There is little more to tell. Scanlan had been given a sealed noteto be left at the address of Miss Ettie Shafter, a mission whichhe had accepted with a wink and a knowing smile. In the earlyhours of the morning a beautiful woman and a much muffledman boarded a special train which had been sent by the railroadcompany, and made a swift, unbroken journey out of the landof danger. It was the last time that ever either Ettie or her loverset foot in the Valley of Fear. Ten days later they were married inChicago, with old Jacob Shafter as witness of the wedding.
The trial of the Scowrers was held far from the place where theiradherents might have terrified the guardians of the law. In vainthey struggled. In vain the money of the lodge—money squeezedby blackmail out of the whole countryside—was spent like waterin the attempt to save them. That cold, clear, unimpassionedstatement from one who knew every detail of their lives, theirorganization, and their crimes was unshaken by all the wiles oftheir defenders. At last after so many years they were broken andscattered. The cloud was lifted forever from the valley.
McGinty met his fate upon the scaffold, cringing and whiningwhen the last hour came. Eight of his chief followers shared hisfate. Fifty-odd had various degrees of imprisonment. The work ofBirdy Edwards was complete.
And yet, as he had guessed, the game was not over yet. Therewas another hand to be played, and yet another and another. TedBaldwin, for one, had escaped the scaffold; so had the Willabys; sohad several others of the fiercest spirits of the gang. For ten yearsthey were out of the world, and then came a day when they werefree once more—a day which Edwards, who knew his men, wasvery sure would be an end of his life of peace. They had sworn anoath on all that they thought holy to have his blood as a vengeancefor their comrades. And well they strove to keep their vow!
From Chicago he was chased, after two attempts so near successthat it was sure that the third would get him. From Chicago hewent under a changed name to California, and it was there thatthe light went for a time out of his life when Ettie Edwards died.
Once again he was nearly killed, and once again under the nameof Douglas he worked in a lonely ca?on, where with an Englishpartner named Barker he amassed a fortune. At last there camea warning to him that the bloodhounds were on his track oncemore, and he cleared—only just in time—for England. And thencecame 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 Douglaswas referred to a higher court. So had the Quarter Sessions, atwhich 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 thosehe has escaped. There is no safety for your husband in England.”
Two months had gone by, and the case had to some extentpassed from our minds. Then one morning there came anenigmatic note slipped into our letter box. “Dear me, Mr.
Holmes. Dear me!” said this singular epistle. There was neithersuperscription nor signature. I laughed at the quaint message; butHolmes showed unwonted seriousness.
“Deviltry, Watson!” he remarked, and sat long with a cloudedbrow.
Late last night Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, brought up a messagethat a gentleman wished to see Holmes, and that the matter wasof the utmost importance. Close at the heels of his messengercame Cecil Barker, our friend of the moated Manor House. Hisface 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 hewill always be Jack Douglas of Benito Ca?on to me. I told you thatthey started together for South Africa in the Palmyra three weeksago.”
“Exactly.”
“The ship reached Cape Town last night. I received this cablefrom Mrs. Douglas this morning:
Jack has been lost overboard in gale off St. Helena. No one knowshow 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 vindictivenest of criminals—”
“No, no, my good sir,” said Holmes. “There is a master handhere. 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 aMoriarty when I see one. This crime is from London, not fromAmerica.”
“But for what motive?”
“Because it is done by a man who cannot afford to fail, onewhose whole unique position depends upon the fact that all hedoes must succeed. A great brain and a huge organization havebeen turned to the extinction of one man. It is crushing the nutwith the triphammer—an absurd extravagance of energy—but thenut 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 ofthe business was from one of his lieutenants. These Americanswere well advised. Having an English job to do, they took intopartnership, as any foreign criminal could do, this great consultantin crime. From that moment their man was doomed. At first hewould content himself by using his machinery in order to findtheir victim. Then he would indicate how the matter might betreated. Finally, when he read in the reports of the failure of thisagent, he would step in himself with a master touch. You heard mewarn this man at Birlstone Manor House that the coming dangerwas greater than the past. Was I right?”
Barker beat his head with his clenched fist in his impotentanger. “Do not tell me that we have to sit down under this? Doyou 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 belooking far into the future. “I don’t say that he can’t be beat. Butyou must give me time—you must give me time!”
We all sat in silence for some minutes while those fateful eyesstill strained to pierce the veil.
