The Valley of Fear by Arthur Conan Doyle (best management books of all time .TXT) 📕
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The Valley of Fear is the final novel in the Sherlock Holmes series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story originally appeared over several issues of the monthly Strand Magazine in late 1914 before being published as a standalone work. While Doyle would continue to publish Sherlock Holmes short stories until 1927, The Valley of Fear remains Holmes’ final long-form appearance.
In the novel, Holmes and his assistant Watson are called to assist with an investigation into the murder of John Douglas, a man shot in his own home at point-blank range with a shotgun. As evidence is examined and witnesses within the house are questioned, Holmes uncovers holes in testimonies and a connection to a secret society that no one wishes to discuss.
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- Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
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The proposition was at once adopted, and the committee chosen. Besides the chairman and Baldwin there were the vulture-faced secretary, Harraway, Tiger Cormac, the brutal young assassin, Carter, the treasurer, and the brothers Willaby, fearless and desperate men who would stick at nothing.
The usual revelry of the lodge was short and subdued: for there was a cloud upon the men’s spirits, and many there for the first time began to see the cloud of avenging Law drifting up in that serene sky under which they had dwelt so long. The horrors they had dealt out to others had been so much a part of their settled lives that the thought of retribution had become a remote one, and so seemed the more startling now that it came so closely upon them. They broke up early and left their leaders to their council.
“Now, McMurdo!” said McGinty when they were alone. The seven men sat frozen in their seats.
“I said just now that I knew Birdy Edwards,” McMurdo explained. “I need not tell you that he is not here under that name. He’s a brave man, but not a crazy one. He passes under the name of Steve Wilson, and he is lodging at Hobson’s Patch.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because I fell into talk with him. I thought little of it at the time, nor would have given it a second thought but for this letter; but now I’m sure it’s the man. I met him on the cars when I went down the line on Wednesday—a hard case if ever there was one. He said he was a reporter. I believed it for the moment. Wanted to know all he could about the Scowrers and what he called ‘the outrages’ for a New York paper. Asked me every kind of question so as to get something. You bet I was giving nothing away. ‘I’d pay for it and pay well,’ said he, ‘if I could get some stuff that would suit my editor.’ I said what I thought would please him best, and he handed me a twenty-dollar bill for my information. ‘There’s ten times that for you,’ said he, ‘if you can find me all that I want.’ ”
“What did you tell him, then?”
“Any stuff I could make up.”
“How do you know he wasn’t a newspaper man?”
“I’ll tell you. He got out at Hobson’s Patch, and so did I. I chanced into the telegraph bureau, and he was leaving it.
“ ‘See here,’ said the operator after he’d gone out, ‘I guess we should charge double rates for this.’—‘I guess you should,’ said I. He had filled the form with stuff that might have been Chinese, for all we could make of it. ‘He fires a sheet of this off every day,’ said the clerk. ‘Yes,’ said I; ‘it’s special news for his paper, and he’s scared that the others should tap it.’ That was what the operator thought and what I thought at the time; but I think differently now.”
“By Gar! I believe you are right,” said McGinty. “But what do you allow that we should do about it?”
“Why not go right down now and fix him?” someone suggested.
“Ay, the sooner the better.”
“I’d start this next minute if I knew where we could find him,” said McMurdo. “He’s in Hobson’s Patch; but I don’t know the house. I’ve got a plan, though, if you’ll only take my advice.”
“Well, what is it?”
“I’ll go to the Patch tomorrow morning. I’ll find him through the operator. He can locate him, I guess. Well, then I’ll tell him that I’m a Freeman myself. I’ll offer him all the secrets of the lodge for a price. You bet he’ll tumble to it. I’ll tell him the papers are at my house, and that it’s as much as my life would be worth to let him come while folk were about. He’ll see that that’s horse sense. Let him come at ten o’clock at night, and he shall see everything. That will fetch him sure.”
“Well?”
“You can plan the rest for yourselves. Widow MacNamara’s is a lonely house. She’s as true as steel and as deaf as a post. There’s only Scanlan and me in the house. If I get his promise—and I’ll let you know if I do—I’d have the whole seven of you come to me by nine o’clock. We’ll get him in. If ever he gets out alive—well, he can talk of Birdy Edwards’s luck for the rest of his days!”
“There’s going to be a vacancy at Pinkerton’s or I’m mistaken. Leave it at that, McMurdo. At nine tomorrow we’ll be with you. You once get the door shut behind him, and you can leave the rest with us.”
VII The Trapping of Birdy EdwardsAs McMurdo had said, the house in which he lived was a lonely one and very well suited for such a crime as they had planned. It was on the extreme fringe of the town and stood well back from the road. In any other case the conspirators would have simply called out their man, as they had many a time before, and emptied their pistols into his body; but in this instance it was very necessary to find out how much he knew, how he knew it, and what had been passed on to his employers.
It was possible that they were already too late and that the work had been done. If that was indeed so, they could at least have their revenge upon the man who had done it. But they were hopeful that nothing of great importance had yet come to the detective’s knowledge, as otherwise, they argued, he would not have troubled to write down and forward such trivial information as McMurdo claimed to have given him. However, all this they would learn from his own lips. Once in their power,
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