The Complete Sherlock Holmes

The usual revelry of the lodge was short and
subdued: for there was a cloud upon the men’s
spirits, and many there for the first time began
to see the cloud of avenging Law drifting up in
that serene sky under which they had dwelt so
long. The horrors they had dealt out to others had
been so much a part of their settled lives that the
thought of retribution had become a remote one,
and so seemed the more startling now that it came
so closely upon them. They broke up early and left
their leaders to their council.
“Now, McMurdo!” said McGinty when they
were alone. The seven men sat frozen in their
seats.
“I said just now that I knew Birdy Edwards,”
McMurdo explained. “I need not tell you that he
is not here under that name. He’s a brave man, but
not a crazy one. He passes under the name of Steve
Wilson, and he is lodging at Hobson’s Patch.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because I fell into talk with him. I thought little
of it at the time, nor would have given it a second
thought but for this letter; but now I’m sure
it’s the man. I met him on the cars when I went
down the line on Wednesday—a hard case if ever
there was one. He said he was a reporter. I believed
it for the moment. Wanted to know all he
could about the Scowrers and what he called ‘the
outrages’ for a New York paper. Asked me every
kind of question so as to get something. You
bet I was giving nothing away. ‘I’d pay for it and
pay well,’ said he, ‘if I could get some stuff that
would suit my editor.’ I said what I thought would
please him best, and he handed me a twenty-dollar
bill for my information. ‘There’s ten times that for
you,’ said he, ‘if you can find me all that I want.’ ”
“What did you tell him, then?”
“Any stuff I could make up.”
“How do you know he wasn’t a newspaper
man?”
“I’ll tell you. He got out at Hobson’s Patch, and
so did I. I chanced into the telegraph bureau, and
he was leaving it.
“ ‘See here,’ said the operator after he’d gone
out, ‘I guess we should charge double rates for
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this.’—‘I guess you should,’ said I. He had filled
the form with stuff that might have been Chinese,
for all we could make of it. ‘He fires a sheet of
this off every day,’ said the clerk. ‘Yes,’ said I; ‘it’s
special news for his paper, and he’s scared that the
others should tap it.’ That was what the operator
thought and what I thought at the time; but I think
differently now.”
“By Gar! I believe you are right,” said McGinty.
“But what do you allow that we should do about
it?”
“Why not go right down now and fix him?”
someone suggested.
“Ay, the sooner the better.”
“I’d start this next minute if I knew where we
could find him,” said McMurdo. “He’s in Hobson’s
Patch; but I don’t know the house. I’ve got a
plan, though, if you’ll only take my advice.”
“Well, what is it?”
“I’ll go to the Patch to-morrow morning. I’ll
find him through the operator. He can locate him,
I guess. Well, then I’ll tell him that I’m a Freeman
myself. I’ll offer him all the secrets of the lodge for
a price. You bet he’ll tumble to it. I’ll tell him the
papers are at my house, and that it’s as much as
my life would be worth to let him come while folk
were about. He’ll see that that’s horse sense. Let
him come at ten o’clock at night, and he shall see
everything. That will fetch him sure.”
“Well?”
“You can plan the rest for yourselves. Widow
MacNamara’s is a lonely house. She’s as true as
steel and as deaf as a post. There’s only Scanlan
and me in the house. If I get his promise—and I’ll
let you know if I do—I’d have the whole seven of
you come to me by nine o’clock. We’ll get him in.
If ever he gets out alive—well, he can talk of Birdy
Edwards’s luck for the rest of his days!”
“There’s going to be a vacancy at Pinkerton’s
or I’m mistaken. Leave it at that, McMurdo. At
nine to-morrow we’ll be with you. You once get
the door shut behind him, and you can leave the
rest with us.”