The Valley of Fear
would prove it so. They told me it was to do with the Freemen; so I
went to Chicago and was made one. Then I was surer than ever that it
was just paper talk; for I found no harm in the society, but a deal of
good.
“Still, I had to carry out my job, and I came to the coal valleys. When
I reached this place I learned that I was wrong and that it wasn’t a
dime novel after all. So I stayed to look after it. I never killed a
man in Chicago. I never minted a dollar in my life. Those I gave you
were as good as any others; but I never spent money better. But I knew
the way into your good wishes and so I pretended to you that the law
was after me. It all worked just as I thought.
“So I joined your infernal lodge, and I took my share in your councils.
Maybe they will say that I was as bad as you. They can say what they
like, so long as I get you. But what is the truth? The night I joined
you beat up old man Stanger. I could not warn him, for there was no
time; but I held your hand, Baldwin, when you would have killed him. If
ever I have suggested things, so as to keep my place among you, they
were things which I knew I could prevent. I could not save Dunn and
Menzies, for I did not know enough; but I will see that their murderers
are hanged. I gave Chester Wilcox warning, so that when I blew his
house in he and his folk were in hiding. There was many a crime that I
could not stop; but if you look back and think how often your man came
home the other road, or was down in town when you went for him, or
stayed indoors when you thought he would come out, you’ll see my work.”
“You blasted traitor!” hissed McGinty through his closed teeth.
“Ay, John McGinty, you may call me that if it eases your smart. You and
your like have been the enemy of God and man in these parts. It took a
man to get between you and the poor devils of men and women that you
held under your grip. There was just one way of doing it, and I did it.
You call me a traitor; but I guess there’s many a thousand will call me
a deliverer that went down into hell to save them. I’ve had three
months of it. I wouldn’t have three such months again if they let me
loose in the treasury at Washington for it. I had to stay till I had it
all, every man and every secret right here in this hand. I’d have
waited a little longer if it hadn’t come to my knowledge that my secret
was coming out. A letter had come into the town that would have set you
wise to it all. Then I had to act and act quickly.
“I’ve nothing more to say to you, except that when my time comes I’ll
die the easier when I think of the work I have done in this valley.
Now, Marvin, I’ll keep you no more. Take them in and get it over.”
There is little more to tell. Scanlan had been given a sealed note to
be left at the address of Miss Ettie Shafter, a mission which he had
accepted with a wink and a knowing smile. In the early hours of the
morning a beautiful woman and a much muffled man boarded a special
train which had been sent by the railroad company, and made a swift,
unbroken journey out of the land of danger. It was the last time that
ever either Ettie or her lover set foot in the Valley of Fear. Ten days
later they were married in Chicago, with old Jacob Shafter as witness
of the wedding.
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
canyon, 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.
Epilogue
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.
“Get him out of England at any cost,” wrote Holmes to the wife. “There
are forces here which may be more dangerous than those he has escaped.
There is no safety for your husband in England.”
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. “Dear me, Mr. Holmes. Dear me!” said this singular epistle.
There was neither superscription nor signature. I laughed at the quaint
message; but Holmes showed unwonted seriousness.
“Deviltry, Watson!” 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 Mr. 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.
“I’ve had bad news—terrible news, Mr. Holmes,” said he.
“I feared as much,” said Holmes.
“You have not had a cable, have you?”
“I have had a note from someone who has.”
“It’s poor Douglas. They tell me his name is Edwards; but he will
always be Jack Douglas of Benito Canyon to me. I told you that they
started together for South Africa in the Palmyra three weeks ago.”
“Exactly.”
“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.”
“Ha! It came like that, did it?” said Holmes thoughtfully. “Well, I’ve
no doubt it was well stage-managed.”
“You mean that you think there was no accident?”
“None in the world.”
“He was murdered?”
“Surely!”
“So I think also. These infernal Scowrers, this cursed vindictive nest
of criminals—”
“No, no, my good sir,” said Holmes. “There is a master hand here. It is
no case of sawed-off shotguns and clumsy six-shooters. 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.”
“But for what motive?”
“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.”
“How came this man to have anything to do with it?”
“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?”
Barker beat his head with his clenched fist in his impotent anger. “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?”
“No, I don’t say that,” said Holmes, and his eyes seemed to be looking
far into the future. “I don’t say that he can’t be beat. But you must
give me time—you must give me time!”
We all sat in silence for some minutes while those fateful eyes still
strained to pierce the veil.