The Pinkerton Files Five-Book Bundle Read Online Free

last one ran off. No doubt he would be back with Saul, whoever that was.
    I made a snap decision. I took off the gauntlet and hid it in the woods.
    When Saul showed up, I was tying down the three left behind. Saul held his buck knife low and kept a ready position with every step. He’d killed in the wild.
    â€œGot no more money.” I said.
    â€œGot my boys.”
    Saul was close enough to be a danger in no time.
    â€œYou can have them.”
    I stepped back. Saul sliced their bindings.
    He must have expected his boys to spring to their feet. When they slumped over, he took a look at the damage I’d done.
    â€œThey get kicked by a mule?”
    â€œMostly they just fell over. It happened real fast.” I said.
    Saul stepped toward me, knife still poised to strike. I took a chance.
    â€œIt’s a shame.” I said. “Your boys stole my money before I could give it to them.”
    â€œYou feelin’ generous?”
    â€œI know what a man looks like when he’s at odds with the law. You’re runnin’ from the Union. Or toward the Union, maybe.”
    â€œWhat d’you know about it?”
    â€œJust what people say. That the north’s lookin’ for trouble and the south’ll give it to them.” I said. “You look like plenty of trouble to me.”
    The fat man huffed to one knee. Saul turned a cold eye and straightened his posture. He didn’t seem like he was going to kill me anymore. Not that second.
    â€œWe square then?” I said.
    â€œSure. ‘Cept for three boys you broke, we’re all square.”
    â€œMaybe I can make that up to you.”
    Saul’s disdain for his crew was stronger than his distrust. Maybe bringing an extra body back was better than just a bag of coins. For whatever reason, it worked.
    Saul had me abandon most of my gear. We packed up the few useful items that were left and I followed him into the black forest.
    *   *   *
    Robert Pinkerton
    February, 1861
    This pressure from New York makes no sense, not for a charge of misdemeanor mischief. Stewards from the Attorney General’s office arrived in Chicago today.
    Warrant in hand, they could have advised us they were coming and, at their leisure, collected the punch card machine Father and I took from Kennedy. Instead, they barged in and treated the whole thing like a raid.
    Ginny Higgs reacted like the Agency was being shut down. Poor thing.
    The machine was still in pieces. No one had looked twice at it since we returned from Philadelphia. Everyone agreed; the crate hadn’t even been opened.
    Stewards leaned on me. Had I tampered with the crate since we got back to Chicago? It was perfectly true to say,
    â€œI haven’t touched it.”
    Did I understand that my statement would be entered into the legal record?
    â€œOf course.”
    It was over in a blink. They kicked a fuss then left with a crate full of useless bits.
    I went back to my desk. Father had moved me to an office near the storage garage. This hiding was good for us both.
    I pulled the adding machine’s switchbox out of a drawer. Undisturbed for hours, I folded enough gears away to unbolt the iron plate that cut through the middle.
    Satisfying as this was, I damaged most of the switches around the bolts. There was no avoiding it. I am not an engineer. Despite these broken endings, the mechanism folded together. I attached a new vial of steam and waited.
    It was a disappointment. Switches on the outer edge misfired. The minutes dragged. I considered tossing the contraption into a bin when this stuttering penetrated the inner folds and a remarkable thing happened.
    Identical sets of switches on opposite sides fired at the same time. I leaned forward hoping it would happen again but saw nothing. I checked the vial to make sure it was still connected. As I set the machine back on its footing, a second burst took place.
    Twice as many switches snapped into a complex