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 vindictive nest of
criminals --"

"No, no, my good sir," said Holmes. "There is a master hand here. It is no
case of sawed-off shot-guns and clumsy six-shooters. You can tell an old
master by the sweep of his brush. I can tell a Moriarty when I see one.
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 whole
unique position depends upon the fact that all he does must succeed. A
great brain and a huge organization have been turned to the extinction of
one man. It is crushing the nut with the hammer -- an absurd extravagance
of energy -- but the nut 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 of the business
was from one of his lieutenants. These Americans were well advised.
Having an English job to do, they took into partnership, as any foreign
criminal could do, this great consultant in crime. From that moment
their man was doomed. At first he would content himself by using his
machinery in order to find their victim. Then he would indicate how the
matter might be treated. Finally, when he read in the reports of the
failure of this agent, he would step in himself with a master touch. You
heard me warn this man at Birlstone Manor House that the coming danger
was greater than the past. Was I right?"

Barker beat his head with his clenched fist in his impotent anger.

"Do you tell me that we have to sit down under this? Do you 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 be looking far
into the future. "I don't say that he can't be beat. But you must give me
time -- you must give me time!"

We all sat in silence for some minutes, while those fateful eyes still
strained to pierce the veil.





End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Valley of Fear, by Arthur Conan Doyle