THE VALLEY OF DEATH

I have written that my cases with the Doctor were conducted in the greatest confidence, a confidence I only break now because of certain events. Yet inevitably there were echoes in the fiction, written so many years later. Some of these were distant, all (as I have shown with The Speckled Band and the matter of Heather Grace) were expurgated. And the harrowing affair in southern England that began on our long and complicated train journey out of Edinburgh in December 1883 was to find its most obvious, if not its only, echo in what would prove to be my most notorious story, The Final Problem.

That tale, in its truncated and softened way, was almost more of a parable of some aspects of the following events than anything truly resembling them. Yet in one respect at least I do see a direct match, namely the urgency and excitement with which Bell and I embarked on our journey from Edinburgh the following morning, just as my heroes embarked on the continental express from Victoria to escape the hand of Moriarty. The major difference being that in our case there was to be no peaceful Swiss wandering, in fact the urgency only seemed to increase with each new development.

As we sped through the outskirts of Edinburgh in an otherwise empty carriage on the first leg of our journey, I had rarely seen the Doctor so energised and at once he started to explore the newspapers. It turned out there had been a small item the previous evening, in the Edinburgh Evening News, a newspaper that had begun publishing shortly before I became a student and tended to feature slightly more outré items than its morning stable-mate The Scotsman. Even so, the paragraph was small and rather cryptic.

Mystery of Body in Cottage

Police in Salisbury have reported the discovery of the body of a man in an isolated country cottage near the Meldreth valley. His small home was utterly disordered and he had clearly been cudgelled to death though it was several days before the authorities were alerted and he was found. A full investigation is being undertaken and further details are awaited.

Dr Bell had searched the morning papers eagerly but found only one item which added little more. ‘It can only mean,’ he said, ‘that the police are not anxious to stir up interest in the matter. They have probably decided their fugitive has gone to ground locally and the last thing they wish to do is alert him with headlines.’ He pushed the newspapers away. ‘You did very well, Doyle, to escape their net, but in any case what need have we for newspapers when the primary witness is here with us? I would like you to go through it with me again in every detail.’

The Doctor was back in the hunt he loved and it made his questions exhaustive to a point, I will admit, that was not altogether pleasant. Especially when he bade me to close my eyes and see that cottage again in all its grisly detail. He asked about every aspect of the interior and also of the terrain round about. Finally, after he had heard all my adventures at the greatest length, he was satisfied and he leant back and closed his eyes.

For my part I was quite happy to think of other things and I read the newspapers from cover to cover. After Darlington, the Doctor broke his silence but only to discuss mundane matters like our strategies at the various stations ahead and our best hopes for refreshment when we stopped.

That night was spent in Northampton in a small hotel adjoining the station. The Doctor had paid for our rooms and I raised this matter with him the next morning while we were enjoying a large breakfast, for, as he pointed out, we could not be sure when we would be eating again. It did not, I told him, seem right that he was personally funding our whole excursion and I intended to repay him on my return.

‘My dear Doyle,’ he said as he attacked his ham and eggs with some gusto, ‘that is an absurd suggestion. You are only starting out and have little enough, I have enough and a little more. But more importantly what you cannot know is that I have been preparing a long time for this eventuality. It was obvious to me we would encounter him again and that, quite apart from everything else, it might prove costly to our purse. Fortunately in the years since you left Edinburgh I have on occasions been able to help private citizens requiring a solution to their problems. Few would fall into the category of major cases but quite a number involved wealthy people who insisted on reimbursing me handsomely. I decided from the first that any money I earnt in this way should be repaid to society and I was sure I knew the best way to achieve this. I therefore placed it in a war-chest to be used against him as and when required and I can assure you this has nothing whatsoever to do with charity. You are no use to me unless you are fed and rested and watered. The money will be employed as long as it is required. It is certainly required now so I will hear no more about expenses. There is much more pressing business at hand.’

I had often chided Bell for not doing enough about Cream while he was counselling patience so I could hardly fault him now. It was, as I reflected at the time, the Doctor at his best and, after gratefully agreeing, I never raised the matter again.

By late morning our train was past the dull clay vales of Oxford and into the rolling hills and green water meadows of Wiltshire. The Doctor pored over his maps and started to make many notes, for he already used my description, and what I had learnt about the locality from Middleton, to identify the likely whereabouts of the cottage. We arrived at Salisbury in the early afternoon and at once he commandeered a cab. Naturally I expected him to head for a local inn where we could make ourselves comfortable and begin our enquiries, but to my amazement he handed the cabby, a small and rather thickset man, what appeared to be detailed directions to the cottage itself.

Our cabby showed no particular surprise beyond pointing out the fare would be considerable as it was more than two hours’ journey, but Bell seemed perfectly happy and settled himself back in his seat.

I, however, felt a good deal less sanguine. ‘You think it is prudent?’ I said. ‘Will not the police be there?’

He hardly seemed to consider my words. ‘What?’ he said. ‘Oh well we will no doubt have to encounter them at some point,’ and went back to his map. I did not find this particularly reassuring. I was all too aware that once the Doctor had the scent of a case he was often so absorbed that he became entirely reckless about personal risk. The fact that I might be under grave suspicion of murder was simply of no interest to him, indeed he would regard it as irrelevant.

It was, therefore, with a sinking heart that I saw the terrain around us change. The pleasant hills gave way to more dramatic scenery, and within the hour we were approaching woods that I knew would take us into the heart of the valley I felt no wish to see again.

The day was damp and cheerless, though not particularly cold, and, as we drove under the trees, I began to experience a grim sense of recognition. But my companion was, in contrast, increasingly animated, lecturing me on various standing stones we passed and the pattern of a Roman road we crossed, as if we were embarking on some topographical outing.

The cab found it rougher going as we began to climb back out of the wood and the road made a series of bends. Above us now were green and sodden fields, and I knew exactly where I was. Within a few minutes the cottage itself was in sight, an ugly sentinel of grey stone.

Bell gave me one glance to ascertain we had indeed found our destination and soon he was calling the cab to stop and jumped out. I got up to follow, despite a distinct reluctance to renew my acquaintance with the place, and after just a few paces I was standing close to the spot where I had waited for Cream. It was a little brighter now but the walls of the cottage still looked blank and foreboding and I felt a terrible sense of impotence. Strangely perhaps my feeling of humiliation was almost more intense now than it had been when I was a prisoner here, facing death. Then I had been drugged and was subject to the fierce animal instincts of pain, dread and revenge. Now, more my old self, my mind was consumed only with the enormity of what my enemy had done and could do. Behind me, the cab clipped away down the hill, leaving us utterly alone. Bell had made arrangements with the man to return in two hours. He had been given money for his lunch as well as the fare thus far. Yet a part of me wondered whether he would bother to return. Would it not be easier for him to travel back to Salisbury and find some other custom?

The Doctor was wasting no time and I followed him round to the back, only to find the door had been fitted with a new stout padlock. We went to the window which had been boarded up and nailed. With the help of a stone which we rolled into place, we took it in turns to peer into the room through a gap in the wood but there was little to see for it had been largely emptied.

Next, the Doctor made what I strongly suspect was a fruitless examination of the grounds. I have no idea what he had expected, for several days had after all elapsed since the discovery of the crime. But of course he was used to being given unlimited and immediate access to any criminal scene he investigated and no doubt he felt as if he were being deprived of his most essential tools. At one point he returned to the door and I could not help noticing how he eyed the heavy stone we had used to stand on, and its proximity to the padlock.

‘I do not think it would be wise,’ I said, ‘to enter by force. We have no authority here and indeed I was once the chief suspect. The police would certainly be highly suspicious.’

He cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘I suppose you are right,’ he said, ‘though it is tantalising.’

At that moment both of us heard the noise. Occasionally vehicles had passed during the afternoon but this was closer and I was sure too I saw some movement in the vegetation at the bottom of the garden. We had no time to move away from the door as footsteps came rapidly round the house and two figures appeared: a uniformed policeman and a tall man, evidently a detective whom I was sure I recognised from the last time I was in this garden.

‘So our surveillance has proved successful,’ the detective said. ‘I believe you have been here before. You are under arrest.’