Chapter: "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 Canyon. 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 a
very 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 between us--but
it was out of his desire to keep all alarm away from me. He thought I
should brood over it if I knew all, and so he was silent."

"How did you know it, then?"

Mrs. Douglas's face lit with a quick smile. "Can a husband ever carry
about a secret all his life and a woman who loves him have no suspicion
of it? I knew it by his refusal to talk about some episodes in his
American life. I knew it by certain precautions he took. I knew it by
certain words he let fall. I knew it by the way he looked at unexpected
strangers. I was perfectly certain that he had some powerful enemies,
that he believed they were on his track, and that he was always on
his guard against them. I was so sure of it that for years I have been
terrified if ever he came home later than was expected."

"Might I ask," asked Holmes, "what the words were which attracted your
attention?"

"The Valley of Fear," the lady answered. "That was an expression he has
used when I questioned him. 'I have been in the Valley of Fear. I am not
out of it yet.'--'Are we never to get out of the Valley of Fear?' I have
asked him when I have seen him more serious than usual. 'Sometimes I
think that we never shall,' he has answered."

"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!"

 Ames recounts his version of the events of the night of Douglas's murder. He had worked for Douglas for about five years and found him a friendly employer. Douglas never seemed very restless except for the day of his murder. That night Ames did not hear the shot because he was in the pantry at the time, but he did hear the bell ringing wildly. He saw Mrs. Douglas coming down the stairs and Mr. Barker urging her to go back. She was not screaming or crying. The housekeeper was nearer to the front of the house but only heard the bell ringing. She was hard of hearing and may not have heard the shot because of that. She saw Mr. Barker, pale and anxious, coming out of the study. He told Mrs. Allen to stay with Mrs. Douglas, and she did. Cecil Barker speaks with the men next. He adds nothing to the account that he'd told the other detectives. He sees the bloodstain as conclusive, but does not know how the killer escaped. He speaks of Douglas next, explaining that they met when Cecil was a young man in California. Douglas emigrated there and the two became partners at a mining claim. Douglas sold his share and moved to England; when Barker moved there as well, they renewed their friendship. It seemed to Barker than Douglas had some sort of danger hanging over him, and he wondered if some sort of secret society Douglas belonged to was after him--perhaps that was why he moved to England. Answering the detectives' questions, Barker states that he and Douglas knew each other for five years. The only place Douglas had mentioned was Chicago. He was not very social at the mining claim, and one time a hard-looking crowd came looking for him. They were Americans but not miners, which had seemed suspicious. Barker also tells them that Douglas was always armed. MacDonald asks how close Barker is to Mrs. Douglas. When the detective's questions become a bit more probing, Barker grows angry. Finally he says that Douglas's one fault was jealousy. He was fond of Barker and his wife, but Douglas always seemed angry whenever the two of them would talk or share a look. MacDonald asks if Barker knew the wedding ring is gone, and Barker says it seems that way. MacDonald fixates on that and asks what he means; Barker explains that yes, the ring is gone, but he does not know why. MacDonald also asks about when the candle was lit; Barker explains that he lit the lamp and blew out the candle when he came in. Not long after this interview, the group meets Mrs. Douglas, a beautiful and elegant woman of thirty. She asks if they have found anything; Watson thinks it sounds like there is more of an undertone of fear than hope to her query. She gives her account of hearing the shot and being sent back to her room. When asked about her background she replies that she had been married to Douglas for five years. She admits that she knew there was some sort of danger about him but he always refused to tell her anything. Her intuition and listening skills, though, helped her ascertain some of what bothered him. The words 'Valley of Fear' stuck out in her mind, and she would hear him bemoan the fact that they would never get out of this valley. When she would ask him about this, he explained nothing to her, but she figured out that the name 'Bodymaster McGinty' has something to do with this terrible place. MacDonald asks if there is any reason she can think of that someone would take the wedding ring, especially as she professed to a lot of romance between she and her husband, and for a second Watson thinks he sees a smile on her face. She says she has no idea. The questioning ends and Mrs. Douglas leaves. Holmes muses for a moment and asks Ames to come in. He inquires what shoes Barker was wearing the night of the murder. Ames responds that he was wearing house slippers. Holmes finds the slippers and looks on the bottom. They are covered in blood, and the mark of the window matches that of the sole of the slipper. The men are all astonished

