oad company, and made a swift,unbroken journey out of the land of danger. It was the last time thatever either Ettie or her lover set foot in the Valley of Fear. Ten dayslater they were married in Chicago, with old Jacob Shafter as witnessof the wedding.
The trial of the Scowrers was held far from the place where theiradherents might have terrified the guardians of the law. In vain theystruggled. In vain the money of the lodge--money squeezed by blackmailout of the whole countryside--was spent like water in the attempt tosave them. That cold, clear, unimpassioned statement from one who knewevery detail of their lives, their organization, and their crimes wasunshaken by all the wiles of their defenders. At last after so manyyears they were broken and scattered. The cloud was lifted forever fromthe valley.
McGinty met his fate upon the scaffold, cringing and whining when thelast hour came. Eight of his chief followers shared his fate. Fifty-oddhad various degrees of imprisonment. The work of Birdy Edwards wascomplete.
And yet, as he had guessed, the game was not over yet. There wasanother hand to be played, and yet another and another. Ted Baldwin,for one, had escaped the scaffold; so had the Willabys; so had severalothers of the fiercest spirits of the gang. For ten years they were outof the world, and then came a day when they were free once more--a daywhich Edwards, who knew his men, was very sure would be an end of hislife of peace. They had sworn an oath on all that they thought holy tohave his blood as a vengeance for their comrades. And well they stroveto keep their vow!
From Chicago he was chased, after two attempts so near success that itwas sure that the third would get him. From Chicago he went under achanged name to California, and it was there that the light went for atime out of his life when Ettie Edwards died. Once again he was nearlykilled, and once again under the name of Douglas he worked in a lonelycanyon, where with an English partner named Barker he amassed afortune. At last there came a warning to him that the bloodhounds wereon 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 worthymate, and lived for five years as a Sussex county gentleman, a lifewhich ended with the strange happenings of which we have heard.
Epilogue
The police trial had passed, in which the case of John Douglas wasreferred to a higher court. So had the Quarter Sessions, at which hewas acquitted as having acted in self-defense.
"Get him out of England at any cost," wrote Holmes to the wife. "Thereare 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 ourminds. Then one morning there came an enigmatic note slipped into ourletter box. "Dear me, Mr. Holmes. Dear me!" said this singular epistle.There was neither superscription nor signature. I laughed at the quaintmessage; 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 agentleman wished to see Holmes, and that the matter was of the utmostimportance. Close at the heels of his messenger came Cecil Barker, ourfriend 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 willalways be Jack Douglas of Benito Canyon to me. I told you that theystarted together for South Africa in the Palmyra three weeks ago."
"Exactly."
"The ship reached Cape Town last night. I received this cable from MrsDouglas this morning:--
"Jack has been lost overboard in gale off St Helena. No one knows howaccident occurred.--Ivy Douglas."
"Ha! It came like that, did it?" said Holmes, thoughtfully. "Well, I'veno 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 nestof criminals--"
"No, no, my good sir," said Holmes. "There is a master hand here. It isno case of sawed-off shot-guns and clumsy six-shooters. You can tell anold master by the sweep of his brush. I can tell a Moriarty when I seeone. 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 wholeunique position depends upon the fact that all he does must succeed. Agreat brain and a huge organization have been turned to the extinctionof one man. It is crushing the nut with the hammer--an absurdextravagance of energy--but the nut is very effectually crushed all thesame."
"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 thebusiness was from one of his lieutenants. These Americans were welladvised. Having an English job to do, they took into partnership, asany foreign criminal could do, this great consultant in crime. Fromthat moment their man was doomed. At first he would content himself byusing his machinery in order to find their victim. Then he wouldindicate how the matter might be treated. Finally, when he read in thereports of the failure of this agent, he would step in himself with amaster touch. You heard me warn this man at Birlstone Manor House thatthe coming danger was greater than the past. Was I right?"