The Valley of Fear

we found Inspector MacDonald and White Mason seated in close consultation in the small parlour of the local police sergeant. On the table in front of them were piled a number of letters and telegrams, which they were carefully sorting and docketing. Three had been placed on one side.
“Still on the track of the elusive bicyclist?” Holmes asked cheerfully. “What is the latest news of the ruffian?”
MacDonald pointed ruefully to his heap of correspondence.
“He is at present reported from Leicester, Nottingham, Southampton, Derby, East Ham, Richmond, and fourteen other places. In three of them⁠—East Ham, Leicester, and Liverpool⁠—there is a clear case against him, and he has actually been arrested. The country seems to be full of the fugitives with yellow coats.”
“Dear me!” said Holmes sympathetically. “Now,  Mr. Mac and you,  Mr. White Mason, I wish to give you a very earnest piece of advice. When I went into this case with you I bargained, as you will no doubt remember, that I should not present you with half-proved theories, but that I should retain and work out my own ideas until I had satisfied myself that they were correct. For this reason I am not at the present moment telling you all that is in my mind. On the other hand, I said that I would play the game fairly by you, and I do not think it is a fair game to allow you for one unnecessary moment to waste your energies upon a profitless task. Therefore I am here to advise you this morning, and my advice to you is summed up in three words⁠—abandon the case.”
MacDonald and White Mason stared in amazement at their celebrated colleague.
“You consider it hopeless!” cried the inspector.
“I consider your case to be hopeless. I do not consider that it is hopeless to arrive at the truth.”
“But this cyclist. He is not an invention. We have his description, his valise, his bicycle. The fellow must be somewhere. Why should we not get him?”
“Yes, yes, no doubt he is somewhere, and no doubt we shall get him; but I would not have you waste your energies in East Ham or Liverpool. I am sure that we can find some shorter cut to a result.”
“You are holding something back. It’s hardly fair of you,  Mr. Holmes.” The inspector was annoyed.
“You know my methods of work,  Mr. Mac. But I will hold it back for the shortest time possible. I only wish to verify my details in one way, which can very readily be done, and then I make my bow and return to London, leaving my results entirely at your service. I owe you too much to act otherwise; for in all my experience I cannot recall any more singular and interesting study.”
“This is clean beyond me,  Mr. Holmes. We saw you when we returned from Tunbridge Wells last night, and you were in general agreement with our results. What has happened since then to give you a completely new idea of the case?”
“Well, since you ask me, I spent, as I told you that I would, some hours last night at the Manor House.”
“Well, what happened?”
“Ah, I can only give you a very general answer to that for the moment. By the way, I have been reading a short but clear and interesting account of the old building, purchasable at the modest sum of one penny from the local tobacconist.”
Here Holmes drew a small tract, embellished with a rude engraving of the ancient Manor House, from his waistcoat pocket.
“It immensely adds to the zest of an investigation, my dear  Mr. Mac, when one is in conscious sympathy with the historical atmosphere of one’s surroundings. Don’t look so impatient; for I assure you that even so bald an account as this raises some sort of picture of the past in one’s mind. Permit me to give you a sample. ‘Erected in the fifth year of the reign of James I, and standing upon the site of a much older building, the Manor House of Birlstone presents one of the finest surviving examples of the moated Jacobean residence⁠—’ ”
“You are making fools of us,  Mr. Holmes!”
“Tut, tut,  Mr. Mac!⁠—the first sign of temper I have detected in you. Well, I won’t read it verbatim, since you feel so strongly upon the subject. But when I tell you that there is some account of the taking of the place by a parliamentary colonel in 1644, of the concealment of Charles for several days in the course of the Civil War, and finally of a visit there by the second George, you will admit that there are various associations of interest connected with this ancient house.”
“I don’t doubt it,  Mr. Holmes; but that is no business of ours.”
“Is it not? Is it not? Breadth of view, my dear  Mr. Mac, is one of the essentials of our profession. The interplay of ideas and the oblique uses of knowledge are often of extraordinary interest. You will excuse these remarks from one who, though a mere connoisseur of crime, is still rather older and perhaps more experienced than yourself.”
“I’m the first to admit that,” said the detective heartily. “You get to your point, I admit; but you have such a deuced round-the-corner way of doing it.”
“Well, well, I’ll drop past history and get down to present-day facts. I called last night, as I have already said, at the Manor House. I did not see either Barker or  Mrs. Douglas. I saw no necessity to disturb them; but I was pleased to hear that the lady was not visibly pining and that she had partaken of an excellent dinner. My visit was specially made to the good  Mr. Ames, with whom I exchanged some amiabilities, which culminated in his allowing me, without reference to anyone else, to sit alone for a time in the study.”
“What! With that?” I ejaculated.
“No, no, everything is now in order. You gave permission for that,  Mr. Mac, as I am informed. The room was in its normal state, and in it I passed an instructive quarter of an