Detective and mystery stories; Holmes, Sherlock (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Private investigators -- England -- Fiction
“Be quiet, you fool!” he whispered. “You’ll be the undoing of us yet!”
There was a mutter of conversation from the next room. It seemed
interminable. Then the door opened, and McMurdo appeared, his finger
upon his lip.
He came to the end of the table and looked round at them. A subtle
change had come over him. His manner was as of one who has great work
to do. His face had set into granite firmness. His eyes shone with a
fierce excitement behind his spectacles. He had become a visible leader
of men. They stared at him with eager interest; but he said nothing.
Still with the same singular gaze he looked from man to man.
“Well!” cried Boss McGinty at last. “Is he here? Is Birdy Edwards
here?”
“Yes,” McMurdo answered slowly. “Birdy Edwards is here. I am Birdy
Edwards!”
There were ten seconds after that brief speech during which the room
might have been empty, so profound was the silence. The hissing of a
kettle upon the stove rose sharp and strident to the ear. Seven white
faces, all turned upward to this man who dominated them, were set
motionless with utter terror. Then, with a sudden shivering of glass, a
bristle of glistening rifle barrels broke through each window, while
the curtains were torn from their hangings.
At the sight Boss McGinty gave the roar of a wounded bear and plunged
for the half-opened door. A levelled revolver met him there with the
stern blue eyes of Captain Marvin of the Mine Police gleaming behind
the sights. The Boss recoiled and fell back into his chair.
“You’re safer there, Councillor,” said the man whom they had known as
McMurdo. “And you, Baldwin, if you don’t take your hand off your
pistol, you’ll cheat the hangman yet. Pull it out, or by the Lord that
made me—There, that will do. There are forty armed men round this
house, and you can figure it out for yourself what chance you have.
Take their pistols, Marvin!”
There was no possible resistance under the menace of those rifles. The
men were disarmed. Sulky, sheepish, and amazed, they still sat round
the table.
“I’d like to say a word to you before we separate,” said the man who
had trapped them. “I guess we may not meet again until you see me on
the stand in the courthouse. I’ll give you something to think over
between now and then. You know me now for what I am. At last I can put
my cards on the table. I am Birdy Edwards of Pinkerton’s. I was chosen
to break up your gang. I had a hard and dangerous game to play. Not a
soul, not one soul, not my nearest and dearest, knew that I was playing
it. Only Captain Marvin here and my employers knew that. But it’s over
to-night, thank God, and I am the winner!”
The seven pale, rigid faces looked up at him. There was unappeasable
hatred in their eyes. He read the relentless threat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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