then why has he not indicated the book?&cdq;
&odq;Yow 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.&cdq;
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.
&odq;The same writing,&cdq; remarked Holmes, as he opened the
envelope, &odq;and actually signed,&cdq; he added in an exultant
voice as he unfolded the epistle. &odq;Come, we are getting
on, Watson.&cdq; His brow clouded, however, as he glanced over
the contents.
&odq;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.
&odq;DEAR MR. HOLMES [ he says ]:&cdq; I will go no further in
this manner. It is too dangerous — he suspects me.
I can see that he suspects me. He came to me quite
unexpectedly after I had actually addressed this envelope with the
intention of sending you the key to the cipher. I was able to
cover it up. If he had seen it, it would have gone hard with
me. But I read suspicion in his eyes. Please burn the
cipher message, which can now be of no use to you. FRED
PORLOCK. &odq;
Holmes sat for some little time twisting this letter between
his fingers, and frowning, as he stared into the fire.
&odq;After all,&cdq; he said at last, &odq;there may be nothing
in it. It may be only his guilty conscience. Knowing
himself to be a traitor, he may have read the accusation in the
other's eyes.&cdq;
&odq;The other being, I presume, Professor Moriarty.&cdq;
&odq;No less! When any of that party talk about
&onq;He&cnq; you know whom they mean. There is one predominant
&onq;He&cnq; for all of them.&cdq;
&odq;But what can he do?&cdq;
&odq;Hum!
That's a large question. When you have one of the first
brains of Europe up against you, and all the powers of darkness at
his back, there are infinite possibilities. Anyhow, Friend
Porlock is evidently scared out of his senses — kindly
compare the writing in the note to that upon its envelope; which was
done, he tells us, before this ill-omened visit. The one is
clear and firm. The other hardly legible.&cdq;
&odq;Why did he write at all? Why did he not simply drop
it?&cdq;
&odq;Because he feared I would make some inquiry after him in
that case, and possibly bring trouble on him.&cdq;
&odq;No doubt,&cdq; said I. &odq;Of course.&cdq;
I had picked up the original cipher message and was bending my
brows over it. &odq;It's pretty maddening to think that an
important secret may lie here on this slip of paper, and that it is
beyond human power to penetrate it.&cdq;
Sherlock Holmes had pushed away his untasted breakfast and lit
the unsavoury pipe which was the companion of his deepest
meditations. &odq;I wonder!&cdq; said he, leaning back and
staring at the ceiling. &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;A somewhat vague one.&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;None.&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;Chapter the second, no doubt.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Column!&cdq; I cried.
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;I fear that we have.&cdq;
&odq;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 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.&cdq;
&odq;What you say certainly sounds plausible.&cdq;
&odq;So we have contracted our field of search to a
large book, printed in double columns and in common use.&cdq;
&odq;The Bible!&cdq; I cried triumphantly.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;But very few books would correspond with that.&cdq;
&odq;Exactly. Therein lies our salvation.
Our search is narrowed down to standardized books which anyone
may be supposed to possess.&cdq;
&odq;Bradshaw!&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;An almanac!&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq; He picked the volume
from his desk. &odq;Here is page 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 &onq;Mahratta.&cnq; Not, I fear, a
very auspicious beginning. Number one hundred and twenty-seven
is &onq;Government&cnq;; 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 &onq;pig's-bristles.&cnq; We are undone, my good
Watson! It is finished!&cdq;
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 yellow-covered volume
in his hand.
&odq;We pay the price, Watson, for being too up-to-date!&cdq;
he cried. &odq;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
&onq;There,&cnq; which is much more promising. Number one
hundred and twenty-seven is &onq;is&cnq; — &onq;There
is&cnq;&cdq; — Holmes's eyes were gleaming with excitement,
and his thin, nervous fingers twitched as he counted the words
— &odq;&onq;danger.&cnq; Ha! Ha! Capital!
Put that down, Watson. &onq;There is danger —
may — come — very — soon — one.&cnq;
Then we have the name &onq;Douglas&cnq; — &onq;rich
— country — now — at — Birlstone
— House — Birlstone — confidence — is
— pressing.&cnq; There, 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.&cdq;
I was staring at the strange message which I had scrawled, as
he deciphered it, upon a sheet of foolscap on my knee.
&odq;What a queer, scrambling way of expressing his
meaning!&cdq; said I.
&odq;On the contrary, he has done quite remarkably well,&cdq;
said Holmes. &odq;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 — &onq;confidence&cnq; was as near as he could get to
&onq;confident&cnq; — that it is pressing. There is
our result — and a very workmanlike little bit of analysis it
was!&cdq;
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 intrusted 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 affection and respect of the
Scotchman for his amateur colleague were profound, and he showed them
by the frankness with which he consulted Holmes in every difficulty.
Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent
instantly recognizes genius, and MacDonald had talent enough for his
profession to enable him to perceive that there was no humiliation in
seeking the assistance of one who already stood alone in Europe, both
in his gifts and in his experience. Holmes was not prone to
friendship, but he was tolerant of the big Scotchman, and smiled at
the sight of him.
&odq;You are an early bird, Mr. Mac,&cdq; said he.
&odq;I wish you luck with your worm. I fear this means
that there is some mischief afoot.&cdq;
&odq;If you said &onq;hope&cnq; instead of &onq;fear,&cnq; it
would be nearer the truth, I'm thinking, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; the
inspector answered, with a knowing grin. &odq;Well, maybe a
wee nip would keep out the raw morning chill. No, I won't
smoke, I thank you. I'll have to be pushing on my way; for the
early hours of a case are the precious ones, as no man knows better
than your own self. But — but — &cdq;
The inspector had stopped suddenly, and was staring with a look
of absolute amazement at a paper upon the table. It was the
sheet upon which I had scrawled the enigmatic message.
&odq;Douglas!&cdq; he stammered. &odq;Birlstone!
What's this, Mr. Holmes? Man, it's witchcraft!
Where in the name of all that is wonderful did you get those
names?&cdq;
&odq;It is a cipher that Dr. Watson and I have had occasion to
solve. But why — what's amiss with the names?&cdq;
The inspector looked from one to the other of us in dazed
astonishment. &odq;Just this,&cdq; said he, &odq;that Mr.
Douglas of Birlstone Manor House was horribly murdered last
night!&cdq;
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 overstimulation. 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.
&odq;Remarkable!&cdq; said he. &odq;Remarkable!&cdq;
&odq;You don't seem surprised.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
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.
&odq;I was going down to Birlstone this morning,&cdq; said he.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;I rather think not,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;Hang it all, Mr. Holmes!&cdq; cried the inspector.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;No doubt, Mr. Mac. But how do you propose to lay
your hands on the so-called Porlock?&cdq;
MacDonald turned over the letter which Holmes had handed him.
&odq;Posted in Camberwell — that doesn't help us much.
Name, you say, is assumed. Not much to go on,
certainly. Didn't you say that you have sent him money?&cdq;
&odq;Twice.&cdq;
&odq;And how?&cdq;
&odq;In notes to Camberwell postoffice.&cdq;
&odq;Did you ever trouble to see who called for
them?&cdq;
&odq;No.&cdq;
The inspector looked surprised and
a little shocked. &odq;Why not?&cdq;
&odq;Because I always keep faith. I had promised when he
first wrote that I would not try to trace him.&cdq;
&odq;You think there is someone behind him?&cdq;
&odq;I know there is.&cdq;
&odq;This professor that I've heard you mention?&cdq;
&odq;Exactly!&cdq;
Inspector MacDonald smiled, and his eyelid quivered as he
glanced towards me. &odq;I won't conceal from you, Mr. Holmes,
that we think in the C. I. D. that you have a wee bit of a bee in
your bonnet over this professor. I made some inquiries myself
about the matter. He seems to be a very respectable, learned,
and talented sort of man.&cdq;
&odq;I'm glad you've got so far as to recognize the
talent.&cdq;
&odq;Man, you can't but recognize it! After I heard your
view I made it my business to see him. I had a chat with him
on eclipses. How the talk got that way I canna think; but he
had out a reflector lantern and a globe, and made it all clear in a
minute. He lent me a book; but I don't mind saying that it was
a bit above my head, though I had a good Aberdeen upbringing.
He'd have made a grand meenister with his thin face and gray
hair and solemn-like way of talking. When he put his hand on
my shoulder as we were parting, it was like a father's blessing
before you go out into the cold, cruel world.&cdq;
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. &odq;Great!&cdq;
he said. &odq;Great! Tell me, Friend MacDonald, this
pleasing and touching interview was, I suppose, in the professor's
study?&cdq;
&odq;That's so.&cdq;
&odq;A fine room, is it
not?&cdq;
&odq;Very fine — very handsome indeed, Mr. Holmes.&cdq;
&odq;You sat in front of his writing desk?&cdq;
&odq;Just so.&cdq;
&odq;Sun in your eyes and his
face in the shadow?&cdq;
&odq;Well, it was evening; but I mind that the lamp was turned
on my face.&cdq;
&odq;It would be. Did you happen to observe a picture
over the professor's head?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;That painting was by Jean Baptiste Greuze.&cdq;
The inspector endeavoured to look interested.
&odq;Jean Baptiste Greuze,&cdq; Holmes continued, joining his
finger tips and leaning well back in his chair, &odq;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.&cdq;
The inspector's eyes grew abstracted. &odq;Hadn't we
better — &cdq; he said.
&odq;We are doing so,&cdq; Holmes interrupted. &odq;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.&cdq;
MacDonald smiled feebly, and looked appealingly to me.
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;All knowledge comes useful to the detective,&cdq; remarked
Holmes. &odq;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
thousand pounds — at the Portalis sale may start a train of
reflection in your mind.&cdq;
It was clear that it did. The inspector looked honestly
interested.
&odq;I may remind you,&cdq; Holmes continued, &odq;that the
professor's salary can be ascertained in several trustworthy books of
reference. It is seven hundred a year.&cdq;
&odq;Then how could he buy — &cdq;
&odq;Quite so! How could he?&cdq;
&odq;Ay, that's remarkable,&cdq; said the inspector
thoughtfully. &odq;Talk away, Mr. Holmes. I'm just
loving it. It's fine!&cdq;
Holmes smiled. He was always warmed by genuine
admiration — the characteristic of the real artist.
&odq;What about Birlstone?&cdq; he asked.
&odq;We've time yet,&cdq; said the inspector, glancing at his
watch. &odq;I've a cab at the door, and it won't take us
twenty minutes to Victoria. But about this picture: I thought
you told me once, Mr. Holmes, that you had never met Professor
Moriarty.&cdq;
&odq;No, I never have.&cdq;
&odq;Then how do you
know about his rooms?&cdq;
&odq;Ah, that's another matter. I have been three times
in his rooms, twice waiting for him under different pretexts and
leaving before he came. Once — well, I can hardly tell
about the once to an official detective. It was on the last
occasion that I took the liberty of running over his papers —
with the most unexpected results.&cdq;
&odq;You found something compromising?&cdq;
&odq;Absolutely nothing. That was what amazed
me. However, you have now seen the point of the picture.
It shows him to be a very wealthy man. How did he
acquire wealth? He is unmarried. His younger brother is
a station master in the west of England. His chair is worth
seven hundred a year. And he owns a Greuze.&cdq;
&odq;Well?&cdq;
&odq;Surely the inference is
plain.&cdq;
&odq;You mean that he has a great income and that he must earn
it in an illegal fashion?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;Have you ever read of Jonathan Wild?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Then he's no use to me. I'm a practical man.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;You'll interest me, right enough.&cdq;
&odq;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
guarded and inaccessible to the law as himself. What do you
think he pays him?&cdq;
&odq;I'd like to hear.&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;Queer, certainly! But what do you gather from
it?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
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.
&odq;He can keep, anyhow,&cdq; said he. &odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;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. 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.&cdq;
&odq;Well, that is one suggestion, Mr. Holmes.&cdq;
&odq;The other is that it has been engineered by
Moriarty in the ordinary course of business. Was there any
robbery?&cdq;
&odq;I have not heard.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Then to Birlstone we must go!&cdq; cried MacDonald,
jumping from his chair. &odq;My word! it's later than I
thought. I can give you, gentlemen, five minutes for
preparation, and that is all.&cdq;
&odq;And ample for us both,&cdq; said Holmes, as he sprang up
and hastened to change from his dressing gown to his coat.
&odq;While we are on our way, Mr. Mac, I will ask you to be
good enough to tell me all about it.&cdq;
&odq;All about it&cdq; 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 brain blunted and rusted
with inaction.
Sherlock Holmes's eyes glistened, his pale cheeks took a warmer
hue, and his whole eager face shone with an inward light when the
call for work reached him. Leaning forward in the cab, he
listened intently to MacDonald's short sketch of the problem which
awaited us in Sussex. The inspector was himself dependent, as
he explained to us, upon a scribbled account forwarded to him by the
milk train in the early hours of the morning. White Mason, the
local officer, was a personal friend, and hence MacDonald had been
notified much more promptly than is usual at Scotland Yard when
provincials need their assistance. It is a very cold scent
upon which the Metropolitan expert is generally asked to run.
&odq;DEAR INSPECTOR MACDONALD [ said the letter which he read
to us ]:&cdq; Official requisition for your services is in separate
envelope. This is for your private eye. Wire me what
train in the morning you can get for Birlstone, and I will meet it
— or have it met if I am too occupied. This case is a
snorter. Don't waste a moment in getting started. If
you can bring Mr. Holmes, please do so; for he will find something
after his own heart. We would think the whole thing had been
fixed up for theatrical effect if there wasn't a dead man in the
middle of it. My word! it is a snorter. &odq;
&odq;Your friend seems to be no fool,&cdq; remarked Holmes.
&odq;No, sir, White Mason is a very live man, if I am
any judge.&cdq;
&odq;Well, have you anything more?&cdq;
&odq;Only
that he will give us every detail when we meet.&cdq;
&odq;Then how did you get at Mr. Douglas and the fact that he
had been horribly murdered?&cdq;
&odq;That was in the inclosed official report. It didn't
say &onq;horrible&cnq;: that's not a recognized official term.
It gave the name John Douglas. It mentioned that his
injuries had been in the head, from the discharge of a shotgun.
It also mentioned the hour of the alarm, which was close on to
midnight last night. It added that the 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.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
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 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 ditchlike 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 strongjawed, 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 offhand in his
manners, giving the impression that he had seen life in social strata
on some far lower horizon than the county society of Sussex.
Yet, though looked at with some curiosity and reserve by his
more cultivated neighbours, he soon acquired a great popularity among
the villagers, subscribing handsomely to all local objects, and
attending their smoking concerts and other functions, where, having a
remarkably rich tenor voice, he was always ready to oblige with an
excellent song. He appeared to have plenty of money, which was
said to have been gained in the California gold fields, and it was
clear from his own talk and that of his wife that he had spent a part
of his life in America.
The good impression which had been produced by his generosity
and by his democratic manners was increased by a reputation gained
for utter indifference to danger. Though a wretched rider, he
turned out at every meet, and took the most amazing falls in his
determination to hold his own with the best. When the vicarage
caught fire he distinguished himself also by the fearlessness with
which he reentered the building to save property, after the local
fire brigade had given it up as impossible. Thus it came about
that John Douglas of the Manor House had within five years won
himself quite a reputation in Birlstone.
His wife, too, was popular with those who had made her
acquaintance; though, after the English fashion, the callers upon a
stranger who settled in the county without introductions were few and
far between. This mattered the less to her, as she was
retiring by disposition, and very much absorbed, to all appearance,
in her husband and her domestic duties. It was known that she
was an English lady who had met Mr. Douglas in London, he being at
that time a widower. She was a beautiful woman, tall, dark,
and slender, some twenty years younger than her husband, a disparity
which seemed in no wise to mar the contentment of their family life.
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, loosejointed 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 village with his pipe in his mouth, or in driving with
his host, or in his absence with his hostess, over the beautiful
countryside. &odq;An easy-going, free-handed gentleman,&cdq;
said Ames, the butler. &odq;But, my word! I had rather
not be the man that crossed him!&cdq; He was cordial and
intimate with Douglas, and he was no less friendly with his wife
— a friendship which more than once seemed to cause some
irritation to the husband, so that even the servants were able to
perceive his annoyance. Such was the third person who was one
of the family when the catastrophe occurred.
As to the other denizens of the old building, it will suffice
out of a large household to mention the prim, respectable, and
capable Ames, and Mrs. Allen, a buxom and cheerful person, who
relieved the lady of some of her household cares. The other
six servants in the house bear no relation to the events of the night
of January 6th.
It was at eleven forty-five that the first alarm reached the
small local police station, in charge of Sergeant Wilson of the
Sussex Constabulary. Cecil Barker, much excited, had rushed up
to the door and pealed furiously upon the bell. A terrible
tragedy had occurred at the Manor House, and John Douglas had been
murdered. That was the breathless burden of his message.
He had hurried back to the house, followed within a few
minutes by the police sergeant, who arrived at the scene of the crime
a little after twelve o'clock, after taking prompt steps to warn the
county authorities that something serious was afoot.
On reaching the Manor House, the sergeant had found the
drawbridge down, the windows lighted up, and the whole household in a
state of wild confusion and alarm. The white-faced servants
were huddling together in the hall, with the frightened butler
wringing his hands in the doorway. Only Cecil Barker seemed 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 horror-stricken 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.
&odq;We will touch nothing until my superiors arrive,&cdq; he
said in a hushed voice, staring in horror at the dreadful head.
&odq;Nothing has been touched up to now,&cdq; said Cecil
Barker. &odq;I'll answer for that. You see it all
exactly as I found it.&cdq;
&odq;When was that?&cdq; The sergeant had drawn out his
notebook.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Was the door open?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, it was
open. Poor Douglas was lying as you see him. His
bedroom candle was burning on the table. It was I who lit the
lamp some minutes afterward.&cdq;
&odq;Did you see no one?&cdq;
&odq;No. I
heard Mrs. Douglas coming down the stair behind me, and I rushed out
to prevent her from seeing this dreadful sight. Mrs. Allen,
the housekeeper, came and took her away. Ames had arrived, and
we ran back into the room once more.&cdq;
&odq;But surely I have heard that the drawbridge is kept up all
night.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, it was up until I lowered it.&cdq;
&odq;Then how could any murderer have got away?
It is out of the question! Mr. Douglas must have shot
himself.&cdq;
&odq;That was our first idea. But see!&cdq;
Barker drew aside the curtain, and showed that the long,
diamond-paned window was open to its full extent. &odq;And
look at this!&cdq; He held the lamp down and illuminated a
smudge of blood like the mark of a boot-sole upon the wooden sill.
&odq;Someone has stood there in getting out.&cdq;
&odq;You mean that someone waded across the moat?&cdq;
&odq;Exactly!&cdq;
&odq;Then if you were in the room within half a minute of the
crime, he must have been in the water at that very moment.&cdq;
&odq;I have not a doubt of it. I wish to heaven that I
had rushed to the window! But the curtain screened it, as you
can see, and so it never occurred to me. Then I heard the step
of Mrs. Douglas, and I could not let her enter the room. It
would have been too horrible.&cdq;
&odq;Horrible enough!&cdq; said the doctor, looking at the
shattered head and the terrible marks which surrounded it.
&odq;I've never seen such injuries since the Birlstone railway
smash.&cdq;
&odq;But, I say,&cdq; remarked the police sergeant, whose slow,
bucolic common sense was still pondering the open window.
&odq;It's all very well your saying that a man escaped by
wading this moat, but what I ask you is, how did he ever get into the
house at all if the bridge was up?&cdq;
&odq;Ah, that's the question,&cdq; said Barker.
&odq;At what o'clock was it raised?&cdq;
&odq;It was nearly six o'clock,&cdq; said Ames, the butler.
&odq;I've heard,&cdq; said the sergeant, &odq;that it
was usually raised at sunset. That would be nearer half-past
four than six at this time of year.&cdq;
&odq;Mrs. Douglas had visitors to tea,&cdq; said Ames.
&odq;I couldn't raise it until they went. Then I wound
it up myself.&cdq;
&odq;Then it comes to this,&cdq; said the sergeant: &odq;If
anyone came from outside — if they did — they must
have got in across the bridge before six and been in hiding ever
since, until Mr. Douglas came into the room after eleven.&cdq;
&odq;That is so! Mr. Douglas went round the house every
night the last thing before he turned in to see that the lights were
right. That brought him in here. The man was waiting
and shot him. Then he got away through the window and left his
gun behind him. That's how I read it; for nothing else will
fit the facts.&cdq;
The sergeant picked up a card which lay beside the dead man on
the floor. The initials V. V. and under them the number 341
were rudely scrawled in ink upon it.
&odq;What's this?&cdq; he asked, holding it up.
Barker looked at it with curiosity. &odq;I never
noticed it before,&cdq; he said. &odq;The murderer must have
left it behind him.&cdq;
&odq;V. V. — 341. I can make no sense of
that.&cdq;
The sergeant kept turning it over in his big fingers.
&odq;What's V. V.? Somebody's initials, maybe.
What have you got there, Dr. Wood?&cdq;
It was a good-sized hammer which had been lying on the rug in
front of the fireplace — a substantial, workmanlike hammer.
Cecil Barker pointed to a box of brass-headed nails upon the
mantelpiece.
&odq;Mr. Douglas was altering the pictures yesterday,&cdq; he
said. &odq;I saw him myself, standing upon that chair and
fixing the big picture above it. That accounts for the
hammer.&cdq;
&odq;We'd best put it back on the rug where we found it,&cdq;
said the sergeant, scratching his puzzled head in his perplexity.
&odq;It will want the best brains in the force to get to the
bottom of this thing. It will be a London job before it is
finished.&cdq; He raised the hand lamp and walked slowly round
the room. &odq;Hullo!&cdq; he cried, excitedly, drawing the
window curtain to one side. &odq;What o'clock were those
curtains drawn?&cdq;
&odq;When the lamps were lit,&cdq; said the butler.
&odq;It would be shortly after four.&cdq;
&odq;Someone had been hiding here, sure enough.&cdq; He
held down the light, and the marks of muddy boots were very visible
in the corner. &odq;I'm bound to say this bears out your
theory, Mr. Barker. It looks as if the man got into the house
after four when the curtains were drawn and before six when the
bridge was raised. He slipped into this room, because it was
the first that he saw. There was no other place where he could
hide, so he popped in behind this curtain. That all seems
clear enough. It is likely that his main idea was to burgle
the house; but Mr. Douglas chanced to come upon him, so he murdered
him and escaped.&cdq;
&odq;That's how I read it,&cdq; said Barker. &odq;But, I
say, aren't we wasting precious time? Couldn't we start out
and scour the country before the fellow gets away?&cdq;
The sergeant considered for a moment.
&odq;There
are no trains before six in the morning; so he can't get away by
rail. If he goes by road with his legs all dripping, it's odds
that someone will notice him. Anyhow, I can't leave here
myself until I am relieved. But I think none of you should go
until we see more clearly how we all stand.&cdq;
The doctor had taken the lamp and was narrowly scrutinizing the
body. &odq;What's this mark?&cdq; he asked. &odq;Could
this have any connection with the crime?&cdq;
The dead man's right arm was thrust out from his dressing gown,
and exposed as high as the elbow. About halfway up the forearm
was a curious brown design, a triangle inside a circle, standing out
in vivid relief upon the lard-coloured skin.
&odq;It's not tattooed,&cdq; said the doctor, peering through
his glasses. &odq;I never saw anything like it. The man
has been branded at some time as they brand cattle. What is
the meaning of this?&cdq;
&odq;I don't profess to know the meaning of it,&cdq; said Cecil
Barker; &odq;but I have seen the mark on Douglas many times this last
ten years.&cdq;
&odq;And so have I,&cdq; said the butler. &odq;Many a
time when the master has rolled up his sleeves I have noticed that
very mark. I've often wondered what it could be.&cdq;
&odq;Then it has nothing to do with the crime, anyhow,&cdq;
said the sergeant. &odq;But it's a rum thing all the same.
Everything about this case is rum. Well, what is it
now?&cdq;
The butler had given an exclamation of astonishment and was
pointing at the dead man's outstretched hand.
&odq;They've taken his wedding ring!&cdq; he gasped.
&odq;What!&cdq;
&odq;Yes, indeed. Master always wore his plain gold
wedding ring on the little finger of his left hand. That ring
with the rough nugget on it was above it, and the twisted snake ring
on the third finger. There's the nugget and there's the snake,
but the wedding ring is gone.&cdq;
&odq;He's right,&cdq; said Barker.
&odq;Do you
tell me,&cdq; said the sergeant, &odq;that the wedding ring was below
the other?&cdq;
&odq;Always!&cdq;
&odq;Then the murderer, or
whoever it was, first took off this ring you call the nugget ring,
then the wedding ring, and afterwards put the nugget ring back
again.&cdq;
&odq;That is so!&cdq;
The worthy country
policeman shook his head. &odq;Seems to me the sooner we get
London on to this case the better,&cdq; said he. &odq;White
Mason is a smart man. No local job has ever been too much for
White Mason. It won't be long now before he is here to help
us. But I expect we'll have to look to London before we are
through. Anyhow, I'm not ashamed to say that it is a deal too
thick for the likes of me.&cdq;
At three in the morning the chief Sussex detective, obeying the
urgent call from Sergeant Wilson of Birlstone, arrived from
headquarters in a light dog-cart behind a breathless trotter.
By the five-forty train in the morning he had sent his message
to Scotland Yard, and he was at the Birlstone station at twelve
o'clock to welcome us. White Mason was a quiet,
comfortable-looking person in a loose tweed suit, with a
clean-shaved, ruddy face, a stoutish body, and powerful bandy legs
adorned with gaiters, looking like a small farmer, a retired
gamekeeper, or anything upon earth except a very favourable specimen
of the provincial criminal officer.
&odq;A real downright snorter, Mr. MacDonald!&cdq; he kept
repeating. &odq;We'll have the pressmen down like flies when
they understand it. I'm hoping we will get our work done
before they get poking their noses into it and messing up all the
trails. There has been nothing like this that I can remember.
There are some bits that will come home to you, Mr. Holmes, or
I am mistaken. And you also, Dr. Watson; for the medicos will
have a word to say before we finish. Your room is at the
Westville Arms. There's no other place; but I hear that it is
clean and good. The man will carry your bags. This way,
gentlemen, if you please.&cdq;
He was a very bustling and genial person, this Sussex
detective. In ten minutes we had all found our quarters.
In ten more we were seated in the parlour of the inn and being
treated to a rapid sketch of those events which have been outlined in
the previous chapter. MacDonald made an occasional note, while
Holmes sat absorbed, with the expression of surprised and reverent
admiration with which the botanist surveys the rare and precious
bloom.
&odq;Remarkable!&cdq; he said, when the story was unfolded,
&odq;most remarkable! I can hardly recall any case where the
features have been more peculiar.&cdq;
&odq;I thought you would say so, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said White
Mason in great delight. &odq;We're well up with the times in
Sussex. I've told you now how matters were, up to the time
when I took over from Sergeant Wilson between three and four this
morning. My word! I made the old mare go! But I
need not have been in such a hurry, as it turned out; for there was
nothing immediate that I could do. Sergeant Wilson had all the
facts. I checked them and considered them and maybe added a
few of my own.&cdq;
&odq;What were they?&cdq; asked Holmes eagerly.
&odq;Well, I first had the hammer examined.
There was Dr. Wood there to help me. We found no signs
of violence upon it. I was hoping that if Mr. Douglas defended
himself with the hammer, he might have left his mark upon the
murderer before he dropped it on the mat. But there was no
stain.&cdq;
&odq;That, of course, proves nothing at all,&cdq; remarked
Inspector MacDonald. &odq;There has been many a hammer murder
and no trace on the hammer.&cdq;
&odq;Quite so. It doesn't prove it wasn't used.
But there might have been stains, and that would have helped
us. As a matter of fact there were none. Then I
examined the gun. They were buckshot cartridges, and, as
Sergeant Wilson pointed out, the triggers were wired together so
that, if you pulled on the hinder one, both barrels were discharged.
Whoever fixed that up had made up his mind that he was going
to take no chances of missing his man. The sawed gun was not
more than two foot long — one could carry it easily under
one's coat. There was no complete maker's name; but the
printed letters P-E-N were on the fluting between the barrels, and
the rest of the name had been cut off by the saw.&cdq;
&odq;A big P with a flourish above it, E and N smaller?&cdq;
asked Holmes.
&odq;Exactly.&cdq;
&odq;Pennsylvania Small Arms
Company — well-known American firm,&cdq; said Holmes.
White Mason gazed at my friend as the little village
practitioner looks at the Harley Street specialist who by a word can
solve the difficulties that perplex him.
&odq;That is very helpful, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are
right. Wonderful! Wonderful! Do you carry the
names of all the gun makers in the world in your memory?&cdq;
Holmes dismissed the subject with a wave.
&odq;No
doubt it is an American shotgun,&cdq; White Mason continued.
&odq;I seem to have read that a sawed-off shotgun is a weapon
used in some parts of America. Apart from the name upon the
barrel, the idea had occurred to me. There is some evidence
then, that this man who entered the house and killed its master was
an American.&cdq;
MacDonald shook his head. &odq;Man, you are surely
travelling overfast,&cdq; said he. &odq;I have heard no
evidence yet that any stranger was ever in the house at all.&cdq;
&odq;The open window, the blood on the sill, the queer card,
the marks of boots in the corner, the gun!&cdq;
&odq;Nothing there that could not have been arranged.
Mr. Douglas was an American, or had lived long in America.
So had Mr. Barker. You don't need to import an American
from outside in order to account for American doings.&cdq;
&odq;Ames, the butler — &cdq;
&odq;What
about him? Is he reliable?&cdq;
&odq;Ten years with Sir Charles Chandos — as solid as a
rock. He has been with Douglas ever since he took the Manor
House five years ago. He has never seen a gun of this sort in
the house.&cdq;
&odq;The gun was made to conceal. That's why the barrels
were sawed. It would fit into any box. How could he
swear there was no such gun in the house?&cdq;
&odq;Well, anyhow, he had never seen one.&cdq;
MacDonald shook his obstinate Scotch head.
&odq;I'm not convinced yet that there was ever anyone in the
house,&cdq; said he. &odq;I'm asking you to conseedar&cdq; (
his accent became more Aberdonian as he lost himself in his argument
) &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Well, state your case, Mr. Mac,&cdq; said Holmes in his
most judicial style.
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;Well, you put the case strongly,&cdq; my friend replied
thoughtfully. &odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;There were no signs, Mr. Holmes. But it is a stone
ledge, and one could hardly expect them.&cdq;
&odq;No tracks or marks?&cdq;
&odq;None.&cdq;
&odq;Ha! Would there be any objection, Mr. White Mason,
to our going down to the house at once? There may possibly be
some small point which might be suggestive.&cdq;
&odq;I was going to propose it, Mr. Holmes; but I thought it
well to put you in touch with all the facts before we go. I
suppose if anything should strike you — &cdq; White Mason
looked doubtfully at the amateur.
&odq;I have worked with Mr. Holmes before,&cdq; said Inspector
MacDonald. &odq;He plays the game.&cdq;
&odq;My own idea of the game, at any rate,&cdq; said Holmes,
with a smile. &odq;I go into a case to help the ends of
justice and the work of the police. If I have ever separated
myself from the official force, it is because they have first
separated themselves from me. I have no wish ever to score at
their expense. At the same time, Mr. White Mason, I claim the
right to work in my own way and give my results at my own time
— complete rather than in stages.&cdq;
&odq;I am sure we are honoured by your presence and to show you
all we know,&cdq; said White Mason cordially. &odq;Come along,
Dr. Watson, and when the time comes we'll all hope for a place in
your book.&cdq;
We walked down the quaint village street with a row of
pollarded elms on each side of it. Just beyond were two
ancient stone pillars, weather-stained and lichen-blotched bearing
upon their summits a shapeless something which had once been the
rampant lion of Capus of Birlstone. A short walk along the
winding drive with such sward and oaks around it as one only sees in
rural England, then a sudden turn, and the long, low Jacobean house
of dingy, liver-coloured brick lay before us, with an old-fashioned
garden of cut yews on each side of it. As we approached it,
there was the wooden drawbridge and the beautiful broad moat as still
and luminous as quicksilver in the cold, winter 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.
&odq;That's the window,&cdq; said White Mason, &odq;that one on
the immediate right of the drawbridge. It's open just as it
was found last night.&cdq;
&odq;It looks rather narrow for a man to pass.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
Holmes walked to the edge of the moat and looked across.
Then he examined the stone ledge and the grass border beyond
it. &odq;
&odq;I've had a good look, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said White Mason.
&odq;There is nothing there, no sign that anyone has landed
— but why should he leave any sign?&cdq;
&odq;Exactly. Why should he? Is the water always
turbid?&cdq;
&odq;Generally about this colour. The stream brings down
the clay.&cdq;
&odq;How deep is it?&cdq;
&odq;About two feet at
each side and three in the middle.&cdq;
&odq;So we can put aside all idea of the man having been
drowned in crossing.&cdq;
&odq;No, a child could not be drowned in it.&cdq;
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.
&odq;Anything fresh, Sergeant Wilson?&cdq; asked White Mason.
&odq;No, sir.&cdq;
&odq;Then you can go home.
You've had enough. We can send for you if we want you.
The butler had better wait outside. Tell him to warn
Mr. Cecil Barker, Mrs. Douglas, and the housekeeper that we may want
a word with them presently. Now, gentlemen, perhaps you will
allow me to give you the views I have formed first, and then you will
be able to arrive at your own.&cdq;
He impressed me, this country specialist. He had a solid
grip of fact and a cool, clear, common-sense brain, which should take
him some way in his profession. Holmes listened to him
intently, with no sign of that impatience which the official exponent
too often produced.
&odq;Is it suicide, or is it murder — that's our first
question, gentlemen, is it not? If it were suicide, then we
have to believe that this man began by taking off his wedding ring
and concealing it; that he then came down here in his dressing gown,
trampled mud into a corner behind the curtain in order to give the
idea someone had waited for him, opened the window, put blood on the
— &cdq;
&odq;We can surely dismiss that,&cdq; said MacDonald.
&odq;So I think. Suicide is out of the question.
Then a murder has been done. What we have to determine
is, whether it was done by someone outside or inside the house.&cdq;
&odq;Well, let's hear the argument.&cdq;
&odq;There are considerable difficulties both ways, and
yet one or the other it must be. We will suppose first that
some person or persons inside the house did the crime. They
got this man down here at a time when everything was still and yet no
one was asleep. They then did the deed with the queerest and
noisiest weapon in the world so as to tell everyone what had happened
— a weapon that was never seen in the house before.
That does not seem a very likely start, does it?&cdq;
&odq;No, it does not.&cdq;
&odq;Well, then,
everyone is agreed that after the alarm was given only a minute at
the most had passed before the whole household — not Mr.
Cecil Barker alone, though he claims to have been the first, but Ames
and all of them were on the spot. Do you tell me that in that
time the guilty person managed to make footmarks in the corner, open
the window, mark the sill with blood, take the wedding ring off the
dead man's finger, and all the rest of it? It's
impossible!&cdq;
&odq;You put it very clearly,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;I
am inclined to agree with you.&cdq;
&odq;Well, then, we are driven back to the theory that it was
done by someone from outside. We are still faced with some big
difficulties; but anyhow they have ceased to be impossibilities.
The man got into the house between four-thirty and six; that
is to say, between dusk and the time when the bridge was raised.
There had been some visitors, and the door was open; so there
was nothing to prevent him. He may have been a common burglar,
or he may have had some private grudge against Mr. Douglas.
Since Mr. Douglas has spent most of his life in America, and
this shotgun seems to be an American weapon, it would seem that the
private grudge is the more likely theory. He slipped into this
room because it was the first he came to, and he hid behind the
curtain. There he remained until past eleven at night.
At that time Mr. Douglas entered the room. It was a
short interview, if there were any interview at all; for Mrs. Douglas
declares that her husband had not left her more than a few minutes
when she heard the shot.&cdq;
&odq;The candle shows that,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;Exactly. The candle, which was a new one,
is not burned more than half an inch. He must have placed it
on the table before he was attacked; otherwise, of course, it would
have fallen when he fell. This shows that he was not attacked
the instant that he entered the room. When Mr. Barker arrived
the candle was lit and the lamp was out.&cdq;
&odq;That's all clear enough.&cdq;
&odq;Well,
now, we can reconstruct things on those lines. Mr. Douglas
enters the room. He puts down the candle. A man appears
from behind the curtain. He is armed with this gun. He
demands the wedding ring — Heaven only knows why, but so it
must have been. Mr. Douglas gave it up. Then either in
cold blood or in the course of a struggle — Douglas may have
gripped the hammer that was found upon the mat — he shot
Douglas in this horrible way. He dropped his gun and also it
would seem this queer card — V. V. 341, whatever that may
mean — and he made his escape through the window and across
the moat at the very moment when Cecil Barker was discovering the
crime. How's that, Mr. Holmes?&cdq;
&odq;Very interesting, but just a little unconvincing.&cdq;
&odq;Man, it would be absolute nonsense if it wasn't
that anything else is even worse!&cdq; cried MacDonald.
&odq;Somebody killed the man, and whoever it was I could
clearly prove to you that he should have done it some other way.
What does he mean by allowing his retreat to be cut off like
that? What does he mean by using a shotgun when silence was
his one chance of escape? Come, Mr. Holmes, it's up to you to
give us a lead, since you say Mr. White Mason's theory is
unconvincing.&cdq;
Holmes had sat intently observant during this long discussion,
missing no word that was said, with his keen eyes darting to right
and to left, and his forehead wrinkled with speculation.
&odq;I should like a few more facts before I get so far as a
theory, Mr. Mac,&cdq; said he, kneeling down beside the body.
&odq;Dear me! these injuries are really appalling. Can
we have the butler in for a moment?... Ames, I understand that
you have often seen this very unusual mark — a branded
triangle inside a circle — upon Mr. Douglas's forearm?&cdq;
&odq;Frequently, sir.&cdq;
&odq;You never heard
any speculation as to what it meant?&cdq;
&odq;No, sir.&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, sir, he cut himself in shaving yesterday
morning.&cdq;
&odq;Did you ever know him to cut himself in shaving
before?&cdq;
&odq;Not for a very long time, sir.&cdq;
&odq;Suggestive!&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;It struck me that he was a little restless and excited,
sir.&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;No, Mr. Holmes, it's in better hands than mine.&cdq;
&odq;Well, then, we will pass to this card — V.
V. 341. It is rough cardboard. Have you any of the sort
in the house?&cdq;
&odq;I don't think so.&cdq;
Holmes walked across
to the desk and dabbed a little ink from each bottle on to the
blotting paper. &odq;It was not printed in this room,&cdq; he
said; &odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;No, sir, nothing.&cdq;
&odq;What do you
think, Mr. Mac?&cdq;
&odq;It gives me the impression of a secret society of some
sort; the same with his badge upon the forearm.&cdq;
&odq;That's my idea, too,&cdq; said White Mason.
&odq;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 escapes by wading the
moat, after leaving a card beside the dead man, which will when
mentioned in the papers, tell other members of the society that
vengeance has been done. That all hangs together. But
why this gun, of all weapons?&cdq;
&odq;Exactly.&cdq;
&odq;And why the missing
ring?&cdq;
&odq;Quite so.&cdq;
&odq;And why no arrest?
It's past two now. I take it for granted that since
dawn every constable within forty miles has been looking out for a
wet stranger?&cdq;
&odq;That is so, Mr. Holmes.&cdq;
&odq;Well,
unless he has a burrow close by or a change of clothes ready, they
can hardly miss him. And yet they have missed him up to
now!&cdq; Holmes had gone to the window and was examining with
his lens the blood mark on the sill. &odq;It is clearly the
tread of a shoe. It is remarkably broad; a splay-foot, one
would say. Curious, because, so far as one can trace any
footmark in this mud-stained corner, one would say it was a more
shapely sole. However, they are certainly very indistinct.
What's this under the side table?&cdq;
&odq;Mr. Douglas's dumb-bells,&cdq; said Ames.
&odq;Dumb-bell — there's only one.
Where's the other?&cdq;
&odq;I don't know, Mr. Holmes. There may have been only
one. I have not noticed them for months.&cdq;
&odq;One dumb-bell&cdq; Holmes said seriously; but his remarks
were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.
A tall, sunburned, capable-looking, clean-shaved man looked in
at us. I had no difficulty in guessing that it was the Cecil
Barker of whom I had heard. His masterful eyes travelled
quickly with a questioning glance from face to face.
&odq;Sorry to interrupt your consultation,&cdq; said he,
&odq;but you should hear the latest news.&cdq;
&odq;An arrest?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
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.
&odq;It would be a grand help to the police,&cdq; said the
inspector, &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Don't we?&cdq; my friend answered thoughtfully.
&odq;I wonder!&cdq;
&odq;Have you seen all you want of the study?&cdq; asked White
Mason as we reentered the house.
&odq;For the time,&cdq; said the inspector, and Holmes nodded.
&odq;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.&cdq;
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 drawbridge to be pulled up every night
because it was the ancient custom of the old house, and he liked to
keep the old ways up.
Mr. Douglas seldom went to London or left the village; but on
the day before the crime he had been shopping at Tunbridge Wells.
He ( Ames ) had observed some restlessness and excitement on
the part of Mr. Douglas that day; for he had seemed impatient and
irritable, which was unusual with him. He had not gone to bed
that night; but was in the pantry at the back of the house, putting
away the silver, when he heard the bell ring violently. He
heard no shot; but it was hardly possible he would, as the pantry and
kitchens were at the very back of the house and there were several
closed doors and a long passage between. The housekeeper had
come out of her room, attracted by the violent ringing of the bell.
They had gone to the front of the house together.
As they reached the bottom of the stair he had seen Mrs.
Douglas coming down it. No, she was not hurrying; it did not
seem to him that she was particularly agitated. Just as she
reached the bottom of the stair Mr. Barker had rushed out of the
study. He had stopped Mrs. Douglas and begged her to go back.
&odq;For God's sake, go back to your room!&cdq; he cried.
&odq;Poor Jack is dead! You can do nothing. For
God's sake, go back!&cdq;
After some persuasion upon the stairs Mrs. Douglas had gone
back. She did not scream. She made no outcry whatever.
Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, had taken her upstairs and stayed
with her in the bedroom. Ames and Mr. Barker had then returned
to the study, where they had found everything exactly as the police
had seen it. The candle was not lit at that time; but the lamp
was burning. They had looked out of the window; but the night
was very dark and nothing could be 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.
&odq;Take her up! Stay with her!&cdq; 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 night before, he had very little to add to
what he had already told the police. Personally, he was
convinced that the murderer had escaped by the window. The
bloodstain was conclusive, in his opinion, on that point.
Besides, as the bridge was up, there was no other possible way
of escaping. He could not explain what had become of the
assassin or why he had not taken his bicycle, if it were indeed his.
He could not possibly have been drowned in the moat, which was
at no place more than three feet deep.
In his own mind he had a very definite theory about the murder.
Douglas was a reticent man, and there were some chapters in
his life of which he never spoke. He had emigrated to America
when he was a very young man. He had prospered well, and
Barker had first met him in California, where they had become
partners in a successful mining claim at a place called Benito Canon.
They had done very well; but Douglas had suddenly sold out and
started for England. He was a widower at that time.
Barker had afterwards realized his money and come to live in
London. Thus they had renewed their friendship.
Douglas had given him the impression that some danger was
hanging over his head, and he had always looked upon his sudden
departure from California, and also his renting a house in so quiet a
place in England, as being connected with this peril. He
imagined that some secret society, some implacable organization, was
on Douglas's track, which would never rest until it killed him.
Some remarks of his had given him this idea; though he had
never told him what the society was, nor how he had come to offend
it. He could only suppose that the legend upon the placard had
some reference to this secret society.
&odq;How long were you with Douglas in California?&cdq; asked
Inspector MacDonald.
&odq;Five years altogether.&cdq;
&odq;He was a
bachelor, you say?&cdq;
&odq;A widower.&cdq;
&odq;Have you ever heard
where his first wife came from?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;You don't associate his past with any particular part of
America?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Was he a politician? Had this secret society to do
with politics?&cdq;
&odq;No, he cared nothing about politics.&cdq;
&odq;You have no reason to think it was criminal?&cdq;
&odq;On the contrary, I never met a straighter man in my
life.&cdq;
&odq;Was there anything curious about his life in
California?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;What sort of men?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Were these men Americans — Californians?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;That was six years ago?&cdq;
&odq;Nearer
seven.&cdq;
&odq;And then you were together five years in California, so
that this business dates back not less than eleven years at the
least?&cdq;
&odq;That is so.&cdq;
&odq;It must be a very
serious feud that would be kept up with such earnestness for as long
as that. It would be no light thing that would give rise to
it.&cdq;
&odq;I think it shadowed his whole life. It was never
quite out of his mind.&cdq;
&odq;But if a man had a danger hanging over him, and knew what
it was, don't you think he would turn to the police for
protection?&cdq;
&odq;Maybe it was some danger that he could not be protected
against. There's one thing you should know. He always
went about armed. His revolver was never out of his pocket.
But, by bad luck, he was in his dressing gown and had left it
in the bedroom last night. Once the bridge was up, I guess he
thought he was safe.&cdq;
&odq;I should like these dates a little clearer,&cdq; said
MacDonald. &odq;It is quite six years since Douglas left
California. You followed him next year, did you not?&cdq;
&odq;That is so.&cdq;
&odq;And he had been
married five years. You must have returned about the time of
his marriage.&cdq;
&odq;About a month before. I was his best man.&cdq;
&odq;Did you know Mrs. Douglas before her
marriage?&cdq;
&odq;No, I did not. I had been away from England for ten
years.&cdq;
&odq;But you have seen a good deal of her since.&cdq;
Barker looked sternly at the detective. &odq;I
have seen a good deal of him since,&cdq; he answered. &odq;If
I have seen her, it is because you cannot visit a man without knowing
his wife. If you imagine there is any connection —
&cdq;
&odq;I imagine nothing, Mr. Barker. I am bound to make
every inquiry which can bear upon the case. But I mean no
offense.&cdq;
&odq;Some inquiries are offensive,&cdq; Barker answered
angrily.
&odq;It's only the facts that we want. It is in your
interest and everyone's interest that they should be cleared up.
Did Mr. Douglas entirely approve your friendship with his
wife?&cdq;
Barker grew paler, and his great, strong hands were clasped
convulsively together. &odq;You have no right to ask such
questions!&cdq; he cried. &odq;What has this to do with the
matter you are investigating?&cdq;
&odq;I must repeat the question.&cdq;
&odq;Well,
I refuse to answer.&cdq;
&odq;You can refuse to answer; but you must be aware that your
refusal is in itself an answer, for you would not refuse if you had
not something to conceal.&cdq;
Barker stood for a moment with his face set grimly and his
strong black eyebrows drawn low in intense thought. Then he
looked up with a smile. &odq;Well, I guess you gentlemen are
only doing your clear duty after all, and I have no right to stand in
the way of it. I'd only ask you not to worry Mrs. Douglas over
this matter; for she has enough upon her just now. I may tell
you that poor Douglas had just one fault in the world, and that was
his jealousy. He was fond of me — no man could be
fonder of a friend. And he was devoted to his wife. He
loved me to come here, and was forever sending for me. And yet
if his wife and I talked together or there seemed any sympathy
between us, a kind of wave of jealousy would pass over him, and he
would be off the handle and saying the wildest things in a moment.
More than once I've sworn off coming for that reason, and then
he would write me such penitent, imploring letters that I just had
to. But you can take it from me, gentlemen, if it was my last
word, that no man ever had a more loving, faithful wife — and
I can say also no friend could be more loyal than I!&cdq;
It was spoken with fervour and feeling, and yet Inspector
MacDonald could not dismiss the subject.
&odq;You are aware,&cdq; said he, &odq;that the dead man's
wedding ring has been taken from his finger?&cdq;
&odq;So it appears,&cdq; said Barker.
&odq;What
do you mean by &onq;appears&cnq;? You know it as a fact.&cdq;
The man seemed confused and undecided. &odq;When I said
&onq;appears&cnq; I meant that it was conceivable that he had himself
taken off the ring.&cdq;
&odq;The mere fact that the ring should be absent, whoever may
have removed it, would suggest to anyone's mind, would it not, that
the marriage and the tragedy were connected?&cdq;
Barker shrugged his broad shoulders. &odq;I can't
profess to say what it means.&cdq; he answered. &odq;But if
you mean to hint that it could reflect in any way upon this lady's
honour&cdq; — his eyes blazed for an instant, and then with
an evident effort he got a grip upon his own emotions &odq;well, you
are on the wrong track, that's all.&cdq;
&odq;I don't know that I've anything else to ask you at
present,&cdq; said MacDonald, coldly.
&odq;There was one small point,&cdq; remarked Sherlock Holmes.
&odq;When you entered the room there was only a candle lighted
on the table, was there not?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, that was so.&cdq;
&odq;By its light you
saw that some terrible incident had occurred?&cdq;
&odq;Exactly.&cdq;
&odq;You at once rang for
help?&cdq;
&odq;Yes.&cdq;
&odq;And it arrived very
speedily?&cdq;
&odq;Within a minute or so.&cdq;
&odq;And yet
when they arrived they found that the candle was out and that the
lamp had been lighted. That seems very remarkable.&cdq;
Again Barker showed some signs of indecision. &odq;I
don't see that it was remarkable, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; he answered after
a pause. &odq;The candle threw a very bad light. My
first thought was to get a better one. The lamp was on the
table; so I lit it.&cdq;
&odq;And blew out the candle?&cdq;
&odq;Exactly.&cdq;
Holmes asked no further question, and Barker, with a deliberate
look from one to the other of us, which had, as it seemed to me,
something of defiance in it, turned and left the room.
Inspector MacDonald had sent up a note to the effect that he
would wait upon Mrs. Douglas in her room; but she had replied that
she would meet us in the dining room. She entered now, a tall
and beautiful woman of thirty, reserved and 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.
&odq;Have you found anything out yet?&cdq; she asked.
Was it my imagination that there was an undertone of
fear rather than of hope in the question?
&odq;We have taken every possible step, Mrs. Douglas,&cdq; said
the inspector. &odq;You may rest assured that nothing will be
neglected.&cdq;
&odq;Spare no money,&cdq; she said in a dead, even tone.
&odq;It is my desire that every possible effort should be
made.&cdq;
&odq;Perhaps you can tell us something which may throw some
light upon the matter.&cdq;
&odq;I fear not; but all I know is at your service.&cdq;
&odq;We have heard from Mr. Cecil Barker that you did
not actually see — that you were never in the room where the
tragedy occurred?&cdq;
&odq;No, he turned me back upon the stairs. He begged me
to return to my room.&cdq;
&odq;Quite so. You had heard the shot, and you had at
once come down.&cdq;
&odq;I put on my dressing gown and then came down.&cdq;
&odq;How long was it after hearing the shot that you
were stopped on the stair by Mr. Barker?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Can you give us any idea how long your husband had been
downstairs before you heard the shot?&cdq;
&odq;No, I cannot say. He went from his dressing room,
and I did not hear him go. 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.&cdq;
&odq;That is just the point which I want to come to, Mrs.
Douglas. You have known your husband only in England, have you
not?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, we have been married five years.&cdq;
&odq;Have you heard him speak of anything which
occurred in America and might bring some danger upon him?&cdq;
Mrs. Douglas thought earnestly before she answered.
&odq;Yes.&cdq; she said at last, &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;How did you know it, then?&cdq;
Mrs.
Douglas's face lit with a quick smile. &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Might I ask,&cdq; asked Holmes, &odq;what the words were
which attracted your attention?&cdq;
&odq;The Valley of Fear,&cdq; the lady answered.
&odq;That was an expression he has used when I questioned him.
&onq;I have been in the Valley of Fear. I am not out of
it yet.&cnq; — &onq;Are we never to get out of the Valley of
Fear?&cnq; I have asked him when I have seen him more serious
than usual. &onq;Sometimes I think that we never shall,&cnq;
he has answered.&cdq;
&odq;Surely you asked him what he meant by the Valley of
Fear?&cdq;
&odq;I did; but his face would become very grave and he would
shake his head. &onq;It is bad enough that one of us should
have been in its shadow,&cnq; he said. &onq;Please God it
shall never fall upon you!&cnq; 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.&cdq;
&odq;And he never mentioned any names?&cdq;
&odq;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.
&onq;Never of mine, thank God!&cnq; 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.&cdq;
&odq;There is one other point,&cdq; said Inspector MacDonald.
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;There was romance. There is always romance.
There was nothing mysterious.&cdq;
&odq;He had no rival?&cdq;
&odq;No, I was quite
free.&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
For an instant I could have sworn that the faintest shadow of a
smile flickered over the woman's lips.
&odq;I really cannot tell,&cdq; she answered. &odq;It is
certainly a most extraordinary thing.&cdq;
&odq;Well, we will not detain you any longer, and we are sorry
to have put you to this trouble at such a time,&cdq; said the
inspector. &odq;There are some other points, no doubt; but we
can refer to you as they arise.&cdq;
She rose, and I was again conscious of that quick, questioning
glance with which she had just surveyed us. &odq;What
impression has my evidence made upon you?&cdq; The question
might as well have been spoken. Then, with a bow, she swept
from the room.
&odq;She's a beautiful woman — a very beautiful
woman,&cdq; said MacDonald thoughtfully, after the door had closed
behind her. &odq;This man Barker has certainly been down here
a good deal. He is a man who might be attractive to a woman.
He admits that the dead man was jealous, and maybe he knew
best himself what cause he had for jealousy. Then there's that
wedding ring. You can't get past that. The man who
tears a wedding ring off a dead man's — What do you say to
it, Mr. Holmes?&cdq;
My friend had sat with his head upon his hands, sunk in the
deepest thought. Now he rose and rang the bell.
&odq;Ames,&cdq; he said, when the butler entered, &odq;where
is Mr. Cecil Barker now?&cdq;
&odq;I'll see, sir.&cdq;
He came back in a moment
to say that Barker was in the garden.
&odq;Can you remember, Ames, what Mr. Barker had on his feet
last night when you joined him in the study?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, Mr. Holmes. He had a pair of bedroom slippers.
I brought him his boots when he went for the police.&cdq;
&odq;Where are the slippers now?&cdq;
&odq;They
are still under the chair in the hall.&cdq;
&odq;Very good, Ames. It is, of course, important for us
to know which tracks may be Mr. Barker's and which from outside.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, sir. I may say that I noticed that the
slippers were stained with blood — so indeed were my
own.&cdq;
&odq;That is natural enough, considering the condition of the
room. Very good, Ames. We will ring if we want
you.&cdq;
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.
&odq;Strange!&cdq; murmured Holmes, as he stood in the light of
the window and examined them minutely. &odq;Very strange
indeed!&cdq;
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.
&odq;Man,&cdq; he cried, &odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;Ay, what's the game?&cdq; my friend repeated thoughtfully.
White Mason chuckled and rubbed his fat hands together in his
professional satisfaction. &odq;I said it was a snorter!&cdq;
he cried. &odq;And a real snorter it is!&cdq;
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.
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.
&odq;Excuse me, sir,&cdq; said he, &odq;but am I addressing Dr.
Watson?&cdq;
I bowed with a coldness which showed, I dare say, very plainly
the impression which had been produced upon my mind.
&odq;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?&cdq;
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.
&odq;I fear that you think me callous and hard-hearted.&cdq;
said she.
I shrugged my shoulders. &odq;It is no business of
mine,&cdq; said I.
&odq;Perhaps some day you will do me justice. If you
only realized — &cdq;
&odq;There is no need why Dr. Watson should realize,&cdq; said
Barker quickly. &odq;As he has himself said, it is no possible
business of his.&cdq;
&odq;Exactly,&cdq; said I, &odq;and so I will beg leave to
resume my walk.&cdq;
&odq;One moment, Dr. Watson,&cdq; cried the woman in a pleading
voice. &odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, that's it,&cdq; said Barker eagerly. &odq;Is
he on his own or is he entirely in with them?&cdq;
&odq;I really don't know that I should be justified in
discussing such a point.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
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.
&odq;Mr. Holmes is an independent investigator,&cdq; I said.
&odq;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.&cdq;
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 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.
&odq;I wish none of their confidences,&cdq; 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. &odq;No confidences, Watson; for they
are mighty awkward if it comes to an arrest for conspiracy and
murder.&cdq;
&odq;You think it will come to that?&cdq;
He was
in his most cheerful and debonair humour. &odq;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 — &cdq;
&odq;The dumb-bell!&cdq;
&odq;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!&cdq;
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.
&odq;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.
&odq;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.
&odq;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.
&odq;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 Barker and of the woman Douglas. When on
the top of this I am able to show that the blood mark on the
window-sill was deliberately placed there by Barker, in order to give
a false clue to the police, you will admit that the case grows dark
against him.
&odq;Now we have to ask ourselves at what hour the murder
actually did occur. Up to half-past ten the servants were
moving about the house; so it was certainly not before that time.
At a quarter to eleven they had all gone to their rooms with
the exception of Ames, who was in the pantry. I have been
trying some experiments after you left us this afternoon, and I find
that no noise which MacDonald can make in the study can penetrate to
me in the pantry when the doors are all shut.
&odq;It is otherwise, however, from the housekeeper's room.
It is not so far down the corridor, and from it I could
vaguely hear a voice when it was very loudly raised. The sound
from a shotgun is to some extent muffled when the discharge is at
very close range, as it undoubtedly was in this instance. It
would not be very loud, and yet in the silence of the night it should
have easily penetrated to Mrs. Allen's room. She is, as she
has told us, somewhat deaf; but none the less she mentioned in her
evidence that she did hear something like a door slamming half an
hour before the alarm was given. Half an hour before the alarm
was given would be a quarter to eleven. I have no doubt that
what she heard was the report of the gun, and that this was the real
instant of the murder.
&odq;If this is so, we have now to determine what Barker and
Mrs. Douglas, presuming that they are not the actual murderers, could
have been doing from quarter to eleven, when the sound of the shot
brought them down, until quarter past eleven, when they rang the bell
and summoned the servants. What were they doing, and why did
they not instantly give the alarm? That is the question which
faces us, and when it has been answered we shall surely have gone
some way to solve our problem.&cdq;
&odq;I am convinced myself,&cdq; said I, &odq;that there is an
understanding between those two people. She must be a
heartless creature to sit laughing at some jest within a few hours of
her husband's murder.&cdq;
&odq;Exactly. She does not shine as a wife even in her
own account of what occurred. I am not a whole-souled admirer
of womankind, as you are aware, Watson, but my experience of life has
taught me that there are few wives, having any regard for their
husbands, who would let any man's spoken word stand between them and
that husband's dead body. Should I ever marry, Watson, I
should hope to inspire my wife with some feeling which would prevent
her from being walked off by a housekeeper when my corpse was lying
within a few yards of her. It was badly stage-managed; for
even the rawest investigators must be struck by the absence of the
usual feminine ululation. If there had been nothing else, this
incident alone would have suggested a prearranged conspiracy to my
mind.&cdq;
&odq;You think then, definitely, that Barker and Mrs. Douglas
are guilty of the murder?&cdq;
&odq;There is an appalling directness about your questions,
Watson,&cdq; said Holmes, shaking his pipe at me. &odq;They
come at me like bullets. If you put it that Mrs. Douglas and
Barker know the truth about the murder, and are conspiring to conceal
it, then I can give you a whole-souled answer. I am sure they
do. But your more deadly proposition is not so clear.
Let us for a moment consider the difficulties which stand in
the way.
&odq;We will suppose that this couple are united by the bonds
of a guilty love, and that they have determined to get rid of the man
who stands between them. It is a large supposition; for
discreet inquiry among servants and others has failed to corroborate
it in any way. On the contrary, there is a good deal of
evidence that the Douglases were very attached to each other.&cdq;
&odq;That, I am sure, cannot he true.&cdq; said I, thinking of
the beautiful smiling face in the garden.
&odq;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
— &cdq;
&odq;We have only their word for that.&cdq;
Holmes looked thoughtful. &odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;I confess that I can't explain it.&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;No, it does not.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;I can conceive of no explanation.&cdq;
&odq;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?
&odq;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.
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;Well, it is possible, no doubt,&cdq; said I, with some
reserve.
&odq;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 windowsill to suggest how the fugitive got away. They
obviously were the two who must have heard the sound of the gun; so
they gave the alarm exactly as they would have done, but a good half
hour after the event.&cdq;
&odq;And how do you propose to prove all this?&cdq;
&odq;Well, if there were an outsider, he may be traced
and taken. That would be the most effective of all proofs.
But if not — well, the resources of science are far
from being exhausted. I think that an evening alone in that
study would help me much.&cdq;
&odq;An evening alone!&cdq;
&odq;I propose to go
up there presently. I have arranged it with the estimable
Ames, who is by no means whole-hearted about Barker. I shall
sit in that room and see if its atmosphere brings me inspiration.
I'm a believer in the genius loci. You smile, Friend
Watson. Well, we shall see. By the way, you have that
big umbrella of yours, have you not?&cdq;
&odq;It is here.&cdq;
&odq;Well, I'll borrow that
if I may.&cdq;
&odq;Certainly — but what a wretched weapon! If
there is danger — &cdq;
&odq;Nothing serious, my dear Watson, or I should certainly ask
for your assistance. But I'll take the umbrella. At
present I am only awaiting the return of our colleagues from
Tunbridge Wells, where they are at present engaged in trying for a
likely owner to the bicycle.&cdq;
It was nightfall before Inspector MacDonald and White Mason
came back from their expedition, and they arrived exultant, reporting
a great advance in our investigation.
&odq;Man, I'll admeet that I had my doubts if there was ever an
outsider,&cdq; said MacDonald, &odq;but that's all past now.
We've had the bicycle identified, and we have a description of
our man; so that's a long step on our journey.&cdq;
&odq;It sounds to me like the beginning of the end,&cdq; said
Holmes. &odq;I'm sure I congratulate you both with all my
heart.&cdq;
&odq;Well, I started from the fact that Mr. Douglas had seemed
disturbed since the day before, when he had been at Tunbridge Wells.
It was at Tunbridge Wells then that he had become conscious of
some danger. It was clear, therefore, that if a man had come
over with a bicycle it was from Tunbridge Wells that he might be
expected to have come. We took the bicycle over with us and
showed it at the hotels. It was identified at once by the
manager of the Eagle Commercial as belonging to a man named Hargrave,
who had taken a room there two days before. This bicycle and a
small valise were his whole belongings. ' He had registered
his name as coming from London, but had given no address. The
valise was London made, and the contents were British; but the man
himself was undoubtedly an American.&cdq;
&odq;Well, well,&cdq; said Holmes gleefully, &odq;you have
indeed done some solid work while I have been sitting spinning
theories with my friend! It's a lesson in being practical, Mr.
Mac.&cdq;
&odq;Ay, it's just that, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said the inspector
with satisfaction.
&odq;But this may all fit in with your theories,&cdq; I
remarked.
&odq;That may or may not be. But let us hear the end,
Mr. Mac. Was there nothing to identify this man?&cdq;
&odq;So little that it was evident that he had carefully
guarded himself against identification. There were no papers
or letters, and no marking upon the clothes. A cycle map of
the county lay on his bedroom table. He had left the hotel
after breakfast yesterday morning on his bicycle, and no more was
heard of him until our inquiries.&cdq;
&odq;That's what puzzles me, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said White Mason.
&odq;If the fellow did not want the hue and cry raised over
him, one would imagine that he would have returned and remained at
the hotel as an inoffensive tourist. As it is, he must know
that he will be reported to the police by the hotel manager and that
his disappearance will be connected with the murder.&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
MacDonald referred to his notebook. &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Well, bar the expression, that might almost be a
description of Douglas himself,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;He is
just over fifty, with grizzled hair and moustache, and about the same
height. Did you get anything else?&cdq;
&odq;He was dressed in a heavy gray suit with a reefer jacket,
and he wore a short yellow overcoat and a soft cap.&cdq;
&odq;What about the shotgun?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;And how do you consider that all this bears upon the
general case?&cdq;
&odq;Well, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said MacDonald, &odq;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 sawed-off 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. 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.&cdq;
&odq;That is all very clear,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;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 quarter-past
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?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
The two detectives shook their heads.
&odq;Well,
Mr. Holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of one mystery into
another,&cdq; said the London inspector.
&odq;And in some ways a worse one,&cdq; added White Mason.
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;I freely admit the difficulties,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
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.
&odq;Well, Holmes,&cdq; I murmured, &odq;have you found
anything out?&cdq;
He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand.
Then the tall, lean figure inclined towards me. &odq;I
say, Watson,&cdq; he whispered, &odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;Not in the least,&cdq; I answered in astonishment.
&odq;Ah, that's lucky,&cdq; he said, and not another
word would he utter that night.
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 placed on one side.
&odq;Still on the track of the elusive bicyclist?&cdq;
Holmes asked cheerfully. &odq;What is the latest news
of the ruffian?&cdq;
MacDonald pointed ruefully to his heap of correspondence.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Dear me!&cdq; said Holmes sympathetically.
&odq;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.&cdq;
MacDonald and White Mason stared in amazement at their
celebrated colleague.
&odq;You consider it hopeless!&cdq; cried the inspector.
&odq;I consider your case to be hopeless. I do
not consider that it is hopeless to arrive at the truth.&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;You are holding something back. It's hardly fair of
you, Mr. Holmes.&cdq; The inspector was annoyed.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;Well, since you ask me, I spent, as I told you that I
would, some hours last night at the Manor House.&cdq;
&odq;Well, what happened?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
Here Holmes drew a small tract, embellished with a rude
engraving of the ancient Manor House, from his waistcoat pocket.
&odq;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. &onq;Erected in the fifth year of the reign of James
1, 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 — &cnq;&cdq;
&odq;You are making fools of us, Mr. Holmes!&cdq;
&odq;Tut, tut, Mr. Mac! — the first sign of
temper I have detected in you. Well, I won't read it verbatim,
since you feel so strongly upon the subject. But when I tell
you that there is some account of the taking of the place by a
parliamentary colonel in 1644, of the concealment of Charles for
several days in the course of the Civil War, and finally of a visit
there by the second George, you will admit that there are various
associations of interest connected with this ancient house.&cdq;
&odq;I don't doubt it, Mr. Holmes; but that is no business of
ours.&cdq;
&odq;Is it not? Is it not? Breadth of view, my
dear Mr. Mac, is one of the essentials of our profession. The
interplay of ideas and the oblique uses of knowledge are often of
extraordinary interest. You will excuse these remarks from one
who, though a mere connoisseur of crime, is still rather older and
perhaps more experienced than yourself.&cdq;
&odq;I'm the first to admit that,&cdq; said the detective
heartily. &odq;You get to your point, I admit; but you have
such a deuced round-the-corner way of doing it.&cdq;
&odq;Well, well, I'll drop past history and get down to
present-day facts. I called last night, as I have already
said, at the Manor House. I did not see either Barker or Mrs.
Douglas. I saw no necessity to disturb them; but I was pleased
to hear that the lady was not visibly pining and that she had
partaken of an excellent dinner. My visit was specially made
to the good Mr. Ames, with whom I exchanged some amiabilities, which
culminated in his allowing me, without reference to anyone else, to
sit alone for a time in the study.&cdq;
&odq;What! With that?&cdq; I ejaculated.
&odq;No, no, everything is now in order. You
gave permission for that, Mr. Mac, as I am informed. The room
was in its normal state, and in it I passed an instructive quarter of
an hour.&cdq;
&odq;What were you doing?&cdq;
&odq;Well, not to
make a mystery of so simple a matter, I was looking for the missing
dumb-bell. It has always bulked rather large in my estimate of
the case. I ended by finding it.&cdq;
&odq;Where?&cdq;
&odq;Ah, there we come to the
edge of the unexplored. Let me go a little further, a very
little further, and I will promise that you shall share everything
that I know.&cdq;
&odq;Well, we're bound to take you on your own terms,&cdq; said
the inspector; &odq;but when it comes to telling us to abandon the
case — why in the name of goodness should we abandon the
case?&cdq;
&odq;For the simple reason, my dear Mr. Mac, that you have not
got the first idea what it is that you are investigating.&cdq;
&odq;We are investigating the murder of Mr. John Douglas of
Birlstone Manor.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, yes, so you are. But don't trouble to trace
the mysterious gentleman upon the bicycle. I assure you that
it won't help you.&cdq;
&odq;Then what do you suggest that we do?&cdq;
&odq;I will tell you exactly what to do, if you will do
it.&cdq;
&odq;Well, I'm bound to say I've always found you had reason
behind all your queer ways. I'll do what you advise.&cdq;
&odq;And you, Mr. White Mason?&cdq;
The country
detective looked helplessly from one to the other. Holmes and
his methods were new to him. &odq;Well, if it is good enough
for the inspector, it is good enough for me,&cdq; he said at last.
&odq;Capital!&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;Well, then, I
should recommend a nice, cheery country walk for both of you.
They tell me that the views from Birlstone Ridge over the
Weald are very remarkable. No doubt lunch could be got at some
suitable hostelry; though my ignorance of the country prevents me
from recommending one. In the evening, tired but happy
— &cdq;
&odq;Man, this is getting past a joke!&cdq; cried MacDonald,
rising angrily from his chair.
&odq;Well, well, spend the day as you like,&cdq; said Holmes,
patting him cheerfully upon the shoulder. &odq;Do what you
like and go where you will, but meet me here before dusk without fail
— without fail, Mr. Mac.&cdq;
&odq;That sounds more like sanity.&cdq;
&odq;All
of it was excellent advice; but I don't insist, so long as you are
here when I need you. But now, before we part, I want you to
write a note to Mr. Barker.&cdq;
&odq;Well?&cdq;
&odq;I'll dictate it, if you
like. Ready?
&odq;Dear Sir:&cdq; It has struck me that it is our duty to
drain the moat, in the hope that we may find some —
&odq;
&odq;It's impossible,&cdq; said the inspector. &odq;I've
made inquiry.&cdq;
&odq;Tut, tut! My dear sir, please do what I ask
you.&cdq;
&odq;Well, go on.&cdq;
&odq; — in
the hope that we may find something which may bear upon our
investigation. I have made arrangements, and the workmen will
be at work early to-morrow morning diverting the stream —
&cdq;
&odq;Impossible!&cdq;
&odq; — diverting the stream; so I thought it best to
explain matters beforehand.
Now sign that, and send it by hand about four o'clock.
At that hour we shall meet again in this room. Until
then we may each do what we like; for I can assure you that this
inquiry has come to a definite pause. &odq;
Evening was drawing in when we reassembled. Holmes was
very serious in his manner, myself curious, and the detectives
obviously critical and annoyed.
&odq;Well, gentlemen,&cdq; said my friend gravely, &odq;I am
asking you now to put everything to the test with me, and you will
judge for yourselves whether the observations I have made justify the
conclusions to which I have come. It is a chill evening, and I
do not know how long our expedition may last; so I beg that 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.&cdq;
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.
&odq;Well, what are we to do now?&cdq; asked MacDonald with
some gruffness.
&odq;Possess our souls in patience and make as little noise as
possible,&cdq; Holmes answered.
&odq;What are we here for at all? I really think that
you might treat us with more frankness.&cdq;
Holmes laughed. &odq;Watson insists that I am the
dramatist in real life,&cdq; said he. &odq;Some touch of the
artist wells up within me, and calls insistently for a well-staged
performance. Surely our profession, Mr. Mac, would be a drab
and 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.&cdq;
&odq;Well, I hope the pride and justification and the rest of
it will come before we all get our death of cold,&cdq; said the
London detective with comic resignation.
We all had good reason to join in the aspiration; for our vigil
was a long and bitter one. Slowly the shadows darkened over
the long, sombre face of the old house. A cold, damp reek from
the moat chilled us to the bones and set our teeth chattering.
There was a single lamp over the gateway and a steady globe of
light in the fatal study. Everything else was dark and still.
&odq;How long is this to last?&cdq; asked the inspector
finally. &odq;And what is it we are watching for?&cdq;
&odq;I have no more notion than you how long it is to
last,&cdq; Holmes answered with some asperity. &odq;If
criminals would always schedule their movements like railway trains,
it would certainly be more convenient for all of us. As to
what it is we — Well, that's what we are watching for!&cdq;
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.
&odq;Now!&cdq; cried Holmes. &odq;Now!&cdq;
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.
&odq;What the devil is the meaning of all this?&cdq; he cried.
&odq;What are you after, anyhow?&cdq;
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.
&odq;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.&cdq;
Barker stared at Holmes with amazement in his face.
&odq;How in thunder came you to know anything about it?&cdq;
he asked.
&odq;Simply that I put it there.&cdq;
&odq;You
put it there! You!&cdq;
&odq;Perhaps I should have said &onq;replaced it
there,&cnq;&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;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.
&odq;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.&cdq;
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.
&odq;American, as you perceive,&cdq; 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.
&odq;The clothes are commonplace,&cdq; remarked Holmes,
&odq;save only the overcoat, which is full of suggestive
touches.&cdq; He held it tenderly towards the light.
&odq;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 —
&onq;Neal, Outfitter, Vermissa, U. S. A.&cnq; 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.&cdq;
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.
&odq;You know such a lot, Mr. Holmes, perhaps you had better
tell us some more,&cdq; he sneered.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Well, if you take that line, Mr. Barker,&cdq; said the
inspector quietly, &odq;we must just keep you in sight until we have
the warrant and can hold you.&cdq;
&odq;You can do what you damn please about that,&cdq; 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.
&odq;You have done enough for now, Cecil,&cdq; said she.
&odq;Whatever comes of it in the future, you have done
enough.&cdq;
&odq;Enough and more than enough,&cdq; remarked Sherlock Holmes
gravely. &odq;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.&cdq;
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.
&odq;It's best this way, Jack,&cdq; his wife repeated; &odq;I
am sure that it is best.&cdq;
&odq;Indeed, yes, Mr. Douglas,&cdq; said Sherlock Holmes,
&odq;I am sure that you will find it best.&cdq;
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.
&odq;I've heard of you,&cdq; said he in a voice which was not
quite English and not quite American, but was altogether mellow and
pleasing. &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;That's the past, Mr. Douglas,&cdq; said Sherlock Holmes
quietly. &odq;What we desire now is to hear your story of the
present.&cdq;
&odq;You'll have it, sir,&cdq; said Douglas. &odq;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.&cdq; He leaned against the
mantelpiece and sucked at the cigar which Holmes had handed him.
&odq;I've heard of you Mr. Holmes. I never guessed that
I should meet you. But before you are through with that,&cdq;
he nodded at my papers, &odq;you will say I've brought you something
fresh.&cdq;
Inspector MacDonald had been staring at the newcomer with the
greatest amazement. &odq;Well, this fairly beats me!&cdq; he
cried at last. &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Ah, Mr. Mac,&cdq; said Holmes, shaking a reproving
forefinger, &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;And how long have you been playing this trick upon us, Mr.
Holmes?&cdq; said the inspector angrily. &odq;How long have
you allowed us to waste ourselves upon a search that you knew to be
an absurd one?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Well, you figured it out about right,&cdq; said Douglas
approvingly. &odq;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.
&odq;I'm not going to begin at the beginning. That's all
there,&cdq; he indicated my bundle of papers, &odq;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.
&odq;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,&cdq; he took her hand for an
instant in his own, &odq;and I acted for the best.
&odq;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.
&odq;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.
&odq;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; 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.
&odq;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.
&odq;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.
&odq;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!&cdq;
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.
&odq;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 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.
&odq;My rings were put on his finger; but when it came to the
wedding ring,&cdq; he held out his muscular hand, &odq;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.
&odq;Well, that was the situation. If I could lie low
for a while and then get away where I could be joined by my
&onq;widow&cnq; 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.
&odq;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 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?&cdq;
There was a silence which was broken by Sherlock Holmes.
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;I know nothing of this.&cdq;
Holmes's face
was very white and grave. &odq;The story is not over yet, I
fear,&cdq; said he. &odq;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.&cdq;
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, will find its end.
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 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 leisured or the cultured. Everywhere there
were stern signs of the crudest battle of life, the rude work to be
done, and the rude, strong workers who did it.
The young traveller gazed out into this dismal country with a
face of mingled repulsion and interest, which showed that the scene
was new to him. At intervals he drew from his pocket a bulky
letter to which he referred, and on the margins of which he scribbled
some notes. Once from the back of his waist he produced
something which one would hardly have expected to find in the
possession of so mild-mannered a man. It was a navy revolver
of the largest size. As he turned it slantwise to the light,
the glint upon the rims of the copper shells within the drum showed
that it was fully loaded. He quickly restored it to his secret
pocket, but not before it had been observed by a working man who had
seated himself upon the adjoining bench.
&odq;Hullo, mate!&cdq; said he. &odq;You seem heeled and
ready.&cdq;
The young man smiled with an air of embarrassment.
&odq;Yes,&cdq; said he, &odq;we need them sometimes in
the place I come from.&cdq;
&odq;And where may that be?&cdq;
&odq;I'm last
from Chicago.&cdq;
&odq;A stranger in these parts?&cdq;
&odq;Yes.&cdq;
&odq;You may find you need it here,&cdq; said the workman.
&odq;Ah! is that so?&cdq; The young man seemed
interested.
&odq;Have you heard nothing of doings hereabouts?&cdq;
&odq;Nothing out of the way.&cdq;
&odq;Why, I thought the country was full of it. You'll
hear quick enough. What made you come here?&cdq;
&odq;I heard there was always work for a willing man.&cdq;
&odq;Are you a member of the union?&cdq;
&odq;Sure.&cdq;
&odq;Then you'll get your job, I
guess. Have you any friends?&cdq;
&odq;Not yet; but I have the means of making them.&cdq;
&odq;How's that, then?&cdq;
&odq;I am one of the Eminent Order of Freemen. There's
no town without a lodge, and where there is a lodge I'll find my
friends.&cdq;
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.
&odq;Put it there,&cdq; he said.
A hand-grip
passed between the two.
&odq;I see you speak the truth,&cdq; said the workman.
&odq;But it's well to make certain.&cdq; He raised his
right hand to his right eyebrow. The traveller at once raised
his left hand to his left eyebrow.
&odq;Dark nights are unpleasant,&cdq; said the workman.
&odq;Yes, for strangers to travel,&cdq; the other
answered.
&odq;That's good enough. I'm Brother Scanlan, Lodge 341,
Vermissa Valley. Glad to see you in these parts.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;I found plenty of work to do,&cdq; said McMurdo.
&odq;Then why did you leave?&cdq;
McMurdo nodded towards the policemen and smiled. &odq;I
guess those chaps would be glad to know,&cdq; he said.
Scanlan groaned sympathetically. &odq;In trouble?&cdq;
he asked in a whisper.
&odq;Deep.&cdq;
&odq;A penitentiary job?&cdq;
&odq;And the rest.&cdq;
&odq;Not a killing!&cdq;
&odq;It's early days to talk of such things,&cdq; said McMurdo
with the air of a man who had been surprised into saying more than he
intended. &odq;I've my own good reasons for leaving Chicago,
and let that be enough for you. Who are you that you should
take it on yourself to ask such things?&cdq; His gray eyes
gleamed with sudden and dangerous anger from behind his glasses.
&odq;All right, mate, no offense meant. The boys will
think none the worse of you, whatever you may have done. Where
are you bound for now?&cdq;
&odq;Vermissa.&cdq;
&odq;That's the third halt
down the line. Where are you staying?&cdq;
McMurdo took out an envelope and held it close to the murky oil
lamp. &odq;Here is the address — Jacob Shafter,
Sheridan Street. It's a boarding house that was recommended by
a man I knew in Chicago.&cdq;
&odq;Well, I don't know it; but Vermissa is out of my beat.
I live at Hobson's Patch, and that's here where we are drawing
up. But, say, there's one bit of advice I'll give you before
we part: If you're in trouble in Vermissa, go straight to the Union
House and see Boss McGinty. He is the Bodymaster of Vermissa
Lodge, and nothing can happen in these parts unless Black Jack
McGinty wants it. So long, mate! Maybe we'll meet in
lodge one of these evenings. But mind my words: If you are in
trouble, go to Boss McGinty.&cdq;
Scanlan descended, and McMurdo was left once again to his
thoughts. Night had now fallen, and the flames of the frequent
furnaces were roaring and leaping in the darkness. Against
their lurid background dark figures were bending and straining,
twisting and turning, with the motion of winch or of windlass, to the
rhythm of an eternal clank and roar.
&odq;I guess hell must look something like that,&cdq; said a
voice.
McMurdo turned and saw that one of the policemen had shifted in
his seat and was staring out into the fiery waste.
&odq;For that matter,&cdq; said the other policeman, &odq;I
allow that hell must be 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?&cdq;
&odq;Well, what if I am?&cdq; McMurdo answered in a
surly voice.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;What the hell is it to you who are my friends?&cdq; roared
McMurdo in a voice which brought every head in the carriage round to
witness the altercation. &odq;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!&cdq; 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.
&odq;No offense, stranger,&cdq; said one. &odq;It was a
warning for your own good, seeing that you are, by your own showing,
new to the place.&cdq;
&odq;I'm new to the place; but I'm not new to you and your
kind!&cdq; cried McMurdo in cold fury. &odq;I guess you're the
same in all places, shoving your advice in when nobody asks for
it.&cdq;
&odq;Maybe we'll see more of you before very long,&cdq; said
one of the patrolmen with a grin. &odq;You're a real
hand-picked one, if I am a judge.&cdq;
&odq;I was thinking the same,&cdq; remarked the other.
&odq;I guess we may meet again.&cdq;
&odq;I'm not afraid of you, and don't you think it!&cdq; cried
McMurdo. &odq;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 to look the like of you in the face — don't make any
mistake about that!&cdq;
There was a murmur of sympathy and admiration from the miners
at the dauntless demeanour of the newcomer, while the two policemen
shrugged their shoulders and renewed a conversation between
themselves.
A few minutes later the train ran into the ill-lit station, and
there was a general clearing; for Vermissa was by far the largest
town on the line. McMurdo picked up his leather gripsack and
was about to start off into the darkness, when one of the miners
accosted him.
&odq;By Gar, mate! you know how to speak to the cops,&cdq; he
said in a voice of awe. &odq;It was grand to hear you.
Let me carry your grip and show you the road. I'm
passing Shafter's on the way to my own shack.&cdq;
There was a chorus of friendly &odq;Good-nights&cdq; from the
other miners as they passed from the platform. Before ever he
had set foot in it, McMurdo the turbulent had become a character in
Vermissa.
The country had been a place of terror; but the town was in its
way even more depressing. Down that long valley there was at
least a certain gloomy grandeur in the huge fires and the clouds of
drifting smoke, while the strength and industry of man found fitting
monuments in the hills which he had spilled by the side of his
monstrous excavations. But the town showed a dead level of
mean ugliness and squalor. The broad street was churned up by
the traffic into a horrible rutted paste of muddy snow. The
sidewalks were narrow and uneven. The numerous gas-lamps
served only to show more clearly a long line of wooden houses, each
with its veranda facing the street, unkempt and dirty.
As they approached the centre of the town the scene was
brightened by a row of well-lit stores, and even more by a cluster of
saloons and gaming houses, in which the miners spent their
hard-earned but generous wages.
&odq;That's the Union House,&cdq; said the guide, pointing to
one saloon which rose almost to the dignity of being a hotel.
&odq;Jack McGinty is the boss there.&cdq;
&odq;What sort of a man is he?&cdq; McMurdo asked.
&odq;What! have you never heard of the boss?&cdq;
&odq;How could I have heard of him when you know that I am a
stranger in these parts?&cdq;
&odq;Well, I thought his name was known clear across the
country. It's been in the papers often enough.&cdq;
&odq;What for?&cdq;
&odq;Well,&cdq; the miner
lowered his voice — &odq;over the affairs.&cdq;
&odq;What affairs?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Why, I seem to have read of the Scowrers in Chicago.
A gang of murderers, are they not?&cdq;
&odq;Hush, on your life!&cdq; cried the miner, standing still
in alarm, and gazing in amazement at his companion. &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Well, I know nothing about them. It's only what I
have read.&cdq;
&odq;And I'm not saying that you have not read the truth.&cdq;
The man looked nervously round him as he spoke, peering into
the shadows as if he feared to see some lurking danger.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;I thank you,&cdq; said McMurdo, and shaking hands with his
new acquaintance he plodded, gripsack in hand, up the path which led
to the dwelling house, at the door of which he gave a resounding
knock.
It was opened at once by someone very different from what he
had expected. It was a woman, young and singularly beautiful.
She was of the German type, blonde and fair-haired, with the
piquant contrast of a pair of beautiful dark eyes with which she
surveyed the stranger with surprise and a pleasing embarrassment
which brought a wave of colour over her pale face. Framed in
the bright light of the open doorway, it seemed to McMurdo that he
had never seen a more beautiful picture; the more attractive for its
contrast with the sordid and gloomy surroundings. A lovely
violet growing upon one of those black slag-heaps of the mines would
not have seemed more surprising. So entranced was he that he
stood staring without a word, and it was she who broke the silence.
&odq;I thought it was father,&cdq; said she with a pleasing
little touch of a German accent. &odq;Did you come to see him?
He is downtown. I expect him back every minute.&cdq;
McMurdo continued to gaze at her in open admiration until her
eyes dropped in confusion before this masterful visitor.
&odq;No, miss,&cdq; he said at last, &odq;I'm in no hurry to
see him. But your house was recommended to me for board.
I thought it might suit me — and now I know it
will.&cdq;
&odq;You are quick to make up your mind,&cdq; said she with a
smile.
&odq;Anyone but a blind man could do as much,&cdq; the other
answered.
She laughed at the compliment. &odq;Come right in,
sir,&cdq; she said. &odq;I'm Miss Ettie Shafter, Mr. Shafter's
daughter. My mother's dead, and I run the house. You
can sit down by the stove in the front room until father comes along
— Ah, here he is! So you can fix things with him right
away.&cdq;
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.
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
disregard of what she might say to discourage him.
&odq;Someone else?&cdq; he would cry. &odq;Well, the
worse luck for someone else! Let him look out for himself!
Am I to lose my life's chance and all my heart's desire for
someone else? You can keep on saying no, Ettie: the day will
come when you will say yes, and I'm young enough to wait.&cdq;
He was a dangerous suitor, with his glib Irish tongue, and his
pretty, coaxing ways. There was about him also that glamour of
experience and of mystery which attracts a woman's interest, and
finally her love. He could talk of the sweet valleys of County
Monaghan from which he came, of the lovely, distant island, the low
hills and green meadows of which seemed the more beautiful when
imagination viewed them from this place of grime and snow.
Then he was versed in the life of the cities of the North, of
Detroit, and the lumber camps of Michigan, and finally of Chicago,
where he had worked in a planing mill. And afterwards came the
hint of romance, the feeling that strange things had happened to him
in that great city, so strange and so intimate that they might not be
spoken of. He spoke wistfully of a sudden leaving, a breaking
of old ties, a flight into a strange world, ending in this dreary
valley, and Ettie listened, her dark eyes gleaming with pity and with
sympathy — those two qualities which may turn so rapidly and
so naturally to love.
McMurdo had obtained a temporary job as bookkeeper; for he was
a well-educated man. This kept him out most of the day, and he
had not found occasion yet to report himself to the head of the lodge
of the Eminent Order of Freemen. He was reminded of his
omission, however, by a visit one evening from Mike Scanlan, the
fellow member whom he had met in the train. Scanlan, the
small, sharp-faced, nervous, black-eyed man, seemed glad to see him
once more. After a glass or two of whisky he broached the
object of his visit.
&odq;Say, McMurdo,&cdq; said he, &odq;I remembered your
address, so I made bold to call. I'm surprised that you've not
reported to the Bodymaster. Why haven't you seen Boss McGinty
yet?&cdq;
&odq;Well, I had to find a job. I have been busy.&cdq;
&odq;You must find time for him if you have none for anything
else. Good Lord, man! you're a fool not to have been down to
the Union House and registered your name the first morning after you
came here! If you run against him — well, you mustn't,
that's all!&cdq;
McMurdo showed mild surprise. &odq;I've been a member of
the lodge for over two years, Scanlan, but I never heard that duties
were so pressing as all that.&cdq;
&odq;Maybe not in Chicago.&cdq;
&odq;Well, it's
the same society here.&cdq;
&odq;Is it?&cdq;
Scanlan looked at him long and
fixedly. There was something sinister in his eyes.
&odq;Isn't it?&cdq;
&odq;You'll tell me that in a
month's time. I hear you had a talk with the patrolmen after I
left the train.&cdq;
&odq;How did you know that?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, it got
about — things do get about for good and for bad in this
district.&cdq;
&odq;Well, yes. I told the hounds what I thought of
them.&cdq;
&odq;By the Lord, you'll be a man after McGinty's heart!&cdq;
&odq;What, does he hate the police too?&cdq;
Scanlan burst out laughing. &odq;You go and see
him, my lad,&cdq; said he as he took his leave. &odq;It's not
the police but you that he'll hate if you don't! Now, take a
friend's advice and go at once!&cdq;
It chanced that on the same evening McMurdo had another more
pressing interview which urged him in the same direction. It
may have been that his attentions to Ettie had been more evident than
before, or that they had gradually obtruded themselves into the slow
mind of his good German host; but, whatever the cause, the
boarding-house keeper beckoned the young man into his private room
and started on the subject without any circumlocution.
&odq;It seems to me, mister,&cdq; said he, &odq;that you are
gettin' set on my Ettie. Ain't that so, or am I wrong?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, that is so,&cdq; the young man answered.
&odq;Vell, I vant to tell you right now that it ain't
no manner of use. There's someone slipped in afore you.&cdq;
&odq;She told me so.&cdq;
&odq;Vell, you can lay
that she told you truth. But did she tell you who it vas?&cdq;
&odq;No, I asked her; but she wouldn't tell.&cdq;
&odq;I dare say not, the leetle baggage! Perhaps
she did not vish to frighten you avay.&cdq;
&odq;Frighten!&cdq; McMurdo was on fire in a moment.
&odq;Ah, yes, my friend! You need not be ashamed to be
frightened of him. It is Teddy Baldwin.&cdq;
&odq;And who the devil is he?&cdq;
&odq;He is a
boss of Scowrers.&cdq;
&odq;Scowrers! I've heard of them before. It's
Scowrers here and Scowrers there, and always in a whisper!
What are you all afraid of? Who are the Scowrers?&cdq;
The boarding-house keeper instinctively sank his voice, as
everyone did who talked about that terrible society. &odq;The
Scowrers,&cdq; said he, &odq;are the Eminent Order of Freemen!&cdq;
The young man stared. &odq;Why, I am a member of that
order myself.&cdq;
&odq;You! I vould never have had you in my house if I
had known it — not if you vere to pay me a hundred dollar a
veek.&cdq;
&odq;What's wrong with the order? It's for charity and
good fellowship. The rules say so.&cdq;
&odq;Maybe in some places. Not here!&cdq;
&odq;What is it here?&cdq;
&odq;It's a murder society, that's vat it is.&cdq;
McMurdo laughed incredulously. &odq;How can you
prove that?&cdq; he asked.
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;See here!&cdq; said McMurdo earnestly. &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;That's just gossip — I want proof!&cdq; said
McMurdo.
&odq;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!&cdq;
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.
&odq;Sure, your father is after giving me notice,&cdq; he said.
&odq;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!&cdq;
&odq;Oh, hush, Mr. McMurdo, don't speak so!&cdq; said the girl.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Suppose I had been first, Ettie, would I have had a
chance?&cdq;
The girl sank her face into her hands. &odq;I wish to
heaven that you had been first!&cdq; she sobbed.
McMurdo was down on his knees before her in an instant.
&odq;For God's sake, Ettie, let it stand at that!&cdq; he
cried. &odq;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.&cdq;
He had seized Ettie's white hand between his own strong brown
ones.
&odq;Say that you will be mine, and we will face it out
together!&cdq;
&odq;Not here?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, here.&cdq;
&odq;No, no, Jack!&cdq; His arms were round her now.
&odq;It could not be here. Could you take me away?&cdq;
A struggle passed for a moment over McMurdo's face; but it
ended by setting like granite. &odq;No, here,&cdq; he said.
&odq;I'll hold you against the world, Ettie, right here where
we are!&cdq;
&odq;Why should we not leave together?&cdq;
&odq;No, Ettie, I can't leave here.&cdq;
&odq;But why?&cdq;
&odq;I'd never hold my head up
again if I felt that I had been driven out. Besides, what is
there to be afraid of? Are we not free folks in a free
country? If you love me, and I you, who will dare to come
between?&cdq;
&odq;You don't know, Jack. You've been here too short a
time. You don't know this Baldwin. You don't know
McGinty and his Scowrers.&cdq;
&odq;No, I don't know them, and I don't fear them, and I don't
believe in them!&cdq; said McMurdo. &odq;I've lived among
rough men, my darling, and instead of fearing them it has always
ended that they have feared me — always, Ettie. It's
mad on the face of it! If these men, as your father says, have
done crime after crime in the valley, and if everyone knows them by
name, how comes it that none are brought to justice? You
answer me that, Ettie!&cdq;
&odq;Because no witness dares to appear against them. He
would not live a month if he did. Also because they have
always their own men to swear that the accused one was far from the
scene of the crime. But surely, Jack, you must have read all
this. I had understood that every paper in the United States
was writing about it.&cdq;
&odq;Well, I have read something, it is true; but I had thought
it was a story. Maybe these men have some reason in what they
do. Maybe they are wronged and have no other way to help
themselves.&cdq;
&odq;Oh, Jack, don't let me hear you speak so! That is
how he speaks — the other one!&cdq;
&odq;Baldwin — he speaks like that, does he?&cdq;
&odq;And that is why I loathe him so. Oh, Jack,
now I can tell you the truth. I loathe him with all my heart;
but I fear him also. I fear him for myself; but above all I
fear him for father. I know that some great sorrow would come
upon us if I dared to say what I really felt. That is why I
have put him off with half-promises. It was in real truth our
only hope. But if you would fly with me, Jack, we could take
father with us and live forever far from the power of these wicked
men.&cdq;
Again there was the struggle upon McMurdo's face, and again it
set like granite. &odq;No harm shall come to you, Ettie
— nor to your father either. As to wicked men, I expect
you may find that I am as bad as the worst of them before we're
through.&cdq;
&odq;No, no, Jack! I would trust you anywhere.&cdq;
McMurdo laughed bitterly. &odq;Good Lord! how
little you know of me! Your innocent soul, my darling, could
not even guess what is passing in mine. But, hullo, who's the
visitor?&cdq;
The door had opened suddenly, and a young fellow came
swaggering in with the air of one who is the master. He was a
handsome, dashing young man of about the same age and build as
McMurdo himself. Under his broad-brimmed black felt hat, which
he had not troubled to remove, a handsome face with fierce,
domineering eyes and a curved hawk-bill of a nose looked savagely at
the pair who sat by the stove.
Ettie had jumped to her feet full of confusion and alarm.
&odq;I'm glad to see you, Mr. Baldwin,&cdq; said she.
&odq;You're earlier than I had thought. Come and sit
down.&cdq;
Baldwin stood with his hands on his hips looking at McMurdo.
&odq;Who is this?&cdq; he asked curtly.
&odq;It's a friend of mine, Mr. Baldwin, a new boarder here.
Mr. McMurdo, may I introduce you to Mr. Baldwin?&cdq;
The young men nodded in surly fashion to each other.
&odq;Maybe Miss Ettie has told you how it is with
us?&cdq; said Baldwin.
&odq;I didn't understand that there was any relation between
you.&cdq;
&odq;Didn't you? Well, you can understand it now.
You can take it from me that this young lady is mine, and
you'll find it a very fine evening for a walk.&cdq;
&odq;Thank you, I am in no humour for a walk.&cdq;
&odq;Aren't you?&cdq; The man's savage eyes were
blazing with anger. &odq;Maybe you are in a humour for a
fight, Mr. Boarder!&cdq;
&odq;That I am!&cdq; cried McMurdo, springing to his feet.
&odq;You never said a more welcome word.&cdq;
&odq;For God's sake, Jack! Oh, for God's sake!&cdq;
cried poor distracted Ettie. &odq;Oh, Jack, Jack, he will hurt
you!&cdq;
&odq;Oh, it's Jack, is it?&cdq; said Baldwin with an oath.
&odq;You've come to that already, have you?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, Ted, be reasonable — be kind! For my
sake, Ted, if ever you loved me, be big-hearted and forgiving!&cdq;
&odq;I think, Ettie, that if you were to leave us alone we
could get this thing settled,&cdq; said McMurdo quietly.
&odq;Or maybe, Mr. Baldwin, you will take a turn down the
street with me. It's a fine evening, and there's some open
ground beyond the next block.&cdq;
&odq;I'll get even with you without needing to dirty my
hands,&cdq; said his enemy. &odq;You'll wish you had never set
foot in this house before I am through with you!&cdq;
&odq;No time like the present,&cdq; cried McMurdo.
&odq;I'll choose my own time, mister. You can
leave the time to me. See here!&cdq; He suddenly rolled
up his sleeve and showed upon his forearm a peculiar sign which
appeared to have been branded there. It was a circle with a
triangle within it. &odq;D'you know what that means?&cdq;
&odq;I neither know nor care!&cdq;
&odq;Well, you
will know, I'll promise you that. You won't be much older,
either. Perhaps Miss Ettie can tell you something about it.
As to you, Ettie, you'll come back to me on your knees
— d'ye hear, girl? — on your knees — and then
I'll tell you what your punishment may be. You've sowed
— and by the Lord, I'll see that you reap!&cdq; He
glanced at them both in fury. Then he turned upon his heel,
and an instant later the outer door had banged behind him.
For a few moments McMurdo and the girl stood in silence.
Then she threw her arms around him.
&odq;Oh, Jack, how brave you were! But it is no use, you
must fly! To-night — Jack — to-night!
It's your only hope. He will have your life. I
read it in his horrible eyes. What chance have you against a
dozen of them, with Boss McGinty and all the power of the lodge
behind them?&cdq;
McMurdo disengaged her hands, kissed her, and gently pushed her
back into a chair. &odq;There, acushla, there! Don't be
disturbed or fear for me. I'm a Freeman myself. I'm
after telling your father about it. Maybe I am no better than
the others; so don't make a saint of me. Perhaps you hate me
too, now that I've told you as much?&cdq;
&odq;Hate you, Jack? While life lasts I could never do
that! I've heard that there is no harm in being a Freeman
anywhere but here; so why should I think the worse of you for that?
But if you are a Freeman, Jack, why should you not go down and
make a friend of Boss McGinty? Oh, hurry, Jack, hurry!
Get your word in first, or the hounds will be on your
trail.&cdq;
&odq;I was thinking the same thing,&cdq; said McMurdo.
&odq;I'll go right now and fix it. You can tell your
father that I'll sleep here to-night and find some other quarters in
the morning.&cdq;
The bar of McGinty's saloon was crowded as usual, for it was
the favourite loafing place of all the rougher elements of the town.
The man was popular; for he had a rough, jovial disposition
which formed a mask, covering a great deal which lay behind it.
But apart from this popularity, the fear in which he was held
throughout the township, and indeed down the whole thirty miles of
the valley and past the mountains on each side of it, was enough in
itself to fill his bar; for none could afford to neglect his good
will.
Besides those secret powers which it was universally believed
that he exercised in so pitiless a fashion, he was a high public
official, a municipal councillor, and a commissioner of roads,
elected to the office through the votes of the ruffians who in turn
expected to receive favours at his hands. Assessments and
taxes were enormous; the public works were notoriously neglected, the
accounts were slurred over by bribed auditors, and the decent citizen
was terrorized into paying public blackmail, and holding his tongue
lest some worse thing befall him.
Thus it was that, year by year, Boss McGinty's diamond pins
became more obtrusive, his gold chains more weighty across a more
gorgeous vest, and his saloon stretched farther and farther, until it
threatened to absorb one whole side of the Market Square.
McMurdo pushed open the swinging door of the saloon and made
his way amid the crowd of men within, through an atmosphere blurred
with tobacco smoke and heavy with the smell of spirits. The
place was brilliantly lighted, and the huge, heavily gilt mirrors
upon every wall reflected and multiplied the garish illumination.
There were several bartenders in their shirt sleeves, hard at
work mixing drinks for the loungers who fringed the broad,
brass-trimmed counter.
At the far end, with his body resting upon the bar and a cigar
stuck at an acute angle from the corner of his mouth, stood a tall,
strong, heavily built man who could be none other than the famous
McGinty himself. He was a black-maned giant, bearded to the
cheek-bones, and with a shock of raven hair which fell to his collar.
His complexion was as swarthy as that of an Italian, and his
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.
&odq;Well, young man, I can't call your face to mind.&cdq;
&odq;I'm new here, Mr. McGinty.&cdq;
&odq;You are not so new that you can't give a gentleman his
proper title.&cdq;
&odq;He's Councillor McGinty, young man,&cdq; said a voice from
the group.
&odq;I'm sorry, Councillor. I'm strange to the ways of
the place. But I was advised to see you.&cdq;
&odq;Well, you see me. This is all there is. What
d'you think of me?&cdq;
&odq;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,&cdq; said McMurdo.
&odq;By Gar! you've got an Irish tongue in your head
anyhow,&cdq; cried the saloon-keeper, not quite certain whether to
humour this audacious visitor or to stand upon his dignity.
&odq;So you are good enough to pass my appearance?&cdq;
&odq;Sure,&cdq; said McMurdo.
&odq;And you were told to see me?&cdq;
&odq;I
was.&cdq;
&odq;And who told you?&cdq;
&odq;Brother Scanlan
of Lodge 341, Vermissa. I drink your health Councillor, and to
our better acquaintance.&cdq; He raised a glass with which he
had been served to his lips and elevated his little finger as he
drank it.
McGinty, who had been watching him narrowly, raised his thick
black eyebrows. &odq;Oh, it's like that, is it?&cdq; said he.
&odq;I'll have to look a bit closer into this, Mister —
&cdq;
&odq;McMurdo.&cdq;
&odq;A bit closer, Mr.
McMurdo; for we don't take folk on trust in these parts, nor believe
all we're told neither. Come in here for a moment, behind the
bar.&cdq;
There was a small room there, lined with barrels.
McGinty carefully closed the door, and then seated himself on
one of them, biting thoughtfully on his cigar and surveying his
companion with those disquieting eyes. For a couple of minutes
he sat in complete silence. McMurdo bore the inspection
cheerfully, one hand in his coat pocket, the other twisting his brown
moustache. Suddenly McGinty stooped and produced a
wicked-looking revolver.
&odq;See here, my joker,&cdq; said he, &odq;if I thought you
were playing any game on us, it would be short work for you.&cdq;
&odq;This is a strange welcome,&cdq; McMurdo answered with some
dignity, &odq;for the Bodymaster of a lodge of Freemen to give to a
stranger brother.&cdq;
&odq;Ay, but it's just that same that you have to prove,&cdq;
said McGinty, &odq;and God help you if you fail! Where were
you made?&cdq;
&odq;Lodge 29, Chicago.&cdq;
&odq;When?&cdq;
&odq;June 24, 1872.&cdq;
&odq;What
Bodymaster?&cdq;
&odq;James H. Scott.&cdq;
&odq;Who is your
district ruler?&cdq;
&odq;Bartholomew Wilson.&cdq;
&odq;Hum!
You seem glib enough in your tests. What are you doing
here?&cdq;
&odq;Working, the same as you — but a poorer job.&cdq;
&odq;You have your back answer quick enough.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, I was always quick of speech.&cdq;
&odq;Are you quick of action?&cdq;
&odq;I have had that name among those that knew me best.&cdq;
&odq;Well, we may try you sooner than you think. Have
you heard anything of the lodge in these parts?&cdq;
&odq;I've heard that it takes a man to be a brother.&cdq;
&odq;True for you, Mr. McMurdo. Why did you
leave Chicago?&cdq;
&odq;I'm damned if I tell you that!&cdq;
McGinty
opened his eyes. He was not used to being answered in such
fashion, and it amused him. &odq;Why won't you tell me?&cdq;
&odq;Because no brother may tell another a lie.&cdq;
&odq;Then the truth is too bad to tell?&cdq;
&odq;You can put it that way if you like.&cdq;
&odq;See here, mister, you can't expect me, as
Bodymaster, to pass into the lodge a man for whose past he can't
answer.&cdq;
McMurdo looked puzzled. Then he took a worn newspaper
cutting from an inner pocket.
&odq;You wouldn't squeal on a fellow?&cdq; said he.
&odq;I'll wipe my hand across your face if you say such
words to me!&cdq; cried McGinty hotly.
&odq;You are right, Councillor,&cdq; said McMurdo meekly.
&odq;I should apologize. I spoke without thought.
Well, I know that I am safe in your hands. Look at that
clipping.&cdq;
McGinty glanced his eyes over the account of the shooting of
one Jonas Pinto, in the Lake Saloon, Market Street, Chicago, in the
New Year week of 1874.
&odq;Your work?&cdq; he asked, as he handed back the paper.
McMurdo nodded.
&odq;Why did you shoot him?&cdq;
&odq;I was
helping Uncle Sam to make dollars. Maybe mine were not as good
gold as his, but they looked as well and were cheaper to make.
This man Pinto helped me to shove the queer — &cdq;
&odq;To do what?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Why the coal country?&cdq;
&odq;'Cause I'd
read in the papers that they weren't too particular in those
parts.&cdq;
McGinty laughed. &odq;You were first a coiner and then a
murderer, and you came to these parts because you thought you'd be
welcome.&cdq;
&odq;That's about the size of it,&cdq; McMurdo answered.
&odq;Well, I guess you'll go far. Say, can you
make those dollars yet?&cdq;
McMurdo took half a dozen from his pocket. &odq;Those
never passed the Philadelphia mint,&cdq; said he.
&odq;You don't say!&cdq; McGinty held them to the light
in his enormous hand, which was hairy as a gorilla's. &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Well, I guess I'll do my share of shoving with the rest of
the boys.&cdq;
&odq;You seem to have a good nerve. You didn't squirm
when I shoved this gun at you.&cdq;
&odq;It was not me that was in danger.&cdq;
&odq;Who then?&cdq;
&odq;It was you, Councillor.&cdq; McMurdo drew a cocked
pistol from the side pocket of his peajacket. &odq;I was
covering you all the time. I guess my shot would have been as
quick as yours.&cdq;
&odq;By Gar!&cdq; McGinty flushed an angry red and then
burst into a roar of laughter. &odq;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
want? And can't I speak alone with a gentleman for five
minutes but you must butt in on us?&cdq;
The bartender stood abashed. &odq;I'm sorry, Councillor,
but it's Ted Baldwin. He says he must see you this very
minute.&cdq;
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.
&odq;So,&cdq; said he with a furious glance at McMurdo,
&odq;you got here first, did you? I've a word to say to you,
Councillor, about this man.&cdq;
&odq;Then say it here and now before my face,&cdq; cried
McMurdo.
&odq;I'll say it at my own time, in my own way.&cdq;
&odq;Tut! Tut!&cdq; said McGinty, getting off
his barrel. &odq;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!&cdq;
&odq;Never!&cdq; cried Baldwin in a fury.
&odq;I've offered to fight him if he thinks I have
wronged him,&cdq; said McMurdo. &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;What is it, then?&cdq;
&odq;A young lady.
She's free to choose for herself.&cdq;
&odq;Is she?&cdq; cried Baldwin.
&odq;As between
two brothers of the lodge I should say that she was,&cdq; said the
Boss.
&odq;Oh, that's your ruling, is it?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, it is, Ted Baldwin,&cdq; said McGinty, with a
wicked stare. &odq;Is it you that would dispute it?&cdq;
&odq;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 — &cdq;
The Councillor sprang at him like a tiger. His hand
closed round the other's neck, and he hurled him back across one of
the barrels. In his mad fury he would have squeezed the life
out of him if McMurdo had not interfered.
&odq;Easy, Councillor! For heaven's sake, go easy!&cdq;
he cried, as he dragged him back.
McGinty released his hold, and Baldwin, cowed and shaken
gasping for breath, and shivering in every limb, as one who has
looked over the very edge of death, sat up on the barrel over which
he had been hurled.
&odq;You've been asking for it this many a day, Ted Baldwin
— now you've got it!&cdq; cried McGinty, his huge chest rising
and falling. &odq;Maybe you think if I was voted down from
Bodymaster you would find yourself in my shoes. It's for the
lodge to say that. But so long as I am the chief I'll have no
man lift his voice against me or my rulings.&cdq;
&odq;I have nothing against you,&cdq; mumbled Baldwin, feeling
his throat.
&odq;Well, then,&cdq; cried the other, relapsing in a moment
into a bluff joviality, &odq;we are all good friends again and
there's an end of the matter.&cdq;
He took a bottle of champagne down from the shelf and twisted
out the cork.
&odq;See now,&cdq; he continued, as he filled three high
glasses &odq;Let us drink the quarrelling toast of the lodge.
After that, as you know, there can be no bad blood between us.
Now, then the left hand on the apple of my throat. I
say to you, Ted Baldwin, what is the offense, sir?&cdq;
&odq;The clouds are heavy,&cdq; answered Baldwin
&odq;But they will forever brighten.&cdq;
&odq;And this I swear!&cdq;
The men drank their
glasses, and the same ceremony was performed between Baldwin and
McMurdo
&odq;There!&cdq; cried McGinty, rubbing his hands.
&odq;That's the end of the black blood. You come under
lodge discipline if it goes further, and that's a heavy hand in these
parts, as Brother Baldwin knows — and as you will damn soon
find out, Brother McMurdo, if you ask for trouble!&cdq;
&odq;Faith, I'd be slow to do that,&cdq; said McMurdo.
He held out his hand to Baldwin. &odq;I'm quick to
quarrel and quick to forgive. It's my hot Irish blood, they
tell me. But it's over for me, and I bear no grudge.&cdq;
Baldwin had to take the proffered hand, for the baleful eye of
the terrible Boss was upon him. But his sullen face showed how
little the words of the other had moved him.
McGinty clapped them both on the shoulders. &odq;Tut!
These girls! These girls!&cdq; he cried. &odq;To
think that the same petticoats should come between two of my boys!
It's the devil's own luck! Well, it's the colleen
inside of them that must settle the question for it's outside the
jurisdiction of a Bodymaster — and the Lord be praised for
that! We have enough on us, without the women as well.
You'll have to be affiliated to Lodge 341, Brother McMurdo.
We have our own ways and methods, different from Chicago.
Saturday night is our meeting, and if you come then, we'll
make you free forever of the Vermissa Valley.&cdq;
On the day following the evening which had contained so many
exciting events, McMurdo moved his lodgings from old Jacob Shafter's
and took up his quarters at the Widow MacNamara's on the extreme
outskirts of the town. Scanlan, his original acquaintance
aboard the train, had occasion shortly afterwards to move into
Vermissa, and the two lodged together. There was no other
boarder, and the hostess was an easy-going old Irishwoman who left
them to themselves; so that they had a freedom for speech and action
welcome to men who had secrets in common.
Shafter had relented to the extent of letting McMurdo come to
his meals there when he liked; so that his intercourse with Ettie was
by no means broken. On the contrary, it drew closer and more
intimate as the weeks went by.
In his bedroom at his new abode McMurdo felt it safe to take
out the coining moulds, and under many a pledge of secrecy a number
of brothers from the lodge were allowed to come in and see them, each
carrying away in his pocket some examples of the false money, so
cunningly struck that there was never the slightest difficulty or
danger in passing it. Why, with such a wonderful art at his
command, McMurdo should condescend to work at all was a perpetual
mystery to his companions; though he made it clear to anyone who
asked him that if he lived without any visible means it would very
quickly bring the police upon his track.
One policeman was indeed after him already; but the incident,
as luck would have it, did the adventurer a great deal more good than
harm. After the first introduction there were few evenings
when he did not find his way to McGinty's saloon, there to make
closer acquaintance with &odq;the boys,&cdq; which was the jovial
title by which the dangerous gang who infested the place were known
to one another. His dashing manner and fearlessness of speech
made him a favourite with them all; while the rapid and scientific
way in which he polished off his antagonist in an &odq;all in&cdq;
bar-room scrap earned the respect of that rough community.
Another incident, however, raised him even higher in their
estimation.
Just at the crowded hour one night, the door opened and a man
entered with the quiet blue uniform and peaked cap of the mine
police. This was a special body raised by the railways and
colliery owners to supplement the efforts of the ordinary civil
police, who were perfectly helpless in the face of the organized
ruffianism which terrorized the district. There was a hush as
he entered, and many a curious glance was cast at him; but the
relations between policemen and criminals are peculiar in some parts
of the States, and McGinty himself standing behind his counter,
showed no surprise when the policeman enrolled himself among his
customers.
&odq;A straight whisky, for the night is bitter,&cdq; said the
police officer. &odq;I don't think we have met before,
Councillor?&cdq;
&odq;You'll be the new captain?&cdq; said McGinty.
&odq;That's so. We're looking to you,
Councillor, and to the other leading citizens, to help us in
upholding law and order in this township. Captain Marvin is my
name.&cdq;
&odq;We'd do better without you, Captain Marvin,&cdq; said
McGinty coldly; &odq;for we have our own police of the township, and
no need for any imported goods. What are you but the paid tool
of the capitalists, hired by them to club or shoot your poorer fellow
citizen?&cdq;
&odq;Well, well, we won't argue about that,&cdq; said the
police officer good-humouredly. &odq;I expect we all do our
duty same as we see it; but we can't all see it the same.&cdq;
He had drunk off his glass and had turned to go, when his eyes
fell upon the face of Jack McMurdo, who was scowling at his elbow.
&odq;Hullo! Hullo!&cdq; he cried, looking him up and
down. &odq;Here's an old acquaintance!&cdq;
McMurdo shrank away from him. &odq;I was never a friend
to you nor any other cursed copper in my life,&cdq; said he.
&odq;An acquaintance isn't always a friend,&cdq; said the
police captain, grinning. &odq;You're Jack McMurdo of Chicago,
right enough, and don't you deny it!&cdq;
McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. &odq;I'm not denying
it,&cdq; said he. &odq;D'ye think I'm ashamed of my own
name?&cdq;
&odq;You've got good cause to be, anyhow.&cdq;
&odq;What the devil d'you mean by that?&cdq; he roared
with his fists clenched.
&odq;No, no, Jack, bluster won't do with me. I was an
officer in Chicago before ever I came to this darned coal bunker, and
I know a Chicago crook when I see one.&cdq;
McMurdo's face fell. &odq;Don't tell me that you're
Marvin of the Chicago Central!&cdq; he cried.
&odq;Just the same old Teddy Marvin, at your service. We
haven't forgotten the shooting of Jonas Pinto up there.&cdq;
&odq;I never shot him.&cdq;
&odq;Did you not?
That's good impartial evidence, ain't it? Well, his
death came in uncommon handy for you, or they would have had you for
shoving the queer. Well, we can let that be bygones; for,
between you and me — and perhaps I'm going further than my
duty in saying it — they could get no clear case against you,
and Chicago's open to you to-morrow.&cdq;
&odq;I'm very well where I am.&cdq;
&odq;Well,
I've given you the pointer, and you're a sulky dog not to thank me
for it.&cdq;
&odq;Well, I suppose you mean well, and I do thank you,&cdq;
said McMurdo in no very gracious manner.
&odq;It's mum with me so long as I see you living on the
straight,&cdq; said the captain. &odq;But, by the Lord! if you
get off after this, it's another story! So good-night to you
— and goodnight, Councillor.&cdq;
He left the bar-room; but not before he had created a local
hero. McMurdo's deeds in far Chicago had been whispered
before. He had put off all questions with a smile, as one who
did not wish to have greatness thrust upon him. But now the
thing was officially confirmed. The bar loafers crowded round
him and shook him heartily by the hand. He was free of the
community from that time on. He could drink hard and show
little trace of it; but that evening, had his mate Scanlan not been
at hand to lead him home, the feted hero would surely have spent his
night under the bar.
On a Saturday night McMurdo was introduced to the lodge.
He had thought to pass in without ceremony as being an
initiate of Chicago; but there were particular rites in Vermissa of
which they were proud, and these had to be undergone by every
postulant. The assembly met in a large room reserved for such
purposes at the Union House. Some sixty members assembled at
Vermissa; but that by no means represented the full strength of the
organization, for there were several other lodges in the valley, and
others across the mountains on each side, who exchanged members when
any serious business was afoot, so that a crime might be done by men
who were strangers to the locality. Altogether there were not
less than five hundred scattered over the coal district.
In the bare assembly room the men were gathered round a long
table. At the side was a second one laden with bottles and
glasses, on which some members of the company were already turning
their eyes. McGinty sat at the head with a flat black velvet
cap upon his shock of tangled black hair, and a coloured purple stole
round his neck, so that he seemed to be a priest presiding over some
diabolical ritual. To right and left of him were the higher
lodge officials, the cruel, handsome face of Ted Baldwin among them.
Each of these wore some scarf or medallion as emblem of his
office.
They were, for the most part, men of mature age; but the rest
of the company consisted of young fellows from eighteen to
twenty-five, the ready and capable agents who carried out the
commands of their seniors. Among the older men were many whose
features showed the tigerish, lawless souls within; but looking at
the rank and file it was difficult to believe that these eager and
open-faced young fellows were in very truth a dangerous gang of
murderers, whose minds had suffered such complete moral perversion
that they took a horrible pride in their proficiency at the business,
and looked with deepest respect at the man who had the reputation of
making what they called &odq;a clean job.&cdq;
To their contorted natures it had become a spirited and
chivalrous thing to volunteer for service against some man who had
never injured them, and whom in many cases they had never seen in
their lives. The crime committed, they quarrelled as to who
had actually struck the fatal blow, and amused one another and the
company by describing the cries and contortions of the murdered man.
At first they had shown some secrecy in their arrangements; but
at the time which this narrative describes their proceedings were
extraordinarily open, for the repeated failures of the law had proved
to them that, on the one hand, no one would dare to witness against
them, and on the other they had an unlimited number of stanch
witnesses upon whom they could call, and a well-filled treasure chest
from which they could draw the funds to engage the best legal talent
in the state. In ten long years of outrage there had been no
single conviction, and the only danger that ever threatened the
Scowrers lay in the victim himself — who, however outnumbered
and taken by surprise, might and occasionally did leave his mark upon
his assailants.
McMurdo had been warned that some ordeal lay before him; but no
one would tell him in what it consisted. He was led now into
an outer room by two solemn brothers. Through the plank
partition he could hear the murmur of many voices from the assembly
within. Once or twice he caught the sound of his own name, and
he knew that they were discussing his candidacy. Then there
entered an inner guard with a green and gold sash across his chest.
&odq;The Bodymaster orders that he shall be trussed, blinded,
and entered,&cdq; said he.
The three of them removed his coat, turned up the sleeve of his
right arm, and finally passed a rope round above the elbows and made
it fast. They next placed a thick black cap right over his
head and the upper part of his face, so that he could see nothing.
He was then led into the assembly hall.
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.
&odq;John McMurdo,&cdq; said the voice, &odq;are you already a
member of the Ancient Order of Freemen?&cdq;
He bowed in assent.
&odq;Is your lodge No. 29,
Chicago?&cdq;
He bowed again.
&odq;Dark nights are
unpleasant,&cdq; said the voice.
&odq;Yes, for strangers to travel,&cdq; he answered.
&odq;The clouds are heavy.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, a storm is approaching.&cdq;
&odq;Are
the brethren satisfied?&cdq; asked the Bodymaster.
There was a general murmur of assent.
&odq;We
know, Brother, by your sign and by your countersign that you are
indeed one of us,&cdq; said McGinty. &odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;I am.&cdq;
&odq;Are you of stout heart?&cdq;
&odq;I am.&cdq;
&odq;Take a stride forward to
prove it.&cdq;
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.
&odq;He is of stout heart,&cdq; said the voice. &odq;Can
you bear pain?&cdq;
&odq;As well as another,&cdq; he answered.
&odq;Test him!&cdq;
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.
&odq;I can take more than that,&cdq; 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 from his head. He stood
blinking and smiling amid the congratulations of the brothers.
&odq;One last word, Brother McMurdo,&cdq; said McGinty.
&odq;You have already sworn the oath of secrecy and fidelity,
and you are aware that the punishment for any breach of it is instant
and inevitable death?&cdq;
&odq;I am,&cdq; said McMurdo.
&odq;And you accept
the rule of the Bodymaster for the time being under all
circumstances?&cdq;
&odq;I do.&cdq;
&odq;Then in the name of Lodge
341, Vermissa, I welcome you to its privileges and debates.
You will put the liquor on the table, Brother Scanlan, and we
will drink to our worthy brother.&cdq;
McMurdo's coat had been brought to him; but before putting it
on he examined his right arm, which still smarted heavily.
There on the flesh of the forearm was a circle with a triangle
within it, deep and red, as the branding iron had left it. One
or two of his neighbours pulled up their sleeves and showed their own
lodge marks.
&odq;We've all had it,&cdq; said one; &odq;but not all as brave
as you over it.&cdq;
&odq;Tut! It was nothing,&cdq; said he; but it burned
and ached all the same.
When the drinks which followed the ceremony of initiation had
all been disposed of, the business of the lodge proceeded.
McMurdo, accustomed only to the prosaic performances of
Chicago, listened with open ears and more surprise than he ventured
to show to what followed.
&odq;The first business on the agenda paper,&cdq; said McGinty,
&odq;is to read the following letter from Division Master Windle of
Merton County Lodge 249. He says:
&odq;DEAR SIR:&cdq; There is a job to be done on Andrew Rae of
Rae & Sturmash, coal owners near this place. You will remember
that your lodge owes us a return, having had the service of two
brethren in the matter of the patrolman last fall. You will
send two good men, they will be taken charge of by Treasurer Higgins
of this lodge, whose address you know. He will show them when
to act and where. Yours in freedom, &odq;J. W. WINDLE D. M.
A. O. F.
&odq;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.&cdq; McGinty paused and looked round the room with his
dull, malevolent eyes. &odq;Who will volunteer for the
job?&cdq;
Several young fellows held up their hands. The
Bodymaster looked at them with an approving smile.
&odq;You'll do, Tiger Cormac. If you handle it as well
as you did the last, you won't be wrong. And you, Wilson.&cdq;
&odq;I've no pistol,&cdq; said the volunteer, a mere boy in his
teens.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Any reward this time?&cdq; asked Cormac, a thick-set,
dark-faced, brutal-looking young man, whose ferocity had earned him
the nickname of &odq;Tiger.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;What has the man done?&cdq; asked young Wilson.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Who are they?&cdq; asked someone.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;And time, too!&cdq; cried Ted Baldwin. &odq;Folk
are gettin' out of hand in these parts. It was only last week
that three of our men were turned off by Foreman Blaker. It's
been owing him a long time, and he'll get it full and proper.&cdq;
&odq;Get what?&cdq; McMurdo whispered to his neighbour.
&odq;The business end of a buckshot cartridge!&cdq; cried the
man with a loud laugh. &odq;What think you of our ways,
Brother?&cdq;
McMurdo's criminal soul seemed to have already absorbed the
spirit of the vile association of which he was now a member.
&odq;I like it well,&cdq; said he. &odq;'Tis a proper
place for a lad of mettle.&cdq;
Several of those who sat around heard his words and applauded
them.
&odq;What's that?&cdq; cried the black-maned Bodymaster from
the end of the table.
&odq;'Tis our new brother, sir, who finds our ways to his
taste.&cdq;
McMurdo rose to his feet for an instant. &odq;I would
say, Eminent Bodymaster, that if a man should be wanted I should take
it as an honour to be chosen to help the lodge.&cdq;
There was great applause at this. It was felt that a new
sun was pushing its rim above the horizon. To some of the
elders it seemed that the progress was a little too rapid.
&odq;I would move,&cdq; said the secretary, Harraway, a
vulture-faced old graybeard who sat near the chairman, &odq;that
Brother McMurdo should wait until it is the good pleasure of the
lodge to employ him.&cdq;
&odq;Sure, that was what I meant; I'm in your hands,&cdq; said
McMurdo.
&odq;Your time will come, Brother,&cdq; said the chairman.
&odq;We have marked you down as a willing man, and we believe
that you will do good work in these parts. There is a small
matter to-night in which you may take a hand if it so please
you.&cdq;
&odq;I will wait for something that is worth while.&cdq;
&odq;You can come to-night, anyhow, and it will help
you to know what we stand for in this community. I will make
the announcement later. Meanwhile,&cdq; he glanced at his
agenda paper, &odq;I have one or two more points to bring before the
meeting. First of all, I will ask the treasurer as to our bank
balance. There is the pension to Jim Carnaway's widow.
He was struck down doing the work of the lodge, and it is for
us to see that she is not the loser.&cdq;
&odq;Jim was shot last month when they tried to kill Chester
Wilcox of Marley Creek,&cdq; McMurdo's neighbour informed him.
&odq;The funds are good at the moment,&cdq; said the treasurer,
with the bankbook in front of him. &odq;The firms have been
generous of late. Max Linder & Co. paid five hundred to be
left alone. Walker Brothers sent in a hundred; but I took it
on myself to return it and ask for five. If I do not hear by
Wednesday, their winding gear may get out of order. We had to
burn their breaker last year before they became reasonable.
Then the West Section Coaling Company has paid its annual
contribution. We have enough on hand to meet any
obligations.&cdq;
&odq;What about Archie Swindon?&cdq; asked a brother.
&odq;He has sold out and left the district. The
old devil left a note for us to say that he had rather be a free
crossing sweeper in New York than a large mine owner under the power
of a ring of blackmailers. By Gar! it was as well that he made
a break for it before the note reached us! I guess he won't
show his face in this valley again.&cdq;
An elderly, clean-shaved man with a kindly face and a good brow
rose from the end of the table which faced the chairman.
&odq;Mr. Treasurer,&cdq; he asked, &odq;may I ask who has
bought the property of this man that we have driven out of the
district?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, Brother Morris. It has been bought by the
State & Merton County Railroad Company.&cdq;
&odq;And who bought the mines of Todman and of Lee that came
into the market in the same way last year?&cdq;
&odq;The same company, Brother Morris.&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;They were all bought by the West Gilmerton General Mining
Company.&cdq;
&odq;I don't see, Brother Morris,&cdq; said the chairman,
&odq;that it matters to us who buys them, since they can't carry them
out of the district.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
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.
&odq;It is my advice,&cdq; the speaker continued, &odq;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.&cdq;
Unwelcome truths are not popular. There were angry cries
as the speaker resumed his seat. McGinty rose with gloom upon
his brow.
&odq;Brother Morris,&cdq; said he, &odq;you were always a
croaker. So long as the members of this lodge stand together
there is no power in the United States that can touch them.
Sure, have we not tried it often enough in the law courts?
I expect the big companies will find it easier to pay than to
fight, same as the little companies do. And now,
Brethren,&cdq; McGinty took off his black velvet cap and his stole as
he spoke, &odq;this lodge has finished its business for the evening,
save for one small matter which may be mentioned when we are parting.
The time has now come for fraternal refreshment and for
harmony.&cdq;
Strange indeed is human nature. Here were these men, to
whom murder was familiar, who again and again had struck down the
father of the family, some man against whom they had no personal
feeling, without one thought of compunction or of compassion for his
weeping wife or helpless children, and yet the tender or pathetic in
music could move them to tears. McMurdo had a fine tenor
voice, and if he had failed to gain the good will of the lodge
before, it could no longer have been withheld after he had thrilled
them with &odq;I'm Sitting on the Stile, Mary,&cdq; and &odq;On the
Banks of Allan Water.&cdq;
In his very first night the new recruit had made himself one of
the most popular of the brethren, marked already for advancement and
high office. There were other qualities needed, however,
besides those of good fellowship, to make a worthy Freeman, and of
these he was given an example before the evening was over. The
whisky bottle had passed round many times, and the men were flushed
and ripe for mischief when their Bodymaster rose once more to address
them.
&odq;Boys,&cdq; said he, &odq;there's one man in this town that
wants trimming up, and it's for you to see that he gets it.
I'm speaking of James Stanger of the Herald. You've
seen how he's been opening his mouth against us again?&cdq;
There was a murmur of assent, with many a muttered oath.
McGinty took a slip of paper from his waistcoat pocket.
&odq;LAW AND ORDER!
That's how he heads it.
&odq;REIGN OF TERROR IN THE COAL AND IRON DISTRICT&cdq; 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!
&odq;cried the chairman, tossing the paper down upon the table.
&cdq; That's what he says of us. The question I'm
asking you is what shall we say to him? &odq;
&odq;Kill him!&cdq; cried a dozen fierce voices.
&odq;I protest against that,&cdq; said Brother Morris,
the man of the good brow and shaved face. &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;And how would they bring about our destruction, Mr.
Standback?&cdq; cried McGinty. &odq;Is it by the police?
Sure, half of them are in our pay and half of them afraid of
us. Or is it by the law courts and the judge? Haven't
we tried that before now, and what ever came of it?&cdq;
&odq;There is a Judge Lynch that might try the case,&cdq; said
Brother Morris.
A general shout of anger greeted the suggestion.
&odq;I have but to raise my finger,&cdq; cried McGinty,
&odq;and I could put two hundred men into this town that would clear
it out from end to end.&cdq; Then suddenly raising his voice
and bending his huge black brows into a terrible frown, &odq;See
here, Brother Morris, I have my eye on you, and have had for some
time! You've no heart yourself, and you try to take the heart
out of others. It will be an ill day for you, Brother Morris,
when your own name comes on our agenda paper, and I'm thinking that
it's just there that I ought to place it.&cdq;
Morris had turned deadly pale, and his knees seemed to give way
under him as he fell back into his chair. He raised his glass
in his trembling hand and drank before he could answer. &odq;I
apologize, Eminent Bodymaster, to you and to every brother in this
lodge if I have said more than I should. I am a faithful
member — you all know that — and it is my fear lest
evil come to the lodge which makes me speak in anxious words.
But I have greater trust in your judgment than in my own,
Eminent Bodymaster, and I promise you that I will not offend
again.&cdq;
The Bodymaster's scowl relaxed as he listened to the humble
words. &odq;Very good, Brother Morris. It's myself that
would be sorry if it were needful to give you a lesson. But so
long as I am in this chair we shall be a united lodge in word and in
deed. And now, boys,&cdq; he continued, looking round at the
company, &odq;I'll 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?&cdq;
&odq;Sure!&cdq; said the young man eagerly.
&odq;How many will you take?&cdq;
&odq;Half a dozen, and two to guard the door. You'll
come, Gower, and you, Mansel, and you, Scanlan, and the two
Willabys.&cdq;
&odq;I promised the new brother he should go,&cdq; said the
chairman.
Ted Baldwin looked at McMurdo with eyes which showed that he
had not forgotten nor forgiven. &odq;Well, he can come if he
wants,&cdq; he said in a surly voice. &odq;That's enough.
The sooner we get to work the better.&cdq;
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, star-spangled sky. The men stopped
and gathered in a yard which faced a high building. The words
&odq;Vermissa Herald&cdq; were printed in gold lettering between the
brightly lit windows. From within came the clanking of the
printing press.
&odq;Here, you,&cdq; said Baldwin to McMurdo, &odq;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.&cdq;
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 which faced them.
McMurdo and another remained below. From the room above
came a shout, a cry for help, and then the sound of trampling feet
and of falling chairs. An instant later a gray-haired man
rushed out on the landing.
He was seized before he could get farther, and his spectacles
came tinkling down to McMurdo's feet. There was a thud and a
groan. He was on his face, and half a dozen sticks were
clattering together as they fell upon him. He writhed, and his
long, thin limbs quivered under the blows. The others ceased
at last; but Baldwin, his cruel face set in an infernal smile, was
hacking at the man's head, which he vainly endeavoured to defend with
his arms. His white hair was dabbled with patches of blood.
Baldwin was still stooping over his victim, putting in a
short, vicious blow whenever he could see a part exposed, when
McMurdo dashed up the stair and pushed him back.
&odq;You'll kill the man,&cdq; said he. &odq;Drop
it!&cdq;
Baldwin looked at him in amazement.
&odq;Curse you!&cdq; he cried. &odq;Who are you to
interfere — you that are new to the lodge? Stand
back!&cdq; He raised his stick; but McMurdo had whipped his
pistol out of his hip pocket.
&odq;Stand back yourself!&cdq; he cried. &odq;I'll blow
your face in if you lay a hand on me. As to the lodge, wasn't
it the order of the Bodymaster that the man was not to be killed
— and what are you doing but killing him?&cdq;
&odq;It's truth he says,&cdq; remarked one of the men.
&odq;By Gar! you'd best hurry yourselves!&cdq; cried
the man below. &odq;The windows are all lighting up, and
you'll have the whole town here inside of five minutes.&cdq;
There was indeed the sound of shouting in the street, and a
little group of compositors and pressmen was forming in the hall
below and nerving itself to action. Leaving the limp and
motionless body of the editor at the head of the stair, the criminals
rushed down and made their way swiftly along the street.
Having reached the Union House, some of them mixed with the
crowd in McGinty's saloon, whispering across the bar to the Boss that
the job had been well carried through. Others, and among them
McMurdo, broke away into side streets, and so by devious paths to
their own homes.
When McMurdo awoke next morning he had good reason to remember
his initiation into the lodge. His head ached with the effect
of the drink, and his arm, where he had been branded, was hot and
swollen. Having his own peculiar source of income, he was
irregular in his attendance at his work; so he had a late breakfast,
and remained at home for the morning writing a long letter to a
friend. Afterwards he read the Daily Herald. In a
special column put in at the last moment he read:
OUTRAGE AT THE HERALD OFFICE — EDITOR SERIOUSLY INJURED.
It was a short account of the facts with which he was himself
more familiar than the writer could have been. It ended with
the statement:
The matter is now in the hands of the police; but it can hardly be hoped that their exertions will be attended by any better results than in the past.Some of the men were recognized, and there is hope that a conviction may be obtained.The source of the outrage was, it need hardly be said, that infamous society which has held this community in bondage for so long a period, and against which the Herald has taken so uncompromising a stand.Mr. Stanger's many friends will rejoice to hear that, though he has been cruelly and brutally beaten, and though he has sustained severe injuries about the head, there is no immediate danger to his life.
Below it stated that a guard of police, armed with Winchester
rifles, had been requisitioned for the defense of the office.
McMurdo had laid down the paper, and was lighting his pipe with
a hand which was shaky from the excesses of the previous evening,
when there was a knock outside, and his landlady brought to him a
note which had just been handed in by a lad. It was unsigned,
and ran thus:
I should wish to speak to you, but would rather not do so in
your house. You will find me beside the flagstaff upon Miller
Hill. If you will come there now, I have something which it is
important for you to hear and for me to say.
McMurdo read the note twice with the utmost surprise; for he
could not imagine what it meant or who was the author of it.
Had it been in a feminine hand, he might have imagined that it
was the beginning of one of those adventures which had been familiar
enough in his past life. But it was the writing of a man, and
of a well educated one, too. Finally, after some hesitation,
he determined to see the matter through.
Miller Hill is an ill-kept public park in the very centre of
the town. In summer it is a favourite resort of the people;
but in winter it is desolate enough. From the top of it one
has a view not only of the whole straggling, grimy town, but of the
winding valley beneath, with its scattered mines and factories
blackening the snow on each side of it, and of the wooded and
white-capped ranges flanking it.
McMurdo strolled up the winding path hedged in with evergreens
until he reached the deserted restaurant which forms the centre of
summer gaiety. Beside it was a bare flagstaff, and underneath
it a man, his hat drawn down and the collar of his overcoat turned
up. When he turned his face McMurdo saw that it was Brother
Morris, he who had incurred the anger of the Bodymaster the night
before. The lodge sign was given and exchanged as they met.
&odq;I wanted to have a word with you, Mr. McMurdo,&cdq; said
the older man, speaking with a hesitation which showed that he was on
delicate ground. &odq;It was kind of you to come.&cdq;
&odq;Why did you not put your name to the note?&cdq;
&odq;One has to be cautious, mister. One never
knows in times like these how a thing may come back to one.
One never knows either who to trust or who not to trust.&cdq;
&odq;Surely one may trust brothers of the lodge.&cdq;
&odq;No, no, not always,&cdq; cried Morris with
vehemence. &odq;Whatever we say, even what we think, seems to
go back to that man McGinty.&cdq;
&odq;Look here!&cdq; said McMurdo sternly. &odq;It was
only last night, as you know well, that I swore good faith to our
Bodymaster. Would you be asking me to break my oath?&cdq;
&odq;If that is the view you take,&cdq; said Morris sadly,
&odq;I can only say that I am sorry I gave you the trouble to come
and meet me. Things have come to a bad pass when two free
citizens cannot speak their thoughts to each other.&cdq;
McMurdo, who had been watching his companion very narrowly,
relaxed somewhat in his bearing. &odq;Sure I spoke for myself
only,&cdq; said he. &odq;I am a newcomer, as you know, and I
am strange to it all. It is not for me to open my mouth, Mr.
Morris, and if you think well to say anything to me I am here to hear
it.&cdq;
&odq;And to take it back to Boss McGinty!&cdq; said Morris
bitterly.
&odq;Indeed, then, you do me injustice there,&cdq; cried
McMurdo. &odq;For myself I am loyal to the lodge, and so I
tell you straight; but I would be a poor creature if I were to repeat
to any other what you might say to me in confidence. It will
go no further than me; though I warn you that you may get neither
help nor sympathy.&cdq;
&odq;I have given up looking for either the one or the
other,&cdq; said Morris. &odq;I may be putting my very life in
your hands by what I say; but, bad as you are — and it seemed
to me last night that you were shaping to be as bad as the worst
— still you are new to it, and your conscience cannot yet be
as hardened as theirs. That was why I thought to speak with
you.&cdq;
&odq;Well, what have you to say?&cdq;
&odq;If you
give me away, may a curse be on you!&cdq;
&odq;Sure, I said I would not.&cdq;
&odq;I would
ask you, then, when you joined the Freeman's society in Chicago and
swore vows of charity and fidelity, did ever it cross your mind that
you might find it would lead you to crime?&cdq;
&odq;If you call it crime,&cdq; McMurdo answered.
&odq;Call it crime!&cdq; cried Morris, his voice
vibrating with passion. &odq;You have seen little of it if you
can call it anything else. Was it crime last night when a man
old enough to be your father was beaten till the blood dripped from
his white hairs? Was that crime — or what else would
you call it?&cdq;
&odq;There are some would say it was war,&cdq; said McMurdo,
&odq;a war of two classes with all in, so that each struck as best it
could.&cdq;
&odq;Well, did you think of such a thing when you joined the
Freeman's society at Chicago?&cdq;
&odq;No, I'm bound to say I did not.&cdq;
&odq;Nor did I when I joined it at Philadelphia.
It was just a benefit club and a meeting place for one's
fellows. Then I heard of this place — curse the hour
that the name first fell upon my ears! — and I came to better
myself! My God! to better myself! My wife and three
children came with me. I started a drygoods store on Market
Square, and I prospered well. The word had gone round that I
was a Freeman, and I was forced to join the local lodge, same as you
did last night. I've the badge of shame on my forearm and
something worse branded on my heart. I found that I was under
the orders of a black villain and caught in a 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!&cdq; He put his hands to his face, and his
body shook with convulsive sobs.
McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. &odq;You were too soft
for the job,&cdq; said he. &odq;You are the wrong sort for
such work.&cdq;
&odq;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.
&odq;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.
&odq;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,
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?&cdq;
&odq;What would you do?&cdq; asked McMurdo abruptly.
&odq;You would not inform?&cdq;
&odq;God forbid!&cdq; cried Morris. &odq;Sure, the very
thought would cost me my life.&cdq;
&odq;That's well,&cdq; said McMurdo. &odq;I'm thinking
that you are a weak man and that you make too much of the
matter.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Well, I'll let you know what I think when I have seen
more,&cdq; said McMurdo carelessly. &odq;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 — &cdq;
&odq;No, no!&cdq; cried Morris piteously.
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;One word before you go,&cdq; said Morris. &odq;We
may have been seen together. They may want to know what we
have spoken about.&cdq;
&odq;Ah! that's well thought of.&cdq;
&odq;I
offer you a clerkship in my store.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
That same afternoon, as McMurdo sat smoking, lost in thought
beside the stove of his sitting-room, the door swung open and its
framework was filled with the huge figure of Boss McGinty. He
passed the sign, and then seating himself opposite to the young man
he looked at him steadily for some time, a look which was as steadily
returned.
&odq;I'm not much of a visitor, Brother McMurdo,&cdq; he said
at last. &odq;I guess I am too busy over the folk that visit
me. But I thought I'd stretch a point and drop down to see you
in your own house.&cdq;
&odq;I'm proud to see you here, Councillor,&cdq; McMurdo
answered heartily, bringing his whisky bottle out of the cupboard.
&odq;It's an honour that I had not expected.&cdq;
&odq;How's the arm?&cdq; asked the Boss.
McMurdo
made a wry face. &odq;Well, I'm not forgetting it,&cdq; he
said; &odq;but it's worth it.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, it's worth it,&cdq; the other answered, &odq;to those
that are loyal and go through with it and are a help to the lodge.
What were you speaking to Brother Morris about on Miller Hill
this morning?&cdq;
The question came so suddenly that it was well that he had his
answer prepared. He burst into a hearty laugh.
&odq;Morris didn't know I could earn a living here at home.
He shan't know either; for he has got too much conscience for
the likes of me. But he's a good-hearted old chap. It
was his idea that I was at a loose end, and that he would do me a
good turn by offering me a clerkship in a drygoods store.&cdq;
&odq;Oh, that was it?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, that was
it.&cdq;
&odq;And you refused it?&cdq;
&odq;Sure.
Couldn't I earn ten times as much in my own bedroom with four
hours' work?&cdq;
&odq;That's so. But I wouldn't get about too much with
Morris.&cdq;
&odq;Why not?&cdq;
&odq;Well, I guess because I
tell you not. That's enough for most folk in these parts.&cdq;
&odq;It may be enough for most folk; but it ain't enough for
me, Councillor,&cdq; said McMurdo boldly. &odq;If you are a
judge of men, you'll know that.&cdq;
The swarthy giant glared at him, and his hairy paw closed for
an instant round the glass as though he would hurl it at the head of
his companion. Then he laughed in his loud, boisterous,
insincere fashion.
&odq;You're a queer card, for sure,&cdq; said he.
&odq;Well, if you want reasons, I'll give them. Did
Morris say nothing to you against the lodge?&cdq;
&odq;No.&cdq;
&odq;Nor against me?&cdq;
&odq;No.&cdq;
&odq;Well, that's because he
daren't trust you. But in his heart he is not a loyal brother.
We know that well. So we watch him and we wait for the
time to admonish him. I'm thinking that the time is drawing
near. There's no room for scabby sheep in our pen. But
if you keep company with a disloyal man, we might think that you were
disloyal, too. See?&cdq;
&odq;There's no chance of my keeping company with him; for I
dislike the man,&cdq; McMurdo answered. &odq;As to being
disloyal, if it was any man but you he would not use the word to me
twice.&cdq;
&odq;Well, that's enough,&cdq; said McGinty, draining off his
glass. &odq;I came down to give you a word in season, and
you've had it.&cdq;
&odq;I'd like to know,&cdq; said McMurdo, &odq;how you ever
came to learn that I had spoken with Morris at all?&cdq;
McGinty laughed. &odq;It's my business to know what goes
on in this township,&cdq; said he. &odq;I guess you'd best
reckon on my hearing all that passes. Well, time's up, and
I'll just say — &cdq;
But his leavetaking was cut short in a very unexpected fashion.
With a sudden crash the door flew open, and three frowning,
intent faces glared in at them from under the peaks of police caps.
McMurdo sprang to his feet and half drew his revolver; but his
arm stopped midway as he became conscious that two Winchester rifles
were levelled at his head. A man in uniform advanced into the
room, a six-shooter in his hand. It was Captain Marvin, once
of Chicago, and now of the Mine Constabulary. He shook his
head with a half-smile at McMurdo.
&odq;I thought you'd be getting into trouble, Mr. Crooked
McMurdo of Chicago,&cdq; said he. &odq;Can't keep out of it,
can you? Take your hat and come along with us.&cdq;
&odq;I guess you'll pay for this, Captain Marvin,&cdq; said
McGinty. &odq;Who are you, I'd like to know, to break into a
house in this fashion and molest honest, law-abiding men?&cdq;
&odq;You're standing out in this deal, Councillor McGinty,&cdq;
said the police captain. &odq;We are not out after you, but
after this man McMurdo. It is for you to help, not to hinder
us in our duty,&cdq;
&odq;He is a friend of mine, and I'll answer for his
conduct,&cdq; said the Boss.
&odq;By all accounts, Mr. McGinty, you may have to answer for
your own conduct some of these days,&cdq; the captain answered.
&odq;This man McMurdo was a crook before ever he came here,
and he's a crook still. Cover him, Patrolman, while I disarm
him.&cdq;
&odq;There's my pistol,&cdq; said McMurdo coolly.
&odq;Maybe, Captain Marvin, if you and I were alone and face
to face you would not take me so easily.&cdq;
&odq;Where's your warrant?&cdq; asked McGinty. &odq;By
Gar! a man might as well live in Russia as in Vermissa while folk
like you are running the police. It's a capitalist outrage,
and you'll hear more of it, I reckon.&cdq;
&odq;You do what you think is your duty the best way you can,
Councillor. We'll look after ours.&cdq;
&odq;What am I accused of?&cdq; asked McMurdo.
&odq;Of being concerned in the beating of old Editor
Stanger at the Herald office. It wasn't your fault that it
isn't a murder charge.&cdq;
&odq;Well, if that's all you have against him,&cdq; cried
McGinty with a laugh, &odq;you can save yourself a deal of trouble by
dropping it right now. This man was with me in my saloon
playing poker up to midnight, and I can bring a dozen to prove
it.&cdq;
&odq;That's your affair, and I guess you can settle it in court
to-morrow. Meanwhile, come on, McMurdo, and come quietly if
you don't want a gun across your head. You stand wide, Mr.
McGinty; for I warn you I will stand no resistance when I am on
duty!&cdq;
So determined was the appearance of the captain that both
McMurdo and his boss were forced to accept the situation. The
latter managed to have a few whispered words with the prisoner before
they parted.
&odq;What about — &cdq; he jerked his thumb upward to
signify the coining plant.
&odq;All right,&cdq; whispered McMurdo, who had devised a safe
hiding place under the floor.
&odq;I'll bid you good-bye,&cdq; said the Boss, shaking hands.
&odq;I'll see Reilly the lawyer and take the defense upon
myself. Take my word for it that they won't be able to hold
you.&cdq;
&odq;I wouldn't bet on that. Guard the prisoner, you
two, and shoot him if he tries any games. I'll search the
house before I leave.&cdq;
He did so; but apparently found no trace of the concealed
plant. When he had descended he and his men escorted McMurdo
to headquarters. Darkness had fallen, and a keen blizzard was
blowing so that the streets were nearly deserted; but a few loiterers
followed the group, and emboldened by invisibility shouted
imprecations at the prisoner.
&odq;Lynch the cursed Scowrer!&cdq; they cried.
&odq;Lynch him!&cdq; They laughed and 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.
The verdict was greeted with loud applause by a court in which
McMurdo saw many familiar faces. Brothers of the lodge smiled
and waved. But there were others who sat with compressed lips
and brooding eyes as the men filed out of the dock. One of
them, a little, dark-bearded, resolute fellow, put the thoughts of
himself and comrades into words as the ex-prisoners passed him.
&odq;You damned murderers!&cdq; he said. &odq;We'll fix
you yet!&cdq;
If anything had been needed to give an impetus to Jack
McMurdo's popularity among his fellows it would have been his arrest
and acquittal. That a man on the very night of joining the
lodge should have done something which brought him before the
magistrate was a new record in the annals of the society.
Already he had earned the reputation of a good boon companion,
a cheery reveller, and withal a man of high temper, who would not
take an insult even from the all-powerful Boss himself. But in
addition to this he impressed his comrades with the idea that among
them all there was not one whose brain was so ready to devise a
bloodthirsty scheme, or whose hand would be more capable of carrying
it out. &odq;He'll be the boy for the clean job,&cdq; said the
oldsters to one another, and waited their time until they could set
him to his work.
McGinty had instruments enough already; but he recognized that
this was a supremely able one. He felt like a man holding a
fierce bloodhound in leash. There were curs to do the smaller
work; but some day he would slip this creature upon its prey.
A few members of the lodge, Ted Baldwin among them, resented
the rapid rise of the stranger and hated him for it; but they kept
clear of him, for he was as ready to fight as to laugh.
But if he gained favour with his fellows, there was another
quarter, one which had become even more vital to him, in which he
lost it. Ettie Shafter's father 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.
&odq;It's you!&cdq; said he, mopping his brow. &odq;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,&cdq; and he held out his arms, &odq;let me make it up
to you.&cdq;
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!
&odq;What's come over you, lack?&cdq; she cried.
&odq;Why were you so scared of me? Oh, Jack, if your
conscience was at ease, you would not have looked at me like
that!&cdq;
&odq;Sure, I was thinking of other things, and when you came
tripping so lightly on those fairy feet of yours — &cdq;
&odq;No, no, it was more than that, Jack.&cdq; Then a
sudden suspicion seized her. &odq;Let me see that letter you
were writing.&cdq;
&odq;Ah, Ettie, I couldn't do that.&cdq;
Her
suspicions became certainties. &odq;It's to another
woman,&cdq; she cried. &odq;I know it! Why else should
you hold it from me? Was it to your wife that you were
writing? How am I to know that you are not a married man
— you, a stranger, that nobody knows?&cdq;
&odq;I am not married, Ettie. See now, I swear it!
You're the only one woman on earth to me. By the cross
of Christ I swear it!&cdq;
He was so white with passionate earnestness that she could not
but believe him.
&odq;Well, then,&cdq; she cried, &odq;why will you not show me
the letter?&cdq;
&odq;I'll tell you, acushla,&cdq; said he. &odq;I'm
under oath not to show it, and just as I wouldn't break my word to
you so I would keep it to those who hold my promise. It's the
business of the lodge, and even to you it's secret. And if I
was scared when a hand fell on me, can't you understand it when it
might have been the hand of a detective?&cdq;
She felt that he was telling the truth. He gathered her
into his arms and kissed away her fears and doubts.
&odq;Sit here by me, then. It's a queer throne for such
a queen; but it's the best your poor lover can find. He'll do
better for you some of these days, I'm thinking. Now your mind
is easy once again, is it not?&cdq;
&odq;How can it ever be at ease, Jack, when I know that you are
a criminal among criminals, when I never know the day that I may hear
you are in court for murder? &onq;McMurdo the Scowrer,&cnq;
that's what one of oor boarders called you yesterday. It went
through my heart like a knife.&cdq;
&odq;Sure, hard words break no bones.&cdq;
&odq;But they were true.&cdq;
&odq;Well, dear, it's not so bad as you think. We are
but poor men that are trying in our own way to get our rights.&cdq;
Ettie threw her arms round her lover's neck. &odq;Give
it up, Jack! For my sake, for God's sake, give it up!
It was to ask you that I came here to-day. Oh, Jack,
see — I beg it of you on my bended knees! Kneeling
here before you I implore you to give it up!&cdq;
He raised her and soothed her with her head against his breast.
&odq;Sure, my darlin', you don't know what it is you are
asking. How could I give it up when it would be to break my
oath and to desert my comrades? If you could see how things
stand with me you could never ask it of me. Besides, if I
wanted to, how could I do it? You don't suppose that the lodge
would let a man go free with all its secrets?&cdq;
&odq;I've thought of that, Jack. I've planned it all.
Father has saved some money. He is weary of this place
where the fear of these people darkens our lives. He is ready
to go. We would fly together to Philadelphia or New York,
where we would be safe from them.&cdq;
McMurdo laughed. &odq;The lodge has a long arm.
Do you think it could not stretch from here to Philadelphia or
New York?&cdq;
&odq;Well, then, to the West, or to England, or to Germany,
where father came from — anywhere to get away from this
Valley of Fear!&cdq;
McMurdo thought of old Brother Morris. &odq;Sure, it is
the second time I have heard the valley so named,&cdq; said he.
&odq;The shadow does indeed seem to lie heavy on some of
you.&cdq;
&odq;It darkens every moment of our lives. Do you
suppose that Ted Baldwin has ever forgiven us? If it were not
that he fears you, what do you suppose our chances would be?
If you saw the look in those dark, hungry eyes of his when
they fall on me!&cdq;
&odq;By Gar! I'd teach him better manners if I caught
him at it! But see here, little girl. I can't leave
here. I can't — take that from me once and for all.
But if you will leave me to find my own way, I will try to
prepare a way of getting honourably out of it.&cdq;
&odq;There is no honour in such a matter.&cdq;
&odq;Well, well, it's just how you look at it.
But if you'll give me six months, I'll work it so that I can
leave without being ashamed to look others in the face.&cdq;
The girl laughed with joy. &odq;Six months!&cdq; she
cried. &odq;Is it a promise?&cdq;
&odq;Well, it may be seven or eight. But within a year
at the furthest we will leave the valley behind us.&cdq;
It was the most that Ettie could obtain, and yet it was
something. There was this distant light to illuminate the
gloom of the immediate future. She returned to her father's
house more light-hearted than she had ever been since Jack McMurdo
had come into her life.
It might be thought that as a member, all the doings of the
society would be told to him; but he was soon to discover that the
organization was wider and more complex than the simple lodge.
Even Boss McGinty was ignorant as to many things; for there
was an official named the County Delegate, living at Hobson's Patch
farther down the line, who had power over several different lodges
which he wielded in a sudden and arbitrary way. Only once did
McMurdo see him, a sly, little gray-haired rat of a man, with a
slinking gait and a sidelong glance which was charged with malice.
Evans Pott was his name, and even the 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.
&odq;They chose us because neither I nor the boy here
drink,&cdq; Lawler explained. &odq;They can count on us saying
no more than we should. You must not take it amiss, but it is
the orders of the County Delegate that we obey.&cdq;
&odq;Sure, we are all in it together,&cdq; said Scanlan,
McMurdo's mate, as the four sat together at supper.
&odq;That's true enough, and we'll talk till the cows come home
of the killing of Charlie Williams or of Simon Bird, or any other job
in the past. But till the work is done we say nothing.&cdq;
&odq;There are half a dozen about here that I have a word to
say to,&cdq; said McMurdo, with an oath. &odq;I suppose it
isn't Jack Knox of Ironhill that you are after. I'd go some
way to see him get his deserts.&cdq;
&odq;No, it's not him yet.&cdq;
&odq;Or Herman
Strauss?&cdq;
&odq;No, nor him either.&cdq;
&odq;Well, if you
won't tell us we can't make you; but I'd be glad to know.&cdq;
Lawler smiled and shook his head. He was not to be
drawn.
In spite of the reticence of their guests, Scanlan and McMurdo
were quite determined to be present at what they called &odq;the
fun.&cdq; When, therefore, at an early hour one morning
McMurdo heard them creeping down the stairs he awakened Scanlan, and
the two hurried on their clothes. When they were dressed they
found that the others had stolen out, leaving the door open behind
them. It was not yet dawn, and by the light of the lamps they
could see the two men some distance down the street. They
followed them warily, treading noiselessly in the deep snow.
The boarding house was near the edge of the town, and soon they
were at the crossroads which is beyond its boundary. Here
three men were waiting, with whom Lawler and Andrews held a short,
eager conversation. Then they all moved on together. It
was clearly some notable job which needed numbers. At 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.
&odq;Who are you?&cdq; he asked as he advanced.
&odq;What are you loitering there for?&cdq;
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 doubled himself up.
Then he staggered away; but another of the assassins fired,
and he went down sidewise, kicking and clawing among a heap of
clinkers. Menzies, the Scotchman, gave a roar of rage at the
sight and rushed with an iron spanner at the murderers; but was met
by two balls in the face which dropped him dead at their very feet.
There was a surge forward of some of the miners, and an
inarticulate cry of pity and of anger; but a couple of the strangers
emptied their six-shooters over the heads of the crowd, and they
broke and scattered, some of them rushing wildly back to their homes
in Vermissa.
When a few of the bravest had rallied, and there was a return
to the mine, the murderous gang had vanished in the mists of morning,
without a single witness being able to swear to the identity of these
men who in front of a hundred spectators had wrought this double
crime.
Scanlan and McMurdo made their way back; Scanlan somewhat
subdued, for it was the first murder job that he had seen with his
own eyes, and it appeared less funny than he had been led to believe.
The horrible screams of the dead manager's wife pursued them
as they hurried to the town. McMurdo was absorbed and silent;
but he showed no sympathy for the weakening of his companion.
&odq;Sure, it is like a war,&cdq; he repeated. &odq;What
is it but a war between us and them, and we hit back where we best
can.&cdq;
There was high revel in the lodge room at the Union House that
night, not only over the killing of the manager and engineer of the
Crow Hill mine, which would bring this organization into line with
the other blackmailed and terror-stricken companies of the district,
but also over a distant triumph which had been wrought by the hands
of the lodge itself.
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, bloodshot 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.
&odq;Let's hear again how he squealed,&cdq; 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 suggested that they should shoot them
both; but they were harmless folk who were not connected with the
mines, so they were sternly bidden to drive on and keep silent, lest
a worse thing befall them. And so the blood-mottled figure had
been left as a warning to all such hard-hearted employers, and the
three noble avengers had hurried off into the mountains where
unbroken nature comes down to the very edge of the furnaces and the
slag heaps. Here they were, safe and sound, their work well
done, and the plaudits of their companions in their ears.
It had been a great day for the Scowrers. The shadow had
fallen even darker over the valley. But as the wise general
chooses the moment of victory in which to redouble his efforts, so
that his foes may have no time to steady themselves after disaster,
so Boss McGinty, looking out upon the scene of his operations with
his brooding and malicious eyes, had devised a new attack upon those
who opposed him. That very night, as the half-drunken company
broke up, he touched McMurdo on the arm and led him aside into that
inner room where they had their first interview.
&odq;See here, my lad,&cdq; said he, &odq;I've got a job that's
worthy of you at last. You'll have the doing of it in your own
hands.&cdq;
&odq;Proud I am to hear it,&cdq; McMurdo answered.
&odq;You can take two men with you — Manders
and Reilly. They have been warned for service. We'll
never be right in this district until Chester Wilcox has been
settled, and you'll have the thanks of every lodge in the coal fields
if you can down him.&cdq;
&odq;I'll do my best, anyhow. Who is he, and where shall
I find him?&cdq;
McGinty took his eternal half-chewed, half-smoked cigar from
the corner of his mouth, and proceeded to draw a rough diagram on a
page torn from his notebook.
&odq;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&cdq;
&odq;What's the man done?&cdq;
&odq;Didn't I tell
you he shot Jim Carnaway?&cdq;
&odq;Why did he shoot him?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;There's these two women and the children. Do they
go up too?&cdq;
&odq;They have to — else how can we get him?&cdq;
&odq;It seems hard on them; for they've done
nothing.&cdq;
&odq;What sort of fool's talk is this? Do you back
out?&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;You'll do it, then?&cdq;
&odq;Of course I
will do it.&cdq;
&odq;When?&cdq;
&odq;Well, you had best give me a
night or two that I may see the house and make my plans. Then
— &cdq;
&odq;Very good,&cdq; said McGinty, shaking him by the hand.
&odq;I leave it with you. It will be a great day when
you bring us the news. It's just the last stroke that will
bring them all to their knees.&cdq;
McMurdo thought long and deeply over the commission which had
been so suddenly placed in his hands. The isolated house in
which Chester Wilcox lived was about five miles off in an adjacent
valley. That very night he started off all alone to prepare
for the attempt. It was daylight before he returned from his
reconnaissance. Next day he interviewed his two subordinates,
Manders and Reilly, reckless youngsters who were as elated as if it
were a deer-hunt.
Two nights later they met outside the town, all three armed,
and one of them carrying a sack stuffed with the powder which was
used in the quarries. It was two in the morning before they
came to the lonely house. The night was a windy one, with
broken clouds drifting swiftly across the face of a three-quarter
moon. They had been warned to be on their guard against
bloodhounds; so they moved forward cautiously, with their pistols
cocked in their hands. But there was no sound save the howling
of the wind, and no movement but the swaying branches above them.
McMurdo listened at the door of the lonely house; but all was
still within. Then he leaned the powder bag against it, ripped
a hole in it with his knife, and attached the fuse. When it
was well alight he and his two companions took to their heels, and
were some distance off, safe and snug in a sheltering ditch, before
the shattering roar of the explosion, with the low, deep rumble of
the collapsing building, told them that their work was done.
No cleaner job had ever been carried out in the bloodstained
annals of the society.
But alas that work so well organized and boldly carried out
should all have gone for nothing! Warned by the fate of the
various victims, and knowing that he was marked down for destruction,
Chester Wilcox had moved himself and his family only the day before
to some safer and less known quarters, where a guard of police should
watch over them. It was an empty house which had been torn
down by the gunpowder, and the grim old colour sergeant of the war
was still teaching discipline to the miners of Iron Dike.
&odq;Leave him to me,&cdq; said McMurdo. &odq;He's my
man, and I'll get him sure if I have to wait a year for him.&cdq;
A vote of thanks and confidence was passed in full lodge, and
so for the time the matter ended. When a few weeks later it
was reported in the papers that Wilcox had been shot at from an
ambuscade, it was an open secret that McMurdo was still at work upon
his unfinished job.
Such were the methods of the Society of Freemen, and such were
the deeds of the Scowrers by which they spread their rule of fear
over the great and rich district which was for so long a period
haunted by their terrible presence. Why should these pages be
stained by further crimes? Have I not said enough to show the
men and their methods?
These deeds are written in history, and there are records
wherein one may read the details of them. There one may learn
of the shooting of Policemen Hunt and Evans because they had ventured
to arrest two members of the society — a double outrage
planned at the Vermissa lodge and carried out in cold blood upon two
helpless and disarmed men. There also one may read of the
shooting of Mrs. Larbey when she was nursing her husband, who had
been beaten almost to death by orders of Boss McGinty. The
killing of the elder Jenkins, shortly followed by that of his
brother, the mutilation of James Murdoch, the blowing up of the
Staphouse family, and the murder of the Stendals all followed hard
upon one another in the same terrible winter.
Darkly the shadow lay upon the Valley of Fear. The
spring had come with running brooks and blossoming trees.
There was hope for all Nature bound so 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.
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.
&odq;Can I speak with you freely, Mr. McMurdo?&cdq;
&odq;Sure.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;What else could I do if you trusted me? It wasn't
that I agreed with what you said.&cdq;
&odq;I know that well. But you are the one that I can
speak to and be safe. I've a secret here,&cdq; he put his hand
to his breast, &odq;and it is just burning the life out of me.
I wish it had come to any one of you but me. If I tell
it, it will mean murder, for sure. If I don't, it may bring
the end of us all. God help me, but I am near out of my wits
over it!&cdq;
McMurdo looked at the man earnestly. He was trembling in
every limb. He poured some whisky into a glass and handed it
to him. &odq;That's the physic for the likes of you,&cdq; said
he. &odq;Now let me hear of it.&cdq;
Morris drank, and his white face took a tinge of colour.
&odq;I can tell it to you all in one sentence,&cdq; said he.
&odq;There's a detective on our trail.&cdq;
McMurdo stared at him in astonishment. &odq;Why, man,
you're crazy,&cdq; he said. &odq;Isn't the place full of
police and detectives and what harm did they ever do us?&cdq;
&odq;No, no, it's no man of the district. As you say, we
know them, and it is little that they can do. But you've heard
of Pinkerton's?&cdq;
&odq;I've read of some folk of that name.&cdq;
&odq;Well, you can take it from me you've no show when
they are on your trail. It's not a take-it-or-miss-it
government concern. It's a dead earnest business proposition
that's out for results and keeps out till by hook or crook it gets
them. If a Pinkerton man is deep in this business, we are all
destroyed.&cdq;
&odq;We must kill him.&cdq;
&odq;Ah, it's the
first thought that came to you! So it will be up at the lodge.
Didn't I say to you that it would end in murder?&cdq;
&odq;Sure, what is murder? Isn't it common enough in
these parts?&cdq;
&odq;It is, indeed; but it's not for me to point out the man
that is to be murdered. I'd never rest easy again. And
yet it's our own necks that may be at stake. In God's name
what shall I do?&cdq; He rocked to and fro in his agony of
indecision.
But his words had moved McMurdo deeply. It was easy to
see that he shared the other's opinion as to the danger, and the need
for meeting it. He gripped Morris's shoulder and shook him in
his earnestness.
&odq;See here, man,&cdq; he cried, and he almost screeched the
words in his excitement, &odq;you won't gain anything by sitting
keening like an old wife at a wake. Let's have the facts.
Who is the fellow? Where is he? How did you hear
of him? Why did you come to me?&cdq;
&odq;I came to you; for you are the one man that would advise
me. I told you that I had a store in the East before I came
here. I left good friends behind me, and one of them is in the
telegraph service. Here's a letter that I had from him
yesterday. It's this part from the top of the page. You
can read it yourself.&cdq;
This was what McMurdo read:
How are the
Scowrers getting on in your parts? We read plenty of them in
the papers. Between you and me I expect to hear news from you
before long. Five big corporations and the two railroads have
taken the thing up in dead earnest. They mean it, and you can
bet they'll get there! They are right deep down into it.
Pinkerton has taken hold under their orders, and his best man,
Birdy Edwards, is operating. The thing has got to be stopped
right now.
&odq;Now read the postscript.&cdq;
Of course, what I give you is what I learned in business; so
it goes no further. It's a queer cipher that you handle by the
yard every day and can get no meaning from.
McMurdo sat in silence for some time, with the letter in his
listless hands. The mist had lifted for a moment, and there
was the abyss before him.
&odq;Does anyone else know of this?&cdq; he asked.
&odq;I have told no one else.&cdq;
&odq;But this man — your friend — has he any
other person that he would be likely to write to?&cdq;
&odq;Well, I dare say he knows one or two more.&cdq;
&odq;Of the lodge?&cdq;
&odq;It's likely enough.&cdq;
&odq;I was asking
because it is likely that he may have given some description of this
fellow Birdy Edwards — then we could get on his trail.&cdq;
&odq;Well, it's possible. But I should not think he knew
him. He is just telling me the news that came to him by way of
business. How would he know this Pinkerton man?&cdq;
McMurdo gave a violent start.
&odq;By Gar!&cdq;
he cried, &odq;I've got him. What a fool I was not to know it.
Lord! but we're in luck! We will fix him before he can
do any harm. See here, Morris, will you leave this thing in my
hands?&cdq;
&odq;Sure, if you will only take it off mine.&cdq;
&odq;I'll do that. You can stand right back and
let me run it. Even your name need not be mentioned.
I'll take it all on myself, as if it were to me that this
letter has come. Will that content you?&cdq;
&odq;It's just what I would ask.&cdq;
&odq;Then
leave it at that and keep your head shut. Now I'll get down to
the lodge, and we'll soon make old man Pinkerton sorry for
himself.&cdq;
&odq;You wouldn't kill this man?&cdq;
&odq;The
less you know, Friend Morris, the easier your conscience will be, and
the better you will sleep. Ask no questions, and let these
things settle themselves. I have hold of it now.&cdq;
Morris shook his head sadly as he left. &odq;I feel that
his blood is on my hands,&cdq; he groaned.
&odq;Self-protection is no murder, anyhow,&cdq; said McMurdo,
smiling grimly. &odq;It's him or us. I guess this man
would destroy us all if we left him long in the valley. Why,
Brother Morris, we'll have to elect you Bodymaster yet; for you've
surely saved the lodge.&cdq;
And yet it was clear from his actions that he thought more
seriously of this new intrusion than his words would show. It
may have been his guilty conscience, it may have been the reputation
of the Pinkerton organization, it may have been the knowledge that
great, rich corporations had set themselves the task of clearing out
the Scowrers; but, whatever his reason, his actions were those of a
man who is preparing for the worst. Every paper which would
incriminate him was destroyed before he left the house. After
that he gave a long sigh of satisfaction; for it seemed to him that
he was safe. And yet the danger must still have pressed
somewhat upon him; for on his way to the lodge he stopped at old man
Shafter's. The house was forbidden him; but when he tapped at
the window Ettie came out to him. The dancing Irish deviltry
had gone from her lover's eyes. She read his danger in his
earnest face.
&odq;Something has happened!&cdq; she cried. &odq;Oh,
Jack, you are in danger!&cdq;
&odq;Sure, it is not very bad, my sweetheart. And yet it
may be wise that we make a move before it is worse.&cdq;
&odq;Make a move?&cdq;
&odq;I promised you once
that I would go some day. I think the time is coming. I
had news to-night, bad news, and I see trouble coming.&cdq;
&odq;The police?&cdq;
&odq;Well, a Pinkerton.
But, sure, you wouldn't know what that is, acushla, nor what
it may mean to the likes of me. I'm too deep in this thing,
and I may have to get out of it quick. You said you would come
with me if I went.&cdq;
&odq;Oh, Jack, it would be the saving of you!&cdq;
&odq;I'm an honest man in some things, Ettie. I
wouldn't hurt a hair of your bonny head for all that the world can
give, nor ever pull you down one inch from the golden throne above
the clouds where I always see you. Would you trust me?&cdq;
She put her hand in his without a word. &odq;Well, then,
listen to what I say, and 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!&cdq;
&odq;I'd come after you, Jack.&cdq;
&odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, Jack, I will come.&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Day or night, I'll come at the word, Jack.&cdq;
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 countersigns
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.
&odq;Indeed, it's glad we are to see you, Brother!&cdq; cried
the chairman. &odq;There's business here that wants a Solomon
in judgment to set it right.&cdq;
&odq;It's Lander and Egan,&cdq; explained his neighbour as he
took his seat. &odq;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?&cdq;
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.
&odq;Eminent Bodymaster,&cdq; he said, in a solemn voice,
&odq;I claim urgency!&cdq;
&odq;Brother McMurdo claims urgency,&cdq; said McGinty.
&odq;It's a claim that by the rules of this lodge takes
precedence. Now Brother, we attend you.&cdq;
McMurdo took the letter from his pocket.
&odq;Eminent Bodymaster and Brethren,&cdq; he said,
&odq;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.&cdq;
There was a dead silence in the room. It was broken by
the chairman.
&odq;What is your evidence for this, Brother McMurdo?&cdq; he
asked.
&odq;It is in this letter which has come into my hands,&cdq;
said McMurdo. Me read the passage aloud. &odq;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.&cdq;
&odq;Let me say, Mr. Chairman,&cdq; said one of the older
brethren, &odq;that I have heard of Birdy Edwards, and that he has
the name of being the best man in the Pinkerton service.&cdq;
&odq;Does anyone know him by sight?&cdq; asked McGinty.
&odq;Yes,&cdq; said McMurdo, &odq;I do.&cdq;
There was a murmur of astonishment through the hall.
&odq;I believe we hold him in the hollow of our
hands,&cdq; he continued with an exulting smile upon his face.
&odq;If we act quickly and wisely, we can cut this thing
short. If I have your confidence and your help, it is little
that we have to fear.&cdq;
&odq;What have we to fear, anyhow? What can he know of
our affairs?&cdq;
&odq;You might say so if all were as stanch as you, Councillor.
But this man has all the millions of the capitalists at his
back. Do you think there is no weaker brother among all our
lodges that could not be bought? He will get at our secrets
— maybe has got them already. There's only one sure
cure.&cdq;
&odq;That he never leaves the valley,&cdq; said Baldwin.
McMurdo nodded. &odq;Good for you, Brother
Baldwin,&cdq; he said. &odq;You and I have had our
differences, but you have said the true word to-night.&cdq;
&odq;Where is he, then? Where shall we know him?&cdq;
&odq;Eminent Bodymaster,&cdq; said McMurdo, earnestly, &odq;I
would put it to you that this is too vital a thing for us to discuss
in open lodge. God forbid that I should throw a doubt on
anyone here; but if so much as a word of gossip got to the ears of
this man, there would be an end of any chance of our getting him.
I would ask the lodge to choose a trusty committee, Mr.
Chairman — yourself, if I might suggest it, and Brother
Baldwin here, and five more. Then I can talk freely of what I
know and of what I advise should be done.&cdq;
The proposition was at once adopted, and the committee chosen.
Besides the chairman and Baldwin there were the vulture-faced
secretary, Harraway, Tiger Cormac, the brutal young assassin, Carter,
the treasurer, and the brothers Willaby, fearless and desperate men
who would stick at nothing.
The usual revelry of the lodge was short and subdued: for there
was a cloud upon the men's spirits, and many there for the first time
began to see the cloud of avenging Law drifting up in that serene sky
under which they had dwelt so long. The horrors they had dealt
out to others had been so much a part of their settled lives that the
thought of retribution had become a remote one, and so seemed the
more startling now that it came so closely upon them. They
broke up early and left their leaders to their council.
&odq;Now, McMurdo!&cdq; said McGinty when they were alone.
The seven men sat frozen in their seats.
&odq;I said just now that I knew Birdy Edwards,&cdq; McMurdo
explained. &odq;I need not tell you that he is not here under
that name. He's a brave man, but not a crazy one. He
passes under the name of Steve Wilson, and he is lodging at Hobson's
Patch.&cdq;
&odq;How do you know this?&cdq;
&odq;Because I
fell into talk with him. I thought little of it at the time,
nor would have given it a second thought but for this letter; but now
I'm sure it's the man. I met him on the cars when I went down
the line on Wednesday — a hard case if ever there was one.
He said he was a reporter. I believed it for the
moment. Wanted to know all he could about the Scowrers and
what he called &onq;the outrages&cnq; for a New York paper.
Asked me every kind of question so as to get something.
You bet I was giving nothing away. &onq;I'd pay for it
and pay well,&cnq; said he, &onq;if I could get some stuff that would
suit my editor.&cnq; I said what I thought would please him
best, and he handed me a twenty-dollar bill for my information.
&onq;There's ten times that for you,&cnq; said he, &onq;if you
can find me all that I want.&cnq;&cdq;
&odq;What did you tell him, then?&cdq;
&odq;Any
stuff I could make up.&cdq;
&odq;How do you know he wasn't a newspaper man?&cdq;
&odq;I'll tell you. He got out at Hobson's
Patch, and so did I. I chanced into the telegraph bureau, and
he was leaving it.
&odq;&onq;See here,&cnq; said the operator after he'd gone out,
&onq;I guess we should charge double rates for this.&cnq; —
&onq;I guess you should,&cnq; said I. He had filled the form
with stuff that might have been Chinese, for all we could make of it.
&onq;He fires a sheet of this off every day,&cnq; said the
clerk. &onq;Yes,&cnq; said I; &onq;it's special news for his
paper, and he's scared that the others should tap it.&cnq;
That was what the operator thought and what I thought at the
time; but I think differently now.&cdq;
&odq;By Gar! I believe you are right,&cdq; said McGinty.
&odq;But what do you allow that we should do about it?&cdq;
&odq;Why not go right down now and fix him?&cdq; someone
suggested.
&odq;Ay, the sooner the better.&cdq;
&odq;I'd
start this next minute if I knew where we could find him,&cdq; said
McMurdo. &odq;He's in Hobson's Patch; but I don't know the
house. I've got a plan, though, if you'll only take my
advice.&cdq;
&odq;Well, what is it?&cdq;
&odq;I'll go to the
Patch to-morrow morning. I'll find him through the operator.
He can locate him, I guess. Well, then I'll tell him
that I'm a Freeman myself. I'll offer him all the secrets of
the lodge for a price. You bet he'll tumble to it. I'll
tell him the papers are at my house, and that it's as much as my life
would be worth to let him come while folk were about. He'll
see that that's horse sense. Let him come at ten o'clock at
night, and he shall see everything. That will fetch him
sure.&cdq;
&odq;Well?&cdq;
&odq;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!&cdq;
&odq;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.&cdq;
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 particular interest in him that morning, and Captain
Marvin — he who had claimed the old acquaintance with him at
Chicago — actually addressed him as he waited at the station.
McMurdo turned away and refused to speak with him. He
was back from his mission in the afternoon, and saw McGinty at the
Union House.
&odq;He is coming,&cdq; he said.
&odq;Good!&cdq;
said McGinty. The giant was in his shirt sleeves, with chains
and seals gleaming athwart his ample waistcoat and a diamond
twinkling through the fringe of his bristling beard. Drink and
politics had made the Boss a very rich as well as powerful man.
The more terrible, therefore, seemed that glimpse of the
prison or the gallows which had risen before him the night before.
&odq;Do you reckon he knows much?&cdq; he asked anxiously.
McMurdo shook his head gloomily. &odq;He's been
here some time — six weeks at the least. I guess he
didn't come into these parts to look at the prospect. If he
has been working among us all that time with the railroad money at
his back, I should expect that he has got results, and that he has
passed them on.&cdq;
&odq;There's not a weak man in the lodge,&cdq; cried McGinty.
&odq;True as steel, every man of them. And yet, by the
Lord! there is that skunk Morris. What about him? If
any man gives us away, it would be he. I've a mind to send a
couple of the boys round before evening to give him a beating up and
see what they can get from him.&cdq;
&odq;Well, there would be no harm in that,&cdq; McMurdo
answered. &odq;I won't deny that I have a liking for Morris
and would be sorry to see him come to harm. He has spoken to
me once or twice over lodge matters, and though he may not see them
the same as you or I, he never seemed the sort that squeals.
But still it is not for me to stand between him and you.&cdq;
&odq;I'll fix the old devil!&cdq; said McGinty with an oath.
&odq;I've had my eye on him this year past.&cdq;
&odq;Well, you know best about that,&cdq; McMurdo answered.
&odq;But whatever you do must be to-morrow; for we must lie
low until the Pinkerton affair is settled up. We can't afford
to set the police buzzing, to-day of all days.&cdq;
&odq;True for you,&cdq; said McGinty. &odq;And we'll
learn from Birdy Edwards himself where he got his news if we have to
cut his heart out first. Did he seem to scent a trap?&cdq;
McMurdo laughed. &odq;I guess I took him on his weak
point,&cdq; he said. &odq;If he could get on a good trail of
the Scowrers, he's ready to follow it into hell. I took his
money,&cdq; McMurdo grinned as he produced a wad of dollar notes,
&odq;and as much more when he has seen all my papers.&cdq;
&odq;What papers?&cdq;
&odq;Well, there are no
papers. But I filled him up about constitutions and books of
rules and forms of membership. He expects to get right down to
the end of everything before he leaves.&cdq;
&odq;Faith, he's right there,&cdq; said McGinty grimly.
&odq;Didn't he ask you why you didn't bring him the
papers?&cdq;
&odq;As if I would carry such things, and me a suspected man,
and Captain Marvin after speaking to me this very day at the
depot!&cdq;
&odq;Ay, I heard of that,&cdq; said McGinty. &odq;I
guess the heavy end of this business is coming on to you. We
could put him down an old shaft when we've done with him; but however
we work it we can't get past the man living at Hobson's Patch and you
being there to-day.&cdq;
McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. &odq;If we handle it
right, they can never prove the killing,&cdq; said he. &odq;No
one can see him come to the house after dark, and I'll lay to it that
no one will see him go. Now see here, Councillor, I'll show
you my plan and I'll ask you to fit the others into it. You
will all come in good time. Very well. He comes at ten.
He is to tap three times, and me to open the door for him.
Then I'll get behind him and shut it. He's our man
then.&cdq;
&odq;That's all easy and plain.&cdq;
&odq;Yes;
but the next step wants considering. He's a hard proposition.
He's heavily armed. I've fooled him proper, and yet he
is likely to be on his guard. Suppose I show him right into a
room with seven men in it where he expected to find me alone.
There is going to be shooting, and somebody is going to be
hurt.&cdq;
&odq;That's so.&cdq;
&odq;And the noise is going
to bring every damned copper in the township on top of it.&cdq;
&odq;I guess you are right.&cdq;
&odq;This is how
I should work it. You will all be in the big room —
same as you saw when you had a chat with me. I'll open the
door for him, show him into the parlour beside the door, and leave
him there while I get the papers. That will give me the chance
of telling you how things are shaping. Then I will go back to
him with some faked papers. As he is reading them I will jump
for him and get my grip on his pistol arm. You'll hear me call
and in you will rush. The quicker the better; for he is as
strong a man as I, and I may have more than I can manage. But
I allow that I can hold him till you come.&cdq;
&odq;It's a good plan,&cdq; said McGinty. &odq;The lodge
will owe you a debt for this. I guess when I move out of the
chair I can put a name to the man that's coming after me.&cdq;
&odq;Sure, Councillor, I am little more than a recruit,&cdq;
said McMurdo; but his face showed what he thought of the great man's
compliment.
When he had returned home he made his own preparations for the
grim evening in front of him. First he cleaned, oiled, and
loaded his Smith & Wesson revolver. Then he surveyed the room
in which the detective was to be trapped. It was a large
apartment, with a long deal table in the centre, and the big stove at
one side. At each of the other sides were windows.
There were no shutters on these: only light curtains which
drew across. McMurdo examined these attentively. No
doubt it must have struck him that the apartment was very exposed for
so secret a meeting. Yet its distance from the road made it of
less consequence. Finally he discussed the matter with his
fellow lodger. Scanlan, though a Scowrer, was an inoffensive
little man who was too weak to stand against the opinion of his
comrades, but was secretly horrified by the deeds of blood at which
he had sometimes been forced to assist. McMurdo told him
shortly what was intended.
&odq;And if I were you, Mike Scanlan, I would take a night off
and keep clear of it. There will be bloody work here before
morning.&cdq;
&odq;Well, indeed then, Mac,&cdq; Scanlan answered.
&odq;It's not the will but the nerve that is wanting in me.
When I saw Manager Dunn go down at the colliery yonder it was
just more than I could stand. I'm not made for it, same as you
or McGinty. If the lodge will think none the worse of me, I'll
just do as you advise and leave you to yourselves for the
evening.&cdq;
The men came in good time as arranged. They were
outwardly respectable citizens, well clad and cleanly; but a judge of
faces would have read little hope for Birdy Edwards in those hard
mouths and remorseless eyes. There was not a man in the room
whose hands had not been reddened a dozen times before. They
were as hardened to human murder as a butcher to sheep.
Foremost, of course, both in appearance and in guilt, was the
formidable Boss. Harraway, the secretary, was a lean, bitter
man with a long, scraggy neck and nervous, jerky limbs, a man of
incorruptible fidelity where the finances of the order were
concerned, and with no notion of justice or honesty to anyone beyond.
The treasurer, Carter, was a middle-aged man, with an
impassive, rather sulky expression, and a yellow parchment skin.
He was a capable organizer, and the actual details of nearly
every outrage had sprung from his plotting brain. The two
Willabys were men of action, tall, lithe young fellows with
determined faces, while their companion, Tiger Cormac, a heavy, dark
youth, was feared even by his own comrades for the ferocity of his
disposition. These were the men who assembled that night under
the roof of McMurdo for the killing of the Pinkerton detective.
Their host had placed whisky upon the table, and they had
hastened to prime themselves for the work before them. Baldwin
and Cormac were already half-drunk, and the liquor had brought out
all their ferocity. Cormac placed his hands on the stove for
an instant — it had been lighted, for the nights were still
cold.
&odq;That will do,&cdq; said he, with an oath.
&odq;Ay,&cdq; said Baldwin, catching his meaning.
&odq;If he is strapped to that, we will have the truth out of
him.&cdq;
&odq;We'll have the truth out of him, never fear,&cdq; said
McMurdo. He had nerves of steel, this man; for though the
whole weight of the affair was on him his manner was as cool and
unconcerned as ever. The others marked it and applauded.
&odq;You are the one to handle him,&cdq; said the Boss
approvingly. &odq;Not a warning will he get till your hand is
on his throat. It's a pity there are no shutters to your
windows.&cdq;
McMurdo went from one to the other and drew the curtains
tighter. &odq;Sure no one can spy upon us now. It's
close upon the hour.&cdq;
&odq;Maybe he won't come. Maybe he'll get a sniff of
danger,&cdq; said the secretary.
&odq;He'll come, never fear,&cdq; McMurdo answered.
&odq;He is as eager to come as you can be to see him.
Hark to that!&cdq;
They all sat like wax figures, some with their glasses arrested
halfway to their lips. Three loud knocks had sounded at the
door.
&odq;Hush!&cdq; McMurdo raised his hand in caution.
An exulting glance went round the circle, and hands were laid
upon hidden weapons.
&odq;Not a sound, for your lives!&cdq; McMurdo
whispered, as he went from the room, closing the door carefully
behind him.
With strained ears the murderers waited. They counted
the steps of their comrade down the passage. Then they heard
him open the outer door. There were a few words as of
greeting. Then they were aware of a strange step inside and of
an unfamiliar voice. An instant later came the slam of the
door and the turning of the key in the lock. Their prey was
safe within the trap. Tiger Cormac laughed horribly, and Boss
McGinty clapped his great hand across his mouth.
&odq;Be quiet, you fool!&cdq; he whispered. &odq;You'll
be the undoing of us yet!&cdq;
There was a mutter of conversation from the next room.
It seemed interminable. Then the door opened, and
McMurdo appeared, his finger upon his lip.
He came to the end of the table and looked round at them.
A subtle change had come over him. His manner was as of
one who has great work to do. His face had set into granite
firmness. His eyes shone with a fierce excitement behind his
spectacles. He had become a visible leader of men. They
stared at him with eager interest; but he said nothing. Still
with the same singular gaze he looked from man to man.
&odq;Well!&cdq; cried Boss McGinty at last. &odq;Is he
here? Is Birdy Edwards here?&cdq;
&odq;Yes,&cdq; McMurdo answered slowly. &odq;Birdy
Edwards is here. I am Birdy Edwards!&cdq;
There were ten seconds after that brief speech during which the
room might have been empty, so profound was the silence. The
hissing of a kettle upon the stove rose sharp and strident to the
ear. Seven white faces, all turned upward to 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.
&odq;You're safer there, Councillor,&cdq; said the man whom
they had known as McMurdo. &odq;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!&cdq;
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.
&odq;I'd like to say a word to you before we separate,&cdq;
said the man who had trapped them. &odq;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!&cdq;
The seven pale, rigid faces looked up at him. There was
unappeasable hatred in their eyes. He read the relentless
threat.
&odq;Maybe you think that the game is not over yet.
Well, I take my chance of 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.
&odq;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.
&odq;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
thought he would come out, you'll see my work.&cdq;
&odq;You blasted traitor!&cdq; hissed McGinty through his
closed teeth.
&odq;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.
&odq;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.&cdq;
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.
The trial of the Scowrers was held far from the place where
their adherents might have terrified the guardians of the law.
In vain they struggled. In vain the money of the lodge
— money squeezed by blackmail out of the whole countryside
— was spent like water in the attempt to save them.
That cold, clear, unimpassioned statement from one who knew
every detail of their lives, their organization, and their crimes was
unshaken by all the wiles of their defenders. At last after so
many years they were broken and scattered. The cloud was
lifted forever from the valley.
McGinty met his fate upon the scaffold, cringing and whining
when the last hour came. Eight of his chief followers shared
his fate. Fifty-odd had various degrees of imprisonment.
The work of Birdy Edwards was complete.
And yet, as he had guessed, the game was not over yet.
There was another hand to be played, and yet another and
another. Ted Baldwin, for one, had escaped the scaffold; so
had the Willabys; so had several others of the fiercest spirits of
the gang. For ten years they were out of the world, and then
came a day when they were free once more — a day which
Edwards, who knew his men, was very sure would be an end of his life
of peace. They had sworn an oath on all that they thought holy
to have his blood as a vengeance for their comrades. And well
they strove to keep their vow!
From Chicago he was chased, after two attempts so near success
that it was sure that the third would get him. From Chicago he
went under a changed name to California, and it was there that the
light went for a time out of his life when Ettie Edwards died.
Once again he was nearly killed, and once again under the name
of Douglas he worked in a lonely canon, where with an English partner
named Barker he amassed a fortune. At last there came a
warning to him that the bloodhounds were on his track once more, and
he cleared — only just in time — for England.
And thence came the John Douglas who for a second time married
a worthy mate, and lived for five years as a Sussex county gentleman,
a life which ended with the strange happenings of which we have
heard.
The police trial had passed, in which the case of John Douglas
was referred to a higher court. So had the Quarter Sessions,
at which he was acquitted as having acted in self-defense.
&odq;Get him out of England at any cost,&cdq; wrote Holmes to
the wife. &odq;There are forces here which may be more
dangerous than those he has escaped. There is no safety for
your husband in England.&cdq;
Two months had gone by, and the case had to some extent passed
from our minds. Then one morning there came an enigmatic note
slipped into our letter box. &odq;Dear me, Mr. Holmes.
Dear me!&cdq; said this singular epistle. There was
neither superscription nor signature. I laughed at the quaint
message; but Holmes showed unwonted seriousness.
&odq;Deviltry, Watson!&cdq; he remarked, and sat long with a
clouded brow.
Late last night Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, brought up a message
that a gentleman wished to see Holmes, and that the matter was of the
utmost importance. Close at the heels of his messenger came
Cecil Barker, our friend of the moated Manor House. His face
was drawn and haggard.
&odq;I've had bad news — terrible news, Mr.
Holmes,&cdq; said he.
&odq;I feared as much,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;You
have not had a cable, have you?&cdq;
&odq;I have had a note from someone who has.&cdq;
&odq;It's poor Douglas. They tell me his name is
Edwards; but he will always be Jack Douglas of Benito Canon to me.
I told you that they started together for South Africa in the
Palmyra three weeks ago.&cdq;
&odq;Exactly.&cdq;
&odq;The ship reached Cape
Town last night. I received this cable from Mrs. Douglas this
morning:
Jack has been lost overboard in gale off St. Helena. No
one knows how accident occurred. IVY DOUGLAS.
&odq;Ha! It came like that, did it?&cdq; said Holmes
thoughtfully.
&odq;Well, I've no doubt it was well stage-managed.&cdq;
&odq;You mean that you think there was no
accident?&cdq;
&odq;None in the world.&cdq;
&odq;He was
murdered?&cdq;
&odq;Surely!&cdq;
&odq;So I think also.
These infernal Scowrers, this cursed vindictive nest of
criminals — &cdq;
&odq;No, no, my good sir,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;There
is a master hand here. It is no case of sawed-off shotguns and
clumsy sixshooters. You can tell an old master by the sweep of
his brush. I can tell a Moriarty when I see one. This
crime is from London, not from America.&cdq;
&odq;But for what motive?&cdq;
&odq;Because it is
done by a man who cannot afford to fail, one whose whole unique
position depends upon the fact that all he does must succeed.
A great brain and a huge organization have been turned to the
extinction of one man. It is crushing the nut with the
triphammer — an absurd extravagance of energy — but
the nut is very effectually crushed all the same.&cdq;
&odq;How came this man to have anything to do with it?&cdq;
&odq;I can only say that the first word that ever came
to us of the business was from one of his lieutenants. These
Americans were well advised. Having an English job to do, they
took into partnership, as any foreign criminal could do, this great
consultant in crime. From that moment their man was doomed.
At first he would content himself by using his machinery in
order to find their victim. Then he would indicate how the
matter might be treated. Finally, when he read in the reports
of the failure of this agent, he would step in himself with a master
touch. You heard me warn this man at Birlstone Manor House
that the coming danger was greater than the past. Was I
right?&cdq;
Barker beat his head with his clenched fist in his impotent
anger. &odq;Do not tell me that we have to sit down under
this? Do you say that no one can ever get level with this king
devil?&cdq;
&odq;No, I don't say that,&cdq; said Holmes, and his eyes
seemed to be looking far into the future. &odq;I don't say
that he can't be beat. But you must give me time — you
must give me time!&cdq;
We all sat in silence for some minutes while those fateful eyes
still strained to pierce the veil.