The Complete Sherlock Holmes

“I propose to go up there presently. I have arranged
it with the estimable Ames, who is by no
means whole-hearted about Barker. I shall sit in
that room and see if its atmosphere brings me inspiration.
I’m a believer in the genius loci. You
smile, Friend Watson. Well, we shall see. By the
way, you have that big umbrella of yours, have you
not?”
“It is here.”
“Well, I’ll borrow that if I may.”
“Certainly—but what a wretched weapon! If
there is danger—”
“Nothing serious, my dear Watson, or I should
certainly ask for your assistance. But I’ll take the
umbrella. At present I am only awaiting the return
of our colleagues from Tunbridge Wells, where
they are at present engaged in trying for a likely
owner to the bicycle.”
It was nightfall before Inspector MacDonald
and White Mason came back from their expedition,
and they arrived exultant, reporting a great
advance in our investigation.
“Man, I’ll admeet that I had my doubts if there
was ever an outsider,” said MacDonald, “but that’s
all past now. We’ve had the bicycle identified, and
we have a description of our man; so that’s a long
step on our journey.”
“It sounds to me like the beginning of the end,”
said Holmes. “I’m sure I congratulate you both
with all my heart.”
“Well, I started from the fact that Mr. Douglas
had seemed disturbed since the day before,
when he had been at Tunbridge Wells. It was at
Tunbridge Wells then that he had become conscious
of some danger. It was clear, therefore,
that if a man had come over with a bicycle it was
from Tunbridge Wells that he might be expected to
have come. We took the bicycle over with us and
showed it at the hotels. It was identified at once by
the manager of the Eagle Commercial as belonging
to a man named Hargrave, who had taken a room
there two days before. This bicycle and a small
valise were his whole belongings. He had registered
his name as coming from London, but had
given no address. The valise was London made,
and the contents were British; but the man himself
was undoubtedly an American.”
“Well, well,” said Holmes gleefully, “you have
indeed done some solid work while I have been
sitting spinning theories with my friend! It’s a lesson
in being practical, Mr. Mac.”
“Ay, it’s just that, Mr. Holmes,” said the inspector
with satisfaction.
The Valley Of Fear
690
“But this may all fit in with your theories,” I
remarked.
“That may or may not be. But let us hear the
end, Mr. Mac. Was there nothing to identify this
man?”
“So little that it was evident that he had carefully
guarded himself against identification. There
were no papers or letters, and no marking upon
the clothes. A cycle map of the county lay on his
bedroom table. He had left the hotel after breakfast
yesterday morning on his bicycle, and no more
was heard of him until our inquiries.”
“That’s what puzzles me, Mr. Holmes,” said
White Mason. “If the fellow did not want the hue
and cry raised over him, one would imagine that
he would have returned and remained at the hotel
as an inoffensive tourist. As it is, he must know
that he will be reported to the police by the hotel
manager and that his disappearance will be connected
with the murder.”
“So one would imagine. Still, he has been justified
of his wisdom up to date, at any rate, since
he has not been taken. But his description—what
of that?”
MacDonald referred to his notebook. “Here we
have it so far as they could give it. They don’t seem
to have taken any very particular stock of him; but
still the porter, the clerk, and the chambermaid are
all agreed that this about covers the points. He
was a man about five foot nine in height, fifty or
so years of age, his hair slightly grizzled, a grayish
moustache, a curved nose, and a face which all of
them described as fierce and forbidding.”
“Well, bar the expression, that might almost be
a description of Douglas himself,” said Holmes.
“He is just over fifty, with grizzled hair and moustache,
and about the same height. Did you get
anything else?”
“He was dressed in a heavy gray suit with a
reefer jacket, and he wore a short yellow overcoat
and a soft cap.”
“What about the shotgun?”
“It is less than two feet long. It could very well
have fitted into his valise. He could have carried it
inside his overcoat without difficulty.”
“And how do you consider that all this bears
upon the general case?”
“Well, Mr. Holmes,” said MacDonald, “when
we have got our man—and you may be sure that I
had his description on the wires within five minutes
of hearing it—we shall be better able to judge.
But, even as it stands, we have surely gone a long
way. We know that an American calling himself
Hargrave came to Tunbridge Wells two days ago