The Valley of Fear, Arthur Conan Doyle [books to read in your 30s TXT] 📗

“Ah, it’s the first thought that came to you! So it will be up at the lodge. Didn’t I say to you that it would end in murder?”

“Sure, what is murder? Isn’t it common enough in these parts?”

“It is, indeed; but it’s not for me to point out the man that is to be murdered. I’d never rest easy again. And yet it’s our own necks that may be at stake. In God’s name what shall I do?” He rocked to and fro in his agony of indecision.

But his words had moved McMurdo deeply. It was easy to see that he shared the other’s opinion as to the danger, and the need for meeting it. He gripped Morris’s shoulder and shook him in his earnestness.

“See here, man,” he cried, and he almost screeched the words in his excitement, “you won’t gain anything by sitting keening like an old wife at a wake. Let’s have the facts. Who is the fellow? Where is he? How did you hear of him? Why did you come to me?”

“I came to you; for you are the one man that would advise me. I told you that I had a store in the East before I came here. I left good friends behind me, and one of them is in the telegraph service. Here’s a letter that I had from him yesterday. It’s this part from the top of the page. You can read it yourself.”

This was what McMurdo read:

How are the Scowrers getting on in your parts? We read plenty of them in the papers. Between you and me I expect to hear news from you before long. Five big corporations and the two railroads have taken the thing up in dead earnest. They mean it, and you can bet they’ll get there! They are right deep down into it. Pinkerton has taken hold under their orders, and his best man, Birdy Edwards, is operating. The thing has got to be stopped right now.

“Now read the postscript.”

Of course, what I give you is what I learned in business; so it goes no further. It’s a queer cipher that you handle by the yard every day and can get no meaning from.

McMurdo sat in silence for some time, with the letter in his listless hands. The mist had lifted for a moment, and there was the abyss before him.

“Does anyone else know of this?” he asked.

“I have told no one else.”

“But this man⁠—your friend⁠—has he any other person that he would be likely to write to?”

“Well, I dare say he knows one or two more.”

“Of the lodge?”

“It’s likely enough.”

“I was asking because it is likely that he may have given some description of this fellow Birdy Edwards⁠—then we could get on his trail.”

“Well, it’s possible. But I should not think he knew him. He is just telling me the news that came to him by way of business. How would he know this Pinkerton man?”

McMurdo gave a violent start.

“By Gar!” he cried, “I’ve got him. What a fool I was not to know it. Lord! but we’re in luck! We will fix him before he can do any harm. See here, Morris, will you leave this thing in my hands?”

“Sure, if you will only take it off mine.”

“I’ll do that. You can stand right back and let me run it. Even your name need not be mentioned. I’ll take it all on myself, as if it were to me that this letter has come. Will that content you?”

“It’s just what I would ask.”

“Then leave it at that and keep your head shut. Now I’ll get down to the lodge, and we’ll soon make old man Pinkerton sorry for himself.”

“You wouldn’t kill this man?”

“The less you know, Friend Morris, the easier your conscience will be, and the better you will sleep. Ask no questions, and let these things settle themselves. I have hold of it now.”

Morris shook his head sadly as he left. “I feel that his blood is on my hands,” he groaned.

“Self-protection is no murder, anyhow,” said McMurdo, smiling grimly. “It’s him or us. I guess this man would destroy us all if we left him long in the valley. Why, Brother Morris, we’ll have to elect you Bodymaster yet; for you’ve surely saved the lodge.”

And yet it was clear from his actions that he thought more seriously of this new intrusion than his words would show. It may have been his guilty conscience, it may have been the reputation of the Pinkerton organization, it may have been the knowledge that great, rich corporations had set themselves the task of clearing out the Scowrers; but, whatever his reason, his actions were those of a man who is preparing for the worst. Every paper which would incriminate him was destroyed before he left the house. After that he gave a long sigh of satisfaction; for it seemed to him that he was safe. And yet the danger must still have pressed somewhat upon him; for on his way to the lodge he stopped at old man Shafter’s. The house was forbidden him; but when he tapped at the window Ettie came out to him. The dancing Irish deviltry had gone from her lover’s eyes. She read his danger in his earnest face.

“Something has happened!” she cried. “Oh, Jack, you are in danger!”

“Sure, it is not very bad, my sweetheart. And yet it may be wise that we make a move before it is worse.”

“Make a move?”

“I promised you once that I would go some day. I think the time is coming. I had news tonight, bad news, and I see trouble coming.”

“The police?”

“Well, a Pinkerton. But, sure, you wouldn’t know what that is, acushla, nor what it may mean to the likes of me. I’m too deep in this thing, and I may have to get out of it quick. You said you would come with me if I went.”

“Oh, Jack, it would be the saving of you!”

“I’m an honest man in