to
prove who placed it there. This we accomplished by the very obvious
device of announcing that the moat would be dried to-morrow, which had,
of course, the effect that whoever had hidden the bundle would most
certainly withdraw it the moment that darkness enabled him to do so. We
have no less than four witnesses as to who it was who took advantage of
the opportunity, and so, Mr. Barker, I think the word lies now with
you."

Sherlock Holmes put the sopping bundle upon the table beside the lamp
and undid the cord which bound it. From within he extracted a
dumb-bell, which he tossed down to its fellow in the corner. Next he
drew forth a pair of boots. "American, as you perceive," he remarked,
pointing to the toes. Then he laid upon the table a long, deadly,
sheathed knife. Finally he unravelled a bundle of clothing, comprising
a complete set of underclothes, socks, a gray tweed suit, and a short
yellow overcoat.

"The clothes are commonplace," remarked Holmes, "save only the
overcoat, which is full of suggestive touches." He held it tenderly
towards the light. "Here, as you perceive, is the inner pocket
prolonged into the lining in such fashion as to give ample space for
the truncated fowling piece. The tailor's tab is on the neck--'Neal,
Outfitter, Vermissa, U. S. A.' I have spent an instructive afternoon in
the rector's library, and have enlarged my knowledge by adding the fact
that Vermissa is a flourishing little town at the head of one of the
best known coal and iron valleys in the United States. I have some
recollection, Mr. Barker, that you associated the coal districts with
Mr. Douglas's first wife, and it would surely not be too far-fetched an
inference that the V. V. upon the card by the dead body might stand for
Vermissa Valley, or that this very valley which sends forth emissaries
of murder may be that Valley of Fear of which we have heard. So much is
fairly clear. And now, Mr. Barker, I seem to be standing rather in the
way of your explanation."

It was a sight to see Cecil Barker's expressive face during this
exposition of the great detective. Anger, amazement, consternation, and
indecision swept over it in turn. Finally he took refuge in a somewhat
acrid irony.

"You know such a lot, Mr. Holmes, perhaps you had better tell us some
more," he sneered.

"I have no doubt that I could tell you a great deal more, Mr. Barker;
but it would come with a better grace from you."

"Oh, you think so, do you? We