The Complete Sherlock Holmes

than she had ever been since Jack McMurdo had
come into her life.
It might be thought that as a member, all
the doings of the society would be told to him;
but he was soon to discover that the organization
was wider and more complex than the simple
lodge. Even Boss McGinty was ignorant as to
many things; for there was an official named the
County Delegate, living at Hobson’s Patch farther
down the line, who had power over several different
lodges which he wielded in a sudden and
arbitrary way. Only once did McMurdo see him, a
sly, little gray-haired rat of a man, with a slinking
gait and a sidelong glance which was charged with
malice. Evans Pott was his name, and even the
great Boss of Vermissa felt towards him something
of the repulsion and fear which the huge Danton
may have felt for the puny but dangerous Robespierre.
One day Scanlan, who was McMurdo’s fellow
boarder, received a note from McGinty inclosing
one from Evans Pott, which informed him
that he was sending over two good men, Lawler
and Andrews, who had instructions to act in the
neighbourhood; though it was best for the cause
that no particulars as to their objects should be
given. Would the Bodymaster see to it that suitable
arrangements be made for their lodgings and
comfort until the time for action should arrive?
McGinty added that it was impossible for anyone
to remain secret at the Union House, and that,
therefore, he would be obliged if McMurdo and
Scanlan would put the strangers up for a few days
in their boarding house.
The same evening the two men arrived, each
carrying his gripsack. Lawler was an elderly man,
shrewd, silent, and self-contained, clad in an old
black frock coat, which with his soft felt hat and
ragged, grizzled beard gave him a general resemblance
to an itinerant preacher. His companion
Andrews was little more than a boy, frank-faced
and cheerful, with the breezy manner of one who
is out for a holiday and means to enjoy every
minute of it. Both men were total abstainers, and
behaved in all ways as exemplary members of the
society, with the one simple exception that they
were assassins who had often proved themselves
to be most capable instruments for this association
of murder. Lawler had already carried out fourteen
commissions of the kind, and Andrews three.
They were, as McMurdo found, quite ready to
converse about their deeds in the past, which they
recounted with the half-bashful pride of men who
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725
had done good and unselfish service for the community.
They were reticent, however, as to the immediate
job in hand.
“They chose us because neither I nor the boy
here drink,” Lawler explained. “They can count
on us saying no more than we should. You must
not take it amiss, but it is the orders of the County
Delegate that we obey.”
“Sure, we are all in it together,” said Scanlan,
McMurdo’s mate, as the four sat together at supper.
“That’s true enough, and we’ll talk till the cows
come home of the killing of Charlie Williams or of
Simon Bird, or any other job in the past. But till
the work is done we say nothing.”
“There are half a dozen about here that I have
a word to say to,” said McMurdo, with an oath. “I
suppose it isn’t Jack Knox of Ironhill that you are
after. I’d go some way to see him get his deserts.”
“No, it’s not him yet.”
“Or Herman Strauss?”
“No, nor him either.”
“Well, if you won’t tell us we can’t make you;
but I’d be glad to know.”
Lawler smiled and shook his head. He was not
to be drawn.
In spite of the reticence of their guests, Scanlan
and McMurdo were quite determined to be
present at what they called “the fun.” When, therefore,
at an early hour one morning McMurdo
heard them creeping down the stairs he awakened
Scanlan, and the two hurried on their clothes.
When they were dressed they found that the others
had stolen out, leaving the door open behind
them. It was not yet dawn, and by the light of the
lamps they could see the two men some distance
down the street. They followed them warily, treading
noiselessly in the deep snow.
The boarding house was near the edge of the
town, and soon they were at the crossroads which
is beyond its boundary. Here three men were
waiting, with whom Lawler and Andrews held a
short, eager conversation. Then they all moved on
together. It was clearly some notable job which
needed numbers. At this point there are several
trails which lead to various mines. The strangers
took that which led to the Crow Hill, a huge business
which was in strong hands which had been
able, thanks to their energetic and fearless New
England manager, Josiah H. Dunn, to keep some
order and discipline during the long reign of terror.