The Valley of Fear: Chapter 5
Chapter 5
"Have you seen all you want of the study?" asked White Mason as
we reentered the house.
"For the time," said the inspector, and Holmes nodded.
"Then perhaps you would now like to hear the evidence of some of
the people in the house. We could use the dining room, Ames.
Please come yourself first and tell us what you know."
The butler's account was a simple and a clear one, and he gave a
convincing impression of sincerity. He had been engaged five
years before, when Douglas first came to Birlstone. He
understood that Mr. Douglas was a rich gentleman who had made his
money in America. He had been a kind and considerate
employer--not quite what Ames was used to, perhaps; but one can't
have everything. He never saw any signs of apprehension in Mr.
Douglas: on the contrary, he was the most fearless man he had
ever known. He ordered the 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 stairs 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.
"For God's sake, go back to your room!" he cried. "Poor Jack is
dead! You can do nothing. For God's sake, go back!"
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.
"Take her up! Stay with her!" he had said to Mrs. Allen.
She had therefore taken her to the bedroom, and endeavoured to
soothe her. She was greatly excited, trembling all over, but
made no other attempt to go downstairs. She just sat in her
dressing gown by her bedroom fire, with her head sunk in her
hands. Mrs. Allen stayed with her most of the night. As to the
other servants, they had all gone to bed, and the alarm did not
reach them until just before the police arrived. They slept at
the extreme back of the house, and could not possibly have heard
anything.
So far the housekeeper could add nothing on cross-examination
save lamentations and expressions of amazement.
Cecil Barker succeeded Mrs. Allen as a witness. As to the
occurrences of the 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.
"How long were you with Douglas in California?" asked Inspector
MacDonald.
"Five years altogether."
"He was a bachelor, you say?"
"A widower."
"Have you ever heard where his first wife came from?"
"No, I remember his saying that she was of German extraction, and
I have seen her portrait. She was a very beautiful woman. She
died of typhoid the year before I met him."
"You don't associate his past with any particular part of
America?"
"I have heard him talk of Chicago. He knew that city well and
had worked there. I have heard him talk of the coal and iron
districts. He had travelled a good deal in his time."
"Was he a politician? Had this secret society to do with
politics?"
"No, he cared nothing about politics."
"You have no reason to think it was criminal?"
"On the contrary, I never met a straighter man in my life."
"Was there anything curious about his life in California?"
"He liked best to stay and to work at our claim in the mountains.
He would never go where other men were if he could help it.
That's why I first thought that someone was after him. Then when
he left so suddenly for Europe I made sure that it was so. I
believe that he had a warning of some sort. Within a week of his
leaving half a dozen men were inquiring for him."
"What sort of men?"
"Well, they were a mighty hard-looking crowd. They came up to
the claim and wanted to know where he was. I told them that he
was gone to Europe and that I did not know where to find him.
They meant him no good--it was easy to see that."
"Were these men Americans--Californians?"
"Well, I don't know about Californians. They were Americans, all
right. But they were not miners. I don't know what they were,
and was very glad to see their backs."
"That was six years ago?"
"Nearer seven."
"And then you were together five years in California, so that
this business dates back not less than eleven years at the
least?"
"That is so."
"It must be a very serious feud that would be kept up with such
earnestness for as long as that. It would be no light thing that
would give rise to it."
"I think it shadowed his whole life. It was never quite out of
his mind."
"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?"
"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."
"I should like these dates a little clearer," said MacDonald.
"It is quite six years since Douglas left California. You
followed him next year, did you not?"
"That is so."
"And he had been married five years. You must have returned
about the time of his marriage."
"About a month before. I was his best man."
"Did you know Mrs. Douglas before her marriage?"
"No, I did not. I had been away from England for ten years."
"But you have seen a good deal of her since."
Barker looked sternly at the detective. "I have seen a good deal
of HIM since," he answered. "If I have seen her, it is because
you cannot visit a man without knowing his wife. If you imagine
there is any connection--"
"I imagine nothing, Mr. Barker. I am bound to make every inquiry
which can bear upon the case. But I mean no offense."
"Some inquiries are offensive," Barker answered angrily.
"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?"
Barker grew paler, and his great, strong hands were clasped
convulsively together. "You have no right to ask such
questions!" he cried. "What has this to do with the matter you
are investigating?"
"I must repeat the question."
"Well, I refuse to answer."
"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."
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. "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!"
It was spoken with fervour and feeling, and yet Inspector
MacDonald could not dismiss the subject.
"You are aware," said he, "that the dead man's wedding ring has
been taken from his finger?"
"So it appears," said Barker.
"What do you mean by 'appears'? You know it as a fact."
The man seemed confused and undecided . "When I said 'appears' I
meant that it was conceivable that he had himself taken off the
ring."
"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?"
Barker shrugged his broad shoulders. "I can't profess to say
what it means," he answered. "But if you mean to hint that it
could reflect in any way upon this lady's honour"--his eyes
blazed for an instant, and then with an evident effort he got a
grip upon his own emotions--"well, you are on the wrong track,
that's all."
"I don't know that I've anything else to ask you at present,"
said MacDonald, coldly.
"There was one small point," remarked Sherlock Holmes. "When you
entered the room there was only a candle lighted on the table,
was there not?"
"Yes, that was so."
"By its light you saw that some terrible incident had occurred?"
"Exactly."
"You at once rang for help?"
"Yes."
"And it arrived very speedily?"
"Within a minute or so."
"And yet when they arrived they found that the candle was out and
that the lamp had been lighted. That seems very remarkable."
Again Barker showed some signs of indecision. "I don't see that
it was remarkable, Mr. Holmes," he answered after a pause. "The
candle threw aery bad light. My first thought was to get a
better one. The lamp was on the table; so I lit it."
"And blew out the candle?"
"Exactly."
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.
"Have you found anything out yet?" she asked.
Was it my imagination that there was an undertone of fear rather
than of hope in the question?
"We have taken every possible step, Mrs. Douglas," said the
inspector. "You may rest assured that nothing will be
neglected."
"Spare no money," she said in a dead, even tone. "It is my
desire that every possible effort should be made."
"Perhaps you can tell us something which may throw some light
upon the matter."
"I fear not; but all I know is at your service."
"We have heard from Mr. Cecil Barker that you did not actually
see--that you were never in the room where the tragedy occurred?"
"No, he turned me back upon the stairs. He begged me to return
to my room."
"Quite so. You had heard the shot, and you had at once come
down."
"I put on my dressing gown and then came down."
"How long was it after hearing the shot that you were stopped on
the stair by Mr. Barker?"
"It may have been a couple of minutes. It is so hard to reckon
time at such a moment. He implored me not to go on. He assured
me that I could do nothing. Then Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper,
led me upstairs again. It was all like some dreadful dream."
"Can you give us any idea how long your husband had been
downstairs before you heard the shot?"
"No, I cannot say. He went from his dressing room, and I did not
hear him go. He did the round of the house every night, for he
was nervous of fire. It is the only thing that I have ever known
him nervous of."
"That is just the point which I want to come to, Mrs. Douglas.
You have known your husband only in England, have you not?"
"Yes, we have been married five years."
"Have you heard him speak of anything which occurred in America
and might bring some danger upon him?"
Mrs. Douglas thought earnestly before she answered. "Yes," she
said at last, "I have always felt that there was a danger hanging
over him. He refused to discuss it with me. It was not from
want of confidence in me--there was the most complete love and
confidence betwecn us--but it was out of his desire to keep all
alarm away from me. He thought I should brood over it if I knew
all, and so he was silent."
"How did you know it, then?"
Mrs. Douglas's face lit with a quick smile. "Can a husband ever
carry about a secret all his life and a woman who loves him have
no suspicion of it? I knew it by his refusal to talk about some
episodes in his American life. I knew it by certain precautions
he took. I knew it by certain words he let fall. I knew it by
the way he looked at unexpected strangers. I was perfectly
certain that he had some powerful enemies, that he believed they
were on his track, and that he was always on his guard against
them. I was so sure of it that for years I have been terrified
if ever he came home later than was expected."
"Might I ask," asked Holmes, "what the words were which attracted
your attention?"
"The Valley of Fear," the lady answered. "That was an expression
he has used when I questioned him. 'I have been in the Valley of
Fear. I am not out of it yet.'--'Are we never to get out of the
Valley of Fear?' I have asked him when I have seen him more
serious than usual. 'Sometimes I think that we never shall,' he
has answered."
"Surely you asked him what he meant by the Valley of Fear?"
"I did; but his face would become very grave and he would shake
his head. 'It is bad enough that one of us should have been in
its shadow,' he said. 'Please God it shall never fall upon you!'
It was some real valley in which he had lived and in which
something terrible had occurred to him, of that I am certain; but
I can tell you no more."
"And he never mentioned any names?"
"Yes, he was delirious with fever once when he had his hunting
accident three years ago. Then I remember that there was a name
that came continually to his lips. He spoke it with anger and a
sort of horror. McGinty was the name--Bodymaster McGinty. I
asked him when he recovered who Bodymaster McGinty was, and whose
body he was master of. 'Never of mine, thank God!' he answered
with a laugh, and that was all I could get from him. But there
is a connection between Bodymaster McGinty and the Valley of
Fear."
"There is one other point," said Inspector MacDonald. "You met
Mr. Douglas in a boarding house in London, did you not, and
became engaged to him there? Was there any romance, anything
secret or mysterious, about the wedding?"
"There was romance. There is always romance. There was nothing
mysterious."
"He had no rival?"
"No, I was quite free."
"You have heard, no doubt, that his wedding ring has been taken.
Does that suggest anything to you? Suppose that some enemy of
his old life had tracked him down and committed this crime, what
possible reason could he have for taking his wedding ring?"
For an instant I could have sworn that the faintest shadow of a
smile flickered over the woman's lips.
"I really cannot tell," she answered. "It is certainly a most
extraordinary thing."
"Well, we will not detain you any longer, and we are sorry to
have put you to this trouble at such a time," said the inspector.
"There are some other points, no doubt; but we can refer to you
as they arise."
She rose, and I was again conscious of that quick, questioning
glance with which she had just surveyed us. "What impression has
my evidence made upon you?" The question might as well have been
spoken. Then, with a bow, she swept from the room.
"She's a beautiful woman--a very beautiful woman," said MacDonald
thoughtfully, after the door had closed behind her. "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?"
My friend had sat with his head upon his hands, sunk in the
deepest thought. Now he rose and rang the bell. "Ames," he
said, when the butler entered, "where is Mr. Cecil Barker now?"
"I'll see, sir."
He came back in a moment to say that Barker was in the garden.
"Can you remember, Ames, what Mr. Barker had on his feet last
night when you joined him in the study?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. He had a pair of bedroom slippers. I brought
him his boots when he went for the police."
"Where are the slippers now?"
"They are still under the chair in the hall."
"Very good, Ames. It is, of course, important for us to know
which tracks may be Mr. Barker's and which from outside."
"Yes, sir. I may say that I noticed that the slippers were
stained with blood--so indeed were my own."
"That is natural enough, considering the condition of the room.
Very good, Ames. We will ring if we want you."
A few minutes later we were in the study. Holmes had brought
with him the carpet slippers from the hall. As Ames had
observed, the soles of both were dark with blood.
"Strange!" murmured Holmes, as he stood in the light of the
window and examined them minutely. "Very strange indeed!"
Stooping with one of his quick feline pounces, he placed the
slipper upon the blood mark on the sill. It exactly
corresponded. He smiled in silence at his colleagues.
The inspector was transfigured with excitement. His native
accent rattled like a stick upon railings.
"Man," he cried, "there's not a doubt of it! Barker has just
marked the window himself. It's a good deal broader than any
bootmark. I mind that you said it was a splay-foot, and here's
the explanation. But what's the game, Mr. Holmes--what's the
game?"
"Ay, what's the game?" my friend repeated thoughtfully.
White Mason chuckled and rubbed his fat hands together in his
professional satisfaction. "I said it was a snorter!" he cried.
"And a real snorter it is!"
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