murderer escaped. It was a tall order, that; but as the bridge was up
there was no other way. Then, when everything was fixed, he rang the
bell for all he was worth. What happened afterward you know. And so,
gentlemen, you can do what you please; but I've told you the truth and
the whole truth, so help me God! What I ask you now is how do I stand
by the English law?"

There was a silence which was broken by Sherlock Holmes.

"The English law is in the main a just law. You will get no worse than
your deserts from that, Mr. Douglas. But I would ask you how did this
man know that you lived here, or how to get into your house, or where
to hide to get you?"

"I know nothing of this."

Holmes's face was very white and grave. "The story is not over yet, I
fear," said he. "You may find worse dangers than the English law, or
even than your enemies from America. I see trouble before you, Mr.
Douglas. You'll take my advice and still be on your guard."

And now, my long-suffering readers, I will ask you to come away with me
for a time, far from the Sussex Manor House of Birlstone, and far also
from the year of grace in which we made our eventful journey which
ended with the strange story of the man who had been known as John
Douglas. I wish you to journey back some twenty years in time, and
westward some thousands of miles in space, that I may lay before you a
singular and terrible narrative--so singular and so terrible that you
may find it hard to believe that even as I tell it, even so did it
occur.

Do not think that I intrude one story before another is finished. As
you read on you will find that this is not so. And when I have detailed
those distant events and you have solved this mystery of the past, we
shall meet once more in those rooms on Baker Street, where this, like
so many other wonderful happenings, will find its end.

PART 2

The Scowrers

Chapter 1

The Man

It was the fourth of February in the year 1875. It had been a severe
winter, and the snow lay deep in the gorges of the Gilmerton Mountains.
The steam ploughs had, however, kept the railroad open, and the evening
train which connects the long line of coal-mining and iron-working
settlements was slowly groaning its way up the steep gradients which
lead from Stagville on the plain to Vermissa, the central township
which lies at the head of Vermissa Valley. From this point the track
sweeps downward to Bartons Crossing, Helmdale, and the p