Detective and mystery stories; Holmes, Sherlock (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Private investigators -- England -- Fiction
“Sure, my darlin’, you don’t know what it is you are asking. How could
I give it up when it would be to break my oath and to desert my
comrades? If you could see how things stand with me you could never ask
it of me. Besides, if I wanted to, how could I do it? You don’t suppose
that the lodge would let a man go free with all its secrets?”
“I’ve thought of that, Jack. I’ve planned it all. Father has saved some
money. He is weary of this place where the fear of these people darkens
our lives. He is ready to go. We would fly together to Philadelphia or
New York, where we would be safe from them.”
McMurdo laughed. “The lodge has a long arm. Do you think it could not
stretch from here to Philadelphia or New York?”
“Well, then, to the West, or to England, or to Germany, where father
came from—anywhere to get away from this Valley of Fear!”
McMurdo thought of old Brother Morris. “Sure, it is the second time I
have heard the valley so named,” said he. “The shadow does indeed seem
to lie heavy on some of you.”
“It darkens every moment of our lives. Do you suppose that Ted Baldwin
has ever forgiven us? If it were not that he fears you, what do you
suppose our chances would be? If you saw the look in those dark, hungry
eyes of his when they fall on me!”
“By Gar! I’d teach him better manners if I caught him at it! But see
here, little girl. I can’t leave here. I can’t—take that from me once
and for all. But if you will leave me to find my own way, I will try to
prepare a way of getting honourably out of it.”
“There is no honour in such a matter.”
“Well, well, it’s just how you look at it. But if you’ll give me six
months, I’ll work it so that I can leave without being ashamed to look
others in the face.”
The girl laughed with joy. “Six months!” she cried. “Is it a promise?”
“Well, it may be seven or eight. But within a year at the furthest we
will leave the valley behind us.”
It was the most that Ettie could obtain, and yet it was something.
There was this distant light to illuminate the gloom of the immediate
future. She returned to her father’s house more light-hearted 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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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